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diff --git a/old/50557-0.txt b/old/50557-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b255ced..0000000 --- a/old/50557-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7233 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Silver Cross, by Mary Johnston - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Silver Cross - -Author: Mary Johnston - -Release Date: November 26, 2015 [EBook #50557] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SILVER CROSS *** - - - - -Produced by Shaun Pinder, Fay Dunn and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber’s Note - - -In this text version of “Silver Cross”, words in italics are marked -with _underscores_, and words in small capitals are shown in UPPER CASE. - -Variant spelling is retained, a very few changes have been made to -standardize punctuation and spelling. - - - - -SILVER CROSS - - - - - SILVER CROSS - - - _By_ - - MARY JOHNSTON - - - BOSTON - LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY - 1922 - - - - - _Copyright, 1922_ - - BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. - - - _All rights reserved_ - - Published March, 1922 - - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - -SILVER CROSS - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -Henry the Seventh sat upon the throne. - -The town of Middle Forest had long since pushed the forest from all -sides. Its streets, forked as lightning, ran up to the castle and -down to the river. The river here was near its mouth, and wide. The -bridge that crossed it had many arches. Below the bridge quite large -craft, white and brown and dull red, sailed or dropping sail, came to -anchor. Answering to hour and weather the water spread carnation, gold, -sapphire, jade, opal, lead and ebony. Now it slept glassy, and now wind -made of it a fretful, ridged thing. The note of the town was a bleached -grey, but with strong splashes of red and umber. A sharp, steep hill -upheld the castle that was of middle size and importance, built by the -lords Montjoy and held now by William of that name. - -Behind the town a downward sloping wood tied the castle hill to fields -and meadows. The small river Wander ran by these on its way to join -the greater stream. Up the Wander, two leagues or so, in a fertile -vale couched the Abbey of Silver Cross. Materially speaking, a knot -of stone houses for monks--Cistercians, White Monks--a stately stone -house for God and his Son and Mary; near-by a quite unstately hamlet, -timber, daub and thatch, grown haphazard by church and cloister; many -score broad acres, wood and field, stream and pasture, mill, forge, -weirs, and a tenant roll of goodly length,--such was Silver Cross. So -far as physical possessions went what in this region Montjoy did not -hold Silver Cross did and what the two did not hold Middle Forest had -managed to wrest from them in Henry Sixth’s time. Silver Cross had, -too, immaterial possessions. But once she had been wealthier here than -she was now. That time had been even with a time of material poverty. -Now she had goods, but she did not have so much sanctity. Yet there -were values still, marked with that other world’s seal; it is useless -to doubt that. - -The thorn in Silver Cross’ flesh was not now Montjoy nor Middle Forest, -with both of whom she had for years lived in amity. The thorn was -the Friary of Saint Leofric--Dominican--across the river from Middle -Forest, but tied to it by the bridge, holding its lands well away from -Montjoy and Silver Cross, but rival nevertheless, with an eye to king’s -favour, cardinal’s favour, and bidding latterly, with a distinctness, -for popular favour. That was the wretched, irritating thorn, likely to -produce inflammation! Prior Hugh of Saint Leofric--ah, the ambitious -one! - -Silver Cross possessed in a splendid _loculus_ the span-long silver -cross that the lips of Saint Willebrod, the martyr, had kissed after -head and trunk were parted. In ancient times it had worked many -miracles, but in this modern day the miraculous was grown drowsy. -Saint Leofric had the bones of Saint Leofric,--all, that is, save the -right hand and arm. That is, once and for ages these had lacked. But -now--this very Easter--the missing members had been found: miraculously -pointed out, miraculously found! There had been long pause in working -miracles, but now Saint Leofric was working them again. Middle Forest -talked more of Saint Leofric who was, as it were, a foreigner, being -across the river, lord of nothing on this side--than it talked of -Silver Cross that was its own. Not alone Middle Forest, but all this -slice of England. Silver Cross found the mounting bruit discordant, a -very peacock scream. Silver Cross slurred the fresh miracles of Saint -Leofric and detested Prior Hugh. Silver Cross’s own abbot, Abbot Mark, -said that Apollyon made somewhere a market. - -The river lay stretched and still, red with the sunset, deep blue where -the blue summer sky yet abided. “Like the Blessed Virgin’s robe and -cloak!” said Morgen Fay. “The bridge is her gemmed girdle.” - -Morgen Fay’s house was a river-side one, built up sheer indeed from the -river so that one might take welcomes, flung toys, from passing boats. -Morgen Fay took them, leaning from her window. Her voice floated down -in return; sometimes she flung a flower. She had a garden, large as -a kerchief, beside the house, hidden almost by a jut of the old town -wall. Here she gathered the flowers she flung. Sometimes he who had -been in the boat came again, walking, to her door that was discreet, -in the shadow of the wall. But he only gained entry if he were somehow -friend of a friend. And all alike must be _armiger_, or at least not -the least in the burgher world. And, logically, only those of these -entered who could be friends and pay. Would you have love for nothing? -She had an answer always ready to that. “I must live!” - -The sunset spread. There was more red than blue. “She is so close -wrapped in her mantle that you can hardly see the heavenly blue core of -her.--Oh, Mother and Mother and Mother--where are we and what are we?” - -Morgen Fay went into her garden. Company was coming for supper. Best -break a few more flowers. The flowers were June flowers, roses and -yellow lilies, larkspur and pinks. They had the sunset hues. The owner -of the garden broke them, tall herself as the lilies, white and vermeil -like the roses. - -The sunset died out and the river stretched first pearl and then lead -and then ebony. - -Morgen Fay had a little oaken room where boards were laid upon trestles -and covered with a fringed cloth, and dishes and flasks and goblets -set upon this. An old woman, large but light upon her feet, spread the -table, Morgen helping. The old woman’s son kept the street door. He was -a lazy lout but obedient, strong, too, of his fists and with a voice -that could summon, if need were, not the dead but the watch. His name -was Anthony, the old woman’s Ailsa, and Morgen Fay had known them since -she was a young child. Now they were in her employ. - -Said Ailsa, “’Tis Somerville’s company?” - -“Yes. You know that. How many candles? You’d best bring three more.” - -“Yes, I will. Is that the gown you’re going to wear?” - -“Yes. It’s my best.” - -“It’s not the one you like the best--so ’t isn’t your best after all, -is it? You don’t like Somerville as well as you did last Lady Day.” - -“What does it matter if I like him or don’t like him?” - -“Oh, you won’t keep him if you don’t like him! He’ll go as others have -gone. ‘Keep!’ Lord! With most of blessed women it’s the other way -’round!” - -She brought the candles. “Do you like Master Bettany?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“He’s richer than the knight--just as he’s younger. I say that -Somerville’s holding a light for his own house’s sacking!” - -“I say that I am tired. I like neither man nor woman, I nor thou.” - -“Are you cold? Will you have a little fire? Here, take wine!” - -“Joy from wine is falseness like the rest. Give it to me!” - -Morgen drank. “I’ll have just time to put on the other dress if you -think it sets me better.” - -She went and put it on, returning to the oak room. Ailsa regarded -results with eyes of a friendly critic. “It does! Montjoy knows how -to choose--learned it, I reckon, in France!” She stood with her hands -on her hips. She, too, had taken wine and now she loosed tongue, -regarding all the time the younger woman with a selfish and unselfish -affection, submitting to the wonder of her, but standing up for the -right by prescription of half-ruling the wonder. Morgen had a voice of -frankincense and music with a drop of clear oil. Ailsa had more of the -oil and a humbler music. “Say you ‘Falseness?’ Say you ‘Coldness?’ Say -you ‘Darkness!’ You’re a bright fool, Morgen-live-by-the-river!” - -“Granted I am a fool,” said Morgen, and kneeled on the window seat. - -The older woman’s voice rose. “Doesn’t fire warm you, and good sweet -sack? Don’t you lie soft? Don’t you have jewels and gold work and silk -of Cyprus? Don’t gentlemen and rich merchants come for your stroking? -Haven’t you got a garden where you can walk and a tight house, and a -pearl net for your hair, and a velvet shoe? Doesn’t Montjoy protect you -for old time’s sake--even though now the fool goes off after religion? -Religion! Don’t you go to Mass and give candles--wax ones--and -doesn’t Father Edwin, your cousin, make all safe for you in that -quarter? Oh, the Saints! There’s king’s power, and there’s priest’s -power, and there’s woman’s power! World slurs you and world loves -you, Morgen and Morgen! Go to! Fie on you! Shorten your long face! -Where’s falseness--anything to speak of, that is? Where’s coldness and -darkness? The world’s been a good world to you, mistress, ever since -you danced at the Great Fair here, and Warham House saw you and took -you and taught you! A pretty good world!” - -“As worlds go--poor, dumb things! Yes, I say they are poor, dumb -things! Light the candles!” - -The large woman drew close the curtains over the window that gave upon -the street and lighted the candles. There was wood laid within the -fireplace. She regarded this. “It’s a cool June--and, Our Lady! we seem -to need mirth here to-night! Fire and wine--wine and fire!” - -She left the room for the kitchen, and returning with a flaming brand, -struck it amid the cold wood. All took fire. “Better, isn’t it? I hear -company’s footfall!” - -The company thought the oak room shining to-night. They thought Morgen -Fay fair and joyous. Sir Robert Somerville was yet in love,--none of -her old loves went wholly out of love. But he was not so fathoms deep -in love as once he had been. He had left the miser stage and now he was -at the expansive, willing to feed pride by showing his easy wealth. -He moved a tall man of forty-odd, with a quick, odd grimacing face, -not unpleasing. He had a decisive voice and more gesture than was the -country’s custom. With him came a guest in his house to whom he wished -to show the oak casket and the gem it contained, a cousin from the -other side of England, Sir Humphrey Somerville, to wit,--and Master -Thomas Bettany, son and heir of the richest merchant in Middle Forest. -They kissed Morgen Fay who put on magic and welcomed them. It was as -though the river outside, that had been lead to ebony, ran now through -faint silver back to rose. - -There was a settle by the fire and Morgen sat here, and by her Sir -Robert, and Sir Humphrey opposite, and Master Bettany in a poorer chair -in front of the flames. Master Bettany was the youngest there,--a -great, blond boy with blue eyes of daring, with enormous desire for -adventure, experience, plots and mysteries. Salt and sugar must be -elaborately planned for, approached with a delicate, shivering sense of -danger, of play and play again and something to risk, or truly life was -not sugared nor salted! He was for islands said to be danger-circled -and with a witch for queen! He was likewise modest and kind-hearted, -and as he could not devise evil, the evil he believed in was highly -artificial. Sir Humphrey Somerville was as large for man as Ailsa was -for women. He had brown hair and a beak of a nose and the eyes of a -wag, but behind the waggery something formidable in his face. - -Such as they were, they had a merry evening, when the food was brought -and the wine was poured; and Morgen, too, turned merry, though, as -ever, she kept measure, for that was the way she ruled. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -Up in the castle also was company to supper. William, Lord of Montjoy, -entertained his cousin, Abbot Mark from Silver Cross, and Prior Matthew -of Westforest, a dependent House further up the Wander. Montjoy showed -a small, dark, wistful man. The Abbot had too much flesh for comfort, -a great, handsome, egg-shaped face, and a manner that oozed bland, -undoubting authority. He had long ago settled that he was good and -wise. But, strangely, was left the struggle to be happy! It took a -man’s time! Just there, something or some one perpetually interfered! -But it was something to be sure that you served God and Holy Church. -Asked how he served, he might, after cogitation, have answered that he -served by his being. Moreover, as times went, he was scrupulous, gave -small houseroom to scandal, ruled monk and tenant, beautified the great -church of Silver Cross, bought Italian altar pictures. - -Matthew of Westforest was another sort. Tall and shrivelled and -reddish, he had another manner of wit. - -The three supped in the castle hall, at the upper end of a table -accommodating a half-score above the salt and thrice that number below. -Beside Montjoy sat Lady Alice, his wife. There were likewise a young -girl, his daughter Isabel, and his sister, also young, married and -widowed, Dame Elenore. - -Abbot Mark talked much to these three, benevolently, with gallantry -looking around corners. The Prior maintained silence here. The features -he secretly praised were the beautiful features of Outward Advancement. -Montjoy at supper talked little. After a life of apparent unconcern he -was beginning to think of soul’s life. Perhaps once a day he felt a -shift of consciousness. Now it came like a zephyr from some differing, -surely sweeter clime, and now like a clean dagger stroke. After these -events, which never took more time to happen than the winking of an -eye, he saw some great expanse of things differently. He was learning -to lie in wait for these instants. Laid one to another, they were -becoming the hub around which the day’s wheel ran. But truly they -were but instants and came but once in so often, taking him when it -pleased them. And the lightning might have showed him--perhaps did show -him--that there was an unknown number of things yet to change. They -might be very many. He knew in no wise definitely whence came the -fragrant air and the dagger strokes. - -At the moment when the chronicle opens, he had turned back, in his -questing, to the broad realm of Holy Church. Holy Church said that she -sat, acquiescent, wise, at the door through which such things came. In -fact, she said, she had the keys. Montjoy, being no fool, saw, indeed, -how much of the portress was lewd and drunken. But for all that surely -she had been given the keys! Given them once, surely she could not have -parted with them! He rebuked the notion. And truly he knew much that -was good of the portress, much that was very good. He thought, “I will -better serve Religion”--conceiving that to be Holy Church’s high name. -But he was bewildered between high name and low name, between the saint -there in the portress and the evident harlot. Between the goodness and -the evil! - -He was led by a longing for union and he only knew that it was not -for old unions that once had contented. He could have those at any -time if he willed them again. But he knew that they would not content. -The longing was larger and demanded a larger reciprocal. He was -knight-errant now in the interior land of romance, out to find that -reciprocal, visited with gleams from some presence, but wandering -often, turning in mistake now here, now there. - -Supper ended. Abbot Mark had come to the castle for counsel, or at -the least, for intelligent sympathy. It was too general in the hall. -The withdrawing room would be better. They went to this, but still -there was play, with a fire for a cool June evening, with lights and -musical instruments, Dame Elenore’s hands upon the virginals, young -Isabel’s fresh voice singing with a young knight, man of Montjoy’s, two -gentlewomen serving Lady Alice murmuring over a tapestry frame,--and -the Abbot soothed, happy, in the great chair near Dame Elenore. Prior -Matthew shook himself. “Business! Business!” was his true motto and -inner word. He spoke in a low voice to the Abbot, deferentially, for -the Priory deduced from the Abbey, but monitory also, perhaps even -minatory. Abbot and Prior alike knew that when it came to business the -Prior had the head. - -The Abbot sighed and turned from Dame Elenore to Montjoy who was -brooding, chin on fist, eyes on fire. “We must ride early to Silver -Cross, Montjoy! Counsel is good, they say, taken in the warm, still -hour before bedtime.” - -Dame Elenore lifted her hands from the virginals. Montjoy’s wife spoke -to her women and, the song being done, to her daughter. “We will go, -my lord. Give you good night! Your blessing, Lord Abbot!” She kneeled -for it, as did young Isabel and Dame Elenore and the two gentlewomen -and the young knight and Gilbert the page. The Abbot blessed; the -women and the young men took their departure. Montjoy and Silver Cross -and Westforest had the room and the fire and through the window the -view, did they choose to regard it, of the town roofs and twisting, -crack-like streets, and of the river, now under the gleaming of a -rising moon, and a line that was the bridge, and a mound on the farther -side crowned by a twinkling constellation, lights of Saint Leofric’s -monks. The Abbot did so look, walking heavily the room and pausing by -the window. It was with peevish face and gesture that he returned to -the great chair “Do you hear each day, Montjoy, louder news of what -Hugh is doing?” - -“Is it Prior Hugh, or is it Saint Leofric? If it be Hugh, I say that -long since we knew that he was ambitious and glory-covetous. If it be -the saint--how shall you war against him?” - -“If Saint Willebrod would arise to war--” - -“Would they war--two saints?” - -“Would he not come to aid of St. Robert, St. Bernard, St. Stephen -and Abbey of Silver Cross? Just as Montjoy would draw blade for his -suzerain? Chivalry, loyalty and fealty must hold in heaven,” said the -Abbot. - -“If there is One behind Saint Leofric--” - -“Never believe it!” The Prior spoke hastily. “Moreover, my son, it is -certainly not Leofric. It is Hugh!” - -Montjoy sat brooding. His guests watched him. Presently he spoke. “Two -days ago, returning from hawking in Long Fields, I met a man who had -sat and woven baskets from his youth because he could not walk, being -smitten in both feet. He was walking, he was skipping and running. -‘Saint Leofric! Saint Leofric!’ he kept crying out, and those with him -cried, ‘Saint Leofric! Saint Leofric!’ I halted one of them. ‘The right -hand and arm--the right hand and arm that were found, lord! He touched -but the little finger--and look how he leaps and runs!’” - -The Abbot groaned. - -“I rode on farther and I met a stream of folk on their way to the -bridge. They had made themselves into a procession and were chanting. I -remember easily and I can almost give you their chant. It ran something -like this.” - -He began to chant, but not loudly. - - “‘They were found through a dream, - They were shown to Brother Paul, - A saintly monk, - Where they rested - Under a stone - In a place prepared of old - In Saint Leofric’s great church! - The white bones, - The right arm and the right hand, - Miraculous! - In the monk’s dream - They shone through the stone - Making a pool of light. - Saint Leofric painted in the window - Came down and kneeled over it.’” - -Again the Abbot groaned. “So saith Hugh!” - - “‘Good Prior Hugh made to dig. - There in sweet earth, - In spices and linen, - The right hand and arm - At last! - Yea, it shineth forth-- - Saint Leofric smileth in his window!’” - -The Abbot groaned the third time. “Sathanas smileth!” - - “‘Now are the bones together, - They shine with a sunny light, - Working miracles!-- - From the four corners come - The sick and the sorrowful--’” - -“Aye! Bringing gifts!” - - “‘Saint Leofric’s name is in all mouths, - His glory encreaseth over Silver Cross!’” - -“I should not have said it--I should not have said it!” cried the -Abbot. “But with the inconstant and weak generality it doth! What is it -this part England rings with--yea, that the rest of England begins to -learn? Do we not hear that a pilgrimage comes from London itself? _The -missing bones of Saint Leofric have been found!_” - -“And have they not?” said Montjoy. - -There followed a pause. A log cracked and fell upon the hearth. Light -and shadow leaped about the room. The Prior spoke. “It is a matter of -observation,” he said, and seemed to study his ring, “that there are -cases when acts belief as belief, whether it be correctly addressed to -a reality or squandered before a falsity.” - -“I have met that witch,” answered Montjoy, “and she palsies me!” He -went to the window and stood looking out at the moon-silvered town -and river. Presently back he came. “Against what or whom do you shake -a lance? If it be against a saint and his true miracles, I lay the -quarrel down--” - -Abbot Mark spoke weightily. “And so should I, Montjoy, and so should -I! But if it be against falsity? If it be against Hugh and his frauds?” - -“Prove that!” - -The Abbot turned toward the Prior. The latter nodded and spoke. “We -brought with us two wandering friars--Franciscans. Westforest has known -them long. They are not the idle and greedy rogues that bring us down -with the people. They are right Mendicants, travelling from place to -place to do good. Will it please you have them summoned?” - -A silver bell stood upon the table. Montjoy struck it. His page -appeared, took commands and bowing vanished. Abbot Mark began to -speak of the church at Silver Cross and how he would make it so rich -and beautiful! Now Montjoy loved this church. Buried beneath it were -his parents, and buried his first young wife, the one whom he loved -as he did not love Dame Alice. It was she he had loved through and -beyond Morgen Fay, loving something of her in that sinner from whom, -in concern for his soul, he had parted. He listened to the Abbot. -Certainly Silver Cross was the highest, the most beauteous, and must be -kept so! He knew Silver Cross, church and cloister, in and out, when -he was a boy and after. He had love and concern for it--love almost of -a lover--jealous love. Prior Hugh and Saint Leofric must not go beyond -bounds! - -The two friars entered, Andrew and Barnaby, honest-looking men, Andrew -the more intelligent. They stood by the door with hands crossed and -Montjoy observed them. Given permission to advance and speak they came -discreetly, with modesty, into conclave. Without preamble, they began. - -The Abbot spoke. “My sons, the Lord Montjoy who hath ever been devout -toward Saint Willebrod and his Abbey of Silver Cross--yea, who hath -been, like his father before him, advocate and protector and enricher -of the same, bringing from overseas emeralds, rubies and sapphires -for that marvel the casket where lies that world’s marvel, the cross -of Saint Willebrod--the Lord Montjoy, my sons, would have from -your own lips that which you heard and saw in April, it now being -late June.--Question them, Matthew, so that they may show it forth -expeditiously.” - -The Prior squared himself to the task. “Where were you, my sons, two -weeks before Easter?” - -“Across the river, reverend father. The granddame of Brother Barnaby -here, living at Damson Lane, was breathing her last and greatly wishful -to see him. She died--may her soul rest--and we buried her. Then we -would go a little further, not having been upon yonder side for some -while.” - -“You did not go brawling along, nor fled into every alehouse as if -Satan were after you?” - -“Lord of Montjoy, we are not friars of that stripe. We are clean men -and sober, praise God and Our Lady!” - -“Aye, aye, they speak truth, Montjoy.--Well, you walked in country over -there, avoiding Friary and town--if one can call that clump of mud, -pebble and thatch a town!” - -“Why did you do that?” - -“Brother Barnaby, lord, had had a dream. In it a Shining One plucked up -towns like weeds and threw them one by one into a great and deep pit. -There was left alive only country road, heath and field and wood. So he -awoke quaking and said, ‘I go through never a town gate this journey!’” - -“That was a discomfortable dream!” - -The Abbot spoke. “I interpret it. The towns, one by one, are that one -which Hugh, dreaming and dreaming again, thinks to see rise beside -his Friary, built from pilgrims’ wealth, with hostels for pilgrims -and merchants to sell them goods, and a great house for nobles who -come!--But a Shining One, Hugh! topples them into ditches, yea, into -gulfs, as fast as you build them! Ha! Go on, my son!” - -“So we passed the town and we wandered, reverend father, until we came -to the chapel of Damson Hill, three miles from Saint Leofric’s, where -the dead country folk lie under green grass. Damson Wood is hard by, -where watches and prays the good hermit Gregory--” - -“Aye, aye, a good man!” said Montjoy. - -“By now the sun was setting. He gave us water and bread, and after -praying we lay down to sleep with only our gowns for bed and bedding. -Brother Barnaby and I slept, but on the middle of the night we waked. -Then saw we the hermit standing praying, and when he saw that we no -longer slept he said to us, ‘Misdoing is moving through this night. -Misdoing in high places!’ So he went to the door and stood a long time -looking out, then took his staff and strode forth, and Brother Barnaby -and I followed.” - -“I know that he is said to have the greater vision,” said Montjoy. -“Moreover, once in my life, he told me high truth.” - -“Where did the holy man go, my son?” - -“He went through the black night, reverend father, to Damson Hill and -to the great and ill-kept graveyard under the shadow. Brother Barnaby -and I followed him. He walked softly and he walked swiftly and he -walked silently, and when we came there we did not stop by the chapel -which truly is a ruin, but we went on to the far slope of the yard--” - -The Prior said, “Where they are buried who died long since, of the -plague that came in King Richard’s time.” - -“I know the place,” said Montjoy. - -“Reverend father, there are three yew trees, old, I reckon, as Damson -Hill, and thick. Like one who knows what he is about he passed within -the castle of these and we followed and made a place whence we looked -forth like eyes out of a skull. And we saw, across the dead field, a -little light burning blue and coming toward us. Arm of the hill hid it -from the road. But had any belated seen it he would most certainly have -thought, ‘A ghost among the graves!’ and taken to his heels.” - -“It came toward you. Who carried it?” - -“One of six, reverend father. We were there in the yew clump with -less noise than maketh a bat. They came closer and closer and at last -they came close, and now they did not shelter their lantern for they -thought, ‘The shoulder of the hill and the yew trees hide, and who -should be abroad in this place in the black and middle night, and who -should know of a villainy working?’” - -The Abbot brought his finger tips together. “It is ever -discovered!--They dig a pit and fall into it; they open a grave and -lift out their own perdition!” - -“They opened a grave?” - -“Yes, lord. A very ancient, sunken one.” - -“Some unknown,” said the Prior. “Some wretch of ancient time, seized -by the plague, dying--who knows?--unshriven, lazar mayhap or thief! -Proceed, my son!” - -“Two had spades. They spread a great cloth. They lay the green turf to -one side of this, and in the middle the earth of the grave. They work -hard and they work fast, and a monk directs--” - -“Monk of Saint Leofric’s?” - -“Aye, lord, Dominican. White-and-black. They open the grave and they -bring forth bones--the frame of that perished one.” - -The Abbot groaned. “Perished mayhap in his sins--yea, almost certainly -in his sins--and so no better than heathen or than sorcerer!” - -“They spread a second cloth, and having shaken forth the earth, they -put in it the bones of that obscure--yea, right arm and hand with the -rest--” - -“See you, Montjoy?” - -“Then, having that which they need, they fill in the grave with -care. They put over it the sod they had taken away. Rain and sun must -presently make it whole. And probably no man hath ever gone that way to -look. So the six went away as though they had moth wings, and now with -no light--” - -“Yet they give forth that right hand and arm doth shine, giving light -whereby a reading man may read! Wherefore--oh, Hugh!--shone it not by -Damson Hill?” - -Said Montjoy, “All this is enough to father Suspicion, but the child -must be named Certainty.” - -“Then listen further!--Proceed, my son. You two and the hermit -followed?” - -“We followed, reverend father. Under Damson Hill those six parted, and -three went by divers ways, belike to their own dwellings. But the three -with the bones they had digged went Saint Leofric’s road. We followed -Blackfriar and his fellows who would be lay brethren. The moon shone -out. We followed to Friary Gate and saw them enter.” - -“And then?” - -“Gregory the hermit turned and went again to Damson Wood, and we with -him. When we came to his cell there was red east.” - -“What did you think of what you had seen?” - -“We could conceive naught, lord. We did not know that which was to -be proclaimed in Easter week. But the hermit said thrice, ‘Villainy! -Villainy! Villainy! A shepherd hath turned villain!’” - -Brother Barnaby came in. “He said besides, ‘I see what you cannot see, -good brothers! But dimly, and I cannot explain to myself what I see.’” - -“I had forgot that.” - -“He said also. ‘Talk not, till you know of what you are talking,’ and -he took from us a promise of silence.” - -“I was coming to that, brother.--We are not gabblers, reverend father. -We left Damson Wood and came down to the bridge and crossed river to -our own side. We said naught, remembering, ‘Talk not till you know of -what you are talking.’ Two days went by, and then near Little Winching, -up the Wander, down lay Brother Barnaby with a fever, and I must nurse -him for a month. He, being very sick, forgot, and I being busy and -concerned, nigh forgot Damson Graveyard and Saint Leofric’s Gate. Then, -Brother Barnaby getting well and we walking in a fair morning to Little -Winching, there meets us all the bruit!” - -“And still”--Brother Barnaby came in again--“we said nothing. But it -burned our hearts. So said Brother Andrew, ‘We will go take this thing -to Prior Matthew of Westforest.’” - -“And so they did, according to right inner counsel,” said the Prior. He -turned in his chair. “You may go now, my sons. But on your obedience, -speak as yet to none other of these things!” - -Brother Andrew and Brother Barnaby craved blessing, received it and -vanished. There was pause, then, “If we check not Hugh,” said the -Abbot, “we shall have loss and shame, being no longer the first, the -pupil of the eye, to this part England!” - -“If they spoke,” said Montjoy, “none would believe them against the -miracles. Nor do I know if I would believe. Say that one saw the robbed -grave--what then? One travels not much further! I would believe, I -think, the hermit.” - -“Then will you ride, Montjoy, to Damson Wood?” - -“Yes, I will go there. But my believing and yours and Gregory’s and the -friars’ make not yet the people’s believing. Here is stuff for splendid -quarrel with Hugh--but in the meantime go the folk in rivers, touch the -relics and are healed!” - -“What we need,” said the Prior, and he spoke slowly and cautiously, “is -counter-miracle.” - -“Yes, but you cannot order the Saints!” - -“No.” - -It was again the Prior who spoke and apparently in agreement. The Abbot -sighed. “Well, let us to bed!--Go to Damson Wood, Montjoy, and then -ride to Silver Cross.” - -“I will do that. I see,” said Montjoy, “the mischief that this thing -does you--” - -Even as he spoke he had a vision of the Abbey church of Silver Cross. -He saw the tombs and the sculptured figure of Isabel whom he had -loved, and the great altar painting of Our Lady done in Italy. Under -the breath of his mind he thought that that form and face were like -Isabel’s. So like that almost she might have been in that Italian -painter’s mind when he painted this glorified woman standing buoyant, -in carnation and sapphire, among clouds that thinned into clear blue -that passed in its turn into light that blinded. He saw the glowing -glass in the great windows; he saw the gems--the gems that he had given -among them--sparkling in the golden box that held the silver cross. He -saw the people on holy days flooding the famous church. They warmed -with eyes of life the stone mother and father, the stone Isabel. The -many people’s bended knees, their recognition, helped to assure eternal -life in the Queen of Heaven pictured in the great painting,--and surely -so in Isabel, the picture was so like her! The more people the more -life--Isabel surely safely there in the eternal Bride and Mother--and -if Isabel then surely he, too, her lover and husband, he, too, -Montjoy! The people must flow there still, recognising life when they -saw it and as it were, giving life, increasing life. - -Anything that turned the people away from Silver Cross became in that -act the enemy of Montjoy; anything that kept them flowing there, that -made them more in number, the friend of Montjoy. - -But Abbot and Prior, lodged in connecting chambers and speaking -together before they laid themselves to sleep in huge beds, shook their -heads over him. Or rather the Abbot did so. The Prior was not liberal -with sighs and gestures. “He’ll agree to no shift that smacks of the -lie, however slight, necessary, simply defensive, pious it be--” - -“Are you sure? I am not,” answered Matthew. “But if he will not--keep -him blind like other men, blind and usable! He may indeed prove more -usable for being blind.” - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -That same night the monk, Richard Englefield, lay upon his pallet in -his cell at Silver Cross. The moon shone in at the small window. He -was addressed to observing with his mind’s eye a round of other places -upon which she shone. The grange where he had been born and had spent -childhood and somewhat of boyhood, rose softly. The mill water caught -light, the gable end of the house stood, a figure like a silver shield -enlarged,--shield of Arthur, shield of Tristram, shield of an old -enchanter! The fields spread in moonlight where he worked. He smelled -the upturned clods and the springing corn, and he smelled the sere -fields under October moon. The moon shone on the town, that was not -Middle Forest, where he had been apprenticed to a worker in gold. The -moon made the roofs that mounted with their windows, and the plastered -house with the criss-cross of timbers, into a rood screen for a giant’s -church. Beyond lay the sea, and the moon made for herself a path across -that. - -Stella Maris-- - -The sea under moon. He had been across the sea, to France and to -Italy, but that was after the rood-screen town. It was when he had -become a master workman, a skilled goldsmith, working for princes, -working as an artist works, and when he had come to books--to books--to -books.--The moon on the sea, on the coasts of Italy! - -The moon on the graves of kindred and friends,--the cold moon. The moon -above weariness and sighing--nights unsleeping, walkings abroad--plans -spun and plans torn apart and shredded to the winds. The moon upon -sins, the moon upon sorrows. - -The moon shining down on the sea, on the coasts of Italy! - -The moon upon the hours after work, when he read by the candle, when he -put it out and looked upon the night.--Moonlight streaming in at the -old room’s window, the window so high in the high roof of the tall, old -house. - -Thought and thought and thought!--Conviction that there was some -adventure-- - -Warfare, warring and sinning, lusting. Pride that beset him. Pride of -being proud. Very love of self-love. Very care of self-care. Self! - -The moon on the coasts of Italy! - -Men he had known, out of many men, and talk with them. The old priest. - -The moon on the coasts of Italy! - -The old priest.--Illness. Long illness when death’s door had seemed to -open. The priest still. Recovery--and still the priest. - -Wickedness again. Self-will and self-laudation. Self! Longing, longing -and discontent, and ashes in the mouth. Longing and naught to still it. -Not work and not thought! - -The priest again. Longing. One thing laid down and another taken up and -laid down. Hunger--hunger and thirst--cold and hunger and thirst. If -you were in warm taverns, if you were in palaces, yet cold and hunger -and thirst. You must hunt warmth, you must hunt bread, you must hunt -water. And when you thought you had found came the snow in at the door, -came the harpies and snatched the tables away! - -God--Christ and His Mother--heaven. They had the food--the water that -quenched thirst,--the inner fire. - -Where were you nearest, nearest? - -Work fallen away because he must hunt. Cronies and those whom he -thought friends estranged. - -Hunt and hunt and hunt. Dig inside, and outside serve-- - -Where was the outer land that was nearest inner? - -God and Christ and His Mother and heaven. They dwelled in the inner -that he was hunting. Holy Church was the nearest land. - -The moon on monastery fields--the moon on the coasts of Italy! - -The rising moon in the dark wood where he walked and tried to talk to -God and his soul--and at last shut his hands and buried his forehead -upon them against an oak tree, and said, “I become a monk.” - -The moon on the garden of herbs, the moon on Silver Cross cemetery. - -He had been thirty then, and the dark wood was six years ago. - -At first had seemed quenching--but now was cold, hunger and thirst -again! - -O God--O Christ--O Star of the Sea, shine forth! Oh, heaven, appear! - -The moon on the coasts of Italy! - -They were fair, with rock and olive, with gray and creamy and rose-hued -towns, and over the towns sky that was heart of blue, and in the towns -Italian life. - -He must tell in confession how all that was coming of late to haunt -him. When he plunged into these towns the hunger vanished for a time. -But it came again. And in his heart he knew that he wished it to come. -“O All-Knowledge and All-Beauty, let me not cease to be driven and to -be drawn until I find thee--until I find thee!” - -The bell rang for the office of the night. He rose and presently stood -chanting, with his brother monks, in the church of Silver Cross. The -candles burned, the windows were lead against the starry sky. He knew -the stars that were behind them, he saw them in their clusters. - -The candles showed in part the great painting of the Blessed among -women. He could piece out here also what they did not show. There was -splendour in the figure and face, a magic of beauty, and he loved it. - -The chanting filled the dark hollow of the church. - -The Abbot had dispensation from the night office. The sub-prior was in -his place. Moreover, the Abbot was away, having ridden on his white -mule, with attendants, to Middle Forest, to the castle of Montjoy. - -The office ended, the cell again and sleep. Dawn. Lauds. Breakfast. -The reader for the day reading from the life of a saint. “And an angel -came nightly to his cell and showed him the scenery of heaven and the -Blessed moving there. And his brethren began to know of this, for the -light shined out of his cell.” - -Brother Richard Englefield did not work in field or garden. He had -worked so for two years. Then Abbot Mark making discoveries, there had -been given him a stone room with a furnace, goldsmith’s tools and two -Brothers for helpers. If you had a master maker among your monks waste -him not in digging, sowing, weeding and gathering! Now he made lovely -things for the church, and for the Abbot’s table. He made presents for -the Abbot to send prelates and princes. The Abbot bragged of his work. -When great visitors came they were shown him in his smithy. - -Not only so, but because he was silent--brown-blond, tall and still, -like King David in the picture--and evidently a hunter after God, -and scrupulous to do all the Rule demanded, and all that it allowed -of austerity supererogative--he had fame as monk. Some of his brethren -wished him well and leaned upon his presence, taking as it were his -sunlight, valuing him in and for Silver Cross. Two or three who also -hunted God met him and understood him. Others found in him a reproach, -and others were indifferent or secretly laughed. Silver Cross was much -like the world. Brother Richard continued his struggle and his hunting, -under an exterior still as the church, stripped and simple. - -Work this day--work on a rich silver salt cellar for the Abbot to -give to a bishop. As he worked in his stone room with his hammers and -gravers it was coming across him with a breath of mockery--it was -coming with a breath of mockery like a wind from a foggy sea--“Above -and below the salt at a bishop’s table. Above and below the -salt--Christ’s table. Nicodemus above the salt--blind Bartimeus and the -woman of Samaria below?” - -He shook off phantasy. The Abbot was his spiritual father whom he -had undertaken to obey, not criticise. True monk must obey and not -question,--not question, not doubt, not compare, not judge. He -must kill Imagination, wagging so. Oh, Truth and Beauty--Truth and -Beauty--Truth and Beauty! - -The sun on Gethsemane. The sun on the Blessed among women sitting on -her doorstep, behind her the sound of the carpenters working. - -Sext. The chanting, and the windows ruby and emerald, sapphire and -amethyst glass, the glowing patterns, the rows of small figures. The -dark vault of the church and the shafts of gold dust. The cool, the -sense of suspension. The great picture burning forth--the Blessed among -women! - -For long now the picture had taken his heart. She was so glorious--she -was so sure--she was an ardent flame mounting with a golden passion -upward! And yet she was tender, compassionate. None might doubt that, -looking at her lips and the light and shadow, the modelling, beneath -the eyes. She was so tall--did she turn her head, so and so would be -the exquisite long line of the throat. Almost at times he thought she -turned her head. She was alive--splendidly so, with glory. “Blessed -among women--Blessed among women--hold me more fully--take me with you -into heaven--take me--!” - -Afternoon and work still. The sun going down. Vespers. The Magnificat. -The red-gold light on the picture, uncertain, making her to seem to -move. So would she stand in the round. “Blessed among women--Blessed -among women, I am here, thy child and lover! Make me whole--take me -with thee. Speak, speak to me!” - -Night. He did not sleep in the dormitory. There were six cells of -privilege, established when Abbot Reginald of old had made certain -alterations. Brother Oswald who was writing the Chronicle of Silver -Cross, Brothers Peter and Allen who illuminated the great Psalter, -Brother Timothy who had been longest monk of Silver Cross and was -growing like a child, Brother Norbert who was the Abbot’s kinsman had -the five, and Brother Richard who made wealthy things in gold and -silver the sixth. So was not the Rule, but in many things nowadays -abbots modified Rule. - -Compline. Night in his cell. “Ah, if the noble and rich visions were -but more real! Ah, if I had the power to move and make move! Ah, if the -picture would become Herself--for me, for me!” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -Montjoy rode through a dewy June morning. He crossed the bridge, his -horse’s hoofs sounding deeply, an air from the sea filling nostrils, -the light striking sails of fishing boats gliding away below the arches -where all widened. Montjoy was bound for Damson Wood. - -Montjoy rode homeward in the evening, after a day in the deep wood, -after a visit to Damson Hill graveyard. His two stout serving men, -riding the brown and the roan behind him, thought it a strange visit. - -Nearing the bridge Montjoy checked the black horse and turning -slightly, looked back at Saint Leofric’s mound. There was now full, -level flow of reddened light, and the mound was bathed in it. The -church stood up in that light, the cloister walls were made faery. - -“Oh, Hugh and Hugh! I walk in your heart and I see the dark engines, -and I walk in your mind and it is a hold for sorceries!” - -He put his horse into motion. “Such a plan and such a course could -never have come to Mark! Though it might have come to Prior Matthew.” - -He was upon the bridge. Others were crossing. Sir Robert Somerville he -caught up with. “Well met, Somerville!” - -“My lord Montjoy--” Somerville presented his kinsman riding beside him. -The sunset reddened and reddened. The waters glowed below the arches, -the boats moved, a barge slipped underneath, emerged and went up -stream, its rowers singing. The dark houses rose from the river bank. -One that was narrow and latticed, close to the old wall, drew their -eyes. The sunset made its windows to blaze. Somerville and Montjoy both -saw, without the physical eye, the courtesan, Morgen Fay. - -Somerville began to talk of where he had been. He had been to show his -kinsman Saint Leofric’s and a miracle. - -Said Sir Humphrey, “I have always desired to see a miracle.” - -“Saw you one?” - -“You gibe!” said Somerville. “But we did see one. It would not be wise, -even for Montjoy, to doubt to the throng that we saw one!” - -“What happened?” - -“A woman received her sight.” - -They left the bridge. The dying rose of the sun touched Middle Forest’s -High Street. Folk were yet abroad, going this way and going that; most -or all going home. Droning sound was in the air; then Saint Ethelred’s -bell began to ring. - -Somerville talked on. He lived so, with vivacity, like a quick sword -playing with joy in its own point and edge, like wine liking its own -sparkle from beaker to cup. To a certain depth he could read Montjoy. -Old rivalries, jealousies conflicts existed between Somerville and -Montjoy. Now all the sea above was calm, but those ancient tendencies -stayed like reefs below. Light-drawing boats could pass above them, but -greater craft might be in danger. - -Somerville’s quick and agreeable voice jetted on. His eye, quick as a -hawk’s, marked the small erect man riding the black horse. If Montjoy -in his nature had sensitive tracts, far be it from Somerville not to -touch these! Do it always, though with swordly skill, keeping one’s -self invisible, invulnerable! - -Montjoy, it was evident, did not like Saint Leofric’s miracles. Why? -Somerville, using wit, found part of it. All affairs were seesaw! You -go up; I go down. Up Saint Leofric; down Saint Willebrod. Up Dominican; -down Cistercian. Up Prior Hugh; down Abbot Mark, Montjoy’s kinsman. Up -Friary; down Silver Cross, enriched by, linked to, the castle on the -hill. Up neighbour’s glory; down my glory! If Montjoy, as apparently -was the case, identified his glory with that of Silver Cross--Why, or -to what extent, who cared? He did it, that was evident! His doing it -answered for Somerville’s cue. - -Somerville with malice dilated upon the throng at Saint Leofric’s and -the mounting excitement. He had a vigour and colour of speech that -lifted the scene bodily across the river and set it in the High Street. -He appealed for corroboration to his cousin. The latter, though he -could not guess all, guessed some motive and fell easily in with his -kinsman and host. Not only the great play over there, the singing and -weeping, the light in the church and the shout of joy--but he could -report the stir that was spreading through England. Indeed, it was said -that the Princess of Spain was coming-- - -Montjoy thought, “That Princess should give her presence to Silver -Cross. She should smooth Isabel’s tomb with her hand. Life should come -from her eyes to the picture.” - -Somerville was drawing comparisons, and yet he lived this side the -river, up the Wander indeed, where from any hilltop he might see Silver -Cross! - -“It’s an ill bird that fouls its own nest!” said Montjoy, harshly. - -Somerville laughed and shot across a hawk glance. “But if it is true? -Look at Abbot Mark and then at Prior Hugh! The last ascetic, fired, -ever praying; the first--But he is your kinsman, Montjoy, and I touch -him not--” - -“I want truth,” said Montjoy, and his voice had an angry croak. - -“Then in truth is he one whose abbey would show miracles? Who says -great sanctity shows anywhere at Silver Cross? Is it carping to cry -out against sloth and indulgence? If they are near home, I believe in -confessing they are near home! Has Silver Cross one monk who may stand -with the Friar to whom hand and arm appeared?” - -“I could tell you--,” burst forth Montjoy, then checked himself. “I -know not of the monks,” he said, “though there be two or three--I know -not in these days of any place more or less slothful than another. We -are all drunken and dazed, we have sinned so long! But of old Silver -Cross was a saintly place!” - -“Oh, I’ll give you ‘of old’! Well, Saint Leofric may redeem the time! -And surely for that we must rejoice!” - -“If it be redeemer and not Iscariot--yes! But Saint Leofric’s miracles -are false miracles!” - -He spoke with an energy of passion, forgetting caution. He spoke louder -than his wont. They were passing through the market square and folk in -numbers were about. Montjoy’s voice reached the nearer circle of these. -There fell upon the centre of Middle Forest a pause, a hush. It was as -though the world had come to an end! Then like a bolt from the tawny -sky laced with blue and rose, fell a great voice, “You lie, lord of -Montjoy!” - -It was so thick, loud and startling that Montjoy himself, thrilling, -dragged his horse back upon haunches. Somerville, too, started. It -took a moment to see that the voice proceeded from a Black Friar, a -man with the frame of a giant, who had been climbing the stone stair -to the upper street. They were passing the stair foot; he heard and -turned. Now he was set as in a pulpit above them. His great bell voice -reached half the dwindled market. The folk were already looking Montjoy -and Somerville way. Those hearing Montjoy needed no explanation, but -explained to their fellows. Montjoy’s words ran around the market -place. With agitation a wave of folk lifted itself and began to flow -toward steps and toward checked horses. The Black Friar’s voice took -thunder tone. “Who discredits Saint Leofric discredits God and Our Lady -and Her Son!” - -A woman shrilled from a booth of earthenware and hats of plaited -straw. “Don’t ye anger the Saint and dry up his miracles, Montjoy! -Don’t ye! My dumb daughter is coming from up the Wander. Don’t ye!” - -“Don’t ye!” - -“My palsied brother is going!” - -“The morn I take my child--” - -“Don’t ye!” - -A mob was gathering. Above their heads the Dominican, great figure -in great pulpit, with point and energy recited as it were a rosary -of Saint Leofric’s deeds, and between them scarified doubt. Said -Somerville with an excited laugh, “Wasp’s nest was not empty, Montjoy!” - -Montjoy had power, Montjoy had his own kind of popularity. He was -thought a lord of his word and of generous notions, rather a godly -lord. He had the gift of shy and subtle loving, and so he loved Middle -Forest and it hurt him always when they differed.--Now what? He saw in -a grim flash of cold, uncaring light, that his world was not going to -have Saint Leofric’s miracles false. - -No use saying anything-- - -He must even recover if he could its liking, must render harmless to -himself Black Friar’s lightning. - -What to say? How positively to lie? Excuse stuck in his throat. At last -he managed to shout forth. “You know me, good folk. If I doubt, it is -not Saint Leofric that I doubt!” - -“Whom dost thou doubt? Prior Hugh, whose austerities, whose prayers and -fastings brought the blessing? What dost thou doubt? That the woman who -this morn was blind now sees?” - -“That you cannot doubt, Lord of Montjoy!” said Somerville in a loud -voice. “Sir Humphrey Somerville and I saw that wonder! The woman -_sees_--praise Our Lady and Saint Leofric!” - -Having cleared himself he found himself willing to aid in extricating -Montjoy. Give him the prick of being aided! “The sun is strong -to-day, and my lord Montjoy hath been long in saddle and is weary and -half-sick! So for one instant, good friends, the devil had his ear! It -is naught--he will shake the fiend off. Hurt him not by mistrusting -him! Presently will you see him on pilgrimage himself to Saint -Leofric’s!” - -Montjoy, dry-voiced, tried to speak. He was dark red, his voice broke -in his throat. Suddenly, sharply turning Black King, he touched him -with his heel and rode from the market place. “See you, he is really a -sick man!” cried Somerville and pushed his bay after him. Sir Humphrey -followed, and Montjoy’s two serving men. - -Middle Forest knew the lord of the castle for an encreasingly devout -man. It could not even now see him as scoffer. Sir Robert Somerville, -now, was much more like a scoffer than was Montjoy! For a moment folk -hung in the wind, then the larger number agreed to give Montjoy the -benefit of the doubt. Probably to-morrow he would come praising Saint -Leofric! Envious Satan did attack each one in turn! The buzz and hum -continued, but it left the key of anger. The Black Friar, having -vindicated the right, climbed triumphantly the stair to the upper -street. - -On castle road where the Wander road diverged Montjoy abruptly said -good night. His voice was moved, sonorous, thrilling with hurt pride. -He seemed eager to leave them, to mount to his old castle that was not -so large, not so threatening, after all! - -When he was gone Somerville laughed, and Sir Humphrey complaisantly -with him. They trotted on upon the Wander road, a great manor house -and supper before them, three miles up the vale. “When all’s spoken,” -said Somerville, “I have a back-handed liking for that lord that’s just -left us! I like him enough inwardly to quarrel with him, and frustrate -him, and make sure that he thinks not too well of himself! I preoccupy -myself with him. The day is stale when I run not somehow against him! -What miracle he decrys, will I cry up; or what he cries up, will I -decry!” - -He began to whistle, sweet and clear as a blackbird. - - “Lyken I wander - My love for to see-- - My love for to see - On a May morning, - Where she goes dressed - In cramoisie--” - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -Not on a May but on a June morning--five days in fact after his supper -at the house of Morgen Fay--Master Thomas Bettany found himself some -miles up the Wander, and with him, riding the gray mare, a bale of -sample cloths strapped to saddle, John Cobb the apprentice, with whom, -when he did not think to be stiff, he was upon the best of terms. He -was up the Wander upon business for his father, that rich merchant -who would one day leave him house and gear and trade. Then would he -himself, Thomas Bettany, be Middle Forest merchant,--who wanted only to -sail for the New World that one Columbus had recently discovered! - -He rode absorbed in discontent. Finally he again took up speech with -John Cobb. - -“It’s a dull life! I wish something would happen--anything!” - -“There be the miracles.” - -“I haven’t any hand in them. You can’t be interested unless you’re -doing something yourself.--I’d rather be a robber than just trotting -from shop and trotting back again.--Hist, John! What’s behind yon -tree?” - -“Where?” - -“There! A big, black man! Two--four, five! Draw your weapon, man!” - -John struck hand to the dirk at his waist. His eyes enlarged, his -lips clapped shut. Then, “They bain’t but little fir trees!--You’re -grinning!--Your pranking and mystery-playing’ll break you one day!” - -“I wish it had been Robin Hood--” - -They rode through the wood. It was a bright morn after rain. The trees -showered them with diamonds, the world smelled like a pomander box. -When they were out from the trees and amid tilled land every blade of -springing grain carried jewels. Far up in a light blue sky a lark was -singing. - -“By’re lady!” said John Cobb. “If I were taken up by Somerville and -went to sup with Morgen Fay, I’d not be saying life was dull!” - -“He nor no one else has ‘taken me up.’ His uncle married my -father’s cousin. Bettany’s a name that has sounded well since long -time. My father helped him, too, with monies--but that’s nothing -either!--Somerville and I are friends.” - -“Like you and me?” - -“No!--His being ‘Sir Robert’ and older doesn’t make any difference.” - -He was superbly sure of that and rode with his blond head up like a -youthful, adventurous king. “As for Morgen Fay, I’d think more of her -if I hadn’t seen last Candlemas--you know whom!” - -“That’s Mistress Cecily. She’s a fair one! But I don’t believe she’s -pricked your heart much either. You’re just for the New World and men -and adventure. It would make me proud though to sup with Morgen Fay.” - -“Oh, you’ll never, my poor John! I tell you what she’s like. She’s like -something you see in poetry. But Cecily walked in first, into my keep -and hold. Besides, I wouldn’t interfere with Robert.” - -“Robert!” John Cobb could but admire, while Master Thomas Bettany -tossed his clear whistle up to the lark singing. - -So many birds were singing! The two were now riding by the Wander, -through Westforest land. Mounting a little hill they saw below them -monastery walls and roofs, not a large place, set among trees by the -water’s side. Some of the old forest held here. - -Their business was with Westforest. The house of Bettany sold Silver -Cross and Westforest woollen cloth for monks’ gowns. Presently they -were at the gate. The porter opened to them, and the stable Brother -took their horses, and a third Brother carried them to the guest house -where they were set in a room. All was very grave and in order. Master -Thomas Bettany at the window heard bells and saw the monks pacing two -by two. He had never before been to Westforest. Saint Ethelred in -Middle Forest was his church. Neither with any sufficiency did he know -Silver Cross. He had been five times perhaps, when there was festival, -in the great church. Only this year was his father using him thus in -business. - -The monk reappeared and had them to the refectory where they -were served with ale and bread and cheese. Thence they went to a -business-like room where met them Brother Oswald, steward and purchaser -for the Priory. He gave Master Thomas Bettany good greeting, and John -Cobb a shorter one. John Cobb opened the bale of cloths. - -Business advanced. A Brother appeared to do duty as steward’s clerk. -Thomas Bettany turned into merchant not unshrewd. He did things with -his might, when he could be brought to do them at all. Now he pictured -and bargained and was not behind Brother Oswald in ability. - -The hour and more of marketing passed. Brother Oswald, straightening -himself from the table at last, paid his compliment. “No manner of -doubt, my son, but that you be merchant, son of merchant!” - -“If Westforest be not content--” - -“Oh, we are content.” - -“--and I have here,” said the younger Bettany, “the fine white wool--” - -“That is for reverend father the Prior to see. Let your man take it up -and we will go to the parlour.” - -They crossed the cloister to a large, well-windowed room that gave upon -walled garden. On a bench without sat a monk with book and rosary, and -he would get audience for them with reverend father. Presently the -inner door opened and Prior Matthew stood before them. Thomas Bettany -and John Cobb kneeled for his blessing, and when that was had John Cobb -spread the table with lengths of fine white cloth. The Prior chose, nor -was long about it. The Abbot of Silver Cross loved finery, dressing -much like a lord of this world. But Prior Matthew scorned all that and -kept near in apparel to ancient simplicities. - -Selection made, orders given and taken, the Prior leaned back in his -seat. His deep-set eyes surveyed the younger Bettany. “I know your -father for a sensible man. I have heard that you are a wild youth, a -will-o’-the-wisp, ready for God knoweth what plots and pranks!” - -If Thomas inwardly recognised large portion of himself he could -outwardly but lift deprecating, bright blue eyes. “I am changing what I -can change, reverend father.” - -“Ha! Let us hope it,” said the Prior. “Well, and what makes most ado -just now in Middle Forest?” - -“Reverend father, the miracles across the river.” - -Prior Matthew bit his nail. “That is as I supposed. It mounts and -mounts.--I would get from you, too, the cry after that burst of -wonders!--But there is the vesper bell. Go into church, my son! -afterwards I will talk with you in the garden.” - -The church at Westforest was not like the church of Silver Cross. That -was great, this was small. That had starry windows of rich glass, that -had tombs of lords and ladies, that had the great altar picture. This -was plain and cold of aspect. Yet was there an altar painting, and now -sunlight and candle light showed it for what it was,--copy, done half -as large, of the Silver Cross great picture. The Lady of Heaven lifted -a rich Italian face, rose toward heaven, toward God the Father and God -the Son, with a rich, Italian beauty, nobly done by the great Italian, -her painter,--rose with love and majesty, with memory of sorrow and of -earth-stain falling away, fading, falling, with height of joy opening; -rose with bliss and power, who yet understood, who knew children’s -crying and would answer; rose from world’s woe, from the dust, to -heaven. She was heaven, the Rose of Heaven. Yet had she been painted -in Italy from mortal woman. Queen of Heaven, but with framework of -likeness to earthly faces. “Like Isabel--like Isabel!” at this moment -Montjoy cried to himself, in the church of Silver Cross. - -In the small grey church at Westforest young Thomas Bettany had place -where he might well and plainly view the smaller picture, but well -copied from the first and greater. Light beat against draperies pure -red and pure blue and upon form and face, rising from darkness into -glory. He looked worshipfully, and he felt worship. - -But when vespers were done, and the Prior kept him alone with him -walking in the garden, John Cobb not here, only Prior Matthew and -Thomas Bettany pacing between the blue flags and the rose trees, he -burst out suddenly, very young and very bold. “Reverend father, did -ever you see Morgen Fay?” - -“God forbid! No!” - -“She is much like yonder picture.” - -“What picture?--Not the altar picture!” - -“Of course this is holy and heavenly--and she is only faery--” - -“‘Faery!’--She is an accursed woman!” - -The Prior stood still, his hand upon the espaliered pear tree -against the south wall. His thin face, his tall thin figure grew -extraordinarily alive. “Do you never tell that fancy!” His voice had a -fearful sternness. “Do you never tell that fancy to any living wight!” - -Thomas Bettany himself was afraid of it. “Jesu knows I would not do Our -Lady disrespect!” - -“It will be heinous disrespect if you say that that sinner hath her -face--” - -Bettany carefully made distinctions. “I meant not like Her--but like -the woman the painter must have used just for hint of form and face! -Once I saw a monk painting on a missal border where it said ‘Rose of -Sharon.’ But he had in a cup beside him which he looked often upon a -rose from the garden.” - -“Well, speak not of such things!” said the Prior impatiently. “The -generality understands them not. They think not that things are but -lifted or lowered, set in light or in darkness. You but hurt yourself!” - -“That is true enough!” thought the merchant’s son. - -They paced the walk to a stone bench set before fruit trees whose -shadow was now long upon the grass. The Prior, head sunk in cowl, -was thinking. He sat down, the young man standing before him. “The -miracles--” - -Bettany set sail upon that story. Last week a woman had received her -sight. Three days ago a man for years bedridden had walked. Yesterday -had come a shipmaster carrying his daughter in his arms. “Praise! -Praise!” shouted the people. It was like a Great Fair for numbers, at -Saint Leofric’s! At times bridge was thick with folk. - -And then midway in his recital to which he was warming, which he was -now colouring rightly, Prior Matthew, with a sudden start and jerk, -returned to the picture and had from him promise not to let pass his -lips to any other that sinful fancy. - -He promised, seeing himself that facts were not always for shouting. - -Morgen Fay who was merchant and sold herself, who had great beauty -and dark eyes, and who wore those reds and blues, might be picked--or -one like her might be picked--a common rose out of common garden, and -a painter might take her for line and feature and hue and sublimate -all--and yet the _Rosa Mystica_, the God Bride and Mother, be never -hurt, be never the worse for that, where she looked from high heaven, -pitying all and helping who would be helped,--pitying, perchance, -Morgen Fay! - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -June vanished, July rode in heat, August had golden armour, September -was russet clad and walked through crimson orchards and by wine -presses. In Italy, by wine presses! - -In the Abbey of Silver Cross more and more did note fall upon -Englefield. He was unaware of that. He had entered upon a stretch of -the inward way where the landscape was absorbing,--the inner landscape -and the inner encounters. Outwardly he grew more and more conformed -to the Abbey idea of fledgling saint, but he hardly held it in -consciousness that he did so. He was rapt to the inner land where he -hunted the Word, where he sought for the Grail. But he put his body in -the attitudes that the great adventurers, where they were monks, seemed -to have worn. He wished their assurances and blisses, and he imitated. - -Not having come to monastery from indolence and softness, he found -in this no especial difficulty. First artisan, then artist, he well -enough knew hard and spare living, vigil, concentered action, swift, -deep and still. He had that over many an one who would be saint, but -must first develop muscle. He had will, he had mind, though both were -restive beings, with wings that seemed between Lucifer’s and Gabriel’s. -Richard Englefield’s problem was to draw all the Lucifer into Gabriel. -As a detail in the achievement he conformed, with what absoluteness was -possible at Silver Cross, to the first hard discipline of the Order. -Where for long had been relaxation, his procedure here astonished and -here rebuked, pleased and displeased. He went on, in a preoccupation -too great to note that watching, hunting the Word. “Blessed among -women, help me toward it!” - -The great picture was become integral to his life. “Beauty like -that--Beauty with Holiness--I would Beauty and I would Holiness! I -would Power to make my Beauty and Holiness come true!” - -He prayed to the Blessed among women. “Blessed among women, show me -how! Bring me sunshine for my growth!” - -He worked in his stone room, with the precious metals that they gave -him. The furnace glowed. His long, strong and skilful fingers moved -with their old skill, as on a lute. But he worked scarce seeing the -beauty of what he made, with the taller man in him gone elsewhere, gone -out hunting, gone hawking for pure Wisdom, pure Beauty, pure Power. He -prayed in the church and the monks watched him. When he turned toward -the picture light seemed to pass from it to him. - -The Abbot noted him. The sub-prior brought the Abbot refectory talk, -talk of the brethren’s common room. He brought comment of Brother -Norbert whose cell was next Brother Richard’s. The Abbot heaved a sigh. -“Well, we have need of a saintly monk!” - -He was not silent upon the growing saintliness of Brother Richard. -Visitors of high degree, pausing at Silver Cross, heard him say, “Even -as Friar Paul of Saint Leofric’s--”Visitors pursuing their road, going, -it might well chance, straight to Saint Leofric’s, made mention of this -monk. The vale of Wander spoke of him. The Prior of Westforest said -in chapter house, “Had we one brother like Brother Richard of Silver -Cross--” Not only to his monks, but he said it to the country around, -“Brother Richard of Silver Cross--” - -Montjoy said “Brother Richard of Silver Cross,” but he said it very -differently from the Abbot and the Prior. He said with a kind of -passionate reverence and hope. He wished there to be true saints; he -wished there to arise one out of Silver Cross. He wished a saint, a -saint kneeling beside Isabel, kneeling with Isabel beneath the great -picture, whose form, whose face in which God was dawning, was like -Isabel. Isabel like Her, though maybe in that degree from Her--that was -Morgen Fay from Isabel whom surely, too, she resembled. - -Middle Forest had rumour of the monk at Silver Cross. - -Prior Hugh spoke of him at Saint Leofric’s but he spoke in scorn and -drew plans for greater and greater guest houses. - -Sir Robert Somerville, having need to see Silver Cross as to a bit -of debatable ground touching Abbey fields and manor wood, rode into -Abbey close upon a misty, pearly day. He had his talk in the Abbot’s -most comfortable parlour, sub-prior at hand to aid memory. The land -certainly leaned to the Abbey side of the wall, or had been brought -skilfully to lean by Abbey lawyers. Somerville saw that it were wisest -to leave it debatable, awaiting some more fortunate aspect of manor -stars. He slid from the subject, but with a sparkle in his eye. That -glint always came when he ticketed a grudge and put it somewhere for -safe keeping until it could be paid. - -And as he thought it would be unpleasing to the Abbot, he began -presently to talk of Saint Leofric’s, to whom by now great fame had -cleaved, by whose wall was building a town-- - -“Friar Paul--his visions--!” exclaimed the Abbot and broke off. There -was no good, as Montjoy had proved, in casting pebble or boulder of -discredit. The people were besotted, joined to their idol, this very -Dagon that Hugh had set up! If Contrariousness were not already in -possession then the hermit Gregory’s death in July had set her high on -throne! The Abbot covered his eyes with his hand, then said, “There is -a monk here that I hold to be holy as any living Dominican!” - -“Hath he vision?” - -“Yea,” said the Abbot, then in his heart. “He must have!” - -“It is not sufficient!” said Somerville. “Nothing now but revelations -and healings following will even Silver Cross! Greater revelations, -greater healings than Saint Leofric. You can’t go down the stair in -such things. You must go up.” - -He spoke with fine malice. Abbot Mark glanced at him and said smoothly, -“Very true, my son! but Heaven does not ask our will nor way in such -matters! If it smiles, it smiles. Nor can it be limited to one handful. -It may be that in this England we have touched a harvest week, as it -were, and that many a sheaf will be thrown down.” - -He rose. “Come! I will show you Brother Richard.” - -He whom they sought was standing at the table in the room where he -worked. Between his hands was a bowl of silver whereon he had wrought -vine leaves and grapes. He put down his work and kneeled before -the Abbot, then stood with crossed hands and lowered eyes. He was -brown-blond, tall and still, with a face of dimmed power, dimmed beauty. - -When they had gone away, said Somerville, “Lord Abbot, Friar Paul is -twice as thin and pale as yonder monk, and hath eyes that burn like -coals! He would never see within him nor bring forth, vine leaves -around a silver bowl! He sees but saints and martyrs filling his cell -and speaking to him out of glories!” He nodded as he finished. - -The staccato of his voice drummed like a rude heel upon the Abbot’s now -fevered desire. Said the Abbot’s will, deep down, “He shall see all -that is necessary. Oh, Hugh. I will oust you yet!” - -Somerville rode away. Halfway to his house, up the Wander, his mind -perceived something that made him laugh. “I am not prophet, yet will I -prophesy! Before spring there will be miracles at Silver Cross!” - -It was a foggy day, a grey pearl, with shadows that were trees. - - “Aha and Aho! - Mankind and its woe, - Children at their playing, - Straying, straying! - Little marsh fire - That the sun is, - Thou art a liar, - Little marsh fire!” - -Somerville often made poems as he rode. Now he made this one. - -The next day was foggy still, and the Abbot was not wont to ride abroad -in fog. Yet he called for his white mule and for two Brothers to attend -him, and rode, booted and wrapped warm, to Westforest. - -There may be imagined a chessboard, and Prior Matthew, with Abbot Mark -for backer, sitting studying, mouth covered by hand. He must play -against Prior Hugh, invisible there, or perhaps against mere cosmic -insensibility to advantages accruing from full streams of profit and -glory, fuller than the Wander, flowing down Wander vale. Chess takes -time and thought. If there come inspirational gleams take them as -evidence that Nature begins to lean with you--but continue your study, -mentally advancing now this piece and now that, going slow, going -sure, making your combinations with more than grey spider’s skill! So -Prior Matthew played. Abbot Mark was more impatient and would have -things without working for them, which is to say without deserving -them. In the mysterious cave of this world where all players must play, -failure always impended. If it did not fall, that was because you were -a good player. The Prior’s hollow cheek grew more hollow, his intent, -small, deep-set eyes more intent. - -On this day, folded as in wool, in the parlour that was warmed by -blazing logs on stone hearth, that gave upon the autumn garden, much -to-day like a ghost-garden, Prior indicated to Abbot move and then move -and then move again. - -“God pardon us!” breathed the Abbot. “That’s a bold thing!” - -“Bolder than Hugh? I think not so. Or if it is we need to be bolder -than he. Boldness hurts not, but the lack of skill in boldness. -Attain the miracles, and Silver Cross arises re-gilt. Streams of -pilgrims--nay, you may tap and dry up _his_ stream of pilgrims! Abbey -built and magnified for ages. Attain them not, and all is vain, for our -lifetime at least! We may go sleep, fogged and obscured forever, in the -vale of Wander! Both houses and in us the Order.” - -“I know that we need to be bolder than Hugh.” - -“We need more living colour to draw, and a louder drum.” - -The Abbot took for his own, saying of Somerville’s, “You cannot go down -the stair in such things. You must go up the stair. There’s too much -risk.” - -“Oh, yes, plenteous! So had Hugh risk. But when the fish had once -bitten no mortal man could get hook from its mouth!” - -“Meaning by the fish the people? Yes. But if Hugh and me and you, -Matthew, be all three taken in mortal sin?” - -“Has he hurt Saint Leofric? Or Saint Dominic his Order? Or the folk -whose bodies are healed? Does not glory go up to heaven like incense?” - -“It is true. If it be venial sin, then Our Lady, an altar of pure -silver to thee!” - -“That will be well! It will still more beautify the church. But cease,” -said Matthew, “to have this monk work at thy gold and silver! It goes -not with kneeling and fasting all day and vigil at night, with great -and sole visions and voices, and favour from the Saints!” - -“Very good. I will put him to his book and solitude.” - -The Prior took quill and drew upon a leaf of paper a plot of cells and -passageways. “You will empty these five cells.” - -“Aye. They shall go back to dormitory.” - -“Door is to be here and door there. To get it done, while masons are -upon it--and for other reasons as well--give your monk penance for some -fault, sending him out of Silver Cross to Westforest. Let me have him -for a month, no less.” - -“What will you do with him?” - -“I will indoctrinate him with expectancy.” - -“Do you know,” said Mark doubtfully, “he is one that might one day -become true saint.” - -“Think you so? Well, I wish him innocent and believing--even as I hold -Friar Paul across river may be innocent and believing!” - -“‘Innocent!’” The Abbot groaned. “But you and I and Hugh will not be -innocent!” - -“No. We shall be wise and bold for the glory of our heritage. -Choose--and choose now--which you will have!” - -The Abbot chose. The chess game went on. Outside the day folded in, -fold on fold of white wool and grey wool, fog coming up from the sea. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -The fog wrapped the river. The bridge showed now a few arches and now -none. Boats were moths in a moth dimness and silence. Saint Leofric’s -mount across the water could not be seen. The walls of the houses on -this side stood chill and grey, or faded away into a dream. The garden -below barely lived, a wistful, faded place, no colour even to dream of -colour. - -Morgen Fay hated the day. “Miserable! I want to go live in the sun!” - -“Will you have your book? Will you have your tapestry frame?” - -“No!” - -The large woman, Ailsa, shrugged and went to Tony in the warm kitchen. -They talked there. “Now she is nightingale or moon in the sky--and now -she is lion-woman or panther-woman--and now she is just a slut that I -could whip--!” - -Up in the oak room Morgen Fay lay face down among the cushions of the -long window seat. Ennui was in the room like the fog. It was in her -veins, her mouth. “I am set face to a dead wall, and I shall be here -forever! Unless the wall is broken and my feet are let to move, I will -say that life is a naught, a nothing-wall restraining nothing from -nothing, a dead grin on a dead face!” - -“Nothing--nothing--nothing!” ran through her head and sat in her heart. -“Nothing--grey nothing--black nothing. I am come to that. I stick in -that. I go not up nor down, nor to nor fro. Nothing--nothing--nothing! -Nothing that yet is wretched, being nothing!” - -She lay with dark eyes hidden in bend of arm. “Oh, -something--something--something come to me!” - -She lay in the grey room in the world of grey fog. A pebble wrapped in -a glove, thrown from without, struck the glass of the window above her. -She knew that kind of sound, that kind of knock. “Ho, you within!” At -first she meant not to look, not to answer. It was all grey nothing--no -sun out there to lift the cloud. Habit, old, dull and very strong, at -last haled her from her pillows and set her face against the pane. She -could not see. She pressed the catch that opened the small square in -the larger square. Now the fog poured in, and the sound of the river. -She made out the small boat below, one man standing in it. - -He saw her face come out of the mist. Blue eyes looked into black eyes. -“Ah, so doleful is it in this fog!” cried young Thomas Bettany. - -“Aye, and aye again. I yawn with death up here!” - -“So grey it is none will see and steal my boat fastened here. Foot here -and foot there, and so I could climb--were the window opened more wide!” - -She opened it. He did as he had pictured and entered the oak room. “I -have been,” she said, “in two minds whether to hang myself or drown -myself. I want no kisses. I like you because you have blue speedwell -eyes and are truly gay. If you can sit and talk and make me who sit -inside gay, do it! If you cannot--back to the river!” - -“Your blue and red warm the grey cloud. Are you melancholy? Sometimes I -am so until I would give the world a buffet and depart.” - -“You are nineteen and a young king and know naught about it!” said -Morgen Fay. She took her seat by the small fire on the hearth and he -sat opposite. He had no amorous passion for her and she knew it. Once -she would have set herself to making him find it. Now she did not care. -She had not cared once this year. She felt no amorous movement toward -him, but she liked him. She was thirty-two. Now, sitting there, she -could have said “Son--” - -He nursed his knee, looking now at the blue and red flames and now at -Morgen Fay. - -“To get back a gay heart why not go to Saint Leofric’s?” - -“I don’t believe in miracles. If they are, they are for others, not for -me.” - -“Why don’t you believe?” - -“I don’t know. I know a deal of Morgen Fay and there’s a deal I do not -know. But neither what I know nor what I do not know creeps and prays -to a dead man’s bones. All that to me is a mockery! I laugh at it and -against it. Some are healed? Doubtless! Many! But believed they so of -it, a rose in my garden, so they smelled it, kissed it, believed it was -rooted in Paradise, would heal them! They heal themselves. Believing! -Believing! I would that I had it. So easy to cure one’s self! Oh, the -self is the wonder that is so dark and is so bright, so strong and so -feeble!” - -She looked at him sombrely, hunger in her face. - -“If you said all that outside--” - -“Aye, indeed, if I said it! Morgen Fay that has ’scaped sheet and -candle all these years might have them now, but for a different reason! -I’ll not say it outside--nor inside on a different day. To-day I would -tell the truth, for there is no sparkle in lying!” - -She brooded over the fire. “What is the truth? Now I believe what I -have said--and to-morrow I might go swimming toward a miracle! I have -swam so in the past--believed with the shoal there was food there. But -no! It shall not be again toward dead-white bone!” - -He began, blue-eyed, young and keen, to talk of travel that he wanted -so badly! He was talking as youth might talk to motherhood, who always -listened. Cathay and Ind by the western way! They hung over the fire, -the fog came about the house; they were far, far, far away! - -When it was growing dusk, before Ailsa brought the candles, he went -through the window and down as he had come to his boat,--and so off -like a moth. - -If he had not left Morgen Fay gay of heart, yet listening and speaking, -and never a caress between, liking this boy and travelling a bit -with him, her mood was less ashen, or began to glow amid its ashes. -She bent herself over the fire, she put her locked hands over her -forehead, she rocked herself; desire and mind went wandering together. -“Forest--forest deep and still. Landless sea, salt and clean. Solitude, -solitude--and out of it the Miracle rising--and Morgen Fay dead at its -feet--but I safe forever, healed forever! But it will not come, my -Miracle, it will not come, it will not come!” - -The dark increased. Ailsa brought the candles. - -The next eve brought Somerville,--alone, in mood of return but not -otherwise in good mood. A man of many levels, something had crossed -him and he perched to-day upon one of the lower levels of himself. -Morgen Fay’s mood to-night was soulless, hard and reckless. She was not -nightingale, nor moon in the sky, nor lion-woman nor panther-woman; she -was nearer the slut that Ailsa would have under her fingers. She drank -much wine with Somerville. - -When he was at this ebb and scurf of himself he liked so to loosen -her tongue, for she could then flay for him--skilfully as ever Apollo -flayed Marsyas--that breadth of living, that cluster of folk or that -individual that he chose to lead to her. Perhaps she knew them, or -perhaps she took them and their acts from his lips. Either way, with a -vigour of disdain, a vigour of hate, of anger against an universe that -was increasingly giving her now ennui and now whips of scorpions, she -drew from them and held aloft a skin of attributes and motives that -made dreadful laughter for the onlookers. She and Somerville were the -onlookers. - -In these moods he was her demon and she was his. They sat cheek by -jowl, in the lowest strata of themselves, drinking each the worst -of the other, poisoning and poisoned. When they came to embraces, -to a pitiful, animal revivification--thinking so to get light and -solace--that was the lesser harm. - -Somerville brought into their talk Brother Richard Englefield. “There -is a monk at Silver Cross. Watch for appearances and miracles there -also!” - -“What can church say to us? Where’s honesty? Here, Rob, here!” - -“He is a tall, brown-gold man that was a goldsmith once. He can still -make you lovely things in silver and gold.” - -“So he becomes cheating alchemist and all his gold is lead and brass!” - -“Much like thine own!” said a loud voice within Morgen Fay. She struck -at it, would not have it, poured to-night, being to-night a slut, muck -and mire upon it. - -“Let him cheat--and Silver Cross cheat, and Saint Leofric’s, and Prior -Hugh and Abbot Mark! I would have them cheat, bringing their inward -outward! It is there. Let the horn blow for the toad to come forth!” - -“I wish to see,” said Somerville, “the play they make! It will be -players and masquers worth the fee! There will be Saint Willebrod, or -who else they can impress, and Brother Richard, and a new Somewhat or -That Which that works miracles--or an old That Which working with youth -come again!” - -“We are fallen on evil times! No miracles save those we work ourselves! -And we are so clumsy!” - -“Abbot Mark may be clumsy. I hold that the Prior of Westforest will -marshal the play.” - -“And they are more safe than coiners in some forest cavern!” - -“That, sweetheart, is because we are so hungry for miracles. See how we -beg Saint Leofric for more! We are so lantern-jawed that we will take -marsh grain, so it be baked in a loaf!” - -She laughed. “All gaunt with hunger--getting wolf-toothed. I, too, have -whined and will whine again, for a miracle!” - -He poured her more wine. “It’s a wicked old world! The only way is to -grin and shove it along.” - -“Unless you stop it with a rope. If I were sure I _could_ stop it.” - -“Drink your wine. Here’s to Brother Richard--dog-monk noseing out the -unearthly!” - -She drank. “Here’s to Prior Matthew the marshal! If it’s to be a good -play, I would be a playgoer!” - -“Here’s to the rotten time--the hungry people!” - -“Here’s to the rotten time--the hungry people.” She drank, then set -slowly down the cup and put her crossed arms upon the table and bowed -her head upon them. She and Somerville were down, down, far down in -themselves. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Richard Englefield listened to the Abbot’s assertion that making of -inner vessels of gold for heaven’s use was of more import than were -dishes for abbot’s table and for gifts. He agreed, but his mind said, -“Since when did you find that out?” - -Moreover, he would miss his work. He missed it. - -When he came to confession he met another change,--namely, severity in -penance. Heretofore he had been the severe one with himself. Now his -spiritual fathers took it over. “Why?” asked his mind, but his hunger -for holiness and his will harnessed to that hunger rebuked his mind. -“Have we not agreed that they are our masters in heavenly law? Then -learn the lessons they give! Cease to cavil and question! Did you so -with Godfrey the Master Smith?” - -He accepted penance, watched, fasted, scourged himself. He grew very -thin, less strong of frame than he had been. Sleeplessness, even when -he was given or gave himself leave to sleep, fastened itself upon him. -It was as though his soul ceaselessly walked a dungeon. “O God, where -is thy heaven? If I might see it or feel it!” - -The great picture in the church lost its mystery and enchantment and -power. It was a dead canvas to him. “O my soul, come thou forth!” - -He was kept solitary in his cell. Solitude did not appal him, seeing -that he had ever been artist, able to people it. But one day when a -strong sunbeam came through the window his mind said loudly, and as it -were it shook him by the shoulders. “Why this straitness with thee? -What are they about?” - -But he was afraid to listen,--Richard Englefield, fearing for his soul. -Fear, casting about for aid, found Vanity in a small hidden chamber, -sitting there with closed lids, somewhat faint and unnourished. He -brought her forth and sent her up, strengthening as she came. “It is -seen that I begin to light this monastery! They would trim the lamp.” - -Fear, Vanity, Pride and Old Credulity! - -At Martinmas the Abbot sent him to Westforest. It was heavy penance for -monk to go to Westforest that was small, hard and bare beside Silver -Cross, that had rude living, that owned a Prior could give tasks, set -one to heavy and distasteful work. Brother Richard Englefield was not -put to handwork, but again to watching, fasting, cries to all the -Saints, to Jesu and Mary Mother and God the Father. - -He fell ill at Westforest. He was not laid in hospital but left in -the Westforest penitential cell, though they spread a pallet for him -where had been bare stone. Prior Matthew visited him here. He came in -the day, and he came, taper in hand, by night. He had a medicine which -he gave Brother Richard. He himself dropped a few dark drops into -a cup of water or of milk and held it to the monk’s lips. “Drink!” -After the first time Richard Englefield tried to put it away. “On your -obedience!” said the Prior sternly. The monk drank. - -He began to recover from the illness that had prostrated him. But -something seemed to have gone from his life and something seemed to -have come into it. One night in this cell he heard a voice. “Richard! -Richard!” it cried. He could not tell whence it came; it seemed -above him. He sat up. “Who speaks?” But when it said “Willebrod, who -was martyred,” he stared incredulous. Sunshine and mind and his old -workshop in the old high-roofed town flooded back to him. “Is voice -from heaven twin pea to voice of earth? I have even heard better voices -of earth!” He seemed again to be working in the red, pleasant light of -his old furnace, knowing good and not-so-good when he met them. He -thought, “If I do not go to sleep I shall be seeing, hearing, like any -madman!” He turned, drew the scant covering over him and slept. - -But the next day Prior Matthew said that he was not so well, and, on -his obedience he drank again the dark medicine. The taste of it was -stronger, there was more of it. Again he heard voices. “Are they true -voices--or what?” But he was dull to them, uncaring of them. “Surely I -would know the ring of gold!” - -He grew better, rose from his pallet and moved about the cell, was -permitted now to go, when rang the bell, into church. Sent there for -penance one winter eve between vespers and compline, he suddenly, at -a turn of the stone corridor, dark, chill and deserted, saw what he -must suppose to be a vision. There was a great patch of light and in -it a man standing who must be Saint Willebrod because he was dressed -and coloured and more or less featured like Saint Willebrod in the -painting on the wall, and he carried a silver cross. Brother Richard -stood still. Then, making to advance, his foot struck some obstruction. -Weakened as he was, he stumbled and fell. When he could rise the vision -was gone. - -Only Vanity could explain why the Prior should become his confessor. -The fact of the voices and the vision was drawn forth. “You are -greatly honoured, my son! If greater favour yet comes to you, forget -not humility--” - -But he told of his own honesty how cold voices and vision left his -heart, how unamazed his mind, and that he could but think them dreams -of his sickness somehow bodied forth. The Prior looked sternly and -shook his head. “They come truly, we hold! But it is seen that thou art -as dull as ditch water--black ember that will not respond--tongue that -hath lost taste--soul that will not be fervent! Scourge thyself into -meekness to heaven--into that glow that will take whatever cometh!” - -Richard Englefield plied the scourge. He was weak now and his eyes -dazzled, and truly phantasies pageanted before him in sound and line -and colour. He saw images, and sometimes they were beautiful and -sometimes deadly. He heard sounds, and some were honey-sweet and others -grating or mocking. But still said his being, “They come from no High -Reality. Have I not, being artist, always in some sort heard and seen? -O God, O God! help thou me who am dead!” - -Prior Matthew regarded him darkly. Westforest rode one day to Silver -Cross, talked there with Abbot Mark. “There has been mistake! He is not -your Friar Paul kind!” - -The Abbot’s pride arose. “For three years Silver Cross hath seen him -one apart!” - -“Perhaps! He would not,” said Matthew sourly, “have far to go, as -monks are in these days, to stand apart and above. My point is that -you cannot make him ecstatic. So far it is beyond me to set the mill -running! He hath been ill, and his body hath arrived at emaciation. -I have given him that elixir you wot of. Usually it sets the fancy -skipping, brews a kind of wild readiness at seeing, hearing! And, if I -read him aright, he wants heaven to descend upon him. I provided him to -hear and see one who told him he was Saint Willebrod. Brother Anselm, -you know, whom I took from among the players, and is--God pardon -us!--as dog to my hand--” He spread out his hands. - -The Abbot groaned. “The end that we propose is good!” - -“Assuredly it is! It all goes into the homely bag of homely deceits -necessary in this poor world. But the end is that as yet we have done -naught!” - -The Abbot sighed. “Could we take him into counsel?” - -“No!” - -“Then what shall we do? You have heard that Saint Leofric healed the -French Knight? He gave candlesticks of pure gold. Shall we give it all -up, Matthew?” - -“Not yet. If I could find his true heart and mind--then might we beckon -appearances that corresponded. He seems interested in a far land and -in somehow going there--and going has to be bodily, all of him! What -appears will have to strike him down, like Saint Paul on Damascus -road--clean him of doubt, be a blaze to him, a burning bush!” - -The Abbot sighed. Prior Matthew sat fixed, with cloudy brows, seeking -inspiration. - -He returned to Westforest. The next day, sitting in Prior’s stall in -the cold, small church, he kept his eyes fast upon the monk Richard. He -noted his turning, he noted his uplifted, now bloodless face, and his -eyes directed to the copy of the Silver Cross picture. Prior Matthew -half closed his own eyes, covered, as was his wont when he was playing -chess, his mouth with his hand. - -Again the Prior sat as confessor. The kneeling monk met gathered -subtlety and old skill. Deep, recessed matters, loves and longings, -must come forth. - -The Prior listened, questioned, listened, and at both was skilfull. He -imposed penance, and in part it was to be performed at Silver Cross, -“--returning there as you do, my son, this week.” - -The monk bowed his head. He had not known when, or indeed if ever, -he should return to Silver Cross. It was among his efforts at -self-crucifixion not to care. As it was his effort here and at Silver -Cross to withdraw attention from outward happenings, outward talk. No -other of his brethren knew so little as he of the flare and clang about -Saint Leofric. - -He returned to Silver Cross. The bell rang for the noon office. -He went into church with his brethren. With them he bowed, stood, -chanted, kneeled. It was nigh to Christmas tide, a clear winter day. -The sun dwelled in each jewel pane of the windows and shot thence -arrows of love. The sun blessed nave and aisles and high groined -roof. The candles stood like angels, the great picture glowed. It was -a home-coming. Warmness wrapped his heart that had been naked and -desolate. All grew fair, honest, friendly. He was glad to see the -Brothers, even those he had most distasted, glad to see Abbot Mark, -cloister and church, all things! Out of topaz and amber a beam touched -the carven tomb of Montjoy’s wife. It warmed the Lady Isabel, lying -in robe and mantle with a half smile upon her face. Not Montjoy only, -but also Richard Englefield thought stone form and face had strange -likeness to those of the Glorified in the picture. Now the light warmed -her, too, the pale, golden lady, so still, so still, waiting for the -Resurrection. - -Amber light, topaz light. But on the great picture every heart-red, -every heavenly blue, every rose and every lily, the upward flowing -amethyst and the diamond light above, where no more might be seen. His -heart bowed, his heart grew alive. “Ah, Blessed among women, I am come -back!” - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -William, Lord of Montjoy, was ignorant of what machinations might be -in progress up the Vale of Wander. The Abbot had said, “Would he be -helpful? It is for the glory of Silver Cross church, which, truly, is -for him his lady whom he must serve!” - -The Prior shook his head. “No! No more than that monk himself! Let him -think naught save that there is holiness there!” - -Abbot Mark drew groaning breath. “There was--there is--there shall -be--!” - -Montjoy, in his castle yard, played for exercise at buffets with the -squire Ralph, then turned to castle wall, and with his arms resting -upon stone parapet, looked downward and outward, gargoyle-wise. But he -was not such; he was living knight, struggling to reach Heavenly City. - -It was snowing. Montjoy, wrapped in mantle, drew hood over head and let -it snow. The flakes fell thickly, large and white. Castle rock dropped -black to castle hill that was whitening. Hill met Middle Forest that -piled toward hill. The roofs were high, the roofs were steep. They were -brown, they were black, they were whitening. Where were chimneys rose -feathers of smoke. These were houses full and well-to-do. There were -chimneys unfeathered. - -Sweet--sweet, deep--deep, went Saint Ethelred’s bell. Sweet--sweet, -deep--deep, the bell of the Poor Clares. Sweet--sweet, deep--deep, the -bell of the small Carmelite house. The snow was a veil, but he saw the -river and the whitening bridge. Across, Saint Leofric’s mount might -hardly be seen, might be guessed, as it were--cloud friary, cloud -church, cloud houses around, all set in a cloud. Thick, thick fell the -snow in great flakes. - -Sweet--sweet, deep--deep rang the bells. He thought he could hear -Saint Leofric’s. On a clear day when the wind was right, he could hear -from this wall, far and thin, the bells of Silver Cross. To-day it -could not be for this ever-passing, ever-present wall in white motion. -Yet he imaged the hearing. Silver Cross--Westforest up Wander--Saint -Leofric--Saint Ethelred--Poor Clares--Carmelite--they rang, and it was -Christmas season. - -Montjoy’s dark and serious eyes grew misty. “We strive and -buffet--cross joys, cross wills--yet, O true Lord, every bell is sweet! -Even Saint Leofric’s--” He gripped with energy the stone coping. “But -it is so despite thee, Hugh, despite thy lying that one day shall choke -thee!” - -Silver Cross bells swung to the inner sense. They chimed, they rang -unearthly clear and sweet, they rang clean. “Faulty is the time, and -Silver Cross has been faulty--but never and never and never has it been -nor will it be branded thief--as you, O Hugh, have branded that which -was given you in charge!” - -The snow fell, the snow fell. The roofs whitened, whitened. The smoke -feathers that had been pale against dark now were dark against pale. -The river and the bridge began to be hidden. - -There was a high-roofed house with more than one great chimney stack -out of which rose and waved full and plumy smoke feathers. Down chimney -great burning logs, flame wrapped and purring, made the house warm, it -being the house of the merchant Eustace Bettany. Alongside stood his -warehouse and his shop, and one passed by doors from the one into the -other. His house was clean, well-fitted. To-day, it being Christmas -tide, he had shut shop and given holiday, and was gone, he and his -wife and two daughters, to a kinsman’s house to dine and talk around -kinsman’s fire, and listen to some music from viols and rebecs. His -son, young Thomas, had turned wilful and would not go. Nor would he, -this day, go to seek a jolly crew in some tavern. He often enough -did that, but to-day his mood was indoors. Having house to himself, -he piled on wood and summoned John Cobb. “You’ve on your mad dreaming -cap!” said the latter. - -Thomas plied the ash stick. “If I have not a play to go to, must I not -make the play? I cannot sit still. I must run, dance, fly. I would a -witch would come down chimney and show me how!” - -John Cobb crossed himself. - -The fire burned, the fire sang. The snow fell, large flakes, white, -down coming with an intimate, cool grace. - -Somerville rode into town. He rode musingly, wrapped in a great grey -mantle, with a wide, grey, stiffened felt hat, keeping snow from him -much like a shed roof. He had ridden from manor to Silver Cross where -he had been entertained. Now he rode on to Middle Forest, and he rode -in a deep study. Certain muscles twitched in his odd, brown face. Upon -setting out he had not meant to go farther than Silver Cross. He hardly -knew why he should ride on down Wander. Perhaps he might think that he -wanted time to think. But below consciousness decisions were already -made, actions acted. That was what drew the muscles about mouth and -eyes and, sitting in his wrist, turned his big bay horse down Wander, -not up. He might think that he was thinking, but old life was acting -after old fashion. He rode through falling snow, and he rode not in the -mood of one night at Morgen Fay’s, but in a pleasanter, brisker mood. -He felt amused, speculative, genial, triumphant. It was well to find -human nature through and through the ancient, pleasant, faulty pattern! -He did not dislike it--marry, no! It strengthened, buttressed, warmed -and pleased his sense of himself to feel warp and woof so continuous. - -Silver Cross had this day withdrawn all claim to that debated good mile -of land. It had acknowledged Somerville’s right. Parchment crackled in -his pocket, parchment with Abbot Mark’s name and seal at bottom. Land -at last in his hand. Why? Somerville knew why. “I am bought for the -miracles.” Laughter played over his quick face. - -Prior Matthew had “chanced” to be at Silver Cross. “He is the puppet -master!” - -Nothing had been divulged as to form of puppets, or that there were -puppets, or for that matter miracles. Certainly nothing was said of -purchase. All had been warm, friendly, with an air of Yule. “But when -there are miracles--believe and cry aloud that it is so! Never bring -cold to wither them, snow to cover them! Be a friend, and in our camp!” -Somerville laughed. After an old habit, he hummed, he sang as he rode: - - “Turn thy coat-- - Turn thy coat, - Having the land, - Having the land. - So few know when they are bought! - But all are bought, - Few, few escape!” - -He looked through snow to castle rock. “Ha, Montjoy, do you escape?” - -For a moment a hand, as it were, wiped life from his face, leaving it -haggard and empty. But witches trooped at whistle, sardonic mirth came -back. “We buy and we are bought! Why not--if the world is Pennyworth -Fair? If little good is had, so is little harm. It’s an empty barn, -Montjoy, where the wind whistles! - - “Little good will come, - Little harm will come - Of Abbot Mark, - Of Silver Cross-- - While away the day with plucking at the lute’s three strings!” - -He rode through Middle Forest High Street and coming to the door of -Master Eustace Bettany, dismounted and knocked. John Cobb let him -in, and Thomas Bettany was most glad to see him. But he would not -tarry. He had stopped in passing to ask Thomas to make him a visit at -Somerville Hall. Thomas was blithe to say yes,--if his father could -spare him. - -“Oh, he will spare you!” said Somerville intelligently. - -His sworn follower laughed a little. In truth Somerville was important. -Merchants spared sons to visit knights. - -He mounted the big bay, he rode on down High Street. Thomas and John -Cobb watched from the door dwindling horse and man, taken into the snow -world and hidden there. Then they shook from their coats the flakes big -as guilders and returned to the fire. “Now you’ve got your pleasure and -your play! Did your witch bring him though?” - -“No!” His blue eyes regarded John Cobb with a bright and distant look. -“I’ll take you with me, John, for my man--” - -The snow fell. The roof, the streets all were white. Sound wrapped -itself in wool, in far time. The folk in the ways, the carts and -wagons, the strong horses, went in a wafted veil. It witched them, -witched the place and hour. As the snow fell fewer and fewer were -abroad. Somerville also heard the bells ring. - -Morgen Fay’s house watched the head of the old wall grow white, and -the bridge grow white, and the flakes melt in the river. A dusky plume -waved from the chimney. Below was burning wood, and Morgen Fay moved -from it to window and from window back again. - -She was glad to see Somerville. “If ever I needed counsel, I need it -now! What is Ailsa? She cannot give it, nor can Tony! What are the -others who come here? They have not thy wit, or they are too young or -too old. Montjoy has wiped me from his dear soul!” - -“Your eyes are red. Were you weeping for that?” - -“No! And I wept not much. It does no good. My cousin, Father Edwin, is -dead.” - -“I knew not that he ailed!” - -“Ay, he is dead. And there comes to me warning that Father Edmund will -preach against me in Saint Ethelred and at town cross.” - -“Can there arrive great harm? Middle Forest likes thee pretty well!” - -“Oh, once, I know, I might have sailed out of storm--” - -“Why not again?” - -“With the miracles--with Saint Leofric blazing there? Middle Forest is -become good! I tell you I see before me stoning and misery!” - -He studied the fire. He was inclined to agree with her that her hour -had struck. “Well! You have had years of down-lined nest--of merry -life!” - -“So wind will blow less cold and stones bruise less? Merry life? Oh, -aye, sometimes!” - -“What will you do to escape?” - -“Marry, tell me! Tell me, Rob!” - -She came and put her hand upon his breast. She felt him draw slightly -back from her. She stood away herself and her dark eyes pierced him; -she sighed. Presently she said, “Thou, too! thou, too! Well, out of -common decency, counsel me!” - -He cogitated. “While there is yet time you might get secretly away--to -London or elsewhere.” - -“Oh, I want not to go! This is home. I should miss my river and my -garden.” - -“Montjoy?” - -“In old days he might--because that I look like that Isabel who looked -like Our Lady in the Silver Cross picture. But now I know not that he -would shield, nor that he could. He hath put himself awry with all the -folk.” - -Somerville laughed. “Aye, I have seen that! Let him speak now against -rising zeal at his peril! Out upon him will rush the hive!” - -He sat regarding her with very bright eyes. “Man lives to learn! Until -this moment I knew not that of Montjoy, nor that you are like--as now I -see you are like--that picture! Why did you never tell me that?” - -“I know not. I have some grace--like a little star, far, far away!” - -He regarded her meditatively. “You are a mixture! A hand shakes the -phial until the dregs are on top.” - -“I wish they were skimmed off and thrown away. But all of me might then -be gone, oh, all of me! Tell me what I am to do, Robert!” - -Leaning back in his chair, he looked now at her and now at the fire. -“Priest against priest! Father Edwin dead. Seek afield. None at the -Carmelites, no! Saint Leofric gives no help. Silver Cross--” - -“Oh, Abbot Mark must trot his mule beside Zeal-for-goodness! Not else -can he keep apace with the time!” Morgen Fay burst into laughter. She -laughed, and then she sat silent with her head bowed upon the settle’s -arm. - -“If he preaches--Father Edmund--at town cross, best were it that you -disappear.” - -“Lock house against better days and vanish--aye, where?” - -“There’s many a place.” - -“Aye, far away. I do not will to go far away. May not I have true love -beside all the untrue?” - -“Poor wretch! It is nigh smothered!” said Somerville and laughed; after -which he sat in silence and all manner of odd and mocking lights played -in his face. “Well, disappear up Wander!” - -“How far up?” - -“Well, not as far as Somerville Hall. That may not be. But there is the -ruined farm that bears toward Silver Cross. Put on country dress and -darken your face, and David and his wife who live there will take you -in--Alice or Joan. I will speak to them. You may bide there until we -are less good.” - -There was silence. A red coal fell with a silken sound. Out of window -all was white and still. “I despair,” said Morgen Fay. “Not for this -danger nor for that but I--I myself. I despair.” - -“If there were any way to buy Silver Cross--” He sat and looked into -the fire. - -The snow fell thick, thick and white. It hid the bridge, it hid Saint -Leofric, it hid the castle of Montjoy. It wrapped the town. Dusk came -to help it. Snow and night wrapped the time and place. - -In the night it ceased to snow and cleared. Winter stars and purple -dawn and saffron day. The sun sprang up and beneath him lay a diamond -earth. Somerville, riding up Wander, pulled his hat over eyes, so -dazzling were the light shafts. - -Out from the road that turned aside to Silver Cross came upon his mule -the Prior of Westforest, attended by two monks. There was greeting. -“Ride on with me to Westforest, Sir Robert!” - -They rode together and when they came to Westforest Somerville -dismounted and went with Prior Matthew into his parlour. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -Brother Anselm had been transferred, it seemed, from Westforest to -Silver Cross. Richard Englefield found him here, and in the cell that -had been Brother Oswald’s. The latter, with Brothers Peter, Allen and -Timothy, were gone into dormitory. Only Brother Norbert was left. In -the six cells dwelled Brother Anselm, Brother Norbert and himself. -There had been other changes. A great rood was put up in his cell. -Broad and dark, a poor wooden Christ hanging thereon, it overspread -a third of one side of the cell. It stood there, shadowy against a -shadowy wall, as all the cell was shadowy,--the thin winter light -stealing in by day, the one taper by night. - -Richard Englefield the goldsmith had seen many a great rood in England -and France and Italy. He had seen poor carving, rude and struggling -thought and unskilful hand, hardly attaining to truth, hardly to -strength, hardly to beauty. But beauty and strength and truth had been -longed for. This carving, this rood, showed him no such thing. “Not the -way it is done, but the dream is wrong.” It grew faintly horrible to -him. - -The long winter days, the knees upon stone. “O God, O God! Where is -light, where is meaning? In me is wold and thicket and bog and the -stars put out!” - -Only the picture stayed with him, made somehow significance, somehow -warmth. Now it paled and now it glowed. - -He ate little, slept little. He crucified his body. Like the insistent -sweet ringing of a bell, forever, forever, Silver Cross suggested, -suggested. Surely, in some sort, heaven should descend! He was earning -it. He began to have visions, but they were pale, confused, forms -without significance or with the significance hidden. They said naught -that might lift the Abbey of Silver Cross to a height that should equal -Saint Leofric’s mount. - -Twelfth night--Candlemas Day--Lent in sight--and Saint Leofric blazing -high! Not that only, but Middle Forest beginning to manifest holiness -and uncloak sin. Father Edmund of Saint Ethelred had no vision but the -vision of a rod for the wicked. But he had a preaching power! He stood -upon the steps of town cross and his white heat turned the icicles to -water. The sinner, Morgen Fay, was fled,--none knew whither. They said -likely to London town. They sacked her house, they drummed the old -woman and the youth, her servants, out of town. Both sides of river -and up Wander vale, enthusiasm gathered light in eyes, red in cheeks. -There began to be prophets and religious dancers. In Middle Forest High -Street appeared a band of flagellants. The air was taking fire. “Now, -now or never!” said Prior Matthew. - -The ruined farm, that had been small and poor even before fire had half -destroyed it, stood gaunt, blackened, sunk in loneliness behind winter -forest through which few walked. Margery and David, blear-eyed and -simple, living in the part that held together, found the helper-woman, -Joan, strong but moody, now ready to laugh at a little thing and now -dark as a tempest over the wood that shut out the world. Somerville the -master had said, “Take her!” They had obeyed, and if they speculated it -was sluggishly. - -Past the holly copse stretched land of Silver Cross, woodland with a -woodman’s path through. Somerville came by this. He talked with Joan or -with Morgen Fay under the hollies where the berries were so red and the -leaves so glossy and barbed. She said vehemently, “No!” and she said, -“No!” and “No!” again, but more dully, pettishly. - -“It’s sin. I’ve done much, but I haven’t done that!” - -“You choose then a powerful enemy--” - -She raised her arms above her head. “If you will show me where the -world is not wicked--!” - -“Psha! Do you remember a foggy night when we talked? Return to that -mood and say, ‘It is a play, and I can do it wonderfully!’ You -could--you can!” - -“I do not see that Abbot Mark can harm me more than I am harmed!” - -“Think you so? Should there come a band of monks to break the house -and hale you forth--strip you and fling you into Wander, or maybe into -fire? If Silver Cross but speaks to Saint Ethelred, Abbot Mark to -Father Edmund? If I withdraw my hand? Do not look like a queen in a -book! I mean only that in no wise can I save you further. Montjoy is -not powerful enough, even if he would, and I have here less power of -arm than has he. You must save yourself.” - -“I think that your Abbot Mark and Prior Matthew are devils!” - -“No. They are not. They are honest men trying to assure and increase -that which they hold to be their own. Human stuff, even as you and I!” - -“Human stuff! Well, I would choose another stuff if I might!” - -“No, you would not, poor Morgen Fay, by the chill Wander! You chose -this. Well, will you, or will you not?” - -“I will not.” - -“You think that you will not. However, you will. If you do not you are -lost.” - -“Lost to what?” - -“Well, to ease--to your own kind of command--finally perhaps to your -life.” - -She said in a strangled voice. “As I came here to this house so will I -walk on by day or by night and come to another town.” - -He turned quickly. “Try it!--or rather do not try it! You will find -that you cannot.” - -The holly berries were red, the leaves glossy and barbed. She looked -at the pale winter sky. “Is it sky? It seems to me a poor tent that we -have struggled to get up--poor, mean, low, ragged. I would it might -fall and kill us!” - -He smiled indulgently. “No, you do not so! Any day you could kill -yourself. But you love life. Go to, now! Look at the curious dance -of the time correctly! Mumming is no great sin. What! All the saints -and higher than the saints were on the market-place stage last Middle -Forest Fair. They talked and walked--even the Highest! Very good! It is -but Miracle Play again, and truly for no ill ends--” - -Red holly berries, barbed leaves. He won her to stand and listen, -though with heaving bosom and dark brows. Pale sky and voice of Wander -and birds of winter in naked oak and beech. The ruined farm--and her -house above the river and her garden turned against her. Father Edmund -preaching at town cross against the wicked time and each remaining -sin--and they had swept up her house and garden and drummed forth -Ailsa and Tony, who were God knew where! And Montjoy nor any cared any -longer! Barbed leaves and miserable world bent on injury! He won her to -nod her head and then to break into reckless laughter. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -The monk Richard awoke, he knew not why. He woke widely, collectedly, -his forces drawn to a point of expectation. “Awake, awake! Look!” -seemed to echo in his soul that had suddenly grown quiet. When he had -slept his cell was flooded by the moon. Still there was her silver -light. He sat up. He was with absoluteness aware of a presence in the -cell. Never before, in his pale visions, had he had this sense of -startling, of reality,--not at Westforest, not here at Silver Cross. He -knew that there was a being in his cell. Neither could he nor did he -doubt it. A voice spoke to him, and it was golden-sweet and rich and -wonderful. “Richard!” - -He turned himself. Light that was not moonlight, though it blended with -the moonlight, and in it, _real_, the Blessed among women! - -Could he doubt? It was the great picture come alive! Could he doubt? -She spoke--and he had not uttered that dart of thought. “Not that that -painter could see me as I am in glory--but knowing that thou lovest me -so, I come to thee so! I come to thee as thou canst see me, Richard!” - -She was _real_, she was not tinted air. _Real_--oh, _real_! Soft -playing light was about her feet, her form, her head, her outspread and -glorious dark hair. Her eyes were books, her mouth upland meadows of -flowers; the blue and red of her dress, her mantle, trembled and was -alive. Life went out of her toward him, his life leaped to meet it. -Life at last, _life_! _life_! He sprang from his pallet, he kneeled in -his monk’s robe. He put his forehead to the stone. - -The voice came again--oh, the voice! “Richard, list to me!” - -All heaven was speaking to him and filling him--him, him who had been -so unhappy!--with joy and power. - -“Thou hast loved me well, and so thou hast drawn me, servant Richard, -knight Richard, my poet Richard! I love all places--but now I love this -place well and would do it good.” - -He found daring to speak. “Star of me--Bringer of me into full being--” - -“Thou canst not know all the counsel of heaven. I will come again, -renewing thy joy. But now hearken what thou art to do, unquestioning, -as thou lovest me! The morn comes. When rings the bell for lauds, when -thy brethren flock into church, haste thou, haste! Stand before them. -Cry, thou that lovest me. ‘This night hath the Blessed among women -appeared to me, Richard Englefield!’ And she saith, ‘Speak to all of -Silver Cross, and say thou for me, Of old I loved this place, and I -will love it again, for I see it returning to its first strength and -worship!’ Say thou, ‘I will give it room again in men’s minds. I will -return and show a thing whereby multitudes shall be healed and glory -shall come!’” - -There was pause, then “Be thou he, Richard, who loveth me well, through -whom I shall speak! Morn cometh. The bell begins to ring.” - -The soft, the playing light withdrew. He felt her still--oh, -_real_!--then in the darkness, into it, behind it as it were, she was -gone. He knew that she was gone into utter light. - -But here was vacancy, faint moonbeams, a cell of shadows. But the -comfort and the passion and the splendour were in his heart, his veins, -his blood, in the potent cells of his body! With power, with success, -they summoned the brain to do them service. He believed like a child, -and he was the impassioned lover. - -He felt more than man. A great lightness and gaiety, a rest upon -promise, held him one moment, and the next a longing, an agony,--and -all was huge and resonant, deep, wide and high; and all was fine and -small and subtle and profoundly at home! Time and space had radically -changed for him. - -He was yet kneeling when the bell for lauds began to ring. Rising, he -saw through the window the setting moon,--then he was gone. - -The candles were lighted. It was not Abbot Mark’s wont to be seated -there, in Abbot’s stall, for lauds. But he was here, picked out by the -light. The hollow of the church was all dark; the choir, the ranged -monks, thinly dyed with amber. When he passed the tomb of the Lady of -Montjoy he thought that a warmer light laved it, touching the stone -almost to life. But the great picture--ah, the great picture! He lifted -to it light-filled eyes. She was there--she was in heaven--she had -stood in his cell. His being was in her hands; he lay with the Babe in -her arms. - -He would give her message rightly! It seemed almost that the church -waited for it, the windows where the dawn was bringing faint, faint -colours. A great wave of feeling swept him, affection and pity for -Silver Cross. Once it had been saintly and a light for all wanderers. -Dear would it be, dear and rich and sweet if it all could come again, -the old, simple power! - -With that he heard his own voice, as it were the voice of another, -lifted but profound, too, a deep, a rushing music, since what he had -to tell was heaven’s music. The Abbot summoned him to stand upon the -step, lifted high above Silver Cross monks. He gave forth her words, -and the world seemed to him an altar, and the candles suns, and he felt -himself that he spoke like a strong angel. - -There were ejaculations, cries of praise, snatches of prayers. The -Abbot kneeled--the sub-prior--all! The picture seemed to glow, to bend -forward, to bless. In the faces of the simpler monks sat pure awe and -belief. Some wept. There were two or three ecstatic faces. Those who -had been lazy or proud or sensual or lying showed to his thinking -smitten. He had not liked them, but now they were like poor faulty -children to him, to be loved still, so brimming was his power! - -Brother Norbert, whom certainly he had not liked, cried aloud, “Now -Silver Cross shines again--shines brighter than the bones of Saint -Leofric!” - -Brother Norbert, too, stepped into the deep-throbbing inner Paradise. -While there arose a cry of “Praise Our Lady!”--while the Abbot kneeled -before her image--while, as though she had said “Sing!” the church -filled with singing, Brother Richard knew bliss. The dawn was in the -windows, the great sun struck through, there was golden day. But his -thought was, “Will she come to-night?” - -The day was on him, and it was unsupportable, with the fervour, with -the talking, with the restlessness of the Abbey-fold. He had longing to -go to his old workroom, to light the furnace, to take up work. But that -had been long forbidden. It was March. Lay Brothers and tenants were -plowing Abbey fields. He would have worked with them, but again was -forbidden. But he had at least permission to go forth under open sky. -He might walk in orchard or garden. Silence was enjoined. He felt no -sorrow as to that; silence was needed to talk with Heaven. - -The March day was bright, sunny, still, not cold. Two Abbey men were -pruning the fruit trees. Richard Englefield signed that he would help. -He worked for hours and the work was welcome. He must steady himself -in order to feel again and again and steadily--in order to know every -strange flower and divine essential thread! - -Long day went slow-footed by, and yet were its moments gems and -blossoms. He did not reason, he did not think; he only knew strange -bliss and strange pain and expected both to continue. - -Vespers--the picture--the Magnificat. Exalted as he was he knew that -there was exaltation about him, in the church. Did he care to bring it -before his mind he would have agreed that by now tidings of so great -import must have gone here, gone there. No more than incense or music -or light could it be kept at the starting point! Presently it would be -far and near. - -Prior Matthew of Westforest sat next the Abbot’s stall. That was to be -expected, Silver Cross and Westforest being mother and daughter. The -hollow of the church showed clusters of folk from Wander side. That, -too, was to be looked for. The Lord of Montjoy stood beside the tomb of -Isabel; often he came to Silver Cross, and it was not to be wondered at -that he was here to-day, summoned doubtless by Abbot Mark. Montjoy’s -dark face showed exaltation. It glowed; you would have said there was -personal triumph. Richard Englefield felt for Montjoy sudden kinship -and liking. - -What faces were turned to him, what looks were cast upon him, what -watchings, what judgments, hopes, he knew not. After the first habitual -sweep of the eye, after the first movement of spirit toward Montjoy, he -was the picture’s. - -The church grew wide as earth. The chanting went up long coloured lanes -to heaven’s gate. The setting sun sang, and the rising moon sang, and -the stars, as through the dusk they strode nearer. - -It was night. He was alone in his cell. Again he slept. He waked and -knew that he was in her presence. - -Softened glory, diminished that he might see her as he could see her. -Her red and her blue, her form, her face, her voice--kneeling, he -trembled with his joy as with a burden too great to bear. It was as -ocean wave to a babe. Vast, crested, it curved above him. His life -might go--he cared not for that, if on the other side of life he might -still adore! - -The voice! “Richard! Say thou for me to Silver Cross, ‘Go by the -orchard, go by the hill where feed the sheep. Go to where shines a fir -tree against the steep hill. Beside it you will find fallen earth and a -little cave made bare, and in the stone over the cave my name. Let the -Abbot of Silver Cross and the holiest among you enter. There shall you -find a little well of clear water, and by token beside it a rose. The -well hath been blessed by me and by all the host of heaven. Make you of -the grot a chapel. Set my image there; make it a place that I may love. -Make for the well a pool, and whosoever drinks of it and whosoever -bathes therein, if he have faith he shall be completely healed, be he -ill either of body or estate!’” - -The music fell, then rose again. “That is my task for thee, Richard! -That is the errand thou wilt do for me.” - -The voice ceased. He thought that the light began to go away, her form -to dim. He cried aloud, fear pushing him to wild utterance. “I will do -it! But wilt thou come again? I may not live unless thou wilt come!” - -There seemed pause, then said the voice like the balm of the world. -“I will come once again--and perhaps thereafter, so thou servest me -firmly!” And, as he bowed his head, as tears of sweetness, of exquisite -rest in her word, rushed to his eyes, she was gone. Darkness--and again -through the window the declining moon, and immediately the bell for the -dawn office. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -Silver Cross went in procession. The Abbot with the Prior of Westforest -walked ahead and there followed chanting monks. Then came lay Brothers -and villagers and a quarter of the countryside and a half-score from -Middle Forest. The Lord of Montjoy walked. Bright was the morning, high -and crisp; white frost on ground. Rounding the hill they cried, “The -fir tree!” - -They knew not how it was, but the tree, the first confirmation, seemed -to spring before them, magical, mighty, a veritable tree of life. Many -may have noted it before, through the years, standing like a sentinel -before the hill, and thought only, “A great tree, with good shade for -shepherds in hot summer tide!” But now marvel clothed it. - -The wind began to play through the stretched wires of Imagination. The -harp was sounding. - -It was the Prior of Westforest who cried, “Lo, the fallen earth! Not -touched from without, but pushed from within!” - -It lay in truth, sod, earth and rock, to right and left, as though -Might would come forth and had done so. - -The procession broke from column into a throng as of bees, eyes toward -their queen. There was the opening into the hill like a door with a -great stone for lintel. The Abbot spoke to the monk Richard. “Read -thou!” A breath of assent ran like wind through wheat. “Aye, aye, the -one she came to!” - -Richard Englefield read the name cut there and gave it to the folk -as he had given in Silver Cross church the message. Tall, spare, -gold-brown, in daily seeming stripped to simplicity and quietude, but -now with that around him that made for catching of the breath, he stood -and read and turned and gave the name of the Blessed among women. - -The Abbot and the Prior of Westforest entered the small cavern. The -bright sun was there; it was light enough. With them they took the monk -Richard, and Brother Oswald whom all knew for right monk and Brother -Ralph. There entered, too, the Lord of Montjoy. At first he would not. -“She saith, Take the good--” But the Abbot drew him by the hand. There -went in likewise one from Middle Forest,--Father Edmund the Preacher. - -There was the well,--a little basin of clear water bubbling from the -farther rock. It was March and the world leafless. But close beside -the water lay a fresh rose, nor red nor white, of a colour like the -dawn. Stem and leaf and blossom it lay, and in the water appeared its -likeness. The Abbot stooped toward it. Montjoy laid hand on him. “No! -Let this man lift it!” He and Richard Englefield and Brothers Oswald -and Ralph saw a transfigured rose. It glowed, it beat; it was seen -through tears. - -Brother Richard kneeled before it, touched it with his forehead. Then -in his two hands he bore it through the opening of the grot and showed -it, lifted, to the folk. - -Out of the hushed throng rang a voice. “The cave and well of Our Lady -of the Rose!” - -“That is it! That is it! Our Lady of the Rose!” - -The Abbot lifted his hands. “It shall be kept for aye in reliquary. -Lord of Montjoy--” - -“I will give the reliquary!” Montjoy saw in imagination the rose -blooming for aye, sending through gold and precious stones light and -fragrance to Isabel. - -It seemed that the sub-prior had brought from the Abbot’s house a -silver dish and a square of fine white linen. Brother Richard laid the -rose in the silver thing that he himself had carved. - -Now all that might would press into the grot. At last order was had -and like links of a massy chain in and forth passed the throng. There -was a woman from Wander Mill, dumb for years, and it was known that -she had not won healing from Saint Leofric. Now she came, she stooped, -she lifted water in her hands and drank. She rose, she turned, she -stammered, made strange sounds, then burst forth clear. “Praise God! -Praise Blessed Lady!--Oh, children, I am speaking!” - -Tears were in all eyes. - -One other was healed that day,--a man whose fingers were bent into his -hand so that he could not straighten them nor work at his trade. - -There was a great Mass and high devotion at Silver Cross. There were -offerings for at once lining with fine stone the grotto of Our Lady of -the Rose, for providing a fair, wide basin for the well, for a glorious -image. - -Earth, water and air seemed servants to bear the news. The hum of it -was like wild bees through Wander vale. Middle Forest listened at -sunset to Father Edmund. “True--true, my children! We have preached -and wrought, scourging forth evil! This country wins a new name. From -accursed, it becomes blessed!” The river heard and the bridge and Saint -Leofric’s Mount and the Friary and Prior Hugh. The bells of Saint -Ethelred rang and of the Carmelites and the Poor Clares. The castle of -Montjoy heard. Somerville Hall heard, and the house of Master Eustace -Bettany. - -The ruined farm heard,--but so dull and trouble-bent were David -and Margery that they cared not. Little things only could get into -Margery’s mind, and a little thing was turning there. Joan, the -helper-woman, slept in a loft that was reached by an outside stair. -Margery had swimming in the head and feared this stair and rarely went -to loft. But this day Joan might be anywhere, but could not be found at -hand. Margery climbed the stair and peered about. Very blank up here, -with flock bed and ancient chest and some hanging things. But in the -window under the thatch, in the sunshine of a mild day, stood the tiny -rose tree that Joan had brought with her under her cloak when she came -to the ruined farm two months since. She said she brought it because -she loved it, and she begged an earthern jar and put in rich soil and -planted afresh that which she had taken from such a jar in order to -bring it so great a distance,--in short from the great port town twenty -leagues away. Now, at the ruined farm, she must have nourished it well -and kept it warm, for it was green and leafy. Margery, going over to -admire it, set herself to turn the jar that she might better see. The -jar fell and broke. The earth heaped itself on the floor, the stem and -leaves were bruised. “Alack!” cried Margery and hurried down stairs, -for she thought she heard Joan. Though in form she was the mistress -it was not so essentially. She explained volubly when, in another -hour, there confronted her Joan with a shard of the jar in her hand. -She would remember the loft and the little rose tree, but the news of -miracles at Silver Cross, brought by a straying shepherd, whistled -through like wind over grass that when the stir was gone forgot. - -The March sunset flared splendid. The dusk fell like violets. The -stars, advancing, were taper flames and an angel vast as all mankind -held each. The moon would not rise till late. “Come, oh, come, come, -Rose of Heaven!” So the monk Richard Englefield in his dark cell. - -He must sleep, he would sleep, he would trust, not clamor nor force. He -slept, he waked; she was there, she appeared to him. “Rose of Heaven, -Rose of Heaven--Voice of Heaven, Blessed One--My Lady!” - -She was there to confirm him in worship, to say, “Well done, thus far!” -to say, “Pray thou--praise thou--live thou, humble, obedient, shedding -holiness on Silver Cross!” - -“Wilt thou come again?” - -The voice that was music said, “Live in memory and live in hoping! But -now, Richard, farewell!” - -Darkness where had been light. The kneeling monk stretched his arms, -strained his eyes, but there was darkness. He heard no movement, but -she was not there! Empty cell, and a black cloud across the moon! - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -She came no more. Night after night of dark,--only the star Memory and -the sapphire star of passionate hope that once again, once again he -would wake, clear, still, and know her there. “Even after years, oh, -heaven that holds her, oh, God that sustains her! Even after years -beyond counting.” - -She came no more. The nights were slow dark raindrops, heavy, full, one -after the other falling, slow falling, not to be counted. They made -rosaries, they would make rosaries for aye. “Then I must go to her. -Where is the eagle will show me the path?” - -March--April. The rose in reliquary, the cave stone lined, the well -widened into a fair pool with steps for going down, for coming up, one -in so many healed! April--May. Noise of Silver Cross like a waving -of forest trees, like a humming of all the bees in the meadows. Folk -coming, going; more folk and more folk coming! At the Abbey a greater -guest house in planning; in shambling village taverns, booths, houses -rising. Pilgrims on foot and pilgrims on horseback and in litter. A -bishop stayed three days in the Abbot’s house, there was rumour that -the cardinal might come. The bells of Silver Cross rang jubilee. - -Middle Forest relied now upon its own side of the river. Montjoy in -his castle looked younger by ten years. He looked like some crusading -Montjoy of long ago, long ago. The river murmured of both banks; the -bridge seemed to have two loves. But the mount of Saint Leofric, though -it said, “Praise for doubling!” seemed rather to wish to say, “Out upon -division!” Prior Hugh, though he spoke gracious words, looked warped -and wan and cogitative. - -Early May at the ruined farm and Somerville and the helping-woman Joan -in the forest, under a beech tree pale green and silver grey, springing -tall and stretching wide. “I will to go back to my house by the river! -All the world is joyous and grown softened--Oh, I hear it with the ear -inside of ear and I touch it with the touch inside of touch! Good was -done for all of the evil, was it not, Rob?” - -He laughed. “Oh, woman--! You can’t go back. Father Edmund has three -voices where he had one! Moreover--” - -“Moreover--?” - -“See you, Morgen, go up to London town.” - -“And why should I go to London town?” - -“Ask for that Westforest and Silver Cross.” - -Under the beech tree was carpet of last year’s leaves. She lifted and -crumbled them in her hands. “When I said that I would be secret, I -meant not telling! They have no call to fear me.” - -“Perhaps they tell themselves that. Or perhaps they see faint menace -every time they look this way!” - -“They promised that trouble should cease. I was going back to my own -house over my own garden, by the river that I like to hear by day, by -night. They said that Father Edmund should be checked. Presently I was -to find that I might slip back--” - -“What is promised is not easy sometimes to perform. They will give you -gold in London. London is rich, and you are Morgen Fay. Go, and be -powerful there!” - -“And you--and you? Oh, I remember that you go once in five years to -London!” - -“If you cried out in Middle Forest market place what was done not a -soul would believe you!” - -“No. It is too monstrous!” - -“Then and there the folk might tear you limb from limb for wild -blaspheming. They are truly quite safe.” - -She broke into high laughter. “Then let them leave me alone, and let -them keep promise! It irks me that they are so false! Here are two -months, and not yet may I go back! And Ailsa and Tony, where are they? -I see them begging or in gaol!” - -“You should be happy,” he said, “that you are not beggar nor in gaol.” - -There fell silence. The beech tree sprang light green and silver, the -sky was blue, the blackbirds talked, a thrush sang, wandering airs went -by. The world was sweet. But she crushed the dead leaves and sat still. - -“You must go. Need or no need, they will have it so! Nor can you -stay at the ruined farm forever. Something will happen endangering -you--endangering me.” - -She said. “Is life wicked--or are we wicked--or are we dull and -lifeless--stones, broken twigs, dead leaves? Many an one says that I -am wicked, and doubtless I am at times. I know it--I know it! And then -again I am not wicked. So if I say that you are so, poor Sir Robert -Somerville? Perhaps I am mistaken--perhaps I am right. It’s a weary way -to knowledge!” - -“Were you gentler,” he said, “had you not such a tongue, you would find -that the winds did not rock your nest so roughly!” - -He stood up. “Ah, go!” she said. “Go! I have seen it coming--now it -comes! Your road’s to John o’ Groat’s house and mine’s to Land’s End!” - -“You mock the wind,” he answered, “with your nest fixed so firm upon -the bough!” - -He went away by woodman’s path, and she to the ruined farm. “Eh, lass!” -said Margery at dusk. “You can work when your mind’s to it!” - -The third day from this Somerville and she were again in the wood. “I -am going. It is trudge! All of you make a north wind that I set my back -against and go! Nor will I cry for it, Somerville!” - -“You have no need to. They shall give you money. Walk or ride in a -cart from here through the later half of night, keeping disguise. Come -to the port in a day or so and find there the _King Arthur_ bound for -London. Find, too, upon the ship Ailsa--” - -Red flowed over her face. “Oh, the power that men, and honest men, own! -It is enough to make one willing to sell soul to devil!” - -He waved that aside. “It is for your own safety that you are going. -And were I wholly wicked I should not be here, nor Ailsa at the port -awaiting you--” - -She said. “That is true. I thank you there, Rob!” - -She broke a spray of hazel, set her teeth in the green wood, then threw -it away. “Shall we say good-by now, you and I?” - -“Not just yet. Something has arisen since we sat here the other day. I -have seen Prior Matthew.” - -“Aye?” - -“There is needed one more appearance. Question has arisen as to Saint -Willebrod--if he rests still or if actively he aids! There are some who -are devoted to him. Once more then!” - -“Oh, I will not!” - -His bright eyes dwelt upon her, all the lights played in his odd face. -“Why not, Morgen? Be good-natured! I nor none am doing badly by you.” - -“What do you get from this?” - -“The old debatable land--and a piece that was not debatable. I love -land! And I get playgoer’s enjoyment, watching from a good, quiet -seat--and comfort that we’re all fruit just pleasantly specked and -wasp-eaten--and some mirth from Montjoy’s ecstacy. So be good! -What! There are houses by Thames in London. You may have a garden -still--plant your rose tree there.” - -It was high May weather. As once before Thomas Bettany had errand up -the Wander,--merchant errand of account-to-be-paid. This time it was -with Oak Tree Grange beyond Silver Cross. He rode in the May tide and -with him rode John Cobb, and they had done the errand. Oak Tree Grange -lay out of the world, and now they were on a cart track, nothing more. - -Young Bettany rode light and happy on his big grey horse. May world was -a fair world, fair, sweet, gay, kind! He whistled clear and strong. “I -swear I saw God sitting on yon cloud!” - -Said John Cobb, “I’m going to Silver Cross to get this old scar taken -off my face.” - -“Silver Cross. I don’t know.” - -They were riding by a wood, old, uncut, dim. “This is Somerville’s land -now! He always claimed it, and now the Abbey allows it.” - -John Cobb looked about him. “I know now where we are. Over there, -a mile through, is a ruined farm. Lonely! It’s so lonely you lose -yourself--and there’s a ghost walks in the wood.” - -“Let’s go look.” - -John was not averse, being in the other’s company. They left cart track -and rode over yielding earth under old trees. There was no path and the -trees must be rounded. The way they had come sank from sight, almost -it might seem from mind, so quick the place took them. Bettany’s blue -eyes sparkled. He loved all this; he might come at any moment upon -wizard’s tower. What indeed they came upon was another faint track, -leading north and south. “Abbey is that way and Somerville Hall that -way, and over there is the turn to the road we left. They come in and -go out that way--but, Lord, there’s mortal little travel! You might say -it’s a witched place.” - -“That is what I like!” said the other. “Oh, if I might I would travel -far!” - -They rode as though it were bottom of the sea, it was so green and -silent. Bettany turned in his saddle and studied the lay of the place. -“When Somerville goes to Silver Cross I think he takes this way. It’s -not so far.” - -“Turn here to the ruined farm. David that lives here, I’ve heard my -mother say, was foster brother to Sir Robert’s father.” - -They rode on and now they saw the ruined farm between the trees. A -wreck it seemed, like a broken ship slipped down to sea floor. Then by -a thorn in bloom stood up Morgen Fay. - -“_Who are you?_” - -“_Who are you?_” - -In a moment she knew him and Bettany knew her for all her servant dress -and stained face. “How do you come here--how do you come here? You are -in London--” - -John Cobb crossed himself. “Like she be a sorceress, too--” - -Morgen stepped from the thorn to the side of the big grey horse. She -met blue eyes with dark eyes. Her lips smiled, her eyes and under her -eyes. “Oh, the saints!” she said. “I can but be glad to see you, lad! -You are no telltale! Can you teach your man to be none either?” - -“I can that. But Morgen Fay, how did you grow here?” - -He swung himself down from his horse and stood beside her. John Cobb -gaped. “Send him a little away,” she said, “but do not let him out of -sight. This world’s a danger-bush where the thorn is always near the -may!” - -They talked. “Do you remember that foggy day when you climbed through -window? I have not seen you since! I like you, though not the way that -all expect. I wish I might have had you for brother. Well, they would -stone me--burn me, maybe--in the market place, Father Edmund preaching -over me! I dwell at the ruined farm.” - -Intelligence flashed between them. “Somerville saved you--put you -here. I think the better of him!” He spoke sturdily, a young spiritual -adventurer. - -She looked at him with eyes that seemed to have considered a myriad -matters. She sighed--she stretched her arms in a yearning gesture in -the dim gulf of the world into which the wood seemed to have turned. -“It is away to London! Maybe I shall never again see you nor Somerville -nor Montjoy, who is too good now to be seen close, nor Middle Forest -High Street that I danced in when I was a little girl, nor my house -that I liked, though often was I wretched in it! Nor my garden that the -old wall mothered, nor river that I listened to and listened to. Well, -tide and time we run away! But where we run to, that is a question for -a wise man! They say that we run to heaven or to hell--and I shouldn’t -dare say my road was the first!” - -Without warning Thomas Bettany found himself priest. “If you’ve strayed -into wrong road, turn and take the other! You’ve got more than you -think of the other in you now. Turn, Morgen!” He regarded her with a -sudden startled face. “By the rood! It’s the Great Adventure.” - -She looked at him with more of the thorn in her face than the bloom. -From beyond an oak came John Cobb’s warning voice. “Some one’s coming! -Two or three!” - -“Go at once!” said Morgen Fay, and so meant it that she wrought their -going. Bettany, obeying her, rode without turning his head, straight -through the wood. The trees fell like fountains between the two and -the thorn bush. To the right lay the ruined farm, but they pushed on -and came after a mile to the narrow, little travelled road that led -at last to the highway that, passing Silver Cross, ran on to Middle -Forest. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -He turned his face from the wall to which it had been set. Light was in -the cell. He turned his body; he rose. “Oh, my Lady--” - -In the torrent rush of feeling he came close before he kneeled. The -light-swathed form stepped back from him. He knew overwhelming, aching, -bursting sense of felicity that yet was pain, was hunger. The float of -the red and blue drapery, the face that was the face of the picture, -the height, the sense of heaven in one Form-- - -On his knees he came nearer. His eyes were not hidden as before, -waiting for her to speak. He could not other; he did not think at all. -He would have put hands about her feet and with his eyes drink power -and beauty and love. - -She went back from him again. Something untoward happened. Her foot -and shoulder struck the great rood, pushed slightly forward from the -wall. It spun aside. Behind it showed in plain light a low and narrow -doorway, with door swinging outward, closed and hidden, all times but -this, by the great cross. Light showed the very rope and pulley by -which the masking wood was pushed forward and drawn back. Light showed -through into Brother Norbert’s cell; in the very opening showed Brother -Norbert and over his shoulder the white face of Brother Anselm. While -Richard Englefield rose to his feet, the shape that he had esteemed of -glory turned, bent itself and vanished through the opening. Light went -out. - -There was an effort to close the door but before it could be done -his knee and shoulder were there to prevent. There was a sound of -breathing, of muttering, then a hurry of feet. He broke through into -Brother Norbert’s cell and felt that it was empty. - -There was still a flickering light. It came from a great, thick candle, -almost a torch of wax, thrown into a corner but not yet extinguished. -He caught it up and the flame sprang whole again. It showed him much -of apparatus. There was the yet unclosed opening above, reached by a -short ladder, through which the shaft of light had been sent into his -cell. There were other things,--tools, cords, bits of candle, cloths, -what not. Mind light blazed. He saw why the cells had been emptied of -old occupants; he saw that these openings had been made while he was -at Middle Forest, he saw that they had used the great rood for mask. A -mantle lay upon the floor,--red, with blue and red linings. He lifted -it and saw that it was earthly cloth, though fine and thin. He saw the -jointed wires that could be stretched by the hand and so the tissues -be made to seem to float. He saw that they had put upon him a cheat. -He dropped the mantle but kept the torch in hand. The door of the cell -giving upon stone passage was swinging open. He burst through, he ran -down the passage. This way would have gone the whole complex monster, -to be overtaken and slain in fury. He ran, smoke and flame streaming -behind him, but at the bend of passage came upon half a dozen monks. -Of these, four seemed just awakened. But Brother Norbert and Brother -Anselm were wildly awake. He threw down the torch, he closed with -Brother Norbert. “Alas! Brother Richard! You are mad! Help!” - -Brother William that was a giant fell upon him. They pinned him down. -The sub-prior appeared with two or three more at his heels. “O Our -Lady! Hath he gone mad!” He fought with them all. “Robbers of souls!” -he shouted. They haled him into refectory that was near-by. One ran -for Brother Walter the leech. But Brother Norbert and Brother Anselm -vanished in the direction of the cell he had left. “You are cheats -and murderers!” he cried, to the true bewilderment of three or four. -Brother William, at a nod from the sub-prior, thrust cloth into his -mouth, wound and tied the gag. Brother Walter came. “What is wrong? -What is wrong? Doth he rave? They do so oft after so much hath come -to them!” He was haled down the passage to the cell he had left. All -was quiet there, ordered, still, plain monk’s cell, lighted only by -the lights they brought. The opening was closed and the great rood -in place. When he made to attack it, push it aside, they cried out -in horror and the sub-prior ordered his arms tied. Finally, perhaps -because he had ceased to struggle and seemed to be collecting his wits, -and a madman with wits was notoriously dangerous, they bound him with a -rope to the window stanchions and went off to put his case before the -Abbot. Brother Walter the leech would have stayed, but the sub-prior -sharply forbade. He seemed to hesitate whether or no to leave Brother -Norbert but at last signed him forth. The rope was strong, the man was -quiet. Let him be till council was taken! Solitude and none to hear was -regimen, time out of mind, for mad monk! - -They went. The cell was like a tomb, and he bound in it. It was dark, -with a faint sense of morning in the air. - -Despite all weakening Richard Englefield was yet strong of body. -And he had rage that came like a giant to possess him, and a will -that was now gathered, collected, and hurled through space to one -point. He broke the cord that bound his arms. This done he could free -himself from the gag and unknot at last the rope that bound him to -the stanchions. It was now to break stanchion and cross bar and clear -the window. He did this. He climbed through the window, held by his -hands, dropped to earth. It had been impossible to the sub-prior or -to Brother Norbert, but it was not impossible to him. It was all done -quickly. Stone rang beneath his feet. Light shone in the Abbot’s house. -Doubtless all were gathered there,--the thieves and murderers! Where -was that one, that painted fiend, who had given him cap and bells to -wear through life? Through life--through eternity! The church rose -dark. He looked at the stars above it, and they seemed to him sparks -from a mean and smoky fire. Now he was at Silver Cross outer wall. He -climbed it and came down upon the other side with cuts and bruises that -he did not feel. A palest light shone in the east. Behind him, over -him, he heard the bell for lauds. He knew where ran the highway down -Wander vale to Middle Forest. He went straight like a wild wind blowing -down. All since he had waked was done as it were in one moment. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -In Middle Forest it was market morning, high May weather and many -abroad. Country folk, town folk, folk from across river made a humming -and buzzing in High Street and the market place. The sun was an hour -up, and all thrifty marketers out of house. Saint Ethelred’s bells -rang, the Carmelites’, the Poor Clares’. Father Edmund walked about; -there were two of Leofric’s friars from over river. May sun struck -the castle, up the steep hill from market. The bells stopped. Eyes, -thoughts, turned this way and that. - -A Silver Cross monk sped like an arrow through the market place. He was -at town cross, on the lower step, on the upper step. He faced around. -“Middle Forest! Ho, Middle Forest!” - -They recognized him. All the countryside, flocking now to Silver Cross -church, had sought with their eyes for Brother Richard. Near or at -distance, he had been pointed out to many. A cry arose and spread. -“The monk of Silver Cross!” Those close at hand came closer; those -afar hastened to the thickening centre. He flung his arms out and up. -He seemed to appeal to Middle Forest, but also to high heaven,--or -he seemed to threaten high heaven. His voice rang and reached like -Montjoy’s trumpets. He told what he had to tell, and all those ears -drank it in and all those eyes stared and mouths gaped. He had power, -and now it was power at the top of its straining. As he told, what he -told they believed. - -He paused, gasping, his face working. From the step beside him sprang -forth another voice, that of Father Edmund, master-preacher and scourge -of the vices of the time. “Who alone, in all earth around us, would -dare so to blacken the Mother of God, the Bride of Heaven? Have I not -cried that she was never gone but hidden hereabouts--the harlot and -sorceress, Morgen Fay!” - -Richard Englefield heard. He knew not the name or its associations, -but his mind leaped fiercely upon it. Mind leapt like a famished wolf. -Then, straight up from a dark well, rose memory of a chance-heard talk -among the coarser sort, in the Brothers’ common room,--talk of Middle -Forest from which one had come. That day he had risen and gone away and -stopped his ears with work. So she was Morgen Fay, the harlot! - -Enormous commotion rose around him. There ran and jangled a multitude -of voices. Impossible to Middle Forest to forego the present -sensation! But the good and glory now flowing from Silver Cross! -Equally impossible to question and forego that! Out of it all burst -finally the great cry, “Is there no Blessed Well, no Cavern of -Our Lady, no Rose in reliquary? But we know there are the healed! -Here’s one was healed! The monk is mad!” Came like a bolt from Saint -Ethelred’s porch one whom all knew,--Friar Martin, the Black Friar. -He, too, stood on town cross steps,--and half Middle Forest was here! -The Black Friar’s eyes gleamed and that which gleamed in them was -love of the glory of Saint Leofric. Out poured the bull voice. “The -healed? They will stay healed! They need not fear! Their faith in good -made them--makes them whole! What! The stars are above the tavern -lights! But here, verily, hath been tavern lights, pothouse lights. But -healing! You shall not lack healing while stands Saint Leofric!” - -The place was grown like an angered hive. Father Edmund and Friar -Martin were a pair to change bewilderment into passion. Father Edmund -hunted sin calling itself Morgen Fay. The Black Friar had a pointing -finger for the leper spot in Silver Cross. Middle Forest grew to sound -of forest in tempest. So much swayed with Father Edmund, so much went -with Saint Leofric over Silver Cross, so much beat against the two, -asserting Silver Cross’s total innocence, save maybe for a monk’s -deceit and madness! So many held purely for self and sought out the -profit. Market place grew pandemonium. - -Out came a strong citizen voice, Master Eustace Bettany’s. “Have -Brother Richard up to the castle! Let Montjoy hear!” - -It was a channel and brought relief of pouring into channel. Hands were -upon the monk to urge him. “Montjoy! Yes, tell Montjoy!” - -The castle hill was sunny, the castle gate was dim, the castle court -sunny, the castle hall dim. So many folk buzzed on castle road, below -wall; so many were let into court and buzzed there, so many entered -hall. From castle hill, if you looked Silver Cross way, you might see -rapidly moving dust, growing larger, coming nearer. That was Abbot Mark -and Prior Matthew. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -Montjoy--yes, Montjoy! - -A house that he had loved came down about Montjoy’s ears. A garden that -he had tended the swine rooted up. One came and threw filth against his -Love. - -He seemed to understand this monk and the monk to understand him. For -an instant they were brothers in suffering and rage. - -Sow it with salt--Silver Cross! - -Abbot Mark and Prior Matthew. Who best to send to cardinal and to Rome -on that business? Procure their degradation! Have them cursed with -bell, book and candle! - -The whore--let her be burned slowly until she was ashes! - -_O Isabel--Isabel--Isabel!_ - -O Kingdom of Heaven that hath suffered wrong! - -Montjoy sat with a working face. He sat in his great chair on the dais -in castle hall and his hands gripped the arms of the chair. At last he -spoke with voice of one underground who has fire still but has lost the -light of day. “Well, as for thee, monk--” - -“Give me, no more, that name!” cried the man addressed. “The monk is -dead. I am Richard Englefield, the Smith!” - -At that moment entered bruit of the arrival of Abbot and Prior. “Yes, -yes, let us see them!” said Montjoy, and who knows what hope sprang up -in his heart. He believed Richard Englefield, but there pressed against -his belief all the weight of old, loved Silver Cross, and the weight -of the priest and the weight of Mother Church. Things happened, vile -things, as they happened in Kingdom, in Nobility and Knighthood. But -for all that Knighthood was heroic and Holy Church holy. Child could -not go against mother, lover against beloved. Let us at any rate hear -what this Iscariot Abbot and Prior shall say! And with that rolled for -the first time upon Montjoy’s mind Saint Leofric, and he heard the joy -of Hugh who was not discovered. “That this vileness that he saith were -not true!” cried Montjoy within. “O Isabel, that it were not true!” - -_Morgen Fay!_ The Lord of Montjoy was dead ember there, and all the -breathing of Morgen Fay might not relume. “O High God, I would live -cleanly! That harlot, wherever she is, doth always only evil!” - -Silver Cross--Silver Cross! The church, Isabel’s tomb and the great -picture. He saw that Morgen Fay could have played it because she had -the height and faintly, faintly the face. Isabel was the true likeness -and Morgen Fay the false, the evil. “Let her burn, who deserveth it if -ever any did!” - -Silver Cross, and cold wretchedness and grinning, mocking Satan if it -were no better than Saint Leofric! Mark a kinsman, too. All honour -smirched! - -Again his eyes were for Richard Englefield. To have believed that -Heaven had singled you out--to have had vast raptures of mind and -heart, all fragrance, all flavour, all light, all music, all warmth, -all lifting--to have fallen at the feet of the Brightest Star, to -have had the honey of touch and the honey of word and the honey of -smile, and knowledge that all was immortal and holy, all was heavenly -true!--to have had that and believed it eternal--and then to have -fallen, fallen, gulf upon gulf, dreary world by dreary world, to last -mire and stubble, nay, past that into caverns of hell-- - -Abbot Mark came into the hall, he and Prior Matthew, and behind them -Brothers Anselm and Norbert with Walter the leech and six besides. Out -of these monks five at least knew only that the fiend had made sortie -against and taken and poured madness upon the holy man, yesterday the -pride, the boast, of Silver Cross. Abbot Mark--large, authoritative, -stately--showed pallor indeed, but also concern and innocency and high -unawareness that Silver Cross did or could stand in any danger. As for -Prior Matthew, he stood and moved, red, dry, cool, collected, always -a man with a head. Abbey monks, drawing together, looked trustingly -upon their Superiors and pityingly, it was seen, upon Brother Richard, -standing very gaunt and ghastly white, with blazing eyes. - -Montjoy faced that entry. All Silver Cross with long venerableness -and power, great church of Silver Cross, the jewel windows, the -picture, the sculptured Isabel upon her tomb entered also castle hall -and drowned it into vaster space and into significances otherwise -and potent. Something of rigidity went out of the lord of Montjoy. -Trust--trust! - -Friar Martin, the Black Friar, saw it go--clouds again mounting against -Saint Leofric. And all the hall full of people, hanging divided in -wish and thought! He felt it running through, “Was it not monstrous, -unthinkable--were there not explanations--was it reasonable now--and -if it was all a cheating show, where was Middle Forest? Why, left -holding a great bag of Loss!” The Black Friar felt, as though he were -Leofric’s Hugh, stricture about the heart. Good Chance was quitting, -the fickle jade! - -Yet when Montjoy stepped toward the Abbot, pale Accusation stepped -with him. “Lord Abbot--Lord Abbot, you are in time! You have fouled -Christendom--oh, if you have fouled Christendom!” - -But the Abbot seemed not to notice words and mien. He cried, “O -Montjoy, the holy man, good Brother Richard, hath gone mad! Yesterday -he broke into a frightful babbling, the fiend at his ear, the fiends -within him! The morn, Walter the leech leaving him awhile, thinking -that loneliness might do somewhat, he burst window, broke cloister! -Whereupon we ourselves follow him, not knowing what harm he doth to -himself and to all! For alas! he now doubteth the happening of the -Great Miracle and clamoureth that it was the demon. We know, alas! how -at times it happeneth! Overmuch light, the weak soul bending aside -from Heaven-grace, the fiends gathering to torment and perplex, and -were it possible, to defeat light! The warder faints. Madness enters. -Poor soul, alas! yet Heaven did use him! Heaven-grace and the miracle -persists, though for him be madman’s cell--” - -He stood, father Abbot, in his large face godly concern for all -awryness. He loomed. All Silver Cross seemed with him, Silver Cross -through the centuries. Three fourths in the hall turned that way. “He -crieth otherwise,” said Montjoy, and with a gesture set Brother Richard -and his Superior face to face. - -Cried Richard Englefield, “Thou shameless, false shepherd! Thou lying -Abbot of a rotted fold!” - -At which a young monk, Brother Wilfrid, so forgot himself, defending -good, shaming ill, that he rushed against the mad monk. “Son!” -thundered the Abbot and brought Brother Wilfrid to his knees, crying, -“Pardon!” - -Truly Richard Englefield maddened. He saw how it would end, and the -legion before him. His vision swam and darkened, light foam came about -his lips. He sent out a loud, hoarse and broken voice. “Fraud! Fraud! -Lord of Montjoy, come to Silver Cross and see!” - -The Black Friar, straining forward with the rest, caught at that word, -“Fraud!” He did not dare to echo it aloud, for now, in a moment as -it were, many a hundred year of Silver Cross, many a goodly deed and -use penetrated, reverberated here, large space entering somehow small -space, riving it apart. Old authority, long veneration, the great Abbey -church, Montjoy’s love for it, Middle Forest’s clinging to it--Friar -Martin had thundered one misty afternoon against Montjoy’s doubting of -Saint Leofric. Montjoy had had to down head and slink homeward. Now -Friar Martin wished to shout, “Fraud! Fraud!” and, “It began in envy of -Saint Leofric his great glory!” But he was afraid. There might be no -proof. If the monk were not already mad he would soon be so. - -Prior Matthew of Westforest moved a piece. Still, conclusive, calming, -entered his voice. “It is seldom well to take madman’s advice! But here -it seemeth to me well. Lord of Montjoy, you cannot do better than to -ride with us to Silver Cross.” - -Lean and strong, and a master chess player, he came to front of the -dais, and lifting voice, entered into explanation of Brother Richard’s -sad illness and of the ways of the fiend who for this time had -overthrown the saintly man. But he would recover--Prior Matthew had no -doubt of it--under Walter the leech’s care, amid his brethren at Silver -Cross, or at Westforest, where was smaller range, stricter solitude. He -should have tendance; he should have prayers. “As for that Presence -that did descend upon him. She the Blessed is not harmed! Men and women -of Middle Forest, the Rose still rests in reliquary, the Healing Well -still heals! Let them that are sick come prove it!” - -Edmund the Preacher cried out mightily. “If it be so, still hath the -devil compacted with the harlot, Morgen Fay! How else could the thought -of her, the form of her, enter here? The devil made her to be seen in -monastery cell, thrusting aside True Queen! Seek her out, bind her to -the stake by town cross and burn her! Never else will this countryside -be cleansed!” - -Prior Matthew looked with narrowed eyes. “There is truth in what -you say, Edmund the Preacher! Long hath she been great scandal!” He -thought, “Best that she have her cry quickly and be done with it! All -the poison out at once in one dish, not trailing forever, word here and -word there! She set sail, long ago, to come to this end. This year or -next, what matter?” - -And he saw that it would make diversion. Let her clamour what she would -of what she had done! It would be the fiend speaking. Silver Cross and -Matthew of Westforest against a mad monk and a harlot! - -Silver Cross and Westforest and Montjoy. He saw as in a scroll that -Montjoy would never wholly believe nor yet wholly disbelieve. - -Richard Englefield cried again, “Ride at once, Montjoy! They will have -burned ladder and ropes and cloaks and scarfs. But the door behind the -rood--they have not had time there--” - -“What is that? What?” cried the Abbot sharply. “Door behind rood?” - -“Where was none, door was made between my cell and yonder villain -monk’s! So you sent me for penance to Westforest, so it was done. -Then a great rood, great and black, was set before it. Yea, you used -Christ on the cross for mask! Dim was it in that cell--never had I -light in that cell! Now I have light--now it burns! Aside she pushed -salvation--in she stepped, mincing like a harlot, having taken sugar -for her voice--” - -Abbot Mark fairly shrieked with horror. “Oh, if we did not know that it -is Sathanas himself that speaketh, not the poor man whom he hath laid -in bonds! Door--door!” He summoned sub-prior. - -“Reverend father, door truly was made, it being once plan to take -the wall down wholly, making of two cells one and using it for an -infirmary. Then it was found that the light was not good, and the plan -was abandoned. Stone was set back in the opening, and true it is that -a rood being about that time placed in each cell, it was fastened, in -this man’s and in Brother Norbert’s, against that wall. Of all his -story it is the only truth! In his madness he must have torn the rood -aside and seen that once there was opening, though now stone-filled -and mortared. After that what Sathanas saith to him God forbid that we -should know or repeat!” - -“Shall I believe?” whispered Montjoy. “Shall I not believe? O Isabel--O -Lady near whom moveth Isabel--” - -Richard Englefield towered. He stretched his arms, he raised his face. -“O Christ, if thou be true--O Blissful One, Eternal Virgin, if thou be -real--” - -But summer sun shone on. - -It was Prior Matthew who summed up and delivered judgment in Montjoy’s -hall. “Ride with us now to Silver Cross, Montjoy--and do you come -also, Edmund the Preacher, and you, Master Eustace Bettany, and any and -all others who will! Yea, make throng and procession! What! Shall there -be division between Silver Cross and Middle Forest who have dwelled -together since the Confessor’s day? Sometimes eh, Middle Forest?--we -have quarrelled, but not for long, have we? Ours, after all, one bed -and one hearth! Doth Silver Cross grow rich and great, it is for -Middle Forest. Doth Middle Forest increase, Silver Cross goes smiling. -Remember the saintly abbot--Abbot Robert--and how did he and his monks -when befell the Plague! Remember war, and we stood together. And now -Heaven blesseth both, and Holy Well, a thousand years from now, shall -still be Holy Well!” - -He had it now--Mark and he had it in their four hands! If they carried -it carefully, and they would do so, four hands obeying the Prior of -Westforest’s head. Now for the trouble maker, the crazed one who failed -to see or hear Interest though she shouted at him and pulled him by the -robe! Prior Matthew gave a short order to Silver Cross monks. “Take -him!” - -Brother Norbert, Brother Anselm, Brother Wilfrid and the others -fell upon Brother Richard. Short, hard struggle, and they had him. -Brother Norbert bound his arms with hempen girdle. As he still shouted -accusations, at the Prior’s nod they gagged him. “Not holy man who -may be holy man again, but Apollyon who now hath seized the tower and -speaketh from the gate!” - -Montjoy sat in his lord’s chair and looked straight before him. -Truth, truth--is it not profoundly likely to be here? Were it not -for Hugh of Saint Leofric, could ever he have doubted it? The monk’s -tale,--fantastic, like a romaunt! Say, darkly, it is true; what other -can cry Aye! and strengthen it, or No! and dash it into dreams? _Who -other but Morgen Fay?_ - -It formed in Montjoy’s mind that that harlot must be found. - -Prior Matthew, Brother Richard silenced, had present eyes for the Black -Friar there to one side, standing grimly for Saint Leofric. “Now and -here!” said within the Westforest chess player. Matthew spoke in his -dry, reasonable voice. - -“Ride you, too, with us, Friar Martin! You shall have mule. What! Saint -Leofric and Saint Willebrod, be sure they ride together! Shall we not -make England and Christendom ring for that all this corner of earth, -this side river, that side river, Silver Cross and Saint Leofric alike -are blessed? Bridge over river shall be to you and be to us, and I -see it built thick and high with booths and rooms for pilgrims! The -Princess of Spain goes to-day to Saint Leofric’s tomb, to-morrow to -Holy Well! To-day the Dauphin heareth mass in Silver Cross, to-morrow -goeth in procession around Saint Leofric his church! Both ways he -passeth through Middle Forest. Common good--common good! What else is -worth anything in this life? The more massive the bruit, the broader, -higher, shooteth the fame of all!” - -It was undeniable! Black Friar thought somewhat surlily, “If I go I -can at least take account of all to Prior Hugh. And there is something -in ‘If you can’t increase apart, increase together’!” - -Rested that fanatic, Father Edmund the Preacher. Better always have -Father Edmund preach for you, not against you! He could any time whip -calm sea into storm. The chess player considered him, to whom just now -Morgen Fay, the harlot, stood for all harlotry, whether of brain or -heart. When all heinousness was believed of Morgen Fay, then would the -countryside be roused at last, then would every man, woman and child -become huntsman! Father Edmund meant to continue to believe Brother -Richard’s story. Why not? She was capable of it. Certain abbeys of this -later time were capable. Father Edmund was one to cry under the Pope’s -great window, “Reform! Reform!” - -Prior Matthew saw the weather thickening. Presently from that quarter -lightning flash and thunder clap! “Boldness my wisdom!” he breathed. - -His dry voice, somehow powder red like his hair and tint, dry, rarely -loud but procuring attention, continued to hold all ears. “As to the -harlot, Morgen Fay, would you have my mind? It is quite likely she be -hidden somewhere within five leagues. Now Sathanas worketh underground -and taketh evil mind to evil mind, or often to weak mind, or to mind -that was Sathanas’ enemy against whom he useth every springe! So to my -thought it hath been here. Heaven permitteth--yes, to try faith, Heaven -permitteth! The fiend works what seemeth victory, good man turning -toward him. Whom doth he use? Yea, there is it! Harlot consenting, he -yesternight taketh her image and with it entereth neither by door nor -window cell of Brother Richard; yea, entereth his mind and his eye and -his ear, his will, his belief and his heart. Brother Richard thinketh, -‘It is the great True Pearl!’ And falleth upon his knees before empty -air, for the devil fixeth images within, not without. But the devil -gives never for proof Holy Well that healeth a score a week! And the -devil hath had only yesternight. Yea, moreover, midway Heaven sendeth -some aid and he that hath been holy man seeth that it is not she who -came before, but stained wax and that the devil cheateth him! Whereat -the devil, that harlot no doubt still aiding, leapeth, greatly angered, -upon his mind, teareth and bruiseth it tiger-wise and bringeth it for -this time into huge confusion and madness. Again Heaven suffereth it, -and suffereth him to cry and accuse as madmen ever cry and accuse, -that by trial of our faith we may all be brought clearer. But Heaven -willeth always that we defeat the fiend and his instruments. Aye, -search for these and grind them small and so grieve and weaken that -Evil One who rides invisible!” - -Father Edmund cried. “She said, ‘Aye, aye!’ or the devil could not -use her! Lord of Montjoy, town of Middle Forest, Abbey of Silver -Cross, Priory of Westforest and Priory of Saint Leofric, I, Edmund -the Preacher, summon you by souls’ welfare to join search for the -Plague-spot, the Witch-mark! When she is burned then may the monk -recover his mind, then may the True Pearl, the Very Rose, show again, -the toad be banished from the Holy Well, Saint Leofric and Saint -Willebrod be sworn brothers, Montjoy give again with joy to Silver -Cross, Middle Forest prosper, and all England and the Princess of Spain -and the Dauphin come in pilgrimage!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -When upon his knees he had come most close to her, when she felt his -hands, his brow, his breathing against her sandalled feet, she had -given back in a kind of terror. Then, all unluckiness! - -Flying, she had dropped her mantle. Brother Norbert, Brother Anselm and -their terrified white faces! Brother Anselm coming after her, out of -the cell, down the stone passage. Another coming after, great torch in -his hand, smoke and flame streaming backward his face like Death and -Judgment! Brother Anselm’s breathing on her cheek, his hand seizing, -pushing her, who needed no urging, for now she knew panic. - -The outward-giving porter’s cell that they used--the door, quick! -Through, clap it to behind, draw bolt across--opposite door, quick! -Short passage again, the little postern. Anselm had the key, Brother -Edward the porter sleeping elsewhere this night. Open--open! Morgen Fay -knew agony until she saw the stars over Abbey orchard. - -Wall and the ivy tods which made no ladder necessary. Up! and on wide -wall-top rest a moment, breathe and look back. Bell was ringing, -lights hurried here, hurried there in Abbey, but the orchard between -lay still, at peace and bathed in moonlight. Down the wall on forest -side, where footholds had been cunningly made. Brother Anselm spoke. “I -will work them over so that even they cannot be found.” - -“Through the poplar wood there is a path,” she said. “Go back, and I -will run alone to the ruined farm. Never--never--never more, Morgen -Fay!” - -They spoke in whispers. “Aye, it is better. God knoweth what trouble we -shall have now! But you, mistress, you will be dumb?” - -“Oh, aye! All night, on pallet, under eaves, in the ruined farm, I was -stretched so fast asleep! I dreamed only of my house by the river and -my garden where now are blooming pinks and marigold!” - -“Better that than dream of red flame!” said Anselm. “Haste now!” - -He slipped back over the wall; she was in poplar wood. - -The moon shone so that she could find her way. Thin wood gave into -deep wood, beech, oak. Her feet felt the slight path. A doe and fawn -started from her, hare bounded across, owl hooted, moon shone and light -was beaten by branch and leaf into thousands and thousands of silver -pieces. She ran; she felt drunken. - -There was near a league to go. Her pace slowed, she stood drawing -hard breath, then went on again but not running. None were after her; -she heard none after her. Here clung darkness, or cold, mysterious, -shifting light. The air hung cool, very still, with faint fragrances. -Her mind had wings, great dark ones, and now it beat in the passages -and cells of Silver Cross, and now at the ruined farm, and now about -and through Somerville Hall. It went also to Middle Forest and into -Montjoy’s castle. Back it beat to the ruined farm, and Somerville -to-morrow, in this wood, and then London road. London road! No doubt -now. London road! Her mind sought London town, but that hung distasted, -weary, drear and threatening. “O Morgen, why so? Will there not be -Montjoys and Somervilles there--aye, greater ones. Mayhap princely -ones!” But she hated London road and London town. “Oh, what are the -hands that hold me here--cannot hold but would hold!” To-morrow, -to-morrow, next day at latest, London road, London road! - -Going through the dark wood, she no longer felt panic. Perhaps it was -so and perhaps it was not so that all Silver Cross was roused, those -who knew and those who did not know. She knew that not twenty there -did know; and at first she had felt the hands of all those others, the -guiltless, upon her, against her. Almost she had felt their stoning. -But those who knew were foxes and serpents,--cunning, cunning! They -would provide safety for themselves and so for her, too, bound in the -same bundle with them. “With the foxes and serpents,” she thought. - -Now she walked steadily, about her mighty trees, overhead the moon, in -her ears the million small forest tongues, in her nostril the smell of -fern. The night did not terrify her, she was warm in her frieze cloak. -She saw the ruined farm sunk in dimness and sleep. By the outside stair -she would creep up to her room, Joan the serving-woman, so negligible a -soul. To-morrow would come Somerville. Morgen Fay, so negligible a soul. - -A voice went through her. “Who neglecteth? Soul, soul, who neglecteth?” - -She would not answer. She ran again under the moon, upon the forest -path. - -Forest broke away. The ruined farm all in the moonlight and Margery and -David sleeping like the long dead. The long dead--the long dead. “Am I -the long dead?” - -She crept up the stair and as she did so the cock was crowing. Here -was loft chamber, here straw bed cleanly covered. Frieze cloak dropped, -her body stood in moonlight, dressed in the colours and the fashion of -the great picture. Morgen Fay took off the raiment and folded it and -laid it upon the bench under the window. “As soon as it is light I will -burn it.” She felt fatigue, overpowering, extreme, and dropped upon the -bed and drew over her the cover and hid her face from the moonlight in -her arms, in her hair. - -But at first light she stood up. One might not sleep this morning, not -yet! She put on her dress of serving-woman, took up the raiment from -the bench, made it into a small bundle, covered it with her frieze -cloak and went down the stair. Margrey and David stirred in their -part of the house. She heard them talking, the woman screaming to the -man who was deaf. A tall, blooming lilac stood by the beehives. Here -she hid her bundle, went and returned with a brand from the hearth, -shielded in an earthenware pitcher. Taking it up again, she bore -all away from the house into stony field. Thorn trees springing up -presently hid her and her ways from the house. Here, in a corner was a -flat, hearth-like space. She gathered dead twigs, took her brand from -the pitcher and made fire. She opened the bundle and piece by piece -burned all, then with a thorn bough scattered the ashes. Mantle and -veil had been left in Norbert’s cell. “Fire there, too, last night,” -she thought. “Hiding fire, cleansing fire.” - -At the house door Margery cried to her, “Have you baked the cakes and -drawn the ale? Or have you been to Fairies’ Hill? There’s a witched -look about you!” - -She worked an hour and then another while Margery watched and grumbled, -then when the old woman’s back was turned away she slipped. “Joan! -Joan!” But she was gone to wood of beech and oak and ash. Somerville -must come soon, oh, no doubt of it! - -Oak and beech and ash wore the freshest green. Underneath spread -grasses and flowers. The sun came down in a golden dust, birds sang, -bees hummed, air held still and fine. She sat and nursed her knees, or -turning stretched fair body of Morgen Fay on summer earth. He did not -come, Somerville did not come. So weary was she that she slept for a -while. Waking, she found the sun at noon. She must go back to the house -and hear if anything had been heard. Nothing! it might as well have -been in dreamland, a thousand, thousand leagues from Wander side. - -She sat at the table with David and Margery, drank ale and broke bread. -The two quarrelled weakly, faded leaves on the edge of winter. She -felt suddenly that it was so with all things. As though it were the -greatest cloud that ever she had met or had dreamed, as though it were -night that made other nights light, blackness rolled over her. She -rose, pushed back her stool and quit the house. Certes, the sun shone. -It made no difference; she was night, night! Her feet took her to the -wood, anywhere, anywhere! She must have movement. But night, night, and -horror of the spirit. She groaned, she flung herself down under an oak -and pressed her forehead to its great root. She was leaf that had left -the tree, whirling down. - -Blackness, emptiness, nothingness--but not peace, no! The end, Morgen -Fay, the end, the end! - -It seemed to her that she swooned, and that then she came again. Now -there was evil grey, but grey. - -It seemed to her that she put out her hand and that it closed upon a -robe. It seemed to her that she put her forehead to this. She said, -“Mother!” It seemed to her that hands came down to her and touched her, -that there was a breathing, that a voice said, “O Thyself!” - -She lay against trees in darkness and in ache. - -Somerville found her here. “Asleep? Art asleep?” - -She sat up. “No. Awake. I have done a villain thing.” - -He regarded her with his odd, twitching face, somewhat pale to-day, and -the smile a dry grimace. “If thou hast so, thou art like to pay for it! -All came out. Your monk broke cloister and told it at town cross.” - -“Yea, did he? He has manhood.” - -“There was all town to hear. Father Edmund tossed thy name forth like a -ball.” - -She moistened her lips. “So?” - -“Then the monk told it in castle hall. Montjoy believed.” - -“Believed it of me? Well, I did it.” - -“Then arrive Abbot Mark and Prior Matthew, riding hard from Silver -Cross. Now comes about the strangest thing. I doff my cap, I lout my -knee to Westforest!” - -He told. She drew hard breath, then broke into terrible laughter. -“So, the monk is in the madhouse and they drive a stake for me by -town cross? But the Abbot and the Prior and the crew that worked for -them, and Sir Robert Somerville--oh, have you no little penance at all? -Must be that you are to say a hundred paternosters or give a tall wax -candle! Nothing? Scot free? If they take me, I will tell!” - -“If you do, it does you no good nor them any harm! Prior Matthew -usually spins without a fault.” - -“‘Us,’ Rob! Does ‘us’ no harm!” - -He jerked his shoulders. “‘Us’ then. I was at home. Thomas Bettany -brought me all this two hours agone. I came as soon as I could think -it out. Search is up already, Morgen! They course here and they course -there. Presently the ruined farm. I run high danger, standing talking -here.” - -“Begone, then! Quick, Rob, quick!” - -Somerville turned red under her tone. “Naturally, I am all thy care! -Thou bitter witch!” - -“Didst ever burn thy finger? It is not pleasant to burn finger. Well, -now, counsel!” - -“Counsel is to hide as deep and as soon as may be.” - -“Where?” - -“I thought of those thick alders by Wander brook--a mile of them. If -you lie close to the ground, and they have not dogs--” - -“Dogs!” - -“If search sweeps over, not finding, then to-night a wagon filled with -straw will cross Wander brook at the old bridge, going Londonward. This -is all that I can do. I do no more, by all the Saints!” - -“Why,” she said, “I do not after all wish thee to burn beside me! -Alders by Wander brook.” - -He said, “Hark!” raising his hand. - -They heard it, distant rout of voices. “Go!” he said. “Run! No time for -love-parting! I must return to the Hall.” - -“I wish no love-parting!” she answered. “That is dead. But -farewell--farewell, Rob! Now you go to the Hall but I to Wander brook.” - -He was listening. “They come louder!” When he turned his head, she -was gone. He saw her brown dress beyond ash stem and bough; now she -was deep in fern. He heard her movement, then silence. Still a brown -gleam, then that vanished. He stood still, he put hands to face and -drew a breath deep and long, then turning he walked rapidly through -the forest to his park and his hall. The ruined farm he had already -visited. David and Margery had their word. “A serving-wench? Yes, they -had had one--Joan. Country from toward Minchester. But she was gone--a -se’ennight since.” Somerville had climbed the steps into the loft room. -Little was here of Joan or Morgen Fay. But what was, he himself had -carried and given to hearth flame. There was one thing, a rose tree in -a great crock, and this most carefully he had destroyed. - -Now, walking fast toward Somerville Hall, he thought, “Have you done -wickedly, knight? Why, not so wickedly! A little here, a little there, -but no great amount anywhere. Even chance, they may not beat the -alders.” He made for himself a picture of London and a little house by -the Thames, and Robert Somerville coming to its door, it opening and -Ailsa saying, “Why, enter, knight! Flowers and candles and wine--” - -Morgen Fay crouched among rushes, beneath alders at the edge of a -wide brook. It was still and sunny, warm, the water singing drowsily. -Two dragon flies in blue mail. The reeds met over her head; it was -still as creation dawn. A trout leaped, clouds sailed overhead, -blue sky returned, vast, shining, deep as forever. A butterfly and -the dragon flies, a small tortoise among reeds, a blackbird in the -alders,--stillness, stillness, sun, remoteness. Her muscles relaxed. -She thought, “Oh, after all--” - -Then came the voices. She cowered, lay flat, looking only with terror -to see if she made chasm in the reeds. They waved above her. “Oh, -perhaps--perhaps--” She prayed. Then she heard the dogs, and they -opened cry. She heard a shout, “They’ve got her!” and as they came -with great bounds she rose from among the reeds. She would have run, -but could not. She raised her voice, “Call off the dogs, and I will -come to you!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -Said Master Eustace Bettany to Thomas Bettany, his son: - -“Idle--thou art idle! Hadst as well be in the new Indies as in my -countinghouse! Paper costs--and there thou goest scrawling, scrawling, -and never a sum adding nor thinking out market!” He snatched the -whitey-brown sheet. “Waste makes want! What are you scribbling there? -‘I saw it in a flash--I saw it in a flash!’ What is it, prithee, that -you saw in a flash?” - -Thomas Bettany rubbed his eyes. “That the world’s a great merchant, -father, selling herself to herself and buying herself from herself.” - -The elder glanced suspiciously. “Will you be turning monk?” - -“No, though I think there be good monks, good abbots and good priors.” - -“Of course there be good monks, good abbots and good priors! God forbid -that you go believing witch’s story and mad monk’s tale!” - -“What would happen if I did, father?” - -“Madman’s whip and bread and water and a chain! Go to, Thomas, what is -wrong?” Suspicion sat in his eyes. “That’s a new thought and one I -like not! Were you among the reachers for flowers that grew by harlot -house? Were you?” - -Thomas Bettany shook his head. “I’ve told you I wanted Cecily.” He rose -from chair and desk. “Eh, father, also I would like a ship that sails -and sails away--with me, and Cecily! Now let me be going, for I told -Martin Adamson that I would come myself for his monies.” - -“Aye? Then go--and do you remember, Thomas, that you’re all the son I -have, and that I have been good to you!” - -Thomas Bettany went afoot through Middle Forest. “‘All the son I have, -and I have been good to you.’ ‘_All the life I have and I would not -burn. All the life I have and I would not burn._’ That’s Morgen Fay in -prison yonder.” - -The day was hot with a cloud drawing over. Hot and still with a green -light. Folk in the street looked upward. “Rain coming!” Thomas Bettany -meant to go to the house of the debtor. But there was no hurry. It was -a long day. Long day and short day. “Prison day must be long day, O -Saint John, long day! But short day, seeing that it pulleth and hasteth -toward death day--Friday. And now it is Monday.” - -Fascination drew him by the town cross. They would not set stake and -fagot till Thursday. “How doth it feel when the iron hoop goes round? -How doth the heart strive and choke when the torch comes to the straw? -I feel it in myself! Doth Somerville feel it in himself? Doth Montjoy?” - -Persons spoke to him in the market square. He was young and big and -gay and well liked. He answered enough to the point, and went on; -and now here was the prison, tall and black among ruinous, ancient, -steep-roofed houses, set under the castle hill with tower and wall -above, and over these and all that slate sky with greenish light. Deep -archway and iron door and men lounging. He went by Morgen Fay alone -in the dark, and he knew that what she had told to burgher and lord -and churchman was true--he had seen it in a flash--and a terrible and -wicked act had she done, meriting hell where she would burn forever! -But then, Somerville, but then the Abbot and the Prior? - -Thomas Bettany, who had owned a young, clean, gay heart, perceived that -the world had taken plague. - -He wandered. He would not go home, nor yet to the debtor’s house. Rain -held off, but the sky was covered, the light green, the air still and -hot. He went down to the river. The bridge,--there were pilgrims -upon it, a double line of them, chanting, coming from Saint Leofric. -To-morrow they would go to Silver Cross, and Holy Well would heal one -at least, maybe two or three. - -It made no difference what the monk of Silver Cross had cried nor what -Morgen Fay. Was healing then within one’s own mind and heart? Was there -the Holy Well? - -Thomas Bettany went down the watersteps, found boatmen and their craft -and hired a row-boat for an hour. He would row himself. “Storm coming, -master!” “Aye.” “If it were Friday now, it might put out fire, and -that would be sore pity! Saint Christopher knoweth the boats on this -river that have rowed to Morgen Fay’s house! Well, it used to be a fair -sight, her window and her garden, and all the time she was witch and -devil’s paramour! They do say Montjoy will walk barefoot to Canterbury -because in old times he was her fere!” - -Bettany rowed away. “She is a human being. Say it, and I think that you -say all.” - -River, river, and houses standing up, and on the other side willows. -“River, I wish you would drown fire. Fire is good where it should be, -but at times it acheth to be drowned. And then again water acheth for -the fire.” - -He rowed with long, slow strokes. Houses went by under the dull sky -and they seemed to look with menace. “That only can truly help that -hath not been truly harmed. That, too, I see,” said Thomas Bettany, “in -a flash.” - -A house by an old wall, brooding to it. Small houses and small garden. -The garden was turned wilderness. He caught colours that might be -flowers, but the weeds were thick and high. A window--and casement -slowly turning outward. All the garden trim, but shrouded in mist, the -houses shrouded in autumn mist, the river--and Morgen Fay looking out. - -Rowing away fast from that he shot up river and then to the other side, -and beneath willows shipped oars and sat head on hands, thinking first -how all impossible it was, and then, very wretchedly of Somerville. - -Sky darkened still further. With a long sigh, he took up his oars and -rowed slowly back to the bridge. Going up the water steps he had it now -in mind to ride, storm over, to Somerville Hall. It did not need, for -in High Street he came upon Somerville on his big bay horse. Somerville -saw him and waited until he crossed to bridle. “Aye, Thomas?” - -“I was going to ride to the Hall. Where can we speak together?” - -“Come to the Maid and Garland. And look more blithe! The Turks have -not entered England.” - -The Maid and Garland had a parlour for Sir Robert--oh, always! They -went into a little panelled room, and Somerville turned upon the -younger man, the burgher’s son. “Well?” - -“I saw it in a flash.” - -“Saw what?” - -“Much, Somerville! You held Morgen Fay in your hand there at the ruined -farm. Plotters to become as great at least as Saint Leofric could not -have gotten at her, she could not have joined with them without your -knowing! Oh, and I saw, too, that land that you got at last without -trouble, after years and years of trouble!” - -“Let me alone!” said Somerville hoarsely. “You young fool!” - -“From all that I can hear she has not said your name, not once! It was -of her own movement, once Abbey and Priory would promise her safety -and London town and gold. ‘Thou monstrous witch! Thou daughter of the -Father of Lies!’ crieth Silver Cross and Westforest and Middle Forest; -aye, even, I hear now, Saint Leofric. But for all that, Robert--” - -“‘Robert’?” - -“Sir Robert Somerville. But for all that I know, I think, where most -lying lies. Save for the Great Lie that she acted and made, and wicked -it was to do it! But if she is the wicked one, who else beside? And -though she be made of evil is she to burn without a word, who says no -word herself?” - -Somerville answered him. “Are you mad? What do you mean? When they -stoned her out of town I made it possible for her to hide at the ruined -farm. I am badly repaid, and I close my mouth, and if they ask me -there I will lie to them, pardie! Put her at the ruined farm, not I! -But who asketh? It is enough that she be pure Satan with Satan. Witch -found here, why easily found there! Who believes but what they wish to -believe? Who can save her from her burning? God, perhaps, if He chose -to do it!” - -“Then I will go pray,” said Thomas Bettany. “I was not her lover.” - -“Psha!” said Somerville. “She was a common lover.” - -The young merchant turned red. “Only great fright could make you say -that, Somerville!” - -“Were you noble,” answered Somerville, “I would take that up. As it is, -let us be better strangers.” - -“That bargain is made, merchant with ‘Sir’ to your name!” - -Somerville opened the parlour door. “Reckoning, host--and a cup of -sack!” When the younger man had gone, as he did go immediately, he -turned back to the room to sit at table with his wine and wait out the -storm which had now come pelting. Dusk was the air and a chill wind -came in at crevices. A boy arrived to lay and kindle a fire. The flames -reddened the room. Somerville, hand around cup, sat and watched them. - -Storm over, he left the Maid and Garland, mounted his big bay and rode -out of town. - - “Who can tell - The weird he drees? - Who can read - His shield that hangs - In hall above? - Parcel gilt, pied white and black. - Alas!” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -As soon as might be, Montjoy would go that pilgrimage to Canterbury. -Had it been true, that frightful story, were Mark and Westforest -treacherous, Silver Cross down in the mire, evened and more than evened -with Hugh across the river, he would have gone not to Canterbury only, -but to Rome, to Palestine! Only there, in Gethsemane garden-- - -He sat, a slight, dark man with a worn, handsome face, beneath a cedar -in his castle garden. This was lord’s corner. A castle, God wot, is a -public place! But just here was retirement, appropriated long since and -possessed for long. Wall and ivy and cedar row, and hardly a narrow -window to overlook! Montjoy once had been quick for company, but now -for long he sighed toward solitariness. Solitariness that still should -be splendour! - -Silver Cross--Silver Cross--Silver Cross! The splendour must run -through it, bathing the tomb of Isabel, bathing the life-above-death -of Isabel! Bathing also Silver Cross, church and abbey, the old form, -antique, fair, one’s Lady, old yet young through the centuries! - -The soul. How to keep the soul in joy? If not in joy, at least in -humble peace. - -Montjoy saw himself a grey palmer, state and place laid down. His -daughter wedded come Martinmas to Effingham--another year and her son -born--then he might go and have word with his own suzerain. Palmer--the -road, the shrines, the houses of the religious; quiet, quiet, -unobstructed room for dreams of God. - -The sky was lead, the light greenish, the air hot and still. He would -be glad when the storm burst and the land was drenched. Afterward it -would smile once more. He thought, “The Flood is needed again, so -wicked is the earth! Oh, my God, am I of the family of Noah? Do I build -with gopher wood the Ark that saves? Do I enter Christ? Doth He enter -me?” - -The cedars clung dark, they darkened the day yet more. Montjoy looked -into a cell at Westforest and saw there Richard Englefield. Surely he -is mad, though he lies so still, with his face buried in his arms! - -_Brother Richard._ - -Montjoy looked into the prison under the castle hill and saw Morgen Fay. - -_Not for five years have I touched her, O Christ!_ - -The prison closed. The sky hung so still and hung so heavy! Lightning -and thunder would be welcome, rising wind and splash of rain. Friday -would be welcome. The bramble burned, the hindering, evil bramble, -harmful to the sheep, vexful to the shepherd--“O Christ, is there -hardness? But the field must be cleared of bramble. Aye, it is worse -than bramble. Mandrake and hemlock and helebore, and the children are -endangered!” - -Montjoy saw Holy Well and the great picture, and that fine, fine -reliquary of pure gold that rejoicing--Satan afar and all the mind in -health--Brother Richard had wrought for the Rose, Montjoy bringing the -gold. Yesterday Montjoy had gone to Silver Cross and to Holy Well. -There had been pilgrims a hundred, and they kneeled, praying and -singing. The day was fair as this was foul, and had bubbled and laughed -that crystal well, sunlight into sunlight! They had cups of silver and -of horn and of tree and of clay, and one by one they drank while the -singing rose around. He, Montjoy, had seen a cripple fling away his -crutch and stand and run, and a palsied man grow firm. “Who healeth -them? Thou, thou, who truly didst appear to Brother Richard!” - -Even now, in this oppressive day, under this dull sky, Montjoy felt -again that exaltation. He looked around him and up to the lowering -heaven. “Little, weak castle--murky roof of ignorance--yet is there -clear power!” - -The rain began to fall. - -In the night-time, waking, he found horror with him, something cold, -something forlorn and suspicious. It deepened. He left his great -bed and Montjoy’s wife sleeping, put thick gown around him and went -noiseless into the oratory opening from the great chamber, cold in the -beams of a moon growing old. No peace! At the turn of the night, when -afar he heard cock crow and his dogs bark, he determined that he would -go that morning to confession to Father Edmund at Saint Ethelred’s. -That was the sternest, the most dedicated, the most single of eye and -will! To him he would confess everything that he would if he could save -from her death the harlot and witch. - -Morning came and all the castle took up busy and talkative life. -Montjoy rode to Saint Ethelred’s. Father Edmund? Oh, aye! he would hear -him, and Father Edmund thought. “Time that lords give over slothful and -unwise confessors! Father Ambrosius hath forever done him hurt.” - -Montjoy was long upon his knees. He accepted heavy penance, took shrift -humbly, came forth from Saint Ethelred’s with a colourless face like a -gem. - -Riding back to the castle, when he came to prison street he turned his -black horse and rode slowly by the dark prison. He had told Father -Edmund all his thoughts and in the bale was the thought, “I will visit -her there in that dungeon before Friday. Is not that Christian, O -God, if my deepest heart that is now thine seems to bid me to go?” -But Father Edmund had been greatly stern. “Satan wrestleth for thy -deepest heart! Hear me now! It is forbidden! Go not to, speak not to -that All-Evil! If thou dost she will draw thee with her into hell! -Thou thinkest, ‘Once I was familiarly with her’, and cowardice and -heartlessness now only to think and never to say, ‘God have mercy upon -thee, poor soul!’ Son, son, that is devil’s bait! He will come and -stand and ask thee, ‘Is it knightly?’ It is his wile, to clothe himself -in light! As for the witch, she lacks not soul counsel! Since she was -taken, each day have I preached to her. I will hold the cross before -her chained to stake. She shall see it, lifted high, till flame takes -eyes. But thou, my son, I lay it upon thee, leaving here, to ride by -the prison, and to say as thou ridest. ‘Sin, I will no longer sin with -thee, nor come into thy company!’ Say it!” - -“Sin, I will no longer sin with thee, nor come into thy company.” - -“So! And son, thou wilt come with thy squires and thy men on Friday to -town cross.” - -So Montjoy rode by the prison. - -It was dark in there, fetid and dark, and Morgen Fay the sinner had -little to think of but her sins. She could not blink them that they -were many. - -Her sins and death, and after that the Judgment. Death and Judgment and -for her Hell, or at the best the direst corner of dire Purgatory and -the longest stay. Ages there, while souls of thieves and murderers left -her one by one and went upward, and never a word for the one who must -stay. At the best, the very best, and perhaps even that gleam had no -reality! Not Purgatory, but everlasting Hell. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -Richard Englefield, in Westforest cell, might lie without movement, -head buried in arms, but that was when he must sleep in order to gain -and keep strength, or when Prior or Brother Anselm visited him, it -being posture good as another for a monk now in sooth going melancholy -mad. - -Once Brother Anselm, who had been taken from strollers playing in barns -and inns, said to the Prior, “He playeth!” Whereupon the Prior strictly -watched, but at last said, “Not so. Truth!” And then, like such chess -masters, because he had bent what he thought all his mind to it and -was assured, he obstinated in his opinion of the board and every piece -upon it. “No, it is truth! I have seen it before. Melancholy that -forgets how to speak and then after a time mere childishness that will -not stint from speaking, though it be only of green fields and cowslip -balls! Then silence again like an old sick hound and at last he dies!” - -Brother Anselm’s doubt had been but momentary. He agreed now with -Prior. Also he said, “One helpeth forth the sick hound.” - -The Prior of Westforest took his lean chin from his lean hand. “I have -heard that the Greeks writ over their temples, ‘Nothing too much.’ -Where the good of all is in question let the soul take necessary -burdens, but not unnecessary ones! This were unnecessary.” - -Richard Englefield was not going melancholy mad, though he played that -he was. He worked. He worked while he lay still upon the cold floor, -face hidden by stretched arms, or when he sat moveless, staring into -naught with empty, woe-begone face. “Think me melancholy mad, do! So -the sooner will you leave me the cell!” They went. For hours he had the -dim place to himself, and at night he had it. - -Monk of Silver Cross was gone, whirled away to the dark country behind -Chaos and there dead and buried peacefully. Here was Richard Englefield -the master goldsmith. And yet not that either. Here was one who had -risen behind goldsmith and monk, who had come up like a tree that was -not suspected. - -He worked, Richard the smith. He gained, no man knew how, two bits of -iron. The cell was grated. He filed through a bar and then another, -and in the night-time broke the whole away. Fortune or wonder or the -miraculous or some natural air into which he had broken was with him. -It might have been the last, his will was so awakened, so in action. -His fury towered, but it was still fury, very deep and dangerous, -bitter passion of a man with mind and will. He saw Success and drew her -to him as giants draw. In the dead night he got away. - -Westforest formed but a small House and it lay close to Wander. -Stripping off his robe he made it into a bundle and with rope girdle -tied it upon his shoulders. Then, naked, he plunged into the Wander and -swam a mile downstream. Coming to the bank he rested, then swam the -second mile, under the late risen moon. Cocks were crowing. He passed -grey meadow and dreaming corn and came to a forest where it overhung -the Wander. “Here is good place to leave!” He quit the water, shook his -body and dried it with fern, untied and unrolled monk’s gown and put it -on. “Brother Richard? Nay, monk is as will is! Richard Englefield, a -smith in gold and silver!” - -He was away now from Wander, in the forest, the morn pink above the -trees, violet among and beneath the branches. In yonder direction lay -Silver Cross and not so far, neither. Middle Forest! Could he get, -unmarked, to Middle Forest. Had he one friend there--but he had none. -Could he get to the shipping upon the river, below the bridge. Could -he find a boat that would take him to the sea and then he cared not -where! He saw Success. “Aye, I will!” But this robe must somehow be -changed for world-dress, and he must have a purse and money in it. Hard -to manage! But Success was his Moorish slave and would bring them. - -He strode on. He was going toward the town through what was left of the -ancient, all-covering forest. Hereabouts was yet a great wood with deer -and hare and bird and fox. Paths ran through but between them spread -bounteously the forest. First light gave way to gold light. He was -hungry. He took the crust of bread that he had saved from yesterday and -ate it as he walked. Also he found strawberries. When the sun was well -up he came to rest under an oak, to think it out. - -He had some hope that Westforest would hold that he had drowned -himself. Yesterday had been a hot and livid day, ending in storm. They -would be able to trace him to the water edge. Would they drag the -Wander, seeing that the Prior must wish to make sure? But the Wander -running swiftly might carry him down. Using Prior Matthew’s eyes he -saw monk caught among stones on Wander bottom, or, a log, shoved down -Wander length to greater river and so at last to sea, white bones -for merman’s children. He thought with Prior’s brain, “So, it is very -well!” And if Wander had him not, but he strayed on dry land, Brother -Richard of Silver Cross, mad now though once greatly blessed, there -would ensue some trouble of taking him, some explaining, but no more -than that! Richard Englefield saw the net, how strong and wide it was, -the fishers here being so much mightier than the fish. So mighty were -they that they could spare the fish even if it leapt clear. For if it -went and told all other fish and fishermen, what odds? Mind in all was -made up what to believe! Richard Englefield laughed, but his laughter -was worse to hear than had been sobbing. - -He tried to make a plan, but it was hard to plan out of this! Best -still trust Success. He took a pebble and tossed it, then followed -it. Narrow road little travelled. He walked upon this some way and -saw a horseman coming. Out of track into a hazel brake, wait and see -what like he might be! Sun glinted, boughs waved, birds sang, over all -things lay a pearly moisture after storm. - -Young Thomas Bettany, riding from town because town oppressed him, -taking idle way and ancient road because to-day bustle liked him not, -errandless and leaving John Cobb at home, rode through the old forest -with hanging head. He would mend the world if he knew how, but he did -not know how. - -Coming to brake his horse started aside. Thomas crossed himself. A monk -was standing there, seemed to have stepped forth from it. “Is it a -ghost? By Saint John, Brother! you look it and you do not look it!” - -He knew him now, having seen him at Silver Cross thrice, maybe, since -the finding of Holy Well. Thomas Bettany felt himself tremble a little. -_Brother Richard_--_if he were mad_--but then he remembered himself -that he was hardly so! They said he was mad, an Abbot and a Prior whose -deeds might not be scanned. Brother Richard! Though some were guilty -the monk was not. Again he saw things “in a flash.” The monstrous -disappointment--Heaven’s boon companion, then fall--fall--fall! How -sharp the stones and black the land! - -He spoke in a whisper. “Did you break last night from Westforest?” All -the countryside knew that Brother Richard, now alas! utterly mad, was -to be hidden there in a grated cell. - -Richard Englefield knew not why Success was here. He said, “You know me -then? Who are you?” - -“Thomas Bettany, merchant’s son.” - -“I greatly need,” said the man by the hazels, “burgher’s dress, a purse -of money, and to reach some ship in river that presently makes sail.” -Having spoken, he waited again upon Success. - -“I shall have to ride to Middle Forest and back,” said Thomas Bettany. -“Over yonder a mile lies a ruined farm. No one goes by wood that way. -Walk till you see the house through trees, then lie close till I come.” -Few words more and he turned horse and presently disappeared down the -leafy road. - -Englefield moved off into deep forest toward the ruined farm. It was -Success. It was of a piece with breaking free from Priory. Maybe there -were gods who said, “Thou touchedst nadir, now we let thee rise!” Maybe -it was the Will, so fulfilled and potent that it became magician. Trust -far enough, and the bird comes flying! But not trust like that at -Silver Cross--no! - -Deep wood, beech and ash and oak, very silent, very lonely. At last -it thinned and he saw through trees an old, small, ruinous farmhouse, -broken, neglected, haunted maybe. He made out a man slowly working in -a field. A grey horse grazed, a cock crew, but there seemed no dog to -bark. - -He drew back under trees, found a bed of leaf and moss and threw -himself down. He was tired, tired! Body was tired but not spirit. That -should not flag. No, no! said the will. But sleep--it was necessary to -sleep. - -He did so for a time, but then he waked clearly and suddenly. Where -he had been in dreams he did not know, nor where in the deep realm -behind dreams. But there had been large and happy stillness, full -ocean and serene sky. Whence--whence? From heaven, and had he mounted -there, the True Ones pitying? From heaven’s opposite? Then again -had come upon him that rapture that befell at Silver Cross--three -nights’ rapture--rapture at the feet of a harlot of harlots! Evil had -been the rapture through and through, that had seemed so heavenly -glorious, heavenly sweet! Never to have guessed--never to have -known--to have been incapable of knowledge! True and false alike to -him, hideousness and beauty alike, he who had thought he knew beauty! -Incapable--incapable. That had seemed Success--oh, high Success! - -The sun rode high and streamed in warmly. He found shadow and lay upon -his face, arms outstretched along the earth, hands breaking twigs with -which the ground was strewn. - -This part of earth looked full to sun, then glided from strongest -vision, then took it obliquely, beginning to think of cool, dark rest -from it, filled with memories. At three by country dials he heard -a horse brushing through the forest and presently saw Bettany with -merchant’s pack strapped before him, not a pack large and noticeable, -but sufficing to show that the House of Bettany attended to business -and was not too proud to attend in person. - -At four by dial Richard Englefield stood under the oak in good hosen, -shoon, shirt and doublet, with cap, with cloak, with leather belt and -knife, with leather purse and silver in it and hidden in bosom pocket -woollen purse with gold. Gaunt he was as any wolf, and overcast with -pallour, needing days of sun and air to bring him back to what he was -a year ago in Silver Cross, or further back to the gold-brown master -smith not unknown in cities and in princes’ courts. Just that smith -would never come back. This smith had himself been laid upon a Vulcan’s -anvil. The fire showed, the hammer showed. - -Thomas Bettany said, “Monk not again because of them hereabouts?” - -“Not so. Because of myself.” - -The other continued, “God wot there is not the old saintliness! I have -heard wise men cry that unless there came reform God will loose lions.” - -“Perhaps. But come as it may I am absolved from monastery.” - -“Abbot Mark and Prior Matthew be not everywhere. There are good abbots, -good, religious houses--” - -“Aye, I doubt not. Even at Silver Cross and Westforest are some true -pilgrims and finders. But I am absolved. Brother Richard lies drowned -in Wander. This is Richard Englefield, a smith in gold and silver. But -since it may not be wisdom to say that till I reach London port or -maybe France, then Richard Dawn, a traveller. What of ship?” - -“It is the _Vineyard_, lying in the pool and sailing day after -to-morrow at dawn. The master, a young man, Diccon Wright, is beholden -to me. I found him at the Golden Ship, and he will do it.” - -“Day after to-morrow at dawn.” - -“There is nothing for it,” said Bettany, “but that you should bide -where you are through to-night and to-morrow. Then at eve I will come -with a horse for you. Canst ride?” - -“Oh, aye!” - -“There is no moon. We make through country to pool side and find there -a boat that Diccon sends. So the _Vineyard_ and away.” - -“You are good to me, brother!” - -The other answered, “I somehow owe it. And not to you only. But here -only does it seem that I can pay.” - -He took from pack loaf of bread, pound of cheese and a bottle of ale. -“Here we be! Nay, I have had dinner. Well, I will eat a little to keep -you in countenance, Master Dawn!” - -They ate under the greenwood tree, close screened around with thorn -and fern. “It will be cold to-night sleeping here. There is a loft at -the farm. The old man and woman dodder and are blind and deaf. There -is a straw bed. But strange and elfin were it, I think,” said Bettany -slowly, “if you slept there.” - -“In old years I have slept out colder nights than this is like to be. -And a cell is cold.” - -“Well, the cloak is thick. Nay, drink! I may have my fill when I get -back to father’s house.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -Sun came more and more slanting through the trees. Eating was done. The -two sat in forest light and coolness, and they went over plans step by -step so that there might rest no misunderstanding nor any happening -unprovided against. “The _Vineyard_ boat, and the word is ‘_Gold and -silver_.’ South around Middle Forest and then east. Leave the ruined -farm at dusk to-morrow.” - -“I have found a great hollow tree,” said Englefield and pointed to it. -“If any come, in I creep!” - -“Good! Unless there are dogs,” Bettany said. With that he fell into -silence. - -The other, half-reclining, also was silent. Gold light playing over him -showed how gaunt he was and his face how lined and smitten. - -Bettany spoke. “Dost think True Religion has taken any hurt?” - -“How should True Religion take hurt, having been all the time in -another country?” - -The young man mused. “To have thought one’s self Chosen out of all -the world because of one’s qualities--and then to be thrown back, past -one’s old dwelling, past, past, down past the whole world--” - -Richard Englefield spoke. “I looked on Medusa. Do you know what is -that, to look on Medusa? And looking, to open on the knowledge that you -yourself were the artist?” - -“Eh?” said Thomas Bettany. “But the first of it must have been -glorious! Honey and kingship and worship and safety for aye!” - -“_Honey and kingship and worship and safety for aye._ Just that! Then -the hair turned to snakes.” - -Silence in the forest. Bettany moved a little. “Friday. I suppose you -are glad of Friday?” - -“What happeneth Friday?” - -“She burns at town cross. Morgen Fay.” - -“_What have I to do with that?_” - -Forest silence filled with tongues. Bettany untied his horse and -strapped the empty leathern case before the saddle. He looked at the -discarded habit of monk of Silver Cross. “Put it in the hollow tree?” - -“No. In the deep sea to-morrow night.” - -“Better in river. Then if ’tis found, as like enough it may be, -surely--all say--you were drowned!” - -He stood, bridle in hand. “Morgen Fay. She had a house by the river -and a fair, small garden. Aye! she was harlot, but then what were -Montjoy and Somerville and others? It is a speckled earth. There is -other sale than that? Aye, she made it, and bought blackness and flame -and peril maybe for ever and ever. Because she was harlot and Father -Edmund preached mightily just then against her, they broke her house -and garden and stoned her forth from town. Then one that I know who is -speckled, too, hid her for a time. Then, as fate or somewhat would have -it, came to Prior Matthew knowledge that she had to certain eyes much -of outward face and form of the great picture, so that he who painted -might have set her before him for first model. That knowledge and that -she was still in Wander vale. So all followed. She thought she was -buying ransom--safety if not honey. Once I saw played at the Great Fair -_Faustus and the Devil_. Faustus thought he would buy happiness, and -here was to-day and perhaps would never come to-morrow and death! So -she thought. Safety and perhaps house and garden once more, and maybe -to-day will last! But _thy soul is required of thee_,--and she is in -prison waiting.” - -He mounted horse. “I will come ere sunset to-morrow. When you hear -_Otterbourne_ whistled, it is I.” - -“Should something happen,” said Englefield, “and all this go awry, -still have you done for me what if I had younger brother or dear -comrade or old fellow-worker with me in my craft, I might have hoped -for--” - -“I don’t know why I do it, but I must do it. For a time I thought of -you five times a day as most blessed. You were heaven’s courtier, you -were sailing on heaven’s ship! Now you are man like me, though older -than me, and I see you need a friend. You thought you had so great a -one--and then there was blackness! I’m nothing but Thomas Bettany, but -I’ll set you at least on the _Vineyard_. Let’s say no more!” - -The merchant rode away. The master goldsmith was left by the ruined -farm in Wander forest. - -He saw the red orb of the sun descend past boles of trees. It sank -beneath the earth. All the west hung fire red, then the colour faded. -“I will go now to sleep, and God knoweth I need it! When I come to -London, or rather, I think, to France--” - -Down he lay. Bettany’s cloak was thick, the leaves and moss a -pleasant bed, soft dusk around, the forest a cradle with cradle song. -“Sleep--sleep! Sleep--sleep!” - -But sleep was at the antipodes. “This place--what is this place?” - -“Bitter Shame, Very Anger, strengthen me! Let me not pity the witch! -Let me not feel her misery mine! Let me not long to see her face, touch -her, hold her!” - -“_Shall I desire the dragon that slew me? Shall I cherish Medusa?_ -Burning--burning!” - -He sprang to his feet and walked the wood, up and down, up and down. He -moved with disordered steps, twigs and boughs striking him. The long -June day left still a radiance. - -He threw himself down and lay with face buried. Time dropped away, drop -by drop, and each drop a world and an æon. - -Dark clear night, moonless but starlight. - -Thomas Bettany, returning to Middle Forest, found at his own door a -ship’s boy sent by Diccon Wright. The latter was again at the Golden -Ship and would see him there. He went and found that the matter was -that _Vineyard_ boat could not be at landing first planned. The -_Alan-a-Dale_ had come in and chosen to drop anchor just there. Best -now the old landing by the reeds. Bettany agreed. Old landing by the -reeds. - -Home again and preparing for bed he determined to rise early and ride -to the ruined farm. If at dusk aught happened and he did not reach the -man nor tell him of where now he was to go--then mischance enough! With -a long sigh he put himself into his comfortable merchant’s bed in -comfortable merchant’s room. He slept and waked, slept and waked and at -last an hour before dawn gave up sleeping and lay staring before him. -“Now it is Wednesday. To-morrow is Thursday, and then Friday.” - -Light stole into the chamber. He rose, moved softly, dressed quietly, -stole downstairs, unbarred the small door and was out in court and -across to merchant’s stable. Here he saddled his horse, Black Prince. -East was daffodil; morning star shone over the castle. Poor Clares’ -bell rang lauds, Black Prince went by the softer ways as though velvet -shod. So at peace was the land that town gates were no longer closed at -night. The industrious young merchant riding through rode off toward -Wander forest. - -Sun had risen when he came nigh to the ruined farm and began to whistle -“Otterbourne.” Beech and ash and oak, fern and thorn, and by a thorn -tree he who had been, but was no more Brother Richard. “Well, in these -days, many leave cloister-- - - ‘But gae ye up to Otterbourne - And wait there day is three; - And if I come not ere three day is end, - A fause knight ca’ ye me.’” - -Thomas Bettany, dismounted now, looked with wonder at the other who -stood tall and gold-brown and determined. A night had made a difference! - -“You must have slept well under oaken tree!” - -“No. I did not sleep.” - -“Then faery queen must have visited you! Truly you have the look of it!” - -“I longed for your coming, fellow worker, and that I should not have to -wait for it till eve! Who brought it about? Still that Success!” - -“_Vineyard_ boat cannot be at the landing I told you of. It is now the -old landing by the reeds. It seemed best to let you know without delay.” - -“Had you not come I might have stained my face and gone into town, -changing voice, changing step and figure--Richard Dawn, traveller with -gold in his purse, sending from the inn to Master Thomas Bettany--” - -“I think well that all the Folk in Green have been here! It is such a -place as they flock to. Morgen Fay hid here at the ruined farm.” - -“No! _She walked in this wood._” - -Green light and purple light and gold. Throstle and finch and cuckoo, -robin and lark. Fern up-growing, wild plants in bloom, the wood a -chalice of odours, censer swinging. Englefield put his hands to his -temples. “Friday!” - -“What is it, man?” - -The other moved to a tree whose great roots pushed above the soil. -“Come sit here, younger brother, and listen to me!” - -Thomas Bettany obeyed and he moved as one in a dream, or as though the -wood had grown a magic wood. “You have become leader here. Something -has come to bloom and to fruit in you in a night!” - -“I shall not go upon the _Vineyard_ unless there go two.” - -“Two?” - -“Unless she that lies in prison goes.” - -“Morgen Fay!” - -“Aye. Morgen Fay--Morgen Fay.” - -Bettany put hands to tree to steady himself. “What is here?” - -“Didst never read that man holds within himself autumn, winter, spring -and summer, the moon, the earth, the sun and the four kingdoms? Maybe -the fifth, but we have not come to that yet.” - -“Friday.” - -“Are you not willing that she should vanish from them, cheating the -cheaters? Friday. Death in flame!” - -“God, He knoweth. I think that she should live!” - -“Look at me!” - -Thomas Bettany looked. Again he steadied himself, he drew hard breath. - -“How could you get her out of prison? It is not to be done!” - -“Then no ship takes me to-night or to-morrow night! Friday. There will -I be by town cross!” - -“Not in two days could you save her!” - -“Suppose we try?” - -Thomas Bettany stared at an artist in daring. This gold-worker had -imaged, drawn and beaten out many a bold pattern, many an intricate -and subtle. Now he said, “Come, deliver what material you may! How -lies prison within and without? Who are there? Tell what you know. We -have to-day which is Wednesday and to-morrow which is Thursday. The -_Vineyard_ must not sail before cockcrow Friday.” - -“I could not buy Diccon there! I might beg him for love.” - -“However you do it, you will do it. I see in fine air within gross air -a ship that weighs anchor at dawn, Friday. Now, tell!” - -Bettany described with minuteness that prison and its economy. “I have -a man, John Cobb. His cousin Godfrey is gaoler.” - -“So, thou seest!” - -“But there is naught I know of that would buy Godfrey. Keys might be -melted in his hold but he would not give them up! Town, castle and -Church know Godfrey.” - -“Then let him not know that they are gone.” - -“That is not possible.” - -“It is possible, or I would not see the _Vineyard_ sailing Friday. -Everything is possible save her burning. Can your man sit with Godfrey, -drinking ale with him maybe, and come to handling and fingering keys -great and small, and questioning, ‘This is great door, this inner ward, -and this where she lies who burns a-Friday?’” - -“So much as that is possible.” - -Englefield, leaving him seated, staring, took himself three turns -between thorn and oak, by ash and beach. The forest was gold, the day -was gold, the morrow gold and he the smith. He returned. “Have you a -piece of wax, fine and smooth, such as might be held secretly in palm -of hand, softening just enough with heat of body?” - -Bettany gave an abrupt small laugh. “I’ve read of that in a book from -the Italian! But if John Cobb were bold enough and skilful enough to -take--Godfrey’s face being buried in tankard--impress of keys, what -then, beseech you, unless you had all the fairies?” - -“Sun is an hour high. If I could have that mould here ere he rises -again! But it must be well done, well taken, with pains. Our keys must -turn in our locks.” - -“In the greenwood? I know that Brother Richard made wondrous things! -But this were to make wondrously!” - -“I planned through the night--this plan, that and the other. But this -one is best. When the moon rose and again at first dawn I went softly -about that house yonder. None saw nor heard; they were sleeping. The -man has burned charcoal, and surely they have oven or hearth. Gold in -this purse may buy them, seeing they cannot know whom I am nor what we -do. You say they are old and losing wit.” - -“Furnace and fuel and print of keys in wax and smith--” - -“Do you bring me iron and the tools. I shall show you.” - -“Thou’rt a bold man!” - -“Thou’rt another!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -Not John Cobb but Thomas Bettany, who knew whom here he could trust, -sat on a Wednesday afternoon in gaoler’s room, drank ale with Godfrey -and once more petitioned for one look at the witch. - -“Nay, nay!” said Godfrey and shook his huge head. “Rule is rule! Time -was I wouldn’t ha’ minded pleasuring you, Master Thomas, but word has -come and a downright word, too, from powers. ‘Look you, Godfrey, that -you do not open that door to any save Father Edmund who preaches to -witch so that it may not be said she goes to hell without preaching!’ -So I do not so. You are not the first gallant who hath come and said, -‘Godfrey, let me have a look at the witch!’ But no, says I to all. Rule -is rule!” He set down his can. “I could tell you, but I won’t. Not -just young will-o’-wisps like you, but one that’s older and should be -weightier! But I won’t call name.” - -“I can call it for you,” thought the other. “It was Somerville.” - -“Coming by night, too!” said Godfrey. - -Young Master Thomas Bettany made a pettish movement. “Saint John! -What’s the use of carrying that great bunch of keys if you cannot turn -them at your will! Let me weigh them now!” - -Godfrey, smiling broadly, laid the bunch on table. He was a giant, and -Thomas Bettany had been known to him since he was urchin and went by to -school. “Great key--inner ward--key you turn on her?” - -Godfrey nodded. “Eh, eh! She has been a fair woman, has she not, and -danced lightly? Marsh fire, will-o’-wisp! Now she lies all her length -on cold ground, and when I open the door she saith, ‘Is’t Friday?’” - -“Hark ye! Some one’s knocking.” - -Godfrey turned head. “It sounds as they were!” Rising from table, he -went to the door. “Nay, only noise in the street.” - -“I thought it was the other door.” - -Godfrey stepped from the room and walked a little way down the stone -passage. He returned. “‘Tis nothing! And William sits there to answer.” - -“If William wakes now how doth he keep awake by door yonder at night?” - -“He gets sleep enough. Prowling around, sometimes I find him sleeping -when he should be waking! But there be few in prison and little -trouble. In old times, when the kings were fighting together, it was -different!” - -He took up the keys and fastened them at his belt. “If any could bring -witch to confession you’d think it would be Father Edmund, wouldn’t ye? -But she’s like a block!” - -“Confess what?” - -“Just all the story of how the devil came to her and she sold him her -soul for ease and triumph. But he’s not a bargain-keeper--never was! -And how he flew with her through air and stone wall, and set her in -Brother Richard’s cell, in place of Queen of Heaven. What she said and -did, and how the devil, all of a sudden seeing that heaven had struck -Brother Richard with the knowledge, ‘This is not the Queen, this is not -the true bright one!’ went about to confuse all Brother Richard’s wits, -turning him into worse than Doubting Thomas, for now he doubts all -things both before and after. But she sticks to saying, ‘It was I from -the first, and the devil was Prior Matthew, Abbot Mark consenting.’ And -Father Edmund preacheth again. Eh, but Friday cometh and she will soon -be but a story! Morgen Fay and the devil.” - -Thomas Bettany rode once more with merchant’s pack to Wander forest, -having first gone to Golden Ship by the water side, where he met -Diccon Wright and bought him with love. It was again rose dawn. To one -who at edge of town stopped and questioned him, he said that he was -riding to Somerville Hall. - -“Do you not know Sir Robert has gone to London? He rode away yesterday -with three behind him.” - -“Oh, aye! But there was message left for me. One day I’ll travel -myself! View Rome and Constantinople and Cambalu.” - -“It’s in my mind that he did not wish to see Morgen Fay burn.” - -“Maybe so! I’d rather myself see fairies by moonlight or a fair still -garden.” - -Ruined farm and David and Margery to whom gentlemen were gentlemen, -whatever strange things they wished, and rose nobles were rose nobles. -“Oh, aye! Who is there for us to tattle to save it be Dobbin and the -cow? There’s naught doing like that Joan who turned to be a witch named -Morgen? We might ha’ had trouble there, but Somerville stepped in and -turned it aside. So you’ll ha’ to do, Master Bettany, if there’s any -mistaken doing here--” - -“Aye, I will. But there’s none.” - -This was a day of gold dust, still, warm, a haze and floating -stillness. Ruined farm and forest hereabouts might have had a hedge -around them like the palace of the Sleeping Beauty. No ears heard -fine smithwork, for Philemon and Baucis were deaf, and went beside to -planted field. The fairies might have heard. - -Mid-afternoon Thomas Bettany returned to town. Near the old wall, now -on the high road, he overtook a string of pilgrims footweary and dusty. -The leader hailed him, handsome young burgher riding a fine horse. -“Canst tell us, master, what inn is best for us?” - -“Try the Joyful Mountain. Whence do you come?” - -From Minchester, it seemed. To Saint Leofric and Silver Cross. “And -we’ve just heard news about a fearful witch and that she’ll be burned -to-morrow. We shall see that first. Thank ye, and our blessing, master!” - -Thomas Bettany gave to his family the supper hour and showed himself -during it affectionate son and brother. “Eh, Thomas!” thought the old -merchant, and like the pilgrims he, too, gave him blessing, though an -inner one. - -Marian, his sister, who was a mouse for quietness, said suddenly, “Oh, -I would that to-morrow were gone by! If I were Morgen Fay to-night--” - -Master Eustace Bettany rated her. “Say naught like that even in jest!” - -“I was not jesting.” - -“Thou’rt so far from Morgen Fay that thou shalt not say, ‘If I were -Morgen Fay--’” - -“She is woman.” - -“Witches have left womanhood. Be silent!” - -Table was taken away. Eustace Bettany disappeared through the door -which led to countinghouse. Marian came to Thomas in the deep window. -“Stay awhile, Thomas, and read with me ‘Romaunt of the Rose!’ Cousin -hath sent us, too, ‘The Grey Damsel and Sir Launfal.’” - -But Thomas could not stay. He kissed her and went forth into the -sunset. By town cross they were piling wood. Saint Ethelred’s bells -rang. The young man stood and prayed. - -Dusk came over all like brooding wings. Stars brightened above the -castle. Up there Montjoy, seated in his great chair, listened to Prior -Matthew of Westforest. - -“Not to hear of it till now--!” - -“It is not yet three nights ago, Montjoy. And it seemed, and still -seemeth best to seek quietly. We have had, to my mind, too much indeed -of buzz and clatter! I wish for quiet to descend upon us.” - -“Ah, I also!” sighed Montjoy. “So the soul may return to her proper -work! But open--all things should be open!” - -“In reason, aye! But the world is idle and will make scandal if it may.” - -Montjoy pressed back of clasped hands over eyes. “The world is thistle -and precipice! I have fearful dreams at night. Welcome will it be to -me, oh Christ, when I may go my pilgrimage!” Rising from his chair he -walked to and fro, then returning to the table, laid touch upon a great -and splendidly bound book, fine work upon fine parchment, illuminated -head letters and borders. He touched it reverently. “See you, so -beautifully done, two hundred years ago! Chronicle of Silver Cross. -I have been reading as I have read a hundred times! Miracles then -a-plenty, and such goodness, such spiritual men, that all seemed grown -pure Nature! I thought the gloss and freshness were all back, but I do -not know--I do not know--I do not know!” - -Prior Matthew said quietly, “Until this madness Brother Richard was a -good and holy monk. How else should Heaven have found him as glass to -shine through? And now if, as we think, he lies drowned in Wander, it -does not seem to us self-murder. The mad are not accountable there. -Again, he may have slipped and fallen. So now Our Lord may clear his -mind, and his purgatory done, he will again be wise and holy.” - -“Purgatory lasteth long!” said Montjoy. “Thistle and mire pit, thirsty -desert, precipices! And what if he did not drown but roams at large, -telling with flaming eyes and tolling voice and large gesture his story -of not one but many Satans?” - -“The whole region knows that he is mad. Were he so abroad, how long -before we should have known it? Oh, we have questioners and seekers -out, but quietly! Hour by hour Wander grows to us the more certain. -Yesterday we dragged, but the water runs swiftly and may have carried -him down.” - -“Death. Well, who should tremble at that unless he be sold to -wickedness?” - -Through open windows they heard compline bell. “To-morrow draws on. -There will be a great concourse. Saint Leofric and Silver Cross and -Westforest, country folk and all the town, seamen and pilgrims. And -what to see? A woman burning.” - -The Prior spoke serenely, invisibly his hand making final move, -providing mate. “Nay, Montjoy, Good vindicated, Ill consumed, Warning -spread!” - -Thomas Bettany absented himself from Middle Forest. - -Dark night, clear and dark. Lights twinkled in tall houses, lantern -and torch twinkled and flared in narrow streets. Glowworm points -from those belated moved over the bridge. Night deepened. Lights went -out one by one, cluster by cluster. Now there were great spaces of -naught between twinklers and flarers. Dark space widened, twinklers -and flarers growing lonely, separated afar from one another. Ships -below the bridge had lanterns, but the ships were few. Lights lessened, -lessened, until you might say Middle Forest was in darkness. Lanterns -of the watch went slowly about, but wary eye might know where watch had -been and where it was now and where it would presently be. Cautious -foot might tread among the three. Of course, if shout were raised, -watch hearing it would come running. - -Midnight and after. - -Godfrey had good wine to-night, brought him by Master Thomas Bettany. -Godfrey thought, “Brought for present to soften me to let him look at -the witch!” He grinned and took the wine but kept to “Rule is rule!” -“Very fine Jerez sack,” explained the young merchant, “out of a lot -bought in London. And will you give a stoup to William and Diggory? -Diggory is a great fellow of his inches! I saw him Sunday wrestling in -long meadow.” - -Godfrey drank the Jerez wine with his supper, and he poured a great -cup for William and for Diggory. They drank. “Aye, aye! Bettany knows -how to choose the best!” - -Deep night. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -Deep night. Over the castle Pegasus, over town southward the Eagle, -walking down the west the Ploughman, low in the southwest the Scorpion, -due south the Archer, on the meridian the Lyre. - -Deep night in prison. Morgen Fay waked. “What use in sleeping? I shall -do no work to-morrow.” - -Memory. For some ease, take Memory by the hand, but go with her into -old countries, not into those near at hand! She remembered a forest -like to Wander forest, and she remembered an ocean with shells upon the -beach. So cool the air, and the water going over her, cool, cool and -restful! She remembered music. - -Once a grey-beard begging friar had told her that all things that ever -were or are or can be were but parts of music. “Listen, and you will -hear! Gather the notes and make them into strains. Put the strains -together--you will begin to have a notion! When you have lived long -enough you will come to hear the strains made of strains and how they -combine. All the jangle is imperfect music, music finding itself--” - -Music. So it was all music? A long way to-night to where you might see -that! - -Dancing. Once it had come to her herself, watching sunbeams and some -nodding, waving trees and a long ripple over wheat, and feeling a wind -that kept measure, that dancing was somehow a great and sweet idea -of some great Gayheart. “Shall I dance in prison and hear music, and -to-morrow flying this way?” - -Love. What is that? - -She thought. “I have never seen it. I know it not. Perhaps for garden -and Ailsa and little white rose tree. Ah, yes! But I have loved my way, -and fire on my hearth and wine on my table. Now I will have enough of -fire, and there is a wine they say of wrath. Love--love! What is it, -Morgen Fay? If there be such a country I shall not see it. Where do you -go to-morrow, Morgen Fay, and what anguish in the going?” - -“O God, O my God, make wider the little passage between me and thee!” - -So dark--so dark. Night and night and night! - -A little noise at the door, but not like Godfrey’s hand. She sat up, -being near the door, the place was so small. Stealthily, stealthily, a -sliding noise. She felt the door open and rose to her knees. “Who’s -there?” - -“Friends! Don’t make any noise.” One came in at the door and touched -her. “Morgen, it is Thomas Bettany. You are willing to follow me? Then -come at once.” - -She rose and followed. The door was shut behind her. The second man, -stooping, turned the key and withdrew it. A little way down the -passage with no more noise than moths--door of inner ward--through it, -too, turn key and take out, find cross passage. The second man who -had not spoken held the least, small light. A cresset, too, burned -dimly, swinging from a beam. A man lay sleeping by the wall,--Diggory, -Godfrey’s helper. It seemed that he was sleeping soundly. A turn, a -wider space, and the great door and William sleeping upon a bench. -Open, great door. Light showed a chain and a staple broken out of -wall--open! Out of prison. Starlight--the street--soft and swift like -moth and bat. Lanterns and footsteps of the watch. Press into angle of -Saint Ethelred’s porch and cease to breathe while they go by! Avoid -market place, cross High Street, softly, swiftly; find Saint Swithin’s -Street, narrow, steeply descending toward the river. River in the -ears, and the old disused water steps, and beside them a boat. Thomas -Bettany’s voice saying, “_Gold and silver_,” and the man in the boat -answering, “_Gold and silver in the Vineyard._ Step ye in!” - -Down the river, and by the house of Morgen Fay and into the widening of -water that was called the Pool. - -There were but three men, Bettany and the man with him and he who had -held the boat and who was called Diccon. The man who had opened doors -sat very silent. But so were all, saying nothing, rowing silently. And -Morgen Fay was still, still! Oh, the divine night air and the stars and -the cool water, cool and singing! A ship rose before them. It seemed -they were going there. - -Thomas spoke to her. “Your name is Alice now, not Morgen. Remember! -Alice--Alice Dawn. This ship is the _Vineyard_ and it touches at three -ports. You will be safely put ashore, and here is gold.” A purse slid -into her lap. - -Ecstacy of freedom, air and the stars. Alice--Alice Dawn! She put her -forehead upon her knees and laughed. “Oh, all of you, what will you -_not_ see to-morrow! Now you have your miracle!” - -The ship coming closer and closer, a tall ship and making ready to -sail. “Whither? And will I find Ailsa?” - -“I cannot tell as to that. Diccon Wright, the master there, is a -helpful man. And the Saints are above us. I do not fully know,” said -Thomas under breath, “what I have done!” - -The ship came near. “Ah, how dark it was in prison! Thank you and bless -you!” - -Andromeda lay across the northeast, the Crown was in the west, the Swan -overhead. “Ship oars,” said Diccon. “Here we are!” - -“You quit me now, Thomas?” - -“Aye. I must be at home and in bed if there come any calling!” - -“Are you endangered?” - -“No! They will call it again the devil. Where all have tender hands he -is the best one to pull the nuts from the fire!” - -“Good-by, then. I shall bless you every day and it shall not hurt you!” - -“I never thought that it would, Morgen Fay.” - -“No. Thou’rt clean! Good-by, good-by, good-by!” - -The ship overhung them,--bowsprit and carved sea goddess, body of ship -and high forecastle, masts, spars and rigging. And the stars shone -between, and men were up there making sail among the stars, and all the -air sang around and the water sang. Morgen Fay had her own courage. It -was coming to her from far and near. She felt like a child. Something -in her was crumbling away, or something within her, after long groping, -was painfully lifting itself into higher air. “_I have tasted evil, I -have tasted good; I like better the last taste._” - -The rowers ceased to row. A rope was flung, a manner of ladder of rope -slipped over the side. Master of the _Vineyard_ and Thomas Bettany -spoke low together, then the former mounted to his ship. “Now, Alice -Dawn--God bless you!” - -“God bless you.” - -She was light and strong. She climbed, she stood in the waist of the -_Vineyard_ and turning herself, looked to see the boat put off with -two. But the rower who had not spoken, the man who had been silent in -street and lane, who had opened doors silently in prison, was climbing -from boat to _Vineyard_ deck. Light from a lantern by the mast fell -upon him. Burgher’s dress, cap of blue, young beard of brown-gold upon -his face. “Where?--where?” - -Bodily there rose before her the cell at Silver Cross and all the -sudden lights, coloured by some old secret device, that bloomed about -her and her floating drapery, and this man upon his knees. With a cry -she turned to the boat. Two seamen had descended in Diccon’s place. It -was _Vineyard_ boat, it would put Bettany ashore and return, and no -boatmen at the main water steps have any tale to tell. Already the boat -was away from the ship. “Friend! friend!” - -Richard Englefield stood beside her. “He cannot return, nor help us -further, Morgen!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -London folk went up and down. Palace where sat a strong king, Tower -where traitors lay in ward, wall maintained through the centuries upon -the base the Romans laid, Aldgate, Newgate, Ludgate, Bishopsgate. -London Bridge, London Stone, Baynard Castle, old Temple without the -Templars, with the lawyers. Blackfriars, Whitefriars, Greyfriars, -Austin Friars, Crutched Friars, crowd of monasteries and nunneries, -great buildings of stone, lesser buildings of wood, churches and -churches, and a good way out of town Westminster, where the king was -building his great chapel with the wonderful roof. Sixty thousand, -maybe seventy thousand people in London. Learned men were there, -artists were there, merchants there, men of the Church, of the law, of -the sword. Hidden Wickliffites, hidden Lollards were there. Astrologers -and alchemists were there and men of the rosy cross. Navigators and -discoverers were there, striving to show Henry what to do to balance -or counter Ferdinand of Spain and Emmanual of Portugal. Mechanics and -artisans were there, many and many men of many crafts. Guilds and -guilds. London of the bells, of the Wall and the Thames; London outer, -London inner. - -Near the Old Jewry ran a narrow street where dwelled many workers in -metal--ironsmith, coppersmith, silversmith, goldsmith--not the great -known workers but the lesser ones that the great hired. A narrow street -of poor houses, dark and noisy, or dark and still. The children were -poured into the street, the women sat in the doors or clacked up and -down. From some houses came always the clink of metal upon metal, from -others the workers went away to other places of work. At night they -returned. Now the sun cleansed all, now the fog came dull-footed into -the street and the houses and stayed. - -Jankin, a worker for an armourer, opened the door of an old house. A -large room, which was a workshop, and four small rooms, and out of -the house had recently been carried a bier. The man who died had been -an old, independent metal worker. Here still were his furnace and his -tools. Whatever had been his family it was gone; apprentices who had -dwelled with him were away to other masters. “But his custom would come -back,” said Jankin. “The whole thing for so many pounds. Something -down, but the most could be worked out. ’Tis said there’s a ghost in -the house, and so they don’t sell or rent it easily.” - -The man with him said, “I rent it and buy the tools.” - -Jankin answered, “If you do the work you used to do, master, ’t will be -like planting a tree in a flowerpot!” - -“No. And ‘master’ me no more, Jankin!” - -“_Diccon Dawn._ It comes strange! But many a man and a great man is -in danger. Well, you were never much in London, master, and you’re -changed. Eh, those days I was with you in Paris! I hear them still -between hammer strokes, and they come around me like fairies. And -you’ll live here?” - -“Aye.” - -“The great vase you made for the cardinal! Tall as a man, and a wreath -of silver dancers! And he would have you to sup with him--and even I in -the hall had venison pasty and marchpane and such wine as Saint Vulcan -drinks!” - -“Let us go to the owner.” - -_Five days ago Wander Forest._ - -Owner of the house, heir of the dead man’s furnishings, was found. -Yes, yes! let and sell on easy terms, Jankin, who was responsible, -answering for Richard or Diccon Dawn, and the latter’s gold pieces also -answering. The long June day saw the whole completed, key in the hand -of Diccon Dawn, and still two hours lacking of sunset. - -Quoth Jankin, “I can get you plain work to start on.” - -He stood a middle-aged, surly, doggedly faithful man. “If you chose to -work with me again, Jankin--?” - -Jankin regarded workroom, regarded street through wide, low window. -“Well, I will! I’d like to watch tree break flowerpot!” - -Through the street alone, into the outer street near the river, a poor -street also, filled with a great clanging noise. Men-at-arms poured -by, going for some reason to the Tower. When they were passed he met a -country cart, two girls, sisters, seated and a boy walking beside the -horse. They had strawberries and they were crying them. “Strawberries! -Strawberries! Make you young again! Strawberries!” - -Down a cross street he saw the river and it was running sunset gold -with beds of violets. He entered a poor house where lodged sailors’ -wives, and here he sought and found Morgen Fay. “Come with me! I want -to show you something.” - -After a moment of silence she moved toward him and they went out -together. They went through the street, a tall man and a woman very -poorly clad, tall almost as he, and of a rich beauty. There was a great -sunset this eve, bathing London and Thames and these two. - -Diccon Dawn opened the door. They entered the workshop. “This place is -now mine. I do not know if you know it, but I am a smith in gold and -silver.” - -Jankin had brought and left upon the table a loaf and cheese, a pitcher -of ale and a platter heaped with strawberries. Moreover there was water -provided and candles in the stand and he had swept the room. All the -tools of this trade were about; at the back stood the furnace. The -room faced the south and the west, and through the window streamed the -glowing light. They entered, they drank a little water, then stood and -faced each the other. - -She spoke. “We came away upon the ship together, two mortals in the -most merciless danger. ‘That cannot be helped!’ I thought, after the -first astounding when all the blood went from my heart and my knees -bent under me. The _Vineyard_ shook us down together like two leaves -in London. ‘That cannot be helped,’ I thought, ‘but now the wind will -drive the one north and the other south!’ ‘Lodge at the Old Anchor,’ -says _Vineyard_ master. I go there, and I find you there before me. -Still the wind does not rise. But now it must!” - -“You have gold,” said the other. “I saw him to whom we owe more than -gold give it to you. There is still lodging at the Old Anchor. Return -there if you choose. I will walk with you. You shall lodge as you have -lodged, and I as I have lodged. But this house is now mine. Lodge here, -Morgen Fay!” - -“No! Now at last we speak together! Now at last!” - -“Now at last!” - -She stood away from the table, he nearer window. Gold and red sunset -was behind him, a gold and red pool upon the floor between them, and a -rosy light struck her--face, head and throat. - -It was again--it was again! - -She cried, “Cell at Silver Cross, and you on your knees before heaven, -and I the ape!” - -He put his hands before his face. “All heaven was mine!” - -“Dressed so, like the great picture, and with my fingers drawing or -slackening cords that made the blue mantle to wave and lights to -brighten. Oh, God--oh, God!” - -“It is so, yet they brighten.” - -She leaned against the wall, clasping her hands above her forehead. -“Through wickedness and mire and hell and silly paradises I could come -at times to her garden gate and feel her within, though ever was a -fence between us! Her the Blessed, Her the Mother, Mother of All! A -sweet song of her, a bright picture of her is that one who moved in -Bethlehem and went down into Egypt and came back to Nazareth! A little -song, a little story of her is the great picture in Silver Cross. All -songs and all stories have her in them! But what _I_ did, because I -thought I was in danger and because there was mire in me, was to choose -to clip the gold coin and take it from where it was needed and buy -perdition with it! I chose to lie and cheat, to mock and perjure, to -make her small and ugly--Her the Blissful, Her the Wholly Pure, Her the -Strong and Beautiful!” - -Richard Englefield turned to the window. Fiery light! The moon on the -coasts of Italy! Fiery light! - -Moments dropped, far apart, slowly, one after the other. Morgen Fay -spoke again, in a changed tone. “I am not going back to the old life. -To please myself I learned to make lace and I can make it rarely. There -is here a guild of sewing women and lace-makers. A sailor’s wife told -me.” - -“Work if you will, Morgen. But do you lodge here!” - -“Why--why?” - -They moved. Light seemed to pour over them, red light. A horn was blown -in the street. Again she cried out. “It is heaven that you love and -seek, far above this and all sinning! When I was ape I saw that, the -light falling on your face!” - -“Heaven, yes--heaven grown small maybe, but heaven that man -understands! Give me heaven!” - -She cried, “Oh, the ape has done murder!” - -“No! No murder was done. I thought so at first, and indeed it might -seem so, but it was not. _Diccon and Alice Dawn._ Lodge here, Morgen, -lodge here!” - -The fiery light, the music in the street. The brown-gold figure, the -smith in gold and silver, tall, like King David in the window of Saint -Ethelred. “Decide! It is for you to decide!” - -All her life seemed to come around her. All her life up to the ruined -farm and Wander forest, and then and for a long time Wander forest, -ruined farm. And then in full, sounding and lighted, Silver Cross. Four -times in all. Prison, the _Vineyard_ ship and the Old Anchor. Fire-red -and brown-gold and shreds and lines of blue. Horns in the street, -but somewhere a lute and a viol. _Build as build you can!_ _Vineyard_ -ship, Old Anchor, fiery street, house of the smith, colour and odour of -roses, viol, lute. She moved, she sat down by the table and buried her -face in her arms. Presently he lighted the candles. “Come, Morgen, come -and see the whole of it!” - -“No!” said Morgen Fay and rose to her height. She stood up. “No! It is -not little me thou art seeking--little me, little thee. Perhaps--it is -great daring to say it--perhaps I also who have been ape am seeker! -At any rate, I’ll not give thee tinsel who needeth gold! And now I am -going back to Old Anchor.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -Clink of metals striking together, hammer sound, sound of the wheel, -sound of the fed furnace, sound of voices among metals. Diccon Dawn, -worker in rich metals with Jankin to help and a boy to help Jankin. All -day were voices in the long room, footsteps to and fro, sound of the -craft. Richard Englefield beginning again to make beautiful things. - -As he worked he saw a lace-maker. Rich and beautiful lace. - -He saw Wander forest, he saw the ruined farm, he saw Middle Forest, the -prison there and the house by the river. - -He worked from dawn to dusk. Work,--let some ease come that way! He was -artist at work and some lightening came. One must love all. - -The nights at first brought him long and faintly terrible dreams. He -could not remember them in sequence, but some had horror and some had -beauty, and now and again his brain caught from them small, vivid -pictures. - -Then, one night, he saw, half he thought in dream and half not in -dream, a furnace and seated within it a man with a hammer and an anvil, -and on the anvil a man, and they were both the one man, only the man -with the hammer was the greater in aspect. - -Work, work, and at last, after terrible dreams, pray! But no set -prayers, only a wild cry upward to the man with the hammer. - -The street lay baked clay under the sun, the street darkened beneath -cloud. Rain poured down, cleansing and sweetening, making brooks of -gutters, pattering and driving, singing the clean and the fresh, -turning when out came the sun into uncounted glistening or rainbow -orbs. Wind swept the street, a great bellows quickening life. Fog stole -in, and the familiar became a foreigner, strange, remote, chill; surely -the world was dying! Then came the sun, and the world was not dying. - -He went to Old Anchor. The street of half ruinous houses was filled -with a crowd of voices of sea-going and from-sea-returning folk. A -woman with a child told him where to find her. She sat with bobbins in -her hand, at a lace pillow. “Thou’rt pale! Weave, weave like this all -day long!” - -“So I buy bread. I do well.” - -“So wretched a place! Morgen, come to my house. Richard and Alice -Dawn--brother and sister.” - -“No--no!” - -They talked, they parted. Old Anchor and Thames side and street of -the smiths. That night, lying awake, suddenly he saw her life; he -passed into a calm and wide and lifted moment and saw it spread from -childhood. Seeing so, it appeared his own experience,--not appeared, -but was. Something like a great shutter closed upon that moment, then -there opened another as wide and as deep. Space, there was space! “I -have standing and moving room again!” - -After a week he went once more to Old Anchor. “Morgen, I better -understand your life and my life. This place harms you. Come into the -smiths’ street and to the house where I am and where there is all room. -We have need to be together and to learn together.” - -“No--no!” - -Again he went away. The next day, suddenly, while he was turning in -his hands a bar of silver, his thoughts for a moment ran gold. He was -back with a certain day in his stone workroom at Silver Cross and he -was making a cup for Abbot Mark to give to a bishop. The great picture -was in his thoughts, the Blessed among women. There were rolling fields -and the villages of Palestine. Palestine? Everywhere she was, she was -everywhere! That day had been two years ago. Now again to-day he saw -that everywhere she was, that she was everywhere. Everywhere! In all -realms, upper and lower, afar and near, great and small. Everywhere. -Who had hurt her? No one and nothing. Naught! - -Who had hurt him? No one. - -That night he saw a great thorny field and two wanderers. Each had a -great burden on his shoulders and each a staff. There seemed a path of -pilgrimage. And now one came full upon it and pursued it and now the -other. But they were not together, and there seemed a desolateness. -Each fell away into the thorns and came again with toil. The mist -closed all away. Again Richard Englefield prayed. “If it be in God that -we are together--” - -Night passed, day passed. Night again in the street of the smiths. A -light through the window, a cry in the street, a bell that leaped into -clanging. Fire! Fire! - -Diccon Dawn hurrying on clothing, went with the rest. It seemed to be -on the water side and to the eastward,--a great fire. When they came -to the Thames they saw that it was a stretch of old buildings, a maze -where the poor lived, together with seafaring folk. So joined were the -houses that it might be one, or they might be ten. Old Anchor--Old -Anchor! - -The sky was murk and flame, any face might be read; the fire-ocean -leaped in breakers, roared, licked up and sucked under. All the air was -sound, all the bells were ringing, all the heart was bursting. Middle -Forest! A heap of fagots by town cross. - -Old Anchor, and many heroic things done that night by men and women and -children. But a man, a goldsmith, entered farthest, endured longest, -brought forth in his arms whom he had gone to seek, out of the heart -of it. “Is she dead? No! Dead with the smoke, and fire has touched -her arms and her breast and her sides. Who is she? The man’s sister. -Where will he take her? He will carry her through the street to his -house. Diccon Dawn, a goldsmith. He will nurse her there--oh, tenderly, -tenderly.” - -It was so. - -He nursed here there, oh, tenderly, and she came back to life and to -strength through much suffering. - -“It hurts? I would that I could take that!” - -“Oh, aye, it hurts sore! But I will keep it and bear it and see it -change.” - -“So much more I know about thee than I used to know! Thou hast -courage.” - -“So much more I know of thee. Thou hast strength, patience. If I moan -with the pain, it helps me to utter it.” - -“See thou, it is meant for us to be together.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -Clink of metals striking together, hammer sound, sound of the wheel, -sound of the fed furnace, sound of voices among metals. Up and down -this was the strain of the smiths’ street. Summer, autumn, winter, -spring, round went the wheel. - -The street lay hot under the sun, the street stretched dim and -breathless under clouds. Rain poured down, freshness and song of the -sea drawn into the air. The wind sang his great song of vigour. Fog -came and shut the eyelids of the world, then passed away and one -started as from sleep. Snow fell in small flakes or in large flakes, in -few or in many. The street lay white, the roofs white. - -All day voices in the long workroom, footsteps to and fro, sound of the -craft, Diccon Dawn fashioning beautiful things. He had helpers, Jankin -and a boy, and also his sister, Alice Dawn. - -There was that which she could do and he showed her how. Those who came -that way in the smiths’ street saw a brother and sister, a tall pair, -working together. Beside this, she toiled like all the women in the -street. She kept the house clean, she bought the food and cooked it, -she took ewer and pail and went to the well. To and fro, to and fro. At -the well were women, in the street were women. She greeted and answered -greeting. Sometimes she was drawn into a knot of talkers. But she spoke -little herself. “Alice Dawn? Whence, then? The other end of England? -Thy brother does fine work, they say. When didst learn to work with -him? He has gotten thee a good gown and it sets thee like an earl’s -wife!” When she was gone they talked of her. “How old should you think? -She has too still ways for me! She looks like a queen. Nay, lass, to my -thinking like a quean!” - -Clink, clink, clink in the street of the smiths. Water from the well, -dashing over the stones, water brought home in great ewer or pail, -balanced so. - -Sometimes at sunset, go, the two of them, down to the river. Sunday -beyond the wall into green country, into sere autumn country, into -winter country. Mix and not mix with those about them, live and let -live, keeping observation as near as possible to ebb tide. Live--let -live! Live--let live! In this time the herb found some growing room. -Away from the smith’s street they saw the able king go by with his able -men, the queen with her ladies. They saw the cardinal and his train. -They heard of a Lollard burned, and they went not there; of a sorceress -burned and they went not there. They went somewhat silently and softly -that day. So long as they ran not foul of some one’s earthly ambition -or his jealousy or his fear, there was going room. Once they heard a -street preacher mourning that the time was so lax. A great time, an -active time, but lax, lax! What was this New Learning and crying that -Authority was within? Every day, somewhere, a monk broke from cloister -and a priest began to babble. For the bookmen, they were writing -perdition! Differers springing up like weeds, laughter rising, folk -prying into vain knowledge, conceiving a thing called “freedom.” - -Clink, clink, clink in the street of the smith. - -Diccon and Alice Dawn. Out of blind feeling there rose, they knew not -just when nor how, desire for that light which is comprehension. “Tell -me--” “Tell me--” - -Breadth by breadth, work of the day done, or on holidays, they unrolled -the bale of old life and regarded the figures, the outer figures and -the figures of thought and feeling. Each grew to be to the other a vast -and deep and fortunate object of study. She would say, “When you were -in France, tell me--” or “What like was thy mother?” And he, “Tell me, -Morgen, of thy childhood and thy girlhood.” Her childhood became his -and his became hers. The like with girlhood and boyhood. They learned, -orb of orb, ocean of ocean, sharing and growing richer by the sharing. -“I remember” and “I remember.” - -“I was a young girl, just over childness. I was dancing. My father -and mother watched. I do not know if they were truly my father and -mother, but I called them that. They watched me and they watched the -crowd watching. They always did that. If the crowd did not grow warm, -then afterwards in the booth they beat me. Oh, they beat me sore! So -I always thought _into_ the crowd as it were and willed it as hard as -I might, ‘Oh, love my dancing! Oh, love to look at me!’ I thought it -so hard that sometimes it seemed that the crowd and I were one, and I -beat their flame upward so that they, too, were dancing and liking it. -But I remember that day something beat my flame upward, too, far upward -and very wide! And the very earth and world was dancing, whirling -and rising like a golden ball in air, and great figures sat around, -laughing and applauding and crying, ‘You will do! You will do!’” - -“Once in Italy, with my master Andrew the Goldsmith, I was walking -alone by olive trees and blue sea. The sun was low, there was the -greatest beauty! Then gold Apollo walked with me. I saw him in lines of -pale gold, and I felt him a great god, calm and happy. Vulcan is for -the smiths, but I changed that day to Apollo. Not that I left Vulcan, -but Apollo, too. The next month I made for Andrew the Goldsmith a cup -which when he looked at he said, ‘Thou’rt accepted!’” - -“I remember--” - -“When thou rememberest me--and I remember thee--” - -“Will we come to remember all?” - -Up and down, to and fro in the smiths’ street. Snow was falling, great -flakes, softly, smoothly. Jankin looked out of window. “Here cometh a -great Blackfriar!” - -He walked along the street, a big Dominican out on his travels. Richard -Englefield glanced, but did not recognize him, though, a moment -afterwards, as he bent to his work, there rose in mind a picture of -Montjoy’s hall the day he stood there, bound and gagged, like to burst -in his rage and agony. Now he laid hand on graver’s tool and fell to -work. He was fashioning a silver dish like a shell. Jankin took his cap -and cloak and said good night, for the short day was closing. - -Morgen Fay crossed the street in the snow, returning to the house from -some errand. Reaching the doorstone, she stood there a little because -of delight in the great white flakes. A friar spoke to her, “Eh, my -sister, a white Christmas!” - -“Aye, Brother, they are coming like white butterflies.” - -He looked more fully upon her, “Push back your hood, woman!” - -She knew him. “Ah! Middle Forest!” Her heart stood still, then she -changed as she could expression of her face, roughened her voice. -“Whiter than last Christmas, Brother! That was a brown one here in -London.” - -“It was white in Middle Forest!” He stared in doubt. “What is your -name?” - -“Alice Dawn, Brother.” - -Still he stared, but she saw his uncertainty increase. - -“Did ever you have a sister who called herself Morgen Fay?” - -She shook her head. “I had one named Mercy.” - -“By Saint Thomas, likenesses are strange things!” said Friar Martin. -“There’s something that binds them together, if we could but get it -clear!” He looked up at the smith’s sign. “‘Diccon Dawn. Silver and -Gold.’ Alice Dawn! Well, you are like, all the same, so you had better -say your beads, my daughter, and keep from ill ways! _Benedicite!_” - -He went on through the snowy street. - -Diccon Dawn looked up from the fluted shell. “You are as pale as the -snow! What is it?” - -“Is Jankin gone, and the boy? Here is Friar Martin of Saint Leofric’s.” - -“Here!” - -“In the street. He has gone by. But I know that he will return.” - -Englefield rose from the silver work and they stood in the dusky room. -“Did he know you?” he asked. - -She told. - -He said, “It was chance his being here! He saw what he thought was -chance likeness. It will pass from his mind.” - -“It may and it may not. Will there be raised a cry against me--against -us? Look!” - -Hidden themselves, they looked through the window. Other side the -street, in the falling snow, stood Friar Martin, intent upon the -goldsmith’s house and sign. A man going by was stopped and questioned. -Alone once more, the friar gazed, dubitated, drew his picture. Diccon? -A Richard made silver dishes for Abbot Mark. June. He came into this -house in June, and none in these parts had known him before. And an -Alice Dawn like as a twin to Morgen Fay! - -The friar made a movement. “_If this be so, what gain to Saint -Leofric?_” But first it was to tell beyond peradventure of a doubt if -it were so! He crossed the smith’s street and with his staff knocked -upon the door of Diccon Dawn. - -“Shalt open to him?” - -“If I do he may find likeness. If I do not--” - -They stood in the dusky place, a long room with the red fire eye of the -small furnace dully winking, with the snow falling, falling. The friar -knocked again. “If we do not answer, then surely will he say, ‘Witch’s -house!’” - -Englefield moved toward the door, but Friar Martin, impatient and bold, -did not wait, but lifting the latch, pushed inward. It was dusk, beyond -seeing clearly. - -“Are you the smith?” - -“Aye, Brother. Can I serve you?” - -“I would see your work. But I cannot do so without light.” - -“Work hour and shop hour are over. Best come to-morrow.” - -“To-morrow we may all be dead. Canst not light candle?” - -“Aye, I can.” He took a brand from the fire and suited action to word. -“There is not much here.” He held the candle to the silver shell, -but Friar Martin, who helped himself through life, shot out his hand -and took the taper and held it to the smith. Diccon Dawn stood in the -light and formed face of London smith who knew that in these later days -friars upon their travels were what they were and must be taken so. -They had their whims! - -But Friar Martin said, “Did ever you wander by a stream called Wander? -Do you know a town named Middle Forest, and the Abbey of Silver Cross?” - -Diccon Dawn shook his head. “I stick to my work, Brother. It’s night -and snowing fast!” - -Light--light! It seemed to blaze around. “Didst never make silver -dishes for abbots?” - -“No. I have a humbler trade. It nears curfew, Brother!” - -“I met a woman upon your doorstep. Your wife or perhaps your sister?” - -“My sister,--Curfew, Brother!” - -The other was thinking, “I do not yet know wholly, but I guess, I -guess!” He said aloud, “Do smiths have visions? Doth heaven ever open -in this street?” - -“All streets are ways to that. Curfew, Brother!” - -It was dusk save for the one taper and the fire eye in the back of the -room. The friar was almost a giant, but the smith, too, was a strong -man, and somewhere in the house dwelled a witch! He had matter enough -to turn and twist this way and that, during the night, preparing the -vial of wrath. “Aye, it is late! I will go, having seen your silver -work!” - -He went. The street was snowy. His great sandalled foot made no sound. -Going, a little chime rang in his brain. “I see the gain of Saint -Leofric! I see the gain of Saint Leofric!” - -In the dusky room the two moved closer together. “Thy danger.” “Thine!” -“Ah, our danger!” - -“Act, then!” He looked from the window. “Out of gate ere it is quite -night!” - -They had warm mantles, good shoes. They made a packet of food, took -coin from the strong box. Englefield wrote a short letter and placed -it where Jankin should find it the first thing coming in, in the -morning,--find it, read it and burn it, though there was naught in it -that could harm Jankin. Jankin and the boy had had their wage paid that -day. Out quietly into the deep twilight, the snow falling. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - -A cot at the side of a wood, and a woodchopper and his sister who -gathered faggots. The owner of the wood employing them, a miserly old -man in a manor house, kept little company, stirred little abroad, -neither hunted nor hawked. They had the still wood, the small cot. -Sometimes the steward of the place, sometimes a fellow servant dropped -in upon them, but by no means every day. Sound of axe, sound of falling -tree, sound of breaking branch and dead leaves underfoot and of March -wind. Hours of toil, then the cot, a fire on the hearth and homely fare. - -Before he became smith he had been lad of the farm. A cot like this, -work like this, was but an old chime chiming again. She had had a -hardy, difficult childhood. It rose again upon her at the ruined farm, -in Wander forest. Life of the hand, life of the arm and shoulder was -not new; it was old. - -Life of the passions; that was old. - -Life of the awakening mind--life of the slowly kindling soul--life -passing away from old life--that had a divine newness. - -The wind murmured and sought, and brought boughs to strike against -wall and roof. Fire burned on the hearth, light and shadow went around -the room. Some one knocked, then opened the door. “I am the charcoal -burner, I’ve got a child here who is ill!” - -He had him in his arms a thin and gasping six-year-old. - -“It’s his throat, and he’s burning in this cold wind! He’ll choke to -death.” - -They laid him on a bed. The charcoal burner was big and black with a -black that brushed off. “What can ye do to help?” - -They helped, but Morgen Fay the most, for she took the child upon her -knees and with long, fine fingers drew from his throat the stuff that -choked. Through the night she crooned to him, comforted him, and at the -dawn they wiled him to take a little broth that Richard made, after -which he slept, still in her arms. - -“Leave him here till he is well.” - -“I do not mind, if you do not mind. He will give ye a lot of trouble.” - -“Leave him!” - -They looked after this boy and he became a great light and play to -them. When he was better they took him with them, wrapped in a mantle, -into the wood and sat him in the sunshine. Diccon Dawn felled a tree -and hewed it into logs for the manor house, Alice Dawn brought -faggots, heaping together for the manor cart. When they must rest they -sat in the sun with the boy, and the great wind rushed and laughed and -clattered in the wood. - -“Tell me a story!” said the boy. Richard told saint’s legend, -Christ-child story. - -“Now you tell one!” Morgen told the story of the Great Good Elf. - -Afterwards Richard said, “We could not have told those stories if we -were not getting well.” - -In the cot at night, in the firelight, again the boy. “Tell me a -story--tell me a story!” - -“All our lives to make these stories. All our lives of us all!” - -“All!” - -The child slept, the little flame sang, bough of tree struck the cot. -They sat and seemed to look down and seemed to look up a road that went -forever. - -Wild flowers appeared. The child gathered them. Morgen wore a knot at -her bosom, Richard one in his cap. “Tell me a story--tell me a story!” - -The charcoal burner came and took away his son. He gave rude thanks and -said that henceforth they were friends. They missed the lad until they -found that they had him still. - -The wind pushed the high cloud ships and certain trees put on their -earliest touch of green. They rested in the wood from chopping and -gathering, and seated upon the felled tree, smelled the fragrance of -the world. - -“Tell me a story--tell me a story--” - -Again within the cot, and the wind fell at purple twilight, then -rose again roaring, and the flame bent this way and bent that. Quiet -together--still together. - -“What is fire?” - -“What is beauty?” - -“What is music?” - -April air, April wood. Rang the axe, bent and straightened the faggot -gatherer. Showers came up, but thick fir trees gave shelter. Rain -stopped. Being upon a little eminence in the wood they saw the great -bow, the seven-coloured bridge. - -April rain, April greenery, April sunshine. The axe rang, the tree -fell. They rested from toil, leaning against the sunken mass, and -waiting so, became aware of the movement of horses, coming nearer -through the wood, and presently of voices. Sit quietly behind branches -of felled tree, and let all go by, at a little distance, five or six of -them! - -But they came nearer and nearer, brushing through the wood, a hawking -party from a great house the other side a line of low hills, cutting -off a distance by leaving the road and crossing this piece of earth. -Nearer and nearer, and presently it was seen that they would pass the -felled tree. The woodchopper and the faggot gatherer sat still. - -A big man, no longer young, with a beak of a nose and a waggish yet -formidable mouth, a quite young man and a young woman, and the other -two falconer and helper, carrying the hawks. They would go pacing by. -But the big man always spoke, sitting his big horse, to woodchoppers -and ditchers and thatchers, charcoal burners and the like! It was as -though one stopped to observe a robin or wren or blackbird. “Cousin -bird, what have you to say to the so-much-more-than-bird observing -you?” So now he drew rein and gave greeting. - -“Hey, woodchopper, a fine day for felling!” - -“Aye, it is, your honour!” - -“You fell for old Master Cuddington? He should stir out, he should go -hawking! Is your mate there weeping or ugly that she sits turned away, -and her face in her hand?” - -“It is her way. She means nothing.” - -“She seems a fine lass--should not be in the dumps! Hey, my girl!--No?” - -“_Robins and wrens must not be perverse_,” the big man said sharply. -“Lift your head, woman, or I shall think you’re hiding the plague!” - -She turned upon him a twisted face. Brown she was and dressed after -another fashion than on a supper time in Middle Forest when the June -eve was cool and a fire crinkled on the hearth, and Ailsa brought more -wine, and Robert Somerville said, “Morgen Fay--and hath she not look of -the name?” Brown and dressed poorly and changed, and yet Sir Humphrey -Somerville stared. - -“I’ve seen you before, but where? Oh, now I know where! Well, and is it -so!” - -He laughed, he seemed about to descend from his horse and enter into -talk, and then to bethink himself, looking sidewise at his daughter -and her lover. At last it was, within himself, “I’ll think a while and -come quietly again. To-morrow, aye, to-morrow!” Aloud he said, “Flower -garden, and something about a witch--but all women are witches! And so -you live now on this side of the hills? And now I remember me something -of a letter from my cousin, and a great trouble you were in!” - -He looked from her to Richard Englefield, but having no knowledge -there, saw only a brown-gold woodchopper. Taking a noble from his pouch -he spun it down upon the ground between them. “Old Cuddington pays -poorly. Seest it? Vanish not between to-day and to-morrow, Egyptian!” - -He backed his big horse; he and his daughter and her lover and the -men with the hawks rode on through the wood. Drooping branches came -between; they were hidden, they were gone. - -“He thinks that I could not nor would. But I can and do!” - -She stood. “It is Somerville’s cousin. Once I feasted him in the house -by the river.” - -They looked deep into the deep wood, they looked to the cot from which -came a tranquil blue feather of smoke. Then said Englefield, “It is -naught but travel again! Beyond this wood runs the wold for a long way, -then we drop to the sea and to fishing villages. Come, then! The day is -good, the night is starry.” - -“Two Egyptians over the wold.” - -“We have been together, I think, upon many wolds, in woods and havens, -in Egypt and elsewhere. Come then, Morgen!” - -They left Master Cuddington’s axe and cords and cot and furnishing. -They took a loaf that she had baked and a bundle of clothing and what -coins were left from the smiths’ street, and at sunset fared forth. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - - -It stretched afar, the great wold. They were out upon it under the -moon. All wildness, all loneliness! If there were a track it was a -faint one. The ground rolled; all opened to the sky, a little lower -and a little higher; around and above was immensity sewn with points -of significance. They found bushes to shelter them from the murmuring -and seeking wind and slept deeply. The night turned toward day. Are you -awake?--Aye! - -In the east shone the palest light. Huge lay the wold, and the sky was -night save for that far illuming. Cool hung the air and still, still, -still. - -The wold began to colour. They ate of their loaf and took up their -bundle and trudged again. April in the world. They were well together, -with a great natural fitness. It did not matter if they talked or if -they walked a long way in silence. One was to the other; they accorded. -Once he said, “I have no knowledge how old we are. This wold is old, -our earliest forefathers trod it, but we were there!” - -“Aye! They and ourselves and all.” - -All lonely was the wold and yet it was filled. The noon sun turned it -gold. They felt a light warmth, a slight wind, a waving fragrance, a -multitudinous fine sounding. They rested; they went on again. - -A dog came limping toward them, yelping, in trouble. His paw was hurt, -half crushed, apparently, by some rolling, falling mass. Just here -lay hollow land, with the smallest stream gliding through. Englefield -bathed the paw, set it right, and they tore cloth and bound it up. The -dog’s wagging tail and his eyes said, “Friends! I am glad you came!” -For a time he kept with them, but his home was over the wold, and -with a final wag of the tail and lick of the hand, he left them. They -watched him growing smaller and smaller till he disappeared behind a -wavelet of earth. - -The wold hereabouts was wavy, ridged. They followed the thread of water -that had by it a faint path. Presently it ran beneath a high bank, a -steep, escarped hill. An uprooted tree caught their eye, then a great -heaped disorder of raw earth. “Look!” said Englefield. “The hillside -has caved and fallen. It was that that caught the dog.” - -The path was covered. They must cross the streamlet and go around the -broken mass. They had almost cleared it when they saw over the thread -of water a human figure, half buried, unconscious. - -They worked until he was free. A leg was broken, forehead bleeding from -a great cut. They dashed water upon him and he sighed and opened his -eyes, a young man roughly dressed, with the seeming of fisherman or -sailor. “The hill fell! I was thinking of gaffer and gammer that I was -going to see and the hill fell!” - -“Was there any one else?” - -“No. ’Tis a lonely place--a great wold. There was a dog running -about--not mine. I’m thankful to ye, but I think my leg’s broken, and -my head is singing, singing.” - -“Do you know the wold? Where is the house you were going to?” - -“It’s Gaffer Garrow, the shepherd. There’s the wold hostel, too--the -Good Man. But it’s not a good inn--they be robbers! My head is singing.” - -“Let’s see if canst stand. Now arms about shoulders. So!” - -Half carrying him, they followed the stream. When he failed, Englefield -carried him outright. So they went, very slowly, down the hollow land, -a long way, until they saw Gaffer Garrow’s furze heap and hut. An old -man and woman and a shepherd lad and a girl came forth to meet them. -“Alack and alack, and Jack, what’s happened?” - -Diccon Dawn, it seemed, could set a bone. When it was done and the -sailor on his straw bed, with gaffer and gammer and younger brother and -sister to his hand, Diccon and Alice Dawn went on over the wold. The -young girl walked a little way with them to show the way, seeing that -they were going to the sea. “You will come to the Good Man, but I would -not lodge there. Then you will come to three trees, then will be wold a -long way, then you will smell the sea.” - -At turning, she said. “Our Jack might have died there, earth over him! -Our Lady must have been walking before you. I see Her sometimes in the -even, walking the wold.” - -They walked it, the girl returning to her hut, and they seemed to be -alone, except for Silver Cross rising. - -The Good Man topped a low wave of the April earth. They saw it against -cool, blue sky, with an ash and an aspen pricked out above either end. -Men and women were in the doorway. Richard Englefield and Morgen Fay -went by, though the host called to them and an urchin came running -after. “Hey! This be the Good Man, the only hostel this half of wold!” - -Diccon Dawn shook his head. “We are in haste.” - -“I make guess that ye have not the reckoning!” The urchin grinned, -threw dry turf and pebble against them and ran away. - -Silence came down around them and upon them and within them. The -sun was westering, the wold growing purple. The stillness became -both fine and vast, a permeating and encirling hush within the hush. -_Wait--wait--wait!_ Out of it or into it pushed shadowy sorrows, -ancient poignancies. The wold grew peopled with these. - -The sun descended. The horizon rose up and took it; a chill and -mournful light spread evenly, then withdrew, evenly, slowly. It was -dusk. The wold was spectral; all was spectral. - -They came to a ring of ancient stones, placed there long ago by -long-ago inhabitants of that island and now grown about with whin and -thorn and furze. They like the wold, seemed now eternal, now going -away, fading away. It was to rest here and sleep here; it was the best -place. They lay down. There was silence, and still--faint, faint, in -dark lines and pallid silver lines--rose Silver Cross! - -Full night, and descending and climbing stars. Then the moon, silver, -great, mounting above the clean, sweeping wold-line, silvering the -wold, silvering all. Now the air was stillness wholly, and now there -came a sighing. Sleep, one must sleep, weary enough with travelling! -Yet sleep was not in the wold, with all else that was there. - -From above--from above--oh, from above come help! - -But it seemed there was only the wold and the air and the moon. Only -somehow sorrow. - -Deep in the night he perceived that Morgen Fay had risen from where she -was lying by a great stone and had moved without the ring. Presently -he saw her at some distance, standing in the open wold, very still, -regarding the heavens, then moving slowly, walking beneath the moon. -A light wave of the wold hid her from his sight. A momentary dart of -fear and loneliness went through him, as though the wold had taken -her, as though she would go on forever that way and he this. But no; -nothing would come of that, nothing would come that way! No--no! They -were together, together in this sadness of the wold, strangely together -in this separateness, together in the very hauntings and hostilities -of the past; together on this wold, this present night--together -now--together to-morrow and the next day and the day after, together -though walls of the night and the moonlight, or of the day and the -sunlight were between their bodies. - -The profound, the starry night. All the stars, all the moons and the -earths, aspects and moods of a Mighty One! Power, Wisdom, Goodness, -Beauty.-- - -Richard Englefield’s body sat still as a stone. Most is done, seen and -felt in a moment. The vastest takes no time, but the placing of that -moment took time. The wold changed, the night and day, the here and -there, the now and then, the you and I, all the opposites. - -At last he rose and moved out upon the wold. He did not know which way -Morgen had gone, but she was here, as he was here. He stood with a deep -and quiet heart, looking forth over the lonely and happy wold. The -moon shone, a light and musical wind rose and fell. He was aware of an -immense tranquility with something of awe running through like a clean -fragrance, like myrrh. It was so still, it was so wide and deep and -high. - -He turned slightly, as though a hand had drawn him. He saw on the wold -the great picture, the Blessed among women. - -Eyes ceased in light. Other eyes opened. - -Out of the quiet dark came Morgen Fay and kneeled beside him. “Let me -tell--for one instant--ah, the instant!--I saw us as the All. I saw -thee in light, and then I saw us as the All.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - - -It was still the wold when under pale fine sunshine they came to a -smithy, rude and poor, set beneath a long wave, where a road went by. -Lonely was the wold, lonely and lonely, yet folk did travel across it. -Here, too, horses must be shod and cart and wagon mended, though not -many nor often. But the place seemed dilapidated, the smith an old man. -He could not do, he said, what was needed to be done. Custom, if you -could call it custom, was dwindling; he needed a helper. He looked at -Englefield and said that he seemed a strong fellow now! “What might be -your name?” - -They had changed names when they left Master Cuddington, that seeming -wiser. “Godfrey the smith, and this is Joan.” - -“Smith, now! Can you do this--and this?” - -A middle aged woman called from the hut that adjoined. “Get them to -stay, father, get them to stay! There be pilgrims a-horseback, coming -by to-morrow!” - -“Where would we dwell?” - -The old man had a gnomish, elfin humour. “There’s a great empty palace -yonder, waiting king and queen!” He pointed with a shaking forefinger -to a hut a hundred yards away, close to the earth wave that rose in -pale gold, green and purple and held it as in a cup. Sky hung a deep -and serene blue, sunshine was sifted gold, spring flowerets bloomed on -the wold and all the bees in the land were humming there. Lonely and -could be well loved, the great wold! Godfrey the smith looked to Joan. - -“Aye, I will it if you will it!” - -Great wold and day and night, and the smithy with the older and the -younger smith, and the lubberly boy that helped, and the few travellers -and comers-by. Work done with satisfaction and the wold to rest in, -walk in, by times. Hut of the old man and his daughter and the lubberly -boy, hut of Joan and Godfrey, Emmy was the daughter’s name and she had -second sight. - -She took to Joan. “You’re eternal. He’s eternal, too. And so am I. -Eternity--Eternity--Eternity.” She went off upon the word into her own -visions. - -May and June. “And it was a good day when you came!” quoth the old man -in his throaty, under-earth voice. “Came to the palace, king smith and -queen lace-woman!” - -July, and the wold very rich, and the sunshine strong and the starry -nights soft, immense, musing, brooding, tender. The wold was a -world, away in space from sister worlds, yet throwing bridges across, -invisible as spider’s thread in sunshine. July--August. Gold on the -wold, gold in the sky, gold and sapphire. - -September. Said Emmy, “I see some one coming, riding a bay horse.” - -They were walking the wold. “Maybe ’tis to-morrow,” said Emmy, “maybe -next day, maybe next week. I cannot see his face but he means to ride -to the smithy on great wold.” - -The day was golden, golden September. Everything spread wider, -everything lifted higher. All things had their roots down, down, but -all things climbed and broadened, inviting the air and the wind and the -sun. - -“Ah, warmth in light! Ah, light in warmth!” - -“Aye, aye!” said Emmy. “The world’s no so bad if you take it large.” - -Back in a great amber twilight to smithy and huts. - -In the morning anvil and iron and hammer. Glow of fire, sweeping past -of wold wind. A man on a bay horse, a man behind him riding a black -mare, came to the smithy. Richard Englefield, looking up, met full the -eyes of Somerville. - -He knew him, remembering him with Abbot Mark, coming to view him at -work, at Silver Cross. He felt in his hands again a silver bowl, -around it silver vine leaves. Somerville drew his breath and moistened -his lips, then smiled with oddly twitching face. “Brother Richard--” - -“I am Richard Englefield, and here on the wold Godfrey the smith.” - -“When you were woodchopper, seven leagues yonder, it was Diccon Dawn.” - -“Aye, so.” - -“There was Alice Dawn, saith my cousin. Diccon and Alice Dawn. Is she -here?” - -Englefield, standing, looked afar over wold and then into the vast, -quiet blue sky. “Yes. Leave horse and man and come with us to the hill -yonder.” - -A tiny stream ran by the smithy. He kneeled and laved his face and -hands and arms, dried them, and moved with Somerville, dismounted, -toward the hut under gold and purple waves of the wold. - -“Morgen!” - -She came forth. Wold went into mist, reeled and was Wander forest and -ruined farm. Wander forest, ruined farm, Robert Somerville. - -“Morgen--Morgen Fay!” - -The wold came back, wold and sky and Richard the smith. More than that. -There came, as it were, a blue mantle around her; she felt an arm, a -breast, a face looking down, great as the sky and the earth, supernally -fair and filled with supernal love. “O Mother, All-Mother!” - -Richard was speaking, quickly, “Let us go, Morgen, we three, to the -hilltop and talk together there.” - -They went, climbing the earth-wave, to a level of grass and heath -whence one saw all the wold rippling afar. “Sit down--sit down!” The -sun shone, the wind went careering. Who will speak first? They let -Somerville do that, who sat with eyes now on Morgen and now on gold -specks afar in the wold. “Not-change and change--and which is the great -miracle perchance the Saints know! I seem to know the whence, Morgen, -but as to the where and the whither--” - -She said, “Listen, Somerville! There was a Morgen, there is a Morgen, -there will be a Morgen. ‘There will be’ is the ruler. Say that I died -by fire but that I live again pardoned!” - -He regarded her. A mist came over his eyes, the odd, grimacing face -worked. Up went a hand to cover it, then dropped. “Ah, Morgen Fay, I, -too, perchance, must do some dying! I had to come to find you, but you -are safe and safe enough, for all my finding!” - -She said, “Aye, Rob, do I not know that of you? Tell me, have you -heard aught of Ailsa?” - -No, he had not. But he told them this and that of Middle Forest and -Wander vale. Thomas Bettany? He was well and was wedding young Cecily -Danewood. Middle Forest, Castle, Saint Leofric, Silver Cross and -Westforest. Montjoy, having made one pilgrimage, was now, they said, -gone another. - -The wold rolled afar, sun shone, wind breathed. Blue sky had cloud -mountains. Blue sea, pearl mountains, and that invisible that held and -was both, and rising with both surpassed. The wind sang, the fragrance -ran. - -Richard Englefield told of his life. Boyhood and the goldsmith, France -and Italy, the tall houses, the seeking, the priest, Silver Cross. “Now -thine, Somerville!” - -Awhile ago Somerville would have thought this impossible, but now, -quietly reminiscently, he spread out for himself and for them -Somerville’s life, dark and light. And then there spoke Morgen Fay. The -clean wind, the dry light, went about the hill. - -“And all was changing all the time, changing and waking and learning, -through earth and air and water and fire! And now it begins to know -that it wakes and learns--and that is all, Rob--and now are we all born -again.” - -“Born again,” said Somerville? “Is that possible?” - -“It has happened.” Englefield was speaking. “And now Middle Forest is -dear again, and Silver Cross is dear again, and street of the smiths is -dear, and Cuddington wood and this wold. And you and me and Morgen and -Emmy yonder, and all.” - -“Is Abbot Mark dear? And is Prior Matthew, too?” - -Godfrey the smith laughed. “Why, when they wish it we can talk -together, being after all one!” - -“It is true we talk together,” said Somerville, “and I feel no anger -against you, and you seem to have none against me.” - -“I have none. And beautiful is this day and restful, here on the hill -top. And God is in the world and here.” - -The sun stood at noon. Clean air, dry air, autumn wealth and rest, -and beyond the autumn, across the winter, spring,--ever higher, ever -richer, ever with more music! They left the hill and came to smithy -and huts. They gave Somerville and his man bread and ale, and then the -three said farewell. - -Somerville on his bay horse rode over the wold. Old habit as he rode, -horses’ hoofs beating so, brought forth rhythm and words. - - “Who can tell - The road he’s led? - The glint of gold-- - In each that worth-- - That’s here, that’s there, - That vanisheth! - ‘It ne’er had birth!’ - Then comes again, - Daffodil from winter earth. - Star shining out, when storm lies dead!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - - -The wold hung November grey. “Snow in that cloud,” quoth the old smith. -“Elf of the world wants a white flower!” - -“Snowy night a year ago!” said Morgen Fay. - -Emmy spoke. “A many are coming by, hurrying, for they want to get -across the wold before air is white and ground is white.” - -So the smiths somewhat looked for many, but that day passed and the -night and part of the next day and none came. Snow, too, held off. Sky -pallid grey, earth grey, and all unearthly still. Then a packman came -by, going from a town south of the wold to a town north of it, and he -had news. He had ridden ahead of thirty who would stop for rest at the -Good Man. “Prior and his monks and so many lay brothers stoutly armed -and mounted. Great church folk changing visits.” - -“Beyond-Wold Abbey?” - -“Aye, going there. Have come a long way, they say, stopping at -friaries and castles. They’re Blackfriars. Ah, it is policy for men -to visit now and then, getting away from home, changing stories and -learning a bit! Prior’s a man like the rest of us! Tail man told me -when I walked beside him a bit. They’ve got a saint’s bone with them, -and a many poor souls have been healed in this town and that castle.” - -“What like is the prior?” - -“Tall bent man, thin as paper, very pale, with black eyes.” - -“That is not Westforest!” said Godfrey the smith, and looked over the -grey wold to see if they were coming. - -Morgen answered, “No, not Prior Matthew. But it hath a sound of another -I have seen going down High Street and by town cross.” - -“Saint Leofric’s Friary,” said the packman. “Other side England. Aye, -bone of Saint Leofric. Prior Hugh.” - -Through grey air a flake fell, then another and another. “Thirty with -him, do you say? Is there by chance a giant of a friar--you could not -miss him if he were there--Friar Martin?” - -“Oh, aye, I think I saw him,” said the packman. “There was a huge -brother bestriding the strongest horse! Well, I say, say I, black -friars, white friars, grey friars and brown friars are at times ill -as they’re sung, and at times good as they’re sung, and most times in -between the two! But I say for the most part England’s had good of -them. In the most and for the long run!” - -He was speaking to the brown-gold smith. That one agreed with him. “I -think so, too, brother--though I’ve had my buffets--for the most part -and in the long run!” - -The packman had his pony shod and was ready to depart. Snowflakes were -few; he would reach the end of the wold, the sea and his small haven -before night. He looked at the gold-brown smith, hesitated, then, “Come -ye apart for a word!” They moved out under the hill. “You’ve got a fair -woman with you. Do you remember a carter yesterday morn?” - -“Yes, I do.” - -“Well, he saith at the Good Man that he saw you in London, you and the -woman there, though you did not see him. He saith a black friar raised -that quarter of London against you and the woman, but especially the -woman for she was a sorceress. But when they came to the house and beat -in the door, you were gone, the two of you. There was one Jankin, but -he knew naught. Well, Harry the carter told all that at the Good Man -yestereve. I thought you might like to know. I might not have told, but -she hath a great look of a sister of mine who’s dead. It is easy to cry -sorcery, and hard to down the cry!” - -“Aye, it is. Take our thanks, friend!” - -The packman mounted his pony and went away through the grey day, the -few flakes of snow. - -“Are you going, too?” asked Emmy. “I see you over wold and you do not -come back. But I wish you to come back and I must weep!” - -“We are pilgrims--we cannot stay! Some one has set us a pilgrimage.” - -In an hour they had parted with the old smith and with Emmy. Englefield -and Morgen Fay went over the wold, not by the road, but by a shepherds’ -path, running hereabouts over and between low hills. From the first of -these they looked back. They could see, almost closely, the smithy and -the hut under the hill. They had loved this place, loved the wold. - -“Love it still and take it with us! So I have the rose tree and Ailsa -and the garden. All things we love go with us, nor can we ever help -that.” - -“So who loveth most hath most treasure!” - -They looked back to the smithy and then to the road that ran almost -beneath them on this hill top. Now they could see approaching a mounted -company, thirty at least, still a good way off but growing larger with -a steady pacing movement. - -“Let us watch. They do not dream we are here. Move yonder and the furze -will hide.” - -Prior Hugh of Saint Leofric, with him a dozen monks and the rest stout -lay Brothers, rode thoughtfully, mounted on his white mule. Out of grey -day, athwart the gathering snow, pictures formed for him. The man and -woman above him, hidden on the hill brow, also saw pictures, vivid, -defined, one after the other. Friar Martin, huge on huge horse, looked -upward as he passed. They saw his great tanned face, his black beard -wagging ever for Saint Leofric. Loyalties--loyalties! - -There passed Prior Hugh and his following. Reaching the smithy they -halted and dismounted. - -Richard Englefield and Morgen Fay went on over the wold, taking faint, -broken paths of shepherds. The sky was grey and came close, they saw -not a living thing on the wold before them, the flakes began to fall a -little more thickly. An hour passed, and now they talked together and -now they were silent. - -Down came the flakes; the flakes came down. Now they were white and -many, steadily, steadily falling. Before long they seemed to quicken, -they became a soft vast multitude, they hid as with curtains the wold -all around. - -“This is the path?” - -“Aye, but there will be a great snow.” - -They walked as fast as they might, but the path ran up and down or -wound in the trough of the low waves of whitened earth. They could not -eat the leagues. And ever the snow came faster. “Three hours yet of -daylight. Time enough to reach Brighthaven. But if the snow covers the -path--” - -The snow covered it. An hour went by. - -“We have all the wold for path! But eastward there lies the sea. And by -my reckoning Grey Farm should be near.” - -“The snow cometh so we cannot be sure--” - -“Art warm?” - -“Aye.” - -Another hour and it was dusk and the snow came steadily, hugely, and -where was sea or east or west or north or south could no longer be told -with assurance. No house or hut, and now at last cold, great cold and -weariness. - -“Grey Farm may be yonder or yonder, but we cannot see. Lost is but -lost--never forever lost!” - -Night! Cold now and ever falling snow, and no path or all path. No -light, no shape other than the wold shape and the snow shape and the -night shape. - -“Art very weary?” - -“Yes, weary!” - -“If we lie down here and sleep it will be to part with life. Let us -try awhile longer. Just a fold of land may keep from us Grey Farm -light.” - -They tried, but no house or light arose. Only they heard something -after a time. - -“Hark to that! What is it?” - -“It is the sea!” - -It came to sound louder. No lights of haven, nor could they have seen -them, perhaps, behind the great moving veils and under woldside and -cliff. - -“I fear to go farther this way for the cliffs! We may fall--” - -“It roars, the sea, and there are lights in my eyes and a singing afar. -I must lie down. I cannot go farther.” - -“A little more--a little more. See! I can help thee so.” - -“Ah, I love thee! But I cannot--Do you not hear music playing?” - -“Here are bushes bent from the sea. Creep under--so! There--now if we -die we die together.” - -The falling, falling, falling snow, and at the base of rock the -sounding sea. - -“What art thou doing? Take thy cloak again!” - -“No, I am warm, warming thee.” - -The snow fell ceaselessly. - -“I am not afraid nor suffering now. No fear, no pain! And thou hast -none?” - -“None!” - -Snow falling--snow falling. The great sea sounding and sounding. - -“Richard, there are violets. It is Wander forest, but so changed.” - -In the night the snow ceased to fall. Dawn came like a white rose, the -shredded petals covering all the earth. - -A small and humble House of Carmelites, set upon a cliff a league from -Brighthaven, kept a goodly habit. After tempest, after snow on wold, -it sent out so many Brothers seeking if there were any harmed. So on -this morning as of fine white wool these at last came upon the cliff -brow and to a line of furze bushes mounded white. They would have -passed them by, for all the earth was heaped with snow and no footprint -anywhere save their own deep ones. But a young Brother saw a bit of -blue mantle. “Oh, here!” - -With their hands they beat away the snow and with their arms they -lifted. The man and woman moved feebly. They lived, though in an hour, -maybe, they would not have lived. The Brothers bore them to the House -and made for them warmth and cheer. Life flowed again, red came to the -lip, light to the eyes, strength to the frame. They rested through -that day and night in the guest house of the monastery. - -The Prior was a saintly man, big of frame, simple and wise. The second -morning the two stood before him to give him thanks and say farewell. -He looked at them somewhat long before speaking. “You are goodly to -look upon,” he said. “I see that you have been through much and will go -through more before heaven is complete. But you are bound for heaven -and Who dwells therein. Take and give blessing!” - -The wold was silver, the sea blue, the sky blue crystal. The road -shown, they went forth from the Carmelites to come to Brighthaven. They -walked hand in hand. “How beautiful is the world!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - - -The Lord of Montjoy returned from his second and greater pilgrimage. -This time he had seen Jerusalem. He was palmer. Bit of palm was wrought -into his sleeve, stitched into his hat. The Lady of Montjoy held his -castle for him, his son-in-law, young Isabel’s baron, giving advice -across five leagues. Montjoy had been gone nigh three years, for once, -taken prisoner by the Turks, he had been held three months in noisome -prison, and once fever had taken him captive, and once shipwreck and a -desert strand had held him long. Now, returning, he had come through -Italy and through France, alone and afoot, for that was his pilgrimage. -Now he moved across Brittany. There were many shrines in Brittany, and -it held him while he went from the one to the other. But he neared the -sea coast and the port where he would take ship for England. - -A slight dark man with earnest seeking eyes, wrapped in palmer’s grey -with palmer’s hat and staff and scrip, walked a Brittany road, and -pictures of his travels walked with him. They were many, as though a -lifetime had been spent between castle of Montjoy and Jerusalem wall -and back again. So many that they must come like a breadth of the -earth between him and the pictures of three years gone, or five years -gone, or more. That was true, but now and then breadth of earth became -cloud merely; cloud parted, and there were ancient pictures fresh again. - -Now for days they were English pictures. “Because I am nearing home! -They come out to meet and greet me.” But while they were clear they -came also into company of later pictures. His castle knew thousand -other castles, his town multitude of other towns; Silver Cross and -Westforest many and many abbeys and priories. And the palmer, having -grown, could in a measure hold all together and look out upon and -through them. So with the palmer’s whole life. - -Montjoy travelled seaward. The day was bright and Brittany had to him -a flavour of home. Moreover at dawn had come Isabel. She seemed now to -float by his side, her feet just above the grey road. Twice it had been -so in Italy, thrice in the Holy Land. It had been a small thought, that -holding her confined to castle there above Middle Forest, or to church -of Silver Cross where lay only her old robe, or to this or that faint -ring in time! She was everywhere and every time. She was living, she -was with him, here, now! - -“For I, too, change into that space and time,” thought Montjoy. - -Silver Cross, when he came to look at it, still was dear. He regarded -it tranquilly within and without. There sat Mark, yonder moved the -Brothers. The church filled, they chanted, windows became sheets of -jewels, the great picture glowed, light washed the sculptured tomb -beneath which lay, sunken into earth, that which was not Isabel. Here -moved her spirit, near him on Brittany road--enough, enough of her -spirit to make Promise into a glowing rose! - -Light washed Silver Cross that was five hundred years old and might -have five hundred more to live. In a thousand years there was good -and evil, but more good than evil. Even had that strange tale of -five years agone been found to have in it some truth--had there been -canker--still, still, not always had there been canker, nor would there -be always! Canker was never the last word. If there had been canker -there at Silver Cross, or more or less? He did not know, he could -not tell if it were so. His mind, pondering long, had seen certain -things--but he did not know. He must let it alone and, anyhow, go a -pilgrimage. - -Almost five years. The palmer had grown. He saw them now in a pattern, -Silver Cross and Saint Leofric and Westforest. Then light came through -the pattern and melted all into a stronger and finer thing. Just as -Isabel moved more golden, finer, more real, for all that when he put -forth hand, hand did not touch. Spirit touched. Just as in Bethlehem of -Judea, one starlight night, he had become aware that if the kingdom of -Heaven was within, then was within also the Supernal Mother and Bride, -within also the Christ. - -Montjoy, a grey figure, walked the grey road and thought he heard the -sea. It was early morn, and a rose stole into the world. As he walked -the pictures lifted, stood and passed. - -He had grown so that without any conscience pang at all he was glad -that Morgen Fay had not been burned there by town cross. They had -lighted the fagot pile, anyhow, for perchance it might make her suffer, -the witch flown away with the demon! It had burned away in smoke and -flame, but now for long he knew it had not harmed her. Harming and -healing were not just as men thought them! Morgen Fay. Where was she? -He saw her behind circumstance, like Isabel, like the great picture, -like herself, like Morgen Fay. And Morgen Fay, neither, had been just -as he thought her. Seeing further he might see her still more really, -as he now saw Montjoy and Silver Cross and all things else more really. - -The sea sounded, and he came over white road to sight of it. Below lay -a fishing village; he saw the nets and the boats. A small, poor place -it was, but it had the salt of the sea and the rose of the morning. -Montjoy, coming down to it, found himself on clean sand and the tide -coming in. Certain boats were up and away, he saw their deep-coloured -sails standing out between sand and horizon. Others for reasons bided -this day in haven. Two or three were drawn upon the beach, and here, -too, above the tide a new boat was making. About this was gathered a -small crowd of folk, perhaps a score in all. As Montjoy came near he -saw that they were listening to one who spoke, standing upon the sand -among the shavings and chips, underneath the clean bowsprit. Some were -from other boat or from work upon the nets or from the line of houses. -A score, perhaps, seated and standing, eyes turned to the speaker. - -The sea, ancient, youthful, made her everlasting song. Air breathed -salt and fresh, colour was rife. Boats, houses, the incoming wave, the -line of low cliff, fell into picture. Montjoy has seen so many! Could -he have painted he might paint forever and only begin. - -He heard a voice speaking, a voice with quality, that somehow stirred -the pictures. They trembled, pushed slightly by others behind. “Love -and understand! Lay hold where you can, begin where you will!” - -He asked a woman leaning against a boat near the new boat. “Who is it?” - -“It is the smith Richard. He dwelleth in town a league away, but at -times he cometh this way.” - -“Is he preaching?” - -“No. But he talketh to us at times.” - -“He uses your tongue well, but still I would say--” - -“Aye, he comes from over the water.” - -Montjoy moved into the ring of fisher folk. A great flapping hat of -palmer shadowed his face. Those about saw straying pilgrim and gave him -room. - -Richard a smith, not Breton but English. A tall, gold-brown, -simple-seeming man, strong enough, quiet enough, loving enough of -face--and now level ray of the morning sun lighted his face. - -_He did not drown in Wander!_ - -How much was true and how much was mistake of the much that the many -found to say? Like the thunder and murmur and waves of the sea rose -within voices and voices and yet voices. Abbot Mark’s voice Prior -Matthew’s, Prior Hugh’s, Friar Martin’s, Father Edmund’s, the Hermit -by the Old Burying Ground, Brothers Andrew and Barnaby, Anselm’s, -Norbert’s, Somerville’s voice, voice of Master Eustace Bettany and -of young Thomas Bettany, voice even of Godfrey the gaoler, voices of -pilgrims chanting, Middle Forest’s voice, voices of Silver Cross, -voices of his own squires and castle folk, voice of Westforest and -Wander vale. Voice of Morgen Fay. Further back, voice of Isabel, and -then again the heavy waves. “O God, _Thy_ voice!” - -The hubbub sank away. The tide came in with a quiet rhyme. Morning sand -shone in a great golden stillness. Village and sea and boats held in -contentment. The fisher folk sat or stood, listening. The speaker was -speaking, Montjoy a pilgrim, listening, agreeing. Quiet and the salt -air and the sun. Quietness and certitude. _I am, from everlasting to -everlasting._ - -The gold-brown man ceased his speaking or his answering questions, for -it had been largely questioning and answering. Lifting a bundle that -lay beside him he looked to a league-distant point striking out into -the sea, where seemed more houses than were here. One of the fishermen -spoke. “I’ll take you, master, in the _Nightingale_.” - -The small sailboat carried the palmer also,--the palmer and Richard the -smith and two boatmen. The latter were still for questions. “You have -been to Jerusalem? What like is it?” - -“It is so and so,” answered the palmer. “But I say with this man, ‘Let -us now build the New Jerusalem!’” - -The smith turned to him, “There is something in your voice, friend--” - -The red sail and the blue sea, the salt, and the divine fresh morning. -“Is there?” answered Montjoy. “And there is something in yours--” - -The other said in English, “Naught’s impossible ever! A long pilgrimage -from an English castle?” - -“Aye, brother! At Avignon I was shown a great cup made in Paris fifteen -years ago by the English goldsmith, Englefield.” - -The town in front of them was growing larger. The younger boatman had -still his questions about Galilee and Olivet. The fresh wind carried -the boat fast. Here was a long wharf and the town, and quitting the -_Nightingale_, and thanks and partings with the boatmen, then a street -and tall houses heaping toward a castle on the hill. “The lady of the -castle loveth pilgrims,” said Englefield. “And yonder is the great -house of the Franciscans.” - -“If I may I would go with you.” - -“As you wish, Montjoy.” - -Folk were about them, voices and movement. “Is there a quiet place?” - -“There is an old garden at the edge of the town, over the sea.” - -“Then let us go there.” - -They went. Pine trees sighed around, earth lay carpeted with purple -needles. They sat beneath a very great tree, and saw as from a window -azure ocean, and a great ship, white-sailed, making into the west. - -“I have been far, far without,” spoke Montjoy, “but farther, farther -within. When I used to watch you at Silver Cross I believed in you. -Again, listening by the boat yonder, I believed. I have made a journey -and come where I was not before. And still I journey. I can listen now -to whatever you may tell me. Listen, and maybe understand.” - -“I have made a journey, too, Montjoy, and come where I was not before.” -He took up a handful of purple needles and let slip quietly away while -he talked. He told their story,--his story and Morgen Fay’s. - -The pine grove stood above the sea, speaking always with a -multitudinous low voice. Far and far, deep and deep, stretched Mother -Ocean. The white ship, purposeful, still and sure, sped its way from -haven unto haven. The great vault of heaven held all. - -“You are together, you and Morgen Fay?” - -“Aye, together.” - -From the grove might be seen the high roofs of the town climbing to a -huge, four-towered castle. - -“I work again as goldsmith, making for who will buy. Yonder you may -see the roof of our house. An old workman of mine, now palsied and -helpless, lives with his brother in that fishing village. On a holiday, -as this is, I walk to see him. It has come about that I may talk to -folk here and there--in that fishing village and elsewhere.” - -“Is there no danger in that?” - -“Perhaps! But those who have lived and suffered and learned through -living and suffering, may help. So with Morgen Fay and so with me.” - -“I would see her if I might.” - -“Come then and sleep this night in the smith’s house.” - -They went there. A small, timbered house, one story overhanging -another, old, quiet, with the castle soaring above and the bell of the -church of the Franciscans ringing near. Within, in a dusky wide room, -rose from her book Morgen Fay, jewel-like, rose-like, flame-like. -Montjoy, looking, saw nothing that wounded Isabel, nor that wounded the -Reality behind the great picture at Silver Cross. - - -THE END - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Silver Cross, by Mary Johnston - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SILVER CROSS *** - -***** This file should be named 50557-0.txt or 50557-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/5/5/50557/ - -Produced by Shaun Pinder, Fay Dunn and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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