The Forest Lovers

by Maurice Hewlett

  CHAPTER XII

  BROKEN SANCTUARY

  Through the days of rain and falling leaves, when all the forest wassodden with mist; through the dark days of winter, hushed with snow,she stayed with the nuns, serving them meekly in whatever tasks theyset her. She was once more milk-maid and cowherd, laundress again,still-room maid for a season, and in time (being risen so high)tire-woman to the Lady Abbess herself. Short of profession you can getno nearer the choir than that. It was not by her tongue that she won somuch favour--indeed she hardly spoke at all; as for pleasantness shenever showed more than the ghost of a smile. "I am in bondage," shesaid to herself, "in a strange house, and no one knows what treasure Ihide in my bosom." There she kept her wedding-ring. But if she wassubdued, she was undeniably useful, and there are worse things in aservant than to go staidly about her work with collected looks andsober feet, to have no adventurous traffic with the men-servants aboutthe granges or farms, never to see nor hear what it would beinconvenient to know--in a word, to mind her business. In timetherefore--and that not a long one as times go--her featness andpatience, added to her beauty (for it was not long before the gentlerlife or the richer possession made her very handsome), won her theregard of everybody in the house.

  The Abbess, as I have told you already, took her into high favourbefore Christmas was over--actually by Epiphany she could suffer noother to dress her or be about her person.

  She loved pretty maids, she said, when they were good. Isoult was both,so the Abbess loved her. The two got to know each other, to take eachother's measure--to their reciprocal advantage. Isoult was very guardedhow she did; what she said was always impersonal, what she heard neverwent further. The Abbess was pleased. She would often commend her, takeher by the chin, turn up her face and kiss her. A frequent strain ofher talk was openly against Prosper's ideas: the Abbess thought Prospera ridiculous youth.

  "Child," she would say--and Isoult thrilled at the familiar word(Prosper's!)--"Child, you are too good-looking to be a nun. In dueseason we must find you a husband. Your knight seemed aghast at thethought that salvation could be that way. Some fine morning the younggentleman will sing a very different note. Meantime he is wide of themark. For our blessed Lord loveth not as men love (who love as they aremade), nor would He have them who are on the earth and of it dootherwise than seek the fairest that it hath to give them. Far fromthat, but He will draw eye to eye and lip to lip, so both be pure,saying, 'Be fruitful, and plenish the earth.' But to those not sofavoured as you are He saith, 'Come, thou shalt be bride of Heaven, andlie down in the rose-garden of the Lamb.' So each loves in her degree,and according to the measure of her being; and it is very well thatthis should be so, in order that the garners of Paradise may one day befull."

  This sort of talk, by no means strange on the old lady's part,sometimes tempted Isoult to tell her story--that she was a wifealready. No doubt she would have done it had not a thought forborneher. Prosper did not love her; their relations were not marital--somuch she knew as well as anybody. She would never confess her love forhim, even to Prosper himself; she could not bring herself to own thatshe loved and was unloved. She thought that was a disgrace, one thatwould flood her with shame and Prosper with her, as her husband thoughonly in name. She thought that she would rather die than utter thissecret of hers; she believed indeed that she soon would die. That waswhy she never told the Abbess, and again why she made no effort nor hadany temptation to run away and find him out. It seemed to her that hermere appearance before him would be a confession of deep shame.

  But she never ceased for an hour to think of him, poor miserable. Inbed she would lie for whole watches awake, calling his name over andover again in a whisper. Her ring grew to be a familiar, Prosper'sgenius. She would take it from her bosom and hold it to her lips,whisper broken words to it, as if she were in her husband's arms. Withthe same fancy she would try to make it understand how she loved him.That is a thing very few girls so much as know, and still fewer canutter even to their own hearts; and so it proved with her. She was asmute and shamefaced before the ring as before the master of the ring.So she would sigh, put it back in its nest, and hide her face in thepillow to cool her cheeks. At last in tears she would fall asleep. Sothe days dragged.

  In February, when the light drew out, when there was a smell of wetwoods in the air, when birds sang again in the brakes, and here andthere the bushes facing south budded, matters grew worse for her. Shebegan to be very heavy, her nightly vigils began to tell. She could notwork so well, she lagged in her movements, fell into stares and wokewith starts, blundered occasionally. She had never been a fancifulgirl, having no nurture for such flowering; but now her visions beganto be distorted. Her love became her thorn, her side one deep wound.More and more of the night was consumed in watchings; she cried easilyand often (for any reason or no reason), and she was apt to fall faint.So February came and went in storms, and March brought open weather,warm winds, a carpet of flowers to the woods. This enervated, and soaggravated her malady: the girl began to droop and lose her good looks.In turn the Abbess, who was really fond of her, became alarmed. Shethought she was ill, and made a great pet of her. She got no better.

  She was allowed her liberty to go wherever she pleased. In her troubleshe used to run into the woods, with a sort of blind sense thatphysical distress would act counter to her sick soul. She would run asfast as she could: her tears flew behind her like rain. Over and overto herself she whispered Prosper's name as she ran--"Prosper! Prosperle Gai! Prosper! Prosper, my lord!" and so on, just as if she were mad.It was in the course of these distracted pranks that she discovered andfell in love with a young pine tree, slim and straight. She thoughtthat it (like the ring) held the spirit of Prosper, and adored himunder its bark. She cut a heart in it with his name set in the midstand her own beneath. Ceremony thereafter became her relief and all shecared about. She did mystic rites before her tree (in which the ringplayed a part), forgetting herself for the time. She would draw out herring and look at it, then kiss it. Then it must be lifted up to thelength of its chain as she had seen the priest elevate the Host atMass; she genuflected and fell prone in mute adoration, crying all thetime with tears streaming down her face. She was at this time like todissolve in tears! Without fail the mysteries ended with the _PaterNoster_, the _Ave_, a certain Litany which the nuns had taught her, andsome gasping words of urgency to the Virgin and Saint Isidore. Love wasscourging her slender body at this time truly, and with well-pickledrods.

  On a certain day of mid-March,--it would be about the twelfth,--as shewas at these exercises about the mystic tree, a tall lady in Lincolngreen and silver furs came out of a thicket and saw Isoult, thoughIsoult saw not her. She stood smiling, watching the poor devotee; then,choosing her time, came quietly behind her, saw the heart and read thenames. This made her smile all the more, and think a little. Then shetouched Isoult on the shoulder with the effect of bringing her fromheaven to dull earth in a trice. By some instinct--she was made ofinstincts, quick as a bird--the girl concealed her ring before sheturned.

  "Why are you crying, child?" said this smiling lady.

  "Oh ma'am!" cried the girl, half crazy and beside herself with hertroubles--"Oh, ma'am! let me tell you a little!"

  She told her more than a little: she told her in fact everything--in atorrent of words and tears--except the one thing that might have helpedher. She did not say that she was married, though short of that shegulped the shame of loving unloved.

  "Poor child!" said the lady when she had heard the sobbed confession,"you are indeed in love. And Prosper le Gai is your lover? And you areIsoult la Desirous? So these notches declare at least: they are yours,I suppose?"

  "Yes, indeed, ma'am," said Isoult; "but he is not my lover. He is mymaster."

  "Oh, of course, of course, child," the lady laughed--"they are alwaysthe master. If we are the mistress we are lucky. And do you love him somuch, Isoult?"

  "Yes, ma'am," said she.

  "Silly girl, silly girl! How much do
you love him now?"

  "I could not tell you, ma'am."

  "Could you tell him then?"

  "Ah, no, no!"

  "But you have told him, silly?"

  "No, ma'am, indeed."

  "It needs few words, you must know."

  "They are more than I can dare, ma'am."

  "It can be done without words at all. Come here, Isoult. Listen."

  She whispered in her ear.

  Isoult grew very grave. Her eyes were wide at this minute, all black,and not a shred of colour was left in her face.

  "Ah, never!" she cried.

  Maulfry laughed heartily.

  "You are the dearest little goose in the world!" she cried. "Come andkiss me at once."

  Isoult did as she was told. Maulfry did not let her go again.

  "Now," she went on, with her arms round the girl's waist and her archface very near, "now you are to know, Isoult, that I am a wonderfullady. I am friends with half the knights in the kingdom; I have armourof my own, shields and banneroles, and halberts and swords, enough tofrighten the Countess Isabel out of her three shires. I could scare theAbbot Richard and the Abbess Mechtild by the lift of a little finger.Oh, I know what I am saying! It so happens that your Prosper is a greatfriend of mine. I am very fond of him, and of course I must needs beinterested in what you tell me. Well now--come with me and find him.Will you? I dare say he is not very far off."

  Isoult stared at her without speaking. Doubt, wonder, longing, prayer,quavered in her eyes as each held the throne for a time.

  "He told me to stay at Gracedieu," she faltered. It seemed to her thatshe was maiming her own dream.

  "He tells me differently then," said Maulfry, smiling easily; "Isuppose even a lover may change his mind."

  "Oh! Oh! you have seen him?

  "Certainly I have seen him."

  "And he says--"

  "What do you think he says? Might it not be, Come and find me?"

  "He is--ah, he is ill?"

  "He is well."

  "In danger?"

  "I know of none."

  "I am to leave Gracedieu and come with you, ma'am?"

  "Yes. Are you afraid?"

  For answer Isoult fell flat down and kissed Maulfry's silver hem.

  "I will follow you to death!" she cried.

  Maulfry shivered, then arched her brows.

  "It will not be so bad as all that," she said. "Come then, we will findthe horses."

  Isoult looked down confusedly at her grey frock.

  "You little jay bird, who's to see you here among the trees? Come withme, I'll set you strutting like a peacock before I've done with you,"said Maulfry, in her mocking, good-humoured way.

  They went together. Maulfry had hold of Isoult by the hand. Presentlythey came to an open glade where there were two horses held by amounted groom. As soon as he saw them coming the groom got off, helpedIsoult first, then his mistress. They rode away at a quick trot downthe slope; the horses seemed to know the way.

  Maulfry was in high spirits. She played a thousand tricks, andenveigled from the brooding girl her most darling thoughts. Before theyhad made their day's journey she had learnt all that she wanted toknow, or rather what she knew already. It confirmed what Galors hadtold her: she believed his story. For her part Isoult, having once madethe plunge, gave her heart its way, bathed it openly in love, and wasnot ashamed. To talk of Prosper more freely than she had ever daredeven to herself, to talk of loving him, of her hopes of winning him!She seemed a winged creature as she flew through the hours of a forestday. It pleased her, too, to think that she was being discreet insaying nothing of her marriage. If Prosper had not thought fit toreveal it to his accomplished friend she must keep the secret by allmeans--his and hers. Instead of clouding her hopeful visions this gavethem an evening touch of mystery. It elevated her by making her anaccomplice. He and she were banded together against this all-wise lady.No doubt she would learn it in time--in his time; and then Isoultdreamed (and blushed as she dreamed) of another part, wherein she wouldsnuggle herself into his arm and whisper, "Have I not been wise?" Thenshe would be kissed, and the lady would laugh to learn how she had beenoutwitted by a young girl. Ah, what dreams! Isoult's wings took her afar flight when once she had spread them to the sun.

  Journeying thus they reached a road by nightfall, and a little House ofAccess. To go direct to Tortsentier they should have passed this houseon the left-hand, for the tower was south-east from Gracedieu. Butthere was a reason for the circuit, as for every other twist ofMaulfry's; the true path would have brought them too nearly upon thatby which Prosper and Isoult had come seeking sanctuary. Instead theystruck due east, and hit the main road which runs from High March toMarket Basing; then by going south for another day they would winTortsentier. Isoult, of course, as a born woodlander would know thewhereabouts of Maulfry's dwelling from any side but the north. She wasof South Morgraunt, and therefore knew nothing of the north or middleforest. All this Maulfry had calculated. At the House of Access thegirl was actually a day's journey nearer Prosper than she had been atthe convent, but she knew nothing of it. Consequently her night's restrefreshed her, waking dreams stayed the night, and left traces of theirrosy flames in her cheeks next morning. Maulfry, waking first, lookedat her as she lay pillowing her cheek on her arm, with her wild hairspread behind her like a dark cloud. Maulfry, I say, looked at her.

  "You are a little beauty, my dear," she thought to herself. "Countessor bastard, you are a little beauty. And there is countess in yourblood somewhere, I'll take an oath. Hands and feet, neck and head, tellthe story. There was love and a young countess and a hot-brainedtroubadour went to the making of you, my little lady. A ditch-full ofwitches could not bring such tokens to a villein. Galors, my dearfriend, if I owed nothing to Master le Gai, I doubt if I should helpyou to this. 'Tis too much, my friend, with an earldom. She needs nocrown, pardieu!"

  She knew her own crown had toppled, and grew a little bleak as shethought of it. There was no earldom for her to fall back upon. Shelooked older when off her guard. But she had determined to be loyal tothe one friend she had ever had. The worst woman in the world can dothat much. Therefore, when Isoult woke up she found herself made muchof. The sun of her day-dreaming rose again and shone full upon her. Bythe end of the day they had reached Tortsentier. Isoult was fast in aprison that had no look of a prison, where Galors was mending histhroat in an upper chamber.

  Maulfry came and sat on the foot of his bed. Galors, strapped andbandaged till he looked like a mewed owl in a bush, turned his chalkface to her with inquiry shooting out of his eyes. He had grown a spikyblack beard, from which he plucked hairs all day, thinking and scheming.

  "Well," was all he said.

  Maulfry nodded. "The story is true. She has the feet and hands. She isa little beauty. You have only to shut the hole in your neck."

  Galors swore. "Let God judge whether that damned acrobat shall pay forhis writhing! But the other shall be my first business. So she ishere--you have seen her? What do you think of her?"

  "I have told you."

  The man's appetite grew as it fed upon Maulfry's praise of his taste.

  "Ah--ah! Dame, I'm a man of taste--eh?"

  Maulfry said nothing. Galors changed the note.

  "How shall I thank you, my dear one?" he asked her.

  "Ah," said she, "I shall need what you can spare before long."

  Then she left him.