by Myrtle Reed
XVII
The Lady Elaine knows her Heart
_It was on a dark and stormy midnight, when the thunders boomed and thedread fury of the lightnings scarred the overhanging cliffs, that the LadyElaine at last came to know her heart._
_She was in a cave, safe from all but the noise of the storm. A cheeryfire blazed at her door, and her bed within was made soft with pine boughsand skins. For weeks they had journeyed here and there, yet there had beenno knight in whose face Elaine could find what she sought._
_As she lay on her couch, she reflected upon the faithful wayfarers whohad travelled with her, who had ever been gentle and courtly, saving herfrom all annoyance and all harm. Yet above them all, there was one who,from the time of their starting, had kept vigilant guard. He was thehumblest of them all, but it was he who made her rest in shady places bythe wayside when she herself scarce knew that she was weary; had given hercool spring water in a cup cunningly woven of leaves before she hadrealised her thirst; had brought her berries and strange, luscious fruitsbefore she had thought of hunger; and who had cheered her, many a time,when no one else had guessed that she was sad._
_Outside, he was guarding her now, all heedless of the rain. She could seehim dimly in the shadow, then, all at once, more clearly in the firelight.His head was bowed and his arms folded, yet in the strong lines of hisbody there was no hint of weariness. Well did the Lady Elaine know thatuntil Dawn spun her web of enchantment upon the mysterious loom of theEast, he would march sleeplessly before her door, replenishing the fire,listening now and then for her deep breathing, and, upon the morrow, gailytell her of his dreams._
_Dreams they were, indeed, but not the dreams of sleep. Upon thesemidnight marchings, her sentinel gave his wandering fancy free rein. Andbecause of the dumb pain in his heart, these fancies were all the merrier;more golden with the sun of laughter, more gemmed with the pearl oftears._
_Proud-hearted, yet strangely homesick, the Lady Elaine was restless thisnight. "I must go back," she thought, "to the Castle of Content, where mydear father would fain have his child again. And yet I dread to go backwith my errand undone, my quest unrewarded._
_"What is it," thought Elaine, in sudden self-searching, "that I seek?What must this man be, to whom I would surrender the keeping of my heart?What do I ask that is so hard to find?_
_"Am I seeking for a god? Nay, surely not, but only for a man. Valorous hemust be, indeed, but not in the lists--'tis not a soldier, for I have seenthem by the hundred since I left my home in the valley. 'Tis not a modelfor the tapestry weaver that my heart would have, for I have seen the mostbeautiful youths of my country since I came forth upon my quest._
_"Some one, perchance," mused the Lady Elaine, "whose beauty my eyes aloneshould perceive, whose valour only I should guess before there was need totest it. Some one great of heart and clean of mind, in whose eyes thereshould never be that which makes a woman ashamed. Some one fine-fibred andstrong-souled, not above tenderness when a maid was tired. One who shouldmake a shield of his love, to keep her not only from the great hurts butfrom the little ones as well, and yet with whom she might fare onward,shoulder to shoulder, as God meant mates should fare._
_"Surely 'tis not so unusual, this thing that I ask--only an honest manwith human faults and human virtues, transfigured by a great love. And whyis it that in this quest of mine, I have found him not?"_
_"Princess," said a voice at her doorway, "thou art surely still awake.The storm is lessening and there is naught to fear. I pray thee, try tosleep. And if there is aught I can do for thee, thou knowest thou hastonly to speak."_
_From the warm darkness where she lay, Elaine saw his face with thefirelight upon it, and all at once she knew._
_"There is naught," she answered, with what he thought was coldness. "Ibid thee leave me and take thine own rest."_
_"As thou wilt," he responded, submissively, but though the sound was nowfaint and far away, she still could hear him walking back and forth,keeping his unremitting guard._
_So it was that at last Love came to the Lady Elaine. She had dreamed ofsome fair stranger, into whose eyes she should look and instantly know himfor her lord, never guessing that her lord had gone with her when she leftthe Castle of Content. There was none of those leaps of the heart of whichone of the maids at the Castle had read from the books while the othersworked at the tapestry frames. It was nothing new, but only a light uponsomething which had always been, and which, because of her own blindness,she had not seen._
_All through this foolish journey, Love had ridden beside the Lady Elaine,asking nothing but the privilege of serving her; demanding only the rightto give, to sacrifice, to shield. And at last she knew._
_The doubting in her heart was for ever stilled and in its place was agreat peace. There was an unspeakable tenderness and a measurelesscompassion, so wide and so deep that it sheltered all the world. For,strangely enough, the love of the many comes first through the love of theone._
_The Lady Elaine did not need to ask whether he loved her, for,unerringly, she knew. Mated past all power of change, they two were onehenceforward, though seas should roll between. Mated through suffering aswell, for, in this new bond, as the Lady Elaine dimly perceived, there wasgreat possibility of hurt. Yet there was no end or no beginning; it simplywas, and at last she knew._
_At length, she slept. When she awoke the morning was fair upon themountains, but still he paced back and forth before her door. Rising, shebathed her face in the cool water he had brought her, braided her gloriousgolden hair, changed her soiled habit for a fresh robe of white satintraced with gold, donned her red embroidered slippers, and stepped outinto the sunrise, shading her eyes with her hand until they grewaccustomed to the dawn._
_"Good morrow, Princess," he said. "We----"_
_Of a sudden, he stopped and fled like a wild thing into the forest, forby her eyes, he saw what was in her heart, and his hot words, strugglingfor utterance, choked him. "At last," he breathed, with his clenched handson his breast; "at last--but no, 'tis another dream of mine that I darenot believe."_
_His senses reeled, for love comes not to a man as to a woman, but ratherwith the sound of trumpets and the glare of white light. The cloisteredpeace that fills her soul rests seldom upon him, and instead he is stirredwith high ambition and spurred on to glorious achievement. For to her,love is the end of life; to him it is the means._
_The knights thought it but another caprice when the Lady Elaine gaveorders to return to the Castle of Content, at once, and by the shortestway--all save one of them. With his heart rioting madly through hisbreast, he knew, but he did not dare to look at Elaine. He was as one longblinded, who suddenly sees the sun._
_So it was that though he still served her, he rode no longer by her side,and Elaine, hurt at first, at length understood, and smiled because of herunderstanding. All the way back, the Lady Elaine sang little songs toherself, and, the while she rode upon her palfrey, touched her zither intogentle harmonies. After many days, they came within sight of the Castle ofContent._
_As before, it was sunset, and the long light lay upon the hills, whilethe valley was in shadow. Purple were the vineyards, heavy with theirclustered treasure, over which the tiny weavers had made their lace, andpurple, too, were the many-spired cliffs, behind which the sunset shone._
_A courier, riding swiftly in advance, had apprised the Lord of the Castleof Content of the return of the Lady Elaine, and the maids from thetapestry room, and the keeper of the wine-cellar, and the stable-boys, andthe candle-makers, and the light-bearers all rushed out, heedless of theirmanners, for, one and all, they loved the Lady Elaine, and were eager tobehold their beautiful mistress again._
_But the Lord of the Castle of Content, speaking somewhat sternly, orderedthem one and all back to their places, and, shamefacedly, they obeyed. "Iwould not be selfish," he muttered to himself, "but surely, Elaine ismine, and the first gleam of her beauty belongs of right to these mistyold eyes of mine, that have long strained ac
ross the dark for the firsthint of her coming. Of a truth her quest has been long."_
_So it came to pass that when the company reached the road that led downinto the valley, the Lord of the Castle of Content was on the porticoalone, though he could not have known that behind every shuttered windowof the Castle, a humble servitor of Elaine's was waiting anxiously for hercoming._
_As before, Elaine rode at the head, waving her hand to her father, whilethe cymbals and the bugles crashed out a welcome. She could not see, butshe guessed that he was there, and in return he waved a tremulous hand ather, though well he knew that in the fast gathering twilight, the child ofhis heart could not see the one who awaited her._
_One by one, as they came in single file down the precipice, the old mancounted them, much astonished to see that there was no new member of thecompany--that as many were coming back as had gone away. For the momenthis heart was glad, then he reproached himself bitterly for hisselfishness, and was truthfully most tender toward Elaine, because she hadfailed upon her quest._
_The light gleamed capriciously upon the bauble of the fool, which hestill carried, though now it hung downward from his saddle, foolishlyenough. "A most merry fool," said the Lord of Content to himself. "I waswise to insist upon his accompanying this wayward child of mine."_
_Wayward she might be, yet her father's eyes were dim when she came downinto the valley, where there was no light save the evening star, a taperlight at an upper window of the Castle, and her illumined face._
_"How hast thou fared upon thy quest, Elaine?" he asked in tremblingtones, when at last she released herself from his eager embrace. Hedreaded to hear her make known her disappointment, yet his sorrow was allfor her, and not in the least for himself._
_"I have found him, father," she said, the gladness in her voice betrayingitself as surely as the music in a stream when Spring sets it free again,"and, forsooth, he rode with me all the time."_
_"Which knight hast thou chosen, Elaine?" he asked, a little sadly._
_"No knight at all, dear father. I have found my knight in stranger guisethan in armour and shield. He bears no lance, save for those who wouldinjure me." And then, she beckoned to the fool._
_"He is here, my father," she went on, her great love making her allunconscious of the shame she should feel._
_"Elaine!" thundered her father, while the fool hung his head, "hast thoutaken leave of thy senses? Of a truth, this is a sorry jest thou hastchosen to greet me with on thy return."_
_"Father," said Elaine, made bold by the silent pressure of the hand thatsecretly clasped hers, "'tis no jest. If thou art pained, indeed I amsorry, but if thou choosest to banish me, then this night will I go gladlywith him I have chosen to be my lord. The true heart which Heaven has sentfor me beats beneath his motley, and with him I must go. Dear father,"cried Elaine, piteously, "do not send us away!"_
_The stern eyes of the Lord of the Castle of Content were fixed upon thefool, and in the gathering darkness they gleamed like live coals. "Andthou," he said, scornfully; "what hast thou to say?"_
_"Only this," answered the fool; "that the Princess has spoken truly. Weare mated by a higher law than that of thy land or mine, and 'tis this lawthat we must obey. If thou sayest the word, we will set forth to mycountry this very night, though we are both weary with much journeying."_
_"Thy land," said the Lord of the Castle, with measureless contempt, "andwhat land hast thou? Even the six feet of ground thou needest for a gravemust be given thee at the last, unless, perchance, thou hast a handful ofstolen earth hidden somewhere among thy other jewels!"_
_"Your lordship," cried the fool, with a clear ring in his voice, "thoushall not speak so to the man who is to wed thy daughter. I had notthought to tell even her till after the priests had made us one, but forour own protection, I am stung into speech._
_"Know then, that I am no fool, but a Prince of the House of Bernard. Myacres and my vineyards cover five times the space of this little realm ofthine. Chests of gold and jewels I have, storehouses overflowing withgrain and fine fabrics, three castles and a royal retinue. Of a truth,thou art blind since thou canst see naught but the raiment. May not aPrince wear motley if he chooses, thus to find a maid who will love himfor himself alone?"_
_"Prince Bernard," muttered the Lord of Content, "the son of my oldfriend, whom I have long dreamed in secret shouldst wed my dear daughterElaine! Your Highness, I beg you to forgive me, and to take my hand."_
_But Prince Bernard did not hear, nor see the outstretched hand, forElaine was in his arms for the first time, her sweet lips close on his."My Prince, oh my Prince," she murmured, when at length he set her free;"my eyes could not see, but my heart knew!"_
_So ended the Quest of the Lady Elaine._
With a sigh, Harlan wrote the last words and pushed the paper from him,staring blankly at the wall and seeing nothing. His labour was at an end,all save the final copying, and the painstaking daily revision which wouldtake weeks longer. The exaltation he had expected to be conscious of wasutterly absent; instead of it, he had a sense of loss, of change.
His surroundings seemed hopelessly sordid and ugly, now that the glow wasgone. All unknowingly, when Harlan pencilled: "The End," in fancifulletters at the bottom of the last page, he had had practically his lastjoy of his book. The torturing process of revision was to take all thelife out of it. Sentences born of surging emotion would seem vapid andfoolish when subjected to the cold, critical eye of his reason, yet heknew, dimly, that he must not change it too much.
"I'll let it get cool," he thought, "before I do anything more to it."
Yet, now, it was difficult to stop working. The rented typewriter, withits enticing bank of keys, was close at hand. A thousand sheets of paperand a box of carbon waited in the drawer of Uncle Ebeneezer's desk. Hisworn _Thesaurus of English Words and Phrases_ was at his elbow. And theywere poor. Then Harlan laughed, for they were no longer poor, and he hadwholly forgotten it.
There was a step upon the porch outside, then Dorothy came into the hall.She paused outside the library door for a moment, ostensibly to tie hershoe, but in reality to listen. A wave of remorseful tendernessoverwhelmed Harlan and he unlocked the door. "Come in," he said, smiling."You needn't be afraid to come in any more. The book is all done."
"O Harlan, is it truly done?" There was no gladness in her voice, onlyrelief. Doubt was in every intonation of her sentence; incredulity inevery line of her body.
With this pitiless new insight of his, Harlan saw how she had felt forthese last weeks and became very tenderly anxious not to hurt her; toshield his transformed self from her quick understanding.
"Really," he answered. "Have I been a beast, Dorothy?"
The question was so like the boy she used to know that her heart leapedwildly, then became portentously still.
"Rather," she admitted, grudgingly, from the shelter of his arms.
"I'm sorry. If you say so, I'll burn it. Nothing is coming between you andme." The words sounded hollow and meaningless, as he knew they were.
She put her hand over his mouth. "You won't do any such thing," she said.Dorothy had learned the bitterness of the woman's part, to stand by,utterly lonely, and dream, and wait, while men achieve.
"Can I read it now?" she asked, timidly.
"You couldn't make it out, Dorothy. When it's all done, and every word isjust as I want it, I'll read it to you. That will be better, won't it?"
"Can Dick come, too?" She asked the question thoughtlessly, then flushedas Harlan took her face between his hands.
"Dorothy, did you know Dick before we were married?"
"Why, Harlan! I never saw him in all my life till the day he came here.Did you think I had?"
Harlan only grunted, but she understood, and, in return, asked herquestion. "Did you write the book about Elaine?" she began, half ashamed.
"Dear little idiot," said Harlan, softly. "I'd begun the book before shecame or before I knew she was coming. I never saw her till she came tolive with us
. You're foolish, dearest, don't you think you are?"
He was swiftly perceiving the necessity of creating a new harmony to takethe place of that old one, now so strangely lost.
"There are two of us," returned Dorothy, with conviction, wiping hereyes.
"I wish you'd ask me things," said Harlan, a little later. "I'm no mindreader. And, besides, the seventh son of a seventh son, born with a caul,and having three trances regularly every day after meals, never could hopeto understand a woman unless she was willing to help him out a little,occasionally."
Which, after all, was more or less true.
