death; 'tis but that Monsieur de Puysange desires you to make a suitable match. It is not yet too late; his heart is kindly so long as he gets his will and profit everywhere, and he bears no malice toward my lord marquis. Yield, then, to your father's wishes, since there is no choice.'
She stared at me, as thanks for this sensible advice. 'And you—is it you that would enter into the Castle of Content?' she cried, with a scorn that lashed.
I said: 'Madonna, bethink you, you know naught of this man your father desires you to wed. Is it not possible that he, too, may love—or may learn to love you, on provocation? You are very fair, madonna. Yours is a beauty that may draw a man to Heaven or unclose the gates of Hell, at will; indeed, even I, in my poor dreams, have seen your face as bright and glorious as is the lighted space above the altar when Christ's blood and body are shared among His worshippers. Men certainly will never cease to love you. Will he—your husband that may be—prove less susceptible, we will say, than I? Ah, but, madonna, let us unrein imagination! Suppose, were it possible, that he— even now—yearns to enter into the Castle of Content, and that your hand, your hand alone, may draw the bolt for him,—that the thought of you is to him as a flame before which honor and faith shrivel as shed feathers, and that he has loved you these many years, unknown to you, long, long before the Marquis of Falmouth came into your life with his fair face and smooth sayings. Suppose, were it possible, that he now stood before you, every pulse and fibre of him racked with an intolerable ecstasy of loving you, his heart one vast hunger for you, Adeliza, and his voice shaking as my voice shakes, and his hands trembling as my hands tremble,—ah, see how they tremble, madonna, the poor foolish hands! Suppose, were it possible,—'
'Fool! O treacherous fool!' my cousin cried, in a fine rage.
She rested her finger-tips upon his arm. 'Hush!' she bade him; then turned to me an uncertain countenance that was half pity, half wonder. 'Dear Will,' said she, 'if you have ever known aught of love, do you not understand how I love Stephen here?'
But she did not any longer speak as a lord's daughter speaks to the fool that makes mirth for his betters.
'In that case,' said I,—and my voice played tricks,—'in that case, may I request that you assist me in gathering such brushwood as we may find hereabout?'
They both stared at me now. 'My lord,' I said, 'the Exe is high, the bridge is of wood, and I have flint and steel in my pocket. The ford is five miles above and quite impassable. Do you understand me, my lord?'
He clapped his hands. 'Oh, excellent!' he cried.
Then, each having caught my drift, we heaped up a pile of broken boughs and twigs and brushwood on the bridge, all three gathering it together. And I wondered if the moon, that is co-partner in the antics of most rogues and lovers, had often beheld a sight more reasonless than the foregathering of a marquis, a peer's daughter, and a fool at dead of night to make fagots.
When we had done I handed him the flint and steel. 'My lord,' said I, 'the honor is yours.'
'Udsfoot!' he murmured, in a moment, swearing and striking futile sparks, 'but the late rain has so wet the wood that it will not kindle.'
I said, 'Assuredly, in such matters a fool is indispensable.' I heaped before him the papers that made an honest woman of my mother and a marquis of me, and seizing the flint, I cast a spark among them that set them crackling cheerily. Oh, I knew well enough that patience would coax a flame from those twigs without my paper's aid, but to be patient does not afford the posturing which youth loves. So it was a comfort to wreck all magnificently: and I knew that, too, as we three drew back upon the western bank and watched the writhing twigs splutter and snap and burn.
The bridge caught apace and in five minutes afforded passage to nothing short of the ardent equipage of the prophet Elias. Five minutes later the bridge did not exist: only the stone arches towered above the roaring waters that glistened in the light of the fire, which had, by this, reached the other side of the river, to find quick employment in the woods of Tiverton. Our pursuers rode through a glare which was that of Hell's kitchen on baking-day, and so reached the Exe only to curse vainly and to shriek idle imprecations at us, who were as immune from their anger as though the severing river had been Pyriphlegethon.
'My lord,' I presently suggested, 'it may be that your priest expects you?'
'Indeed,' said he, laughing, 'it is possible. Let us go.' Thereupon they mounted the two sound horses. 'Most useful burr,' said he, 'do you follow on foot to Teignmouth; and there—'
'Sir,' I replied, 'my home is at Tiverton.'
He wheeled about. 'Do you not fear—?'
'The whip?' said I. 'Ah, my lord, I have been whipped ere this. It is not the greatest ill in life to be whipped.'
He began to protest.
'But, indeed, I am resolved,' said I. 'Farewell!'
He tossed me his purse. 'As you will,' he retorted, shortly. 'We thank you for your aid; and if I am still master of Allonby—'
'No fear of that!' I said. 'Farewell, good cousin marquis! I cannot weep at your going, since it brings you happiness. And we have it on excellent authority that the laughter of fools is as the crackling of thorns under a pot. Accordingly, I bid you God-speed in a discreet silence.'
I stood fumbling my cousin's gold as he went forward into the night; but she did not follow.
'I am sorry—' she began. She paused and the lithe fingers fretted with her horse's mane.
I said: 'Madonna, earlier in this crowded night, you told me of love's nature: must my halting commentary prove the glose upon your text? Look, then, to be edified while the fool is delivered of his folly. For upon the maternal side, love was born of the ocean, madonna, and the ocean is but salt water, and salt water is but tears; and thus may love claim love's authentic kin with sorrow. Ay, certainly, madonna, Fate hath ordained for her diversion that through sorrow alone we lovers may attain to the true Castle of Content.'
There was a long silence, and the wind wailed among the falling, tattered leaves. 'Had I but known—' said Adeliza, very sadly.
I said: 'Madonna, go forward and God speed you! Yonder your lover waits for you, and the world is exceedingly fair; here is only a fool. As for this new Marquis of Falmouth, let him trouble you no longer. 'Tis an Eastern superstition that we lackbrains are endowed with peculiar gifts of prophecy: and as such, I predict, very confidently, madonna, that you will see and hear no more of him in this life.'
I caught my breath. In the moonlight she seemed God's master-work. Her eyes were big with half- comprehended sorrow, and a slender hand stole timorously toward me. I laughed, seeing how she strove to pity my great sorrow and could not, by reason of her great happiness. I laughed and was content. 'As surely as God reigns in Heaven,' I cried aloud, 'I am content, and this moment is well purchased with a marquisate!'
Indeed, I was vastly uplift and vastly pleased with my own nobleness, just then, and that condition is always a comfort.
More alertly she regarded me; and in her eyes I saw the anxiety and the wonder merge now into illimitable pity. 'That, too!' she said, smiling sadly. 'That, too, O son of Thomas Allonby!' And her mothering arms were clasped about me, and her lips clung and were one with my lips for a moment, and her tears were wet upon my cheek. She seemed to shield me, making of her breast my sanctuary.
'My dear, my dear, I am not worthy!' said Adeliza, with a tenderness I cannot tell you of; and presently she, too, was gone.
I mounted the lamed horse, who limped slowly up the river bank; very slowly we came out from the glare of the crackling fire into the cool darkness of the autumn woods; very slowly, for the horse was lamed and wearied, and patience is a discreet virtue when one journeys toward curses and the lash of a dog-whip: and I thought of many quips and jests whereby to soothe the anger of Monsieur de Puysange, and I sang to myself as I rode through the woods, a nobleman no longer, a tired Jack-pudding whose tongue must save his hide.
Sang I:
