Domnei | Page 9

I
think of you are such as I cannot measure, and afford me no judicious
moment wherein to fashion lies. For I shall not see you any more.
"I thank you, madame, for your all-unmerited kindnesses, and, oh, I
pray you to believe!"

4.
How the Bishop Aided Perion
Then at three o'clock, as Perion supposed, someone tapped upon the
door. Perion went out into the corridor, which was now unlighted, so
that he had to hold to the cloak of Ayrart de Montors as the young

prelate guided Perion through the complexities of unfamiliar halls and
stairways into an inhospitable night. There were ready two horses, and
presently the men were mounted and away.
Once only Perion shifted in the saddle to glance back at Bellegarde,
black and formless against an empty sky; and he dared not look again,
for the thought of her that lay awake in the Marshal's Tower, so near at
hand as yet, was like a dagger. With set teeth he followed in the wake
of his taciturn companion. The bishop never spoke save to growl out
some direction.
Thus they came to Manneville and, skirting the town, came to Fomor
Beach, a narrow sandy coast. It was dark in this place and very still
save for the encroachment of the tide. Yonder were four little lights,
lazily heaving with the water's motion, to show them where the
Tranchemer lay at anchor. It did not seem to Perion that anything
mattered.
"It will be nearing dawn by this," he said.
"Ay," Ayrart de Montors said, very briefly; and his tone evinced his
willingness to dispense with further conversation. Perion of the Forest
was an unclean thing which the bishop must touch in his necessity, but
could touch with loathing only, as a thirsty man takes a fly out of his
drink. Perion conceded it, because nothing would ever matter any more;
and so, the horses tethered, they sat upon the sand in utter silence for
the space of a half hour.
A bird cried somewhere, just once, and with a start Perion knew the
night was not quite so murky as it had been, for he could now see a
broken line of white, where the tide crept up and shattered and ebbed.
Then in a while a light sank tipsily to the water's level and presently
was bobbing in the darkness, apart from those other lights, and it was
growing in size and brilliancy.
Said Perion, "They have sent out the boat."
"Ay," the bishop answered, as before.

A sort of madness came upon Perion, and it seemed that he must weep,
because everything fell out so very ill in this world.
"Messire de Montors, you have aided me. I would be grateful if you
permitted it."
De Montors spoke at last, saying crisply:
"Gratitude, I take it, forms no part of the bargain. I am the kinsman of
Dame Melicent. It makes for my interest and for the honour of our
house that the man whose rooms she visits at night be got out of
Poictesme--"
Said Perion, "You speak in this fashion of the most lovely lady God has
made--of her whom the world adores!"
"Adores!" the bishop answered, with a laugh; "and what poor gull am I
to adore an attested wanton?" Then, with a sneer, he spoke of Melicent,
and in such terms as are not bettered by repetition.
Perion said:
"I am the most unhappy man alive, as surely as you are the most
ungenerous. For, look you, in my presence you have spoken infamy of
Dame Melicent, though knowing I am in your debt so deeply that I have
not the right to resent anything you may elect to say. You have just
given me my life; and armoured by the fire-new obligation, you
blaspheme an angel, you condescend to buffet a fettered man--"
But with that his sluggish wits had spied an honest way out of the
imbroglio.
Perion said then, "Draw, messire! for, as God lives, I may yet
repurchase, at this eleventh hour, the privilege of destroying you."
"Heyday! but here is an odd evincement of gratitude!" de Montors
retorted; "and though I am not particularly squeamish, let me tell you,
my fine fellow, I do not ordinarily fight with lackeys."

"Nor are you fit to do so, messire. Believe me, there is not a lackey in
this realm--no, not a cut-purse, nor any pander--who would not in
meeting you upon equal footing degrade himself. For you have
slandered that which is most perfect in the world; yet lies, Messire de
Montors, have short legs; and I design within the hour to insure the
calumny against an echo."
"Rogue, I have given you your very life within the hour--"
"The fact is undeniable. Thus I must fling