The Forest Lovers | Page 8

working his mouth.
Those who knew him would have gone by the set of his chin. He may
have been thinking of Brother Bonaccord's prediction, or of the not
very veiled provocation of the lady's remarkable candour. There grew
to be a rather bleak look in his face, something blenched his blue eyes.
He turned sharply upon the woman, and his voice was like a frost.
"Having slain one man this day," he said, "I should recommend you to
be wary how you tread with another."
She stared open-mouthed at him for a full minute and a half. Then,
seeing he never winked or budged, she grew frightened and piteous,
threw her arms up, turned, and fled up the north path, squealing like a
wounded rabbit.
Prosper clapped-to his spurs and made after her with his teeth grinding
together. Very soon, however, he pulled up short. "The man is dead.
Let her go for this present. And I am not quite sure. I will bide my
time."
That was the motto of the Gais--"I bide my time." He was, nevertheless,
perfectly sure in his private mind; but then he was always perfectly sure,
and recognized that it was a weakness of his. So the woman went her
way, and he his for that turn...
Riding forward carelessly, with a loose rein, he slept that night in the
woods. Next day he rode fast and long without meeting a living soul,
and so came at last into Morgraunt Forest, where the trees shut out the
light of the day, and very few birds sing. He entered the east purlieus in
the evening of his fifth day from Starning, and slept in a rocky valley.
Tall black trees stood all round him, the vanguards of the forest host.
CHAPTER III

HOLY THORN AND HOLY CHURCH
In South Morgraunt stands Holy Thorn, more properly the Abbey of
Saint Giles of Holy Thorn, a broad and fair foundation, one of the two
set up in the forest by the Countess Isabel, Dowager of March and
Bellesme, Countess of Hauterive and Lady of Morgraunt in her own
right. Where the Wan river makes a great loop, running east for three
miles, and west again for as many before it drives its final surge
towards the Southern Sea, there stands Holy Thorn, Church and
Convent, watching over the red roofs of Malbank hamlet huddled
together across the flood. Here are green water-meadows and good
corn-lands, the abbey demesne; here also are the strips of tillage which
the tenants hold; here the sluices which head up the river for the Abbey
mills, make thunderous music all day long. Over this cleared space and
over some leagues of the virgin forest, the Abbot of Saint Thorn has sac
and soc, tholl and theam, catch-a-thief-in, catch-a-thief-out, as well as
other sovereign prerogatives, all of which he owes to the regret and
remorse of the Countess Isabel over the death of her first husband and
only lover, Fulk de Bréauté. Further north, in Mid-Morgraunt, is
Gracedieu, her other foundation--equally endowed, but holding white
nuns instead of white monks.
Now it so happened that as Prosper le Gai entered the purlieus of
Morgraunt, the Countess Isabel sat in the Abbey parlour of Saint Thorn,
knitting her fine brows over a business of the Abbot's, no less than the
granting of a new charter of pit and gallows, pillory and tumbril to him
and his house over the villeins of Malbank, and the whole fee and soke.
The death of these unfortunates, or the manner of it, was of little
moment; but the Countess, having much power, was jealous how she
lent it. She sat now, therefore, in the Abbot's great chair, and before her
stood the Abbot himself, holding in his hands the charter fairly written
out on parchment, with the twisted silk of three colours ready to receive
her seal. It was exactly this which she was not very ready to give, for
though she knew nothing of his villeins, she knew much of the Abbot,
and was of many minds concerning him. There was yet time; their
colloquy was in secret; but now she tapped with her foot upon the stool,
and the Abbot watched her narrowly. He was a tall and personable man,

famous for his smile, stout and smooth, his skin soft as a woman's, his
robe, his ring, his cross and mere slippers all in accord.
At length, says he, "Madam, for the love of the Saints, but chiefly for
Mary's love; to the glory of God and of Saint Giles of Holy Thorn; to
the ease of his monks and the honour of the Church, I beseech your
Ladyship this small boon."
The clear-cold eyes of the Countess Isabel looked long at him before
she said--"Do I