"Nay, Marie, thou art over-bold, wench, and yet, ah! there is none other
to whom I may confess it, and by the love we bear each other, my Marie,
well I know my secret is safe with thee. Yes," she added softly, whilst
a glad light stole into her tired eyes; "yes, it is true, my Marie, I
love him, this noble Frenchman, who is a true and noble knight, neither
traitor nor murderer, but my faithful servant and lover."
"But," stammered Marie, forgetful of aught in her sheer amazement, "he
is a Frenchman, mademoiselle! an enemy! one who would take away liberty
from us of Brittany and bend our necks in the yoke of servitude."
"Tush, little foolish one!" replied her mistress severely. "Thou
pratest of that of which thou knowest naught. Indeed," she added, with
an air of knowledge which sat quaintly on her childish head, "the love
of Breton maid to French knight may well be, since men say our Duchess
herself would fain have given her heart to the Prince of Orleans, had he
not been already wed."
"Nay," murmured Marie, abashed, yet persistent, "but Madame the Duchess
is the bride of the noble King of the Romans."
"That goeth not to say that she loveth him," retorted Gwennola wisely;
"indeed, poor Duchess! how can she, seeing she hath never seen him? And
ill is it to wed without love, be a maid queen or peasant wench; and
verily I will have none of it on such terms, though my father command me
to take the veil in choice. Ah, Marie!" she cried, stretching out her
hands towards the hesitating girl, "thou wilt help me, wilt thou not?
For I love him, this poor, persecuted knight, Frenchman though he
be--ay, and shall love him and none other for all time: and love is
sweet, my Marie, though as yet mayhap thou hast not tasted of its
sweetness; but when it cometh----"
"Nay," retorted Marie tossing her head, "small love have I for any man,
save only for my father and brother Job, for well I wot, as my mother
hath oft told me, that they are but poor creatures at best, and little
worth the tears and pains they put us foolish women to. Yet, sweet
mistress," she added, laying her hand affectionately on Gwennola's, "I
would aid _you_ with my very life, ay, though my lord verily putteth me
to the torture for so doing."
"Nay," murmured Gwennola, turning pale, "that my father would never do,
as well thou knowest, foolish one."
"As for that," replied Marie with a shrug of her buxom shoulders, "I
know little of the kind, for my lord is a terrible man in passion, and
for the torture--did not my Lord of Quimperel so do to death one of his
wife's maidens who refused to confess her mistress's secrets?"
"Nay," sighed Gwennola with a shudder, "my Lord of Quimperel is a man of
bloodthirsty moods and evil repute, ever loving to inflict pain; but my
father, changed though he be to his little Gwennola, by the poisoned
tongue of lies, would never so forget his honour."
"Be that as it may, sweet mistress," replied Mane, smiling, "I am yours,
to do your will, even to the death; command me then, and blithely will I
obey!"
"I must e'en think," murmured Gwennola, pressing her hand to her
forehead, "for well I can guess that at least my kinsman will leave no
unguarded door of escape from his watchful eye. Yet methinks we may
outwit even him, my Marie, with caution and daring, if so be that my
father's search to-day is fruitless."
"Then monsieur lies yonder?" inquired Marie, eager, now that her
scruples and surprise were overcome, to assist in this unexpected
romance.
"Hush!" whispered her mistress with raised finger. "Better it were not
to speak on such matters, seeing that even walls have ears; but hie
thee, Marie, below, and see what news thou canst bring me of how matters
go."
Those were days when the romance of love indeed reigned paramount in
every woman's heart, from the lady who, from her casement, smiled down
at her knight riding by with her favour in his helmet, to the serving
wench who watched her swain go from her to the wars with a tear in her
eye and a choking pride in her throat at sight of his gallant bearing
and the bunch of bright ribbons she had herself pinned to his breast.
And, alone now in her chamber, Gwennola was dreaming tenderly of the
romance which had been borne so swiftly and unexpectedly into the grey
gloom of her young life, flushing it with all the rosy dawn of love and
beauty. She told herself, as her heart throbbed gladly to her thoughts,
that she had loved him from the moment she had seen him lying all
unconscious in the forest. And what wonder, seeing how empty of such
dreams her heart had been before?--and yet how hungry for them, with the
hunger for such romance as is dear to seventeen summers in any century!
And she had found him, her knight, noble, handsome, surrounded with the
glamour of strange and thrilling circumstances, chivalrous and devoted.
Ah! it could not be that a foul lie and a hempen rope of shame should,
rudely terminate so sweet an idyll? Her heart seemed to beat to
suffocation as she strove against the thought, listening with anxious
ears for the return of Marie.
How long the time seemed, and yet all too short, ere she heard the swift
sound of returning feet! Was it possible that even now the news would
be that all was over, and that guile had triumphed bloodily over
innocence and truth?
"Mother of Help," she moaned, sinking once more on her knees before the
little shrine--"Mother of Help, save him!"
"Nay, lady," whispered Marie's voice behind her. "Have no fear, I have
no news but what is good to hear, although I fear me that my lord and
Monsieur de Coray have returned in no holy frame of mind from their
bootless search, and resignation to failure sits not placidly on either
brow. I had speech with Jobik, poor fool! who, it seems, would fain
have been cursing yon poor French monsieur for killing his young master,
and perchance might have spoken evil words of you, had I not twitted him
for a moon-faced oaf and told him all the truth."
"Mother of Mercies, I thank thee!" cried Gwennola softly, as she bowed
her head in thanksgiving. Then, raising a radiant face to Marie, "Now,"
she cried softly, "cometh the time for brave hearts and wise heads, my
Marie, for we must e'en find some mode of taking to monsieur both food
and drink, for starvation were little better than the rope, though
perchance more honourable."
"Nay, mademoiselle," said Marie earnestly; "you must leave such work to
Jobik or to me. Tell me but where the noble knight lies, and, I warrant
me, he shall not die of starvation."