CHAPTER VI

Miss Elaine loses her Heart & finds Something of the greatest

Importance.

[Illustration]

Down stairs the Grace was said, and the company was soon seated and

ready for their mid-day meal.

"Our fare," said Father Anselm pleasantly to Sir Godfrey, who sat on

his right, "is plain, but substantial."

"Oh--ah, very likely," replied the Baron, as he received a wooden

basin of black-bean broth.

"Our drink is----"

The Baron lifted his eye hopefully.

"----remarkably pure water," Father Anselm continued. "Clement!" he

called to the monk whose turn it was that day to hand the dishes,

"Clement, a goblet of our well-water for Sir Godfrey Disseisin. One of

the large goblets, Clement. We are indeed favoured, Baron, in having

such a pure spring in the midst of our home."

"Oh--ah!" observed the Baron again, and politely nerved himself for a

swallow. But his thoughts were far away in his own cellar over at

Wantley, contemplating the casks whose precious gallons the Dragon had

consumed. Could it be the strength of his imagination, or else why was

it that through the chilling, unwelcome liquid he was now drinking he

seemed to detect a lurking flavour of the very wine those casks had

contained, his favourite Malvoisie?

Father Anselm noticed the same taste in his own cup, and did not set

it down to imagination, but afterwards sentenced Brother Clement to

bread and water during three days, for carelessness in not washing the

Monastery table-service more thoroughly.

"This simple food keeps you in beautiful health, Father," said

Mistletoe, ogling the swarthy face of the Abbot with an affection that

he duly noted.

"My daughter," he replied, gravely, "bodily infirmity is the reward of

the glutton. I am well, thank you."

Meanwhile, Elaine did not eat much. Her thoughts were busy, and

hurrying over recent events. Perhaps you think she lost her heart in

the last Chapter, and cannot lose it in this one unless it is given

back to her. But I do not agree with you; and I am certain that, if

you suggested such a notion to her, she would become quite angry, and

tell you not to talk such foolish nonsense. People are so absurd about

hearts, and all that sort of thing! No: I do not really think she has

lost her heart yet; but as she sits at table these are the things she

is feeling:

1. Not at all hungry.

2. Not at all thirsty.

3. What a hateful person that Father Anselm is!

4. Poor, poor young man!

5. Not that she thinks of him in _that_ way, of course. The idea!

Horrid Father Anselm!

6. Any girl at all--no, not girl, _anybody_ at all--who had human

justice would feel exactly as she did about the whole matter.

7. He was very good-looking, too.

8. Did he have--yes, they were blue. Very, very dark blue.

9. And a moustache? Well, yes.

Here she laughed, but no one noticed her idling with her spoon. Then

her eyes filled with tears, and she pretended to be absorbed with the

black-bean broth, though, as a matter of fact, she did not see it in

the least.

10. Why had he come there at all?

11. It was a perfect shame, treating him so.

12. Perhaps they were not blue, after all. But, oh! what a beautiful

sparkle was in them!

After this, she hated Father Anselm worse than ever. And the more she

hated him, the more some very restless delicious something made her

draw long breaths. She positively must go up-stairs and see what He

was doing and what He really looked like. This curiosity seized hold

of her and set her thinking of some way to slip away unseen. The

chance came through all present becoming deeply absorbed in what Sir

Godfrey was saying to Father Anselm.

"Such a low, coarse, untaught brute as a dragon," he explained,

"cannot possibly distinguish good wine from bad."

"Of a surety, no!" responded the monk.

"You agree with me upon that point?" said the Baron.

"Most certainly. Proceed."

"Well, I'm going to see that he gets nothing but the cider and small

beer after this."

"But how will you prevent him, if he visit your cellar again?" Father

Anselm inquired.

"I shall change all the labels, in the first place," the Baron

answered.

"Ha! vastly well conceived," said Father Anselm. "You will label your

Burgundy as if it were beer."

"And next," continued Sir Godfrey, "I shall shift the present

positions of the hogsheads. That I shall do to-day, after relabelling.

In the northern corner of the first wine vault I shall----"

Just as he reached this point, it was quite wonderful how strict an

attention every monk paid to his words. They leaned forward,

forgetting their dinner, and listened with all their might.

One of them, who had evidently received an education, took notes

underneath the table. Thus it was that Elaine escaped observation

when she left the refectory.

[Illustration: The Baron setteth forth his Plan for circumuenting the

Dragon]

As she came up-stairs into the hall where Geoffrey was caged, she

stepped lightly and kept where she could not be seen by him. All was

quiet when she entered; but suddenly she heard the iron bars of the

cage begin to rattle and shake, and at the same time Geoffrey's voice

broke out in rage.

"I'll twist you loose," he said, "you--(rattle, shake)--you--(kick,

bang)----" And here the shocking young man used words so violent and

wicked that Elaine put her hands tight over her ears. "Why, he is just

as dreadful as papa, just exactly!" she exclaimed to herself. "Whoever

would have thought that that angelic face--but I suppose they are all

like that sometimes." And she took her hands away again.

"Yes, I will twist you loose," he was growling hoarsely, while the

kicks and wrenches grew fiercer than ever, "or twist myself stark,

staring blind--and----"

"Oh, sir!" she said, running out in front of the cage.

He stopped at once, and stood looking at her. His breast-plate and

gauntlets were down on the floor, so his muscles might have more easy

play in dealing with the bars. Elaine noticed that the youth's shirt

was of very costly Eastern silk.

"I was thinking of getting out," he said at length, still standing and

looking at her.

"I thought I might--that is--you might----" began Miss Elaine, and

stopped. Upon which another silence followed.

"Lady, who sent you here?" he inquired.

"Oh, they don't know!" she replied, hastily; and then, seeing how

bright his face became, and hearing her own words, she looked down,

and the crimson went over her cheeks as he watched her.

"Oh, if I could get out!" he said, desperately. "Lady, what is your

name, if I might be so bold."

"My name, sir, is Elaine. Perhaps there is a key somewhere," she said.

"And I am called Geoffrey," he said, in reply.

"I think we might find a key," Elaine repeated.

She turned towards the other side of the room, and there hung a great

bunch of brass keys dangling from the lock of a heavy door.

Ah, Hubert! thou art more careless than Brother Clement, I think, to

have left those keys in such a place!

Quickly did Elaine cross to that closed door, and laid her hand upon

the bunch. The door came open the next moment, and she gave a shriek

to see the skin of a huge lizard-beast fall forward at her feet, and

also many cups and flagons, that rolled over the floor, dotting it

with little drops of wine.

Hearing Elaine shriek, and not able to see from his prison what had

befallen her, Geoffrey shouted out in terror to know if she had come

to any hurt.

"No," she told him; and stood eyeing first the crocodile's hide and

then the cups, setting her lips together very firmly. "And they were

not even dry," she said after a while. For she began to guess a little

of the truth.

"Not dry? Who?" inquired Geoffrey.

"Oh, Geoffrey!" she burst out in deep anger, and then stopped,

bewildered. But his heart leaped to hear her call his name.

"Are there no keys?" he asked.

"Keys? Yes!" she cried, and, running with them back to the bars, began

trying one after another in trembling haste till the lock clicked

pleasantly, and out marched young Geoffrey.

Now what do you suppose this young man did when he found himself free

once more, and standing close by the lovely young person to whom he

owed his liberty? Did he place his heels together, and let his arms

hang gracefully, and so bow with respect and a manner at once

dignified and urbane, and say, "Miss Elaine, permit me to thank you

for being so kind as to let me out of prison?" That is what he ought

to have done, of course, if he had known how to conduct himself like a

well-brought-up young man. But I am sorry to have to tell you that

Geoffrey did nothing of the sort, but, instead of that, behaved in a

most outrageous manner. He did not thank her at all. He did not say

one single word to her. He simply put one arm round her waist and gave

her a kiss!

"Geoffrey!" she murmured, "don't!"

But Geoffrey did, with the most astonishing and complacent

disobedience.

"Oh, Geoffrey!" she whispered, looking the other way, "how wrong of

you! And of me!" she added a little more softly still, escaping from

him suddenly, and facing about.

"I don't see that," said Geoffrey. "I love you, Elaine. Elaine,

darling, I----"

"Oh, but you mustn't!" answered she, stepping back as he came nearer.

[Illustration: Geoffrey tuggeth at the Bars]

This was simply frightful! And so sudden. To think of

her--Elaine!--but she couldn't think at all. Happy? Why, how wicked!

How had she ever----

"No, you must not," she repeated, and backed away still farther.

"But I will!" said this lover, quite loudly, and sprang so quickly to

where she stood that she was in his arms again, and this time without

the faintest chance of getting out of them until he should choose to

free her.

It was no use to struggle now, and she was still, like some wild bird.

But she knew that she was really his, and was glad of it. And she

looked up at him and said, very softly, "Geoffrey, we are wasting

time."

"Oh, no, not at all," said Geoffrey.

"But we are."

"Say that you love me."

"But haven't I--ah, Geoffrey, please don't begin again."

"Say that you love me."

She did.

Then, taking his hand, she led him to the door she had opened. He

stared at the crocodile, at the wine-cups, and then he picked up a

sheet of iron and a metal torch.

"I suppose it is their museum," he said; "don't you?"

"Their museum! Geoffrey, think a little."

"They seem to keep very good wine," he remarked, after smelling at the

demijohn.

"Don't you see? Can't you understand?" she said.

"No, not a bit. What's that thing, do you suppose?" he added, giving

the crocodile a kick.

"Oh, me, but men are simple, men are simple!" said Elaine, in despair.

"Geoffrey, listen! That wine is my father's wine, from his own cellar.

There is none like it in all England."

"Then I don't see why he gave it to a parcel of monks," replied the

young man.

Elaine clasped her hands in hopelessness, gave him a kiss, and became

mistress of the situation.

"Now, Geoffrey," she said, "I will tell you what you and I have really

found out." Then she quickly recalled all the recent events. How her

father's cellar had been broken into; how Mistletoe had been chained

to a rock for a week and no dragon had come near her. She bade him

remember how just now Father Anselm had opposed every plan for meeting

the Dragon, and at last she pointed to the crocodile.

"Ha!" said Geoffrey, after thinking for a space. "Then you mean----"

"Of course I do," she interrupted. "The Dragon of Wantley is now

down-stairs with papa eating dinner, and pretending he never drinks

anything stronger than water. What do you say to that, sir?"

"This is a foul thing!" cried the knight. "Here have I been damnably

duped. Here----" but speech deserted him. He glared at the crocodile

with a bursting countenance, then drove his toe against it with such

vigour that it sailed like a foot-ball to the farther end of the hall.

"Papa has been duped, and everybody," said Elaine. "Papa's French

wine----"

"They swore to me in Flanders I should find a real dragon here," he

continued, raging up and down, and giving to the young lady no part of

his attention. She began to fear he was not thinking of her.

"Geoffrey----" she ventured.

"They swore it. They had invited me to hunt a dragon with them in

Flanders,--Count Faux Pas and his Walloons. We hunted day and night,

and the quest was barren. They then directed me to this island of

Britain, in which they declared a dragon might be found by any man who

so desired. They lied in their throats. I have come leagues for

nothing." Here he looked viciously at the distant hide of the

crocodile. "But I shall slay the monk," he added. "A masquerading

caitiff! Lying varlets! And all for nothing! The monk shall die,

however."

"Have you come for nothing, Geoffrey?" murmured Elaine.

"Three years have I been seeking dragons in all countries, chasing

deceit over land and sea. And now once more my dearest hope falls

empty and stale. Why, what's this?" A choking sound beside him stopped

the flow of his complaints.

"Oh, Geoffrey,--oh, miserable me!" The young lady was dissolved in

tears.

"Elaine--dearest--don't."

"You said you had come for n--nothing, and it was all st--stale."

"Ha, I am a fool, indeed! But it was the Dragon, dearest. I had made

so sure of an honest one in this adventure."

"Oh, oh!" went Miss Elaine, with her head against his shoulder.

"There, there! You're sweeter than all the dragons in the world, my

little girl," said he. And although this does not appear to be a great

compliment, it comforted her wonderfully in the end; for he said it in

her ear several times without taking his lips away. "Yes," he

continued, "I was a fool. By your father's own word you're mine. I

have caught the Dragon. Come, my girl! We'll down to the refectory

forthwith and denounce him."

With this, he seized Elaine's hand and hastily made for the stairs.

"But hold, Geoffrey, hold! Oh--I am driven to act not as maidens

should," sighed Elaine. "He it is who ought to do the thinking. But,

dear me! he does not know how. Do you not see we should both be lost,

were you to try any such wild plan?"

"Not at all. Your father would give you to me."

"Oh, no, no, Geoffrey; indeed, papa would not. His promise was about a

dragon. A live or a dead dragon must be brought to him. Even if he

believed you now, even if that dreadful Father Anselm could not invent

some lie to put us in the wrong, you and I could never--that is--papa

would not feel bound by his promise simply because you did that. There

must be a dragon somehow."

"How can there be a dragon if there is not a dragon?" asked Geoffrey.

"Wait, wait, Geoffrey! Oh, how can I think of everything all at

once?" and Elaine pressed her hands to her temples.

"Darling," said the knight, with his arms once more around her, "let

us fly now."

"Now? They would catch us at once."

"Catch us! not they! with my sword----"

"Now, Geoffrey, of course you are brave. But do be sensible. You are

only one. No! I won't even argue such nonsense. They must never know

about what we have been doing up here; and you must go back into that

cage at once."

"What, and be locked up, and perhaps murdered to-night, and never see

your face again?"

"But you shall see me again, and soon. That is what I am thinking

about."

"How can you come in here, Elaine?"

"You must come to me. I have it! To-night, at half-past eleven, come

to the cellar-door at the Manor, and I will be there to let you in.

Then we can talk over everything quietly. I have no time to think

now."

"The cellar! at the Manor! And how, pray, shall I get out of that

cage?"

"Cannot you jump from the little window at the back?"

Geoffrey ran in to see. "No," he said, returning; "it is many spans

from the earth."

Elaine had hurried into the closet, whence she returned with a dusty

coil of rope. "Here, Geoffrey; quickly! put it about your waist. Wind

it so. But how clumsy you are!"

He stood smiling down at her, and she very deftly wound the cord up

and down, over and over his body, until its whole length lay

comfortably upon him.

"Now, your breast-plate, quick!"

She helped him put his armour on again; and, as they were engaged at

that, singing voices came up the stairs from the distant dining-hall.

"The Grace," she exclaimed; "they will be here in a moment."

Geoffrey took a last kiss, and bolted into his cage. She, with the

keys, made great haste to push the crocodile and other objects once

more into their hiding-place. Cups and flagons and all rattled back

without regard to order, as they had already been flung not two hours

before. The closet-door shut, and Elaine hung the keys from the lock

as she had found them.

"Half-past eleven," she said to Geoffrey, as she ran by his cage

towards the stairs.

"One more, darling,--please, one! through the bars!" he besought her,

in a voice so tender, that for my part I do not see how she had the

heart to refuse him. But she continued her way, and swiftly descending

the stairs was found by the company, as they came from the hall,

busily engaged in making passes with Sir Godfrey's sword, which he had

left leaning near the door.

"A warlike daughter, Sir Godfrey!" said Father Anselm.

"Ah, if I were a man to go on a Crusade!" sighed Miss Elaine.

"Hast thou, my daughter," said Father Anselm, "thought better of thy

rash intentions concerning this Dragon?"

"I am travelling towards better thoughts, Father," she answered.

But Sir Francis did not wholly believe the young lady; and was not at

rest until Sir Godfrey assured him her good conduct should be no

matter of her own choosing.

"You see," insinuated the Abbot, "so sweet a maid as yours would be a

treat for the unholy beast. A meal like that would incline him to

remain in a neighbourhood where such dainties were to be found."

"I'll have no legends and fool's tricks," exclaimed the Baron. "She

shall be locked in her room to-night."

"Not if she can help it," thought Miss Elaine. Her father had

imprudently spoken too loud.

"'Twere a wise precaution," murmured Father Anselm. "What are all the

vintages of this earth by the side of a loving daughter?"

"Quite so, quite so!" Sir Godfrey assented. "Don't you think," he

added, wistfully, "that another Crusade may come along soon?"

"Ah, my son, who can say? Tribulation is our meted heritage. Were thy

thoughts more high, the going of thy liquors would not cause thee such

sorrow. Learn to enjoy the pure cold water."

"Good-afternoon," said the Baron.

When all the guests had departed and the door was shut safe behind

them, the Father and his holy companions broke into loud mirth. "The

Malvoisie is drunk up," said they; "to-night we'll pay his lordship's

cellars another visit."

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The Dragon of Wantley: His Tale · 第 6 / 10 章