She made a beautiful picture as she stood there with an inward tumult
chasing the rich blood in and out her cheeks, and in her eyes a
world of passion and rebellion. Always beautiful, there was a subtle
tremulous excitement about her now which, as she gazed boldly at the
young poor priest, leapt into his veins as flames leap into fagots.
She was trembling from a revelation of her own self, and she had flown
home in a wild mood, in which fear and recklessness and a certain
exhilaration from which she could not escape, all had their part.
She possessed a figure that would have graced the more flowing robes of
the gentles had they been permitted her, yet her skirt of bright green
was hardly as scant as befitted her station in life. Her tight-fitting,
sleeveless kirtle was of a dull brown, for she scorned the gown of one
color which was commanded by law. Above the kirtle shone her bare,
white neck. She wore about her waist a girdle of gold which some great
lady had once bestowed upon her, refusing to give it up even in the
face of Parliament, which of late had protested vigorously against the
extravagance of those who could not afford it, forbidding to any but a
lady of high degree a girdle other than of plain linen.
From her quick run, the long red cap which should have covered her ears
and neck had become disarranged, revealing a bit of her hair which
was caught up in a net of wide meshes and in the sunlight shone like
burnished mahogany. Her large hazel eyes had glints of brilliant gold
at times, her lips were as the scarlet of frost-touched maples. There
was about her a wonderful glow of vitality. Looking on her, a rush of
life swept over one as a rush of salt-laden air sweeps over one who
stands by the sea. Her coloring was not like that of any other woman.
Merely to describe it as blonde or brunette would be like dipping one's
brush into a palette of dull browns to paint the sunset. There was an
indescribable brilliancy about her that made one think of an October
day. She was the incarnation of the Autumn--a living, warm, radiant
Autumn; not at all the Autumn of death and decay, of sobbing winds and
whirling leaves, but a vivid, glowing Autumn, with all its own glory
of color, and yet with the freshness and looking-future-ward of the
Spring.
She had been fleeing from a forester who had been sent in quest of
her by the Baron de Leaufort. He, inflamed by her beauty, set out on
a bit of love-making on his own account. Not a bad-looking fellow he
was in his way, his great figure set off splendidly by his livery of
bright green, with the baudrick of cardinal tied about his shoulders
and holding his horn. His sword and buckler hung to one side, and his
mighty bow he bore in his hand, the brilliant peacock feathers of his
arrows peeping from his full quiver. She had had no eye, however, for
his charms, for her mind was full of the consciousness that the Baron
had sent after her. But he at her side thought that not even the Lady
Augusta, the Baron's beautiful sister, could compare with this rustic
beauty, not my lady with her wimple of delicate sheer white stuff and
her flowing robes of royal crimson embroidered with gold and outlined
in ermine. Surely his Lordship had women in plenty to console himself
with, and besides, he could say he had not been able to find her.
"By our Lady," he cried, "the Baron should know enough not to send
another hunting for him and the game so worth the having. Nay, 'tis
not in human nature to expect me to bag you for him and not have a wee
taste for myself."
Rose shrank from his touch. "Nay, be not too proud, little one. Big
Harry hath met many a fine lady who hath not shrunk from his advances.
A strapping fellow like myself, not so bad-looking, oft hath his uses
not indented in the bond to his overlord. 'Tis easily accomplished if
thou wilt come with me as my sweetheart; 'tis easy to tell the Baron
that in some way thou hast slipped through his fingers and cannot be
found. By to-morrow he'll have a dozen making him forget all about
thee."
She suddenly was awake to his meaning. "Have a care, have a care,
fellow," she cried. "This impudence shall not go unreported, I promise
thee, and thine ears shall ring for it."
In a rage nothing could exceed the girl's beauty. Quite carried away by
it, the fellow seized her about the waist and kissed her so fiercely
and breathlessly that she could not scream. She felt herself drawn
closer and closer to him, and his eyes burned into her; she noticed
that they swam wildly in his head and showed their whites like a man
who had lost his reason. As one hand loosened for an instant, she made
a frantic effort of her strength, and slipping from his clasp, she
bounded away like a hare through the woods before he had recovered
from his astonishment. She rushed on in a wild tumult. It had been
quite different when the Baron had kissed her; now she felt degraded;
tears of indignation and rage ran down her cheeks. She was furious to
think that a forester of the Baron would dare so insult her. A forester
indeed! That were to fall lower than her mother. And yet he was a
likely-looking fellow and there was no denying it, there was something
within her that responded to his wild love-making. As she first became
aware of it she ran harder and harder, as if she could run away from
herself. She wanted to escape something within her that made her
afraid, but it was of no use, she might as well face it. She missed the
strong pressure of the fellow's brawny arms; there was a somewhat deep
down within her that wanted to see, just for an instant again, that
peculiar expression in his face,--a somewhat that longed for that rain
of hot kisses. There it was out! She had a horror of herself; on and on
she sped, panting, panting. What was it that had come over her? She had
fled from the fellow, her maidenhood had revolted, and she had escaped
from him, but she could not escape from the tumult he had stirred
within her. So, then, she was a woman who could not remain unresponsive
to a man's love-making, no matter who he be? Oh, shame! shame! was she
to burn at the touch of every clodhopper, she who had thought herself
so immeasurably above them all? There was no one to tell her that hers
was merely a high-strung, overwrought temperament which responds when
played upon as a delicate instrument responds to the slightest touch.
It was no more within her power to be indifferent to the contact with
passion than it was within the power of mercury to refuse to mark the
changes in the temperature.
In this wild mood she had fled to her home, and come upon the young
poor priest with his arm about her cousin. "Always love-making,
love-making," she thought, "no end to it all." And yet this was no wild
paroxysm before her, but a picture of calm joy and peace. Dimly she
realized even then that to waken such love was not in her power, and
for the first time in her life she caught herself actually envying her
cousin Matilda.
"This is my cousin Rose," said Matilda. And then flinging both arms
about Rose, she whispered in her ear, "Just think! We are going to be
married. I must tell thee."
Rose smiled. She thought few would be surprised. She took Robert's hand
in hers and clasped it warmly.
"She is a dear good girl," she said. "You will be very happy."
He found no answer on his tongue, and although he was fully conscious
of the absurdity of it, he immediately proposed that Matilda bring
the Bible and that they see how much progress she had made during his
absence. He politely invited Rose to listen and to Matilda's surprise
she readily acquiesced, she who had always scoffed at their Bible
reading. Only she begged that the poor priest read instead of Matilda.
So in his exquisitely modulated voice he began:
"For the sovereign Lord of all will not refrain himself for any man's
person, neither will he reverence greatness, because it is he that
made both small and great."