Some hours elapsed before Rose Westel could escape unnoticed to the
hiding-place by the river. As Annys stepped forth, Rose's heart sank
within her, for his face was set and hard. Could she accomplish her
purpose? Was this unbending monk the passionate lover she had once
known?
"I was sent for," he began coldly, "in the name of my people, or I
should not have come. Delay me not, there is much work to be done."
"I will be brief," she said guardedly. "They are about to attack the
Manor House where the Baron has gone. I tried to keep him here, I told
him his life was in danger, but he only laughed at me for my pains."
A swift gleam of indignation shot over his drawn face.
"Hast sent then for me to save thy lover, _for me_?" he demanded.
"Nay, I have sent for thee to save my soul," she said, with a pitiful
ghost of her old smile, her old spirit.
"It is not given a priest of God to shrive an unrepentant harlot," was
his impetuous answer.
"You are even as other priests, who speak ever by rote," flashed
from her angrily. "An unrepentant harlot, if you will, but a better
woman than that haughty, self-willed girl the world called 'good.' I
fled from the sight of suffering in others, I cared only for my own
pleasures, for no one save myself. Now go about the Castle and ask of
Rose Westel, discover what kind of name she bears, count the friends
who love her and whom she serves, fit the deeds she does with the
selfish aloofness of that girl I was, and tell me which was the better
woman. Ay, look at me, look at me," she ended passionately, "is it not
written on my face?"
He looked gravely down upon her. Ah, not lightly had she loved, either!
Love indeed had given her a soul.
"Yes, the heart is a great teacher," he said softly.
"It is not possible that the good Father can cast one to hell whose
sole sin was in overmuch loving," she said.
"Whose sole sin was in overmuch loving." How often had he prayed that
might be so.
"No," she repeated, with a certain sad dignity, "I have not sent for
you because I sinned through love, but because I sinned through hate."
"Through hate? How?"
She pressed two trembling fingers on her burning eyelids for an
instant, and then kneeled before him and looked up piteously into his
hardened face.
"I never knew that one could suffer as I suffered when that woman
came--that woman to lie where I have lain, to kiss where I have
kissed--that woman--ah!--I was wild--out of my senses when I sought
John Kyrkeby and whispered to him that I was forced by the Baron."
He was about to speak, but she silenced him with a gesture. "It was a
lie, a base lie," she said, reddening with shame; "but heed not that.
John Kyrkeby left me hot with anger to stir up his fellows against the
Baron."
"Ah, girl," he said sadly, "think not your words will be answerable
for what follows. The people have more--far more against the Baron de
Leaufort than the undoing of one maid. He has been a hard taskmaster,
and has ever refused the quit-rent."
"The very words John Kyrkeby spake when I went again to him wild at
my own deed. He said to me then that no one could prevent the men
from marching on the Manor save that Robert Annys would come before
them again as their leader. He alone could keep their eyes fixed on
Blackheath.
"I was mad, mad," she continued, now walking up and down in agony,
"mad, mad. I thought only that she would not have him. I forgot that
he--Edmond--must suffer. They will kill him, they will burn the Manor
House over his head."
"I cannot find it in my heart to blame thee for bringing me in hopes to
save thy lover," he said gently, "yet I should not have come had the
message read, 'My lover needs thee,'--remember it was, 'Thy people need
thee!'"
She clung to his gown.
"Nay, then, thy people do need thee. Think, will it help the people's
Cause that they come to the King with hands reddened in the blood of
his nobles? Remember, de Leaufort is a kinsman of the King."
"True, true," he said, "I will go, not to save thy lover. I go, but
to save the people--if I can--from themselves. I cannot promise thee
I shall be in time, but if word of mine can serve, there shall be no
further violence."
Holding his cross high up over his head, he gazed at it an instant
outlined against the flaming sun, and took a quick step forward.
"In Thy name! In Thy name! I go! I go!"
But she detained him yet an instant. Throwing herself once more before
him, she bent her head low to his sandals.
"Pray for me, pray for me. To-morrow my mother's death-bed shall be
mine. Remember in thy prayers poor Rose Westel."
At first he looked down upon her wildly, as if in his eagerness to
go he had forgot her very existence. He heard only her prayer for
remembrance. A fierce reproach swept into his eyes.
"_Remember thee in my prayers?_ Woman, the one prayer I have known
since first I set eyes on thee has been that I might forget thee!"
And with his face into the sunset he was gone.