“Tell her your fancy name, wife,” said
Falve, giving her a nudge; “show her that you
have a tongue in your round head.”
“I am called Isoult la Desirous, ma’am,”
said the girl.
“La, la, la!” cried the old dame, “say
you so? The name hath promise of plenty; but
for whose good I say not. And who gave you such
a name as that, pray?”
“I have never known any other, ma’am.”
“Hum, hum,” mumbled the dame. “I’ve
heard more Christian names and names less Christian,
but never one that went better on a bride.”
“Mother, a word in your ear,” said Falve.
The couple drew apart and the man whispered—
“Keep her close; let her never out of your sight,
that I may marry her to-morrow, for since I set eyes
on her as a maiden whom I first took to be a boy,
I have had no peace for longing after her.”
“Have no fear, my son Falve,” said his
mother, “she shall be as safe with me as the
stone in a peach. I’ll get her dry and her
natural shape to begin with, and come morning light,
if you have not the comeliest bride in the Nor’-West
Walk, ’twill be the Church’s doing or
yours, but none o’ mine. Have ye feed a
priest, boy?”
“Why, no,” said the fellow.
“Seek out Father Bonaccord of the, new Grey
Friars. ’Tis the happiest-go-lucky, ruddiest
rogue of a priest that ever hand-fasted a couple.
He’ll wed ye and housel ye for a couple of roses.
[Footnote: Silver coins of those parts, worth
about three shillings a-piece.] The Black Friars ’ull
take three off ye and tie ye with a sour face at that.
Bonaccord’s the man, Brother Bonaccord of the
Grey Brothers, hard by Botchergate.”
“Bonaccord for ever!” roared Falve.
He blew a kiss to his wife and went off on his errand.
SECRET THINGS AT HAUTERIVE
The first thing the old lady did was to go to an oak
chest which was in the room, and rummage there.
With many grunts and wheezes (for she was eaten with
rheumatism) she drew out a bundle done up in an old
shawl. This she opened upon the floor.
“I belonged to a great lady once,” said
she, “though I don’t look like it, my
dear. These fal-lals have been over as dainty
a body as your own in their day; and that was fifteen
years ago to a tick. She gave ’em all to
me when she took to the black, and now they shall go
to my son’s wife. Think of that, you who
come from who knows who or where. If they fit
you not like a glove, let me eat ’em.”
There were silks and damasks and brocades; webbed
tissues of the East, Coaen gauzes blue and green,
Damascus purples, shot gold from Samarcand, crimson
stuffs dipped in Syrian vats, rose-coloured silk from
Trebizond, and embroidered jackets which smelt of Cairo
or Bagdad, and glowed with the hues of Byzantium itself.
Out of these she made choice. The girl shed her
rags, and stood up at last in a gown of thin red silk,
which from throat to ankle clung close about her shape.
The dark beauty went imperially robed.
