“The father shall do it,” said Alice.
“Fear nothing.”
There were two scruples in the good man’s way.
If he said Mass twice in the morning he broke the
law of the Church; if he put off his breakfast, he
broke that of nature, which bids a man fill when he
is empty. And the priest was a law-abiding man.
In the end, however, the bride and bridegroom had
their marriage-mass. Kneeling on the mossy stone
they received the Sop. Alice of the Hermitage
brought two crowns of briony leaves and scarlet berries;
so Morgraunt anointed what Morgraunt had set apart;
the postulants were adept. Afterwards, when the
priest had gone and all things were accomplished, Alice
of the Hermitage kissed a sister and a brother; and
then very happily they broke their bread sitting in
the sun.
“Whither now, my lord?” asked Isoult when
they had done.
“Ah, to High March, pardieu!” Prosper
said; “there is a little work left for me there.
You shall go in as a queen this time. Clothe her
as a queen, Alice, and let us be off.”
Alice took her away to be dressed in the red silk
robe; she drew on the silk stockings, the red slippers.
Then she went to tire her hair.
“Stay,” said Isoult, “and tell me
something first.”
“What is it, dearest?”
“My hair, how far does it reach by now?”
“Oh! it is a mantle to you, a dusky veil, falling
to your knees.”
“Now bind it up for me, Alice; it has run to
its tether.”
The glossy tower was roped with sequins, the bride
was ready. Alice adored her.
“Come and meet the bridegroom,” said she.
Prosper watched them coming over the sunny plat.
He was not lettered, yet he should have heard the
whisper of the Amorist—"Behold, thou
art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair, thou hast
dove’s eyes."
At least he bowed his knee before her. She could
have answered him then—"I am as a wall,
and my breasts like towers; then was I in his eyes
as one that found favour."
“Good-bye, my sister Desiree,” said Alice
of the Hermitage. Tears and kisses met and answered
each other.
“Surely now, surely here is love enough!”
she cried as they rode away. For my part, I am
disposed to agree with her. But Prosper found
her glorious.
“Can our lord have enough of incense, or his
mother weary of songs? Can La Desirous sicken
of desire?”
For two more nights green Morgraunt made their bed.
THE LADY PIETOSA DE BREAUTE
Evidently they were expected at High March; for no
sooner the white plumes had cleared the forest purlieus
and came nodding over the heath in view of the solemn
towers, than a white flag was run up the keep.
It floated out bravely—a snow patch in a
pure sky.
“Peace, hey?” quoth Prosper, asking.
“Well then, there shall be peace if they will
take it. It is for them to settle.”
