The Forest Lovers eBook

It was, however, heedlessness rather than design which brought it about, that as the days at High March succeeded each other Prosper did not tell the Countess either of his adventure or of his summary method of achieving it.  Design was there:  he did not see his way to involving the Abbot, who was, he knew, a dependant of his hostess, and yet could not begin the story elsewhere than at the beginning.  Something, too, kept the misfortunes of his wife from his tongue—­an honourable something, not his own pride of race.  But he, in fact, forgot her.  The days were very pleasant.  He hunted the hare, the deer, the wolf, the bear.  He hunted what he liked best of all to hunt, the man; and he got the honour which only comes from successful hunting in that sort-the devout admiration of those he led.  So soon as it was found out where his tastes and capacities lay he had as much of this work as he chose.  High March was on the northern borders of the Countess’s country; not far off was the Markstake, stormy, debatable land, plashy with blood.  There were raids, there were hornings and burnings, lifting of cattle and ravishment of women, to be prevented or paid for.  Prosper saw service.  The High March men had never had a leader quite like him-so young, so light and fierce, so merry in fight.  Isoult might eat her heart out with love; Prosper had the love of his riders, for by this they were his to a man.

There were other influences at work, more subtle and every bit as rapacious.  There were the long hours in the hall by the leaping light of the fire and the torches, feasts to be eaten, songs to sing, dances, revels, and such like.  Prosper was a cheerful, very sociable youth.  He had the manners of his father and the light-hearted impertinence of a hundred ancestors, all rulers of men and women.  He made love to no one, and laughed at what he got of it for nothing—­ which was plenty.  There were shaded hours in the Countess’s chamber, where the songs were softer and the pauses of the songs softer still; morning hours in the grassy alleys between the yew hedges; hours in the south walk in an air thick with the languors of warm earth and garden flowers; intimate rides in the pine wood; the wild freedom of hawking in the open downs; the grass paths; Yule; the music, the hopes of youth, the sweet familiarity, the shared books, the timid encroachments and gentle restraints, half-entreaties, half-denials:—­ no young man can resist these things unless he thinks of them suspectingly (as Prosper never did), and no woman wishes to resist them.  If Prosper found a sister, Isabel began to find more than a brother.  She grew younger as he grew older.  They were more than likely to meet half way.

CHAPTER XIV

A RECORDER