Part 4 (2/2)
[Ill.u.s.tration: FATHER ANSELM SIR G.o.dFREY]
With the respect that was due to holy men, Sir G.o.dfrey removed his helmet, and stood waiting in a decent att.i.tude of attention to the hymn, although he did not understand a single word of it. The long deliberate Latin words rolled out very grand to his ear, and, to tell you the truth, it is just as well his scholars.h.i.+p was faulty, for this is the English of those same words:
”It is my intention To die in a tavern, With wine in the neighbourhood, Close by my thirsty mouth; That angels in chorus May sing, when they reach me,-- 'Let Bacchus be merciful Unto this wine-bibber.'”
But so devoutly did the monks dwell upon the syllables, so earnestly were the arms of each one folded against his breast, that you would never have suspected any unclerical sentiments were being expressed.
The proximity of so many petticoats and kirtles caused considerable restlessness to Hubert; but he felt the burning eye of the Grand Marshal fixed upon him, and sang away with all his might.
Sir G.o.dfrey began to grow impatient.
”Hem!” he said, moving his foot slightly.
This proceeding, however, was without result. The pious chant continued to resound, and the monks paid not the least attention to their visitors, but stood up together in a double line, vociferating Latin with as much zest as ever.
”Mort d'aieul!” growled Sir G.o.dfrey, s.h.i.+fting his other foot, and not so gingerly this second time.
By chance the singing stopped upon the same instant, so that the Baron's remark and the noise his foot had made sounded all over the room. This disconcerted him; for he felt his standing with the Church to be weak, and he rolled his eyes from one side to the other, watching for any effect his disturbance might have made. But, with the breeding of a true man of the world, the Grand Marshal merely observed, ”Benedicite, my son!”
”Good-morning, Father,” returned Sir G.o.dfrey.
”And what would you with me?” pursued the so-called Father Anselm.
”Speak, my son.”
”Well, the fact is----” the Baron began, marching forward; but he encountered the eye of the Abbot, where shone a cold surprise at this over-familiar fas.h.i.+on of speech; so he checked himself, and, in as restrained a voice as he could command, told his story. How his daughter had determined to meet the Dragon, and so save Wantley; how nothing that a parent could say had influenced her intentions in the least; and now he placed the entire matter in the hands of the Church.
”Which would have been more becoming if you had done it at the first,”
said Father Anselm, reprovingly. Then he turned to Miss Elaine, who all this while had been looking out of the window with the utmost indifference.
”How is this, my daughter?” he said gravely, in his deep voice.
”Oh, the dear blessed man!” whispered Mistletoe, admiringly, to herself.
”It is as you hear, Father,” said Miss Elaine, keeping her eyes away.
”And why do you think that such a peril upon your part would do away with this Dragon?”
”Says not the legend so?” she replied.
”And what may the legend be, my daughter?”
With some surprise that so well informed a person as Father Anselm should be ignorant of this prominent topic of the day, Sir G.o.dfrey here broke in and narrated the legend to him with many vigourous comments.
”Ah, yes,” said the Father, smiling gently when the story was done; ”I do now remember that some such child's tale was in the mouths of the common folk once; but methought the nonsense was dead long since.”
<script>