Part 5 (2/2)

”A hundred times no!” said a new voice from the crowd. ”I will meet him myself!”

All turned and saw a knight pus.h.i.+ng his way through the people.

”Who are you?” inquired the Baron.

The stranger bowed haughtily; and Elaine watched him remove his helmet, and reveal underneath it the countenance of a young man who turned to her, and----

Why, what's this, Elaine? Why does everything seem to swim and grow misty as his eye meets yours? And why does he look at you so, and deeply flush to the very rim of his curly hair? And as his glance grows steadier and more intent upon your eyes that keep stealing over at him, can you imagine why his hand trembles on the hilt of his sword? Don't you remember what the legend said?

”Who are you?” the Baron repeated, impatiently.

”I am Geoffrey, son of Bertram of Poictiers,” answered the young man.

”And what,” asked Father Anselm, with a certain irony in his voice, ”does Geoffrey, son of Bertram of Poictiers, so far away from his papa in this inclement weather?”

The knight surveyed the monk for a moment, and then said, ”As thou art not my particular Father Confessor, stick to those matters which concern thee.”

This reply did not please any man present, for it seemed to savour of disrespect. But Elaine lost no chance of watching the youth, who now stood alone in the middle of the hall. Sir Francis detected this, and smiled with a sly smile.

”Will some person inquire of this polite young man,” he said, ”what he wishes with us?”

”Show me where this Dragon of Wantley comes,” said Geoffrey, ”for I intend to slay him to-night.”

”Indeed, sir,” fluttered Elaine, stepping towards him a little, ”I hope--that is, I beg you'll do no such dangerous thing as that for my sake.”

”For your sake?” Father Anselm broke in. ”For your sake? And why so?

What should Elaine, daughter of Sir G.o.dfrey Disseisin, care for the carcase of Geoffrey, son of Bertram of Poictiers?”

But Elaine, finding nothing to answer, turned rosy pink instead.

”That rules you out!” exclaimed the Father, in triumph. ”Your legend demands a maid who never has cared for any man.”

”Pooh!” said Geoffrey, ”leave it to me.”

”Seize him!” shouted Sir G.o.dfrey in a rage. ”He had ruled out my daughter.” Consistency had never been one of the Baron's strong points.

”Seize him!” said Father Anselm. ”He outrages Mother Church.”

The va.s.sals closed up behind young Geoffrey, who was pinioned in a second. He struggled with them till the veins stood out in his forehead in blue knots; but, after all, one young man of twenty is not much among a band of stout yeomen; and they all fell in a heap on the floor, pulling and tugging at Geoffrey, who had blacked several eyes, and done in a general way as much damage as he possibly could under the circ.u.mstances.

But Elaine noticed one singular occurrence. Not a monk had moved to seize the young man, except one, who rushed forward, and was stopped, as though struck to stone, by Father Anselm's saying to him in a terrible undertone, ”Hubert!”

Simply that word, spoken quickly; but not before this Hubert had brushed against her so that she was aware that there was something very hard and metallic underneath his gray gown. She betrayed no sign of knowledge or surprise on her face, however, but affected to be absorbed wholly in the fortunes of young Geoffrey, whom she saw collared and summarily put into a cage-like prison whose front was thick iron bars, and whose depth was in the vast outer wall of the Monastery, with a little window at the rear, covered with snow. The spring-lock of the gate shut upon him.

”And now,” said Father Anselm, as the Monastery bell sounded once more, ”if our guests will follow us, the mid-day meal awaits us below.

We will deal with this hot-head later,” he added, pointing to the prisoner.

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