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.
So they slowly went out, leaving Geoffrey alone with his thoughts.
OWN stairs the Grace was said, and the company was soon seated and ready for their mid-day meal.
“Our fare,” said Father Anselm pleasantly to Sir Godfrey, who sat on his right, “is plain, but substantial.”
“Oh—ah, very likely,” replied the Baron, as he received a wooden basin of black-bean broth.
“Our drink is——”
The Baron lifted his eye hopefully.
“——remarkably pure water,” Father Anselm continued. “Clement!” he called to the monk whose turn it was that day to hand the dishes, “Clement, a goblet of our well-water for Sir Godfrey Disseisin. One of the large goblets, Clement. We are indeed favoured, Baron, in having such a pure spring in the midst of our home.”
“Oh—ah!” observed the Baron again, and politely nerved himself for a swallow. But his thoughts were far away in his own cellar over at Wantley, contemplating the casks whose precious gallons the Dragon had consumed. Could it be the strength of his imagination, or else why was it that through the chilling, unwelcome liquid he was now drinking he seemed to detect a lurking flavour of the very wine those casks had contained, his favourite Malvoisie?
Father Anselm noticed the same taste in his own cup, and did not set it down to imagination, but afterwards sentenced Brother Clement to bread and water during three days, for carelessness in not washing the Monastery table-service more thoroughly.
“This simple food keeps you in beautiful health, Father,” said Mistletoe, ogling the swarthy face of the Abbot with an affection that he duly noted.
“My daughter,” he replied, gravely, “bodily infirmity is the reward of the glutton. I am well, thank you.”
Meanwhile, Elaine did not eat much. Her thoughts were busy, and hurrying over recent events. Perhaps you think she lost her heart in the last Chapter, and cannot lose it in this one unless it is given back to her. But I do not agree with you; and I am certain that, if you suggested such a notion to her, she would become quite angry, and tell you not to talk such foolish nonsense. People are so absurd about hearts, and all that sort of thing! No: I do not really think she has lost her heart yet; but as she sits at table these are the things she is feeling:
1. Not at all hungry.
2. Not at all thirsty.
3. What a hateful person that Father Anselm is!
4. Poor, poor young man!
5. Not that she thinks of him in that way, of course. The idea! Horrid Father Anselm!
6. Any girl at all—no, not girl, anybody at all—who had human justice would feel exactly as she did about the whole matter.
7. He was very good-looking, too.
8. Did he have—yes, they were blue. Very, very dark blue.
9. And a moustache? Well, yes.
Here she laughed, but no one noticed her idling with her spoon. Then her eyes filled with tears, and she pretended to be absorbed with the black-bean broth, though, as a matter of fact, she did not see it in the least.
10. Why had he come there at all?
11. It was a perfect shame, treating him so.
12. Perhaps they were not blue, after all. But, oh! what a beautiful sparkle was in them!
After this, she hated Father Anselm worse than ever. And the more she hated him, the more some very restless delicious something made her draw long breaths. She positively must go up-stairs and see what He was doing and what He really looked like. This curiosity seized hold of her and set her thinking of some way to slip away unseen. The chance came through all present becoming deeply absorbed in what Sir Godfrey was saying to Father Anselm.
“Such a low, coarse, untaught brute as a dragon,” he explained, “cannot possibly distinguish good wine from bad.”
“Of a surety, no!” responded the monk.
“You agree with me upon that point?” said the Baron.
“Most certainly. Proceed.”
“Well, I’m going to see that he gets nothing but the cider and small beer after this.”
“But how will you prevent him, if he visit your cellar again?” Father Anselm inquired.
“I shall change all the labels, in the first place,” the Baron answered.
“Ha! vastly well conceived,” said Father Anselm. “You will label your Burgundy as if it were beer.”
“And next,” continued Sir Godfrey, “I shall shift the present positions of the hogsheads. That I shall do to-day, after relabelling. In the northern corner of the first wine vault I shall——”
Just as he reached this point, it was quite wonderful how strict an attention every monk paid to his words. They leaned forward, forgetting their dinner, and listened with all their might.
One of them, who had evidently received an education, took notes underneath the table. Thus it was that Elaine escaped observation when she left the refectory.
As she came up-stairs into the hall where Geoffrey was caged, she stepped lightly and kept where she could not be seen by him. All was quiet when she entered; but suddenly she heard the iron bars of the cage begin to rattle and shake, and at the same time Geoffrey’s voice broke out in rage.
“I’ll twist you loose,” he said, “you—(rattle, shake)—you—(kick, bang)——” And here the shocking young man used words so violent and wicked that Elaine put her hands tight over her ears. “Why, he is just as dreadful as papa, just exactly!” she exclaimed to herself. “Whoever would have thought that that angelic face—but I suppose they are all like that sometimes.” And she took her hands away again.
“Yes, I will twist you loose,” he was growling hoarsely, while the kicks and wrenches grew fiercer than ever, “or twist myself stark, staring blind—and——”
“Oh, sir!” she said, running out in front of the cage.
He stopped at once, and stood looking at her. His breast-plate and gauntlets were down on the floor, so his muscles might have more easy play in dealing with the bars. Elaine noticed that the youth’s shirt was of very costly Eastern silk.
“I was thinking of getting out,” he said at length, still standing and looking at her.
“I thought I might—that is—you might——” began Miss Elaine, and stopped. Upon which another silence followed.
“Lady, who sent you here?” he inquired.
“Oh, they don’t know!” she replied,