“But hold, Geoffrey, hold! Oh—I am driven to act not as maidens should,” sighed Elaine. “He it is who ought to do the thinking. But, dear me! he does not know how. Do you not see we should both be lost, were you to try any such wild plan?”
“Not at all. Your father would give you to me.”
“Oh, no, no, Geoffrey; indeed, papa would not. His promise was about a dragon. A live or a dead dragon must be brought to him. Even if he believed you now, even if that dreadful Father Anselm could not invent some lie to put us in the wrong, you and I could never—that is—papa would not feel bound by his promise simply because you did that. There must be a dragon somehow.”
“How can there be a dragon if there is not a dragon?” asked Geoffrey.
“Wait, wait, Geoffrey! Oh, how can I think of everything all at once?” and Elaine pressed her hands to her temples.
“Darling,” said the knight, with his arms once more around her, “let us fly now.”
“Now? They would catch us at once.”
“Catch us! not they! with my sword——”
“Now, Geoffrey, of course you are brave. But do be sensible. You are only one. No! I won’t even argue such nonsense. They must never know about what we have been doing up here; and you must go back into that cage at once.”
“What, and be locked up, and perhaps murdered to-night, and never see your face again?”
“But you shall see me again, and soon. That is what I am thinking about.”
“How can you come in here, Elaine?”
“You must come to me. I have it! To-night, at half-past eleven, come to the cellar-door at the Manor, and I will be there to let you in. Then we can talk over everything quietly. I have no time to think now.”
“The cellar! at the Manor! And how, pray, shall I get out of that cage?”
“Cannot you jump from the little window at the back?”
Geoffrey ran in to see. “No,” he said, returning; “it is many spans from the earth.”
Elaine had hurried into the closet, whence she returned with a dusty coil of rope. “Here, Geoffrey; quickly! put it about your waist. Wind it so. But how clumsy you are!”
He stood smiling down at her, and she very deftly wound the cord up and down, over and over his body, until its whole length lay comfortably upon him.
“Now, your breast-plate, quick!”
She helped him put his armour on again; and, as they were engaged at that, singing voices came up the stairs from the distant dining-hall.
“The Grace,” she exclaimed; “they will be here in a moment.”
Geoffrey took a last kiss, and bolted into his cage. She, with the keys, made great haste to push the crocodile and other objects once more into their hiding-place. Cups and flagons and all rattled back without regard to order, as they had already been flung not two hours before. The closet-door shut, and Elaine hung the keys from the lock as she had found them.
“Half-past eleven,” she said to Geoffrey, as she ran by his cage towards the stairs.
“One more, darling,—please, one! through the bars!” he besought her, in a voice so tender, that for my part I do not see how she had the heart to refuse him. But she continued her way, and swiftly descending the stairs was found by the company, as they came from the hall, busily engaged in making passes with Sir Godfrey’s sword, which he had left leaning near the door.
“A warlike daughter, Sir Godfrey!” said Father Anselm.
“Ah, if I were a man to go on a Crusade!” sighed Miss Elaine.
“Hast thou, my daughter,” said Father Anselm, “thought better of thy rash intentions concerning this Dragon?”
“I am travelling towards better thoughts, Father,” she answered.
But Sir Francis did not wholly believe the young lady; and was not at rest until Sir Godfrey assured him her good conduct should be no matter of her own choosing.
“You see,” insinuated the Abbot, “so sweet a maid as yours would be a treat for the unholy beast. A meal like that would incline him to remain in a neighbourhood where such dainties were to be found.”
“I’ll have no legends and fool’s tricks,” exclaimed the Baron. “She shall be locked in her room to-night.”
“Not if she can help it,” thought Miss Elaine. Her father had imprudently spoken too loud.
“’Twere a wise precaution,” murmured Father Anselm. “What are all the vintages of this earth by the side of a loving daughter?”
“Quite so, quite so!” Sir Godfrey assented. “Don’t you think,” he added, wistfully, “that another Crusade may come along soon?”
“Ah, my son, who can say? Tribulation is our meted heritage. Were thy thoughts more high, the going of thy liquors would not cause thee such sorrow. Learn to enjoy the pure cold water.”
“Good-afternoon,” said the Baron.
When all the guests had departed and the door was shut safe behind them, the Father and his holy companions broke into loud mirth. “The Malvoisie is drunk up,” said they; “to-night we’ll pay his lordship’s cellars another visit.”
O have steered a sudden course among dangerous rocks and rapids and come safe through, puts in the breast of the helmsman a calm content with himself, for which no man will blame him. What in this world is there so lifts one into complacency as the doing of a bold and cool-headed thing? Let the helmsman sleep sound when he has got to land! But if his content overtake him still on the water, so that he grows blind to the treacherous currents that eddy where all looks placid to the careless eye, let him beware!
Sir Francis came in front of the cage where sat young Geoffrey inside, on the floor. The knight had put his head down between his knees, and seemed doleful enough.
“Aha!” thought Sir Francis, giving the motionless figure a dark look, “my hawk is moulting. We need scarcely put a hood on such a tersel.”
Next he looked at the shut door of the closet, and a shaft of alarm shot through him to see the keys hanging for anybody to make use of them that pleased. He thought of Elaine, and her leaving the table without his seeing her go. What if she had paid this room a visit?
“Perhaps that bird with head under wing in there,” he mused, looking once more at Geoffrey, “is not the simple-witted nestling he looks. My son!” he called.
But the youth did not care to talk, and so showed no sign.
“My son, peace be with you!” repeated Father Anselm, coming to the bars and wearing a benevolent mien.
Geoffrey remained quite still.
“If repentance for thy presumption hath visited thee——” went on the Father.
“Hypocrite!” was the word that jumped to the youth’s lips; but fortunately he stopped in time, and only moved his legs with some impatience.
“I perceive with pain, my son,” said Father Anselm, “that repentance hath not yet visited thee. Well, ’twill come. And that’s a blessing too,” he added, sighing very piously.
“He plays a part pretty well,” thought Geoffrey as he listened. “So will I.” Then he raised his head.
“How long am I to stay in this place?” he inquired,