Passe Rose

XX.

THE night was far gone when Passe Rose, Jeanne’s hand still clinging tightly to hers, reached the city gate. Overwhelmed by the revelations she had heard, tortured by her fears for Gui, she knew not what to do, whither to go. Her heart ached with trouble and suspense. But life perplexed her no more. All was simple and clear. It was for love’s sake she had leaped from the wagon, and now followed the road she had abjured. It was for love’s sake she would have forgotten love in that peaceful garden whence peace had fled. It was her love which had turned for solace to Jeanne,—dear Jeanne, whom she dragged along the path as a mother urges her tired child ; Jeanne, whom she was deceiving. “ Nay, nay,” cried her heart, " there is no right, no wrong, nothing, but to reach him!”

So the stream, issuing first from the wood, runs aimlessly, now east, now west, turned aside by a tuft of grass, divided by a root, dashed to spray by a stone. Afterwards, swollen to a flood and conscious of its destiny, disquieted no more by obstacle or circuit, it floats unvexed, knowing that, east or west, it nears the sea.

The city was asleep. They followed the street leading from the gate to the great square before the palace. Jeanne, deeming it to be the square of St. Sebastian in Maestricht, looked to see the tower and her garden wall. After her weary wanderings, the thought of home, of finding there her child, had given her strength and courage. Disappointed and alarmed by the strange aspect of this silent city, she began to ask questions, like a child unreasonable over delay and incapable of understanding. Passe Rose answered these questions as best she could, saying she knew not what; consoling, encouraging, promising, — how can one explain everything to a child ? — having always before her eyes the wound the tusk had made, and in her ears the cry of Friedgis from the wood.

Before the palace gate she saw the guards chatting together. It was said that the Khan of the Huns would come with Pepin, as a hostage, and that a great hunt would take place the following week. They would show this pagan how one amused one’s self in the woods of France. Would he had been with the king to-day ! Such a boar was not to be had for the whistling. One who had been present when the beast was found dead beside the captain was telling its weight and the length of its tusks. Passe Rose drew near, listening.

“ Was the captain hurt ? ” she asked.

The speaker turned. He was the Gascon who had aided the captain in carrying her to the wagon at Immaburg.

“ He hath a slit in his groin the length of a skewer.” Then, seeing the girl’s shining eyes between the folds of her mantle, “ Ho, pretty dear, thou art late abroad ; ” and seizing her by the waist, he endeavored to snatch away her cloak. Jeanne, holding timidly to Passe Rose’s hand, suddenly transformed, sprang to her rescue.

“ Have a care for the hag’s claws,” laughed the others.

Passe Rose, taken unawares, struggled in the embrace of her assailant. " May the Devil spit me on his fork ! ” he cried, clasping her fast, but unable to free his neck from Jeanne’s arms. “ Hold the old witch ! ” he called to the others; “her fingers are like hooks.” Loosing the girl’s waist suddenly, he grasped her arms, and, forcing them slowly back, approached his face to hers.

“ Tell me where the captain is, and I will give thee thy kiss,” gasped Passe Rose. In the struggle, her cloak had been torn from her head, and her face, bent over backwards, was uncovered to the starlight.

“ The captain’s demon ! ” exclaimed the Gascon, letting go his hold and recoiling.

But Passe Rose held fast to his arm. “ Tell me — where is he — it is for thy good.”

“ Leave go ; the captain is at Frankenburg — the road is before thee — Ah, sorceress ! ” And wrenching his sleeve from her fingers, he drew back, signing himself. “ Loose her ! ” he cried to the others, who still held Jeanne. “ I had sooner kiss the Devil himself.” And drawing his sword, he brandished it in circles above his head.

Jeanne, set free, was about to renew the encounter. “ Come,” said Passe Rose, seizing her hand and drawing her away. “ Come,” she whispered, — “ come.”

Bewildered and out of breath, but filled with rage, Jeanne obeyed reluctantly, muttering to herself and turning back to shake her clenched fist. " I will tell the abbot, — certainly I will tell the abbot. The rascals ! ”

Hush,” said Passe Rose, pressing her hand tighter and hurrying her away.

“ Have we yet far to go ? ” asked Jeanne.

“ Not far,” replied Passe Rose.

Passing the king’s basilica, they heard the voices of the choir intoning the midnight chant. The priest, bowing before the altar, had just said, “ Let us pray for Karle, king and servant of God ; ” and the clerks were replying in unison, “ O Christ, save Karle.” The road forked without the gate, but the darkness was so intense that Passe Rose did not perceive it. As they hurried on, she was almost trampled under-foot by a horse which issued from the road branching to the right, and which she had not seen till the form of its rider, a woman, holding an arm aloft, was outlined above her against the sky. Recoiling, she plunged forward again, drawing Jeanne’s hand closer within her cloak. Then she heard a cry such as no night animal utters, the human cry of distress. Was it the voice of her own fears, or did the rider call to her ? Once more it came, a cry of mingled agony and rage, recalling to her that of the Saxon on the tower when leaping at her throat. Dieu ! how like it was ! And without turning back, she quickened her pace.

The stars were beginning to disappear in the east when the tower of Frankenburg rose from the trees. The morning had not yet come, but one felt that it was near, and that it would be beautiful and serene. The thin fog, colored by the waters of the lake, commenced to stir, making ready to go, though the sun was yet below the horizon. From the border of the wood a bird sallied forth, uttering its first short song; and a rabbit, startled from its form by the approach of footsteps, erect in the dewy grass, shook the moisture from its ears. A column of blue smoke rose from the roof like another tower.

“We will rest here,” said Passe Rose, and eat.”

“ Aye,” replied Jeanne, faint and tired, " let us rest here. The way is long.”

Following the direction whence the smoke rose, through an opening in the hedge, Passe Rose perceived a small wooden cabin built against the outer wall. Still holding Jeanne’s hand in hers, she entered the inclosure and drew near the house. Within, fagots were crackling, and a woman was preparing her morning meal. Seeing strangers approach, she came to the door. Her face was comely, and inspired confidence.

“ A little food and rest,” said Passe Rose, pointing to Jeanne.

“ Aye, enter,” replied the woman. “ The pot is nearly done. Sit thee down here,” she said to Jeanne, drawing a bench to the fire; " thy feet are wet with dew.”

“ Christ bless thee ! ” murmured Jeanne, taking the proffered seat, and spreading her hands to the blaze.

Passe Rose sat down beside her. The woman lifted the pot from the fireplace, gazing curiously at the pair as she continued her preparations. " My sister is milking,” she said. " I will go fetch her, and we will eat together.”

Passe Rose looked about the room. It was small, but clean. The fire sparkled brightly ; a savory steam escaped from the pot. The warmth and the smell of food overcame her. She did not know till now that she was faint and exhausted. She watched the escaping vapor in a sort of stupor of physical enervation and content. Jeanne, leaning against the chimney wall, was ready to fall asleep. Presently the woman was heard returning. Passe Rose started to her feet. For a moment she had forgotten everything. A young girl was with the woman, and they bore between them a large pail banded with iron, from which the milk froth dripped.

“ Where is the captain, ” whispered Passe Rose in a low voice, holding her finger to her lips, and indicating Jeanne, — “he who was hurt yesterday in the wood? ”

“ The captain ? ” repeated the woman, setting down the pail, and regarding Passe Rose with surprise.

“ Gui of Tours. They said he was here,”

“In the grange yonder,” answered the woman, — what would the girl with the king’s captain ? — “ beyond the pond, in the wood,” pointing over the hedge.

“ Show me,” said Passe Rose.

“ Go with her, sister. Thou wilt not eat first ? ”

“Come,” said Passe Rose, taking the child’s hand, and leaving the woman gazing wonderingly after her.

“ This way,” said the child, as they passed through the hedge; and looking up into Passe Rose’s face, “ I will show thee. They would have brought him hither, to the castle, but his wound was grievous, so they left him yonder in the grange ; it was nearer. Thy fingers bleed ! ” she exclaimed, scrutinizing Passe Rose with a child’s curiosity, and observing both the collar of gold and the torn dress under her cloak. “ Art thou his kinswoman ? ” Passe Rose shook her head. “ Nay, that could not be,” continued the child wisely. “I heard it said yesternight how the king loved him because he was betrothed to his daughter, — not the queen’s, but another’s. Oh, but the queen was distressed before the king returned. I sat in the hedge when she passed by. They say a queen cannot weep, but I saw her eyes, and when the king came she embraced him before them all. Why should not a queen weep, since she can smile ? They say the other never smiled, — the one whose ring is in the lake. Dost thou see the ripple there in a straight line between the two oaks ? It is there the ring is hidden. When a bird flies over the spot, it loses the power of its wings, and falls like a stone. Beyond the point where thou seest the rocks glisten the boar was killed. That was near, eh? They brought it hither,— four horses could scarce drag it, —and I touched it with my hands. I am not afraid when it is dead. I had a father once who was killed by a stag. I have another now. He tracks the boar for the king the day before the hunt. Never did he see such an one as this. Its tusk was bent like my finger. That was because it was old. But it was fierce. Holy Virgin ! it was fierce. A boar hooks like a bull. It stamps, also, with its feet.”

“ Is it far ? ” asked Passe Rose.

“ Nay, two bow-shot. My mother is at the grange. She knows herbs to close a wound and drive the blood inward. The queen bade her care for the captain till she sent her own physician. Yester-morning my mother said some evil would befall, for a sheep left the flock and passed through the hollow of a tree. It is a sure sign of death. It happened so when my father was killed. This is the spot. Wait here. I will go fetch my mother. The queen gave her a gold sou not to leave his bed.”And the girl disappeared on tiptoe through the door.

Steadying herself against the doorpost, Passe Rose looked out through the wood where the lake lay. The sun, just risen, was breaking through the mist. In the trees the birds quarreled noisily. Golden bees buzzed among the vines. But she saw nothing, heard nothing. She had forgotten all those terrible secrets repeated by the echoing walls of the tower. Overcome by the thought that she was about to see Gui, that there were no longer any barriers between her and him, sbe was saying to herself, “ It is true. It is real. I am here.” She heard a footstep approaching, but could not turn her head. Her limbs trembled as with cold, yet her heart burned.

“ What wilt thou ? ” said a voice beside her.

She made an effort, faced about, and lifted her eyes. “The captain, — Gui of Tours.”

The woman looked at her in silence, examining her from head to foot. Would she never speak ? Was she perchance going to refuse? thought Passe Rose; and with the desperate strength of fear, “ Take this collar to him,” she said, unclasping it from her neck. “If it avails nothing, I will go.” But in her heart she knew it would avail everything, that she would never go.

“He sleeps,” replied the woman, hesitating.

Passe Rose did not stir. The eyes of these two women rendered words useless. One was saying, “ You know it cannot be otherwise; ” the other replied, “ I understand.”

Clinging to her mother’s robe, the child looked from one to the other wisely. “ Follow me,” said the woman.

On reaching the room where Gui lay, she stood aside to let the girl pass, but remained in the doorway, the child still holding to her robe. Passe Rose crossed the room, and knelt down beside the couch in the farther corner. She forgot that they watched her. At that threshold she had left every human sentiment but love.

Gui was asleep. There was nothing to terrify. The chest rose and fell slowly and regularly ; a pink flush colored the tanned face, turned upon its check. Passe Rose smiled, — a smile of which she had no consciousness. This was the moment of which she had dreamed in her turret chamber at Maestricht, in the dark wood of Hesbaye, in the sheepfold beside the Wurm. Her eyes saw everything : the hands which had fastened her collar; the arms she had felt about her at Immaburg when her senses fled, in whose clasp she had left a part of herself, which she now found again. Underneath the covering was the wound, but the thought of it terrified her no longer. She was there, rich in health, courage, love. What could take him from her ? Death ? It was not possible. When death comes, one sees in the face the vain struggle against extinction ; one feels in one’s own heart the vain revolt of its unsatisfied desires, and hears the outcry of its deathless passions; there is a terrible presence against which rebellion is futile, which glides between us and life, its splendors and seductions. Nay, he was sleeping, and her heart was running over with projects and dreams; peace filled the room, and without the sun was rising above the trees, the birds sang, and the golden bees flew in and out among the flowers. It seemed to her that he, too, smiled. Was he dreaming of her ? Did he know she was there ? His hand hung over the edge of the bed. She longed to touch it, but dared not,—he would wake. She would fix her eyes on his till they opened, like flowers to the sun. Nay, that were a sin. Sleep was precious to him. She would lay her head beside his hand and wait. O God, what a blessed moment when he should wake ! And with an impulse she could not resist she laid her cheek in his open palm.

Seigneur ! What had she done ! She held her breath. He did not stir. The hand was warm ; she could feel its pulse next her cheek. She did not dare to move again, so she lay still, timing her breathing to his, and listening to the pulse in her ear. It seemed to her that in a moment she had entered some blessed precinct fenced about from peril. Those terrible realities of the night, the voices in the tower, the cry of Friedgis in the wood, the sudden apparition of Rothilde, the sickening moment of fear and struggle, the splash in the water below, and Jeanne, dear Jeanne, — all these things were close at hand, but outside her refuge, and came to her thought only as the cries of pursuers reach the ear of the fugitive safe within the sanctuary.

On a chest against the opposite wall she saw a tunic and leather braies, a linen shift and belt. She looked at them for a long time without being able to make up her mind to rise. Then a noise at the door caused her to lift her head : it was only the woman in the outer room. Passe Rose glanced at Gui : he was sleeping. Softly, her eyes fixed upon his face, she went to the chest. The linen was clotted with blood, the leather stiffened by the waters of the marsh. These things were unutterably dear to her; in touching them it seemed as if she touched him. She lifted them noiselessly, searching for the papers. They were not there. She raised the lid of the chest. Within was a huntingknife, its handle set with shining stones ; a sealed packet, aye ! and the paper she had found by the pond near the abbey; and beside these, a little ball of crimson wool and a brass pendant, like those which hung from the border of her dress. She took the papers and hid them quickly in her bosom, but the ball and trinket she held in her hand, going back to her place beside the couch, and laying her head down on its edge. The wool was matted with blood ; the trinket, too, was discolored: they must have been torn from her dress at Immaburg.

Tears filled her eyes. Until now she had been happy in loving, but now, — O Blessed Mother, whose image she had thrown down, pardon, pardon ! for surely the gods listen. — now she was happy in being loved ; and unable to restrain herself, she reached out her arms and drew her lover’s head to her bosom.

“ Mother,” said the child. “ the captain is awake ; they whisper together. Shall I fetch the drink?”

“ Aye, go fetch it,” replied the woman, looking in at the door, over the child’s head.

Running to the spring hard by, the little maid returned presently with a bowl, from which she wiped the moisture. Holding it carefully in both hands, and watching the rim lest the contents should spill, she crossed the room.

“ My mother says thou hast need of refreshment ” — she began ; then stammered and colored, she knew not why, and, setting the bowl on the chest by the couch, ran from the chamber. “ Surely the captain is better,”she said to her mother.

“ Aye, indeed,” muttered the latter to herself, as she drew the child from the door ; “love and sage in May.”

“ I thought thee lost,” said Gui. He held Passe Rose’s hands in his.

“ I thought thee dead,” she answered in a whisper.

That was all. They could not speak, pressing each other’s hands and exchanging radiant smiles. The questions which had tormented him, — why was she wandering alone in the wood of Hesbaye ? why had she fled from the wagon ? — he could not ask them; and she had forgotten the papers in her bosom, Agnes of Solier, and the boar’s work, — her wound and his.

“ Dost thou remember when I first saw thee, in the wood ? ” She nodded. “ And at thy door, as I rode by ? And in the meadow ? ” Her hands pressed his for answer. She no longer withdrew them, nor turned away her eyes. The very blood in her veins seemed still, she was so calm and contented. Have you seen the incoming sea toss the flags in the marshes ? But when the tide is full, what peace, what stillness ! — not a stem trembles. At this moment she remembered what the Greek merchant had said to her at the fair of St. Denis : “ The gods made thee to delight their eyes.” The words which had angered her then now made her smile with happiness, “ Tell me that thou lovest me,” said Gui.

Love him ! Could he not see? Did she shrink away, as in the meadow ? Then, she, the weak, was his; now, he, the strong, was hers. An indescribable sense of security possessed her. Love him ! Without, the wood rang with the songs of birds issuing from its sunlit borders, mounting skywards from its silent glades, shaking the dew in little showers from their ruffled feathers, trying their wings, audacious, their tiny throats trembling with melody. Can one call them back to their nestingplaces after the sun is risen ? As well seek to call back from the face what the heart sets free. Love him ! Could he not see ? And then suddenly all those shy and modest spirits which guard the inmost sanctuary rose in mutiny and alarm, and she hid her face on his breast.

“ Rose, Passe Rase,” murmured Gui, endeavoring in vain to lift her head; for she clung the closer, burying her face in the covering of the bed. His arm glided under the robe which enveloped her shoulders, drew her to him, and he kissed the head, whose fine hairs trembled at every breath, close to his lips.

“Nay, it is not possible that I am here,” she thought. She forced herself to imagine that she was far away, that night was coming on in the great wood of Heshaye, that she hid in the sheepfold by the Wurm ; shutting her eyes to better feign her past fears. How cold and wet was the moss next her cheek ; and the wind, how it sighed! What darkness, and what sounds ! Feeling all the while his breath stir her hair, and saying to herself, " It is true, it is true.”

“ Where is thy wound ? ” she asked, lifting her head quickly.

“ It is nothing,” replied Gui.

“ Show me,” she said, kneeling beside the couch, and uncovering his limb.

At the touch of her fingers he blushed, turning away his head and closing his eyes. The bandage, stained by a yellow ointment, was drawn tightly over the thigh. At the sight of it, Passe Rose remembered a terrible valley strewn with corpses and filled with groans. Where, when, she did not know. Till now she had completely forgotten it. But she saw herself distinctly, a little girl, stumbling under the jar of fresh water on her shoulder, running from group to group under the trees where the wounded were laid: one, a cleareyed boy, — she remembered him well, — to whose lips she held her jar, while a monk washed the wound with white wine, stanching it with the miraculous salve which he took from the flask at his girdle, and who, when he had done, traced a cross upon the linen band, and repeated the four names of God containing the seven vowels. She wished to pronounce now those names of the Blessed God, but she had forgotten them ; so she drew a cross quickly upon the bandage with her finger, and repeated those of the four Evangelists in their stead. Relieved and comforted by this act, she covered the limb again gently, and taking the bowl from the chest held it to Gni’s lips.

“ Thy hand bleeds,” he said.

“ Drink first. I will tell thee.”

He obeyed, interrogating her face. For the first time he asked himself how she came to be there. As he sipped the liquid in little swallows, a horn sounded without; then came the neighing of horses and the chatter of voices. Passe Rose listened. The woman was at the door, beckoning her. " They are here. Seigneur Dieu, come away ! ” she whispered.

“ Do not go,” said Gui, endeavoring to raise himself. His eyes were fixed upon Passe Rose imploringly, and he sought to retain her hand. She stooped to his ear, saying something which caused him to smile. He let go her hand, and she went out. Through the door she saw a company of women, escorted by horsemen. The sun sparkled in the fringes of the harness and glittered on the spear-heads, and pages in colored capes stood at the palfreys’ stirrups. The women were dismounting, and among them Passe Rose recognized Heluiz of Hesbaye, then Gesualda. She searched for a third, Agnes of Solier, but could not discover her. There was also a monk, in the black habit of the Benedictines, having a sprinkling-rod in his hand. “ He must be the physician sent by the queen,” thought Passe Rose. She stood watching them as they approached, till she heard the voice of Gesualda above the others, when she sprang to the door in the rear, and hid in the shrubbery which masked the out-buildings. Having waited till the company had entered, she stole behind the hedge to where the horses were tethered, and putting aside the branches softly looked between the leaves. The soldiers were sitting in groups in the shade ; near by, the horses browsed, their bridle-reins thrown over the lances planted in the ground. The little maid who had shown her to the grange ran among them, stroking their glossy necks, and timidly offering them grass from her hand.

“ Have a care ; that one bites ! ” cried a soldier stretched on the moss, and laughing at the quick withdrawal of the extended hand.

“ Thou art jesting,” said the maid, looking from the speaker to the steed, which arched its neck, trembling with desire, and blowing the froth from its nostrils.

“ On my faith, have a care.”

Studying the brown eyes and the ears pricked forward, the girl advanced her hand again slowly, till the velvet mouth just grazed her palm, and cast a triumphant glance over her shoulder.

“ Wilt thou mount ? ” asked the soldier, rising.

“Aye, willingly! ” cried she, clapping her hands.

He lifted her in his arms, and set her in the saddle. “ So, now, softly. Sign thyself and say thy prayers.”

The child laughed, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. " Heu ! " she said, taking the rein.

The soldier looked at her admiringly. “ Amuse thyself, but go not far,” be called after her, as she made her way between the trees.

Gliding along the hedge. Passe Rose ran towards the angle where the path from the grange entered the road. The little maid, her bare feet pressed against the horse’s flanks, her fingers grasping the tufts of hair hanging from the saddle-bow, did not first perceive her, being occupied in personating the Queen of Sheba coming to Jerusalem, with a very great train of camels, bearing spices, gold, and precious stones. Holding her head erect, she endeavored to impress upon her features, radiant with joy, the dignity befitting her station, talking to herself as she rode.

“ Thy mother calls thee,” said a voice, just before her. Queen and camels and spices vanished. She looked up and saw Passe Rose. “ Run, quiek ! I will care for the horse.”

The child slid to the ground in terror, her thoughts divided between the reality and the dream. Would her mother then punish the Queen of Sheba ? and gathering the skirt of her dress in her hand, she ran with all her might towards the house. She had not disappeared under the leafage of the oaks before Passe Rose was in her place, and the feet of Gesualda’s palfrey were echoing on the road to Aix.

XXI.

At the foot of the tower by the ford of the Wurm the waters lie still and deep. A lance hurled by a strong arm into the heart of the pool disappears its entire length, then rebounds, falls sidewise, turns slowly in the eddy, shoots into the channel next the bank, past every root and hollow where it would pause, till it reaches the crescent of sand below. Here the waters, tired of their toy, cast it up on the bar, and hurry on over a broad slant of pebbles. This year’s blossom or last year’s leaf, the dead or the living, the Wurm treats all alike.

Reeling from the edge of the tower, it seemed to Rothilde that the river leaped up to embrace her. She put out her hands, turned in mid-air, saw the sky twinkling with stars, — then everything disappeared. Her feet were entangled in her cloak. She straightened her limbs to free them from its folds, shutting her mouth and bracing the muscles of her chest and throat against the pressure which strangled her. At last the stars appeared again ; she could breathe once more. Her hands were free, and she struggled blindly for the shore. But the river was not done with her. It whirled her round like a straw in its eddy, sucked her down where it left the pool, drove her past root and stem at which she clutched, till, tired of its plaything, it pushed it aside on the shallow, and ran rippling over the shingle.

The instant her feet touched the sand she knew she was saved. Those terrible visions which crowd upon the eyes confronted by sudden death, and which for the moment seem the only realities, were gone, and all the energy of life, its hopes and fever, were hers again. Breathless and spent, shivering with the chill of the river, bewildered as one waking from a nightmare, but safe, she crawled to the top of the bar. laughing hysterically. “ Nay, not yet, not yet,” she repeated to herself. She unwound from her feet the cloak which trailed behind her, leaving a glistening track upon the sand, and wrung the water from her silver-braided dress. The tower rose among the trees, — what a leap ! The girl had worsted her. “ Wait, wait! ” she cried through her chattering teeth, loosening her clinging dress; “my time is not yet come.”As she broke her way through the bushes which fringed the shore, a sharp pain smote her in the breast, — the chill of the water, she thought. If the horse were still there, she would warm her blood with such a gallop as the page never dreamed of. Dieu! the pain again! Her bosom was wet, not with water, but with something slimy, which stuck to her fingers. Had the girl struck her? It was not possible; she felt herself strong, — the strength of ten lives ! Crossing an open space, she held up her hand in the starlight. Aye, it was blood; it ran down her wrist. She opened her dress to see whence it came. A mere scratch, — let it bleed : it was blood shed for the king; every drop the heart lost would buy what it desired. She tore the shreds of her neckerchief from her throat, rolled them together, and pressed them within her robe, hurrying on through the wood. As the tower appeared between the trees, she paused to listen. The horse was still there, — she could hear it browsing in the grass ; there was no other sound, and she stepped out cautiously from behind the trunk of a tree. The horse lifted its head and neighed. She held out her hand, speaking softly, cajolingly, till the rein was in her grasp. In a quarter-hour she would be with the king ! She led the horse along the bank, for the space between the river and the trees was narrow and the branches hung low, and on reaching the road sprang for the saddle. But the hand which grasped the mane gave way, and she fell back with a cry of pain. The blood trickled into her palm again. Had the girl cut her arm ? She had felt nothing, yet it was from there the blood came. Rolling back the sleeve, she turned her arm to the light. Ave, the wound was there. She tore a strip from her dress, and, holding one end between her teeth, knotted it above the wrist, twisting it tightly with a broken branch. With but one hand, she could not fasten the knot securely. In spite of every effort it slipped and loosened. Abandoning the attempt, she stepped upon a stone, and climbed to the saddle. The horse, feeling the pressure of her knees, bounded forward. It was not so easy to hold her seat as when galloping with the page. She turned the mare’s head into the road which led to Frankenburg, through the wood, and which joined the highway without the eastern gate, where, if need were, she might enter the city. What secret apprehension, what presentiment of peril, brought this to mind she would not confess; she only knew that at every leap a lance-like pain caught her breath. Holding her arm close to her face, she strained her eyes to see how it fared; but the shadow of the overhanging trees was so dense, she could discern nothing. She could endure the pain no longer, and drew the rein to slacken the pace. From time to time, a feeling of sinking made her fingers clutch the mane, and a horrible misgiving that she was fainting, dying, oppressed her. The horse was walking now; if she could but reach the gate ! Cursed blood ! oozing through the bandage, running into her palm, dripping from her fingers, like a living thing. God ! was it possible? — to vanquish the river only to see life ebb under her eyes, drop by drop ! The thought of her arm filled her with rage; she wished to strike it, to cut it off. Hark ! the midnight bell in the king’s chapel. The gate must be close by. Aye, she could hear the voice of the watch crying the hour in the palace court. With a desperate calm she rewound the bandage and tightened the knot, then held her arm aloft to diminish the flow. As the gate loomed up before her, the horse started back, nearly throwing her from her seat, and she saw two forms hurrying away in the darkness. “ Help ! ” she cried, turning in the saddle. The tones of her own voice, wavering beyond control in her throat, frightened her. " Help ! ” But no answer came back. " Cowards ! ” she muttered through her set teeth ; and still holding her arm aloft, clinging to the saddle with the other, she passed under the gate. Not a soul was in sight, and the echo of the horse’s feet beat back and forth between the walls. The pain was gone, but a sensation of suffocation oppressed her. She had forgotten the king now; all her desire was for instant relief. It seemed to her that she could not longer retain her hold ; that she must slide to the ground, where she might fix her arms against something firm, to get relief for her laboring lungs. The horse was turning into the square, and she fastened her eyes upon a light shining before her. It looked so far! Feeling no rein, the horse wandered from the direct course, lifting its head intelligently for some sign. She made an effort to guide it with her knees, and at the same instant a spasm of suffocation so terrible attacked her that she cried out, forgetting everything, and sliding to the ground, where she supported herself upon her hands, like the wounded gladiator dying from loss of blood, and lifting himself with a last gasp for air above the sand of the arena. At that moment, from the basilica where the light shone came the response of the clerks: “ O Christ, save Karle.” Refreshed as by a draught of wine, she raised her head and opened her eyes. Where was she ? Overhead a single star gazed steadfastly at her; and about it, in narrowing circles, swept its myriad fellows, — oh, so fast, so fast! — a whirlpool of stars, shouting in her ears. “ Christ, save Karle! ” long after her wide-open eyes had ceased to see.

It was then that Brother Dominic, returning from midnight service in the king’s oratory, as he hastened across the Square, saw a horse, trembling with fear, and sniffing at something lying at its feet. Hurrying to the spot, the monk stooped above it. Jesu ! the woman of Immaburg ! Her eyes stared at him fixedly. Distraught, not knowing what to do. Brother Dominic wrung his hands, ran a little space, crying, “ Succor! succor ! ” returned, lifted the body in his arms, and staggered towards the palace gate. A groan escaped the woman’s lips. He had taken her awkwardly, and she slipped from his grasp. He laid her down, bending his ear to the bloodless lips. Faint with horror and fasting, he began to run once more, crying, “ Succor ! succor! ” Men with torches were issuing from the guard-room under the archway. " Ho ! this way ! Succor ! ” cried Brother Dominic, out of breath.

The Gascon was first on the spot. “ God’s wounds ! ” he exclaimed, holding the torch above his head, and recognizing Rothilde.

His comrades crowded about him with excited speech : —

“ Loosen her girdle.”

“ She is dead.”

“ I saw her enter with the page.”

“ Nay, she rode out again.”

“ Stand off,—give her air!” cried the Gascon, pushing them back. “ Fetch water, quick! ”

“ She hath water enough,” said one, aiding him to unfasten her girdle.

“ Look, she bleeds. Hold thy torch here. Some one hath stabbed her! ” exclaimed the Gascon. “ The monk, the monk ! ”

Brother Dominic had not stirred from the spot where he stood. To his sensitive vision, a supreme egoism, the egoism of a soul which sees in every phenomenon the interference of God in its behalf or the effort of Satan to entrap it, rendered every event a phase of that fierce struggle between the powers of good and evil for his possession. He watched with anguish this desperate combat, whose issue involved his spiritual destiny. To his soul, concentrated upon itself, alert to every influence, impersonating its own impulses, penetrated by the sublime conviction of its dignity, life was an expanding circle, centred in his own individual experience. For God had opened his eyes. He had been environed by wonders, and he had not known it. Spirits, palpable, visible, surrounded him, and he had not seen them. They were within him, rousing every evil desire, and bringing to shame a life of consecration. They were without him : by the wayside as he journeyed ; in the goldsmith’s daughter, who took from his very hand the papers with which he had been entrusted ; in the woman of Immaburg, whose compelling presence enslaved his will, distilling sweet but noxious perfumes from her hair, lighting in her garnet girdle unholy fires, luring him through her lips with unhallowed promises. Aye, God had opened his eyes ; he, who thought himself the least of all with whom he mingled, was the prize for which they contended. Glad to escape from that spacious chamber which had formerly been his pride, where lingered the odor of a cendal tissue, whose walls were ever whispering to him. “ Be discreet, and I will pay thee in what coin thou wilt.” he had consecrated himself anew in the gloom and chill of the king’s chapel. Even while he prayed, struggling to put his foot on the neck of his infirmity, a pearl chaplet gleamed before his shut eyes ; and when he raised them aloft, imploring succor, the brooch shining on the mantle of the shadowy form in the king’s tribune seemed the eye of God fastened upon him. Above all else he yearned for his narrow cell at Maestricht. Sitting at his desk by its window, he had often longed to follow the birds, resting for a moment on the apple branch within reach of his hand, to disappear in the far mysterious horizon. The way had appeared hard then; but it was the way to heaven. Horrified as he was by the spectacle before his eyes, he felt that God had come to his aid. The pride of beauty and the lust of flesh. — these had almost gotten the mastery of him ; and he saw them prostrate in the mire of the street. Surely God trampled his adversaries under-foot. The joy of an immense deliverance broke into praise at the very moment when the soldiers seized him, and every emotion was swallowed up in the exultation of spiritual victory.

“ Bind him fast,” cried the Gascon ; “ let him not escape ! ”

Brother Dominic, offering no resistance, was smiling. Would God indeed measure the depth of his repentance as he had tried the faith of the martyrs ? For through stripes and suffering even those who had offended him became his friends, and thus the martyrs had gained their crowns.

“Aië, aië,” said the soldier, binding his wrists, “ a monk stab a woman ! ”

XXII.

On dismounting at the ford of the Wurm, Sergius and his companion had left their horses to browse in the forest. Feeding quietly among the reeds, the latter had strayed to the pool where Passe Rose had set her jar, for there the grass, moistened by the trickling water, grew rank and tender. Close by lay the body of Friedgis.

Suddenly the leader drew back, trembling, its nostrils inflated, ears bent forward, and tail extended ; then wheeled, communicating its terror to its fellow, and plunged through the brakes.

One would be at a loss to know what death is, were the representations of the mind, complex and mysterious as is the mind itself, its only witnesses. A gasp for air when the spirit lies in stupor ? A liberation from the wants of the body ? An usher at a door ? A realmless king, slighted by love, mocked by ambition, defied by a swaggering nobody ? An enemy, before whose approach " life is an organized retreat,” turning to victory at the final rout ? But death will wear none of these guises. To-day, as on the first day, it appears under one simple aspect, — the corpse upon the bier, a form no longer human, not yet material, inspiring the same terror which the horse felt when the nameless odor of this which had once subjugated him and which he had loved reached his postrils in the wet grass, and he bounded panicstricken through the wood.

“ This way,” said the soldier, stumbling over the uneven ground.

” Where art thou ? ” replied the prior, groping behind in the darkness.

“ Here, to thy left. Have a care, — there is a pool. Damnèd horses ! they have escaped us.”

“ Listen ! said Sergius, turning his ear to the wind; " we have passed the spot.”

“ Nay, nay, this way; I remember! ” cried his companion, continuing his search, and uttering an oath at every obstacle.

Embarrassed by his robe, Sergius followed in the direction indicated, till, caught in a thicket whose stems stabbed his face at every movement, he was forced to stop. Where art thou ? ” he asked again. Receiving no answer, he made another effort to extricate himself ; then paused again to listen. At some distance he heard a noise of breaking bushes, but the sounds seemed behind him. The leaves trembled in the fresh air of night, and the water from the spring trickled between the stones. “It were best to follow the stream,” he thought to himself ; “ it must lead to the river;” and, stooping, he felt his way with his hands. But the gurgle of the water was lost in the leaves’ rustle, which resembled the murmur of the river, now before, now behind him. “Hola ! ” he cried, rising to his feet, bewildered. In a space which a swallow traverses with a single beat of its wing he was lost as completely as in an immense wilderness. No longer knowing whither he went, he hurried forward, changing his course unconsciously at every barrier, and stopping from time to time in a vain endeavor to reason.

At last his feet sank in the marshy ground, and he observed that reeds had succeeded the thicket. He must be near the river. As he advanced cautiously over the miry soil, the trees became more scattered and a clear space of stars opened overhead, his foot struck the sand, and he heard the wash of water. Traversing the wood parallel to the river, he had struck the latter far below the ford. He hastened to the bank; for a moment the Wurm appeared to him to be flowing in the wrong direction. He struggled slowly through the dense growth which lined the shore, not daring to trust himself beyond hearing of the water, following the windings of the stream. When he reached the spot where Rothilde had dragged herself from the current, signs of dawn were in the east. So slow and exhausting was his progress through the bushes which choked the bank that, seeing the opposite bank was more open, he crossed over by the bar jutting out into the shallows. From the meadow the tower was visible in the gray dawn. At every sound he paused to listen. Where was his companion? Fool! they should have kept together. When the wind sighed and the rubbing branches creaked, he thought he heard the whinny of a horse, — a horse which followed his voice as a dog hugs the heel of a shepherd, and which had deserted him like a wild colt when minutes were precious! At the ford he plunged in unhesitatingly, although the water was deep. “ It is not far,”he thought, shivering, for the stream was cold.

When he reached the gate, day was come, and the streets were tilled with people. He sought his lodging by circuitous ways, for his robe was torn, and its skirt wet and stained with mire. From the preparations he saw on every side he divined the coming of Pepin. From the courtyard of the abbot of Fontenelle issued a tumult of voices. Profiting by the confusion, and resolved upon first interrogating Brother Dominic, he drew his hood over his face, and, slipping through the crowd unobserved, gained the monk’s chamber. The room was empty. A candle, burned to the socket, stood on the table ; the bed was undisturbed. From the window he saw gathered the abbot’s followers, and, not daring again to risk observance, determined to wait till the train should pass out. As he barred the door, he saw at his feet something which glistened, — a black pearl! That it was one which belonged to Rothilde’s fillet he was sure. He endeavored to recall her as she stood at the tower door in the starlight: had she worn the fillet that night? Holding the pearl in his hand, he felt the perspiration start in beads from his forehead. The night’s mischance, like a little cloud before the sun, casting a shadow out of all proportion to its size, had filled him with anxiety and alarm. Tortured by uncertainty, every event assumed importance. What devil’s imp directed them ! He had taken a serf for a servant, and this stolid fellow, with the shoulders of an ox, had the eyes of a ferret; or did the girl lie ? Her mocking smile haunted him. He had chosen her for her wit ; had she outwitted him ? He had sought to turn her passion to his purpose ; had she purposes of her own ? With what eagerness she demanded Friedgis’s life, like a tigress lapping blood! Did she really fear him? If, as she asserted, he had followed her to the church of St. Marcellus, why had she gone to the hunt ? What ! he tracks her from the church to the palace, asks for the king, and again for the queen, and she rides unconcerned to the chase at Frankenburg ? It was incredible. Why then did she thirst so for his life ? They were of the same race ; did they perchance know each other ? thought the prior. And the Greek failed him at the decisive moment ! But for his delay this had been the very night; and now the papers were in the hands of the king’s captain. What fiend’s luck had sent this captain to Maestricht! And a multitude of forgotten details crowded upon the prior’s recollection, — Gui’s inquiry at the abbey for Passe Rose, the latter’s disappearance, her presence at Immaburg, where Rothilde had seen her with the monk. " So,”thought the prior, looking at the pearl in his hand and thinking of Brother Dominic, " thou also hast passions and purposes.”

Without, the tumult had ceased, and he resolved to gain his own room. The day was passing, and he had much to do. Not to risk something was to lose everything. He had drawn the bolt and his hand was on the door, when it trembled under the blow of a sword. He recoiled a step ; his fingers closed on the pearl. The door was thrust open, and the Gascon stood on the threshold. His sword was in his hand, and others pressed behind him. The prior stood speechless; he had the appearance of a mute, whose emotions betray themselves only by convulsive expressions of the face.

“Ah, Monseigneur!” cried the Gascon, uncovering himself as he advanced, “ we were seeking thee everywhere. The monk that was with thee hath stabbed a woman of the princesses’ household. We have him fast, and he sends for thee.”

For a moment the prior experienced an intense joy, the satisfaction of having escaped an imminent peril, before which every preoccupation vanished. " It is not possible,” he said, with a foolish smile. “ What woman ? ”

“ If thou wilt come with us, Monseigneur, I will show thee,” pursued the Gascon, leading the way, and eager to relate his story. " We were of the watch at the palace gate. There came a cry from without ” —

“What woman?” repeated Sergius, following the Gascon’s hurried step. His agitation had returned again.

“ The Saxon whom the queen brought with her from Ehresberg. Dead, Monseigneur, dead. She came from Frankenburg with a page after sundown. The page says she went out again. Well, there was a cry, and we ran out. She lay in the square, midway between the gate and the church ; the monk stood over her. Her garments were soaked with blood, like water,—aye, and there was water too. We bore her to the guard-room, and laid her on the trencher, thinking her dead. Suddenly her eyes opened, like a spring. I asked her who had done her injury. With that she raised herself, and cried, ‘The king! the king ! ’ Then her lips curled from her teeth, and she fell back dead, Monseigneur, — dead, like that,” and the Gascon clacked his tongue, making a quick gesture of the hand.

“ Dead ? ” repeated Sergius. " It is not possible, — it is not possible.”

“ Aye, and from a little cut on the wrist, no bigger than a thorn would make. But the water, Monseigneur, the water, — how explain that ? She was drenched, like a ewe fallen into a pit. The monk answers nothing, yet his robe is smeared with blood. The devil is in it, — I will tell thee why. There came a girl to-night, with an old woman, asking for the captain, Gui of Tours, the same who was hurt by the boar yesterday. For a jest, Monseigneur, just for a jest, thinking her some wench late abroad, I caught her by the waist, and I swear to thee her touch was fire. Before I could loose her she had gotten from me that the captain was at Frankenburg; the words slipped from my tongue like a tear from an eye. But I saw her face, — oh, I saw it well. Dost thou remember the day I came with the captain to Maestricht, — when this monk returned with us ? As we went down the hill, a demon appeared to him in the hedge by the roadside, —a demon having the form of a young girl. It is likely enough, for when the captain returned from pursuing her he was like a man in wine. I tell thee, Monseigneur, this selfsame girl — witch or girl I know not — came to Immaburg, whether for the captain or the monk I cannot say. As I stood in the court waiting for the women, — it was the night we came hither, — the captain issued from the chapel with the girl in his arms. I thought her then certainly to be flesh and flood, and made a place for her, as the captain bade me. But on the road, by the ford of the Wurm, she escaped, like a smoke. For two hours we searched; not a trace. Hard by is a tower, where, they say, demons congregate. Well, — wilt thou believe it? — it was this girl that came to-night. Here, Monseigneur, this way.”

The court of the palace was thronged with people gazing at the horsemen of the king’s guard, drawn up within, and waiting for the order to set out on the road to Colonia, by which the king of Italy was approaching. To escape the crowd, the Gascon entered the guardroom by a side door. A few soldiers and attendants, on whose faces were blended expressions of curiosity and apprehension, were whispering together in low, excited tones as they entered. Seeing the prior’s robe, those nearest him drew back, signed themselves, and ceased their conversation. Following his conductor, Sergius advanced, without regarding them. At the threshold of the adjoining room the Gascon paused. " Enter, Monseigneur,” he said, lifting the curtain. The prior took a step forward, and stood still. Before him was a table surrounded by women, and on the table a body, partially naked. Seeing the priest, one of the women spread a cloth hastily over the body, and drew it to the chin. Vessels of water and spiced wine stood on the floor, near the wall. Sergius saw everything, yet he had not taken his eyes from the heap of clothing on which they were fixed : a dress soaked with water ; a sandal, its silver lacings soiled with mud, protruding from an under-tunic stiffened with blood ; and fragments of a tissue veil. And suddenly, out of that stained, disordered heap. Rothilde rose before him, as he had seen her sitting on the lid of the king’s sarcophagus, warm with life, the veil about her throat, the fillet in her hair, her eyes shining upon him from between the folds of her headcloth. As if fearful of awakening some one asleep, the women drew back on tiptoe, transformed by the presence of death, — death, so common yet so wonderful, so simple yet so mysterious. With a deep-drawn breath, the prior looked up to the face on which the candles shone. No trace of terror, pain, or passion disfigured it. A serenity no sleep could counterfeit, no emotion disturb, reigned there. Yet this face, this form outlined under the sinister drapery of the linen drawn over the limbs, had no reality for him ; he saw only the slender, supple figure balanced on the edge of the king’s sarcophagus, the face insolent with joy, whose eyes menaced him by the tower on the Wurm.

“ Monseigneur,” said a voice behind him.

At its sound these visions vanished, and the reality was before him, — clay to be washed and anointed with spices. She was not there. Where, then ? Did she see him now?

“ Monseigneur.”

The prior turned quickly. The Gascon stood in the doorway, and behind him the chief of the king’s pages. Why did they observe him so ? They stood aside as he passed out, and he crossed the guard-room to the door by which he had entered. Against this door leaned a soldier, who looked at the wet skirt of his robe as he approached.

“ Show me to the monk,” he said, turning to the Gascon. He thought the latter followed him, but now he perceived that he was alone in the middle of the room.

“Monseigneur,” said the Gascon, with a politeness which affected him strangely, “ it is no longer the monk who desires to see thee.”

“ Who, then ? ” stammered the prior.

“ Monseigneur, the king.”

Arthur Sherburne Hardy.