<h2 id="id00202" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER VI</h2>
<h5 id="id00203">THE VIRGIN MARRIAGE</h5>
<p id="id00204" style="margin-top: 2em">He had to talk, and as the girl gave him no help, Prosper found himself
asking questions and puzzling out the answers he got, trying to make
them fit with the facts. He was amazed that one so delicately formed
should go barefooted and bareheaded, clad in torn rags. To all his
questions she replied in a voice low and tremulous, and very
simply—that is to say, to such of them as she would answer at all. To
many—to all which touched upon Galors and his business with her in the
quarry—she was as dumb as a fish. Prosper was as patient as you could
expect.</p>
<p id="id00205">He asked her who she was, and how called. She told him—"I am<br/>
Matt-of-the-Moors child, and men call me Isoult la Desirous."<br/></p>
<p id="id00206">"That is a strange name," said he. "How came you by such a name as
that?"</p>
<p id="id00207">"Sir," said Isoult, "I have never had any other; and I suppose that I
have it because I am unhappy, and not at peace with those who seek me."</p>
<p id="id00208">"Who seeks you, Isoult?"</p>
<p id="id00209">To that she gave no reply. So Prosper went on.</p>
<p id="id00210">"If many sought you, child," he said, "you were rightly called Isoult
la Desirée, but if you, on the other hand, sought something or
somebody, then you were Isoult la Desirous. Is it not so?"</p>
<p id="id00211">"My lord," said Isoult, "the last is my name."</p>
<p id="id00212">"Then it must be that you too seek something. What is it that you seek,
that all the tithing knows of it?"</p>
<p id="id00213">But she hung her head and had nothing to say. He went on to speak of
Galors, to her visible disease. When he asked what the monk wanted with
her, he felt her tremble on his arm. She began to cry, suddenly turned
her face into his shoulder, and kept it there while her sobs shook
through her.</p>
<p id="id00214">"Well, child," said he, "dry your tears, and turn your face to such
light as there is, being well assured of this, that whatever he asked
of you he did not get, and that he will ask no more."</p>
<p id="id00215">"I fear him, I fear him," she said very low—and again, "I fear him, I
fear him."</p>
<p id="id00216">"Drat the monk," said Prosper, laughing, "is he to cut me out of a
compliment?"</p>
<p id="id00217">Whereupon she turned a very woebegone and tearful face up to his. He
looked smilingly down; a sudden wave of half-humbrous pity for a thing
so frail and amazed swam about him; before he knew he had kissed her
cheek. This set her blushing a little; but she seemed to take heart,
smiled rather pitifully, and turned again with a sigh, like a baby's
for sleep.</p>
<p id="id00218">The night gathered apace with a chill wind; some fine rain began to
fall, then heavy drops. Gradually the wind increased, and the rain with
it. "Now we shall have it," said Prosper, sniffing for the storm. He
covered Isoult with his cloak, folded it about her as best he could,
and tucked it in; she lay in his arms snug enough, and slept while he
urged his horse over the stubbed heath. The water hissed and ran over
the baked earth; where had been dry channels, rents and scars, full of
dust, were now singing torrents and broad pools fetlock deep. Prosper
let his good beast go his own gait, which was a sober trot, and ever
and again as he heard the ripple of running water and the swirl and
suck of the eddies in it, he judged that he must soon or late touch the
Wan river, whereon stood the Abbey and his bed. What to do with the
girl when he got there? That puzzled him. "A well-ordered abbey," he
thought, "has no place for a girl, and one ill-ordered has too many. In
the first case, therefore, Holy Thorn would leave her at the gate, and
in the second, that is where I myself would let her stay. So it seems
that she must needs have a wet skin." He felt carefully about the
sleeping child; the cloak kept her dry and warm as a toast. She was
sound asleep. "Good Lord!" cried Prosper, "it's a pity to disturb this
baby of mine. Saracen and I had better souse. Moreover, I make no
nearer, by all that appears, to river Wan or Holy Thorn. Come up,
horse; keep us moving."</p>
<p id="id00219">The stream he had followed he now had lost. It was pitchy dark, with a
most villainous storm of rain and wind. Saracen caught the infection of
his master's doubts; he stopped short, and bowed his head to snuff the
ground. Prosper laughed at the plight they were both in, and looked
about him, considering what he should do. Very far off he could see a
feeble light flickering; it was the only speck of brightness within his
vision, and he judged it too steady for a fen-flame. Lodging of some
sort should be there, for where there is a candle there is a
candlestick. This was not firelight. To it he turned his tired beast,
and found that he had been well advised. He was before a mud-walled
hovel; there through the horn he saw the candle-flame. He drew his
sword and beat upon the door. For answer the light was blown swiftly
out, and the darkness swam about him like ink.</p>
<p id="id00220">"Scared folk!" he laughed to himself, hammering at the door with a will.</p>
<p id="id00221">Then Isoult stirred on his arm and awoke with a little whimper, half
dreaming still, and not knowing where she was. She sat up in the saddle
dazed with sleep.</p>
<p id="id00222">"The night is wild," said Prosper, "and I have found us the shadow of a
shade, but as yet we lack the substance." Then he set-to, pounding at
the door again, and crying to those within to open for the sake of all
the saints he could remember.</p>
<p id="id00223">Isoult freed herself from the cloak, and slid down from her seat in the
saddle. Putting her face close to the door she whistled a low note. The
candle was re-lit, many bolts were withdrawn; finally the door opened a
little way, and an old man put his head through the chink, staring out
into the dark.</p>
<p id="id00224">"God's life, you little rip," said the anxious rogue, "you gave us a
turn!"</p>
<p id="id00225">Isoult spoke eagerly and fast, but too low for Prosper to hear what she
said. The man was in no mind to open further, and the more he speered
at the horseman the less he seemed to like it. Nevertheless, after a
time the girl was let into the hut, and the door slammed and bolted as
before. Between the shocks of the storm Prosper could now hear a
confusion of voices—Isoult's, low, even, clear and quick; the grating
comments of the old rogue who kept the door, and another voice that
trembled and wailed as if passion struggled with the age in it, to see
which should be master. Once he thought to catch a fourth—a brisk
man's voice, with laughter and some sort of authority in it, which
seemed familiar; but he could not be sure about this. In the main three
persons held the debate.</p>
<p id="id00226">After a long wrangle it seemed that the women were to have their way.
Again the door-bolts were drawn, again the door opened by the old man,
and this time opened wide. With bows lower than the occasion demanded,
Prosper was invited to be pleased to enter. He saw to his horse first,
and made what provision he could for him in an outhouse. Then he
stooped his head and entered the cottage.</p>
<p id="id00227">He came directly into a bare room, which was, you may say, crouched
under a pent of turves and ling, and stank very vilely. The floor was
of beaten clay, like the walls; for furniture it had a table and bench.
Sooty cobwebs dripped from the joists, and great spiders ran nimbly
over them; there were no beds, but on a heap of rotting skins in one
corner two rats were busy, and in another were some dry leaves and
bracken. There was no chimney either, though there was a peat fire
smouldering in what you must call the hearth. The place was dense with
the fog of it; it was some time, therefore, before Prosper could leave
blinking and fit his eyes to see the occupants of his lodging….
Isoult, he saw, stood in the middle of the room leaning on the table
with both her hands; her bead was hanging, and her hair veiled all her
face. Near her, also standing, was the old man—a sturdy knowing old
villain, with a world of cunning and mischief in his pair of pig's
eyes. His scanty hair, his beard, were white; his eyebrows were white
and altogether monstrous. He blinked at Prosper, but said nothing. The
third was a woman, infinitely old as it seemed, crouched over the fired
peats with her back to the room. She never looked up at all, but
muttered and sighed vainly to herself and warmed her hands. Lastly, in
a round-backed chair, cross-legged, twirling his thumbs, twinkling with
comfortable repletion, sat Prosper's friend of the road, Brother
Bonaccord of Lucca.</p>
<p id="id00228">"God save you, gentleman," he chirped. "I see we have the same taste in
lodgings. None of your Holy Thorns for us—hey? But a shakedown under a
snug thatch, with a tap of red wine such as I have not had out of my
own country. What a port for what a night—hey?"</p>
<p id="id00229">Prosper nodded back a greeting as he looked from one to another of
these ill-assorted hosts of his, and whenever he chanced on the
motionless girl he felt that he could not understand it. Look at her!
how sweet and delicate she was, how small and well-set her head, her
feet and hands how fine, her shape how tender. "How should a lily
spring in so foul a bed?" thought he to himself. Morgraunt had already
taught him an odd thing or two; no doubt it was Morgraunt's way.</p>
<p id="id00230">The old man set bread and onions on the table, with some sour red wine
in a jug. "Sit and eat, my lord, while you may," he said.</p>
<p id="id00231">So Prosper and Isoult sat upon the bench and made the most of it, and
he, being a cheerful soul, talked and joked with Brother Bonaccord.
Isoult never raised her eyes once, nor spoke a word; as for the numbed
old soul by the fire; she kept her back resolutely on the room,
muttered her charms and despair, and warmed her dry hands as before.</p>
<p id="id00232">When they had eaten what they could there came a change. The friar
ceased talking; the old man faced Prosper with a queer look. "Sir, have
you well-eaten and drunken?" he asked.</p>
<p id="id00233">Prosper thanked him; he had done excellently.</p>
<p id="id00234">"Well, now," said the man, "as I have heard, after the bride-feast
comes the bridal. Will your worship rest with the bride brought home?"</p>
<p id="id00235">Prosper got up in an awkward pause. He looked at the man as if he were
possessed of the devil. Then he laughed, saying, "Are you merry, old
rogue?"</p>
<p id="id00236">"Nay, sir," said the ancient, "it is no jest. If she mate not this
night—and it's marriage for choice with this holy man—come sunrise
she'll be hanged on the Abbot's new gallows. For, she is suspected of
witchcraft and many abominations."</p>
<p id="id00237">"Is she your daughter, you dog, and do you speak thus of your
daughter?" cried Prosper in a fury.</p>
<p id="id00238">"Sir," said the man, "who would own himself father to a witch?<br/>
Nevertheless she is my daughter indeed."<br/></p>
<p id="id00239">"What is the meaning of all this? Would you have me marry a witch, old
fool?" Prosper shouted at him. The man shrugged.</p>
<p id="id00240">"Nay, sir, but I said it was marriage for choice—seeing the friar was
to hand. We know their way, to marry as soon as look at you. But it's
as you will, so you get a title to her, to take her out of the country."</p>
<p id="id00241">Prosper turned to look at Isoult. He saw her standing before the board,
her head hung and her two hands clasped together. Her breathing was
troubled—that also he saw. "God's grace!" thought he to himself, "is
she so fair without and within so rotten? Who has been ill-ordering the
world to this pass?" He watched her thoughtfully for some time; then he
turned to her father.</p>
<p id="id00242">"See now, old scamp," he said, "I have sworn an oath to high God to
succour the weak, to right wrong, and to serve ladies. Nine times under
the moon I sware it, watching my arms before the cross on Starning
Waste. Judge you, therefore, whether I intend to keep it or not. As for
your daughter, she can tell you whether some part of it I have not kept
even now. But understand me, that I do not marry on compulsion or where
love is not. For that were a sin done toward God, and me, and a maid."</p>
<p id="id00243">The old rascal blinked his eyes, jerking his head many times at the
shameful girl. Then he said, "Love is there fast and sure. She is all
for loving. They call her Isoult la Desirous, you must know."</p>
<p id="id00244">"Yes," said Prosper, "I do know it, for she has told me so already.'</p>
<p id="id00245">"And to-morrow she will desire no more, since she will be hanged," said<br/>
Matt-o'-the-Moor.<br/></p>
<p id="id00246">Prosper started and flushed, and—</p>
<p id="id00247">"That is a true gospel, brother," put in the friar. "The Abbot means to
air his gallows at her expense; but there is worse than a gallows to
it. What did I tell you of the Black Monks when you called 'em White?
There is a coal-black among them who'll have her if the gallows have
her not. It is Galors or gallows, fast and sure."</p>
<p id="id00248">Prosper rubbed his chin, looked at the friar, looked at Matt, looked at
Isoult. She neither lifted her head nor eyes, though the others had met
him sturdily enough. She stood like a saint on a church porch; he
thought her a desperate Magdalen.</p>
<p id="id00249">"Isoult, come here," said he. She came as obediently as you please, and
stood before him; but she would not look up until he said again,
"Isoult, look me in the face." Then she did as she was told, and her
eyes were unwinking and very wide open, full of dark. She parted her
lips and sighed a little, shivering somewhat. It seemed to him as if
she had been with the dead already and seen their kingdom. Prosper
said, "Isoult is this true that thou wilt be hanged to-morrow?"</p>
<p id="id00250">"Yes, lord," said Isoult in a whisper.</p>
<p id="id00251">"Or worse?"</p>
<p id="id00252">"Yes, lord," she said again, quivering.</p>
<p id="id00253">"Save only thy lot be a marriage this night?"</p>
<p id="id00254">"Yes, lord," she said a third time. So he asked,</p>
<p id="id00255">"Art thou verily what this old man thy father hath testified against
thee—a witch, a worker of iniquity and black things, and of
abominations with the devil?"</p>
<p id="id00256">Isoult said in a very still voice—"Men say that I am all this, my
lord."</p>
<p id="id00257">But Prosper with a cry called out, "Isoult, Isoult, now tell me the
truth. Dost thou deserve this death?"</p>
<p id="id00258">She sighed, and smiled rather pitifully as she said—</p>
<p id="id00259">"I cannot tell, lord; but I desire it."</p>
<p id="id00260">"Dost thou desire death, child?" cried he, "and is this why thou art
called La Desirous?"</p>
<p id="id00261">"I desire to be what I am not, my lord, and to have that which I have
never had," she answered, and her lip trembled.</p>
<p id="id00262">"And what is that which you are not, Isoult?"</p>
<p id="id00263">She answered him "Clean."</p>
<p id="id00264">"And what is that which you have never had, my child?"</p>
<p id="id00265">"Peace," said Isoult, and wept bitterly.</p>
<p id="id00266">Then Prosper crossed himself very devoutly, and covered his face while
he prayed to his saint. When he had done he said, "Cease crying,
Isoult, and tell me the truth, by God and His Christ, and Saint Mary,
and by the face of the sky. Art thou such a one as I would wed if love
were to grow between me and thee, or art thou other?"</p>
<p id="id00267">She ceased her crying at this and looked him full in the face, deadly
pale. "What is the truth to you concerning me?" she said.</p>
<p id="id00268">He answered her, "The truth is everything, for without it nothing can
have good beginning or good ending."</p>
<p id="id00269">This made her meek again and her eyes misty. She held out a hand to
him, saying, "Come into the night, and I will tell my lord."</p>
<p id="id00270">He took it. Hand-in-hand they went out of the cottage, and hand-in-hand
stood together alone under the sky. It was still black and heavy
weather, but without rain. Isoult dropped his hand and stood before
him. She shut her arms over her breast so that her two wrists crossed
at her throat. Looking full at him from under her brows she said—</p>
<p id="id00271">"By God and His Christ, and Saint Mary, and by the face of the sky, I
will tell you the truth, lord. If the witch's wax be not as abominable
as the witch, or the vessel not foul that hath held a foul liquor, then
thou couldst never point scorn at me."</p>
<p id="id00272">"Speak openly to me, my child," said Prosper, "and fear nothing."</p>
<p id="id00273">So she said, "I will speak openly. I am no witch, albeit I have seen
witchcraft and the revelry of witches on Deerleap. And though I have
seen evil also I am a maiden, my lord, and such as you would have your
own sister to be before she were wed."</p>
<p id="id00274">But Prosper put her from him at an arm's-length. He was not yet
satisfied.</p>
<p id="id00275">"What was thy meaning then," he asked, "to say that thou wouldst be
that which thou wert not?" He could not bring himself to use the word
which she had used; but she used it again.</p>
<p id="id00276">"Ah, clean!" she said with a weary gesture. "Lord, how shall I be clean
in this place? Or how shall I be clean when all say that I am unclean,
and so use towards me?" She began to cry again, quite silently. Prosper
could hear the drips fall from her cheeks to her breast, but no other
sound. She began to moan in her trouble—"Ah, no, no, no!" she
whispered, "I would not wed with thee, I dare not wed with thee."</p>
<p id="id00277">"Why not?" said Prosper.</p>
<p id="id00278">"I dare not, I dare not!" she answered through her teeth, and he felt
her trembling under his hand. He thought before he spoke again. Then he
said—</p>
<p id="id00279">"I have vowed a vow to my saint that I will save you, soul and body;
and if it can be done only by a wedding, then we will be married, you
and I, Isoult. But if by battle I can serve your case as well, and rid
the suspicion and save your neck, why, I will do battle."</p>
<p id="id00280">"Nay, lord," said the girl, "I must be hanged, for so the Lord Abbot
has decreed." And then she told him all that Galors had given her to
understand when he had her in the quarry.</p>
<p id="id00281">Prosper heard her to the end: it was clear that she spoke as she
believed.</p>
<p id="id00282">"Well, child," said he, "I see that all this is likely enough, though
for the life of me I cannot bottom it. But how then," he cried, after a
little more thinking, "shall I let you be hanged, and your neck so fine
and smooth!"</p>
<p id="id00283">"Lord," she said, "let be for that; for since I was born I have heard
of my low condition, and if my neck be slim 'tis the sooner broke. Let
me go then, but only grant me this grace, to stand beside me at the
tree and not leave me till I am dead. For there may be a worse thing
than death preparing for me." Again she cried out at her own thoughts
"Ah, no, no, no, I dare not let thee wed me!" He heard the wringing of
her hands, and guessed her beside herself.</p>
<p id="id00284">He stood, therefore, reasoning it all out something after this fashion.
"Look now, Prosper," thought he, "this child says truer than she knows.
It is an ill thing to be hanged, but a worse to deserve a hanging, and
worst of all for her, it seems, to escape a hanging. And it is good to
find death sweet when he comes (since come he must), but better to
prove life also a pleasant thing. And life is here urgent, though in
fetters, in this child's breast; but death is not yet here. Yet if I
leave her she gains death, or life (which is worse), and if I take her
with me it can only be one way. What then! a man can lay down his life
in many ways, giving it for the life that needeth, whether by jumping a
red grave or by means slower but not less sure. And if by any deed of
mine I pluck this child out of the mire, put clear light into her eyes
(which now are all dark), and set the flush on her grey cheeks which
she was assuredly designed to carry there; and if she breathe sweet air
and grow in the grace of God and sight of men—why then I have done
well, however else I do."</p>
<p id="id00285">He thought no more, but took the girl's hand again in both of his.
"Well, Isoult," he said cheerfully, "thou shalt not be hanged yet
awhile, nor shall that worse thing befall thee. I will wed thee as soon
as I may. At cock-crow we two will seek a priest."</p>
<p id="id00286">"Lord," she said, "a priest is here in this place."</p>
<p id="id00287">"Why, yes! Brother Bonaccord. Well," said Prosper, "let us go in."</p>
<p id="id00288">But Isoult was troubled afresh, and put her hand against his chest to
stay him; breathing very short.</p>
<p id="id00289">"Lord," she said, "thou wilt wed me to save my soul from hell and my
body from hanging; but thou hast no love for me in thy heart, as I know
very well."</p>
<p id="id00290">Here was a bother indeed. The girl was fair enough in her peaked elfin
way; but the fact was that he did not love her—nor anybody. He had
nothing to say therefore. She waited a little, and then, with her voice
sunk to a low murmur, she said—</p>
<p id="id00291">"We two will never come together except in love. Shall it not be so?"</p>
<p id="id00292">Prosper bowed, saying—</p>
<p id="id00293">"It shall be so."</p>
<p id="id00294">The girl knelt suddenly down and kissed his foot. Then she rose and
stood near him.</p>
<p id="id00295">"Let us go in," she said.</p>
<p id="id00296">Looking up, they saw the field of heaven strewn thick with stars, the
clouds driven off, the wind dropt. And then they went into the hovel
hand-in-hand, as they had gone out.</p>
<p id="id00297">As soon as he saw them come in together the old man fell to chuckling
and rubbing his hands.</p>
<p id="id00298">"Wife Mald, wife Mald, look up!" cried he; "there will be a wedding
this night. See, they are hand-fasted already."</p>
<p id="id00299">Mald the witch rose up from the hearth at last and faced the betrothed.
She was terrible to view in her witless old age; her face drawn into
furrows and dull as lead, her bleared eyes empty of sight or
conscience, and her thin hair scattered before them. It was despair,
not sorrow, that Prosper read on such a face. Now she peered upon the
hand-locked couple, now she parted the hair from her eyes, now slowly
pointed a finger at them. Her hand shook with palsy, but she raised it
up to bless them. To Prosper she said—</p>
<p id="id00300">"Thou who art as pitiful as death, shalt have thy reward. And it shall
be more than thou knowest."</p>
<p id="id00301">To the girl she gave no promises, but with her crutch hobbled over the
floor to where she stood. She put her hand into her daughter's bosom
and felt there; she seemed contented, for she said to her very
earnestly—</p>
<p id="id00302">"Keep thou what thou hast there till the hour of thy greatest peril.<br/>
Then it shall not fail thee to whomsoever thou shalt show it."<br/></p>
<p id="id00303">Then she withdrew her hand and crawled back to crouch over the ashes of
the fire; nor did she open her lips again that night, nor take any part
or lot in what followed.</p>
<p id="id00304">"Call the priest, old man," said Prosper, "for the night is spending,
and to-morrow we should be up before the sun."</p>
<p id="id00305">The old thief went to a little door and opened it, whispering,</p>
<p id="id00306">"Come, father;" and there came out Brother Bonaccord of Lucca, very
solemn, vested in a frayed vestment.</p>
<p id="id00307">"Young sir," he said, wagging a portentous finger, "you are of the
simple folk our good Father Francis loved. No harm should come of this.
And I pray our Lady that I never may play a worse trick on a maid than
this which I shall play now."</p>
<p id="id00308">"We have no ring," said Prosper to all this prelude.</p>
<p id="id00309">"Content you, my master," replied Matt-o'-the-Moor; "here is what you
need."</p>
<p id="id00310">And he gave him a silver ring made of three thin wires curiously
knotted in an endless plait.</p>
<p id="id00311">"The ring will serve the purpose," Prosper said. "Now, brother, at your
disposition."</p>
<p id="id00312">Brother Bonaccord had no book, but seemed none the worse for that. He
took the ring, blessed it, gave it to Prosper, and saw that he put it
in its proper place; he said all the words, blessed the kneeling
couple, and gave them a brisk little homily, which I spare the reader.
There they were wedded.</p>
<p id="id00313">Matt-o'-the-Moor at the end of the ceremony gave Prosper a nudge in the
ribs. He pointed to a heap of leaves and litter.</p>
<p id="id00314">"The marriage-bed," he said waggishly, and blew out the light.</p>
<p id="id00315">Isoult lay down on the bed; Prosper took off his body-armour and lay
beside her, and his naked sword lay between them.</p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />