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[See p. 232

"'SCANT HEED HAD WE OF THE I^LEET, SWEET HOURS'"

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BY

ILLUSTRATED IN COLOR BY

HOWARD PYLE

Ludit amor sensus, oculos perstringit, el aufert Libertatem animt, ntira nos fascinat arte. Credo altquis desman subiens pracardia. flammam Concitat, et raptam tolltt de cardine mentem "

NEW YORK AND LONDON

HARPER & BROTHERS

PUBLISHERS :: MCMV

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Copyright, 1905, by HARPER & BROTHERS.

All rights reserved. Published September, 1905.

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TO

Sloteri (Iambi* (HafoU

(1809-1889)

chivalrye,

Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisye And of his port as meek as is a mayde, He never yet no vileinye ne sayde In al his lyf, unto no maner wight. He was a verray par fit gentil knyght"

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THE EPISODE CALLED ADHELMAR AT

PUYSANGE 5

THE EPISODE CALLED LOVE-LETTERS OF

FALSTAFF 47

THE EPISODE CALLED "SWEET ADELAIS" 81 THE EPISODE CALLED IN NECESSITY'S

MORTAR 121

THE EPISODE CALLED THE CONSPIRACY

OF ARNAYE 169

THE EPISODE CALLED THE CASTLE OF

CONTENT 211

THE EPISODE CALLED IN URSULA'S

GARDEN . . . .. . .. . . 255

ENVOI . 288

"'SCANT HEED HAD WE OF THE FLEET,

SWEET HOURS'" Frontispiect

"HE SANG FOR HER AS THEY SAT IN THE

GARDENS" Facing p.

-.

"HE FOUND MELITE ALONE*' "

"ADHELMAR CLIMBED THE STAIRS SLOWLY, FOR HE WAS GROWING VERY FEEBLE

NOW" "

CATHERINE DE VAUCELLES IN HER GAR- DEN

"'THE KING HIMSELF HAULED ME OUT OF

MEUNG GAOL'"

"VILLON THE SINGER FATE FASHIONED TO

HER LIKING"

" 'TWAS A STRANGE TALE SHE HAD ENDED" "LADY ADELIZA CAME UPON THE BALCONY" " IN THE NIGHT" . ....

MY DEAR MRS. GRUNDY, — You may have observed that nowadays we rank the love- story among the comfits of literature; and we do this for the very excellent reason that man is a thinking animal by courtesy rather than usage.

Rightly considered, the most trivial love- affair is of staggering import. Who are we to question this, when nine-tenths of us owe our existence to a Summer flirtation? And while the workings of a department- store, or the garnering of the world's wheat- crop, or the lamentable inconsistencies of Christianity, are doubtless worthy of our most serious consideration, you will find, my dear madam, that love-affairs, little and big, were shaping history and playing spillikins with sceptres long before any of these delectable matters were thought of.

Yes, they are worthy of consideration; but were it not for the kisses of remote years and the high gropings of hearts no longer animate, there would be none to accord them this same consideration, and a void world would teeter about the sun, silent and naked as an orange. Love is an illusion, if you will ; but always through this illusion, alone, has the next generation been rendered possible.

Love, then, is no trifle. And literature, mimicking life at a respectful distance, may very reasonably be permitted an occasional reference to the corner - stone of all that exists. "A sweet little love-story!" My dear lady, there can be no such thing. Viewed in the light of its consequences, any love-story is of gigantic signification, inasmuch as the most trivial mirrors Nat- ure's unending labor — the peopling of the worlds.

She is uninventive, if you will, this Nature, but she is tireless. Generation by generation she brings it about that for a period weak men may stalk as demi-gods,

while to every woman she grants her hour wherein to spurn the earth, a warm, breath- ing angel. Generation by generation she tricks humanity that humanity may en- dure.

Here for a little I have followed her, the arch - trickster. Through her monstrous tapestry I have traced out for you the windings of a single thread. It is parti- colored, this thread — now black for a mourning sign, and now scarlet where blood has stained it, and now brilliancy itself, — for the tinsel of young love (if, as wise men tell us, it be but tinsel), at least makes a pro- digiously fine appearance until time tarnish it. I entreat you, dear lady, to accept it with assurances of my most distinguished regard.

The gift is not a great one. They are only love-stories, and nowadays nobody takes love very seriously.

And truly, my dear madam, I dare say the Pompeiians did not take Vesuvius very seriously ; it was merely an eligible spot for a fete champetre. And when gaunt fishermen xi

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first preached Christ about the highways, depend upon it, that was not taken very seriously, either. Credat Judceus; but all

sensible folk— such as you and I, my dear madam — passed on with a tolerant shrug, knowing

Their doctrine could be held of no sane man.

APRIL 14, 1355— OCTOBER 23,

" D'aquest segle flac, plen de marrimen, S'amor s'en vai, son joi teinh mensongier

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of-the-way corner of the library at Allonby Shaw, that I first came upon "Les Aven- tures d'Adhelmar de Nointel." The manu- script dates from the early part of the fifteenth century and is attributed — though on no very conclusive evidence, as I think, — to the facile pen of Nicolas de Caen, better known as a lyric poet and satirist (circa 1450).

The story, told in decasyllabic couplets, in- terspersed after a rather unusual fashion with innumerable lyrics, is in the main authentic. Sir Adhelmar de Nointel, born about 1334, was once a real and stalwart personage, a younger brother to that Henri de Nointel, the fighting Bishop of Mantes, whose unsa- vory part in the murder of Jacques van Arteveldt history has recorded at length; and it is with his exploits that the romance deals and perhaps a thought exaggerates. 3

In any event the following is, with certain compressions and omissions that have seemed desirable, the last episode of the " Aventures." For it I may claim, at least, the same merit that old Nicolas does at the very outset ; since as he veraciously declares — yet with a smack of pride :

Cette bonne ystoire n'est pas uste Ni gu&re de lieux jadis trouvee, Ni ecrite par clercz ne fut encore

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HEN Adhelmar had ended the tale of Dame Venus and the love which she bore the knight Tannhauser, he put away the book and sighed. TheDemoiselleMelite laugh- ed a little- -her laughter was high and deli- cate, with the resonance of thin glass — and demanded the reason of his sudden grief.

"I sigh," said he, "for sorrow that this Dame Venus is dead."

" Surely," said she, wondering at his glum face, "that is no great matter."

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"By Saint Vulfran, yes!" Adhelmar pro- tested; "for the same Lady Venus was the fairest of women, as all learned clerks avow ; and she is dead these many years, and now there is no woman left alive so beautiful as she — saving one alone, and she will have none of me. And therefore," he added, very slowly. " I sigh for desire of Dame Venus and for envy of the knight Tann- hauser."

Again Melite laughed, but she forbore — discreetly enough— to question him con- cerning the lady who was of equal beauty with Dame Venus.

It was an April morning, and they sat in the hedged garden of Puysange. Adhel- mar read to her of divers ancient queens and of the love-business wherein each took part — the histories of the Lady Heleine and of her sweethearting with Duke Paris, the Emperor of Troy's son, and of the Lady Melior that loved Parthenopex of Blois, and of the Lady Aude, for love of whom Sieur Roland slew the pagan Angoulaffre, and of the Lady Cresseide that betrayed 6

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love, and of the Lady Morgaine la Fee, whose Danish lover should yet come from Avalon to save France in her black hour of need. All these he read aloud, suavely, with bland modulations, for he was a man of letters, as letters went in those days. Originally, he had been bred for the Church ; but this avocation he had happily forsaken long since, protesting with some show of reason that France at this particular time had a greater need of spears than of aves.

For the rest, Sir Adhelmar de Nointel was known as a valiant knight, who had won glory in the wars with the English. He had lodged for a fortnight at Puysange, of which castle the master, Reinault, the Vicomte de Puysange, was his cousin; and on the next day he proposed to set forth for Paris, where the French King — Jehan the Luckless — was gathering his lieges about him to withstand his kinsman, Edward of England.

Now, as I have said, Adhelmar was cousin

to Reinault, and, in consequence, to Rei-

nault's sister, the Demoiselle Melite; and

7

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the latter he loved, at least, as much as a cousin should. That was well known; and Reinault de Puysange had sworn very heartily that it was a great pity when he had affianced her to Hugues d'Arques. They had both loved her since boyhood, — so far their claims ran equally. But while Adhel- mar had busied himself in the acquisition of some scant fame and a vast number of scars, Hugues had sensibly inherited the fief of Arques, a snug property with fertile lands and a stout fortress. How, then, should Reinault hesitate between them ?

He did not. For the Chateau d'Arques, you must understand, was builded in Lower Normandy, on the fringe of the hill-country, just where the peninsula of Cotentin juts out into the sea ; Puysange stood not far north, among the level lands of Upper Normandy: and these two being the strongest castles in those parts, what more natural and desir- able than that the families should be united by marriage? Reinault informed his sister bluntly of his decision; she wept a little, but did not refuse to comply. 8

Ahljtflmar at

So Adhelmar, come again to Puysange after five years' absence, found M elite troth-plighted, fast and safe, to Hugues. Reinault told him. Adhelmar grumbled and bit his nails in a corner for a time; then laughed shortly.

" I have loved M elite," he said. " It may be that I love her still. Hah, Saint Vulfran ! why should I not ? Why should a man not love his cousin ?"

Adhelmar grinned, while the Vicomte twitched his beard and desired him at the devil.

But he stuck fast at Puysange, for all that, and he and Mdlite were much together. Daily they made parties to dance, and to hunt the deer, and to fish, but most often to rehearse songs. For Adhelmar made good songs. As old Nicolas de Caen says of him earlier in the tale :

Hardi estait et fier comme lions, Et si jaisait balades et chansons, Rondeaulx et laiz, tres bons et pleins de grdce, Comme Orpheus, cet menestrier de Thrace.

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To-day, the Summer already stirring in the womb of the year, they sat, as I have said, in the hedged garden; and about them the birds piped and wrangled over their nest - building, and daffodils danced in Spring's honor with lively saltations, and overhead the sky was colored like a robin's egg. It was very perilous weather for young folk. By reason of this, perhaps, when he had ended his reading, Adhelmar sighed again, and stared at his companion with hungry eyes, wherein desire strained like a hound at the leash.

Said Melite: "Was this Lady Venus, then, exceedingly beautiful?"

Adhelmar swore an oath of sufficient magnitude that she was.

Whereupon Melite, twisting her fingers idly and evincing a sudden interest in her own feet, demanded if she were more beau- tiful than the Lady Ermengarde of Arnaye or the Lady Ysabeau of Brieuc.

"Holy Ouen!" scoffed Adhelmar; "the ladies while well enough, I grant you, would seem but callow howlets blinking about

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that Arabian Phoenix that Plinius tells of, in comparison with this Lady Venus that is dead!"

" But how," asked Melite, "was this lady fashioned that you commend so highly? — and how can you know of her beauty that have never seen her?"

Said Adhelmar: "I have read of her fairness in the chronicles of Messire Stace of Thebes, and of Dares, who was her hus- band's bishop. And she was very comely, neither too little nor too big ; she was fairer and whiter and more lovely than any flower of the lily or snow upon the branch, but her eyebrows had the mischance of meeting. She had wide-open, beautiful eyes, and her wit was quick and ready. She was graceful and of demure countenance. She was well- beloved, and could herself love well, but her heart was changeable."

"Cousin Adhelmar," said she, flushing somewhat, for the portrait was like enough, " I think that you tell of a woman, not of a goddess of heathenry."

"Her eyes," said Adhelmar, and his

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voice shook, and his hands, lifting a little, trembled with longing to take her in his arms, — "her eyes were large and very bright and of a color like that of the June sunlight falling upon deep waters ; and her hair was of a curious gold color like the Fleece that the knight Jason sought, and curled marvellously about her temples. For mouth she had but a small red wound ; and her throat was a tower builded of ivory."

But now, still staring at her feet and glowing with the even complexion of a rose, (though not ill-pleased), the Demoiselle Melite bade him desist and make her a song. Moreover, she added, untruthfully, beauty was but a fleeting thing, and she considered it of little importance ; and then she laughed again.

Adhelmar took up the lute that lay beside them and fingered it for a moment, as though wondering of what he would sing. Afterward he sang for her as they sat in the gardens.

Sang Adhelmar:

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"HE SANG FOR HER AS THEY SAT IN THE GARDENS*'

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is vain I mirror forth the praise In pondered virelais

Of her that is the lady of my love; No apt nor curious phrases e'er may tell The tender miracle

Of her white body or the grace thereof.

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" The vext Italian artful-artless strain Is fashioned all in vain:

Sound is but sound; and even her name,

that is

To me more glorious than the glow of fire Or dawn or love's desire

Or song or scarlet or dim ambergris, Mocks utterance.

"7 have no heart to praise The perfect carnal beauty that is hers, But as those worshippers ^ That bore rude offerings of honey and maize,

Of old, toward the stately ministers Of fabled deities, I have given her these, My faltering melodies,

That are Love's lean and ragged mes- sengers."

13

When he had ended, Adhelmar cast aside the lute and groaned, and then caught both her hands in his and strained them to his lips. There needed no wizard to read the message in his eyes.

Melite sat silent for a moment. Presently, "Ah, cousin, cousin!" she sighed, "I cannot love you as you would have me love. God alone knows why, true heart, for I revere you as a strong man and a proven knight ij and a faithful lover; but I do not love you. There are many women who would love you, Adhelmar, for the world praises you, and you have done brave deeds and made good songs and have served your King potently; and yet" — she drew her hands away and laughed a little wearily — "yet I, poor maid, must needs love Hugues, who has done nothing. This love is a strange, unreasoning thing, cousin."

Again Adhelmar groaned. "You love him ?" he asked, in a harsh voice.

"Yes," said Melite, very softly, and afterward flushed and wondered dimly if she had spoken the truth. And then, 14

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somehow, her arms clasped about Adhel- mar's neck, and she kissed him, from pure pity, as she told herself; for Halite's heart was tender, and she could not endure the anguish in his face.

This was all very well. But Hugues d'Arques, coming suddenly out of a pleach- ed walk, at this juncture, stumbled upon them and found their postures distasteful. He bent black brows upon the two.

"Adhelmar," said he, at length, "this world is a small place."

Adhelmar rose quickly to his feet. " In- deed," he assented, with a wried smile, " I think there is scarce room in it for both of us, Hugues."

"That was my meaning," said the Sieur d'Arques.

"Only," Adhelmar pursued, somewhat wistfully, "my sword just now, Hugues, is vowed to my King's quarrel. There are some of us who hope to save France yet, if our blood may avail. In a year, God willing, I shall come again to Puysange; and till then you must wait."

Hugues conceded that, perforce, he must wait, since a vow was sacred ; and Adhelmar knowing his natural appetite for battle to be lamentably squeamish, grinned. After that, in a sick rage, he struck Hugues in the face and turned about.

The Sieur d'Arques rubbed his cheek ruefully. Then he and Melite stood silent for a moment and heard Adhelmar in the court-yard calling his men to ride forth; and Melite laughed; and Hugues scowled.

II

Nirnlaa aa (Humta

(HE year passed, and Adhel- mar did not return; and there was much fighting during that interval, and Hugues began to think that the knight was slain and would trouble him no more. The reflection was borne with equanimity.

So Adhelmar was half-forgot, and the Sieur d'Arques turned his mind to other matters. He was still a bachelor, for Reinault considered the burden of the times in ill-accord with the chinking of marriage- bells. They were grim times for French- men; right and left the English pillaged and killed and sacked and guzzled and drank, as if they would never have done; 17

and Edward of England began to subscribe himself Rex Francice with some show of rea-

son.

• In Normandy men acted according to

their natures. Reinault swore lustily and looked to his defences; and Hugues, seeing the English everywhere triumphant, drew a long face and doubted, when the will of God was made thus apparent, were it the part of a Christian to withstand it? Then he began to write letters, but to whom no man at either Arques or Puysange knew, saving One-eyed Peire, who carried them.

*T was in the dusk of a rain- I sodden October day that Adhelmar rode to the gates . of Puysange, with some score men-at-arms behind him. They came from Poictiers, where again the English had con- quered, and Adhelmar rode with difficulty, for in that disastrous business in the field of Maupertuis he had been run through the chest, and his wound was scarce healed. Nevertheless, he came to finish his debate with the Sieur d'Arques, wound or no wound. But at Puysange he heard a strange tale of Hugues. Reinault, whom he found in a fine rage, told him the story as they sat over their supper.

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It had happened, somehow, (Reinault said), that the Marshal Arnold d'Andreghen — newly escaped from prison and with his disposition unameliorated by Lord Audley's gaolership, — had heard of these letters that Hugues wrote so constantly ; and he, being no scholar, had frowned at such doings, and waited presently with a company of horse on the road to Arques. Into their midst, on the day before Adhelmar came, rode Peire, the one-eyed messenger; and it was not an unconscionable while before he was bound hand and foot, and d'Andreghen was read- ing the letter they had found in his jerkin. "Hang the carrier on that oak," said he, when he had ended, "but leave that largest branch yonder for the writer. For by the Blood of Christ, our common salvation! I will hang him there to-morrow!"

So Peire swung in the air ere long and stuck out a black tongue at the crows, who cawed and waited for supper ; and presently they feasted while d'Andreghen rode to Arques carrying a rope for Hugues.

For the Marshal, you must understand,

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was a man of sudden action. It was but two months before that he had taken the Comte de Harcourt with other gentlemen from the Dauphin's own table to behead them that afternoon in a field back of Rouen. It was true they had planned to resist the gabelle, the King's immemorial right to impose a tax on salt; but Har- court was Hugues's cousin, and the Sieur d'Arques, being somewhat of an epicurean disposition, found the dessert accorded his kinsman unpalatable.

It was no great surprise to d'Andreghen, then, to find that the letter Hugues had written was meant for Edward, the Black Prince of England, now at Bordeaux, where he held the French King, whom he had captured at Poictiers, as a prisoner ; for this prince, though he had no particular love for a rogue, yet knew how to make use of one when kingcraft demanded it, — and, as he afterward made use of Pedro the Castilian, he was now prepared to make use of Hugues, who hung like a ripe pear ready to drop into his mouth. "For," as the

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Sieur d'Arques pointed out in his letter, " I am by nature inclined to favor you brave English, and so, beyond doubt, is the good God. And I will deliver Arques to you; and thus and thus you may take Normandy and the major portion of France; and thus and thus will I do, and thus and thus must you reward me."

Said d'Andreghen: "I will hang him at dawn ; and thus and thus may the devil do with his soul!"

Then with his company he rode to Arques. A herald declared to the men of that place how the matter stood, and bade Hugues come forth and dance upon nothing. The Sieur d'Arques spat curses, like a cat driven into a corner, and wished to fight, but the greater part of his garrison were not willing to do so in such a cause ; and so d'Andreghen took him shortly and carried him off.

In his anger having sworn by the Blood of Christ to hang him to a certain tree, d'Andreghen had no choice in his calm but to abide by his oath. This day being the Sabbath, he deferred the matter; but the

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Marshal promised to see to it that when '^ morning broke the Sieur d'Arques should dangle side by side with his messenger.

Thus far the Vicomte de Puysange. He concluded his narrative with a grim chuckle. " And I think we are very well rid of him, cousin," said he. "Holy Maclou! that I should have taken the traitor for a true man, though! He would sell France, you observe, — chaffered, they tell me, like a pedlar over the price of Normandy. Heh, the huckster, the triple-damned Jew!"

"And Melite?" asked Adhelmar, after a little.

Again Reinault shrugged. " In the White Turret," he said; then, with a short laugh: "Oy Dieus, yes! The girl has been cater- wauling for this shabby rogue all day. She would have me — me, the King's man, look you! — save Hugues at the peril of my seignory ! And I protest to you, by the most high and pious Saint Nicolas the Confessor," Reinault swore, "that sooner than see this huckster go unpunished, I would lock Hell's gate on him with my own hands!" 23

For a moment Adhelmar stood with his jaws puffed out as in thought, and then laughed like a wolf. Afterward he went to the White Turret, leaving Reinault smiling over his wine.

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[E found Melite alone. She had robed herself in black, and had gathered her gold hair about her face like a heavy veil, and sat weep- ing into it for the plight of Hugues d'Arques.

"Melite!" cried Adhelmar; "Melite!" The Demoiselle de Puysange rose with a start and, seeing him standing in the doorway, ran to him, incompetent little hands flut- tering before her like frightened doves. She was very tired, and the man was strength incarnate; surely he, if any one, could aid Hugues and bring him safe out of the grim Marshal's claws. For the moment, perhaps, she had forgotten the 25

feud that existed between Adhelmar and the Sieur d'Arques; but in any event, I am convinced, she knew that Adhelmar could refuse her nothing. So she ran toward him, her cheeks flushing arbutus-like, and already smiling through her tears.

O, thought Adhelmar, were it not very easy to leave Hugues to the dog's death he merits and to take this woman for my own? For I know that she loves me a little. And thinking of this, he kissed her, quietly, as one might comfort a sobbing child; afterward he held her in his arms for a moment, wondering vaguely at the soft, thick feel of her hair and the keen scent of it. Then he put her from him gently, and swore in his soul that Hugues

must die that this woman might be his wife.

"You will save him?" Melite asked, and raised her face to his. There was that in her eyes which caused Adhelmar to muse for a little on the nature of women's love, and, subsequently, to laugh harshly and give vehement utterance to an oath.

"Yes!" said Adhelmar. 26

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'HE FOUND MELITE ALONE

He demanded how many of Hugues's men were about. Some twenty of them had come to Puysange, Melite said, in the hope that Reinault might aid them to save their master. She protested that her broth- er was a coward for not doing so; but Adhelmar, having his own opinion on this subject, and thinking in his heart that Hugues's skin might easily be ripped off him without spilling a pint of honest blood, said, simply: "Twenty and twenty is two- score. It is not a large armament, but it will serve."

He told her that his plan was to fall sud- denly upon d'Andreghen and his men that night, and in the tumult to steal Hugues away ; after that, as Adhelmar pointed out, he might readily take ship for England, and leave the Marshal to blaspheme Fortune in Normandy, and the French King to gnaw at his chains in Bordeaux, while Hugues toasts his shins in comfort at Lon- don. Adhelmar admitted that the plan was a mad one, but added, reasonably enough, that needs must when the devil 27

drives. And so firm was his confidence, so cheery his laugh — he managed to laugh somehow, though it was a stiff piece of work — that Melite began to be comforted somewhat, and bade him go and God- speed.

So then Adhelmar left her. In the main hall he found the Vicomte still sitting over his wine.

"Cousin," said Adhelmar, "I must ride hence to-night."

Reinault stared at him for a moment; a mastering wonder woke in his face. " Ta, ta, ta!" he clicked his tongue, very softly. Afterward he sprang to his feet and clutch- ed Adhelmar by both arms. "No, no!" Reinault cried. "No, Adhelmar, not that! It is death, lad, — sure death! It means hanging, boy!" the Vicomte pleaded, trem- ulously, for, grim man that he was, he loved Adhelmar.

"That is likely enough," Adhelmar con- ceded.

"They will hang you," Reinault whis- pered, in a shaking voice; "d'Andreghen 28

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and the Count Dauphin of Vienne will hang you as blithely as they would Iscariot."

"That, too," said Adhelmar, "is likely enough, if I remain in France."

"Oy Dieus! will you flee to England, then?" the Vicomte scoffed, bitterly. " Has King Edward not sworn to hang you these eight years past? Was it not you, then, cousin, who took Almerigo di Pavia, that Lombard knave whom he made governor of Calais, — was it not you, then, who de- livered him to Geoffrey de Chargny, who had him broken on the wheel? Eh, holy Maclou! you will get small comfort of Edward!"

Adhelmar admitted that this was true. "Still," said he, "I must ride hence to- night."

"For her?" Reinault asked, and jerked his thumb upward.

"Yes," said Adhelmar,— " for her."

Reinault stared in his face for a while. " You are a fool, Adhelmar," said he, at last, "but you are a brave man. It is a great pity that a good-for-nothing wench with a 29

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tow-head should be the death of you. For my part, I am the King's vassal ; I shall not break faith with him ; but you are my guest and my kinsman. For that reason I am going to bed, and I shall sleep very sound- ly. It is likely I shall hear nothing of the night's doings, — ohime, no! not if you murder d'Andreghen in the court-yard!" Reinault ended, and smiled, somewhat sadly.

Afterward he took Adhelmar's hand and said: "Farewell, lord Adhelmar! O true knight, sturdy and bold! terrible and merci- less toward your enemies, gentle and simple toward your friends, farewell!" He kissed Adhelmar on either cheek and left him. Men encountered death with very little ado in those days.

Then Adhelmar rode off in the rain with his men. He reflected as he went upon the nature of women and upon his love for the Demoiselle de Puysange ; and, to himself, he swore gloomily that if she had a mind to Hugues she must have him, come what might. Having reached this conclusion, he 3°

AiljHmar

wheeled upon his men and cursed them for tavern-idlers and laggards and flea-hearted snails, and bade them spur.

Melite, at her window, heard them de- part, and stared after them for a while with hand-shadowed eyes; presently the beating of the hoofs died away, and she turned back into the room. Adhelmar's glove, which he had forgotten in his haste, lay upon the floor, and Melite lifted it and twisted it idly in her hands.

"I wonder — ?" said she.

Then she lighted four wax candles and set them before a mirror that was in the room. Melite stood among them and looked into the mirror. She seemed very tall and very slender, and her loosened hair hung heavily about her beautiful shallow face and fell like a cloak around her black-robed body, showing against the black gown like melting gold; and about her were the tall, white candles tipped with still flames of gold. Melite laughed — her laughter was high and delicate, with the resonance of thin glass, — and raised her arms above her head,

stretching tensely like a cat before a fire, and laughed yet again.

"After all," said she, "I do not won- der."

Melite sat before the mirror and braided her hair, and sang to herself in a sweet, low voice, brooding with unfathomable eyes upon her image in the glass, while the rain beat about Puysange, and Adhelmar rode forth to save Hugues that must else be hanged.

Sang M61ite:

"Rustling leaves of the willow-tree Peering downward at you and me, And no man else in the world to see,

"Only the birds, whose dusty coats Show dark i' the green, — whose throbbing

throats Turn joy to music and love to notes.

"Lean your body against the tree, Lifting your red lips up to me, Melite, and kiss, with no man to see!

" And let us laugh for a little: — Yea, Let love and laughter herald the day When laughter and love will be put away,

"And you will remember the willow-tree

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And this very hour, and remember me, Mtlite, — whose face you will no more see!

"So swift, so swift the glad time goes, And Death and Eld with their countless woes Draw near, and the end thereof no man knows.

"Lean your body against the tree, Lifting your red lips up to me, Melite, and kiss, with no man to see!"

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Melite smiled as she sang; for this was a song that Adhelmar had made for her at Nointel, before he was a knight, when both were very young.

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bT was not long before they came upon d'Andreghen and his men camped about a great oak, with One-eyed Peire swinging over their heads like a pennon. A shrill sentinel, somewhere in the dark, demanded their business, but without re- ceiving any adequate answer, for at that moment Adhelmar gave the word to charge.

Then it was as if all the devils in Pan- demonium had chosen Normandy for their playground; and what took place in the night no man saw for the darkness, so that I cannot tell you of it. Let it suffice that in the end Adhelmar rode away before 34

d'Andreghen had rubbed sleep well out of his eyes; and with him were Hugues d'Arques and some half his men. The rest were dead, and Adhelmar himself was very near death, for he had burst open his old wound and it was bleeding under his armor. He said nothing of this.

"Hugues," said he, "do you and these fellows ride to the coast; thence take ship for England."

He would have none of Hugues 's thanks; instead, he turned and left him to whimper out his gratitude to the skies, which spat a warm, gusty rain at him. Then Adhelmar rode again to Puysange, and as he went he sang softly to himself.

Sang Adhelmar:

"D'Andreghen in Normandy Went forth to slay mine enemy;

But as he went

Lord God for me wrought marvellously Wherefore, I may call and cry That am now about to die, I am content!

35

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Domine ! Domine ! Gratias accipe! Et meum animum Recipe in Coelum!"

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'AW 14

VI u,lmj Kim? at

f sange, Adhelmar climbed the stairs of the White ^ Turret, — slowly, for he was growing very feeble now, — and so came again to Melite crouching among the burned -out candles in the slaty twilight of dawn.

"He is safe," said Adhelmar, somewhat shortly. He told Melite how Hugues was rescued and shipped to England, and how, if she would, she might follow him at dawn in a fishing-boat. "For there is likely to be warm work at Puysange," Adhelmar said, grimly, "when the Marshal comes.

And he will come.'

"And you, cousin?" asked Melite. 3 37

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"Holy Ouen!" said Adhelmar; "since I needs must die, I will die in France, not in the cold land of England."

"Die!" cried Melite. "Are you hurt so sorely, then?"

He grinned like a death's-head. "My injuries are not incurable," said he, "yet must I die for all that. The English King will hang me if I go thither, as he has sworn to do these eight years, because of that matter of Almerigo di Pavia: and if I stay in France, I must hang because of this night's work."

Melite wept. "O God! O God!" she quavered, two or three times, like one wounded in the throat. "And you have done this for me! Is there no way to save you, Adhelmar?" she pleaded, with wide, frightened eyes that were like a child's.

"None," said Adhelmar. He took both her hands in his, very tenderly. "Ah, my sweet," said he, "must I whose grave is al- ready digged waste breath upon this idle talk of kingdoms and the squabbling men who rule them ? I have but a brief while 38

ADHELMAR CLIMBED THE STAIRS SLOWLY, FOR HE WAS GROWING VERY FEEBLE

NOW"

to live, and I would fain forget that there is aught else in the world save you and that I love you. Do not weep, Melite ! In a lit- tle time you will forget me and be happy with this Hugues whom you love ; and I ? — ah, my sweet, I think that even in my grave I shall dream of you and of your great beau- ty and of the exceeding love that I bore you in the old days."

"Ah, no, not that!" Melite cried. "I shall not forget, O true and faithful lover! And, indeed, indeed, Adhelmar, I would £0 give my life right willingly that yours might

be saved !" She had forgotten Hugues now. te *? Her heart hungered as she thought of Adhelmar who must die a shameful death for her sake and of the love which she had cast away. The Sieur d'Arques's affection showed somewhat tawdry be- side it.

" Sweet," said he, "do I not know you to { the marrow? You will forget me utterly, for your heart is very changeable. Ah, Mother of God!" Adhelmar cried, with a quick lift of speech; " I am afraid to die, for *-.

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the harsh dust will shut out the glory of your face, and you will forget!"

"No; ah, no!" Melite whispered, and drew near to him. Adhelmar smiled, a little wistfully, for he did not believe that she spoke the truth ; but it was good to feel her body 'close to his, even though he was dying, and he was content.

But by this the dawn had come com- pletely, flooding the room with its first thin radiance, and Melite saw the pallor of his face and so knew that he was wounded.

"Indeed, yes," said Adhelmar, when she had questioned him, " for my breast is quite cloven through." And when she presently disarmed him, Melite found a great cut in his chest which had bled so much that it was apparent he must die, whether d'An- dreghen and Edward of England would or no.

Melite wept again and cried • " Why had you not told me of this?"

"To have you heal me, perchance?" said Adhelmar. "Ah, love, is hanging, then, so sweet a death that I should choose it,

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