When the asses were unloaded in the inn-yard, and the coal stacked
under cover, Falve took his prisoner by the hand and led her by many
winding lanes to his mother's shop. This was in Litany Row, a crazy
dark entry over against the Dominican convent. The streets and alleys
were empty, the rain coursed down all the gutters of the steep little
town; its music and their own plashy steps were all they could hear.
Knocking at a little barred door in Litany Row, they were admitted by
a wrinkled old woman with wet eyes.
"Mother," said the fellow, "this boy is no boy, but a maid with whom I
intend to marry at cockcrow. Let her sleep with thee this night, and
in the morning dress her in a good gown against I come to fetch her."
The old woman looked her up and down in a way that made the girl
blush.
"Well," she said, "thou art a proper boy enough, I see, and I will
make thee a proper girl, if God hath done His part."
"That He hath done, mother," says Falve with a grin. "See here, then."
With that he pulls off Isoult's green cap. All her hair tumbled about
her shoulders in a fan.
"Mother of God," cried the old woman, "this is a proper girl indeed,
if other things are as they should be, to accord with these tresses."
"Never fear for that, mother," said Falve. "Trust me, she will be a
good wife out and in. For, let alone the good looks of the girl, she
is very meek and doeth all things well, even to speaking little."
"And what is she named, this pretty miss?" asked the crone.
"Tell her your fancy name, wife," said Falve, giving her a nudge;
"show her that you have a tongue in your round head."
"I am called Isoult la Desirous, ma'am," said the girl.
"La, la, la!" cried the old dame, "say you so? The name hath promise
of plenty; but for whose good I say not. And who gave you such a name
as that, pray?"
"I have never known any other, ma'am."
"Hum, hum," mumbled the dame. "I've heard more Christian names and
names less Christian, but never one that went better on a bride."
"Mother, a word in your ear," said Falve.
The couple drew apart and the man whispered-"Keep her close; let her never out of your sight, that I may marry her
to-morrow, for since I set eyes on her as a maiden whom I first took
to be a boy, I have had no peace for longing after her."
"Have no fear, my son Falve," said his mother, "she shall be as safe
with me as the stone in a peach. I'll get her dry and her natural
shape to begin with, and come morning light, if you have not the
comeliest bride in the Nor'-West Walk, 'twill be the Church's doing or
yours, but none o' mine. Have ye feed a priest, boy?"