"It is enough, Princess. He dare not look at you again. At dawn you

shall leave this place. Now sleep easy, for if I hurt a hair of your

head I might never hope for heaven's gate."

She made the girl sleep alone.

"This is my proper station before you, madam," said she, and lay down

on the floor at the foot of the bed.

It was no dream. In the morning she was up before the light. Isoult

found a bath prepared, and in her gaoler of over-night a dresser who

was as brisk as a bee and as humble as a spaniel.

"Old servants are the best," said the crone in her defence; "they're

not so slippery, but they know how things should go on and off. Ah,

and give me a young mistress and a beauty," she went on to sigh, "such

as God Almighty hath sent me this night."

Either Saint Isidore had entered the token, or the token had been

swallowed by Saint Isidore.

When the girl was dressed in her red silk gown of the night before,

with a hood of the same for her head, her red stockings and her red

shoes, she was set at table, and waited upon hand and foot. No

questions were asked, but very much was taken for granted. Ursula had

her finger to her lip every sentence; she wallowed in mystery.

"You are not safe here, Princess," she whispered, "but I will put you

where only safety is for the moment--in Mid-Morgraunt. Affairs, as you

know, are not well where they should be; but as soon as you are

bestowed, I will go forth with that which will make them as bright as

day. I will see one I never thought to face again; I shall win honour

which God knows I am late a-winning. Leave everything to me."

Isoult asked nothing better, for the very sufficient reason that she

knew nothing. Her earth-born habit of taking all things as they came

in order stood her in good part; she had no temptation to ask what all

this meant. But she did not forget to thank the great Saint Isidore

latent in the crystal.

Everything being ready, the old woman threw a long brown cloak over

her charge before they ventured out into the still twilight streets.

The wet was steaming off the ground, but the day promised fair.

Hauterive was nearly empty: they were not challenged at the gate, met

nobody terrific. Once outside the walls they descended a sharp

incline, struck almost immediately a forest path, and in half-an-hour

from that were deep in the dewy woods. Old Ursula held on briskly for

a mile or so in and out of fern and brake. Then she stopped, out of

breath, but beaming benevolence and humility.




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