"You are right, Sweyn," he said; "leave her to me. Girl," he turned to
her, "this time it shall likely go hard with thee. Trees are plenty
and ropes easy to come by. I warned thee before. I shall not warn thee
now."
Isoult bowed her head.
"What dost thou do here, herding in the wood with wild beasts?" he
went on.
"Lord, none but the beasts will give me food or rest or any kindness
at all. There is no pity in man nor woman that I have seen, save in
two, and one is dead. Prosper le Gai, my lord, and husband, hath pity,
and will come to me at last. And whether he shall come to my body
alone or my spirit alone, he will come. And now, lord, hang me to a
tree."
"Dost thou want to be hanged?" he asked.
"Nay, lord, I am too young to be hanged," she said. "Moreover, though
I am wedded to my lord, I am not a wife. For only lately he hath loved
me, and that since we were put apart."
"Wed, and a virgin, girl? Where is thy husband?"
"Lord, he is searching for me."
"Where hath he been, what hath he done--or thou, what hast thou done,
for such a droll fate as this?"
Isoult very simply told him everything. Of Galors he already had some
news--enough to dread more. But when he heard that the girl had
actually been in High March Castle, had been expelled from it, he
crossed himself and thanked God for all His mercies. He became a
devout Christian at this critical point in Isoult's career, whereby
her neck was saved a second time from the rope. He felt a certain
pity--she a handsome girl, too, though his type for choice was blonde
--for her simplicity, and, as he certainly wished to obtain mercy,
reflected upon the possible blessings of the merciful. Besides, Galors
was at large, Galors who knew the story, to say nothing of Prosper,
also at large, who did not know the story, but did know, on the other
hand, the Countess Isabel. Difficult treading! But so the habits of a
lifetime for once chimed in with its professions. Even as he stood
pitying he roughed out another set of shifts. Prosper and his
unconsummated marriage might be set aside--the fool, he thought with a
chuckle, deserved it. There remained Galors. He would get the girl
married to a mesne of the abbey, or stay! he would marry her elsewhere
and get a dowry. She had filled out astonishingly, every line of her
spoke of blood: there would be no trouble about a dowry. Then he might
supplant Galors by being beforehand with him at the Countess's ear.
Gratitude of the mother, gratitude of the daughter, gratitude of the
son-in-law! Thus Charity walked hand in hand with Policy. The girl was
a beauty. What a picture she made there, short-frocked, flushed and
loose-haired, like an Amazon--but, by Mars, not maimed liked an
Amazon. The Abbot was a connoisseur of women, as became a confessor
and man of the world.