The Forest Lovers

The girl, who feared him much more than the death he had declared, was

white now and desperate. But she still held him off with her stiffened

arms and face averted. She tried to cheapen herself. "I am Matt's bad

daughter, I am Matt's bad daughter! All the tithing holds me in scorn.

Never speak of love to such as I am, Galors." And when he tried to

pull her she made herself rigid as a rod, and would not go.

So love made the man mad, and spread and possessed him. Contest goaded

Galors: action was his meat and dominion what he breathed; by

resisting she had made the end more sure. By her imprisoned wrists he

drew her in, and when she was so close that her head was almost upon

his breast, he breathed over her. "A mitred abbey have I trampled down

for your love; yes, and to be bishop of a see. Therefore you must

come."

She fell to whining and entreaty, white to the lips and dry with fear.

All that she could say was, "I am bad. I am bad, but not so bad! Never

ruin me, Dom Galors." Then it was that she heard the voice of Prosper

singing afar off on the heath. Prosper sang-"What if my metal

Be proved as high as a hawk's in good fettle!

Then you shall see

The world my fee, And the hearts of men for my Seigniory."

And the girl thought to herself, "Help cometh!" and changed the voice

of her grief and the beating of her heart. By this the guile a woman

has always by her tongue had play: she could talk more gently to her

gaoler, and beg a little time--a short hour or so--to plan and arrange

their affairs. He thought her won and grew very tender; he kissed her

hands many times, called her his dear heart, became, in a word, the

clumsy gallant he claimed to be. All this too she endured: she began

to gabble at random, sprightly as a minion, with all the shifts of a

girl in a strait place ready at command. Her fear was double now: she

must learn the trend of the singer and his horse, and prevent Galors

from hearing either. This much she did. The sound came steadily on.

She heard the horse's hoofs strike on a flint outside the quarry, she

heard Prosper, singing softly to himself. Her time had come. She

sprang at arm's-length from Galors and called out, "Help, for

charity!" with all her might.

Prosper started, drew his sword, and headed his horse for the quarry.

In the mouth of it he reined up to look about him. He was sure of his

direction, but not of his way, "Help is here!" he cried with his sword

on high and red plumes nodding. Air and the light of the sun seemed to

follow him, as if he had cut a slit in a shroud and let in the day.

Then it was that Isoult found strength to shake free from her enemy,

to run to Prosper, to clasp his knee, to babble broken words,

entreaties for salvation, and to stoop to his foot and kiss it.