Silver Cross by Mary Johnston
CHAPTER XIII
She came no more. Night after night of dark,--only the star Memory andthe sapphire star of passionate hope that once again, once again hewould wake, clear, still, and know her there. “Even after years, oh,heaven that holds her, oh, God that sustains her! Even after yearsbeyond counting.”
She came no more. The nights were slow dark raindrops, heavy, full, oneafter the other falling, slow falling, not to be counted. They maderosaries, they would make rosaries for aye. “Then I must go to her.Where is the eagle will show me the path?”
March--April. The rose in reliquary, the cave stone lined, the wellwidened into a fair pool with steps for going down, for coming up, onein so many healed! April--May. Noise of Silver Cross like a wavingof forest trees, like a humming of all the bees in the meadows. Folkcoming, going; more folk and more folk coming! At the Abbey a greaterguest house in planning; in shambling village taverns, booths, housesrising. Pilgrims on foot and pilgrims on horseback and in litter. Abishop stayed three days in the Abbot’s house, there was rumour thatthe cardinal might come. The bells of Silver Cross rang jubilee.
Middle Forest relied now upon its own side of the river. Montjoy inhis castle looked younger by ten years. He looked like some crusadingMontjoy of long ago, long ago. The river murmured of both banks; thebridge seemed to have two loves. But the mount of Saint Leofric, thoughit said, “Praise for doubling!” seemed rather to wish to say, “Out upondivision!” Prior Hugh, though he spoke gracious words, looked warpedand wan and cogitative.
Early May at the ruined farm and Somerville and the helping-woman Joanin the forest, under a beech tree pale green and silver grey, springingtall and stretching wide. “I will to go back to my house by the river!All the world is joyous and grown softened--Oh, I hear it with the earinside of ear and I touch it with the touch inside of touch! Good wasdone for all of the evil, was it not, Rob?”
He laughed. “Oh, woman--! You can’t go back. Father Edmund has threevoices where he had one! Moreover--”
“Moreover--?”
“See you, Morgen, go up to London town.”
“And why should I go to London town?”
“Ask for that Westforest and Silver Cross.”
Under the beech tree was carpet of last year’s leaves. She lifted andcrumbled them in her hands. “When I said that I would be secret, Imeant not telling! They have no call to fear me.”
“Perhaps they tell themselves that. Or perhaps they see faint menaceevery time they look this way!”
“They promised that trouble should cease. I was going back to my ownhouse over my own garden, by the river that I like to hear by day, bynight. They said that Father Edmund should be checked. Presently I wasto find that I might slip back--”
“What is promised is not easy sometimes to perform. They will give yougold in London. London is rich, and you are Morgen Fay. Go, and bepowerful there!”
“And you--and you? Oh, I remember that you go once in five years toLondon!”
“If you cried out in Middle Forest market place what was done not asoul would believe you!”
“No. It is too monstrous!”
“Then and there the folk might tear you limb from limb for wildblaspheming. They are truly quite safe.”
She broke into high laughter. “Then let them leave me alone, and letthem keep promise! It irks me that they are so false! Here are twomonths, and not yet may I go back! And Ailsa and Tony, where are they?I see them begging or in gaol!”
“You should be happy,” he said, “that you are not beggar nor in gaol.”
There fell silence. The beech tree sprang light green and silver, thesky was blue, the blackbirds talked, a thrush sang, wandering airs wentby. The world was sweet. But she crushed the dead leaves and sat still.
“You must go. Need or no need, they will have it so! Nor can youstay at the ruined farm forever. Something will happen endangeringyou--endangering me.”
She said. “Is life wicked--or are we wicked--or are we dull andlifeless--stones, broken twigs, dead leaves? Many an one says that Iam wicked, and doubtless I am at times. I know it--I know it! And thenagain I am not wicked. So if I say that you are so, poor Sir RobertSomerville? Perhaps I am mistaken--perhaps I am right. It’s a weary wayto knowledge!”
“Were you gentler,” he said, “had you not such a tongue, you would findthat the winds did not rock your nest so roughly!”
He stood up. “Ah, go!” she said. “Go! I have seen it coming--now itcomes! Your road’s to John o’ Groat’s house and mine’s to Land’s End!”
“You mock the wind,” he answered, “with your nest fixed so firm uponthe bough!”
He went away by woodman’s path, and she to the ruined farm. “Eh, lass!”said Margery at dusk. “You can work when your mind’s to it!”
The third day from this Somerville and she were again in the wood. “Iam going. It is trudge! All of you make a north wind that I set my backagainst and go! Nor will I cry for it, Somerville!”
“You have no need to. They shall give you money. Walk or ride in acart from here through the later half of night, keeping disguise. Cometo the port in a day or so and find there the _King Arthur_ bound forLondon. Find, too, upon the ship Ailsa--”
Red flowed over her face. “Oh, the power that men, and honest men, own!It is enough to make one willing to sell soul to devil!”
He waved that aside. “It is for your own safety that you are going.And were I wholly wicked I should not be here, nor Ailsa at the portawaiting you--”
She said. “That is true. I thank you there, Rob!”
She broke a spray of hazel, set her teeth in the green wood, then threwit away. “Shall we say good-by now, you and I?”
“Not just yet. Something has arisen since we sat here the other day. Ihave seen Prior Matthew.”
“Aye?”
“There is needed one more appearance. Question has arisen as to SaintWillebrod--if he rests still or if actively he aids! There are some whoare devoted to him. Once more then!”
“Oh, I will not!”
His bright eyes dwelt upon her, all the lights played in his odd face.“Why not, Morgen? Be good-natured! I nor none am doing badly by you.”
“What do you get from this?”
“The old debatable land--and a piece that was not debatable. I loveland! And I get playgoer’s enjoyment, watching from a good, quietseat--and comfort that we’re all fruit just pleasantly specked andwasp-eaten--and some mirth from Montjoy’s ecstacy. So be good!What! There are houses by Thames in London. You may have a gardenstill--plant your rose tree there.”
It was high May weather. As once before Thomas Bettany had errand upthe Wander,--merchant errand of account-to-be-paid. This time it waswith Oak Tree Grange beyond Silver Cross. He rode in the May tide andwith him rode John Cobb, and they had done the errand. Oak Tree Grangelay out of the world, and now they were on a cart track, nothing more.
Young Bettany rode light and happy on his big grey horse. May world wasa fair world, fair, sweet, gay, kind! He whistled clear and strong. “Iswear I saw God sitting on yon cloud!”
Said John Cobb, “I’m going to Silver Cross to get this old scar takenoff my face.”
“Silver Cross. I don’t know.”
They were riding by a wood, old, uncut, dim. “This is Somerville’s landnow! He always claimed it, and now the Abbey allows it.”
John Cobb looked about him. “I know now where we are. Over there,a mile through, is a ruined farm. Lonely! It’s so lonely you loseyourself--and there’s a ghost walks in the wood.”
“Let’s go look.”
John was not averse, being in the other’s company. They left cart trackand rode over yielding earth under old trees. There was no path and thetrees must be rounded. The way they had come sank from sight, almostit might seem from mind, so quick the place took them. Bettany’s blueeyes sparkled. He loved all this; he might come at any moment uponwizard’s tower. What indeed they came upon was another faint track,leading north and south
“That is what I like!” said the other. “Oh, if I might I would travelfar!”
They rode as though it were bottom of the sea, it was so green andsilent. Bettany turned in his saddle and studied the lay of the place.“When Somerville goes to Silver Cross I think he takes this way. It’snot so far.”
“Turn here to the ruined farm. David that lives here, I’ve heard mymother say, was foster brother to Sir Robert’s father.”
They rode on and now they saw the ruined farm between the trees. Awreck it seemed, like a broken ship slipped down to sea floor. Then bya thorn in bloom stood up Morgen Fay.
“_Who are you?_”
“_Who are you?_”
In a moment she knew him and Bettany knew her for all her servant dressand stained face. “How do you come here--how do you come here? You arein London--”
John Cobb crossed himself. “Like she be a sorceress, too--”
Morgen stepped from the thorn to the side of the big grey horse. Shemet blue eyes with dark eyes. Her lips smiled, her eyes and under hereyes. “Oh, the saints!” she said. “I can but be glad to see you, lad!You are no telltale! Can you teach your man to be none either?”
“I can that. But Morgen Fay, how did you grow here?”
He swung himself down from his horse and stood beside her. John Cobbgaped. “Send him a little away,” she said, “but do not let him out ofsight. This world’s a danger-bush where the thorn is always near themay!”
They talked. “Do you remember that foggy day when you climbed throughwindow? I have not seen you since! I like you, though not the way thatall expect. I wish I might have had you for brother. Well, they wouldstone me--burn me, maybe--in the market place, Father Edmund preachingover me! I dwell at the ruined farm.”
Intelligence flashed between them. “Somerville saved you--put youhere. I think the better of him!” He spoke sturdily, a young spiritualadventurer.
She looked at him with eyes that seemed to have considered a myriadmatters. She sighed--she stretched her arms in a yearning gesture inthe dim gulf of the world into which the wood seemed to have turned.“It is away to London! Maybe I shall never again see you nor Somervillenor Montjoy, who is too good now to be seen close, nor Middle ForestHigh Street that I danced in when I was a little girl, nor my housethat I liked, though often was I wretched in it! Nor my garden that theold wall mothered, nor river that I listened to and listened to. Well,tide and time we run away! But where we run to, that is a question fora wise man! They say that we run to heaven or to hell--and I shouldn’tdare say my road was the first!”
Without warning Thomas Bettany found himself priest. “If you’ve strayedinto wrong road, turn and take the other! You’ve got more than youthink of the other in you now. Turn, Morgen!” He regarded her with asudden startled face. “By the rood! It’s the Great Adventure.”
She looked at him with more of the thorn in her face than the bloom.From beyond an oak came John Cobb’s warning voice. “Some one’s coming!Two or three!”
“Go at once!” said Morgen Fay, and so meant it that she wrought theirgoing. Bettany, obeying her, rode without turning his head, straightthrough the wood. The trees fell like fountains between the two andthe thorn bush. To the right lay the ruined farm, but they pushed onand came after a mile to the narrow, little travelled road that ledat last to the highway that, passing Silver Cross, ran on to MiddleForest.