Lady Sybil's Choice: A Tale of the Crusades Read online

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  "Down the nave Sybil came.... It was evident that sheknew perfectly well where he stood who was to wear the crown." P. 317]

  _Lady Sybil's Choice_

  _A Tale of the Crusades_

  BY

  EMILY SARAH HOLT

  AUTHOR OF "MISTRESS MARGERY," "SISTER ROSE," ETC.

  "This Tale in ancient Chronicle,-- In wording old and quaint,In classic language of the past, In letters pale and faint,--This tale is told. Yet once again Let it be told to-day--The old, old tale of woman's love, Which lasteth on for aye."

  _NEW EDITION_

  LONDON JOHN F. SHAW AND CO. 48 PATERNOSTER ROW 1879

  *PREFACE.*

  "Why, seeing times are not hidden from the Almighty, do they that knowHim, not see His days?"

  From the earliest ages of the world, the needs-be of suffering has beena mystery. Down to the latest, it will be a mystery still. Truly, themore we "know Him," the less mystery it is to us: for even where wecannot see, we can trust His love. Yet there are human analogies, whichmay throw some faint light on the dark question: and one of these willbe found in the following pages. "What I do, thou knowest notnow"--sometimes because it is morally impossible,--our finite capacitycould not hold it: but sometimes, too, because we could not be trustedwith the knowledge. In their case, there is one thing we can do--wait."O thou of little faith!--_wherefore_ didst thou doubt?"

  "Oh restful, blissful ignorance! 'Tis blessed not to know. It keeps me still in those kind arms Which will not let me go, And hushes my soul to rest On the bosom that loves me so!

  "So I go on, not knowing,-- I would not, if I might. I would rather walk in the dark with God Than walk alone in the light; I would rather walk with Him by faith, Than walk alone by sight.

  "My heart shrinks back from trials Which the future may disclose; Yet I never had a sorrow But what the dear Lord chose: So I send the coming tears back With the whispered word, 'He knows!'"

  *CONTENTS.*

  CHAP.

  I. GUY TAKES THE CROSS II. TWO SURPRISES FOR ELAINE III. ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLITTERS IV. A JOURNEY--AND THE END OF IT V. CURIOUS NOTIONS VI. THE PERVERSITY OF PEOPLE VII. A LITTLE CLOUD OUT OF THE SEA VIII. AS GOOD AS MOST PEOPLE IX. ELAINE FINDS MORE THAN SHE EXPECTED X. PREPARING FOR THE STRUGGLE XI. THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM XII. WILL SHE GIVE HIM UP? XIII. WAITING FOR THE INEVITABLE XIV. SYBIL'S CHOICE

  *LADY SYBIL'S CHOICE*

  *CHAPTER I.*

  _*GUY TAKES THE CROSS*_*.*

  "But what are words, and what am I? An infant crying in the night; An infant crying for the light; And with no language but a cry." --TENNYSON.

  Alix says I am a simpleton. I don't think it is particularly pleasant.Sometimes she says I am a perfect simpleton: and I cannot say that Ilike that any better. Nor do I think that it is very civil in one'ssister to put her opinion on record in this certainly perspicuous, butnot at all complimentary manner. Still, I have heard her say it so manytimes that I might almost have come to believe it, if she did not say soof anybody but me. But when--as she did this morning--she says Guy is asimpleton, that I cannot stand with any patience. Because there isnobody like Guy in all the world. He is the best, kindest, dearestbrother that ever a girl had or could have. And it is a shame of Alixto say such things. I am sure of it.[#]

  [#] The brothers in this family are historical persons; the sistersfictitious.

  I do not know how it is, but Alix seems vexed that I should like Guybest of all my brothers. She says I ought to make companions of Amauryand Raoul, who are nearer me in age. But is that any reason for likingpeople? At that rate, I ought to love Alix least of all, because she isfurthest off. And--though I should not like her to know that I saidso--I am not at all sure that I don't.

  Being like you in character, it seems to me, is a much better reason forchoosing companions, than being near you in age. And I think Guy ismuch more like me than Amaury or Raoul either. They don't care for thesame things that I do, and Guy does. Now, how can you like a man'scompany when you can never agree with him?

  Alix says my tastes--and, of course, Guy's--are very silly. I believeshe thinks there is no sense in anything but spinning and cooking andneedlework. But I think Amaury and Raoul are quite as foolish as we are.Amaury admires everything that shines and glitters, and he is not at allparticular whether it is gold or brass. I believe, this minute, heknows more about samite, and damask, and velvet, than I do. You wouldthink the world was coming to an end by the wail he sets up if his caphas a feather less than he intended, or the border of his tunic is donein green instead of yellow. Is that like being a man? Guillot saysAmaury should have been a woman, but I think he should have stayed ababy. Then Raoul cares for things that bang and clash. In his eyes,everybody ought to be a soldier, and no tale is worth hearing if it benot about a tournament or the taking of a city.

  Now I do think Guy and I have more sense. What we love to hear is ofdeeds really noble,--of men that have saved their city or their countryat the risk of their own lives; of a mother that has sacrificed herselffor her child; of a lady who was ready to see her true knight die ratherthan stain his honour. When we were little children at old Marguerite'sknee, and she used to tell us tales as a reward when we had beengood,--and who ever knew half so many stories as dear oldMarguerite?--while Raoul always wanted a bloody battle, and Amaury aroyal pageant, and Alix what she called something practical--which, sofar as I could see, meant something that was not interesting--andGuillot, he said, "Something all boys, with no girls in it"--the storiesGuy and I liked were just those which our dear old nurse best loved totell. There was the legend of Monseigneur Saint Gideon, who drove theheathen Saracens out of his country with a mere handful offoot-soldiers; and that of Monseigneur Saint David, who, when he was buta youth, fought with the Saracen giant, Count Goliath, who was fortyfeet high--Guillot and Raoul used to like that too; and of MonseigneurSaint Daniel, who on a false accusation was cast to the lions, and inthe night the holy Apostle Saint Peter appeared to him, and commandedthe lions not to hurt him; and the lions came and licked the feet ofMonseigneur Saint Peter. The story that Amaury liked best of all wasabout Madame Esther, the Queen of Persia, and how she entreated herroyal lord for the lives of certain knights that had been takenprisoners; but he always wanted to know exactly what Madame Esther hadon, and even I thought that absurd, for of course Marguerite had to makeit up, as the legend did not tell, and he might have done that forhimself. Raoul best loved the great legend of the wars of Troy, and howMonseigneur Achilles dragged Monseigneur Hector at the wheels of hischariot: which I never did like, for I could not help thinking of Madamethe Queen, his mother, and Madame his wife, who sat in a latticedgallery watching, and remembering how their hearts would bleed when theysaw it. The story Guy liked best was of two good knights of Greece,whose names were Sir Damon and Sir Pythias, and how they so loved thateach was ready and anxious to lay down his life for the other: and Ithink what I best loved to hear was the dear legend of Madame SaintMagdalene, and how she followed the blessed steps of our Lord whereverHe went, and was the first to whom He deigned to appear after
Hisresurrection.

  I wish, sometimes, that I had known my mother. I never had any motherbut Marguerite. If she heard me, I know she would say, "Ha, myDamoiselle does not well to leave out the Damoiselle Alix." But I amsure Alix was never anything like a mother. If she were, mothers mustbe queer people.

  Why don't I like Alix better? Surely the only reason is not because sheis my half-sister. Our gracious Lord and father was twicemarried,--first to the Lady Eustacie de Chabot, who was mother of Alix,and Guillot, and Guy, and Amaury, and Raoul: and then she died, soonafter Raoul was born; and the year afterwards Monseigneur married mymother, and I was her only child. But that does not hinder my lovingGuy. Why should it hinder my loving Alix?

  Most certainly something does hinder it,--and some tremendous thinghinders my loving Cousin Hugues de la Marche. I hate him. Margueritesays "Hush!" when I say so. But Hugues is so intensely hateable, I amsure she need not. He is more like Guillot than any other of us, butrougher and more boisterous by far. I can't bear him. And he alwayssays he hates girls, and he can't bear me. So why should I not hate him?

  O Mother, Mother! I wish you had stayed with me!

  Somehow, I don't think of her as I do of any one who is alive. Isuppose, if she were alive, I should call her "Fair Madame," and beafraid to move in her presence. But being dead seems to bring hernearer. I call her "Mother," and many a time I say her pretty, gentlename, Clemence,--not aloud, but in my thoughts. Would she have loved meif she had stayed?

  Does she love me, where she is with God? They say she was so gentle andpious, I am sure she must be in Heaven. She stayed only a very littlewhile with us; I was not two years old when she died. Marguerite saysshe used to carry me up and down the long gallery, looking tenderly downat my baby face, and call me her darling, her dove, her precious Elaine.Oh, why could I not have heard her, to remember it, only once?

  There is no need to ask why I feel lonely and desolate, and muse on mydead mother, as I always do when I am miserable. I can never beanything else, now that Guy is gone. Monseigneur, our gracious Lord andfather, gave consent a month since that Guy should take the holy cross,and yesterday morning he set forth with a company on his perilousjourney. Was there no one in all the world but my Guy to fight for ourLord's sepulchre? And does our Lord think so very much about it, thatHe does not care though a maiden's heart be broken and her lifedesolate, if she give up her best beloved to defend it?

  Well, I suppose it is wrong to say that. The good God is always good,of course. And I suppose it is right that Guy should put the sepulchrebefore me. He is the true knight, to sacrifice himself to duty; and Iam not the noble-hearted damsel, if I wish he had done otherwise. And Isuppose the great tears that fell on that red cross while I wasbroidering it, were displeasing to the good God. He ought to have thebest. Oh yes! I see that, quite clearly. And yet I wonder why Hewanted my best, when He has all the saints and angels round Him, to doHim homage. And I had only Guy. I cannot understand it.

  Oh dear! I do get so puzzled, sometimes. I think this is a veryperplexing world to live in. And it is of no use to say a word to Alix,because she only calls me a simpleton, and that does not explainanything: and Marguerite says, "Hush! My Damoiselle would not speakagainst the good God?"

  And neither of them helps me a bit. They do not see that I never meanto speak against the good God. I only want to understand. They do notfeel the same sort of want, I suppose, and so they think it wicked in meto feel it.

  Does my mother understand it all? Must one die, to understand? And ifso, why?

  Guy would let me ask him such questions. I do not know that he saw theanswer any better than I did, but at least we could agree in feelingthem, and could try to puzzle the way out. But Alix appears not even tosee what I mean. And it is disheartening, when one takes the trouble tobrace up one's courage to ask such questions from somebody above one, ofwhom one feels ever so little afraid, only to be told in reply what thesame person had told one a hundred times before--that one is asimpleton.

  I wish somebody would listen to me. If I could have seen a saint,--someone who lived in perpetual communion with our Lord, and knew all things!But do saints know all things? If so, why could not I be a saintmyself, and then I should know too?

  Well, I have no doubt of the answer to that question. For if I were asaint, I must first be a nun; and that would mean to go away from home,and never, never see Guy any more.

  Oh no! that would not do. So it is plain I can never be a saint.

  When I come to think about it, I doubt if there ever were a saint in ourfamily. Of course we are one of the oldest families in Poitou, andindeed I might say, in France; for Count Hugues I. lived about ninehundred years after our Lord, and that is nearly as far back asCharlemagne. And Monseigneur has no one above him but our gracious Lordthe Count of Poitou, who is in his turn a vassal of our suzerain, theKing of England, and he pays homage to the King of France.

  I never did like that, and I don't now. I cannot see why our Kingshould pay homage to the King of France for his dominions on this sideof the sea.[#] The French say there were Kings in France before thereever were in England. Well, that may be so: but I am sure it was notlong before, and our King is every bit as good as the King of France.When Raoul wants to tease me, he says I am a Frenchwoman. And I won'tbe called a Frenchwoman. I am not a subject of King Louis. I am aPoitevine, and a subject of the Lord Henry, King of England and Count ofPoitou, to begin with: and under him, of his son the Lord Richard,[#]who is now our young Count; and beneath him again, of Monseigneur, myown father, who has as much power in his own territory as the Kinghimself.

  [#] This homage, exacted by the Kings of France, was always a soresubject with the Kings of England, who took every opportunity of evadingthat personal payment of it which it was the anxiety of the Frenchmonarchs to secure.

  [#] Coeur-de-Lion.

  It is true, Monseigneur's territory is not very large. But Father Eudestold us one day, when he was giving us our Latin lessons, that the greatEmperor of Rome, Monseigneur Julius Caesar, who was such a wonderful manand a great magician, used to say that he would rather be the first in avillage than the second in imperial Rome itself. And that is just what Ifeel. I would rather be the Damoiselle Elaine, daughter of Monseigneurthe Count of Lusignan, than I would be the niece or cousin of the Queenof France. I do like to be at the top of everything. And I wouldrather be at the top of a little thing than at the bottom of a big one.

  Marguerite smiles and shakes her head when I say so to her. She says itis pleasanter down at the bottom. It makes me laugh to hear her. It isnatural enough that she should think so, as she is only a villein, andof course she is at the bottom. And it is very well if she likes it. Icould never bear it. But then I am noble, and it could not be expectedthat I should do so.

  Though we never had a saint in our House, yet, as every one knows, wesprang from a supernatural source. The root of the House of Lusignanwas the Fairy Melusine, who was the loveliest creature imaginable, buthalf woman and half serpent. I do not know when she lived, but it musthave been ages ago; and she built the Castle of Lusignan by enchantment.Sometimes, on a still summer evening, any one who is out alone willcatch a glimpse of her, bathing in the fountain which stands in thepleasance.[#] I would not cross the pleasance after dark on a summerevening--no, not to be made a queen. I should be frightened to death ofseeing the Lady Melusine. For when any one of our line is about to die,she is sure to appear, so I should think I was going to die if I sawher. She comes, too, when any great calamity is threatening France.Perhaps I should not be quite sure to die, but I would rather not riskit. I never did see her, the saints be thanked; and Marguerite says shenever did. I think she cannot have appeared for a long time. Aboutforty years ago, before the death of the Lady Poncette, Countess ofAngouleme, who was a daughter of our House, Arlette, the mother of ourvarlet Robert, thought she saw the Lady Melusine; but it was nearlydark, and there were trees between them, and Arl
ette is near-sighted, soit was not possible to be sure. But she says her mother-in-law'sniece's grand-aunt really did see her, and no mistake at all about it.She was bathing in the fountain, and she splashed her long tail abouttill the maiden almost lost her wits from the fright. And the very nextyear, Count Hugues the Good was murdered by the Duke of Guienne'speople. Which shows plainly that there are such things as ghosts.

  [#] Pleasure-grounds.

  The night before Guy went away--can it be two evenings since,--onlytwo?--we crept into the long gallery, as we two always do when we want aquiet talk, and sat down in that window from which you get the lovelyview of the church spire through the trees, across the river. That isalways our favourite window. Guy was trying to comfort me, and I amrather afraid I was crying. And he said, drawing me up to him, andkissing me,--

  "Now, my little Elaine, there have been tears enough for once. I am notgoing to forget thee, any more than thou meanest to forget me. When Ihave fought the Saracens, and taken Saladin captive, and brought him inchains to Jerusalem, and the King has made me a Count, and given me abeautiful lady for my wife, and everybody is talking about me,"--ofcourse I knew that was only Guy's fun; he did not really expect allthat,--"then," he went on, "I will send home for Amaury and my littlepet, and you shall come to me in the Holy Land. Monseigneur promised methat, thou knowest. He said it would be an excellent thing for thee;because thou wouldst not only have all thy sins forgiven at the HolySepulchre, but very likely I should have the chance of getting a goodhusband for thee. And I have talked well to Amaury about taking care ofthee on the journey; and Marguerite must attend thee. So look forwardto that, Lynette, and dry those red eyes."

  "They will be red till thou comest back, Guy!" said I, with anotherburst of tears.

  "I am sure I hope not!" he answered, laughing. "They will be very uglyif they are; and then how am I to get thee a husband?"

  "I don't care about one, I thank thee," said I "So that does notsignify."

  "Ah, that is because thou art fourteen," said Guy; "wait till thou artfour-and-twenty."

  There, now! if I could have been vexed with my own dear Guy, and justwhen he was going away for ever--at least it looks very like forever--but of course I could not. But why will men--even the very bestof them--always fancy that a girl cares more for a husband than anythingelse in this world? However, I let it pass. How could I quarrel withGuy?

  "Guy," I said, "dost thou care very much about having a beautiful ladyfor thy wife?"

  Guy takes the Cross.

  "Oh, certainly!" replied Guy, pursing up his lips, and pretending to begrave.

  I did not like the idea one bit. I felt more inclined to cry till Guycame back than ever.

  "What will she be like, Guy?" I asked, trying not to show it.

  "She will be the loveliest creature in all the world," said Guy, "witheyes as black as sloes, and hair like a raven's plumage; and so richthat whenever she puts her hand in her pocket thou wilt hear the besantsgo chink, chink against each other."

  "Wilt thou love her, Guy?" I said, gulping down my thoughts.

  "To distraction!" replied Guy, casting up his eyes.

  Well, I knew all the while it was nonsense, but I did feel so miserableI could not tell what to do. I know Raoul and Guillot have a notionthat they are only fulfilling the ends of their being by teasing theirsisters; but it was something so very new for Guy.

  "But thou wilt not give over loving _me_, Guy?" I wailed, and I am surethere were tears in my voice as well as my eyes.

  "My dear, foolish little Lynette!" said Guy, half laughing, andsmoothing my hair; "dost thou not know me any better than that? Why, Ishall be afraid of talking nonsense, or sense either, if thou must needstake it to heart in that style."

  I felt rather comforted, but I did not go on with that. There wassomething else that I wanted to ask Guy, and it was my last opportunity.

  "Guy," I said softly, after a moment's pause, "canst thou remember mymother?"

  "Oh yes, darling," he said. "I was eleven years old when she died."

  "Didst thou love her?" said I.

  "Very dearly," he answered--quite grave now.

  "Am I like her, Guy?"

  Guy looked down on me, and smiled.

  "Yes--and no," he said. "The Lady Clemence had lighter hair than thou;and her smile was very sweet. Thine eyes are darker, too, andbrighter--there is something of the falcon in them: she had the eyes ofthe dove. Yet there is a likeness, though it is not easy to tell theewhat."

  "Did Monseigneur love her very much, Guy?" I said.

  "More than he ever loved any other, I think," answered Guy. "He wasmarried to my mother when both were little children, as thou knowest isgenerally the case: but he married thine for love. And--I don't know,but I always fancy that is the reason why he has ever been unwilling tohave us affianced in infancy. When people are married as babies, andwhen they grow up they find that they do not like each other, it must bevery disagreeable, I should think."

  "I should think it was just horrible, Guy," said I. "But Alix andGuillot were affianced as babies."

  "So they were," said he. "But I doubt if Guillot ever cared about it."

  "Why, is Umberge one to care about?" I replied. "There is nothing in herof any sort. Was Alix very sorry, Guy, when her betrothed died? Howold was she?"

  "About ten years old," he said. "Oh no--not she. I do not think shehad seen him five times."

  "Well," I said, "I am very glad that I was not treated in that way."

  So we went on talking. I hardly know what we talked about, or ratherwhat we did not; for it was first one thing and then another, as ourthoughts led that way. I asked Guy if he thought that our mothers knewwhat befel us here on earth, and he said he supposed they must, for howelse could the saints and angels hear us?

  I saw old Marguerite at one end of the gallery, and I am sure she wascome to bid me go to bed: but as soon as she caught sight of Guy and metalking in the window, she made believe to be about something else, andslipped away again. She knew I wanted to have my talk out with Guy. Thelast talk I may ever have with him for years!

  And now it is all over, and Guy is gone.

  I wonder how he will get on! Will he do some grand, gallant deed, andbe sent for to the Court of the Holy Land, and made a Count or aDuke?--and have all sorts of jewels and riches given him? Perhaps theQueen will put a chaplet of flowers on his head, and all the Princesseswill dance with him, and he will be quite a hero. But about thatbeautiful lady,--I don't feel at all comfortable about her! I cannottell whether I should love her or hate her. If she did not almostworship Guy, I am sure I should hate her.

  And then there is another side to the picture, which I do not like tolook at in the least. Instead of all this, Guy may get taken prisoner,and may languish out twenty years in some Saracen dungeon--perhaps, allhis life!

  Oh dear, dear! I don't know what to do! And the worst of it is, thatnothing I can do will make any difference.

  Why does the good God let there be any Saracens? Marguerite says--and sodoes Father Eudes, so it must be true--that God can do everything, andthat He wants everybody to be a good Christian. Then why does He notmake us all good Christians? That is what I want to know. Oh, I cannot,cannot make it out!

  But then they all say, "Hush, hush!" and "Fie, Damoiselle!" as if I hadsaid something very wicked and shocking. They say the good God will bevery angry. Why is the good God angry when we want to know?

  I wonder why men and women were ever made at all. I wonder why _I_ wasmade. Did the good God want me for something, that He took the pains tomake me? Oh, can nobody tell me why the good God wanted me?

  He must be good, for He made all so beautiful. And He might have madethings ugly. But then, sometimes, He lets such dreadful things happen.Are there not earthquakes and thunderstorms? And why does He let nicepeople die? Could not--well, I suppose that is wicked. No, it isn't! Imay as well say it as think it.--Would it not have done as well if Alixha
d died, and my mother had lived? It would have been so much nicer!And what difference would it have made in Heaven--I hope Alix would havegone there--where they have all the angels, and all the saints? Surelythey could have spared my mother--better than I can.

  Well, I suppose--as Alix says when she wants one to be quiet--"it is nouse talking." Things are so, and I cannot change them. And all mytears will not give me Guy back. I must try to think of the neuvaine[#]which he has promised to offer for me at the Holy Sepulchre, and hopethat he won't be taken prisoner, and that he will be made a Count,and--well, and try to reconcile myself to that beautiful lady who is tohave Guy instead of me. Oh dear me!

  [#] Nine days' masses.

  Now, there is another thing that puzzles me. (Every thing puzzles me inthis world. I wish there had been another to which I could have gone,where things would not have puzzled me.) If God be everywhere--asFather Eudes says--why should prayers offered at the Holy Sepulchre beof more value than prayers offered in my bedchamber? I cannot see anyreason, unless it were that God[#] loves the Holy Land so very much,because He lived and died there, that He is oftener there than anywhereelse, and so there is a better chance of getting Him to hear. But howthen can He be everywhere?

  [#] In using this one of the Divine Names, a mediaeval Romanist almostalways meant to indicate the Second Person of the Trinity only.

  Why will people--wise people, I mean--not try to answer such questions?Marguerite only says, "Hush, then, my Damoiselle!" Alix says, "Oh, dobe quiet! When will you give over being so silly?" And Monseigneurpats me on the head, and answers, "Why should my cabbage trouble herpretty little head? Those are matters for doctors of the schools,little one. Go thou and call the minstrels, or bind some smart ribbonsin thine hair; that is more fit for such maidens as thou."

  Do _they_ never want to know? And why should the answers be only fitfor learned men, if the questions keep coming and worrying me? If Icould once know, I should give over wanting to know. But how can I giveover till I do?

  Either the world has got pulled into a knot, or else I have. And so farfrom being able to undo me, nobody seems to see that I am on a knot atall.

  "If you please, Damoiselle, the Damoiselle Alix wishes to know whereyour Nobleness put the maccaroons."

  "Oh dear, Heloise! I forgot to make them. Can she not do withoutthem?"

  "If you please, Damoiselle, your noble sister says that the Lady Umbergewill be here for the spice this afternoon, and your Excellence is awarethat she likes maccaroons."

  Yes, I am--better than I like her. I never did see anybody eat so manyat once as she does. She will do for once with cheesecakes. I would notmind staying up all night to make maccaroons for Guy, but I am surecheesecakes are good enough for Umberge. And Alix does make goodcheese-cakes--I will give her that scrap of praise.

  "Well, Heloise--I don't know. I really think we should do. But Isuppose--is there time to make them now?"

  "If you please, Damoiselle, it is three o'clock by the sundial."

  "Then it is too late."

  And I thought, but of course I did not say to Heloise,--How Alix willscold! I heard her step on the stairs, and I fairly ran. But I did notlose my lecture.

  "Elaine!" cried Alix's shrill voice, "where are you?"

  Alix might be a perfect stranger, for the way in which she always callsme _you_. I came out. I knew it was utterly useless to try to hide.

  "Where have you put those new maccaroons?"

  "They are not made, Alix," I said, trying to look as if I did not care.

  "Not made? Saint Martin of Tours help us! What can you have beendoing?"

  I was silent.

  "I say, what were you doing?" demanded Alix, with a stamp of her foot.

  "Never mind. I forgot the maccaroons."

  If I had been speaking to any one but Alix, I should have added that Iwas sorry. But she is always so angry that it seems to dry up anyregret on my part.

  "You naughty girl!" Alix blazed out. "You very, very naughty girl!There is no possibility of relying on you for one instant. You godreaming away, and forget everything one tells you. You are silly,_silly_!"

  The tone that Alix put into that last word! It was enough to provokeall the saints in the calendar.

  "There will be plenty without them," said I.

  "Hold your tongue, and don't give me any impudence!" retorted Alix.

  I thought I might have said the same. If Alix would speak more kindly,I am sure I should not get so vexed. I can't imagine what she would sayif I were to do something really wicked, for she exhausts her wholevocabulary on my gathering the wrong flowers, or forgetting to makecakes.

  "Don't be cross, Alix," I said, trying to keep the peace. "I really didforget them."

  "Oh dear, yes, I never doubted it!" answered Alix, in that way of herswhich always tries my patience. "Life is sacred to the memory of Guy,but my trouble and Umberge's likings are of no consequence at all! Andit does not matter that the Baron de Montbeillard and his lady will behere, and that we shall have a dish too little on the table. Not in theleast!"

  "Well, really, Alix, I don't think it does much matter," said I.

  "Of course not. And the Lady de Montbeillard will not go home and telleverybody what a bad housekeeper I am, and how little I care to havethings nice for my guests--Oh dear, no!"

  "If you treat her kindly, I should think her very ungrateful if shedid," said I.

  Alix flounced away with--"I wish you were gone after Guy!"

  And so did I.

  But at night, just before I dropped asleep, a new idea came to me--anidea that never occurred to me before.

  Do I try Alix as much as she tries me?

  Oh dear! I hope not. It cannot be. I don't think it is possible. Isit?

  I wish I had not forgotten those cakes. Alix did seem so put out. AndI suppose it was rather annoying--perhaps.

  I did not like her saying that I was not to be trusted. I don't thinkthat was fair. And I cannot bear injustice. Still, I did forget thecakes. And if she had trusted me, it was only reasonable that sheshould feel disappointed. But she did not need to have been so angry,and have said such disagreeable things. Well, I suppose I was angrytoo; but I show my anger in a different way from Alix. I do not knowwhich of us was more wrong. I think it was Alix. Yes, I am sure itwas. She treats me abominably. It is enough to make anybody angry.

  Those limes seem to come up and look reproachfully at me, when I saythat. I was not at all well--it might be three years ago: ratherfeverish, and very cross. And two travelling pedlars came to the Castlegate. One sold rare and costly fruits, and the other silken stuffs.Now I know that Alix had been saving up her money for a gold-colouredribbon, for which she had a great fancy; and there was a lovely one inthat pedlar's stock--in fact, I have never since seen one quite sopretty. Alix had just enough to buy it. She could not get any more,because the treasurer was away with Monseigneur at the hawking. But shesaw my wistful glances at the limes in the other pedlar's panniers, andshe bought some for me. They were delicious: but Alix went without hergold-coloured ribbon. She had no other chance of it, for the pedlar wason his way to the great Whitsuntide fair at Poictiers, and he would notstay even one night.[#]

  [#] At the period of this story, shops were nearly unknown except in thelargest towns. Country families--noble, gentle, or peasant--had to relyon laying in a stock of goods at the great fairs, held at Easter,Whitsuntide, Michaelmas, and Christmas; and for anything wanted betweenthose periods, recourse was had to travelling pedlars, who also servedas carriers and postmen when occasion demanded it.

  I wonder if it be possible that Alix really loves me,--just one littlebit! And I wonder if we could give over rasping one another as we do.It would be very difficult.

  But if I ever do follow Guy, I will bring back, from Byzantium orDamascus, something beautiful for Alix, to make up for that gold ribbon.It was good of her. And I do wish I had remembered those maccaroons!