He had now time to consider his situation, which was by no means a promising one. He had noticed the deep ditch and massive wall which surrounded the building as he approached it, and the character of the place was better known to him than the prioress had supposed. He knew there were other ways of ridding the kingdom of heretics beside the open trial and public execution. He also knew that he and his brother would be especial objects of interest to the ecclesiastical authority, as it might be supposed that they could be induced to reveal the place of their father's retreat, or even draw him from his concealment, if he heard that his children were held as hostages for his appearance. He saw that great exertions would be made for their conversion, and he was very angry with Hubert for being so easily entrapped and led away, and he imagined him subjected to all kinds of questioning before he had opportunity to warn him how to answer so as to conceal most perfectly their secrets. He had worked himself into such a passion with the child for his "singing folly," as he termed it, that when the bolts were suddenly drawn back, the door opened, and his brother ran and threw himself sobbing into his arms, he repulsed him rudely and contemptuously, and began walking up and down the room, too angry to speak.
"Geoffrey! Geoffrey!" began the child in a trembling voice, springing up from the straw where the elder's rough push had sent him, but not daring to approach the irritated lad, "Geoffrey! I did not kneel, I did not kiss the image, though they told me they would let us go in the garden if I would, and the porteress says they will kill us soon. O brother! don't send me away; we always said we would die together!"
"They may kill me, but not you, Hubert," replied Geoffrey with a sneer. "They will rather keep you for one of their singing-birds; after that you may be a fat monk, and, who knows? his Lordship of Canterbury one of these days, and light up the land with Lollard bonfires perhaps; but"--he stopped suddenly and sprang to his brother's side, changing his tone from harshness and sarcasm to tenderness and anxiety--"but they have done you hurt; they have wounded you, the hounds! Why did you not tell me? You are bleeding fast!"
The blood was indeed trickling down the child's pale face and mingling with his tears, while he was vainly endeavoring to stanch it with his hands.
"It is not much," he sobbed; "she struck me with her keys because I called out to such a pretty young lady who passed us as we came out of chapel. I am sure we saw her in London at the preaching in the brickyard. She was walking with the nuns, and looked very much surprised to see me; but they hurried her away, and then the porteress struck me."
"There," said Geoffrey, whose rage against his brother had quite disappeared now that he had so much better an object to vent his spleen upon, "the old hag has not done you as much damage as she meant to, I think; it is but a little cut, and will scarcely leave a scar. Sit down here, and let me cover you with my cloak, and we will eat the supper our good jaileresses have provided; we have had nothing since daybreak." They were both exhausted with the fatigues and excitement of the last twenty-four hours, and their prison-fare was not much coarser than that to which they had been accustomed; so they ate it thankfully, and then lay down to rest in each other's arms.
Much more tranquil was their rest than that of their betrayer, who, tossing on his pillow in his inn at York, was suffering from remorse in a manner different from any former experience. The conversation he had overheard on the cliff; the fright of the fall; the brave face that had looked into his with compassion as he lay in the tree; that same undaunted young figure standing at the hut door as his captors surrounded him; the patient, reproachful face which he could not help continually turning to meet during the long morning ride--all these rose up before him one after another, and not even the thought of his bag of gold pieces was able to restore the soldier's natural recklessness.
CHAPTER XIII.
Kate the Quick-witted.
When Geoffrey awoke the next morning, it was to find a single, long beam of sunlight streaming down into his prison, by which he knew it must be already late. Both boys felt refreshed, and more prepared for the unknown trials of the day. The younger having climbed on the shoulders of the elder, peeped out of their high window, and described the prospect to his brother.