And Peregrine had no hint of that which was about to befall; there was the pity of it. Forewarned might have been forearmed. It is very true that his father’s words had caused him to enclose his soul within a castle, from which, he held, none should lure it forth. Should one use the terms of parable one might name the castle pride. Without, his soul might have had clearer view of approaching dangers. Within, believing himself secure, he saw not the guile which crept towards the walls.
Yet direct speech rather than parable will best serve us in the pursuance of the matter.
Isabel the woman brought every woman’s art—and of these not one was lacking her—to conquer Peregrine the man. You have seen the result. I have not given you the details of the conflict nor will do so. Though truly to call it a conflict when never once was seen the flash of naked steel seems somewhat of an anomaly. Isabel’s art in this matter would need great skill to set forth. Perchance after some fashion I might show it you were I so minded, yet will I leave it to your imagination. To know the wiles by which a man’s spirit is enslaved is not the most pleasing of knowledge. It certainly holds somewhat of sadness, even possibly of distaste.
Peregrine saw no ill in the enslaving, held himself a willing captive; while Isabel for the moment found pleasure in her captive. Recognizing his capitulation it amused her to reward him with many favours. At the present, too, he interested her. She felt his strength, saw in his mind much that she had not yet fully fathomed. That fact pleased her, left her with the possibility of discovery. The joy in the possession of an empty casket, however fair it may be exteriorly, soon palls. One containing much has ever interest. Its contents may be examined at leisure, there is ever that to be found, probably the unexpected, possibly treasure.
You see now how matters stand at the moment. Therefore we will on with the further story.
CHAPTER V
GOOD COMRADESHIP
PIPPO the Page had struck up a friendship with Peregrine the Jester. It had been, I take it, a case of friendship at first sight. A merry youngster was Pippo, saucy after the manner of boys, yet winning for all that. He alone of the court was no slave to Isabel; he did her bidding as it behooved him, yet indifferent to her charms, while she for her part saw in him a very child, not worth her conquest. Later we might hear a different tale.
Pippo had much the same love for the open as had Peregrine in boyhood, and still had for that matter. Yet Pippo’s rambles had taken him but seldom beyond the garden and the park. Now, with Peregrine as guide, the two frequently escaped from the more cultured enclosure, made for the woods, the moorlands. Here Pippo learned to see with new eyes, and truly spring is the most welcome season for the learning.
With Peregrine, then, for master, with the fair earth for school, with sweet springtime for the hour, Pippo made vast progress in conning Nature’s book. Under this master’s tuition it ever held for the boy something truly akin to magic. With unerring divination he had been led to the hollows where the first primrose bloomed, where the first wind-flower swayed its fragile head in the breeze, and this long before the majority of mortals had a hint of blossoming and burgeoning. Later, together they had gazed at the marvel of cup-shaped nest in forked branch or sunny bank, seen therein the eggs blue or mottled brown as the case might be.