Love. What is that?
She thought. “I have never seen it. I know it not. Perhaps for garden and Ailsa and little white rose tree. Ah, yes! But I have loved my way, and fire on my hearth and wine on my table. Now I will have enough of fire, and there is a wine they say of wrath. Love—love! What is it, Morgen Fay? If there be such a country I shall not see it. Where do you go to-morrow, Morgen Fay, and what anguish in the going?”
“O God, O my God, make wider the little passage between me and thee!”
So dark—so dark. Night and night and night!
A little noise at the door, but not like Godfrey’s hand. She sat up, being near the door, the place was so small. Stealthily, stealthily, a sliding noise. She felt the door open and rose to her knees. “Who’s there?”
“Friends! Don’t make any noise.” One came in at the door and touched her. “Morgen, it is Thomas Bettany. You are willing to follow me? Then come at once.”
She rose and followed. The door was shut behind her. The second man, stooping, turned the key and withdrew it. A little way down the passage with no more noise than moths—door of inner ward—through it, too, turn key and take out, find cross passage. The second man who had not spoken held the least, small light. A cresset, too, burned dimly, swinging from a beam. A man lay sleeping by the wall,—Diggory, Godfrey’s helper. It seemed that he was sleeping soundly. A turn, a wider space, and the great door and William sleeping upon a bench. Open, great door. Light showed a chain and a staple broken out of wall—open! Out of prison. Starlight—the street—soft and swift like moth and bat. Lanterns and footsteps of the watch. Press into angle of Saint Ethelred’s porch and cease to breathe while they go by! Avoid market place, cross High Street, softly, swiftly; find Saint Swithin’s Street, narrow, steeply descending toward the river. River in the ears, and the old disused water steps, and beside them a boat. Thomas Bettany’s voice saying, “Gold and silver,” and the man in the boat answering, “Gold and silver in the Vineyard. Step ye in!”
Down the river, and by the house of Morgen Fay and into the widening of water that was called the Pool.
There were but three men, Bettany and the man with him and he who had held the boat and who was called Diccon. The man who had opened doors sat very silent. But so were all, saying nothing, rowing silently. And Morgen Fay was still, still! Oh, the divine night air and the stars and the cool water, cool and singing! A ship rose before them. It seemed they were going there.
Thomas spoke to her. “Your name is Alice now, not Morgen. Remember! Alice—Alice Dawn. This ship is the Vineyard and it touches at three ports. You will be safely put ashore, and here is gold.” A purse slid into her lap.