She cried, “Oh, the ape has done murder!”
“No! No murder was done. I thought so at first, and indeed it might seem so, but it was not. Diccon and Alice Dawn. Lodge here, Morgen, lodge here!”
The fiery light, the music in the street. The brown-gold figure, the smith in gold and silver, tall, like King David in the window of Saint Ethelred. “Decide! It is for you to decide!”
All her life seemed to come around her. All her life up to the ruined farm and Wander forest, and then and for a long time Wander forest, ruined farm. And then in full, sounding and lighted, Silver Cross. Four times in all. Prison, the Vineyard ship and the Old Anchor. Fire-red and brown-gold and shreds and lines of blue. Horns in the street, but somewhere a lute and a viol. Build as build you can! Vineyard ship, Old Anchor, fiery street, house of the smith, colour and odour of roses, viol, lute. She moved, she sat down by the table and buried her face in her arms. Presently he lighted the candles. “Come, Morgen, come and see the whole of it!”
“No!” said Morgen Fay and rose to her height. She stood up. “No! It is not little me thou art seeking—little me, little thee. Perhaps—it is great daring to say it—perhaps I also who have been ape am seeker! At any rate, I’ll not give thee tinsel who needeth gold! And now I am going back to Old Anchor.”
CHAPTER XXV
Clink of metals striking together, hammer sound, sound of the wheel, sound of the fed furnace, sound of voices among metals. Diccon Dawn, worker in rich metals with Jankin to help and a boy to help Jankin. All day were voices in the long room, footsteps to and fro, sound of the craft. Richard Englefield beginning again to make beautiful things.
As he worked he saw a lace-maker. Rich and beautiful lace.