His dry voice, somehow powder red like his hair and tint, dry, rarely loud but procuring attention, continued to hold all ears. “As to the harlot, Morgen Fay, would you have my mind? It is quite likely she be hidden somewhere within five leagues. Now Sathanas worketh underground and taketh evil mind to evil mind, or often to weak mind, or to mind that was Sathanas’ enemy against whom he useth every springe! So to my thought it hath been here. Heaven permitteth—yes, to try faith, Heaven permitteth! The fiend works what seemeth victory, good man turning toward him. Whom doth he use? Yea, there is it! Harlot consenting, he yesternight taketh her image and with it entereth neither by door nor window cell of Brother Richard; yea, entereth his mind and his eye and his ear, his will, his belief and his heart. Brother Richard thinketh, ‘It is the great True Pearl!’ And falleth upon his knees before empty air, for the devil fixeth images within, not without. But the devil gives never for proof Holy Well that healeth a score a week! And the devil hath had only yesternight. Yea, moreover, midway Heaven sendeth some aid and he that hath been holy man seeth that it is not she who came before, but stained wax and that the devil cheateth him! Whereat the devil, that harlot no doubt still aiding, leapeth, greatly angered, upon his mind, teareth and bruiseth it tiger-wise and bringeth it for this time into huge confusion and madness. Again Heaven suffereth it, and suffereth him to cry and accuse as madmen ever cry and accuse, that by trial of our faith we may all be brought clearer. But Heaven willeth always that we defeat the fiend and his instruments. Aye, search for these and grind them small and so grieve and weaken that Evil One who rides invisible!”
Father Edmund cried. “She said, ‘Aye, aye!’ or the devil could not use her! Lord of Montjoy, town of Middle Forest, Abbey of Silver Cross, Priory of Westforest and Priory of Saint Leofric, I, Edmund the Preacher, summon you by souls’ welfare to join search for the Plague-spot, the Witch-mark! When she is burned then may the monk recover his mind, then may the True Pearl, the Very Rose, show again, the toad be banished from the Holy Well, Saint Leofric and Saint Willebrod be sworn brothers, Montjoy give again with joy to Silver Cross, Middle Forest prosper, and all England and the Princess of Spain and the Dauphin come in pilgrimage!”
CHAPTER XVII
When upon his knees he had come most close to her, when she felt his hands, his brow, his breathing against her sandalled feet, she had given back in a kind of terror. Then, all unluckiness!
Flying, she had dropped her mantle. Brother Norbert, Brother Anselm and their terrified white faces! Brother Anselm coming after her, out of the cell, down the stone passage. Another coming after, great torch in his hand, smoke and flame streaming backward his face like Death and Judgment! Brother Anselm’s breathing on her cheek, his hand seizing, pushing her, who needed no urging, for now she knew panic.
The outward-giving porter’s cell that they used—the door, quick! Through, clap it to behind, draw bolt across—opposite door, quick! Short passage again, the little postern. Anselm had the key, Brother Edward the porter sleeping elsewhere this night. Open—open! Morgen Fay knew agony until she saw the stars over Abbey orchard.
Wall and the ivy tods which made no ladder necessary. Up! and on wide wall-top rest a moment, breathe and look back. Bell was ringing, lights hurried here, hurried there in Abbey, but the orchard between lay still, at peace and bathed in moonlight. Down the wall on forest side, where footholds had been cunningly made. Brother Anselm spoke. “I will work them over so that even they cannot be found.”
“Through the poplar wood there is a path,” she said. “Go back, and I will run alone to the ruined farm. Never—never—never more, Morgen Fay!”