They spoke in whispers. “Aye, it is better. God knoweth what trouble we shall have now! But you, mistress, you will be dumb?”
“Oh, aye! All night, on pallet, under eaves, in the ruined farm, I was stretched so fast asleep! I dreamed only of my house by the river and my garden where now are blooming pinks and marigold!”
“Better that than dream of red flame!” said Anselm. “Haste now!”
He slipped back over the wall; she was in poplar wood.
The moon shone so that she could find her way. Thin wood gave into deep wood, beech, oak. Her feet felt the slight path. A doe and fawn started from her, hare bounded across, owl hooted, moon shone and light was beaten by branch and leaf into thousands and thousands of silver pieces. She ran; she felt drunken.
There was near a league to go. Her pace slowed, she stood drawing hard breath, then went on again but not running. None were after her; she heard none after her. Here clung darkness, or cold, mysterious, shifting light. The air hung cool, very still, with faint fragrances. Her mind had wings, great dark ones, and now it beat in the passages and cells of Silver Cross, and now at the ruined farm, and now about and through Somerville Hall. It went also to Middle Forest and into Montjoy’s castle. Back it beat to the ruined farm, and Somerville to-morrow, in this wood, and then London road. London road! No doubt now. London road! Her mind sought London town, but that hung distasted, weary, drear and threatening. “O Morgen, why so? Will there not be Montjoys and Somervilles there—aye, greater ones. Mayhap princely ones!” But she hated London road and London town. “Oh, what are the hands that hold me here—cannot hold but would hold!” To-morrow, to-morrow, next day at latest, London road, London road!
Going through the dark wood, she no longer felt panic. Perhaps it was so and perhaps it was not so that all Silver Cross was roused, those who knew and those who did not know. She knew that not twenty there did know; and at first she had felt the hands of all those others, the guiltless, upon her, against her. Almost she had felt their stoning. But those who knew were foxes and serpents,—cunning, cunning! They would provide safety for themselves and so for her, too, bound in the same bundle with them. “With the foxes and serpents,” she thought.
Now she walked steadily, about her mighty trees, overhead the moon, in her ears the million small forest tongues, in her nostril the smell of fern. The night did not terrify her, she was warm in her frieze cloak. She saw the ruined farm sunk in dimness and sleep. By the outside stair she would creep up to her room, Joan the serving-woman, so negligible a soul. To-morrow would come Somerville. Morgen Fay, so negligible a soul.
A voice went through her. “Who neglecteth? Soul, soul, who neglecteth?”
She would not answer. She ran again under the moon, upon the forest path.