"What have I, Vincent? If I could you know that I would."
He had her yet by the waist. There was no blinking what he wanted.
Isoult stood.
"You may kiss me there," she said with the benignity of a princess, and gave him her hand.
The boy's mouth was very near her cheek. Something—who knows what?—checked him. He let go her waist, dropped on his knees and kissed the hand, turned little prince in his turn. Isoult was as near loving him then as she could ever be. This was no great way, perhaps, but near enough for immediate purposes. When Vincent got up she gave him her hand frankly to hold. They were two children now, and like two children kissed each other without under-thought. Then, as she sped away from the moon, Vincent crept back to his cold bed with an armful of black hair.
CHAPTER XVI
BOY AND GIRL
The woodland Mass in the yew-tree glade was served next morning by an acolyte in cassock and cotta. The way of it was this. Alice of the Hermitage was setting the altar in the light of a cloudy dawn, when she heard a step and the rustling of branches behind her. Looking quickly round, she saw a boy come out of the thicket, who stood echoing her wonder. He was a dark-haired slim lad, in leather jerkin and breeches, had crimson hose on his long legs, on his head a green cap with a pheasant's tail-feather in it. The cap he presently took off in salutation. He said his name was Roy. He had a simple direct way of answering questions, and such untroubled eyes; he was moreover so plainly a Christian, that when he asked Alice if he might serve the Mass she went advocate for him to the priest. So it came about that Isoult, having breakfasted, lay asleep in Alice's bed when a knight came cantering into the precinct followed by a page on a cob. His gilded armour blazed in the sun, a tall blue plume curtesied over his casque. He was so brave a figure—tall and a superb horseman—and so glittering from top to toe, that the old hermit, who came peering out to see, thought him a prince.
"What may your Highness need of Saint Lucy's poor bedesman?" said the hermit, rubbing his hands together.
"My Highness needs the whereabouts of a flitted lady," said the knight in a high clear voice.
Isoult, whom the clatter had awakened, lay like a hare in her form. At this time she feared Maulfry more than Galors.