Hearing this Geoffrey started.
“What need have we of them, sir?” he inquired. To send for Father Anselm! It was getting worse and worse.
“Need of Father Anselm?” repeated Sir Godfrey. “Of course I shall need him. I want the parson to tell me how he came to change his mind and let you out.”
“Oh, to be sure,” said Geoffrey, mechanically. His thoughts were reeling helplessly together, with no one thing uppermost.
“Not that I disapprove it. I have changed my own mind upon occasions. But ’twas sudden, after his bundle of sagacity about Crusades and visions of my ancestor and what not over there in the morning. Ha! ha! These clericals are no more consistent than another person. I’ll never let the Father forget this.” And the Baron chuckled. “Besides,” he said, “’tis suitable that these monks should be present at the burning. This Dragon was a curse, and curses are somewhat of a church matter.”
“True,” said Geoffrey, for lack of a better reply.
“Why, bless my soul!” shouted the Baron, suddenly wheeling round to Elaine at his side, so that the cowslip wine splashed out of the bucket he carried, “it’s my girl’s wedding-day too! I had clean forgot. Bless my soul!”
“Y—yes, papa,” faltered Elaine.
“And you, young fellow!” her father called out to Geoffrey with lusty heartiness. “You’re a lucky rogue, sir.”
“Yes, sir,” said Geoffrey, but not gayly. He was wondering how it felt to be going mad. Amid his whirling thoughts burned the one longing to hide Elaine safe in his arms and tell her it would all come right somehow. A silence fell on the group as they walked. Even to the Baron, who was not a close observer, the present reticence of these two newly-betrothed lovers was apparent. He looked from one to the other, but in the face of neither could he see beaming any of the soft transports which he considered were traditionally appropriate to the hour. “Umph!” he exclaimed; “it was never like this in my day.” Then his thoughts went back some forty years, and his eyes mellowed from within.