H. C. Bailey

“ She and her falconers galloped upon the quarry. While they gathered about it a thicket vomited men-at-arms. Themselves were encompassed and helpless as the stricken bird. Some were beaten down, some were bound upon their horses. Clotilde was torn from her saddle by steel arms, and crushed cruelly upon a steel-clad breast. She fought fiercely, but cords bit upon her limbs, and, writhing in impotent smarting rage, she looked up into the laughing contempt of Laurent's eyes. ”

“ A narrow window in the tower showed the cream face of Clotilde. So Laurent was held like a bent frog and castigated. His face, if any one could have seen it, betrayed a rueful smile.
The squire dealt out the flogging common to pages, and then, doubtful whether he ought to do more or to have done so much, let his hazel fall. Laurent arose, red in the face and sore elsewhere, The pages were jocose. Laurent bowed to them and placidly made his way toward the bower again. None hindered him. He was too much the enigma. Only the castigating squire followed close, in case of accident. ”

“ Laurent sat himself down and drew his knees to his chin. “The family of Malpas,” he concluded, “is very good for a sluggish stomach. But they must give each other a colic.” He had time enough for meditation on the digestive and other qualities of the blood of Malpas: his own was crying loudly for an opportunity of digestion before his solitude was broken. The pallid gloom of the cell had faded into dark with the death of the short winter day, when the door creaked. The light came upon him in a dazzling flash, but it was no more than one dim lantern. ”

“ A trumpet blast broke upon them from the world beyond. Clotilde's troubled eyes were suddenly gay, and she gurgled laughter. “That was my father's call. Oh! my sweet lord, now thou hast affair with a man.”
Laurent gave back her laugh. He led her up to the battlements, and as they came out upon the thrust of the bitter wind the trumpets pealed again. Sir Roger Malpas had done well. A goodly company was gathered beneath the walls. Clotilde looked out over the ranks of steel, and kissed her hand to the banner flaunting its martlets gules. Gaily she turned upon Laurent: “Now learn fear, my lord.” ”

“ The lady by this time was close again, high on her great destrier—a sinuous thing in Lincoln green, with a face like cream.
Grey shrew's eyes struck at him. A wimple, no more than a foot high, designed for comfort and not for fashion, and other tokens of the practical mind about her irritated Laurent, who smiled amiably. “The making of angels is indeed women's work. That is why we find so few.” ”

“ She saw the swarthy, lean face drawn in grim lines. “Thou art here in my hold, at my will. Thou art mine to take or cast away, and I have no mind to deny my need. Therefore make ready.”
“Oh, thou art brave to a woman! My father will be hammering at thy gates before dark.”
Laurent gave a sharp laugh. “What lord south of Trent can match himself against Laurent Osbern?” He crushed her wrists in his hands. “Thou art sped, Clotilde.” ”

“ He read allegories into bit and bridle, while Robin, the big falconer, gaped at him, and he was taken by a great idea. Bridle and bit, stirrup and stirrup leather, he made bright and then linked all together, and, with an engaging smile, assured Robin that the Lady Clotilde desired to see his work. Robin departed speechless, and Laurent took up his chain of leather and iron and tripped after him. On the great stone stair of the hall there was some discourse with a squire and a steward and a page and a waiting-woman, who were all very intent upon Laurent ”

“ The woman which deems herself the guide of man goes straightway into the pit. Trust me, I have agility not to follow.”
She swore roundly, and plucking with passionate haste at her bosom chain, caught a gold whistle to her lips and blew a peal. Laurent was aware of half a score falconers closing upon them. ”

“ They have yearned for stranger creatures. But art thou a maid content with thyself? If it be so, I'll cross myself and begone, thanking God for one miracle. Or by good fortune, a wife, that I may go rejoicing in another man's disaster. ”