The Well in the Desert Part 8

"But what became of her?"

"G.o.d wotteth. Sometimes I hope he murdered her. One sin more or less would matter little to the black list of sins on his guilty soul; and the little pain of dying by violence would have saved Isabel the greater pain of living through the desolate woe of the future. But I never knew, as I told thee. Nor shall I ever know, till that last day come when the Great Doom shall be, and he and she shall stand together before the bar of G.o.d. There shall be an end to her torment then. It is something to think that there shall be no end to his."

So, in a tone of bitter, pa.s.sionate vindictiveness, Joan La Despenser closed her story.

Philippa sat silent, wondering many things. If Guy of Ashridge knew any thing of this, if Giles de Edingdon were yet living, if Agnes the lavender had ever found out what became of her revered mistress. And when she knelt down to tell her beads that night, a very strange and terrible prayer lingered on her lips the last and most earnestly of all.

It was, that she might never again see her father's face. She felt that had she done so, the spirit of the prophetess might have seized upon her as upon Joan; that, terrified as she had always been of him, she should now have stood up before him and have cursed him to his face.

Note 1. Edmund Fitzalan was premier Earl as Earl of Surrey, which t.i.tle he acquired by his marriage with Alesia, sister and heir of John de Warrenne, last Earl of Surrey of the original male line.

Note 2. Probably owing to the great mortality among the n.o.bles caused by the French war, a man who survived fifty was regarded as very old in the reign of Edward the Third.

Note 3. This is Froissart's account of the events, and his dates have been mainly followed. Many writers give a varying narrative, stating that the King and Earl did reach Wales, and were taken there in a wood.

Their dates are also about a month later. The inquisitions of the Despensers, as is usual in the case of attainted persons, do not give the date of death.

Note 4. The castle was granted to Edmund Earl of Kent, brother of Edward the Second; and there, on his attainder and execution, four years later, his widow and children were arrested.

Note 5. The earldom did not return to the Despenser family until 1397, when it was conferred on the great-grandson of the attainted Earl.

Note 6. Earl Richard, his son, was beheaded in London, in the spring of 1397; Earl Thomas, his grandson, fell at Agincourt, October 13, 1415.

CHAPTER SIX.

ELAINE.

"No has visto un nino, que viene A dar un doblon que tiene, Porque le den una flor?"

Lope de Vega.

Philippa determined to return home by way of Sempringham. She could not have given any very cogent reason, except that she wished to see the place where the only peaceful days of her mother's life had been pa.s.sed.

Perhaps peace might there come to her also; and she was far enough from it now. It would have been strange indeed if peace had dwelt in a heart where was neither "glory to G.o.d" nor "good-will to men." And while her veneration for her mother's memory was heightened by her aunt's narrative, her feeling towards her father, originally a shrinking timidity, had changed now into active hatred. Had she at that moment been summoned to his deathbed, she would either have refused to go near him at all, or have gone with positive pleasure.

But beside all this, Philippa could not avoid the conclusion that her salvation was as far from being accomplished as it had been when she reached Shaftesbury. She felt further off it than ever; it appeared to recede from her at every approach. Very uneasily she remembered Guy's farewell words,--"G.o.d strip you of your own goodness!" The Living Water seemed as distant as before; but the thirst grew more intense. And yet, like Hagar in the wilderness, the Well was beside her all the time; but until the Angel of the Lord should open her eyes, she could not see it.

She reached Sempringham, and took up her abode for the night in the convent, uncertain how long she would remain there. An apparently trivial incident decided that question for her.

As Philippa stood at the convent gate, in a mild winter morning, she heard a soft, sweet voice singing, and set herself to discover whence the sound proceeded. The vocalist was readily found,--a little girl of ten years old, who was sitting on a bank a few yards from the gate, with a quant.i.ty of snowdrops in her lap, which she was trying with partial success to weave into a wreath. Philippa--weary of idleness, Books of Hours, and embroidery--drew near to talk with her.

"What is thy name?" she asked, by way of opening negotiations.

"Elaine," said the child, lifting a pair of timid blue eyes to her questioner's face.

"And where dwellest thou?"

"Down yonder glade, Lady: my father is Wilfred the convent woodcutter."

"And who taught thee to speak French?"

"The holy sisters, Lady."

"What wert thou singing a minute since?"

The child drooped her head shyly.

"Do not be afraid," said Philippa gently. "I like to hear singing.

Wilt thou sing it again to me?"

Elaine hesitated a moment; but another glance at Philippa's smiling face seemed to rea.s.sure her, and she sang, in a low voice, to a sweet, weird tune:--

"'Quy de cette eaw boyra Ancor soyf aura; Mays quy de l'eaw boyra Que moy luy donneray, Jamays soyf n'aura A l'eternite.'"

"This must be very widely known," thought Philippa.--"Who taught thee that--the holy sisters?" she asked of the child.

"No," answered Elaine, shaking her head. "The Grey Lady."

"And who is the Grey Lady?"

The look with which Elaine replied, showed Philippa that not to know the Grey Lady was to augur herself unknown, at least in the Vale of Sempringham.

"Know you not the Grey Lady? All in the Vale know her."

"Where dwelleth she?"

"Up yonder"--but to Philippa's eyes, Elaine merely pointed to a cl.u.s.ter of leafless trees on the hill-side.

"And is she one of the holy sisters?"

On this point Elaine was evidently doubtful. The Grey Lady did not dwell in the convent, nor in any convent; she lived all alone, therefore it was plain that she was not a sister. But she was always habited in grey wherefore men called her the Grey Lady. No--she had no other name.

"A recluse, manifestly," said Philippa to herself; "the child does not understand. But is she an anchoritess or an eremitess?--Does she ever leave her cell?" [See Note 1.]

"Lady, she tendeth all the sick hereabout. She is a friend of every woman in the Vale. My mother saith, an' it like you, that where there is any wound to heal, or heart to comfort, there is the Grey Lady. And she saith she hath a wonderful power of healing, as well for mind as body. When Edeline our neighbour lost all her four children by fever between the two Saint Agneses, [see Note 2], n.o.body could comfort her till the Grey Lady came. And when Ida my playmate lay dying, and very fearful of death, she said even the holy priest did her not so much good as the Grey Lady. I think," ended Elaine softly, "she must be an angel in disguise."

The child evidently spoke her thought literally.

"I will wait and see this Grey Lady," thought Philippa. "Let me see if she can teach and comfort me. Ever since Guy of Ashridge visited Kilquyt, I seem to have been going further from comfort every day.-- Canst thou lead me to the Grey Lady's cell?"

"I could; but she is not now there, Lady."

"When will she be there?"

"To-morrow, when the shadow beginneth to lengthen," replied Elaine, who was evidently well acquainted with the Grey Lady's proceedings.

"Then to-morrow, when the shadow beginneth to lengthen, thou shalt come to the convent gate, and I will meet with thee. Will thy mother give thee leave?"