"Lord, is that all I must do?" she asked meekly.
Prosper grew grave. He put his hand on the girl's shoulder, as he
said-"Deal justly, live cleanly, breathe sweet breath. Praise God in thy
heart when He is kind, bow thy head and knees when He is angry; look
for Him to be near thee at all times. Do this, and beyond it trust thy
heart."
"Lord, I will do it."
"Thou art a good child, Isoult. I am pleased with thee," he said, and
kissed her. She turned her face lest he should see that she was
crying. Soon afterwards they set off towards Gracedieu.
The day, the night, the next morning found them on the journey. They
had to travel slowly, could indeed have made better pace on foot; for
Mid-Morgraunt is a tangle of brush and undergrowth, and the swamps
(which are many and of unknown depth) have all to be circled.
There seemed, however, to be no further pursuit; they could go at
their ease, for they met nobody. On the other hand, they met with no
food more solid than milk. There were deer in plenty. Isoult was able
to feed herself and her husband, and keep both from exhaustion,
without suspicion from him or much cost to herself. The second time of
doing it, it is true, she went tremblingly to work, and was like to
bungle it. What one may do on the flood one may easily miss on the
ebb; moreover, it was night-time, she was tired, and not sure of
herself. Nevertheless, she was fed, and Prosper was fed. Next morning
she was as cool as you choose, singled out her hind as she walked into
the herd, went on all fours and sucked like a calf. She grew nice,
indeed. The beast she tried first had rough milk; this would do for
her well enough, but my lord must have of the best. She chose another
with great care, played milk-maid to her, and drew Prosper full
measure.
He, her sovereign, took every event with equal mind, and placidly,
whether it was a wedding, a fight, or a miraculous fountain of milk.
If she had drawn his food from herself he would not have questioned
her; if it had been her last ounce of life he would not have thanked
her the more. You cannot blame him for this. To begin with, he knew
nothing of her or her doings when he was asleep or on the watch. And a
young man is a prodigal always, of another's goods besides his own,
while a young woman is his banker, never so rich as when he overdraws.
Deprived of him by her own act, his wife in name, she was his servant
in reality. His servant and, just now, his sumpter-beast. Very
wistfully she served him, but very diligently, only asking that he
should neither thank nor blame her. It very seldom occurred to him to
do either; but so sure as he threw a "good child" at her, she had a
lump in her throat and smarting eyes. True, she had her little
rewards, to be enjoyed when he could not guess that her heart
was all in a flutter, or see that her cheeks were wet. Night and
morning they said their Pater Noster and Ave Maria, out of
which (although she understood them as little as he did) she did not fail
to suck the comfort he had promised her. She learned also to speak
familiarly to Saint Isidore and Madonna. This served her in good stead
later in her career. Meantime, night and morning they knelt side by
side, their arms touched, sometimes their hands strayed and joined
company. Then hers ended by resting where they were, as in a warm
nest. Pray what more could a girl ask of the Christian faith?