The Forest Lovers - Page 88/206

When at last that breathing space came, Isoult was nearly choked with

the fatigue of her artistic escapades; but there was no time to lose.

As soon as she dared she got up in the dark, put her cloak over her

night-dress, and crept out into the gallery. The door creaked as she

opened it; she stood white and quailing, while her heart beat like a

hammer. But nothing stirred. She went first to Maulfry's door and

listened. She heard her breathing. All fast there. Then like a hare

she fled on to the door she knew so well. There was a light under it:

she heard a rustle as of paper or parchment. Whoever was there was

turning the leaves of a book. In the silence which seemed to press

upon her ears and throb in them, she debated with herself what she

should do. She knew that there was indeed no question about it. If he

was ill, everything--all her humility and all his tacit authority--

must give way. There was but one place for a wife. Maulfry did not

know she was his wife. She listened again. Inside the room she now

heard some one shift in bed, and--surely that was a low groan. Oh,

Lord! Oh, Love! She turned the handle; she stood in the doorway; she

saw Galors sitting up in bed with a book on his knees, a lamp by his

side. His sick face, bandaged and swathed, glowered at her, with great

hollow eyes and a sour mouth dropped at one corner.

She stood unable to move or cry.

"All is well, dear friend," said Galors; "I did but shift and let a

little curse. Go to bed, Maulfry."

Isoult had the wit to withdraw. What little she had left after that

pointed a shaking finger at one thing only--flight. She had been

unutterably betrayed. Her conception of the universe reeled over and

was lost in fire. There was no time to think of it, none to be afraid;

she did what there was to do swiftly, with a clearer head than she had

believed herself capable of. She slipt back to her room without doubt

or terror, and put on the clothes in which she had come from the

convent, a grey gown with a leather girdle, woollen stockings, thick

shoes--over all a long red hooded cloak. This done she stood a moment

thinking. No, she dare not try the creaking door again; the window

must serve her turn. She opened it and looked out. Through the fretty

tracery of the firs she could see a frosty sky, blue-grey fining to

green, green to yellow where the moon swam, hard and bright. There was

not a breath of air.

She climbed at once on to the window-ledge, and stood, holding to the

jamb, looking down at the black below.