Vincent gaped at her. "How--what--why--what shall I do?" he murmured,
beginning to tremble. "Oh, Isoult, you know how I--what I whispered--!"
"Yes, yes, I know. That is why I came. You must do exactly what I tell
you. You must lend me some of your clothes, any that you have, now, at
once. Will you do this?' "My clothes!" he began to gasp.
"Yes. Go and get them, please. But make no noise, for the love of
Christ."
Vincent tip-toed back. He returned, after a time of dreadful rummaging
in the dark, with a bundle.
"I have brought what I could find. They are all there. I could not
bring what I put on every day, for many reasons. These are the best I
have. How will you--can you--? They are not easy to put on, I think,
for a girl."
Poor Vincent! Isoult had no time nor heed for the modesty proper to
lovers.
"I will manage," she said. "Turn round, please."
Vincent did as he was bid. He even shut his eyes. Presently Isoult
spoke again.
"Could you find me a pair of scissors, Vincent?" She had been quick to
learn that beauty must be obeyed. She would have asked Vincent for the
moon if she had happened to want it, and would have seen him depart on
the errand without qualm. Sure enough, he brought the scissors before
her held-out hand had grown tired.
"Cut off my hair," she said, "level with my shoulders."
"Your hair!" cried the poor lad. "Oh, Isoult, I dare not."
It reached her knees, was black as night, and straight as rain. It
might have echoed Vincent's reproach. But the mistress of both was
inexorable.
"Cut it to clear my shoulders, please."
He groaned, but remembered that there would be spoils, that he must
even touch this hedged young goddess. So as she stood, doubleted,
breeched, and in his long red hose, he hovered round her. Soon she was
lightened of her load of glory, and as spruce as a chamber-page.
"Now," she said, "you must tell me the way to the nearest shelter.
There is a place called St. Lucy's Precinct, I have heard. Where is
that?"
He told her. Keep straight away from the moon. It was just there: he
pointed with his hand. As long as the moon held she could not fail to
hit it. Beyond the pine-wood there was an open shaw; she could keep
through that, then cross a piece of common with bracken cut and
stacked. Afterwards came a very deep wood, full of beech-timber. You
crossed a brook at Four Mile Bottom,--you could hear the ripples of
the ford a half-mile away,--and held straight for the top of Galley
Hill. After that the trees began again, oaks mostly. A tall clump of
firs would lead you there. Beyond them was the yew-tree wood. The
precinct was there. But the moon was her best lamp. He was talking to
her in language which she understood better than he. She could never
miss the road now.