The Well in the Desert

The Well in the Desert, by Emily
Sarah Holt

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Title: The Well in the Desert An Old Legend of the House of Arundel
Author: Emily Sarah Holt
Illustrator: M. Irwin
Release Date: October 20, 2007 [EBook #23122]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WELL
IN THE DESERT ***

Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

The Well in the Desert
An Old Legend of the House of Arundel

by Emily Sarah Holt.

PREFACE.
It is said that only travellers in the arid lands of the East really know
the value of water. To them the Well in the Desert is a treasure and a
blessing: unspeakably so, when the water is pure and sweet; yet even
though it be salt and brackish, it may still save life.
Was it less so, in a figurative sense, to the travellers through that great
desert of the Middle Ages, wherein the wells were so few and far
between? True, the water was brackish; man had denied the streams,
and filled up the wells with stones; yet for all this it was God-given,
and to those who came, and dug for the old spring, and drank, it was
the water of eternal life. The cry was still sounding down the ages.
"If any man thirst, let him come unto Me, and drink." And no less
blessed are the souls that come now: but for us, the wells are so
numerous and so pure, that we too often pass them by, and go on our
way thirsting. Strange blindness!--yet not strange: for until the Angel of
the Lord shall open the eyes of Hagar, she must needs go mourning
through the wilderness, not seeing the well.
"Lord, that we may receive our sight!"--and may come unto Thee, and
drink, and thirst no more.
CHAPTER ONE.
MY LADY'S BOWER IS SWEPT.
"I am too low for scorn to lower me, And all too sorrow-stricken to feel
grief."
Edwin Arnold.
Soft and balmy was the air, and the sunlight radiant, at an early hour of
a beautiful June morning; and fair was the landscape that met the eyes

of the persons who were gathered a few feet from the portcullis of a
grand stately old castle, crowning a wooded height near the Sussex
coast. There were two persons seated on horseback: the one a youth of
some twenty years, in a page's dress; the other a woman, who sat
behind him on the pillion. Standing about were two men and a woman,
the last holding a child in her arms. The woman on the pillion was
closely veiled, and much muffled in her wrappings, considering the
season of the year and the warmth of the weather; nor did she lift her
veil when she spoke.
"The child, Alina," she said, in a tone so soft and low that the words
seemed rather breathed than spoken.
The woman who stood beside the horse answered the appeal by placing
the child in the arms of the speaker. It was a pretty, engaging little girl
of three years old. The lady on the pillion, lifting the child underneath
her veil, strained it to her bosom, and bowed her head low upon its light
soft hair. Meanwhile, the horse stood still as a statue, and the page sat
as still before her. In respectful silence the other three stood round.
They knew, every one of them, that in that embrace to one of the two
the bitterness of death was passing; and that when it was ended she
would have nothing left to fear--only because she would have nothing
left to hope. At length, suddenly, the lady lifted her head, and held forth
the child to Alina. Turning her head away toward the sea, from the old
castle, from the child, she made her farewell in one word.
"Depart!"
The three standing there watched her departure--never lifting her veil,
nor turning her head--until she was hidden from their sight among the
abundant green foliage around. They lingered a minute longer; but only
a minute--for a shrill, harsh voice from the portcullis summoned them
to return.
"Ralph, thou lither hilding! Alina, thou jade! Come hither at once, and
get you to work. My Lady's bower yet unswept, by the Seven Sleepers!
and ye lingering yonder as ye had leaden heels! By the holy bones of
Saint Benedict, our master shall con you light thanks