Via Crucis | Page 4

acquaintance on that evening, by the blazing fire in
the little hall.
Before supper, the men had talked together with that sort of cheery
confidence which exists almost before the first meeting between men
who are neighbours and of the same rank, and the Lady Goda had put
in a word now and then, as she sat in the high-backed chair, drying the
bright blue cloth skirt of her gown before the crackling logs; and
meanwhile, too, young Gilbert, who had his mother's hair and his
father's deep-set eyes, walked round and round the solemn little dark-
faced girl, who sat upon a settle by herself, clad in a green cloth dress
which was cut in the fashion for grown-up women, and having two
short stiff plaits of black hair hanging down behind the small
coverchief that was tied under her fat chin. And as the boy in his scarlet
doublet and green cloth hose walked backward and forward, stopping,
moving away, then standing still to show off his small hunting-knife,
drawing it half out of its sheath, and driving it home again with a smart
push of the palm of his hand, the little girl's round black eyes followed
all his movements with silent and grave curiosity. She was brotherless,
he had no sisters, and both had been brought up without companions,
so that each was an absolute novelty to the other; and when Gilbert
threw his round cap, spinning on itself, up to the brown rafters of the
dim fire-lit chamber and caught it upon one finger as it came down
again, the little Beatrix laughed aloud. This seemed to him nothing less
than an invitation, and he immediately sat down beside her on the settle,
holding his cap in his hand, and began to ask her how she was called,
and whether she lived in that place all the year round; and before long
they were good friends, and were talking of plovers' eggs and
kingfishers' nests, and of the time when they should each have a hawk
of their own, and a horse, and each a hound and a footman.
When supper was over and a serving-woman had taken the little

Beatrix away to sleep in the women's upper chamber, and when the
steward of the manor farm, and his wife and the retainers and servants,
who had eaten and drunk their fill at the lower end of the hall, were all
gone to their quarters in the outbuildings,--and when a bed had been
made for Gilbert, in a corner near the great chimney-piece, by filling
with fresh straw a large linen sack which was laid upon the chest in
which the bag was kept during the daytime, and was then covered with
a fine Holland sheet and two thick woollen blankets, under which the
boy was asleep in five minutes,--then the two knights and the lady were
left to themselves in their great carved chairs before the fire. But the
Lord of Stoke, who was a strong man and heavy, and had eaten well
and had drunk both ale and Gascony wine at supper, stretched out his
feet to the fire-dogs, and rested his elbows upon the arms of his chair,
and matched his hands together by the thumbs and by the forefingers,
and by the other fingers, one by one; and little by little the musical,
false voice of his lady, and the singularly gentle and unctuous tones of
his host, Arnold de Curboil, blended together and lost themselves, just
as the gates of dreamland softly closed behind him.
The Lady Goda, who had been far too tired to think of riding home that
night, was not in the least sleepy, and, moreover, she was profoundly
interested in what Sir Arnold had to say, while he was much too witty
to say anything which should not interest her. He talked of the court,
and of the fashions, and of great people whom he knew intimately and
whom the Lady Goda longed to know; and from time to time he
managed to convey to her the idea that the beauties of King Stephen's
court would stand in a poor comparison with her, if her husband could
be induced to give up his old-fashioned prejudices and his allegiance to
the Empress Maud. Lady Goda had once been presented to the Empress,
who had paid very little attention to her, compared with the interest she
showed in Sir Raymond himself. At the feast which had followed the
formal audience, she had been placed between a stout German widow
lady and an Italian abbot from Normandy, who had talked to each other
across her, in dog-Latin, in a way which had seemed to her very
unmannerly; and the German lady had eaten pieces of game-pie with
her knife, instead