The Cloister and the Hearth: A Tale of the Middle Ages

  CHAPTER XC

  IT was supper-time. Eli's family were collected round the board;Margaret only was missing. To Catherine's surprise Eli said he wouldwait a bit for her.

  "Why, I told her you would not wait for the duke."

  "She is not the duke: she is a poor, good lass, that hath waited notminutes, but years, for a graceless son of mine. You can put the meat onthe board all the same; then we can fall to, without further loss o'time, when she does come."

  The smoking dishes smelt so savoury that Eli gave way, "She will come ifwe begin," said he; "they always do. Come, sit ye down, Mistress Joan;y'are not here for a slave, I trow, but a guest. There, I hear a quickstep--off covers, and fall to."

  The covers were withdrawn, and the knives brandished. Then burst intothe room, not the expected Margaret, but a Dominican friar, livid withrage.

  He was at the table in a moment, in front of Cornelis and Sybrandt,threw his tall body over the narrow table, and, with two hands hoveringabove their shrinking heads, like eagles over a quarry, he cursed themby name, soul and body, in this world and the next. It was an ageeloquent in curses: and this curse was so full, so minute, so blighting,blasting, withering, and tremendous, that I am afraid to put all thewords on paper. "Cursed be the lips," he shrieked, "which spoke the liethat Margaret was dead; may they rot before the grave, and kiss thewhite-hot iron in hell thereafter; doubly cursed be the hands thatchanged those letters, and be they struck off by the hangman's knife,and handle hell-fire for ever; thrice accursed be the cruel hearts thatdid conceive that damned lie, to part true love for ever; may theysicken and wither on earth joyless, loveless, hopeless; and wither todust before their time; and burn in eternal fire." He cursed the meat attheir mouths, and every atom of their bodies, from their hair to thesoles of their feet. Then turning from the cowering, shuddering pair,who had almost hid themselves beneath the table, he tore a letter out ofhis bosom, and flung it down before his father.

  "Read that, thou hard old man, that didst imprison thy son, read, andsee what monsters thou hast brought into the world. The memory of mywrongs, and hers, dwell with you all for ever! I will meet you again atthe judgment day; on earth ye will never see me more."

  And in a moment, as he had come, so he was gone, leaving them stiff, andcold, and white as statues, round the smoking board.

  * * * * *

  And this was the sight that greeted Margaret's eyes and Jorian's--palefigures of men and women petrified around the untasted food, as Easternpoets feigned.

  Margaret glanced her eye round, and gasped out, "Oh, joy! all here; noblood hath been shed. Oh, you cruel, cruel men! I thank God he hath notslain you."

  At sight of her Catherine gave an eloquent scream; then turned her headaway. But Eli, who had just cast his eye over the false letter, andbegun to understand it all, seeing the other victim come in at that verymoment with _her_ wrongs reflected in her sweet, pale face, started tohis feet in a transport of rage, and shouted, "Stand clear, and let meget at the traitors. I'll hang for them." And in a moment he whipped outhis short sword, and fell upon them.

  "Fly!" screamed Margaret. "Fly!"

  They slipped howling under the table, and crawled out the other side.

  But, ere they could get to the door, the furious old man ran round andintercepted them. Catherine only screamed and wrung her hands; yournotables are generally useless at such a time; and blood would certainlyhave flowed, but Margaret and Jorian seized the fiery old man's arms,and held them with all their might, whilst the pair got clear of thehouse; then they let him go; and he went vainly raging after them outinto the street.

  They were a furlong off, running like hares.

  He hacked down the board on which their names were written, and broughtit in doors, and flung it into the chimney-place.

  Catherine was sitting rocking herself with her apron over her head. Joanhad run to her husband. Margaret had her arms round Catherine's neck;and, pale and panting, was yet making efforts to comfort her.

  But it was not to be done. "O my poor children!" she cried. "Omiserable mother! 'Tis a mercy Kate was ill upstairs. There, I havelived to thank God for that!" she cried, with a fresh burst of sobs. "Itwould have killed her. He had better have stayed in Italy, as come hometo curse his own flesh and blood, and set us all by the ears."

  "Oh, hold your chat, woman," cried Eli, angrily; "you are still on theside of the ill-doer. You are cheap served; your weakness made therogues what they are; I was for correcting them in their youth: for soreills, sharp remedies; but you still sided with their faults, andundermined me, and baffled wise severity. And you, Margaret, leavecomforting her that ought rather to comfort you; for what is her hurt toyours? But she never had a grain of justice under her skin; and neverwill. So come thou to me; that am thy father from this hour."

  This was a command; so she kissed Catherine, and went tottering to him,and he put her on a chair beside him, and she laid her feeble head onhis honest breast: but not a tear: it was too deep for that.

  "Poor lamb," said he. After awhile--"Come, good folks," said true Eli,in a broken voice, to Jorian and Joan, "we are in a little trouble, asyou see; but that is no reason you should starve. For our Lady's sake,fall to; and add not to my grief the reputation of a churl. What thedickens!" added he, with a sudden ghastly attempt at stout-heartedness,"the more knaves I have the luck to get shut of, the more my need oftrue men and women, to help me clear the dish, and cheer mine eye withhonest faces about me where else were gaps. Fall to, I do entreat ye."

  Catherine, sobbing, backed his request. Poor, simple, antique,hospitable souls! Jorian, whose appetite, especially since his illness,was very keen, was for acting on this hospitable invitation; but Joanwhispered a word in his ear, and he instantly drew back. "Nay, I'lltouch no meat that holy Church hath cursed."

  "In sooth, I forgot," said Eli, apologetically. "My son, who was rearedat my table, hath cursed my victuals. That seems strange. Well, what Godwills, man must bow to."

  The supper was flung out into the yard.

  Jorian took his wife home, and heavy sadness reigned in Eli's house thatnight.

  Meantime, where was Clement?

  Lying at full length upon the floor of the convent church, with his lipsupon the lowest step of the altar, in an indescribable state of terror,misery, penitence, and self-abasement: through all which struggledgleams of joy that Margaret was alive.

  Night fell and found him lying there weeping, and praying: and morningwould have found him there too; but he suddenly remembered that,absorbed in his own wrongs and Margaret's, he had committed another sinbesides intemperate rage. He had neglected a dying man.

  He rose instantly, groaning at his accumulated wickedness, and set outto repair the omission. The weather had changed; it was raining hard,and, when he got clear of the town, he heard the wolves baying; theywere on foot. But Clement was himself again, or nearly; he thoughtlittle of danger or discomfort, having a shameful omission of religiousduty to repair: he went stoutly forward through rain and darkness.

  And, as he went, he often beat his breast, and cried, "Mea Culpa! MeaCulpa!"