[A Monk of Fife by Andrew Lang]@TWC D-Link book
A Monk of Fife

CHAPTER IX--OF THE WINNING OF ELLIOT
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{19} Now, when I was to rise, I looked that they should bring me my old prentice's gabardine and hose, but on the morning of that day Elliot came, bearing in her arms a parcel of raiment very gay and costly.
"Here is your fine clothing new come from the tailor's booth," she cried merrily.

"See, you shall be as bright as spring, in green, and white, and red!" There was the bonnet, with its three coloured plumes, and the doublet, with Charles wrought in silver on the arm and breast, and all other things seemly--a joy to mine eyes.
She held them up before me, her face shining like the return of life, with a happy welcome; and my heart beat to see and hear her as of old it was wont to do.
"And wherefore should not I go to the wars," she cried, "and fight beside the Maid?
I am as tall as she, if scantly so strong, and brave--oh, I am very brave Glacidas, I bid you beware!" she said, putting the archer's bonnet gallantly cocked on her beautiful head, and drawing forth the sword from his scabbard, as one in act to fight, but in innocent unwarlike wise.
There she stood before me in the sunlight, like the Angel of Victory, all glad and fair, and two blue rays from her eyes shot into my heart, and lo! I was no more a child, but a man again and a lover.
"O Elliot," I said, ere ever I wist what I was saying, and I caught her left hand into mine--"O Elliot, I love you! Give me but your love, and I shall come back from the wars a knight, and claim my love to be my lady." She snatched her hand suddenly, as if angered, out of mine, and therewith, being very weak, I gave a cry, my wound fiercely paining me.
Then her face changed from rose-red to lily-white, she dropped on her knees by my bed, and her arms were about my neck, and all over my face her soft, sweet-scented hair and her tears.
"Oh, I have slain you, I have slain you, my love!" she sobbed, making a low, sweet moan, as a cushat in the wild wood, for I lay deadly still, being overcome with pain and joy.

And there I was, my love comforting me as a mother comforts her child.
I moved my hand, to take hers in mine--her little hand; and so, for a space, there was silence between us, save for her kind moaning, and in my heart was such gladness as comes but once to men, and may not be spoken in words of this world.
There was silence between us; then she rose very gently and tossed back her hair, showing her face wet with tears, but rosy-red with happiness and sweet shame.

Had it not been for that chance hurt, how long might I have wooed ere I won her?
But her heart was molten by my anguish.
"Hath the pain passed ?" she whispered.
"Sweet was the pain, my love, and sweetly hast thou healed it with thy magic." Then she kissed me, and so fled from the room, as one abashed, and came not back that day, when, indeed, I did not rise, nor for two days more, being weaker than we had deemed.

But happiness is the greatest leech on earth, and does the rarest miracles of healing; so in three days' space I won strength to leave my bed and my room, and could sit by the door, at noon, in the sun of spring, that is warmer in France than in our own country.
Now it could not be but that Elliot and I must meet, when her father was in town about his affairs, or busy in the painting-room, and much work he had then on his hands.


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