The Cloister and the Hearth, Charles Reade [great novels to read txt] 📗

Outside the town they found the snow fresh trampled by innumerable wolves every foot of the road.

“We did well to take the old man's advice, Denys.”

“Ay did we. For now I think on't, I did hear them last night scurrying under our window, and howling and whining for man's flesh in yon market-place. But no fat burgher did pity the poor vagabones, and drop out o' window.”

Gerard smiled, but with an air of abstraction. And they plodded on in silence.

“What dost meditate so profoundly?”

“Thy goodness.”

Denys was anything but pleased at this answer. Amongst his oddities you may have observed that he could stand a great deal of real impertinence; he was so good-humoured. But would fire up now and then where not even the shadow of a ground for anger existed.

“A civil question merits a civil reply,” said he very drily.

“Alas, I meant no other,” said Gerard.

“Then why pretend you were thinking of my goodness, when you know I have no goodness under my skin?”

“Had another said this, I had answered, 'Thou liest.' But to thee I say, 'Hast no eye for men's qualities, but only for women's.' And once more I do defy thy unreasonable choler, and say I was thinking on thy goodness of overnight. Wouldst have wedded me to the 'Tete d'Or' or rather to the 'tete de veau doree,' and left thyself solitary.”

“Oh, are ye there, lad?” said Denys, recovering his good humour in a moment. “Well, but to speak sooth, I meant that not for goodness; but for friendship and true fellowship, no more. And let me tell you, my young master, my conscience it pricketh me even now for letting you turn your back thus on fortune and peaceful days. A truer friend than I had ta'en and somewhat hamstrung thee. Then hadst thou been fain to lie smarting at the 'Tete d'Or' a month or so; yon skittish lass had nursed thee tenderly, and all had been well. Blade I had in hand to do't, but remembering how thou hatest pain, though it be but a scratch, my craven heart it failed me at the pinch.” And Denys wore a look of humble apology for his lack of virtuous resolution when the path of duty lay so clear.

Gerard raised his eyebrows with astonishment at this monstrous but thoroughly characteristic revelation; however, this new and delicate point of friendship was never discussed; viz., whether one ought in all love to cut the tendon Achilles of one's friend. For an incident interposed.

“Here cometh one in our rear a-riding on his neighbour's mule,” shouted Denys.

Gerard turned round. “And how know ye 'tis not his own, pray?”

“Oh, blind! Because he rides it with no discretion.”

And in truth the man came galloping like a fury. But what astonished the friends most was that on reaching them the rustic rider's eyes opened saucer-like, and he drew the rein so suddenly and powerfully, that the mule stuck out her fore-legs, and went sliding between the pedestrians like a four-legged table on castors.

“I trow ye are from the 'Tete d'Or?'” They assented. “Which of ye is the younger?”

“He that was born the later,” said Denys, winking at his companion.

“Gramercy for the news.”

“Come, divine then!”

“And shall. Thy beard is ripe, thy fellow's is green; he shall be the younger; here, youngster.” And he held him out a paper packet. “Ye left this at the 'Tete d'Or,' and our mistress sends it ye.”

“Nay, good fellow, methinks I left nought.” And Gerard felt his pouch. etc.