Part 20

Obsolete form of “champing.” Used here figuratively.

“Thou cloud of billowed lace, a shield befitting her pure heart! And I the flowering of the bud! Hear me, all this o’ her! I love thee well, and should the day but offer a bitter draft to quaff, ’tis but to whet me for a sweeter drink. And mother, heart o’ me, hearken and do believe. I love my sire, Sir John.

“Come, Jana. Hear ye the carolers? Their song doth filter thro’ my heart and lighten it. The snow doth tweak aneath their feet like pipes to ’company them. Cast ye a bit o’ holly and a mistletoe.

“The feasters come to whet them with a pudding whiff. See, my sire doth ride him up the hill and o’er his saddle front a fallow deer. Hear thee the cheering that he comes! Her loved, my Jana, and her heart doth beat through me!

“Christ-love to thee, my sire! Dost hear me here? And I do pledge it thee upon His precious drops caught by the holly tree. He seeth not, but she doth know!”

(Christmas Eve.)

(Jana) “My lady, who doth come a knocking at the door? ’Tis Petro, come to bid ye to the feast.”

(Petro) “The candles are long since lit and Sirrah John hath wearyed him with jest. The feasting hath not yet begun, for he doth wait thee to drink a health to feasters in the hall.”

(Lady Marye) “Yea, Petro, say unto my sire, the Lady Marye comes. And say ye more, she bids the feasters God-love. And say thee more, she doth bear the blessings of her Lady Mother who wisheth God’s love to them all. And fetch ye candle trees to scores, and fetch the dulcimer and one who knocketh on its strings, and let him patter forth a lively tune, for Lady Marye comes.

“Jana, look ye once again to the valley there. The tapers burn not for Christ-night. Nay, a sickly gleam, and see, the Stranger, how he doth hold the lamb! And o’er his face a smile—or do my eyes beblur, and doth he weep?”

(Jana) “Nay, lady, all is dark. ’Tis but the whitish snow and shadow pitted by the tapers’ light.”

(Lady Marye) “Fetch me then my fan. I go to meet my Lord. Doth hear? Already they do play. I point me thus, and trip my heart’s full measure.”

(In the Hall.)

(Sir John) “So, lily-lip, thee’lt scratch! Thy silky paw hath claws, eh? Egad! A phantom! A ghoulish trick! My head doth split and where my tung? Get ye! Why sit like grinning asses! And where thy tungs? My God! What scent o’ graves she beareth with that shroud!”

(Lady Marye) “God cheer, my lord, and doth my tripping suit thee well? These flags are but my heart and hers, and do I bruise them well for thee? Ah, aha! See, I do spread my fan. To shield my tears, ye think? Nay, were they to fall like Mayday’s rain and thee wert buried ’neath a stone, as well then could’st thou see! And yet I love thee well. See thee, my sire, I pour this to thee!

“Look ye, good people at the feast; the boar is ready to slip its bones.

(Aside) “God, send Thy mantling love here to Thine own! For should I judge, when Thou I know dost love the saint and sinner as Thine own?

“To thee, my sire, to thee!”

* * * * *

And gusted wind did flick the tapers out and they did hear her murmuring “The Stranger! He doth bid me come!”

And to this day they tell that Lady Marye cast the wine into a suckler’s mouth and never did she drink!

“By all the saints! Do thee go and search!”

Thus spake her sire, Sir John. And all the long night thro’ the torches gleamed, but all in vain. And they do say that Sirrah John did shake him in a chilling and flee him to a friar, while still the search did last.

(In Timon’s Cot.)

(Leta) “Timon, waken ye! Our Leta still doth court her dreams and I do weary me. The long night thro’ the feasters cried them thro’ the hills and none but Him could shield our Tina from their din.

“Take heart, my lad, I fear me yet to look within the crib. Hold thou my hand, man. Nay, not yet! Come, waken Leta that she then do feed thy lambs.”

(Timon) “Come, Leta, wake! The sun hath tipped the crown o’ yonder hill and spread a blush adown her snow-white side.”

(Leta) “Yea, sire. And Tina, how be she?”