Part 42

"Hunter, my hunter," Perpetua cried; "your voice comes through the leaves and conquers me!"

Her eyes were half closed, her hands stretched out; she swayed towards him.

Robert sprang forward with a mighty cry. "Perpetua!"

She was almost in his arms; suddenly her opened eyes realized that she was confronted by the rugged visage of the fool. She drew back with a start, and put her hands to her eyes as if to brush away the dream that had possessed her.

Robert, who had advanced like a conqueror, fell back like a slave.

"Ah!" Perpetua moaned. "What have you said to me? I have dreamed a dream."

With a heavy sigh Robert answered her, striving to smile.

"I too have dreamed a dream. As the golden words glowed from my brain they worked a spell upon me, and for a moment I, the hideous cripple, fancied myself young and comely, the lover of my vision. Forgive me, Perpetua."

"What is there to forgive?" Perpetua answered. "I have slept waking, have dreamed with open eyes, and in my dream I seemed to hear a voice that carries all the music of the world, which called me by my name and made me come to it."

"Perpetua!" Robert pleaded.

But she went on speaking, unheeding him, as if she were indeed still under the influence of a dream.

"I was again in the green wood; the fountain bubbled at my feet. Strong hands parted the curtain of green leaves, and through the gap came sunlight--sunlight and the hunter with eyes like mountain lakes; and as I moved to meet him the vision vanished. Are you a wizard?"

Robert could now command himself.

"No," he said; "only a fool who teases his soul with Elysian fancies. But the strings of the lute have snapped; they were made of heartstrings, and a thought too fine for the work. I will play that air no more."

She did not seem to notice the sorrow in his voice; she longed for solitude. "Leave me a little while to myself," she entreated. "I want to be alone and pray."

Robert looked at her wistfully; for a few golden moments he had known youth again, and hope, and the speech of passionate love, had seen the woman he worshipped come to him under the spell of his words. Now he was again God's outcast.

"The will of Heaven be done," he murmured to himself; then to Perpetua he said, quietly, "When you pray, pray for your poor servant, for I think your pure voice must soar at once into the courts of Heaven."

Perpetua smiled kindly at him. "Dear Diogenes," she said; and with that name ringing in his ears Robert went slowly out through the sea-door. Perpetua turned and knelt at the altar, praying,

"Dear Mother of Mercy, help me to forget the hunter's face!"

XVI

THE CALL OF THE BELL

Out of the darkest shadows a woman crept towards the altar. She bent over Perpetua where she knelt, and said, mockingly:

"You would do better to pray to forget the fool's face, for the fool has led you into folly."

Perpetua sprang to her feet and saw Lycabetta. Making the sign of the cross she confronted her. "Why are you here? This place is holy."

Lycabetta laughed. "I loved you so well that I could not part from you. You have no plague mark on your beauty. That was a rare trick, and your fool hid you cunningly--but we have found you, bird, at last."

"I am in sanctuary," Perpetua said, steadily.

Lycabetta sneered, "Our king-hawk will not be scared by a sacred name."

"Sicily still stands in Christendom," Perpetua answered; "and this ground is as holy as the old Jerusalem or the new."