Hilarius crimsoned with shame and horror. "Woman," he said, and his voice trembled somewhat, "art thou not shamed to deck thyself in this devil's guise?"
The dancer bit her lip and stamped her little red shoe angrily.
"No more devil's guise than thine own," she retorted, eyeing his semi-monastic garb with scant favour. "Can a poor maid not practise her steps in the heart of a forest, but a cloister-bred youngster must cry devil's guise?"
As she spoke her anger vanished like a summer cloud, and she broke into peal on peal of joyous laughter. "Poor lad, with thy talk of devils; hast thou never looked a maid in the eyes before?"
Shrewdly hit, mistress; never before has Hilarius looked a maid in the eyes, and now he drops his own.
"Dost thou not know it is sin to deck the body thus, and entice men's souls to their undoing?"
"An what is the matter with my poor body, may it please you, kind sir?" she asked demurely, and stood with downcast eyes, like a scolded child.
"It is wrong to deck the body," began Hilarius, softening at her attitude, "because, because - "
Again the merry laugh rang out.
"Because, because - nay, Father" (with a mock reverence), "methinks thy sermon is not ready; let it simmer awhile, and I will catechise. How old art thou?" She held up her small finger admonishingly.
"Seventeen," replied Hilarius, surprised into reply.
"Art thou a monk?"
"Nay, a novice only."
"Hast thou ever loved?"
Hilarius threw up his hands in shocked indignation, but she went on unconcerned -"'Twas a foolish question; the answer's writ large for any maid to read. But tell me, why art thou angry at the thought of love?"
Hilarius felt the ground slipping from under his feet.
"There is an evil love, and a holy love; it is good to love God and the Saints and the Brethren - "
"But not the sisters?" the wicked little laugh pealed out. "Poor sisters! Why, boy, the world is full of love, and not all for the Saints and the Brethren, and it is good - good - good!" She opened her arms wide. "'Tis the devil and the monks who call it evil.
Hast thou never seen the birds mate in the springtime, nor heard the nightingale sing?"
"It is well for a husband to love his wife, and a mother her child.
That is love in measure, but not so high as the love we bear to God and the Saints!" quoth Hilarius sententiously, mindful of yesterday's homily in the Frater.
"But how can'st thou know that thou lovest the Saints?" the dancer persisted.
How did he know?
"How dost thou know that thou lovest thy mother?" he cried triumphantly, forgetting the reprobate nature of the catechist, and anxious only to come well out of the wordy war.
But the unexpected happened.
"Dost thou dare speak to me of my mother? I, love her? - I hate her;" and she flung herself down on the grass in a passion of weeping.
Even a master of theology is helpless before a woman's tears.
"Maid, maid," said Hilarius, in deep distress, "indeed I did not mean to vex thee;" and he came up and laid his hand on her shoulder.
So successfully can the Prince of Darkness simulate grief!
The dancer sat up and brushed away her tears; she looked fairer and more flowerlike than before, sitting on the green sward, looking up at him through shining lashes.
"There, boy, 'tis naught. How could'st thou know? But what of thine own mother?"
"I know not."
"Nay, what is this? And thy father?"
"He was a gentle knight who died in battle ere I knew him. I came a little child to the Monastery, and know no other place."
"Ah," - vindictively, - "then thy mother may have been a light o' love."
"Light of love; it has a wondrous fair sound," said Hilarius with a smile.
The maid looked at him speechless.
"Go home, Boy," she said at last emphatically.
Just then a lad, a tumbler by his dress, pushed a way through the undergrowth, and stood grinning at the pair.
"So, Gia!" he said. "We must make haste; the others wait."
"''Tis my brother," said the dancer, "and" - pointing to the bag slung across the youth's shoulder - "I trust he hath a fine fat hen from thy Monastery for our meal."
Hilarius broke into a cold sweat.
The Convent's hens! The Saints preserve us! Was nothing sacred, and were the Ten Commandments written solely for use in the Monasteries?
"'Tis stealing," he said feebly.
"'Tis stealing," the dancer mocked. "Hast thou another sermon ready, Sir Preacher?"
"Empty bellies make light fingers," quoth the youth. "Did'st thou ever hunger, master?"
"There is the fast of Lent which presses somewhat," said Hilarius.
"But ever a meal certain once in the day?" queried the girl.
"Ay, surely, and collation also; and Sunday is no fast."
The mischievous apes laughed - how they laughed!
"So, good Preacher," said the dancer at last, rising to her feet, "thou dost know it is wrong to steal; but hast never felt hunger.
Thou dost know it is wrong to love any but God, the Saints, and thy mother; but thou hast never known a mother, nor felt what it was to love. Blind eyes! Blind eyes! the very forest could teach thee these things an thou would'st learn. Farewell, good novice, back to thy Saints and thy nursery; for me the wide wide world; hunger and love - love - love!"
She seized her brother's hand and together they danced away like two bright butterflies among the trees.
Hilarius stared after them until they disappeared, and then with dazed eyes and drooping head took his way back to the Monastery.
The train of mules had just arrived; all was stir, bustle, and explanation; and in the thick of it he slipped in unseen, unquestioned; but he was hardly conscious of this mercy vouchsafed him, for in his heart reigned desolation and doubt, and in his ears rang the dancer's parting cry, "Hunger and love - love - love!"
