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very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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superiority

How many times the word 'superiority' appears in the text?

very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. 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isabella

How many times the word 'isabella' appears in the text?

very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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daughter

How many times the word 'daughter' appears in the text?

very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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own.--"very

How many times the word 'own.--"very' appears in the text?

very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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brought

How many times the word 'brought' appears in the text?

very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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frank

How many times the word 'frank' appears in the text?

very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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answered

How many times the word 'answered' appears in the text?

very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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delighted

How many times the word 'delighted' appears in the text?

very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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sorted

How many times the word 'sorted' appears in the text?

very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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we

How many times the word 'we' appears in the text?

very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said." "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person." He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. "Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her." But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. "I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." "The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none." "I never had the smallest, I assure you." "That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing." "It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. "I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay thought, he cried, "Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the moment--"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused.--She coloured and laughed.--"I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words were, "Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour enough for beauty." "I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?" "Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--" But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help saying, "I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am sure it was a consolation to you." "Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most miserable wretch!" "Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us." He bowed. "If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." "True, true," he answered, warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be beautiful in her dark hair?" "Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out, "How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come." The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." Frank Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has he set up his carriage?" Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. "Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?" Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They _will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!" He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. CHAPTER XIX If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness. Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible to Emma. The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh reason for thinking so.--Harriet's parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event. When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated--she could not proceed. In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way.--Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November. The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.--"Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it."--But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. FINIS End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Emma, by Jane Austen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMMA *** ***** This file should be named 158.txt or 158.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/158/ Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

wicked

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visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

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visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

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visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

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visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

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visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

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visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

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visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

priest

How many times the word 'priest' appears in the text?

visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

prior

How many times the word 'prior' appears in the text?

visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

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visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

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visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

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visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

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visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

understanding

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visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

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visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

hopes

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visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

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visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

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visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

boyish

How many times the word 'boyish' appears in the text?

visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator as Sir John to complete his ruin. Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason?" "Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing? Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the King is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others." So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. "But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then, think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in body and fortune?" "Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me; but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used." Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake. So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay, and Myles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was then called), and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, and Westminster. It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron regarded one another when they met for the first time after that half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first to break the silence. "My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to England; behold, here am I." "When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl. "I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the young man. The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it possible." Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord, in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make a lad a man before his time." "From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France." A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. "Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?" "Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here." "Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words." "That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may justly call me coward." "By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging." As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the opportunity to answer. "Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience, "hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with marvellous coolness." "Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?" "Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say." "Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all honest an I ha' thy leave." The Earl nodded his head. "Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle against the Earl of Alban?" "Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence. Myles did not answer. "No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown." Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy?" "What is thy boon, Sir Myles?" "That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de Mowbray for my wife." The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied?" "I could ask no more," answered Myles. CHAPTER 29 That night Myles lodged at Mackworth House. The next morning, as soon as he had broken his fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartments, the Earl bade him and Gascoyne to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy snub-nosed boat, rowed by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various inns of the great priests or nobles; palatial town residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's Close; yon was the Bishop of Bath's; that was York House; and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led upward to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gate-way of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Myles Falworth's day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London inn which the tributary Kings of Scotland occupied when on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodging in the old palace, and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing-place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Myles and Gascoyne, ascended to the broad gate-way of the river wall of the garden. Three men-at-arms who lounged upon a bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guard-house beside the wall, arose and saluted as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged through the gate, led the way up a pleached walk, beyond which, as Myles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and a stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime-tree. They had evidently just left the tilt-yard, for two of the guests--sturdy, thick-set young knights--yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scene stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps, and a long, open, stone-arched gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving-men, running up and down the tall flight of steps, and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving uncertain patches of light, dappling the table-cloth, and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Myles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold-thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open; the cheeks smooth and fair; the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore his thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, where it was cut square across, after the manner of the times. Myles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. "Ho, Gaffer Fox!" he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Mackworth, "what wind blows thee hither among us wild mallard drakes? I warrant it is not for love of us, but only to fill thine own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gosling thou art about to pluck?" A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. "Your Highness," said he, smoothly, "is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young knight of whom I spoke to you some time since--Sir Myles Falworth. You may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke." "Sir Myles," said the Prince of Wales, with a frank, pleasant smile, "I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Mackworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household; more especially," he added, "as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Mackworth's cunning wits, Sir Myles; ne'theless I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance." All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech, It was evident that one of his mad, wild humors was upon him. In another case the hare-brained young courtiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Mackworth was no subject for their gibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Myles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. "Your Highness," said he, evasively, "I rest my fortune, first of all, upon God, His strength and justice." "Thou wilt find safer dependence there than upon the Lord of Mackworth," said the Prince, dryly. "But come," he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, "these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edged tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord?" "Pardon me, your Highness," said the Earl, bowing, and smiling the same smooth smile his lips had worn from the first--such a smile as Myles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face; "I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, haply, your uncle, his Grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you wot of. Haply your Highness will find more joyance in a lusty young knight like Sir Myles than in an old fox like myself. So I leave him with you, in your good care." Such was Myles's introduction to the wild young madcap Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter he was a member of the princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight, that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart; perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man; certain it was that in two weeks Myles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue; he always accompanied the Prince in those madcap ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry; he never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gaze that had carried him without taint through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphin. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen dubbed him Saint Myles, and jested with him about hair-cloth shirts and flagellations, but witticism and jest alike failed to move Myles's patient virtue; he went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of the mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else, on account of that very temperance. Then, by-and-by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the King and his son; it has happened very often that the Kings of England have felt bitter jealousy towards the heirs-apparent as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Myles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Myles's mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless intemperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said, abruptly: "Myles, what thinkest thou of us all? Doth not thy honesty hold us in contempt?" "Nay, Highness," said Myles. "How could I hold contempt?" "Marry," said the Prince, "I myself hold contempt, and am not as honest a man as thou. But, prithee, have patience with me, Myles. Some day, perhaps, I too will live a clean life. Now, an I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am in soothly earnest." The Prince also often talked to Myles concerning his own affairs; of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Mackworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Alban. He spoke to Myles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the house of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down; if he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Myles as though he and his blind father were the centre of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide, that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then, at last, came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May, and Myles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince in his privy cabinet, and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. "My poor Myles," said the Prince, smiling, as the young knight bowed to the three, and then stood erect, as though on duty. "It shames my heart, brother--and thou, uncle--it shames my heart to be one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest Lords of England, making a cat's-paw of this lad--for he is only yet a boy--and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Alban's faction. It seemeth not over-honorable to my mind." "Pardon me, your Highness," said Myles, blushing to the roots of his hair; "but, an I may be so bold as to speak, I reck nothing of what your aims may be; I only look to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house." "Truly," said the Prince, smiling, "that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Dost thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Alban before the King. The Earl of Mackworth has laid all his plans and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Mackworth House?" "Nay," said Myles; "I knew it not." "He hath been there for nearly two days," said the Prince. "Just now the Earl hath sent for us to come first to Mackworth House. Then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Alban is to be there as well. We all go straightway; so get thyself ready as soon as may be." Perhaps Myles's heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did, he made no sign of his emotion, but only asked, "How must I clothe myself, your Highness?" "Wear thy light armor," said the Prince, "but no helmet, a juppon bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou wert knighted, and carry thy right-hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes." CHAPTER 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes in long bands reaching around this room, one above another. Some of these pictures had been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others had been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace, and thither the sick King was very fond of retiring from the business of State, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders, sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two; sometimes to idle over a favorite book; sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with arras carpet. These and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort--an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the King's that Myles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the anteroom the little party of Princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Myles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley and two knights of the court, Sir Reginald Hallowell and Sir Piers Averell. Myles, as he stood patiently waiting, with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the arras. Among others, he recognized the well-remembered tones of the King. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the arras was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the antechamber again. "All is ready, cousin," said he to Lord Falworth, in a suppressed voice. "Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now." Then, turning to Myles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Myles had thought it possible for him to show, "Sir Myles," said he, "remember all that hath been told thee. Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do." Then, without further word, he took Lord Falworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Myles following close behind. The King half sat, half inclined, upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child

reason

How many times the word 'reason' appears in the text?

wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

stupid

How many times the word 'stupid' appears in the text?

wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

benefits

How many times the word 'benefits' appears in the text?

wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

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wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

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How many times the word 'whole' appears in the text?

wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

grocery

How many times the word 'grocery' appears in the text?

wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

turns

How many times the word 'turns' appears in the text?

wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

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wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

muse

How many times the word 'muse' appears in the text?

wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

palm

How many times the word 'palm' appears in the text?

wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

a.

How many times the word 'a.' appears in the text?

wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

ghosts

How many times the word 'ghosts' appears in the text?

wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

expulsion

How many times the word 'expulsion' appears in the text?

wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

nervous

How many times the word 'nervous' appears in the text?

wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

because

How many times the word 'because' appears in the text?

wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

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wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

respect

How many times the word 'respect' appears in the text?

wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

observed

How many times the word 'observed' appears in the text?

wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

lording

How many times the word 'lording' appears in the text?

wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

albert

How many times the word 'albert' appears in the text?

wake. The board member's face is frozen. Bartleby shakes his head and moves quickly around the table. BARTLEBY (not liking his job) Mister Pereira disowned his gay son; Mister Turran put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and used the profits from the sale of her house to purchase an oriental rug for himself; Mister Barker flew to the Phillipines on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy; Mister Bloom okayed the production of Mooby dolls from what he knew were unsafe and toxic materials because it was less costly. Bartleby stops at the female Board member and looks at her, relieved. BARTLEBY You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life and have never misused your power here. She stares at Bartleby. Loki pats her on the back and urges Bartleby on. BARTLEBY But you, Mister Whitland. You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled party. I can't even mention them aloud. Bartleby leans over and whispers something unheard into Whitland's ear. Whitland goes green. Bartleby steps back. Loki stands beside Whitland. LOKI You're her father, you sick fuck. Whitland begins sobbing. BARTLEBY (to Loki) Can I go now? LOKI (cheerily rubbing his head) Go on, you crazy kid. Bartlebv exits. Loki turns menacingly on the others. LOKI With the exception of Miss Pryce, there is not a decent human being amongst you. Do you know what makes a human being decent? (beat) Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God. Loki goes to exit but pauses. He turns around. LOKI I forgot my little voo-doo doll. (looks at Whitland) Wow. It really does look just like you. Maybe, if I believed enough... Loki begins moaning menacingly, slowly waving an open palm over the figure. Whitland looks at it horrified, then at Loki, then back at the figure. He sweats and shifts in his seat - eyes pinned on the figure. Loki lets out a shriek and smashes the figure with his fist. Whitland freezes, eyes closed. Slowly, he opens his eyes - unharmed. LOKI I don't believe in voo-doo. Loki swiftly exits. The Board Members sit in awed silence. Then the doors burst open and Loki storms back in. LOKI But I do believe in this. Gun blazing, he takes out the male board members, including Whitland, in a flurry of bullets. The remaining female Board Member covers her head with her arms. Loki hangs his arm at his side and touches her hair. LOKI (smiling) It's okay. You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men. You are a pure soul. She looks at him, terrified. He smiles back. Then his expression hardens. LOKI But you didn't say 'God Bless You' when I sneezed. He quickly puts the gun to her head. She slams her eyes shut. OC BARTLEBY (cautionary) Loki! Loki freezes and looks OC. He grimaces and holsters his piece. LOKI (to woman) Sorry. Force of habit. He surveys his handiwork and exits. The female Board Member slowly opens her eyes and looks around. INT STRIP JOINT - LATER Jay and the Gang Leader sit together at a table, surrounded by the other gangsters and Silent Bob. They laugh and chug their '40's. GANG LEADER (to Gang) Watch this shit. (to Jay) Do it again, G. Do the Mush-mouth. JAY (swigs his beer; as 'Mush-mouth') Hey-buh, Fat-buh, Al-buh-bert. The Gang laughs hysterically. GANGSTER 1 Fat Albert like a mother fucker and shit! Bethany, Rufus, and Serendipity huddle around a table further away. RUFUS (elated) I forgot you were down here! How long now? SERENDIPITY Three years this August. What about you - is this another temporary expulsion? You and your 'Christ was down' campaign? BETHANY What does that mean - another expulsion? I thought you came down here specifically to help me? SERENDIPITY Is that what he told you? Rufus gets thrown out constantly; at least once a month, ethereal time. They always bring him back, but only after a few days of peace and quiet - free from that black nationalist rhetoric. RUFUS (joking) Artsy-fartsy bitch. SERENDIPITY Who you calling artsy-fartsy? RUFUS (to Bethany) Serendipity here used to hang with us sometimes back in Jerusalem. BETHANY Let me guess - the fourteenth apostle; left out of the bible because she's a woman. RUFUS The girl's not a woman. (to Serendipity) No offense. BETHANY Oh, those weren't tits I saw Jay cozying up to? SERENDIPITY (tugs on boobs) What, these? You should know better than anyone at this table that tits don't make a woman. RUFUS Hell, the tubby, coat-wearing mother fucker's got tits - don't make him a woman. SERENDIPITY Aside from an intuitive knack for accessorizing, what traditionally defines a woman falls between two things : her legs. But as you can see... Serendipity stands and unbuttons her jeans, dropping them slightly, revealing yet another smooth, sexless crotch, quite like Metatron's. SERENDIPITY I lack definition. OC JAY Hey! They're getting a free show! Serendipity pulls her pants back up and sits down, smiling at the OC party. BETHANY (weary) Oh God. Another angel. Like Metatron. SERENDIPITY How do you know Metatron? (to Rufus) How does she know Metatron? RUFUS This is the last Scion. SERENDIPITY (beat) You're kidding. RUFUS Don't you see the resemblance? SERENDIPITY (stares at Bethany) A bit. (suddenly nervous) Oh shit. If she's been tapped, then something's up. BETHANY I'm confused. RUFUS Bethany, Serendipity here isn't technically an angel, nor is she by any means a human being like I was and you are. SERENDIPITY Amen to that. (swigs her beer and spits it out) BETHANY Then who is she? SERENDIPITY Not who - what. I haven't always been part of the anthropomorphic club. I used to be an abstract. BETHANY Now I'm really lost. RUFUS Serendipity's an idea. SERENDIPITY Try all ideas. BETHANY Meaning? SERENDIPITY I'm a muse, stupid. Bethany stares at her for a beat, then at Rufus. Rufus nods affirmatively. BETHANY I can't take much more of this. (downs her beer) RUFUS (to Serendipity) She's now met a seraphim, a dead man, and a muse. You can appreciate her frame of mind. BETHANY (to Serendipity) So you - what - inspire people? SERENDIPITY What just went down with your friends over there-you don't think they thought of that themselves? I knew Kane's weak spot for Fat Albert and passed it along to the boys. RUFUS If she hadn't interceded, they'd be chalk lines right now. BETHANY You made them sing that song? SERENDIPITY I offered them a solution out of the hole they dug for themselves. Thankfully, they took it. BETHANY Are you kidding? Those two are so dense, they wouldn't get a good idea if it was given to them in a specially marked box. SERENDIPITY Dense people are the most open to suggestion - it's vou so-called intelligent folks that have a hard time accepting a good idea. RUFUS Ain't that the truth. BETHANY Prove it. Give me a good idea. SERENDIPITY If I do, and you accept it, then you'll have confirmation that you are - as you say - dense. BETHANY (beat) Alright. So you're a muse. So what kind of people do you inspire - besides stupid ones? SERENDIPITY I used to specialize in entertainment - literature, theatre, so forth. BETHANY Movies? SERENDIPITY In some cases, I'd do everything but bang starlets on the casting couch. BETHANY What have I seen that you've been involved with? SERENDIPITY Off the top of my head - everything. Well almost everything. For example: I'm responsible for nine of the ten top grossing films of all time. BETHANY Nine? SERENDIPITY The one about the kid, by himself in his house; burglars trying to get in and he fights them off? (Bethany nods) I had nothing to do with that one. Somebody sold their soul to Satan to get the grosses up on that piece of shit. RUFUS Which brings us to the next logical question - what are you doing stripping? SERENDIPITY Well you remember why I left, right? RUFUS You were tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit for your ideas. SERENDIPITY And sick of watching incapable people take brilliant inspiration and turn out real trash. (to Bethany) So I opted to quit being a muse and write for myself. I gave my two weeks notice. got a body, fifty bucks, and got sent out into the world to make my fortune. BETHANY So what happened? SERENDIPITY Writer's block. RUFUS Writer's block? SERENDIPITY Can you believe it? Me - a muse, for God's sake! I sit down in front of the typewriter, and what do I get? Nothing. Blank page. 1 can't even write a grocery list. BETHANY What about what you did with Jay and Silent Bob? You inspired them. SERENDIPITY That's the cosmic joke. I can give out a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can't keep any for myself. Her quirky sense of humor. BETHANY Whose? SERENDIPITY God's. BETHANY You're saying God's a woman. SERENDIPITY Was there ever a doubt in your mind? BETHANY The possibility never presented itself. He's always referred to as a Him. SERENDIPITY I didn't write it that way My job stops at the idea stage. The person that holds the pen adds their own perspective, and all the pen-holders were men. One of the drawbacks to being intangible is that you have no say in the editorial process. RUFUS Another one's that you can't jerk off. SERENDIPITY (to Bethany) See. these being male-dominated times, the Pharisees and High Priests felt threatened by the idea of a woman lording over them and controlling their fates. so they made sure that She became a He Doesn't stop with God - the whole book is slanted and gender-biased: a woman's responsible for the first sin, the fall of man, and the expulsion from Eden. a woman cuts Sampson's coif of power, a woman asks for the head of John the Baptist. Read that book again some time - women are painted as bigger antagonists than the fucking Egyptians and Romans combined. BETHANY (stunned) God is a woman... SERENDIPITY I don't know what the big surprise is - women are the only gender that can create life, just like God created the universe. Who else but a mother could have the infinite patience with impudent children that God has with humanity. A woman can give birth to and nurture both sexes, so psychologists theorize that women are the only gender both sexes can feel completely comfortable with; and the faithful - both male and female - feel at ease with God. In time of trial, our first instinct is to implore the aid of the Almighty, just as when you're a child, the only person who can make it all better is... BETHANY ...mom. God, it makes sense. RUFUS (to Serendipity) Shit, you still have a knack for words. SERENDIPITY Not really useful in my new line of work. RUFUS What about that? Why'd you choose stripping? SERENDIPITY In an effort to create something artistic that I could claim as my own. See, I've been able to fool myself into thinking this isn't stripping, it's dancing; and at least dancing is artistic. But She won't even give me that much - the way God designed dance, it's the only creative act which results in no tangible product. Unlike paintings, poems, movies or most other arts forms. when the dance is over, there's nothing to show for it - nothing to save and enjoy... or sell. (takes a drink) Believe me, the irony wasn't lost on this muse. RUFUS How long are you going to keep this up? SERENDIPITY Believe me, I think about eating crow and going back to the grind from time to time. But I'd hate to give Her the satisfaction of my playing the prodigal. And it sucks because I can't stand being flesh anymore - especially this halfway crap. Not only do I have to take care of the aesthetic - the showers, the haircutting, the pit-shaving - but I can't take advantage of the benefits - like getting laid or using my period as an excuse not to get laid... (conspiratorily to Bethany) ...the only true boon to having a period, from what I understand. RLFLS Well we could sure use your help. We need someone with good ideas. You remember a couple of angels named Loki and Bartleby? SERENDIPITY Sure - the angel of death and his squeamish pal with a conscience. RUFUS They found a way back. SERENDIPITY (shocked) God no. Not the plenary indulgence loop hole? BETHANY You know about that? SERENDIPITY I always knew that thing was a bad idea. Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence. RUFUS Bethany's Catholic. SERENDIPITY My condolences. BETHANY What do you have against Catholics? SERENDIPITY Ever been to a Catholic mass? BETHANY Once or twice. SERENDIPITY It's like bad sex - up, down, up, down, kneel, leave. And the whole time you'd rather be watching t.v. You people don't celebrate your faith - you mourn it. BETHANY So if we're so wrong, then what's the right religion? SERENDIPITY When are you people going to learn? It's not about right or wrong - it's a question of faith. It doesn't matter what you believe in - just that you believe. Jay and Silent Bob join them, wearing bandannas. JAY Look! They made me and Silent Bob part of the gang! Suddenly, the doors behind them blast open, pouring light into the onc~im room. A huge figure stands in the doorway, backlit and acting as a sepia filter - the light and vapors surrounding him are brown. FIGURE (deep, gutteral hiss) Not born... shit into existence. Our group stares at the OC brute. Jay sniffs the air. JAY Who farted? SERENDIPITY Sweet Christ, someone wants you bad. BETHANY What do you mean? What's that smell? RUFUS Don't tell me that's who I think it is. SERENDIPITh The stench should say it all. BETHANY Who the hell is it?! SERENDIPITY An excremental - the Golgothan. BETHANY A what? RUFUS A shit-demon. The Golgothan moves slowly from the door, toward the group. NO-MAN No... man. ..of...woman.. born... The Gang join the others. They hold and cover their noses. GANG LEADER (to Jay; loading his piece) Friend of your's? JAY (to group) Is this smelly fuck with us? RUFUS He's coming for Bethany. JAY (to Gang Leader) Smoke that mother fucker like it ain't no thang! GANG LEADER I knew I'd get to wax someone today. Represent! The Gang charges OC, guns blazing, while we hold on the group. Suddenly, the room is filled with screams and wet, slurpy noises. The group goes from staring wide-eyed, to shielding themselves. The noise stops and Jay and Silent Bob look up. The Gang lay about NoMan in trashed, dead positions. They are covered in murky, creamy crap - their wide, white eyes frozen in horror. NoMan scoops a finger-full of muck off the leader and eats it, smiling. Our heroes start backing up slowly, as to not be noticed. JAY (to Silent Bob) I guess we're in charge of the gang now. BETHANY What the fuck happened?!? SERENDIPITY Go for the bar. We might have a few seconds - his short-term memory's for shit. JAY So's the rest of him. RUFUS No chance of taking him down? SERENDIPITY Gee. I don't know. Let's ask the gangstas. RUFUS You're right; let's book. They dash. NoMan snaps to attention and throws it's arm at them, launching a huge glob of shit through the air. JAY (running; seeing it coming) SHIT!!! Everyone leaps behind the bar. The shit flies over them and slams against the mirror above. Immediately, it stretches - Blob-like - over the entire frame, and burns in an acidic fashion. Jay stares, horrified. JAY Now that... is some powerful shit. Serendipity pulls at the floor, yanking open a door. SERENDIPITY Quick! Get in! Bethany, Rufus, jay and Silent Bob leap into the darkness. Serendipity follows, pulling the door shut on top of them. INT BASEMENT Our heroes cower beneath the floor door. JAY What is that thing? SERENDIPITY You ever hear of Golgotha? BETHANY Skull place. The hill where Christ was crucified. SERENDIPITY (peering above) Yeah, well it wasn't just Christ up there - the Romans crucified everybody on that hill. Ahd Christ excluded, they were all criminals - killers, brigands, thieves, rapists. And whenever the crucified expired, their bodies would naturally lose muscle control, spilling bowel and bladder in the process. And the result is that walking pile of crap up there: the Golgothan Shit-Demon - Hell's chief assassin. And he's here for you, girlie. Silent Bob stares at a crack in the doors. A milky drop of shit drips through it. BETHANY What are we doing down here, then?. Any second now he'll be blasting through that door! SERENDIPITY Shit's brainless. If we can sit tight for a couple of minutes, he'll forget what he came for. Suddenly another drop falls. Then another. Then a steady stream. Silent Bob taps Rufus and points. Rufus reacts. RUFUS (indicating trickling shit) Looks like it's been taking memory training courses... SERENDIPITY (off trickle) JUMP!!! The five leap from their perch on the steps, just as the doors explode, dumping a torrent of crap on the steps. The body of muck morphs into NoMan anew. NoMan lumbers toward them. The group, attempting to gain their bearings on the floor, crawls backwards. NoMan pulls a piece of himself off, rolling it around in It's hands. SERENDIPITY If anybody still remembers any prayers, I suggest you start whipping them out. Silent Bob stares wide-eyed up at the approaching demon. And then, something occurs to him. He stops backing up and stands. The others continue moving back. BETHANY Bob, get down! Jay! JAY (to Silent Bob) You tubby retard! Get your ass back on the floor! Silent Bob stands like a statue in the Golgothan's path. The demon snarls a smile, moving ever closer. Silent Bob reaches into his coat and pulls a small canister out. He points it at the beast. A mist shoots out into the face of the Golgothan. It pauses, looking confused. The shitball in It's hand drops to the floor, and then so does It. Bethany, Rufus, Serendipity, and Jay climb to their feet and crowd around Silent Bob. They look to the fallen, unconscious behemoeth, then to Silent Bob. BETHANY (off Bob's canister) What was that? Silent Bob holds the can out to them: it's a small, trial size can of Glade Air Freshener. Jay looks at it, then at Silent Bob. BETHANY (reading can) 'Knocks strong odors out.' RUFUS Way to go. tubby. BETHANY Why would you ever carrs this? Jay farts. Silent Bob sprays the freshener at his ass. The others look at jay. JAY What?! RUFUS (to Serendipity) Who has dominion over this thing? SERENDIPITY Only Lucifer can order a killing. But something doesn't make sense: this thing never travels alone - with it's intelligence level, Lucifer'd never allow it. It usually has some kind of backup. RUFUS Can you get some answers? SERENDIPITY I can give it a shot. BETHANY What's going on? RUFUS Serendipity's going to talk to that demon. JAY Cool! Can we watch? SERENDIPITY Not a good idea. Demon's can wreak havoc on the weak-minded. JAY Fuck you - weak-minded! Me and Silent Bob can talk to him in his own language! See...? (makes the universal metal sign) he'd understand this. SERENDIPITY (shakes her head; to Rufus) Whoever sent this might send mor~. I suggest you take the princess and get as far away as possible. (to Bethany) I'll do what I can to extract some info from shit-boy here. If there's anything helpful. I'll get it to you somehow. BETHANY (hugs her) Thank you. And... you're a great dancer. SERENDIPITY I'm a better juggler. (to jay and Silent Bob) You know you're supposed to be prophets. right? Start acting like prophets. You should have seen that thing coming. JAY (to Bethany) Why the hell are we getting yelled at?! SERENDIPITY Just watch out for Bethany. Go. Bethany leads Jay and Silent Bob up the stairs. JAY (to Silent Bob) Man, bitch thinks just 'cause she's good-looking, she can tell us what to do. BETHANY She told me that if you behave, she'll give you head. JAY (excited) Yeah?. BETHANY Oh, a demon'd have a field day with you. Serendipity and Rufus watch them disappear up the steps. OC JAY (beat) Shut up. OC BETHANY You shut up. SERENDIPITY (to Rufus) Nice girl. RUFUS Comes from good stock. SERENDIPITY You haven't told her yet? RUFUS Not the right time. SERENDIPITY How uncanny is the resemblance? Those eves, the lips... RUFUS The nails. Serendipity looks at Rufus. He smiles. She hits him, laughing. He cracks up. SERENDIPITY Blasphemer. Then, the OC Golgothan makes a groggy, grumbling noise. SERENDIPITY Shit. You'd better go. I'll take care of the trash. RUFUS (hugs her) Good luck. Rufus runs up the steps. Serendipity tunrs on the Golgothan. SERENDIPITY Alright, Stinky - let's see what you know. EXT CHURCH -DAY A suited MAN stands at a podium, addressing a small thrall of reporters. MAN And now, to speak on behalf of his Holiness' 'Catholicism - Wow!' campaign, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I give you the driving force behind the movement - Cardinal Glick. The reporters clap as CARDINAL GLICK takes to the podium. He strikes one as more of an agent than a man of the cloth as he removes his Wayfarers. GLICK Thank you, Mister Flanagan - one of this parish's chief patrons, who donated the stained-glass likeness of Our Lady of Gleeful Misery that welcomes you as you enter the church every Sunday. (off index cards) Ladies and Gentlemen of the press - few would deny that the Catholic Church has fallen behind somewhat in the times. Catholicism usually strikes the average person as an old-fashioned remedy for the ills - both moral and psychological - of a society that has since left it's stringent rules and ornate rituals on the heap with 45's and eight track cassettes. And in an effort to disprove that, the Church has appointed this year as a time of renewal, both of faith and of style. So, it is with great pleasure, that I present you and your parish - mere days away from it's centennial celebration - and the continental United States, via Satellite with the first of man revamps that the 'Catholicism -Wow!' campaign will unveil over the next year. (applause) Now, what does this mean for the average church-goer? Are we going to throw out the rule book and adopt a hippie mentality in regards to our faith? No. We're simply talking about a few minor alterations to both the aesthetic and theoretical aspects of a religion that boasts one of the highest membership numbers on the planet. A few applause ring out. Glick smiles. GLICK Thank you, thank you. So what are we talking about here. Well, for example... (pulls out crucifix) while it has been a time-honored and traditional symboL of our faith, we have decided to retire the highly recognizable, yet wholely depressing symbol of our Lord, Jesus Christ, crucified. Why? Well, look at it. Would you relish being a member of a group that uses a man nailed to two pieces of wood as it's masthead? Of course not - who would? I've got enough downers in my daily routine without having to deal with this visual everytime I go to worship. lnstead, the church is going to adopt this new, more soothing and inspiring sigil, which we feel is in-line with our new outlook. Glick pulls a cover off an object to his right - a two foot figure of Christ smiling and giving the 'thumbs up'. The crowd buzzes. GLICK See? Isn't this better? How could you not feel just great walking into a church and seeing this behind the priest - a positive reinforcement that whatever we do, God thinks is 'a~kay'. I love this thing, it's so... REPORTER I (interupting) Cardinal Glick - has the church given any thought to it's position on john Doe Jersey? Will he be given the right to die with dignity? Another buzz rises from the crowd. Glick rolls his eyes. GLICK C'mon people. We're not here to talk about that. It's an issue we stand firm on - euthanasia is a big no-no, just like abortion. Murder's murder. Why won't you people accept that? Besides, we're here to talk about this little guy - your friend and mine... the happy Jesus. Can't you just see it on chains around people's necks, and as the new background in avant garde, MTV videos? INT BUS TERNIINAL - DAY The image of the 'Happy jesus' - thumbs up and all - is captured on a t.v. monitor, a label reading U\'E VIA SATELLITE - RED BANK. NEW JERSEY' at the bottom of the screen. Bartleby and Loki look up at it, then at one another. LOKI And you say Siskel and Ebert have no influence over this culture. BARTLEBY We're getting out of here at just the right time. These people are nuts. LOKI (off t.v.) And that's the church we're heading to? BARTLEBY (steps to ticket window) If you want to go home... (to WOMAN in window) Two tickets to New Jersey, please. WOMAN Jersey's sold out, sir. BARTLEBY Are you sure? WOMAN The computer says. LOKI Come on - how many people can possibly be going to New Jersey? WOMAN Enough to fill a bus. BARTLEBY (to Loki) You had to drag that judgement out. You couldn't just hit and run. (to Woman) When's the next one? WOMAN Same time tomorrow. BARTLEBY What?! Doesn't this place warrant at least two buses a day? WOMAN I take it you've never been to the Garden State. Next. Bartleby and Loki look around. LOKI There's no one else here. WOMAN Then I guess it's lunch time. (she shuts her window) LOKI We should have learned to drive a long time ago. Infinite celestial power and we can't catch a bus. BARTLEBY Just shut up, this is your fault. LOKI You can either lament over our mass transit folly, or you can listen to my suggestion. BARTLEBY It's your suggestions that prevent us from negotiating what should be a simple matter of catching or staying on a bus! LOKI Why fall victim to gravity when we can just as easily rise above? BARTLEBY (stares at him) Fly? LOKI We got wings, right? Let's use them. OC VOICE I wouldn't suggest that. The pair spin and gawk. AZRAEL leans in the doorway. He removes his hat, revealing two stubby horns. AZRAEL You wouldn't want to stand out, now would you? INT STRIP JOINT BASEMENT - DUSK NoMan is tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. Serendipity draws a circle around him with lipstick. Once finished. she takes a glass of water and throws it into No Man's face. It roars to life. The Golgothan shakes of his daze, turning his attention on Serendipity. NoMAN The Muse. They told us you were up here. SERENDIPITY Matter of perspective. NoMan. I like to think of it as 'down here'. I have a few questions for you, sir. NoMan Free us from these binds, that you may have answers. SERENDIPITY (heads toward it) Okay. (stops; sarcastic) Oh wait. I'm smarter than that. NoMan lets out a bellow. SERENDIPITY Face it, big guy - I'm not releasing you until I get answers. This can go hard or easy. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner you'll be free. Now, you can start by telling me why you're on this plane? NoMAN (beat) Liquidate the Last Scion. SERENDIPITY See? That wasn't so hard. Now - who sent you? Was it Lucifer? NoMan laughs in a sinister fashion. NoMAN Our master is no one and all. For a time, he will be prince of this world - and the fate of those who dwell in it will be at the mercy of his whimsy. And then he will sever reality and crush existence, like a thumb punctures a fontanell, giving peace to those who've been without for so long. SERENDIPITY Did Bartleby and Loki send you? NoMAN Resist no further, Muse. Deliver over to us the conflicted one, that this world may die screaming. No power - divine or inherited - threatens the crusade. You cannot win. Soon will rise of the cry of the abandonned, begging your God to put an end to the madness. And only as being becomes not, will they know that the God of Abraham lay dormant while the dream perished in a blink. Your God is not dead - He's brain dead. SERENDIPITY She, you chauvinist bastard - She's brain dead. And no She's not. Stop trying to be so spooky. Tell me who sent vou, or I'll use whatever influence I have below' to make Hell even worse for you. NoMAN You speak of Azrael. (he laughs) We pity you. Muse. You're still playing the old game. The one that could have made good on your threat is gone. SERENDIPITY What do you mean. gone? He escaped? NoMAN No soul escapes Hell, but one. (beat - as if It's heard something) Would that I could cross the threshold of your confining circle, I would crush your half-life throat. But my Master does not abandon me to this mockery of a prison. We will come back for the girl. And when we do, it will take more than fragrant mist to

wrong

How many times the word 'wrong' appears in the text?

wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

fed

How many times the word 'fed' appears in the text?

wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

bequests

How many times the word 'bequests' appears in the text?

wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

restive

How many times the word 'restive' appears in the text?

wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

horse

How many times the word 'horse' appears in the text?

wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

grim

How many times the word 'grim' appears in the text?

wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

few

How many times the word 'few' appears in the text?

wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

bid

How many times the word 'bid' appears in the text?

wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

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wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

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How many times the word 'son' appears in the text?

wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

house

How many times the word 'house' appears in the text?

wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

turned

How many times the word 'turned' appears in the text?

wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

heavier

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wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

kitchen

How many times the word 'kitchen' appears in the text?

wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

voices

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wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

falcon

How many times the word 'falcon' appears in the text?

wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

fortune

How many times the word 'fortune' appears in the text?

wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

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wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

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How many times the word 'personal' appears in the text?

wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

snarled

How many times the word 'snarled' appears in the text?

wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush Myles heard voices in the other room. "My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his heart leap in answer. The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of Mackworth. CHAPTER 4 He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face, deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron-gray hung nearly to his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont. A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland falcon. As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter." Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again. "Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of me?" "I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come seeking service with you." The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no Falworth!" "The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you." The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near, bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length, looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate, "that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one I chanced to know a dozen years ago, who thinks he hath a claim upon me, and saddles me with his son. I must e'en take the lad, too, for the sake of peace and quietness." He glanced around, and seeing Gascoyne, who had drawn near, beckoned to him. "Take me this fellow," said he, "to the buttery, and see him fed; and then to Sir James Lee, and have his name entered in the castle books. And stay, sirrah," he added; "bid me Sir James, if it may be so done, to enter him as a squire-at-arms. Methinks he will be better serving so than in the household, for he appeareth a soothly rough cub for a page." Myles did look rustic enough, standing clad in frieze in the midst of that gay company, and a murmur of laughter sounded around, though he was too bewildered to fully understand that he was the cause of the merriment. Then some hand drew him back--it was Gascoyne's--there was a bustle of people passing, and the next minute they were gone, and Myles and old Diccon Bowman and the young squire were left alone in the anteroom. Gascoyne looked very sour and put out. "Murrain upon it!" said he; "here is good sport spoiled for me to see thee fed. I wish no ill to thee, friend, but I would thou hadst come this afternoon or to-morrow." "Methinks I bring trouble and dole to every one," said Myles, somewhat bitterly. "It would have been better had I never come to this place, methinks." His words and tone softened Gascoyne a little. "Ne'er mind," said the squire; "it was not thy fault, and is past mending now. So come and fill thy stomach, in Heaven's name." Perhaps not the least hard part of the whole trying day for Myles was his parting with Diccon. Gascoyne and he had accompanied the old retainer to the outer gate, in the archway of which they now stood; for without a permit they could go no farther. The old bowman led by the bridle-rein the horse upon which Myles had ridden that morning. His own nag, a vicious brute, was restive to be gone, but Diccon held him in with tight rein. He reached down, and took Myles's sturdy brown hand in his crooked, knotted grasp. "Farewell, young master," he croaked, tremulously, with a watery glimmer in his pale eyes. "Thou wilt not forget me when I am gone?" "Nay," said Myles; "I will not forget thee." "Aye, aye," said the old man, looking down at him, and shaking his head slowly from side to side; "thou art a great tall sturdy fellow now, yet have I held thee on my knee many and many's the time, and dandled thee when thou wert only a little weeny babe. Be still, thou devil's limb!" he suddenly broke off, reining back his restive raw-boned steed, which began again to caper and prance. Myles was not sorry for the interruption; he felt awkward and abashed at the parting, and at the old man's reminiscences, knowing that Gascoyne's eyes were resting amusedly upon the scene, and that the men-at-arms were looking on. Certainly old Diccon did look droll as he struggled vainly with his vicious high-necked nag. "Nay, a murrain on thee! an' thou wilt go, go!" cried he at last, with a savage dig of his heels into the animal's ribs, and away they clattered, the led-horse kicking up its heels as a final parting, setting Gascoyne fairly alaughing. At the bend of the road the old man turned and nodded his head; the next moment he had disappeared around the angle of the wall, and it seemed to Myles, as he stood looking after him, as though the last thread that bound him to his old life had snapped and broken. As he turned he saw that Gascoyne was looking at him. "Dost feel downhearted?" said the young squire, curiously. "Nay," said Myles, brusquely. Nevertheless his throat was tight and dry, and the word came huskily in spite of himself. CHAPTER 5 THE EARL of Mackworth, as was customary among the great lords in those days, maintained a small army of knights, gentlemen, men-at-arms, and retainers, who were expected to serve him upon all occasions of need, and from whom were supplied his quota of recruits to fill such levies as might be made upon him by the King in time of war. The knights and gentlemen of this little army of horse and foot soldiers were largely recruited from the company of squires and bachelors, as the young novitiate soldiers of the castle were called. This company of esquires consisted of from eighty to ninety lads, ranging in age from eight to twenty years. Those under fourteen years were termed pages, and served chiefly the Countess and her waiting gentlewomen, in whose company they acquired the graces and polish of the times, such as they were. After reaching the age of fourteen the lads were entitled to the name of esquire or squire. In most of the great houses of the time the esquires were the especial attendants upon the Lord and Lady of the house, holding such positions as body-squires, cup-bearers, carvers, and sometimes the office of chamberlain. But Devlen, like some other of the princely castles of the greatest nobles, was more like a military post or a fortress than an ordinary household. Only comparatively few of the esquires could be used in personal attendance upon the Earl; the others were trained more strictly in arms, and served rather in the capacity of a sort of body-guard than as ordinary squires. For, as the Earl rose in power and influence, and as it so became well worth while for the lower nobility and gentry to enter their sons in his family, the body of squires became almost cumbersomely large. Accordingly, that part which comprised the squires proper, as separate from the younger pages, was divided into three classes--first, squires of the body, who were those just past pagehood, and who waited upon the Earl in personal service; second, squires of the household, who, having regular hours assigned for exercise in the manual of arms, were relieved from personal service excepting upon especial occasions; and thirdly and lastly, at the head of the whole body of lads, a class called bachelors--young men ranging from eighteen to twenty years of age. This class was supposed to exercise a sort of government over the other and younger squires--to keep them in order as much as possible, to marshal them upon occasions of importance, to see that their arms and equipments were kept in good order, to call the roll for chapel in the morning, and to see that those not upon duty in the house were present at the daily exercise at arms. Orders to the squires were generally transmitted through the bachelors, and the head of that body was expected to make weekly reports of affairs in their quarters to the chief captain of the body. From this overlordship of the bachelors there had gradually risen a system of fagging, such as is or was practised in the great English public schools--enforced services exacted from the younger lads--which at the time Myles came to Devlen had, in the five or six years it had been in practice, grown to be an absolute though unwritten law of the body--a law supported by all the prestige of long-continued usage. At that time the bachelors numbered but thirteen, yet they exercised over the rest of the sixty-four squires and pages a rule of iron, and were taskmasters, hard, exacting, and oftentimes cruel. The whole company of squires and pages was under the supreme command of a certain one-eyed knight, by name Sir James Lee; a soldier seasoned by the fire of a dozen battles, bearing a score of wounds won in fight and tourney, and withered by hardship and labor to a leather-like toughness. He had fought upon the King's side in all the late wars, and had at Shrewsbury received a wound that unfitted him for active service, so that now he was fallen to the post of Captain of Esquires at Devlen Castle--a man disappointed in life, and with a temper imbittered by that failure as well as by cankering pain. Yet Perhaps no one could have been better fitted for the place he held than Sir James Lee. The lads under his charge were a rude, rough, unruly set, quick, like their elders, to quarrel, and to quarrel fiercely, even to the drawing of sword or dagger. But there was a cold, iron sternness about the grim old man that quelled them, as the trainer with a lash of steel might quell a den of young wolves. The apartments in which he was lodged, with his clerk, were next in the dormitory of the lads, and even in the midst of the most excited brawlings the distant sound of his harsh voice, "Silence, messieurs!" would bring an instant hush to the loudest uproar. It was into his grim presence that Myles was introduced by Gascoyne. Sir James was in his office, a room bare of ornament or adornment or superfluous comfort of any sort--without even so much as a mat of rushes upon the cold stone pavement to make it less cheerless. The old one-eyed knight sat gnawing his bristling mustaches. To anyone who knew him it would have been apparent that, as the castle phrase went, "the devil sat astride of his neck," which meant that some one of his blind wounds was aching more sorely than usual. His clerk sat beside him, with account-books and parchment spread upon the table, and the head squire, Walter Blunt, a lad some three or four years older than Myles, and half a head taller, black-browed, powerfully built, and with cheek and chin darkened by the soft budding of his adolescent beard, stood making his report. Sir James listened in grim silence while Gascoyne told his errand. "So, then, pardee, I am bid to take another one of ye, am I?" he snarled. "As though ye caused me not trouble enow; and this one a cub, looking a very boor in carriage and breeding. Mayhap the Earl thinketh I am to train boys to his dilly-dally household service as well as to use of arms." "Sir," said Gascoyne, timidly, "my Lord sayeth he would have this one entered direct as a squire of the body, so that he need not serve in the household." "Sayest so?" cried Sir James, harshly. "Then take thou my message back again to thy Lord. Not for Mackworth--no, nor a better man than he--will I make any changes in my government. An I be set to rule a pack of boys, I will rule them as I list, and not according to any man's bidding. Tell him, sirrah, that I will enter no lad as squire of the body without first testing an he be fit at arms to hold that place." He sat for a while glowering at Myles and gnawing his mustaches, and for the time no one dared to break the grim silence. "What is thy name?" said he, suddenly. And then, almost before Myles could answer, he asked the head squire whether he could find a place to lodge him. "There is Gillis Whitlock's cot empty," said Blunt. "He is in the infirmary, and belike goeth home again when he cometh thence. The fever hath gotten into his bones, and--" "That will do," said the knight, interrupting him impatiently. "Let him take that place, or any other that thou hast. And thou, Jerome," said he to his clerk, "thou mayst enter him upon the roll, though whether it be as page or squire or bachelor shall be as I please, and not as Mackworth biddeth me. Now get ye gone." "Old Bruin's wound smarteth him sore," Gascoyne observed, as the two lads walked across the armory court. He had good-naturedly offered to show the new-comer the many sights of interest around the castle, and in the hour or so of ramble that followed, the two grew from acquaintances to friends with a quickness that boyhood alone can bring about. They visited the armory, the chapel, the stables, the great hall, the Painted Chamber, the guard-house, the mess-room, and even the scullery and the kitchen, with its great range of boilers and furnaces and ovens. Last of all Myles's new friend introduced him to the armor-smithy. "My Lord hath sent a piece of Milan armor thither to be repaired," said he. "Belike thou would like to see it." "Aye," said Myles, eagerly, "that would I." The smith was a gruff, good-natured fellow, and showed the piece of armor to Myles readily and willingly enough. It was a beautiful bascinet of inlaid workmanship, and was edged with a rim of gold. Myles scarcely dared touch it; he gazed at it with an unconcealed delight that warmed the smith's honest heart. "I have another piece of Milan here," said he. "Did I ever show thee my dagger, Master Gascoyne?" "Nay," said the squire. The smith unlocked a great oaken chest in the corner of the shop, lifted the lid, and brought thence a beautiful dagger with the handle of ebony and silver-gilt, and a sheath of Spanish leather, embossed and gilt. The keen, well-tempered blade was beautifully engraved and inlaid with niello-work, representing a group of figures in a then popular subject--the dance of Death. It was a weapon at once unique and beautiful, and even Gascoyne showed an admiration scarcely less keen than Myles's openly-expressed delight. "To whom doth it belong?" said he, trying the point upon his thumb nail. "There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor man." "How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne. "Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly. "Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage." Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness, "thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very own." Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last. "Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade." At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced and counted down upon the anvil, he took off his cap and made Myles a low bow as he swept them into his pouch. "Now, by my faith and troth," quoth he, "that I do call a true lordly gift. Is it not so, Master Gascoyne?" "Aye," said Gascoyne, with a gulp, "it is, in soothly earnest." And thereupon, to Myles's great wonderment, he suddenly flung his arms about his neck, and, giving him a great hug, kissed him upon the cheek. "Dear Myles," said he, "I tell thee truly and of a verity I did feel warm towards thee from the very first time I saw thee sitting like a poor oaf upon the bench up yonder in the anteroom, and now of a sooth I give thee assurance that I do love thee as my own brother. Yea, I will take the dagger, and will stand by thee as a true friend from this time forth. Mayhap thou mayst need a true friend in this place ere thou livest long with us, for some of us esquires be soothly rough, and knocks are more plenty here than broad pennies, so that one new come is like to have a hard time gaining a footing." "I thank thee," said Myles, "for thy offer of love and friendship, and do tell thee, upon my part, that I also of all the world would like best to have thee for my friend." Such was the manner In which Myles formed the first great friendship of his life, a friendship that was destined to last him through many years to come. As the two walked back across the great quadrangle, upon which fronted the main buildings of the castle, their arms were wound across one another's shoulders, after the manner, as a certain great writer says, of boys and lovers. CHAPTER 6 A boy's life is of a very flexible sort. It takes but a little while for it to shape itself to any new surroundings in which it may be thrown, to make itself new friends, to settle itself to new habits; and so it was that Myles fell directly into the ways of the lads of Devlen. On his first morning, as he washed his face and hands with the other squires and pages in a great tank of water in the armory court-yard, he presently found himself splashing and dashing with the others, laughing and shouting as loud as any, and calling some by their Christian names as though he had known them for years instead of overnight. During chapel he watched with sympathetic delight the covert pranks of the youngsters during the half-hour that Father Emmanuel droned his Latin, and with his dagger point he carved his own name among the many cut deep into the back of the bench before him. When, after breakfast, the squires poured like school-boys into the great armory to answer to the roll-call for daily exercise, he came storming in with the rest, beating the lad in front of him with his cap. Boys are very keen to feel the influence of a forceful character. A lad with a strong will is quick to reach his proper level as a greater or lesser leader among the others, and Myles was of just the masterful nature to make his individuality felt among the Devlen squires. He was quick enough to yield obedience upon all occasions to proper authority, but would never bend an inch to the usurpation of tyranny. In the school at St. Mary's Priory at Crosbey-Dale he would submit without a murmur or offer of resistance to chastisement by old Father Ambrose, the regular teacher; but once, when the fat old monk was sick, and a great long-legged strapping young friar, who had temporarily taken his place, undertook to administer punishment, Myles, with a wrestling trip, flung him sprawling backward over a bench into the midst of a shoal of small boys amid a hubbub of riotous confusion. He had been flogged soundly for it under the supervision of Prior Edward himself; but so soon as his punishment was over, he assured the prior very seriously that should like occasion again happen he would act in the same manner, flogging or no flogging. It was this bold, outspoken spirit that gained him at once friends and enemies at Devlen, and though it first showed itself in what was but a little matter, nevertheless it set a mark upon him that singled him out from the rest, and, although he did not suspect it at the time, called to him the attention of Sir James Lee himself, who regarded him as a lad of free and frank spirit. The first morning after the roll-call in the armory, as Walter Blunt, the head bachelor, rolled up the slip of parchment, and the temporary silence burst forth into redoubled noise and confusion, each lad arming himself from a row of racks that stood along the wall, he beckoned Myles to him. "My Lord himself hath spoken to Sir James Lee concerning thee," said he. "Sir James maintaineth that he will not enter thee into the body till thou hast first practised for a while at the pels, and shown what thou canst do at broadsword. Hast ever fought at the pel?" "Aye," answered Myles, "and that every day of my life sin I became esquire four years ago, saving only Sundays and holy days." "With shield and broadsword?" "Sometimes," said Myles, "and sometimes with the short sword." "Sir James would have thee come to the tilt-yard this morn; he himself will take thee in hand to try what thou canst do. Thou mayst take the arms upon yonder rack, and use them until otherwise bidden. Thou seest that the number painted above it on the wall is seventeen; that will be thy number for the nonce." So Myles armed himself from his rack as the others were doing from theirs. The armor was rude and heavy, used to accustom the body to the weight of the iron plates rather than for any defence. It consisted of a cuirass, or breastplate of iron, opening at the side with hinges, and catching with hooks and eyes; epauliers, or shoulder-plates; arm-plates and leg-pieces; and a bascinet, or open-faced helmet. A great triangular shield covered with leather and studded with bosses of iron, and a heavy broadsword, pointed and dulled at the edges, completed the equipment. The practice at the pels which Myles was bidden to attend comprised the chief exercise of the day with the esquires of young cadet soldiers of that time, and in it they learned not only all the strokes, cuts, and thrusts of sword-play then in vogue, but also toughness, endurance, and elastic quickness. The pels themselves consisted of upright posts of ash or oak, about five feet six inches in height, and in girth somewhat thicker than a man's thigh. They were firmly planted in the ground, and upon them the strokes of the broadsword were directed. At Devlen the pels stood just back of the open and covered tilting courts and the archery ranges, and thither those lads not upon household duty were marched every morning excepting Fridays and Sundays, and were there exercised under the direction of Sir James Lee and two assistants. The whole company was divided into two, sometimes into three parties, each of which took its turn at the exercise, delivering at the word of command the various strokes, feints, attacks, and retreats as the instructors ordered. After five minutes of this mock battle the perspiration began to pour down the faces, and the breath to come thick and short; but it was not until the lads could absolutely endure no more that the order was given to rest, and they were allowed to fling themselves panting upon the ground, while another company took its place at the triple row of posts. As Myles struck and hacked at the pel assigned to him, Sir James Lee stood beside him watching him in grim silence. The lad did his best to show the knight all that he knew of upper cut, under cut, thrust, and back-hand stroke, but it did not seem to him that Sir James was very well satisfied with his skill. "Thou fightest like a clodpole," said the old man. "Ha, that stroke was but ill-recovered. Strike me it again, and get thou in guard more quickly." Myles repeated the stroke. "Pest!" cried Sir James. "Thou art too slow by a week. Here, strike thou the blow at me." Myles hesitated. Sir James held a stout staff in his hand, but otherwise he was unarmed. "Strike, I say!" said Sir James. "What stayest thou for? Art afeard?" It was Myles's answer that set the seal of individuality upon him. "Nay," said he, boldly, "I am not afeard. I fear not thee nor any man!" So saying, he delivered the stroke at Sir James with might and main. It was met with a jarring blow that made his wrist and arm tingle, and the next instant he received a stroke upon the bascinet that caused his ears to ring and the sparks to dance and fly before his eyes. "Pardee!" said Sir James, grimly. "An I had had a mace in my hand, I would have knocked thy cockerel brains out that time. Thou mayst take that blow for answering me so pertly. And now we are quits. Now strike me the stroke again an thou art not afeard." Myles's eyes watered in spite of himself, and he shut the lids tight to wink the dimness away. Nevertheless he spoke up undauntedly as before. "Aye, marry, will I strike it again," said he; and this time he was able to recover guard quickly enough to turn Sir James's blow with his shield, instead of receiving it upon his head. "So!" said Sir James. "Now mind thee of this, that when thou strikest that lower cut at the legs, recover thyself more quickly. Now, then, strike me it at the pel." Gascoyne and other of the lads who were just then lying stretched out upon the grass beneath, a tree at the edge of the open court where stood the pels, were interested spectators of the whole scene. Not one of them in their memory had heard Sir James so answered face to face as Myles had answered him, and, after all, perhaps the lad himself would not have done so had he been longer a resident in the squires' quarters at Devlen. "By 'r Lady! thou art a cool blade, Myles," said Gascoyne, as they marched back to the armory again. "Never heard I one bespeak Sir James as thou hast done this day." "And, after all," said another of the young squires, "old Bruin was not so ill-pleased, methinks. That was a shrewd blow he fetched thee on the crown, Falworth. Marry, I would not have had it on my own skull for a silver penny." CHAPTER 7 So little does it take to make a body's reputation. That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear, and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was moved to some show of interest. "What said he to

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walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) 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foulest

How many times the word 'foulest' appears in the text?

walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) 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then

How many times the word 'then' appears in the text?

walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) 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walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) 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walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) 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angel

How many times the word 'angel' appears in the text?

walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) 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walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) 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naturally

How many times the word 'naturally' appears in the text?

walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) 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contemptuously

How many times the word 'contemptuously' appears in the text?

walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. 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alone

How many times the word 'alone' appears in the text?

walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. *** START: FULL LICENSE *** THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at http://gutenberg.org/license). Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works 1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. 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shining

How many times the word 'shining' appears in the text?

walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) 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romance

How many times the word 'romance' appears in the text?

walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) 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murmuring

How many times the word 'murmuring' appears in the text?

walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) 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walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) 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How many times the word 'mike' appears in the text?

walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) 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cloister

How many times the word 'cloister' appears in the text?

walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) 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walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) 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master

How many times the word 'master' appears in the text?

walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. 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walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. *** START: FULL LICENSE *** THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at http://gutenberg.org/license). Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works 1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. 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saw

How many times the word 'saw' appears in the text?

walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bearings. Well dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads, (like sleigh horses with their bells,) were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches; they appeared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings and with mosaic floors. This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince, received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young Signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corridors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips--no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose--a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured, her lips grew pale, her eyes were on fire, and still black as the darkness of night. "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!" He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self--and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and roses, life was gold and roses. "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods. "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold--it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"--and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept. At the dawn of day he started up.--What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?--No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch--pale--trembling with fever; he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep, long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the fresh grave with small sticks and nettles. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one--sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and peace of God. The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception--yes, _had been_. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness, in the monk's cell was found that peace, which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made--a worldling became a servant of the church;--the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome--with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, her shining lemons and oranges, her palm trees fanned by the breeze--and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow-topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole--a dream! Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and consoled him! The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not make a dream life for yourself! Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought!" "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave-like beauty of the distant mountains! Seen near, how changed! Eternity, art thou like unto the great infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it, we sink, we vanish--die--cease to be?-- "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling--before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him--expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. "Lord! Lord!" he exclaimed in his despair, "be merciful, give me faith! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me and my vocation for this world! I prayed for strength and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality! The Psyche in my breast--away! away!--Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life? Never to arise from the grave!" The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?--Can one live with consciousness?--Can the impossible take place?--Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory and love!" His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.-- Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye sockets; what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head, where once elevated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife; from which hot tears had rolled and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust.-- Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered in the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness--the white marble came forth--it rounded into a shoulder;--they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible--butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form, chiseled from white marble. "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never dies, which surpasses in brightness, all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired and beloved. The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but--the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree. A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "Now you are an old rose bush," said the snail, "you will soon die away. You have given the world everything that you had in you; whether that be much or little is a question, upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident, that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward developement; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?" "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom with pleasure because I could not do otherwise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived! A strength came to me from the earth, a strength came from above, I felt a happiness, ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever, that was my life, I could not do otherwise!" "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!" "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!--It is true, that I have only given roses--but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. "That is so sad," said the rose-tree, "with the best will, I cannot creep in, I must ever spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon the breast of a charming young girl, and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth. This did me so much good, it was a real blessing! That is my recollection, my life!" And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away--but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden; they crept in their houses and spat.--The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 104: succeded replaced with succeeded | | Page 116: petulent replaced with petulant | | Page 144: prefered replaced with preferred | | Page 167: 'were' capitalized to 'Were' (new sentence) | | Page 170: ordonation replaced with ordination | | Page 174: beckens replaced with beckons | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ice-Maiden: and Other Tales, by Hans Christian Andersen *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ICE-MAIDEN: AND OTHER TALES. *** ***** This file should be named 18604-8.txt or 18604-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/0/18604/ Produced by David Edwards, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) 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muffled

How many times the word 'muffled' appears in the text?