Adventure Magazine Cover — page 63: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Wife of Flanders “J have made dispositions. Such a chapel will be builded in the New Kirk as Rome can not equal. Likewise there will be benefactions for the poor and a great endowment for the monks at St. Sauveur. If my seed is not to continue on_ earth, I will make favor in paradise.”’ “And we of Cluny, madam?” The voice trembled in spite of its train- ing. “Nay, I have not forgotten Cluny. Its Abbot shall- have the gold flagons from Jerusalem and some wherewithal in money. But what is this talk? Philip will not die, and like his mother he loves Holy Church and will befriend her in all her works. “Listen, father. It is long past the hour when men cease from labor, and yet my provident folk are busy. Hark to the bustle below.. That will be the convoy from the Vermandois. Jesu, what a night!” FLURRIES of snow beat on the windows, and drafts stirred the hot ashes in the braziers and sent the smoke from them in odd spirals about the chamber. It had become perishing cold, and the monkey among the bedclothes whimpered and snuggled closer into his nest. Theré seemed to be a great stir about the house door. Loud voices were heard in gusts and a sound like a woman’s cry. The head on the pillow was raised to listen. “A murrain on those folk. There has been bungling among the pack-riders. That new man Derek is an oaf of oafs.”’ She rang her silver bell sharply and waited on the ready footsteps. But none came. There was silence now below, an ominous silence. ““God’s curse upon this household,” the woman cried. The monkey whimpered again and she took it by the scruff and tossed it to the floor. | « “Peace, ape, or I will have you strangled. Bestir yourself, father, and call Anton. There is a blight of deafness in this place.” The room had suddenly lost its comfort and become cold and desolate. ‘The lamps were burning low and the colored hangings were in deep shadow. The storm was knocking fiercely at the lattice. The monk rose with a shiver to do her bidding, but he was forestalled. Steps sounded on the stairs and the steward entered. The woman in the bed had as a opened her mouth to upbraid, when some- thing in his dim figure struck her silent. The old man stumbled forward and fell on his knees beside her. “Madam, dear madam,” he stammered, ‘ll news has come to this house. There is a post in from Avesnes. The young master——”’ “Philip,” and the woman’s voice rose to a scream. “What of my son?” “The Lord has taken away what He gave. He is dead, slain in a scuffle with highway-robbers. Oh, the noble young lord! The fair young knight! this stricken house!’’ The woman lay very still, while the old man on his knees drifted into broken prayers. scrambled to his feet in a panic and lighted two candles from the nearest brazier. She lay back on the pillows in a deathly faint- ness, her face drained of blood. Only her res eyes showed that life was still in er. Her voice came at last, no louder than a whisper. It was soft now but more ter- rible than the old harshness. “T follow Philip,” it ‘said. “Sic transit gloria. Call me Master Arnulf the gold- smith and Robert the scrivener. Quick, man quick. I have much to do ere I die.” As the stewart hurried out, the Cluniac, remembering his office, sought to offer com- fort, but in his bland worlding’s voice the consolations sounded hollow. She lay mo- tionless, while he quoted the Scriptures. Encouraged by her docility, he spoke of the certain reward promised by Heaven to the rich who remembered the church at their death. He touched upon the high duties of his order and the handicap of its poverty. He bade her remember her debt to the Abbot of Cluny. She seemed about to speak, and he bent eagerly to catch her words. ‘“‘Peace, you babbler,” she said. “I am done with your God. When I meet Him, I will outface Him. He has broken His com- pact and betrayed me. My riches go to 53 . Woe upon — Then he observed her silence, © 4 the Burgrave for the comfort of this city — where they were won. Let your broken rush of a church wither and rot!” Scared out of all composure by this blas- phemy, the Cluniac fell to crossing himself and mumbling invocations. The diplomat had vanished and only the frightened monk remained. He would fain have left the COPMNIE OOOKS (E@)