Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

Murkwood Spears “T did not mean to hurt you, uncle,” he cried. “Indeed, I love and honor you. You were ever kind to me, kind beyond measure. You have been my protector, my comrade and friend.” ; The older man kept silent, his face turned away. He seemed so deeply dis- turbed that Geoffrey’s heart was touched. He almost felt guilty. To reassure his uncle more than to justify himself, he went on: “I can not give her up, sir. I know you would not ask me to break my word. I— have asked her to marry me, and she has consented. But—if you wish me to, I will not go to her today. I will go hawking with you, if you will have me. Let me go with you, sir. We used to ride together so often.” Sir Richard realized that the boy had conceded as much as he would. His last words had been a boy’s appeal, a boy’s attempt to make amends. But silence had brought the Rotten Reiver counsel, and he turned a kindly face to Geoffrey. “T was not prepared for your news,” he said gently. “Yet I desire only your hap- piness, my nephew. Your father left you to me as a sacred trust. I should be false to my trust if I denied you your love. If she will have you and Sir Giles consents— Has he consented? No? Well, if he will, take her with God’s blessing and mine. “No, do not thank me. Ask Sir Giles tonight. It may be for the best that our two houses should end their ancient enmity in this way. If so, then the sooner the bet- ter. I will not go hawking after all. Ask Father Ambrose to come to my chamber.” When Geoffrey had gone, overflowing with gratitude, Sir Richard paced to and fro in deep thought. At last, cursing under his breath, he walked rapidly toward the tower. His private quarters were in its second story, comprising a cell-like sleep- ing-chamber, an oratory and a gaunt, bare, four-square room between the unfaced stone walls. It was pierced with long ar- row-slits for windows, unlovely in its wild strength, ill-fitted with massive pieces of crude oaken furniture. | Sir Richard entered the great room and began mechanically removing odds and ends of gear from the one comfortable chair —an old glove, a falcon’s hood, a pair of spurs, a fine hauberk of Spanish mail. In his preoccupation he did not notice 7 Father Ambrose enter. The priest was noiseless as a cat. Father Ambrose smiled a little and sat down in the comfortable chair. Then Sir Richard noticed him. A short, plump Benedictine, he seemed the impersonation of good-humor. Even the bare round tonsure on his head and the bare sleek feet were eloquent of innocence. But there was something coldly evil, some- thing secret in his eye that suited the black gown he wore rather than the rosy jollity of his cheeks, “Regarding that chapel—” the priest began; but Sir Richard cut him short. “You shall have as much as you wish for it,’ he promised. ‘Now forget the chapel for a while. I sent for you to ease my con- science.” Father Ambrose puffed out his fat cheeks. “What deviltry are you up to now?” he asked softly. The Rotten Reiver caressed his beard. “The boy has beaten you,” he said abruptly. ‘I told you to get him into a monastery. Well, you have failed. For all his milk-sop ways, he has the blood of a man in him. He is in love.” The little priest nodded cheerfully. “So I thought,” he observed. ‘No, he did not tell me, but I have wits under my shaven poll. Only the other day he said to me: ‘Father, I can not enter into my estate till I have killed a man. It is an evil thing to kill, except in defense of the king or to protect the weak. Since there is no war, I must ask my uncle to give me six men and send me out against the outlaws beyond the forest.’ ‘“T asked him what outlaws he meant, and he answered, ‘The devils that sacked Merton and tortured the people for their gold.’ When so mild a lad thinks of fight- ing, there is certainly a girl in whose eyes he reads himself a man. No, we shall never make a monk of Geoffrey.” “Tf you had triec : ' “Tried? By the blessed blood of Hailes, I have tried! Again and again have I re- counted to him the peace and joy of the monastic life, the blessings reserved in paradise for holy men. I have taught him to hate bloodshed and plunder; I have done all I could to unfit him for the life a man of birth must live in these days. I have pointed to the cloister as the only refuge for a man of his soft stamp, assuring him Comicbhook C©