Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

8 Adventure that salvation is certain only for them who join Christ’s flock. And now he talks of marriage? You may say good-by to your earldom now!” | Sir Richard nodded. Here in his private chamber with the massive door barred he had let the mask fall from his face. Yet it was not what men call an evil face. It was schooled, calm, with scarcely a wrinkle. If anything its natural expression was benevolent, a little merry even. Above all it was a discreet, watchful face, the face of a gentleman. For so Sir Richard had made it, knowing himself so well that he watched himself as closely as he watched others. So far as he could, he shut himself off from his crimes, so that his evil soul should not carve them in his features for all to read. Now those features showed only grave attention, slightly relieved by an up- ward turn to the corners of the lips. “Merton, eh?” he repeated. ‘That amuses me. What would the lad say, I wonder, if he knew that the loot of Merton Abbey is even now in my treasure-vault?” “Or that it was your man Blaise, his own companion, who strung up the members of the town corporation and built little fires under their feet?” “He seems determined to come into pos- session of Monrepaire. He complained, but now, that his father’s conditions were hard. He has won the love of Gislac’s daughter.” The priest’s little eyes twinkled. ‘And what said you to that?” he asked. “T gave him my blessing.” FATHER AMBROSE got to his feet with a look of portentous shocked righteousness. “You are quite the wickedest man alive, Sir Richard. You want me to ease your conscience, do you? I am generous in ab- solution, but I fear the sin you meditate will strain even my complaisance. I sup- pose you mean to poison the girl? You could send the venom by Odo, who has a secret love for Lady Margaret’s tire- woman.” The Rotten Reiver shook his head, with just the ghost of a laugh. ‘“‘He would grieve for her, forget her and find another. At his age lads change loves easily. I must strike at the root of the matter. If he can not be made to enter a cloister, he must not marry. In his state there is but one safeguard against mar- riage. After all, he has old Fulk’s blood in him.” ‘Therefore now a crime is necessary?” “I think so. I have begun to prepare. But nothing must go wrong; we must make certain. Once I can get clear title to Mon- repaire, the Lord Chancellor will make me an earl in reward for my loyalty. “But the boy’s claim to the estate blocks my earldom. The Chancellor can do noth- ing till Monrepaire is out of Geoffrey’s hands.” “Then?” As the priest uttered the word, it seemed heavy with evil. Sir Richard dropped his eyes, asking— “You will give me full absolution?” Father Ambrose looked blank, scowled, and finally nodded. “But you must build my chapel and pay a thousand marks to the prior of my order that masses may be said for me when I die. If a priest can be damned, you have come very near to damning me. But how will you reach the boy? Not here?” Sir Richard shook his head. “TI bade him ask Sir Giles for the girl’s hand tonight.” Father Ambrose crossed himself. “Beside you,” he muttered, “the devil is a saint!” ‘““Mayhap,” the Rotten Reiver shrugged. “Send Odo to me.” CHAPTER II GISLAC IS uncle’s farewell lingering like a saintly benediction in his ears, Geof- frey mounted in a flaring circle of torch- light. His great gray Flanders mare sprang through the round-arched gate, rocketed down the ramp that sloped to the Flamwell bank between zigzag, battlemented walls and shot across Flamwell bridge amid the outcries of the astonished warders. Often as Geoffrey had ridden out by night, he had never spurred so furiously, never before galloped down the perilous ramp. But tonight his heart was higher than its wont, so high that its beating intoxicated him. The moon was up early, round and silver- bright. It turned the fields to fairy mead- ows, painted a glistening edging on the COmiclbook ©