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"I'll want her pretty soon.... Come on, you Beady and Braverman. Here's your chance to get even." Gulden resumed his seat, and the two bandits invited to play were eager to comply, while the others pressed close once more. Jim Cleve led the dazed Kells toward the door into Joan's cabin. For Joan just then all seemed to be dark.
He suddenly remembered the denuded state of his finances, yet it did not seem an auspicious moment just now to ask her for financial help. "I'll write," he thought. He looked at her. "Good-bye, Joan. I'll come back; you'll hear from me soon. Meanwhile, remember not a word, not a word to a living soul. You're all right, trust me!"
I was there, and I saw it, too; saw it all, just as he pictures it. And I see it yet the little battle-ax, the dainty plumed cap, the white armor all in the soft June afternoon; I see it just as if it were yesterday. And I rode with the staff the personal staff the staff of Joan of Arc. That young count was dying to go, too, but the King held him back for the present.
The poor thing was warm and valiant when she finished this, looking like Joan of Arc or someone just before the battle. And Homer never went back and made the lady cower like he said he meant to. Mebbe it occurred to him on the way that she was not one of them that cower easy. Mebbe he felt he was dealing with a desperate adventuress, as cunning as she was false-hearted.
He is now scarcely known; yet Lamb dedicated his prose works to him, in 1818, and there described him as "no common judge of books and men;" and Southey, corresponding with Rickman, when his "Joan of Arc" was being reprinted, says, "The best omen I have heard of its welldoing is, that Martin Burney likes it."
"Mary, I had a vision of you to-day!" "Of me, lad? What's that?" He laughed. "I saw you with a glory in your face, and your hair shining like a crown of gold. You were mounted on a snow-white horse, and wore a robe of white, soft and lustrous like Joan of Arc, or a leader in a suffrage parade. You were riding at the head of a host I've still got the music in my ears, Mary!"
Then, but a dozen paces from the spot where Joan's father lay, I dug a grave and strew'd it with bracken, and heather, and gorse petals, that in the morning air smell'd rarely. And soon after my task was done, Delia call'd me. In her man's dress Joan lay, her arms cross'd, her black tresses braided, and her face gentler than ever 'twas in life.
Joan went to the door to welcome him. Denas stood up as he entered, and then, meeting his ardent gaze, trembled and flushed and sat down again. He sat down beside her. He told her how much already he had heard of her gracious work in the village. He said it was worth going to France and Italy and Greece, only to come back and see how much more lovely than all other women the Cornish women were.
He laid a hand upon her head, and she felt the tremor of his fingers; the wolf-dog lay down at her feet and looked up in her face; Satan, from the shadows beyond, whinnied again. After that there was not a word spoken, for Kate looked at the picture of the three, saw the pity in the eyes of Whistling Dan, saw the wonder in the eyes of Joan, saw the truth of all she had lost.
"Ay," said Joan Bush, "and look up village street to the Plough Horse, and see thy Gregory and my Will and their mates pouring down ale to drink a health to it and to her Grace and to my lord Duke, and to the fine Court doctors, and to the nurses, and to the Chaplain, and to old Rowe who waits about to be ready to ring a peal on the church bells. They'll find toasts enough, I warrant."
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