Of those two people Nanno was believed to be dumb; Isoult, at least,
never got speech of her. Vincent, who was treated by Maulfry as if he
had been a mechanism, was a very simple machine. If Maulfry had been
less summary with him she might have prevented the inevitable; but
like all people with brains she thought a simpleton was an ass, and
kicks your only speech with such. Vincent and Isoult, therefore,
became friends as the days went on. Maulfry's cagebirds drew their
heads together, and in Vincent's case, at any rate, it was not long
before the blood began to beat livelier for the contact. Isoult was as
simple as he was, and concealed nothing from him that came up in their
talks together. She knew much more than he about birds, about the
woods, the country beyond the forest--great rolling sheep-pastures,
dim stretches of fen, sleepy rivers, the heaths and open lands about
Malbank. Of all these things which came to him through her voice
almost with a breath of their own roving air, he knew absolutely
nothing, whereas there was very little county-lore which she did not
know. She seemed indeed to him a woodland creature herself, in touch
with the birds and beasts. She could put her hand into a cage full of
them; the little twinkling eyes were steady upon her, but there was no
fluttering or beating at the bars. Her hand closed on the bird, drew
it out: the next minute it was free upon her shoulder, peeping into
her sidelong face. She could hold it up to her lips: it would take the
seed from her. The horses knew her call and her speaking voice. They
would go and come, stand or start, as she whispered in their pricked
ears. Vincent thought she might easily be a fairy. But, "No, Vincent,"
she would say to that, "I am a very poor girl, poorer than you."
One day Vincent disputed this point.
"You go in silks and have pearls on your head."
"They are not mine, Vincent."
"My mistress loves you."
"Oh, in love I am very rich," said the girl.
"Everybody would love you, I think," he dared.
But she shook her head at this.
"I have not found that. I am not sure of anybody's love."
"I know of one person of whom you may be very sure," said the boy, out
of breath.
"But I never meant that when I said I was rich. I meant that I was
rich in love, not in being loved. Ah, no!"
"You ask not to be loved, Isoult?"
"Oh, it would be impossible to be loved as I mean, as I love."
"I would like to know that. Whom do you love?"
"Why, my lord, of course! Must I not love my lord?"