"Oh—not when I have had such excellent assistance." But Gregory's face crumpled at the thought, though he smoothed it again quickly enough.
Gwen probed the wall with her thoughts, found it telepathically opaque, and drew her own conclusions. In a low tone she said, "Rejoice therefore, Gregory. You have found true love, you have found your life's work, and Allouette has found her way to come to terms with herself for her past deeds."
Surprise came slowly over Gregory's face. "That is all true. I had not summarized it so."
"Then do." Gently, Gwen asked, "Why are you troubled, when an embarrassment of riches lies before you?"
"That is so," Gregory said slowly, "though Allouette has never said she loves me..."
"You know that she does, though, and that her love will grow if you are true to her."
"Yes . .. but..." Gregory's composure broke. "But by that very love, I shall hold her prisoner! What manner of lover am I, Mother, to doom my darling to life imprisonment, here where she shall have no society but me, no human contact but my poor self?"
Gwen studied him for a minute, smiling slowly. "I think she will not notice the lack, my son, not for a long time— and if she does, be sure she will journey where she wants. Will you go with her if she does?"
"Of course! But still, Mother, what manner of life could it be for a gentle and loving woman to be bound to a bookish recluse all her days? Oh, aye, there shall be the occasional festival, and I have no doubt the Crown will summon us for dire tasks now and again—but when all is said and done, we shall live alone more years than not! How can I claim to love her when I do this to her?"
"Have you thought, my son, that after all she has suffered at the hands of other people, she might well choose such isolation with the one man she can trust?"
Gregory was silent awhile, considering the matter.
Gwen matched his silence, letting him work it out. When she thought that consideration was turning into brooding, she said, "You have doomed himself to the same isolation, my son."
"Well, surely—but I have chosen it!"
"So has she," Gwen reminded him.
"What has she?"
Gregory looked up in alarm to see his sister looming, with Allouette fluttering after her in distress.
Cordelia came to stand foursquare, glaring at her brother, hands on her hips. "What has she done?"
"She has been foolish enough to choose me," Gregory said through wooden lips.
"Foolish!" Allouette cried, staring.
"Do you believe me now?" Cordelia asked over her shoulder though she kept her gaze on Gregory. Still, her voice was softer as she asked, "There is nothing foolish in that choice, my sib!"
"But there is!" Gregory cried. "She chooses life imprisonment if she chooses me! She chooses exile, isolation, and one so lovely and so graceful deserves neither! She deserves only to be cosseted, cherished, admired. ..."
Allouette's eyes glowed as she stepped close to him. "Cosset me, then. Cherish me. Admire me!"
"Oh, I shall," Gregory said fervently, "but you merit far better than me, and you deserve the envy of every woman, the adoration of multitudes!"
"I have had all that and found it worthless." Allouette twined her arms about his neck. ' 'What I have not had is the sincere devotion of one good man—and if you think that, having found it, I shall ever cast it away, you are witless!"
"I do not doubt it," Gregory said, numb but thawing by her nearness. "Still, there is the isolation—"
"Solitude," Allouette corrected, "and I welcome it. Oh, it may be that in a year's time, or two years or three, I may desire to go among people again—and will you not escort me if I do?"
"With great delight," Gregory said fervently.
"Then what need have you to feel guilty, my love?"
Gregory stared, struck by the word "love" more than by the question—and while he was frozen, Allouette kissed him.
Gwen and Cordelia exchanged a conspiratorial glance and a smile.
When they came apart, Gregory gasped, "But you shall lose your freedom if you stay with me!"
"I had not really noticed," Allouette said. "If staying alone with you is my desire, after all, have I not exercised that very freedom of which you speak?"
"How can you be so free to go as not to go?" Gregory protested.
Allouette laughed. "Is that not something a sage once said?"
"No," said Cordelia, "it was a poet speaking about a sage." She turned to her brother. "Do you not intend losing your freedom, too, in your own manner, brother?"
Gregory sighed. "I suppose that all who commit their hearts to something greater than themselves indeed yield up their freedom in large measure, sister, whether that 'something greater' be marriage and family, building an empire, hoarding money, creating great art, or discovering new knowledge."
"There is some truth in that," Gwen said judiciously, with a lifetime's experience. "The great mistake is to think you can commit yourself to two vocations at once. Still, there is no real happiness without one—only the loneliness and aim-lessness that sooner or later drive one to distraction, and the pleasures that fail to produce happiness."
"So to which must people devote themselves, Mother?" Gregory asked, very low.
"In that, son, a man must read his weird," Gwen answered. "Go where you find your bliss."
"Why, then, I have found it." Gregory held both Allouette's hands and looked into her eyes.
After a few minutes' silence, the two of them merely standing there and glowing, Gwen cleared her throat. When it produced no reaction she said, "Well, enough delay. We must be up and about, daughter."
"We must indeed," Cordelia agreed. "Farewell, you two.
We shall send a priest to wander this way, if we see one."
"We shall be glad to see him," Gregory said automatically, never taking his eyes from Allouette. "Fare you well, Mother, Cordelia."
"Farewell," Cordelia replied as she hopped on her broomstick.
From the air, circling to gain height, she noted that as soon as they had departed, the lovers had begun kissing again. As she passed her mother in the gyre, she said, ' 'I think we need no longer worry about him."
"It will be the first time since he was thirteen," Gwen said, "and is very welcome."
Below them, Allouette broke the kiss and commanded, "Back to work, ardent lover! We may finish this stronghold tonight and have a roof to cover us!"
"Shall have need of it, then?" Gregory asked.
"Aye, great need," Allouette promised. "To work, now!"
Gregory stole one last kiss. Then, still holding hands, they turned back to building their ivory tower.