On a couch, so broad and low that it might almost be called an estrade, the châtelaine reclined. The background of amaranth velvet enhanced the effect of a brilliant complexion, and dazzlingly white skin; and brought out in strong relief the curves of a superb figure. And on hand and arm there was flash and shimmer of gems, as she swung gently to and fro a delicate gold handled fan of flamingo feathers. Ralph Brakespeare did not mar the effect of the fair picture, sitting on a cushion close to the lady's feet, his elbow resting on the estrade. His dress, as has been said before, became him right well, though it was perfectly plain; the only ornament he wore was the chain, Sir Simon Dynevor's gift. A thin thread of gold that supported Marguerite de Hacquemont's cross, was scarce visible round his neck, and the cross itself was hidden in his doublet. Within the last few hours, Ralph had marvellously changed. The lines of his visage, usually hard and stern, had softened; and in his outward guise he no more resembled the rough chevaucheur who summoned La Roche Dagon to surrender, than does the Emir, issuing curled and perfumed from his bath, the dusty wayfarer across the desert.

The lute-playing and singing were done; and though the demoiselles d'honneur still remained in presence, they were withdrawn discreetly out of earshot. Near a table in another corner, whereon conserves and wines of divers sorts were placed, Réné D'Andelot leant against the wall; his head bent low on his breast, and seemingly taking no heed of anything that was passing; but in his face there was a black look, half cunning, half vicious, more dangerous than its late suppressed fury. And all the while the storm raged on outside; and from the gorge beneath there came up a sound, like the roaring of a great sea, from the tormented pines. The converse betwixt those two on the estrade had for some time past been low and often broken: indeed, it may well be that either spoke often at random, without fully realizing the import of the words. At length the lady roused herself impatiently, as if she would fain have shaken off some overpowering influence.

"I know not if it is the tempest loading the air"-she said: "but I feel strangely athirst, and my lips are parched. Réné, give me to drink of yon sherbet; and this fair knight shall pledge me in a beaker of Cyprus wine."

With an unsteady hand the youth performed his mistress's bidding -or, rather, half thereof-for the salver, which he presented kneeling, bore only one cup,

The Countess looked sharply at her page, as she took it.

"Didst thou not hear me aright, when I said Sir Ralph Brakespeare would pledge me? Wherefore hast thou not poured for him also ?"

Réné D'Andelot rose hastily and answered-looking not at his mistress, but full at the Free Companion

"Very noble dame, as you said rightly to-night, I am your sworn servitor, in matters small or great, for life or for death; but to this Englishman owe I neither service nor homage. Let him pour for himself, an he list. He shall die of drought ere I aid him to slake his thirst."

Never, since he went near to beard his own father in his own hall, had Ralph Brakespeare endured insolence of word, look, or gesture, from any man; and of late he had been so accustomed to see others bow themselves to his will, that for an instant or two he felt more surprised than angry. But he checked his rising choler-remembering from whom the provocation came: the ridicule of a serious quarrel with that slender stripling struck him at once; and he even tried to avert the storm gathering on the châtelaine's brow.

"Nay, chafe not, gentlest lady, nor hold yourself accountable for your menial's discourtesy. If I war not with women, I brawl not with boys. Perchance yon springald will learn better inanners ere we part company; but 'tis not in your presence I would give the lesson. The Cyprus wine will not lose its savour, or I pledge you with less good will, if I be mine own cup-bearer."

The wrath of the beautiful tyrant was not so easily appeased: it was strange to see how the melting hazel eyes roused themselves from languor, and froze into cruelty, as they were riveted on their victim.

"I am partly to blame”—she said—" for not having before chastised thy malapert humours. But this shall be speedily amended, and by sharp schooling. Begone now; and presume not to appear again in my presence, till thou hast learned to comport thyself as beseems thy station. And ye, too, Jeanne and Mathilde, may retire. I would confer with this knight touching ransom, and other grave matters, alone. Ye may wait my coming in my tiring-chamber."

The last words were spoken carelessly; yet with a kind of defiance. It was evident, that anger had only made her more recklessly bent on the accomplishing of her wayward will. Once again Réné D'Andelot seemed tempted to open revolt, and once again his nerve failed him;

but, as he bowed his head in mock humility and withdrew, there came over his face the same set, vicious look that had possessed it a while ago.

So, for the first time, those two were alone together. It could scarcely be of ransom, or such solemn matters, that they were speaking in those low murmurs-broken by gaps of silence, more and more prolonged. Their heads drew so perilously close together, that the redgold tresses almost touched the crisp brown curls; and the lady's round white arm leaned against, if it did not actually press, the puissant shoulder of her companion. The turmoil in Brakespeare's blood waxed hotter and hotter. He had never in all his life before been proved by stronger temptation than may be found in light and facile amours: furthermore, he had almost forgotten the sound of a high-born woman's voice; and such an one would have carried dangerous music even had it spoken commonplaces; his senses had not been so blunted by rough camp-life, as to be unable to appreciate keenly the appliances of luxury around him; he cared not to resist the delicious languor stealing over him, and half closed his eyes, as though the vaporous incense drowsed them. When he opened them again, they met other eyes glancing downward, with a challenge that the veriest novice could scarce have misunderstood, or the sternest saint resisted, even had his last draught been pressed from nenuphar instead of purple Cyprus grapes. Nearer and lower the lovely witchface bowed itself, till fragrant breath was warm on his cheek; nearer and nearer yet-till moist crimson lips were laid on his own, and clung there thirstingly.

The caress was scarce begun, when from the farther side of the chamber there came a rustle, as of arras violently torn aside; and, though Brakespeare sprang to his feet with the dexterity of one familiar with sudden danger, he was only just in time. With one bound René D'Andelot cleared the space between the secret door by which he had found entrance and the estrade, and struck full at the Free Companion's broad breast with a long poignard; but, swift as was the onset, Ralph yet had time to ward the blow, and caught the thin keen blade in his left fore-arm, which it pierced from side to side. The next second, without the semblance of a wrestle, the page was down under his enemy's knee.

Brakespeare's countenance could be stern and menacing enough at times; but seldom, even in heat of battle, had it expressed actual ferocity; and surely never had it been so possessed by such a murderous

VII.

32

The Countess looked sharply at her page, as she took it.

"Didst thou not hear me aright, when I said Sir Ralph Brakespeare would pledge me? Wherefore hast thou not poured for him also ?"

Réné D'Andelot rose hastily and answered-looking not at his mistress, but full at the Free Companion

"Very noble dame, as you said rightly to-night, I am your sworn servitor, in matters small or great, for life or for death; but to this Englishman owe I neither service nor homage. Let him pour for himself, an he list. He shall die of drought ere I aid him to slake his thirst."

Never, since he went near to beard his own father in his own ball, had Ralph Brakespeare endured insolence of word, look, or gesture, from any man; and of late he had been so accustomed to see others bow themselves to his will, that for an instant or two he felt more surprised than angry. But he checked his rising choler-remembering from whom the provocation came: the ridicule of a serious quarrel with that slender stripling struck him at once; and he even tried to avert the storm gathering on the châtelaine's brow.

"Nay, chafe not, gentlest lady, nor hold yourself accountable for your menial's discourtesy. If I war not with women, I brawl not with boys. Perchance yon springald will learn better inanners ere we part company; but 'tis not in your presence I would give the lesson. The Cyprus wine will not lose its savour, or I pledge you with less good will, if I be mine own cup-bearer.”

The wrath of the beautiful tyrant was not so easily appeased: it was strange to see how the melting hazel eyes roused themselves from languor, and froze into cruelty, as they were riveted on their victim.

"I am partly to blame”—she said—" for not having before chastised thy malapert humours. But this shall be speedily amended, and by sharp schooling. Begone now; and presume not to appear again in my presence, till thou hast learned to comport thyself as beseems thy station. And ye, too, Jeanne and Mathilde, may retire. I would confer with this knight touching ransom, and other grave matters, alone. Ye may wait my coming in my tiring-chamber."

The last words were spoken carelessly; yet with a kind of defiance. It was evident, that anger had only made her more recklessly bent on the accomplishing of her wayward will. Once again Réné D’Andelot seemed tempted to open revolt, and once again his nerve failed him;

but, as he bowed his head in mock humility and withdrew, there came over his face the same set, vicious look that had possessed it a while ago.

So, for the first time, those two were alone together. It could scarcely be of ransom, or such solemn matters, that they were speaking in those low murmurs-broken by gaps of silence, more and more prolonged. Their heads drew so perilously close together, that the redgold tresses almost touched the crisp brown curls; and the lady's round white arm leaned against, if it did not actually press, the puissant shoulder of her companion. The turmoil in Brakespeare's blood waxed hotter and hotter. He had never in all his life before been proved by stronger temptation than may be found in light and facile amours: furthermore, he had almost forgotten the sound of a high-born woman's voice; and such an one would have carried dangerous music even had it spoken commonplaces; his senses had not been so blunted by rough camp-life, as to be unable to appreciate keenly the appliances of luxury around him; he cared not to resist the delicious languor stealing over him, and half closed his eyes, as though the vaporous incense drowsed them. When he opened them again, they met other eyes glancing downward, with a challenge that the veriest novice could scarce have misunderstood, or the sternest saint resisted, even had his last draught been pressed from nenuphar instead of purple Cyprus grapes. Nearer and lower the lovely witchface bowed itself, till fragrant breath was warm on his cheek; nearer and nearer yet-till moist crimson lips were laid on his own, and clung there thirstingly.

The caress was scarce begun, when from the farther side of the chamber there came a rustle, as of arras violently torn aside; and, though Brakespeare sprang to his feet with the dexterity of one familiar with sudden danger, he was only just in time. With one bound René D'Andelot cleared the space between the secret door by which he had found entrance and the estrade, and struck full at the Free Companion's broad breast with a long poignard; but, swift as was the onset, Ralph yet had time to ward the blow, and caught the thin keen blade in his left fore-arm, which it pierced from side to side. The next second, without the semblance of a wrestle, the page was down under his enemy's knee.

Brakespeare's countenance could be stern and menacing enough at times; but seldom, even in heat of battle, had it expressed actual ferocity; and surely never had it been so possessed by such a murderous

VII.

32