ere be great feasting."

She motioned to Sir Andrew Melvill to come forward, and with a gesture
of welcome and a promise of speech with him on the morrow she dismissed
them.

Since the two strangers had entered, Angele's eyes had been fastened on
the gentleman who accompanied Sir Andrew Melvill. Her first glance
at him had sent a chill through her, and she remained confused and
disturbed. In vain her memory strove to find where the man was set in
her past. The time, the place, the event eluded her, but a sense of
foreboding possessed her; and her eyes followed him with strained
anxiety as he retired from the presence.

CHAPTER XIII

As had been arranged when Lempriere challenged Leicester, they met soon
after dawn among the trees beside the Thames. A gentleman of the court,
to whom the Duke's Daughter had previously presented Lempriere, gaily
agreed to act as second, and gallantly attended the lord of Rozel in his
adventurous enterprise. There were few at Court who had not some grudge
against Leicester, few who would not willingly have done duty at such a
time; for Leicester's friends were of fair-weather sort, ready to defend
him, to support him, not for friendship but for the crumbs that dropped
from the table of his power. The favourite himself was attended by the
Earl of Ealing, a youngster who had his spurs to win, who thought it
policy to serve the great time-server. Two others also came.

It was a morning little made for deeds of rancour or of blood. As they
passed, the early morning mists above the green fields of Kent and Essex
were being melted by the summer sun. The smell of ripening fruit came on
them with pungent sweetness, their feet crashed odorously through clumps
of tiger-lilies, and the dew on the ribbon-grass shook glistening drops
upon their velvets. Overhead the carolling of the thrush came swimming
recklessly through the trees, and far over in the fields the ploughmen
started upon the heavy courses of their labour; while here and there
poachers with bows and arrows slid through the green undergrowth, like
spies hovering on an army's flank.

To Lempriere the morning carried no impression save that life was well
worth living. No agitation passed across his nerves, no apprehension
reached his mind. He had no imagination; he loved the things that his
eyes saw because they filled him with enjoyment; but why they were,
or whence they came, or what they meant or boded, never gave him
meditati