and drawn the
rough, tear-stained face close to her own. "You could not know, dear,"
she said, quietly, "and it was all for love of me."

It was not until the end of another week, a sunny day, when she had
ventured out for the first time, that Esmay found courage to ask the
question that had risen so often to her lips.

"When did the _Black Swan_ sail away?"

"That same morning," answered Nanna. "Although it's a living wonder that
I should have cared to take notice of anything beyond your face that lay
so still and white upon my arm."

"And our master--he carried out his purpose?"

Nanna looked puzzled. Then she answered, carelessly, "Does he ever fail
in that?"

There was a pause, and Esmay turned again to look upon the shining
river.

"He might have saved his life--and lost it," she whispered to herself.
"I am glad for him. And for myself--for now he knows."

XXI

OXENFORD'S DAUGHTER

Constans had now spent nearly a fortnight in the valley of the
Swiftwater, and, while he had been hospitably received and entertained,
he made but small progress in his mission; it seemed as though this
second propaganda were also doomed to failure. There was neither
unanimity nor enthusiasm among these rustic seigneurs; they were content
to leave well enough alone, and the rest of the world could shift for
itself, as in the past.

"Doom will not trouble us, and why should we concern ourselves about the
flaying of a few fat burghers. Mayhap a little blood-letting now and
then is efficacious in warding off the falling sickness, and in the end
the churls get it back out of us. Your own worthy uncle, Messer Hugolin,
has squeezed me more than once. As for your ideal republic, stuff of
dreams, lad! Take an old man's word for it."

Piers Major, of the River Barony, spoke decidedly, yet withal not
unkindly, for he had been blood-brother to Constans's father, and he
liked the boy for his own sake. Constans had gone; to him last of all;
unconsciously he had been counting upon his support, whatever else
failed, and to be repulsed in this quarter was bitter indeed. The old
man looked into the clouded face before him and continued, earnestly:

"A dream, I tell you. Let the morning wind scatter these vapors; you are
young, and the world is before you. Harkee, lad, for I speak for your
own good--nothing less. There is the Greenwood Keep, and it still
remains 'no man's land.' True, the house was badly gutted by the fire,
but t