said, thinking to make her way out when they were all gone and
find out where this wild tract could be, "no, I will wait here. I am not
of your religion, Alys."

The girl sprang back from her with frightened eyes and crossed herself.

"Madam!" she cried, "never speak so! If they thought a Moslem here--and
to-night--hush, there go the men!"

There was a great tramping, and along the tapestries, before the drawn
curtain, came a company of men-at-arms, clanking in full armour, with
set, hard faces under the helmets.

She grasped at the arms of her oak chair wildly; these harsh men sent a
chill through her--was some horrid treachery thus hinted to her? Then as
Alys sped along behind them she felt her hand kissed softly and the
little page-boy was there.

"There is none to hurt you--if you stay quiet here," he said softly,
and she knew she dared not move or spy about.

Now arose a low chanting and then murmured prayers, and soon a smell of
incense reached them. Then at last the mystic bell struck mellow on the
night air and she knew that God was made and that men, maids, and
Countess-widow were bowed before this mystery. The page bent low and
crossed himself and a strange jealousy rushed over her that he should be
of this sort, when she was not, for she loved the boy unreasonably.

"Your mother is a good Catholic, I see," she said, when the chant grew
louder and covered her voice.

"I do not know, madam," he said.

"You do not know?" she cried, "and why not?"

"Because I do not know my mother, dear madam," he answered, and flushed
to where his slim neck was hidden by his long hair.

Then a keen trouble rose in her and grew ever stronger, and the boy's
eyes frightened her and yet she must watch him. Steadily she looked at
him and sat as one in a dream and thought no more of going away, but
when the Countess and her train came back and the men had vanished and
the maids-in-waiting were whispering around the great fireplace, she put
out her hand and caught the young widow's silken gown.

"Who--who is his mother?" she asked eagerly.

"Who should be?" the Countess answered strangely, "whom hath he a look
of, guest of mine?"

The boy lifted his face as she put a shaking finger under his round chin
and turned his eyes up to her, and a shiver ran through her--for they
were her own eyes.

"This--this is no boy of mine!" she gasped, shaking with more than
terror.

"He might have been," said the young Countess with