such artful furniture. He, in fact, as she very well knew,
had given her the grace to deal queenly with herself. She knew that she
would have strength to deny him, having learned the hardihood to give
him her soul. Fate had carried her too young into the arms of the most
glorious prince in the world. Her brother, Eudo the Count, built castles
on that in his head. Now she was to tumble them down. Her younger
brother, Eustace, loved this splendid Richard. Now she was to hurt him.
What was to become of herself? Mercy upon her, I believe she never
thought of that. His honour was her necessity: the watch-fires in the
north told her the hour was at hand. The old King was come up with a
host to drive his son to bed. Richard must go, and she woo him out. Son
of a king, heir of a king, he must go to the king his father; and he
knew he must go. Two days' maddening delight, two nights' biting of
nails, miserable entreaty from Jehane, grown newly pinched and grey in
the face, and he owned it.

He said to her the last night, 'When I saw you first, my Queen of Snows,
in the tribune at Vezelay, when the knights rode by for the melee, the
green light from your eyes shot me, and wounded I cried out, "That maid
or none!"'

She bowed her head; but he went on. 'When they throned you queen of them
all because you were so proud and still, and had such a high untroubled
head; and when your sleeve was in my helm, and my heart in your lap, and
men fallen to my spear were sent to kneel before you--what caused your
cheek to burn and your eyes to shine so bright?'

She hid her face. 'Homage of the knights! The love of me!' he cried; and
then, 'Ah, Jehane of the Fair Girdle, when I took you from the pastures
of Gisors, when I taught you love and learned from your young mouth what
love might be, I was made man. But now you ask me to become dog.' And he
swore yet again he could never leave her. But she smiled proudly, being
in pain. 'Nay, my lord, but the man in you is awake, and not to leave
you. You shall go because you are the king's son, and I shall pray for
the new king.' So she beat him, and had him weeping terribly, his face
in her lap. She wept no more, but dry-eyed kissed him, and dry-lipped
went to bed. 'He said Yea that time,' records the Abbot Milo, 'but I
never knew then what she paid for it. That was later.' He went next
morning, and she saw him go.

CHAPTER II

HOW THE FAIR JEHANE BESTOWED HERSELF

Betimes is best for an