of Apollo were parted as though they had been singing the dirge of
one beloved, and ever as she rode the tears ran down her cheeks and
fell on her white robe, and lower upon her palfrey's mane.

She looked at Sholto when he came near, but not as one who sees or
recognises. Rather, as it were, dumb, drunken, besotted with grief,
looked forth the soul of the Lady Sybilla upon the captain of the
Douglas guard. She heeded not his angry shout, for another voice rang
in her ears, speaking the knightliest words ever uttered by a man
about to die. Sholto's sword was raised threateningly in his hand, but
Sybilla saw another blade gleam bright in the morning sun ere it fell
to rise again dimmed and red. Therefore she checked not her steed, nor
turned aside, till Sholto laid his fingers upon her bridle-rein and
leaped quickly to the ground, sword in hand, leaving his own beast to
wander where it would.

"What do you here?" he cried. "Where is my master? What have they done
to him? I bid you tell me on your life!"

Sholto's voice had no chivalrous courtesy in it now. The time for that
had gone by. He lowered his sword point and there was tense iron in
the muscles of his arm. He was ready to kill the temptress as he would
a beautiful viper.

The Lady Sybilla looked upon him, but in a dazed fashion, like one who
rests between the turns of the rack. In a little while she appeared to
recognise him. She noted the sword in his hand, the death in his
eye--and for the first time since the scene in the courtyard of
Edinburgh Castle, she smiled.

Then the fury in Sholto's heart broke suddenly forth.

"Woman," he cried, "show me cause why I should not slay you. For, by
God, I will, if aught of harm hath overtaken my master. Speak, I bid
you, speak quickly, if you have any wish to live."

But the Lady Sybilla continued to smile--the same dreadful, mocking
smile--and somehow Sholto, with his weapon bare and his arm nerved to
the thrust, felt himself grow weak and helpless under the stillness
and utter pitifulness of her look.

"You would kill me--kill _me_, you say--" the words came low and
thrilling forth from lips which were as those of the dead whose chin
has not yet been bound about with a napkin, "ah, would that you could!
But you cannot. Steel will not slay, poison will not destroy, nor
water drown Sybilla de Thouars till her work be done!"

Sholto escaped from the power of her eye.

"My master--" he gasped, "my master--is he