out the world, and draw sword and slay and
die for the right as they see it. And you and Leicester contend for the
right as ye see it. But I, madame! I! I, who sat snug at home spilling
ink and trimming rose-bushes! God's world, madame, and I in it afraid to
speak a word for Him! God's world, and a curmudgeon in it grudging God
the life He gave!" The man flung out his soft hands and snarled: _"We
are tempted in divers and insidious ways._ But I, who rebuked you!
behold, now, with how gross a snare was I entrapped!" "I do not
understand, my Osmund."

"I was afraid, madame," he returned, dully. "Everywhere men fight, and I
am afraid to die."

So they stood silent in the ruins of Bastling.

"Of a piece with our lives," Dame Alianora said at last. "All ruin, my
Osmund."

But Messire Heleigh threw back his head and laughed, new color in his
face. "Presently men will build here, my Queen. Presently, as in legend
was re-born the Arabian bird, arises from these ashes a lordlier and
more spacious town."

They went forward. The next day chance loosed upon them Gui Camoys, lord
of Bozon, Foliot, and Thwenge, who, riding alone through Poges Copse,
found there a man and a woman over their limited supper. The woman had
thrown back her hood, and Camoys drew rein to stare at her. Lispingly he
spoke the true court dialect.

"Ma belle," said this Camoys, in friendly condescension, "n'estez vous
pas jongleurs?"

Dame Alianora smiled up at him. "Ouais, messire; mon mary faict les
chancons--" She paused, with dilatory caution, for Camoys had leaped
from his horse, giving a great laugh.

"A prize! ho, an imperial prize!" Camoys shouted. "A peasant woman with
the Queen's face, who speaks French! And who, madame, is this? Have you
by any chance brought pious Lewis from oversea? Have I bagged a brace
of monarchs?"

Here was imminent danger, for Camoys had known the Queen some fifteen
years. Messire Heleigh rose, his five days' beard glinting like
hoar-frost as his mouth twitched.

"I am Osmund Heleigh, messire, younger brother to the Earl of Brudenel."

"I have heard of you, I believe--the fellow who spoils parchment. This
is odd company, however, Messire Osmund, for Brudenel's brother."

"A gentleman must serve his Queen, messire. As Cicero very justly
observes--"

"I am inclined to think that his political opinions are scarcely to our
immediate purpose. This is a high matter, Messire Heleigh. To let the
sorceress pass is, of