at largesse, so that in his unending sleep your poet may rehearse
our present love." And even in Rigon's dim light he found her kindling
eyes not niggardly.

So that more lately Sire Edward strode to the window and raised big
hands toward the spear-points of the aloof stars. "Master of us all!"
he cried; "O Father of us all! the Hammer of the Scots am I! the
Scourge of France, the conqueror of Llewellyn and of Leicester, and the
flail of the accursed race that slew Thine only Son! the King of
England am I who have made of England an imperial nation and have given
to Thy Englishmen new laws! And to-night I crave my hire. Never, O my
Father, have I had of any person aught save reverence or hatred! never
in my life has any person loved me! And I am old, my Father--I am old,
and presently I die. As I have served Thee--as Jacob wrestled with
Thee at the ford of Jabbok--at the place of Peniel--" Against the
tremulous blue and silver of the forest she saw in terror how horribly
the big man was shaken. "My hire! my hire!" he hoarsely said. "Forty
long years, my Father! And now I will not let Thee go except Thou hear
me."

And presently he turned, stark and black in the rearward splendor of
the moon. "_As a prince hast thou power with God,_" he calmly said,
"_and thou hast prevailed_. For the King of kings was never obdurate,
m'amye.

"Child! O brave, brave child!" he said to her a little later, "I was
never afraid to die, and yet to-night I would that I might live a
trifle longer than in common reason I may ever hope to live!" And
their lips met.

Neither stirred when Philippe the Handsome came into the room. At his
heels were seven lords, armed cap-a-pie, but the entrance of eight
cockchafers had meant as much to these transfigured two.

The French King was an odd man, no more sane, perhaps, than might
reasonably be expected of a Valois. Subtly smiling, he came forward
through the twilight, with soft, long strides, and made no outcry at
recognition of his sister. "Take the woman away; Victor," he said,
disinterestedly, to de Montespan. Afterward he sat down beside the
table and remained silent for a while, intently regarding Sire Edward
and the tiny woman who clung to Sire Edward's arm; and always in the
flickering gloom of the hut Philippe smiled as an artist might do who
gazes on the perfected work and knows it to be adroit.

"You prefer to remain, my sister?" he presently said. "He bien! it
happen