have harried us of the King's party
out of England--and in reason I might not leave England without seeing
her."

"My friend," said Ysabeau, as half in sorrow, "I would have pardoned
anything save that." She rose. Her face was dark and hot. "By God
and all His saints! you shall indeed leave England to-morrow and the
world as well! but not without a final glimpse of this same Rosamund.
Yet listen: I, too, must ride with you to Ordish--as your sister,
say--Gregory, did I not hang last April the husband of your sister?
Yes, Ralph de Belomys, a thin man with eager eyes, the Earl of
Farrington he was. As his widow will I ride with you to Ordish, upon
condition you disclose to none at Ordish, saving only, if you will,
this quite immaculate Rosamund, even a hint of our merry carnival. And
to-morrow (you will swear according to the nicest obligations of honor)
you must ride back with me to encounter--that which I may devise. For
I dare to trust your naked word in this, and, moreover, I shall take
with me a sufficiency of retainers to leave you no choice."

Darrell knelt before her. "I can do no homage to Queen Ysabeau; yet
the prodigal hands of her who knows that I must die to-morrow and
cunningly contrives, for old time's sake, to hearten me with a sight of
Rosamund, I cannot but kiss." This much he did. "And I swear in all
things to obey her will."

"O comely fool!" the Queen said, not ungently, "I contrive, it may be,
but to demonstrate that many tyrants of antiquity were only bunglers.
And, besides, I must have other thoughts than that which now occupies
my heart: I must this night take holiday, lest I go mad."

Thus did the Queen arrange her holiday.

"Either I mean to torture you to-morrow," Dame Ysabeau said, presently,
to Darrell, as these two rode side by side, "or else I mean to free
you. In sober verity I do not know. I am in a holiday humor, and it
is as the whim may take me. But you indeed do love this Rosamund
Eastney? And of course she worships you?"

"It is my belief, madame, that when I see her I tremble visibly, and my
weakness is such that a child has more intelligence than I--and toward
such misery any lady must in common reason be a little compassionate."

Her hands had twitched so that the astonished palfrey reared. "I
design torture," the Queen said; "ah, I perfect exquisite torture, for
you have proven recreant, you have forgotten the maid Ysabeau--Le Desir
du Cuer, was it not, my G