Knight when left alone in the chapel; but the jest had been lost by the
composure of the Scot and the interference of the anchorite. She had now
tried another, of which the consequences promised to be more serious.

The ladies again met after Sir Kenneth had retired from the tent, and
the Queen, at first little moved by Edith's angry expostulations, only
replied to her by upbraiding her prudery, and by indulging her wit
at the expense of the garb, nation, and, above all the poverty of the
Knight of the Leopard, in which she displayed a good deal of playful
malice, mingled with some humour, until Edith was compelled to carry her
anxiety to her separate apartment. But when, in the morning, a female
whom Edith had entrusted to make inquiry brought word that the Standard
was missing, and its champion vanished, she burst into the Queen's
apartment, and implored her to rise and proceed to the King's tent
without delay, and use her powerful mediation to prevent the evil
consequences of her jest.

The Queen, frightened in her turn, cast, as is usual, the blame of her
own folly on those around her, and endeavoured to comfort Edith's grief,
and appease her displeasure, by a thousand inconsistent arguments. She
was sure no harm had chanced--the knight was sleeping, she fancied,
after his night-watch. What though, for fear of the King's displeasure,
he had deserted with the Standard--it was but a piece of silk, and he
but a needy adventurer; or if he was put under warding for a time,
she would soon get the King to pardon him--it was but waiting to let
Richard's mood pass away.

Thus she continued talking thick and fast, and heaping together all
sorts of inconsistencies, with the vain expectation of persuading both
Edith and herself that no harm could come of a frolic which in her heart
she now bitterly repented. But while Edith in vain strove to intercept
this torrent of idle talk, she caught the eye of one of the ladies who
entered the Queen's apartment. There was death in her look of affright
and horror, and Edith, at the first glance of her countenance, had sunk
at once on the earth, had not strong necessity and her own elevation of
character enabled her to maintain at least external composure.

"Madam," she said to the Queen, "lose not another word in speaking, but
save life--if, indeed," she added, her voice choking as she said it,
"life may yet be saved."

"It may, it may," answered the Lady Calista. "I have just heard