n the most remote corner during the interview. A thin black
veil extended its ample folds over the tall and graceful form of the
high-born maiden, and she wore not upon her person any female ornament
of what kind soever. She arose and made a low reverence when Richard
entered, resumed her seat at his command, and, when he sat down beside
her, waited, without uttering a syllable, until he should communicate
his pleasure.

Richard, whose custom it was to be familiar with Edith, as their
relationship authorized, felt this reception chilling, and opened the
conversation with some embarrassment.

"Our fair cousin," he at length said, "is angry with us; and we own that
strong circumstances have induced us, without cause, to suspect her
of conduct alien to what we have ever known in her course of life. But
while we walk in this misty valley of humanity, men will mistake shadows
for substances. Can my fair cousin not forgive her somewhat vehement
kinsman Richard?"

"Who can refuse forgiveness to RICHARD," answered Edith, "provided
Richard can obtain pardon of the KING?"

"Come, my kinswoman," replied Coeur de Lion, "this is all too solemn.
By Our Lady, such a melancholy countenance, and this ample sable veil,
might make men think thou wert a new-made widow, or had lost a betrothed
lover, at least. Cheer up! Thou hast heard, doubtless, that there is no
real cause for woe; why, then, keep up the form of mourning?"

"For the departed honour of Plantagenet--for the glory which hath left
my father's house."

Richard frowned. "Departed honour! glory which hath left our house!" he
repeated angrily. "But my cousin Edith is privileged. I have judged her
too hastily; she has therefore a right to deem of me too harshly. But
tell me at least in what I have faulted."

"Plantagenet," said Edith, "should have either pardoned an offence, or
punished it. It misbecomes him to assign free men, Christians, and
brave knights, to the fetters of the infidels. It becomes him not to
compromise and barter, or to grunt life under the forfeiture of liberty.
To have doomed the unfortunate to death might have been severity, but
had a show of justice; to condemn him to slavery and exile was barefaced
tyranny."

"I see, my fair cousin," said Richard, "you are of those pretty ones who
think an absent lover as bad as none, or as a dead one. Be patient; half
a score of light horsemen may yet follow and redeem the error, if thy
gallant have in keeping a