s flash of inspiration shone in
his blue eyes.

"No, I think not," he answered; "the deeds you may do, and
greater, but surely you will lie wrapped not in a shirt of mail,
but with a monk's cowl at the last--unless a woman robs you of it
and the quickest road to heaven. Tell me now, what are you
thinking of, you two--for I have been wondering in my dull way,
and am curious to learn how far I stand from truth? Rosamund,
speak first. Nay, not all the truth--a maid's thoughts are her
own--but just the cream of it, that which rises to the top and
should be skimmed."

Rosamund sighed. "I? I was thinking of the East, where the sun
shines ever and the seas are blue as my girdle stones, and men
are full of strange learning--"

"And women are men's slaves!" interrupted Wulf. "Still, it is
natural that you should think of the East who have that blood in
your veins, and high blood, if all tales be true. Say,
Princess"--and he bowed the knee to her with an affectation of
mockery which could not hide his earnest reverence--"say,
Princess, my cousin, granddaughter of Ayoub and niece of the
mighty monarch, Yusuf Salah-ed-din, do you wish to leave this
pale land and visit your dominions in Egypt and in Syria?"

She listened, and at his words her eyes seemed to take fire, the
stately form to erect itself, the breast to heave, and the thin
nostrils to grow wider as though they scented some sweet,
remembered perfume. Indeed, at that moment, standing there on
the promontory above the seas, Rosamund looked a very queen.

Presently she answered him with another question.

"And how would they greet me there, Wulf, who am a Norman D'Arcy
and a Christian maid?"

"The first they would forgive you, since that blood is none so
ill either, and for the second--why, faiths can be changed."

Then it was that Godwin spoke for the first time.

"Wulf, Wulf," he said sternly, "keep watch upon your tongue, for
there are things that should not be said even as a silly jest.
See you, I love my cousin here better than aught else upon the
earth--"

"There, at least, we agree," broke in Wulf.

"Better than aught else on the earth," repeated Godwin; "but, by
the Holy Blood and by St. Peter, at whose shrine we are, I would
kill her with my own hand before her lips kissed the book of the
false prophet."

"Or any of his followers," muttered Wulf to himself, but
fortunately, perhaps, too low for either of his companions to
hear. Aloud he said, "You