back into my eyes, with a happy
face. The roses missed the Maid, whose horse caracoled at that moment as
she went by, but they lit in the lap of a damsel that rode at her rein,
on a lyart {28} palfrey, and she looking up, I saw the face of Elliot,
and Elliot saw me, and saw Charlotte leaning on me and laughing. Then
Elliot's face grew deadly pale, her lower lip stiff, as when she was
angered with me at Chinon, and so, wrying her neck suddenly to the left,
she rode on her way, nor ever looked towards us again.

"Who may that proud damsel be, and what ails her at my roses?" quoth
Charlotte, sitting herself down again and still following them with her
eyes. "Methinks I have seen her face before; and what ails you?" she
asked, looking earnestly on me, "for you are as white as the last snow
ere it melts in spring."

I had good reason to be pale, for I very well guessed that Elliot, having
ridden in the Maiden's company to see me, and to surprise me with the
unlooked-for gladness of her coming, had marked Charlotte as she so
innocently leaned on me and laughed to me, and had conceived anger
against us both, for of a truth Charlotte was very fair and of a joyous
aspect. Yet, taken so suddenly as I was, between the extreme of delight
in looking on my lady beyond hope, and the very deep of sorrow that she
had so bitterly slighted me, I was yet wary of betraying myself. For the
girl beside me had, in all honest and maidenly service that woman may do
for man, been kinder to me than a sister, and no thought or word of
earthly love had ever passed between us. That she should wot of Elliot's
anger, and of its cause, and so hold my lady lightly, ay, and triumph
over her in her heart (as is the nature of a woman, her ministry being
thus churlishly repaid), was more than I could endure. So, may the
saints forgive me! I lied, and it is a strange thing, but true, that
howsoever a gentleman may hate the very thought of a lie, yet often he
finds it hard to tell the truth to a woman.

"Do I look white?" I said. "Then it is because I have a sudden pang of
sorrow. For one moment I deemed that proud damsel was the lady of my
love, whom, in verity, she most strangely favours, so that you might
think them sisters. But alas! she is but the daughter of a good Scots
knight at Chinon, whom I have seen there before to-day, and marvelled how
much she and my lady favour each other. Therefore am I pale, because
that hope of mine is broken.