'Tis the beauty of Wildairs you speak of surely," he answered; "and I
have seen her once--and heard of her often."

"Oh, Gerald," said her Grace, "'tis cruel. If she had had a mother--if
God had but been good to her--" she put her hand up to her mouth to
check herself, in innocent dread of that her words implied. "Nay, nay,"
she said, "if I would be a pious woman I must not dare to say such
things. But oh! dearest one--if life had been fair to her, she--_She_
is the one you might have loved and who would have worshipped such a
man. It might have been--it might have been."

His colour died away and left him pale--he felt it with a sudden sense
of shock.

"It was not," he said, hurriedly. "It was not--and she is but
fourteen--and our lives lie far apart. I shall be in the field, or at
the French or Spanish Courts. And were I on English soil I--I would
keep away."

His mother turned pale also. Being his mother she felt with him the
beating of his blood--and his face had a strange look which she had
never seen before. She rose and went to him.

"Yes, yes, you are right," she exclaimed. "You could not--she could
not--! And 'twould be best to keep away--to keep away. For if you loved
her, 'twould drive you mad, and make you forget what you must be."

He tried to smile, succeeding but poorly.

"She makes us say strange things--even so far distant," he said.
"Perhaps you are right. Yes, I will keep away."

And even while he said it he was aware of a strange tumult in him, and
knew that, senseless as it might appear, a new thing had sprung to life
in him as if a flame had been lighted. And even in its first small
leaping he feared it.

'Twas a week later their Graces set forth upon their journey, and
though Roxholm rode with them to Dover, and saw them aboard the packet,
he always felt in after years that 'twas in the Long Gallery his mother
had bidden him farewell.

They stood at the deep window at the end which faced the west and
watched a glowing sunset of great splendour. Never had the earth spread
before them seemed more beautiful, or Heaven's self more near. All the
west was piled with heaps of stately golden cloud--great and high
clouds, which were like the mountains of the Delectable Land, and
filled one with awe whose eyes were lifted to their glories. And all
the fair land was flooded with their gold. Her Grace looked out to the
edge where moor and sky seemed one, and her violet eyes shone to
radiance.