my company so highly that he would infallibly hang the gentleman who rode back with you. So, you conceive, I cannot avail myself of their services. But with me it is different, hein? Ah, yes, Sir Hugh will merely lock me up again and for the future guard me more vigilantly. Will you not mount, mademoiselle?'
His voice was quiet, and his smile never failed him. It was this steady smile which set her heart to aching. Adelais knew that no natural power could dissuade him; he would go back with her; but she knew how constantly he had hoped for liberty, with what fortitude he had awaited his chance of liberty; and that he should return to captivity, smiling, thrilled her to impotent, heart-shaking rage. It maddened her that he dared love her thus infinitely.
'But, mademoiselle,' Fulke d'Arnaye went on, when she had mounted, 'let us proceed, if it so please you, by way of Filby. For then we may ride a little distance with this rogue Olivier. I may not hope to see Olivier again in this life, you comprehend, and Olivier is, I think, the one person who loves me in all this great wide world. Me, I am not very popular, you conceive. But you do not object, mademoiselle?'
'No!' she said, in a stifled voice.
Afterward they rode on the way to Filby, leaving Roger Darke to regain at discretion the mastership of his faculties. The two Frenchmen as they went talked vehemently; and Adelais, following them, brooded on the powerful Marquis of Falmouth and the great lady she would shortly be; but her eyes strained after Fulke d'Arnaye.
Presently he fell a-singing; and still his singing praised her in a desirous song, yearning but very sweet, as they rode through the autumn woods; and his voice quickened her pulses as always it had the power to quicken them, and in her soul an interminable battling dragged on.
Sang Fulke d'Arnaye:
5.
When they had crossed the Bure, they had come into the open country,—a great plain, gray in the moonlight, that descended, hillock by hillock, toward the shores of the North Sea. On the right the dimpling lustre of tumbling waters stretched to a dubious sky-line, unbroken save for the sail of the French boat, moored near the ruins of the old Roman station, Garianonum, and showing white against the unresting sea, like a naked arm; to the left the lights of Filby flashed their unblinking, cordial radiance.
Here the brothers parted. Vainly Olivier wept and stormed before Fulke's unwavering smile; the Sieur d'Arnaye was adamantean: and presently the younger man kissed him on both cheeks and rode slowly away toward the sea.
D'Arnaye stared after him. 'Ah, the brave lad!' said Fulke d'Arnaye. 'And yet how foolish! Look you, mademoiselle, that rogue is worth ten of me, and he does not even suspect it.'
His composure stung her to madness.
'Now, by the passion of our Lord and Saviour!' Adelais cried, wringing her hands in impotence; 'I conjure you to hear me, Fulke! You must not do this thing. Oh, you are cruel, cruel! Listen, my lord,' she went on with more restraint, when she had reined up her horse by the side of his, 'yonder in France the world lies at your feet. Our great King is dead. France rises now, and France needs a brave captain. You, you! it is you that she needs. She has sent for you, my lord, that mother France whom you love. And you will go back to sleep in the sun at Winstead when France has need of you. Oh, it is foul!'
But he shook his head. 'France is very dear to me,' he said, 'yet there are other men who can serve France. And there is no man save me who may to-night serve you, most beautiful lady.'
'You shame me!' she cried, in a gust of passion. 'You shame my worthlessness with this mad honor of yours that drags you jesting to your death! For you must die a prisoner now, without any hope. You and Orleans and Bourbon are England's only hold on France, and Bedford dare not let you go. Fetters, chains, dungeons, death, torture perhaps—that is what you must look for now. And you will no longer be held at Winstead, but in the strong Tower at London.'
'Helas, you speak more truly than an oracle,' he gayly assented.
And hers was the ageless thought of women. 'This man is rather foolish and peculiarly dear to me. What shall I do with him? and how much must I humor him in his foolishness?'
D'Arnaye stayed motionless: but still his eyes strained after Olivier.
Well, she would humor him. There was no alternative save that of perhaps never seeing Fulke again.
Adelais laid her hand upon his arm. 'You love me. God knows, I am not worthy of it, but you love me. Ever since I was a child you have loved me,—always, always it was you who indulged me, shielded me, protected me with this fond constancy that I have not merited. Very well,'—she paused, for a single heartbeat,—'go! and take me with you.'
The hand he raised shook as though palsied. 'O most beautiful!' the Frenchman cried, in an extreme of adoration; 'you would do that! You would do that in pity to save me—unworthy me! And it is I whom you call brave—me, who annoy you with my woes so petty!' Fulke d'Arnaye slipped from his horse, and presently stood beside the gray mare, holding a small, slim hand in his. 'I thank you,' he said, simply. 'You know that it is impossible. But yes, I have loved you these long years. And now—Ah, my heart shakes, my words tumble, I cannot speak! You know that I may not—may not let you do this thing. Why, but even if, of your prodigal graciousness, mademoiselle, you were so foolish as to waste a little liking upon my so many demerits—' He gave a hopeless gesture. 'Why, there is always our brave marquis to be considered, who will so soon make you a powerful, rich lady. And I?—I have nothing.'
But Adelais had rested either hand upon a stalwart shoulder, bending down to him till her hair brushed his. Yes, this man was peculiarly dear to her: she could not bear to have him murdered when in equity he deserved only to have his jaws boxed for his toplofty nonsense about her; and, after all, she did not much mind humoring him in his foolishness.
'Do you not understand?' she whispered. 'Ah, my paladin, do you think I speak in pity? I wished to be a great lady,—yes. Yet always, I think, I loved you, Fulke, but until to-night I had believed that love was only the man's folly, the woman's diversion. See, here is Falmouth's ring.' She drew it from her finger, and flung it awkwardly, as
