The maiden listened horror-stricken, and when he had ended, pressed her fingers to her eyes, as if to shut out the horrible scene he had conjured up.
"O Mother of God!" she exclaimed, in a low shuddering voice, as if to herself. "And it is with one of this family of spoilers of churches and murderers of the servants of holy men that my father would have me wed!"
Ralph drew back, astonished at her words.
"Aliva! what say you? You are dreaming! Wed with a De Breauté? Never while I draw breath; by the holy Cross I swear it. Your father! he speaks in sorry jest or in madness. And besides, the scoundrel Fulke has a wife already--that ill-fated Lady Margaret de Ripariis, affianced at one time to my uncle, Sir William, and forced against her will into a marriage with Fulke by our late king. Aliva, speak, I conjure you. What mean you by such words?"
"Alas!" replied the maiden, hesitatingly and mournfully, and answering only the latter part of her lover's question, "my father knows full well the sad history of the Lady Margaret, and ofttimes hath he said, more in jest than in earnest I trust, that after all the lady has become the châtelaine of Bedford Castle, and that since your noble uncle has been turned out, she did well to marry with the man who has got inside--"
"Peace, my sweetest Aliva," interrupted Ralph impetuously. "Speak not of that unfortunate Lady Margaret. But tell me, I beseech thee, what your father means by joining your name with one of the house of De Breauté."
The Lady Aliva drew herself together, as with an effort.
"Nay, I would not have spoken--the name escaped me when you spake of the outrage on the church--forget--"
She stopped short, her voice breaking. The excitement of this unexpected meeting with the man she loved, the news that he was about to leave her for war and danger, the sweet moment in which she had allowed him to clasp her in his arms, the fearful tale of slaughter he had unfolded, which brought back suddenly to her mind, with the mention of the name of De Breauté, the fate that was proposed for her, and which she had well-nigh forgotten in her happiness of finding herself by Ralph's side once more,--all these emotions proved too much for her. Bursting into a flood of tears, she made for the turret door, and, in spite of the young knight's effort to detain her, disappeared up the stairs.
Ralph, stunned and mystified, was staring at the door which had closed behind her, when he heard a wheezing at his elbow.