Quickly there came a knock at the door, and the old serving-woman entered.
"My lady, my lord thy father desires you attend him in the great hall."
"Tell him I come," answered Aliva, and she rose.
A daughter's obedience she owed, and she would indeed obey an order to confront this unwelcome suitor. But even as she smoothed her flowing hair, and, with the natural vanity of a girl about to meet an admirer, arranged it beneath the fillet, and settled the sweeping lines of her tight-fitting robe, the exigency of the crisis raised the maiden's spirit. For she was of Anglo-Norman blood. Her sires had fought at Hastings, and from each line of ancestors she inherited totally distinct qualities of bravery, dogged resolution, intrepid pride, and tenacity of purpose, which, blended together, have produced the finest race the world has ever seen.
As she entered the hall door opening into the dais or upper end, her father and William de Breauté, standing together in the oriel, thought they had never seen her look so "divinely tall, and most divinely fair."
With one glance at the latter she swept straight up to her parent, and spoke slowly and clearly, though it needed all her strong self-will to suppress her agitation.
"Father," she said, "I saw Sir Ralph de Beauchamp here this morning."
A complete silence followed as she ceased and stepped quietly to the deep oriel window, passing her father on the other side to that on which De Breauté stood. There was silence as she gazed fixedly out into the distant winter landscape, over which the dusk was already gathering, her teeth set, her lips firmly closed, and her clasped hands so tightly clinched that the nails cut into her flesh. She moved not a muscle, but stood rigid as a statue.
De Pateshulle shifted uneasily on his feet, and sought his guest's face with restless eyes and troubled expression, giving an apologetic cough.
The large log burning in the open fireplace half-way down the hall fell with a sudden crash from the fire-dogs, as one charred end gave way.