"I have naught to say, sweet cousin, but what I have already spoken of in the hall. But yet so be--"
"I knew it!" interrupted the lady; "so it ever is with men. First they will tell naught--those were thy very words--and then with the same breath they go on to say much. They are parlous, like my favourite sleuth-hound, my lord's morning gift, who at times from mere wantonness refuseth to feed from my hand, and then when I make a show to turn away, cannot fawn on me enough. Had I but said to thee, Let us speak of the land of the Picts and Scots, and of the honour that, forsooth, will never be found there by Norman knights, thou wouldest straightway have spoken on what lies nearest thy heart nimbly enough. Now, thou art hesitating; thou leavest me to lay the scent, and then thou wilt follow. Yet, I gage, thou wouldest fain speak of the fair damsel of Bletsoe?"
Ralph flushed, and the lady smiled.
"Tell me," she added, "when thou last didst set eyes on thy lady-love?"
The ice was broken. Ralph thawed rapidly, and related to the Lady Mabel his meeting with the Lady Aliva on the morrow of St. Vincent's Day, and of her sudden flight from him.
"And, in good sooth," ejaculated the lively lady, with a shrug of her fair shoulders, "in this slough of despondency hast thou remained ever since! Not so should I have done had I been in thy shoes, cousin. Thou a bold lover, Ralph, thy charger at hand! The fair damsel should have been on the croup of thy saddle ere she could reach the turret stair. Then hadst thou brought her hither to me, I would have guarded her safety and honour till priest and chapel were ready, which would not have been long waiting, I trow."
"But, cousin," Ralph put in gloomily, "thou hast forgotten: she spake to me unawares, as she confessed, and unmindful of her father's command that she should wed with a De Breauté. Nay, it boots not here of carrying off a bride. Rather let me carry off my wretched self to the war. I spake to her of winning glory for her sake, but now, methinks, I would rather win death."
And folding his arms the young man leaned over the parapet of the castle wall, and gazed dejectedly into the shining Ouse below him, as if he would fain cast himself headlong into the stream.
But Lady Mabel answered with such a ripply laugh that Ralph turned round to her, now really offended at the light manner with which she met his tragic mood.
"And what thinkest thou, Ralph, that William de Breauté will go a-wooing to Bletsoe Manor again?"