Then Jane looked earnestly at the handsome, melancholy, haughty face; at the black hair cut straight across the brows and flowing in curls over the laced collar and steel corselet, and she lifted her eyes to Matilda's but she did not like to speak. Matilda smiled rapturously and said,
"It is not impossible, Jane, though I see you think so. He loves me. He has vowed to marry me, or to marry no one else."
"And you?"
"Could I help loving him? I was just sixteen when we first met. I gave my heart to him. I adored him. He was worthy of it. I adore him yet. He is still more worthy of it."
"But—but—he cannot marry you. He will not be allowed. Half-a-dozen kings and queens would rise up to prevent it—for I am sure I know the face."
"Who is it, Jane? Whisper the words to me. Who is it, dear heart?" And Jane stooped to the face on the pillow and whispered,
"Prince Rupert."
And as the name fell on her ear, Matilda's face grew heavenly sweet and tender, she smiled and sighed, and softly echoed Jane's last word—
"Rupert."
CHAPTER VII