The popular prejudices had reacted on the court. The wizard’s daughter was held to share the gifts of her sire, and the fascination of beauty was imputed to evil spells. Lord Hastings was regarded—especially by all the ladies he had once courted and forsaken—as a man egregiously bewitched!
One day it chanced that Sibyll encountered Hastings in the walk that girded the ramparts of the Tower. He was pacing musingly, with folded arms, when he raised his eyes and beheld her.
“And whither go you thus alone, fair mistress?”
“The duchess bade me seek the queen, who is taking the air yonder. My lady has received some tidings she would impart to her highness.”
“I was thinking of thee, fair damsel, when thy face brightened on my musings; and I was comparing thee to others who dwell in the world’s high places, and marvelling at the whims of fortune.”
Sibyll smiled faintly, and answered, “Provoke not too much the aspiring folly of my nature. Content is better than ambition.”
“Thou ownest thy ambition?” asked Hastings, curiously.
“Ah, sir, who hath it not?”
“But for thy sweet sex ambition has so narrow and cribbed a field.”
“Not so; for it lives in others. I would say,” continued Sibyll, colouring, fearful that she had betrayed herself, “for example, that so long as my father toils for fame, I breathe in his hope, and am ambitious for his honour.”