"Ay," she said; "he speaks fair."
I thought I detected the slightest possible emphasis on the verb.
"I think you mean something, holy Mother," said I bluntly.
"Helena, when the Lord Count was proposing the convention of the council, and all that was to follow, and Count Guy assented, and said he thought it a good idea,—didst thou happen to look at Count Raymond's face?"
"No, holy Mother, I did not."
"I did. And at the instant when Count Guy assented to his proposal, I caught one triumphant flash in his eyes. From that hour I was certain he meant mischief."
My heart fell,—fell.
"What sort of mischief?" I asked fearfully.
"The Lord knoweth," quietly said she; "and the Lord reigneth, Helena. 'Wonderful are the ragings of the sea: wonderful in the heights is the Lord.'"
And that seems to comfort her. I wish it would comfort me.