As little, perhaps, as any of us could understand of God's dealings in this matter!
The officers of state were to surround the throne, which was to be placed on the highest step of the choir; the nobles of the Council were to stand, in order according to the date of their creation, round the nave below.
Lady Irene was as silent as her lord was talkative. But at night, when she brought me up to the chamber she had prepared for me, she told me the one thing I did care to know. A place had been specially reserved for me, in the nave, immediately behind Guy; and the Lady Irene's own place was next to me.
"I am obliged to the Master of the Ceremonies," said I: for that was just where I wished to be.
"Nay," quietly said Lady Irene, as she took up her lamp; "the Damoiselle is obliged to the Lady Sybil."
Had Sybil thought of my fancy? What a strange compound she was!—attending to one's insignificant likings, yet crushing one's very heart to dust!
I did not sleep till very late, and I was aroused in the early morning by a flourish of trumpets, announcing that the grand day had dawned. I dressed myself, putting off my mourning for a suit of leaf-green baudekyn, for I knew that Guy would not be pleased if I wore any thing sombre, though it would have suited my feelings well enough. A golden under-tunic and kerchief, with my best coronet, were the remainder of my attire. I found Guy himself flashing in golden armour,[#] and wearing his beautiful embroidered surcoat, which Sybil herself wrought for him, with the arms of Lusignan.
[#] This phrase was used of steel armour ornamented with gold.
How could she bear to see that existing token of her own dead love? The surcoat had worn better than the heart.
We took our appointed places—Lady Irene, Guy, and I,—and watched the nobles arrive,—now an odd one, now half-a-dozen together. The Patriarch of course left us, as he was to officiate.