“Please God I may not meet the King, nor Stephen,” said Calote. “They do say he came hither last night to hunt.”
Even as she spoke, a roe fled across her path, and immediately after, two huntsmen came riding.
“Which way went the—Cœur de joie!” cried a boy's voice.
The other huntsman sat dumb upon his horse. Calote, rosy red, her lips a-quiver, stood with her hands crossed on her breast, that frighted but yet steadfast way she had. Then:—
“Light down, Etienne, thou laggard lover! 'T is thy true love hath followed thee from London town these many miles,” laughed Richard, and flung himself off his horse.
“Oh, me, harrow, weyl a way!” said Calote, covering up her face. “'T is not true! I am not so unmaidenly; my heart is full of other matter than light love.” She turned to Stephen, who was also lighted off his horse, and “Dost thou believe I followed for love of thee?” she cried.
“Alas and alack!—but I would it were so!” answered Stephen.
“Yet thou didst follow,” said the King. “Wherefore?”
She turned her eyes away from Stephen and looked on Richard, and as she looked she sank down on her knees before him.
“Thou art the King!” she gasped, “and I knew thee not!”