"And, if I mistake not," remarked Copeland significantly, "there are at least two people alive who could clear that mystery up to satisfaction."
"Who may they be?" asked I.
"One," answered he in a whisper, "is no less a personage than Isabel the queen, now residing, in gentle captivity, at Castle Rising."
"And the other?" I inquired eagerly, for my curiosity was by this time excited.
"The other," answered he, "is a person of fewer years and lesser rank than Queen Isabel. She is daughter of a Northern squire who was an honest man, and mine own kinsman, and married the queen's gentlewoman of whom I spake. I cast my eyes by chance on the damsel when in the camp before Calais, and recognised her in an instant. Nay, more, I made enquiries, and learned that her beauty exercised enormous influence over the heart of Aymery de Pavie, and that her threats exercised as much over the conduct of Lord De Ov, insomuch that one did as she liked from love, and the other from fear."
I involuntarily uttered an exclamation of surprise, and my agitation was so great that it well-nigh got the better of my discretion and of all the resolutions I had formed. However, I regained my equanimity, and calmly renewed the conversation.
"And what name bears this wondrous demoiselle, sir knight? by what name is she known?" asked I, with what coolness I could command.
"The demoiselle is known by the name of Eleanor de Gubium," was Copeland's reply.