‘I—I am sorry,’ he began in a stammering kind of way—‘very sorry to call you away like this when you were busy—er—with other matters. But I heard something a moment ago and I—I—er—hastened down to tell you of it. I thought perhaps it would be better that you heard it from me than from anyone else. You see—’ Then he stopped and pulled at the head of a bulrush growing near by.
‘Well!’ said Giles. ‘Go on! What is it?’
‘Maybe I’m wrong,’ Luke continued after a moment, ‘in making it my business to come and tell you. But—anyway—that’s what I thought. The King’s betrothal is to be announced this evening. He—he is going to marry Countess Barbara—in a month from today.’
A sharp, strange, almost unbearable feeling of hurt came into the heart of the young knight as he heard these words. There was no mistaking their meaning. Luke’s news was clear and plainly spoken at the end, for all his hesitation to begin. There was no answer necessary, no need to repeat. The King was to marry Barbara.
Giles looked back across the lake. The slim, lovely girl was still standing at the farther shore, the lilies in her arms, waiting for him to return. But he was quite sure at once that he was not going to return. He would need time now before he could speak to her again—of just those ordinary things they always talked of, dogs and horses and the rest. Of a sudden the white figure at the water’s edge grew dim before his eyes as though a mist had risen from the lake between them.
And the King’s Finder knew at last that he was himself in love.
For one mad second the idea came into his mind to run to her, to tell her everything and then escape with her into the mountains—anywhere, to get her away from the King. But what of her, Barbara, the new Queen to be? Why suppose she would want to come with him? She must know of this already. She must be willing. With her knowledge and consent the marriage had been arranged. And then, what of the King? The generous kindly prince who had been so true a comrade, to whom he owed everything! What of the ‘friendship that does not betray’?
The mad moment passed. And Luke’s keenly watching eyes saw the young knight’s muscles tighten with a pitiful, determined courage as he gave up the rebellion in his heart. The esquire came quickly to Giles’s side and, without speaking, gripped him firmly by the arm.
After a moment he heard his master speaking, but in a voice so low it could be barely heard:
‘Do you go round and join her, Luke. Make my excuses to her. I will return to the castle by this shore. Help her with the lilies to the Queen. If the King asks for me, I’ll be at the stables. I’ve a notion to see Midnight the black mare.’