Eadgyth opened her blue eyes in vague surprise, then cried, with a start of joy,—
'Ah, Emma, dear Emma! hath the earl so soon returned?'
'Fie, maiden! wouldst make me jealous? Doth thy heart suggest the name of my lord?'
'What meanest thou, Emma? Jest not, I pray thee. These days are too terrible for jesting,' said Eadgyth, with distressed mien and paling cheeks.
Emma took both her slender wrists in hers and looked lovingly in her face. 'Nay, we must jest to keep our blood from curdling, Eadgyth. But I will not tease thee. Sweet, 'tis Sir Aimand de Sourdeval of whom I speak.'
Eadgyth said nothing, but met Emma's gaze with eyes in which joy and surprise, and doubt of herself that was almost terror, were struggling for mastery.
Emma drew her gently upon the seat beside her. 'Surely thou art glad to know that he is safe, if thou joyest not that he is near?'
'Ah yes! I am glad—glad indeed of his safety!' replied Eadgyth in a low, thrilling voice, and her hand sought the bracelet which she wore as ever.
'And not of his nearness?'
'I know not! I know not! It means but fresh struggle and misery!' The tears rolled down her cheeks.