'Thou art right, Sir Hoël,' she said in a steady voice. ''Tis like killing a child for a knight to kill his steed, I well understand. Yet it is but wisdom as we are circumstanced, and I make no doubt if my lord were here, he would be the first to make the sacrifice. Therefore I beg thee, dear Sir Hoël,'—she laid her left hand on his arm, and would have put the other with it, had it not been stiffened with bandages, and looked into his face with her clear, brave eyes, very pathetic now, with heavy rings of blue round them, and thin, wan cheeks beneath,—'I beg thee, dear Sir Hoël, despatch my lord's destrier with thine own blade, and see that he suffer no needless pain.'
A chorus of protests burst from the knights; not a man but offered his steed to save Oliver; but the countess said hastily, 'Attend to my behest, I pray thee, Sir Hoël!' and hurried from the room.
She went to her bower, where Eadgyth was awaiting her. She had not trusted any of her ladies to attend her in her council-chamber, lest their courage should give way, and so weaken her influence over the knights. Now, when she met Eadgyth's look of tender inquiry, and felt her caressing arms round her, she was overcome herself. She dropped her poor weary head on Eadgyth's shoulder and wept—wept as she had never done in her life before—no, not even in the chapel through that long sad night when she believed herself a widow; for her fresh young strength was in its prime then, and now she was weakened physically by the strain of continued anxiety and the acute pain of her wounded arm.
The storm of sobs was so long and violent, that Eadgyth, who had scarcely ever seen her cry, was sore afraid. She dreaded that some fell disaster had befallen.
But she was a good comforter; she did not tease with questions, she only pressed her friend fondly to her, and kissed and caressed her till she grew calmer.
'Oh, Eadgyth,' said the countess at length, 'they are going to kill the horses, and Ralph's destrier must die. The dear Oliver!'
To Eadgyth this reason for such excessive grief seemed almost absurd, and her blue eyes opened widely.
'Oh, I am a poor weak fool!' said Emma, drawing away, 'to break down so utterly. But my arm aches shrewdly, Eadgyth, and I am not used to pain.'
She threw herself upon the embroidered bed, tears rolling silently down her cheeks.
'Poor sweet!' said Eadgyth. 'I do not marvel that even thy wonderful spirit should yield to nature. This day has been fearful indeed.'