"The man whom I loved, and who loved me, I betrayed to the death. There is no forgiveness for such as I in this life. Perhaps there may be in the next. At least, he forgave me, and that is enough. He believed in me against myself, and I will wait. Till then I go hither and thither and none shall hinder me or molest—for upon Sybilla de Thouars God hath set the seal of Cain!"
Margaret Douglas flicked her steed impatiently, causing the spirited little beast to curvet.
"I think it is very ill-done of you not to come to Scotland with us," she said petulantly, "when we would have been so good to you!"
"Too good, too kind," said the Lady Sybilla, very gently; "such kindness is not for such as I am. But if I may, while I live I will keep the golden cross you lent me—the crucifix your brother gave to you on your birthday!"
"Keep it—it is yours! I do not want it!" cried Margaret, glad to have found some way of evidencing her gratitude.
"I thank you," said Sybilla de Thouars; "some day I may come to Scotland. And if I do, you shall come out from Thrieve and meet me by the white thorns of the Carlinwark at the hour when the little children sing!"
And so, without other farewell, she turned and rode slowly away down the avenues of fallen leaves, till the folding woodlands hid her from the sight of those two who watched her with tear-blurred eyes and hearts strangely stirred with pity for the fate of her whom they had once hated with such good cause.