Yet quickly he turned from the knights, as he heard the footsteps of several men approaching, and with them the patter of a pair of light feet.
Then came in the midst of those rough, shaggy men-at-arms, a young, pure-looking girl. She had one of those faces not eminently beautiful, and yet at which you gaze with a kind of awe; holiness too proud to ask the aid of mere beauty! Men seemed to grow better as they looked upon this holy young face.
“Alice, dear Alice—my sister Alice!”
“My prince—my prince!” and the young creature flung herself upon the ground near Robert.
“’Tis my sister, gentlemen—our breath mingled on the same breast.” And stooping he lifted Alice from the ground.
Strange—his face seemed much lighter than it was, and his very voice happier and freer.
As for his companion, whom he called Bertram, he rose from the table, kept his eyes from the girl, and moved away—farther away—farther away—till he was lost to sight in the midst of the tents.
The knights and gentlemen about seemed to know that she would speak to him privately, for they withdrew, and soon left a wide space between themselves and the girl Alice.
“Prince, Alice. Call me not prince. For I am to thee ever brother. So, thou hast come to see the exile? I have striven to die since last I saw dear Normandy; but I bear a charmed life, methinks. And now here, Alice, love itself is my enemy. But thou dost not say why thou hast come.”