"Yea, lady, who else should it be?" replied De Maupas in a soft voice, as he bowed with the utmost gallantry and advanced into the centre of the room. "Who else would risk his all--name, career, and life--out of love for thee? None but Sir Gervaise de Maupas, knight of England, I do venture to assert."
As he spoke, De Maupas drew himself up with dignity. He was clad in a richly inlaid suit of armour, over which a splendid cloak had been carelessly flung. But for the hawk-like and cruel expression of his thin face, he would have looked a goodly and martial sight enough.
"Love for me? What dost mean, sir?" cried Beatrice roundly, though for all her boldness her limbs trembled beneath her.
"Most assuredly. I have long worshipped thee in secret. It is only my unhappy enmity with thy guardian that hath prevented me from approaching thee, and hath forced me to resort to this expedient to enable me to proffer thee my love. As doubtless thou know'st, I am a knight of good lineage, and one whose lands, if thy guardian granted my rightful claims, would be both wide and rich."
"Thy love hath no attractions for me, Sir Gervaise de Maupas," cried Beatrice, with difficulty restraining a desire to sink back upon the couch. "I believe thee to be nothing less than a traitor. What hast done with Sir John? I believe thee to be at the bottom of his disappearance."
For a moment De Maupas appeared startled. But after a moment's pause in indecision he replied calmly: "I do not wish to deny it, lady. 'Twas indeed I who arranged his capture. But 'tis said that all is fair in love and war, and to love for thee and war towards Sir John I must ascribe the deed."
"Where is he?" cried Beatrice breathlessly.
"He is here."
"In this castle?"
"In this castle, lady."