It was September, and Their Majesties had come to Pontefract with the immediate Household for a brief rest after the labors and fatigues of the summer, and which had culminated in the festivities and ceremonies at York. In the room where Sir Aymer de Lacy first saw Richard of Gloucester, the King and Queen were alone together. Evening had fallen, but the brilliancy of a full moon in a cloudless sky had prolonged the day. Through the open windows came the freshness of the woods and hills, and the candles flickered and flamed in coquetry with the gentle breeze. "Come, Anne, let us walk. It is too fine an evening to spend indoors," Richard said, laying aside the papers he had been examining. She answered with the sweet smile that was always on her lips for him, and arm in arm they passed out upon the ramparts. The main body of the soldiery were quartered in the town below the hill, and the castle was very quiet, save only for the tramp of the guards on the wall, the rattle of their weapons, and an occasional burst of laughter from the great hall. The peace and calm appealed to the Queen, and she sighed. "How so, sweetheart," said Richard; "what troubles you?" "I was thinking how much preferable Pontefract is to London." The King laughed. "I believe you would rather be Duchess than Queen." "Aye, Richard, much rather, much rather," she replied instantly. He put his hand on her fair hair and stroked it softly. "Nay, dear, the wearisome work is over now, I trust. Henceforth it will be pleasanter . . . Pardieu! was there ever another woman, I wonder, who needed encouragement to wear a crown?" "A Neville once refused one," she replied. "True, indeed; and gave it back to the miserable Henry. . . You resemble your great father in many ways--and may our own dear son be like you both." "You are very good to me, Richard," she said, taking his hand. "But much short of what you deserve, dear one." Suddenly a bugle rang loudly from before the barbican, followed in a moment by the rattle of the drawbridge and the clatter of hoofs on the planks. "It is Beatrix and Sir John returning from their ride," the Queen said. "It was not De Bury's call," he answered. "Why, it is Sir Aymer de Lacy!" she exclaimed, as a pair of horsemen cantered across the inner bailey. Richard nodded. "And a day earlier than I anticipated . . . but he has a good excuse." "And a bit of disappointment also, that Beatrix is not here to greet him." "He can spare her until he has supped, I fancy." "She would not be pleased to think so." "A woman wants a man to think of naught but her," he smiled. "Yes, she does--and even though she know it to be futile . . . it is foolish, doubtless." "It is more than foolish; it is unfortunate. It annoys the man and grieves the woman." "Nay, Richard, you look at it with a man's view only." "And you, my dear?" "I?--with the proper view, of course."