The King laughed aloud; and as De Lacy, who had just dismounted before the keep, recognized the voice and glanced up, Richard leaned over the parapet and beckoned to him. "We are glad to see you," he said, as the Knight presently bent knee and kissed the Queen's hand. "Yes, Sir Aymer, you are always welcome," she added. "Your Majesties overwhelm me." "Well, if our greeting overwhelm you," the King remarked, "the Countess of Clare's wilt likely end your life." "I am very anxious to risk it, Sire," De Lacy answered quickly. "Beatrix has left the castle," said Richard. "Gone!" Aymer exclaimed. "Oh . . . only for a ride." "A ride--at night?" "Surely--why not--on a fine night and with a gallant escort?" "Nay, Richard," the Queen broke in, "do not distress him. Sir Aymer, Beatrix is with her uncle, and as they have been absent since before vespers, they must soon return." De Lacy's face cleared so quickly that Richard smiled. "A bad case, truly," he commented, putting his arm about the Queen. "Has the lady the disease so deep?" "I would not tell you even if I knew," she answered. "Nay, I only jested. . . But seriously, De Lacy, why should the wedding be delayed . . . why not have the ceremony here at Pontefract before we go Southward?" "That it has not already taken place is no fault of mine------" "It is, sir; you should have won the Countess to consent," the King interrupted. "Her wish runs with mine." "Then what ails the matter? . . . Not De Bury surely?" "Sir John is as willing as we. It is the behest of the dead Earl that bars." "Beatrix's father?" "Yes; she promised him she would not wed before her twenty-fifth birthday." "Peste! A senseless thing to exact; she was little more than child. As King I can absolve her from it." "I fear that would not help the matter, Sire; Beatrix regards it as sacred--it was given at the Earl's deathbed." Richard made a gesture of annoyance. "Does no consideration lift the obligation from her?" he demanded. "Naught, as she views it now, but a question of life, honor, or imperative necessity." "Now may the Devil fly away with such foolishness! Wherefore shall the dead rule the living? . . . How old is the Countess?" "She was four and twenty last month." "Great St. George! You have a wait, indeed; and ample time to pray for the imperative necessity. Meanwhile, best continue to keep the betrothal secret. It will likely save you both some embarrassment and considerable gossip at the long delay." Just then another bugle blared from the barbican. "Sir John and Beatrix!" the Queen exclaimed. Richard shook his head. "It was Ratcliffe's call," he said. A moment later the Master of Horse came at full gallop across the courtyard.