She broke in upon his reading, suddenly and irrelevantly. “Will our lord return this night, think you, Master Bookesman?” The dwarf, closing the manuscript, accepted grimly the moral of his own eloquence. “Will a star shoot out of the east?” he said. “I’ll tell thee when the night hath come and gone.” “Nay, say that you think he will--say it, say it!” “The King loves the Earl, lady, and thou desirest him. Which passion shall pull the stronger?” “Do not _I_ love him, thou toad?” “Well, then, pull, and in double harness; so, belike, the King, that holds to him, shall be drawn too.” “I do not desire the King.” “God give him strength to bear it!” She laughed musically: “Insolent!” and so fell into thought. “Thou knowest, Daukin,” she said presently, “I have never been to Court--nor desired it indeed. Of what complexion is the King?” “Hot.” “Is he not very young?” “He hath learned to lisp and help himself to what he wants. The young husbands in his suite observe discretion.” “Poor husbands! O, Daukin, O waly me, how the day loiters! If my love could draw so strong, I’d e’en take the worser for the better’s sake.” “Which first?” “Peace, fool!” “Well, the comfort is the King’s heard of thee, and heard enough to satisfy him, it seems. He’ll not trouble thee with a visit.” “He has not heard.” “What! Did he not use his influence with the Earl thy father to promote this match?” “Aye, on grounds of policy and fortune. Thank Heaven I am not beautiful!” “It listens and will record.” She sighed: “Alack a doleful day! O, I wish my lord would come!” A bugle sounding without answered on her word. There was a thud of racing hoofs, a sudden turmoil in the court, a mingling of many voices, servile or peremptory. Elfrida rose ecstatic, clasping her hands. “’Tis he himself!” she cried, and advancing, as the curtain parted, almost ran into the arms of her husband, Athelwold. He was tall, sinewy, pale-haired and lashed. His tunic of fine cramoisy was torn, his gold garters trailed; he looked like a man in the last extreme of haste and agitation. He took the wondering beauty in his arms, and gazed into her face, searchingly, passionately. “Wife,” he said, “I have something of wild urgency for thy ear. I must speak it ere my blood cools. Tell me that thy heart is mine?” “Athelwold! What questions!” “Tell it, tell it!” “Am I not thy wife?” “Priests’ business. I speak of love.” “Why, did I not swear to love thee?” “Elfrida, thy love’s my heaven; without it--hell. Hear my confession. There’s no moment to lose.” “Thou strange husband!”