"My dear little sister," said Guy again,—and very lovingly he said it,—"why are all these tears? No man shall marry thee without thy leave. I am surprised. I thought women were always ready to be married." Ah, that was it. He did not understand! "And thou art not even curious to hear whom it should have been?" "What would that matter?" said I, trying to crush back a few more hundreds of tears which would have liked to come. "But tell me if thou wilt." "Messire Tristan de Montluc," he said. It flashed on me all at once that Messire Tristan had tried to take the bridle of my horse,[#] when we came from the Church of the Nativity. I might have guessed what was coming. [#] Then a tacit declaration of love to a lady. "Does that make any difference?" asked Guy, smiling. "No," said I; "none." "And the poor fellow is to break his heart?" "I dare say it will piece again," said I. Guy laughed, and patted me on the shoulder. "Come, dry all those tears; there is nothing to cry about. Farewell!" And away he went, whistling a troubadour song. Nothing to cry about! Yes, that was all he knew. I went to my own chamber, sent Bertrade out of it, and finished my cry. Then I washed my face, and when I thought all traces were gone, I went down to my embroidery. Lady Judith was alone in the bower. She looked up with her usual kind smile as I took the seat opposite. But the smile gave way in an instant to a graver look. Ah! she saw all was not right. I was silent, and went on working. But in a minute, without any warning, Lady Judith was softly singing. The words struck me. "’Art thou weary, art thou languid, Art thou sore distressed? ’Come to Me,’ saith One, ’and, coming, Be at rest.’ "’Hath He marks to lead me to Him, If He be my Guide?’ ’In His feet and hands are wound-prints, And His side.’ "’Is there diadem, as monarch, That His brow adorns?’ ’Yea, a crown, in very surety, But of thorns.’ "If I find Him, if I follow, What His guerdon here?’ ’Many a sorrow, many a labour, Many a tear.’ "’If I still hold closely to Him, What hath He at last?’ ’Sorrow vanquished, labour ended, Jordan past.’ "’If I ask Him to receive me, Will He say me nay?’ ’Not till earth, and not till heaven, Pass away.’" "Oh! Your pardon, holy Mother, for interrupting you," said Damoiselle Melisende, coming in some haste; "but the Lady Queen sent me to ask when the Lady Sybil’s tunic will be finished." Her leaves are finished, but not my roses, nor Lady Judith’s gold diapering. I felt much obliged to her, for something in the hymn had so touched me that the tears were very near my eyes again. Lady Judith answered that she thought it would be done to-morrow; and Melisende ran off again. "Hast thou heard that hymn before, Helena?" said Lady Judith, busy with the diaper. "Never, holy Mother," said I, as well as I could.