“By the Holy Cross!” he exclaimed to himself, “surely that is no other than the demoiselle who has so often been present to me in my dreams and visions! And yet she can be none other than the daughter of my worst woe--she whom the Lord Neville mentioned as so fascinating and so fair. Verily, my lord was guilty of no exaggeration when he spoke so highly in praise of her grace and comeliness!” Beatrix de Moreville could not know what eyes were upon her, or possibly she would not have lingered so long that July evening on “the ladies’ walk.” However, if she had known all, her vanity would perhaps have been gratified; for, in spite of his strong antipathy to the father, Oliver was enchanted with the daughter, and, when she vanished with her waiting-women at the sound of the vesper bell, he devoutly prayed that she might return again and again to cheer the solitude which he had begun so much to abhor. In fact, although he knew it not, he was, as old Froissart said on a similar occasion, “stricken to the heart with a sparkle of fine love that endured long after.” All that evening she occupied his thoughts; and, after comparing her to the various heroines of the chivalrous romances then in vogue, always giving her the preference, he finally fell asleep to dream that he was being put by Hugh de Moreville into a frightful instrument of torture, and that he was saved from the threatened infliction by De Moreville’s daughter. Next day appeared marvellously long to Oliver, so impatiently did he await the coming of evening and the coming of the fair being who had made so strong an impression on his fancy. Again she appeared, and evening after evening during August, when from the ramparts of Chas-Chateil the rustics could be seen gathering in the yellow corn, always remaining until the bat begun to hunt the moth and the vesper bell sounded. Oliver grew more and more interested, and thought of her more highly the oftener he saw her; for, as the old chronicler puts it, “love reminded him of her day and night, and represented her beauty and behaviour in such bewitching points of view, that he could think of nothing else, albeit her father had done him grievous wrong.”