But Oliver Icingla was a youth of mettle, and not the youth to be content to worship Beatrix de Moreville at a distance as an Indian worships his star. Naturally enough, he began to form plans for making this Norman damsel aware of his existence, and not altogether without success. In fact, fortune very highly favoured the captive Englishman in this respect. The Lady Beatrix was frequently in her evening walks accompanied by a very devoted attendant in the shape of a dog, and this dog sometimes found its way to the rampart without its mistress. Oliver from his window very easily made the dog’s acquaintance, and speedily converted the acquaintance into a friendship so close that it would not pass the place of his incarceration without giving audible signs of recognition. This led to important consequences. One evening late in August, when Oliver’s captivity had lasted for more than ten weeks, he was posted, as usual, at his window, looking through the bars, when Beatrix de Moreville passed close to him with her dog and her maidens. The dog stopped, looked up in his face, wagged his tail, and began to spring up towards him, and the lady naturally enough turned her eyes in the same direction to see what was the cause of her canine favourite’s excitement. Such an opportunity might never, as Oliver thought, occur again, and he was not likely, under the circumstances, to allow it to pass for lack of presence of mind. “May God and Our Lady bless thee, noble demoiselle!” said he, not without a slight tremulousness in his voice. “I would that, like thee, I had the privilege of walking at freedom; for methinks that freedom, ever sweet, is doubly sweet on such an eve as this.” Oliver sighed as he spoke. The lady appeared startled, and looked embarrassed; but influenced, doubtless, by courtesy, she stayed her steps and gazed timidly through the iron bars on the face of the speaker, so young, so fair, and yet so melancholy. “Pardon my boldness, noble demoiselle,” continued Oliver, “and fear not. I am no wild beast, though thus caged, but an English squire who was taught from childhood by a widowed mother to serve God and the ladies; and I comprehended my duties in both respects even before I was apprenticed to chivalry in the castle of my kinsman, the noble Earl of Salisbury. But I am well-nigh beside myself with this captivity. Credit me, that hardly have I heard the sound of any one’s voice for weeks, save when visited by the holy man who is the chaplain in this castle; for my gaoler is the most churlish of churls, and answers only with a sullen scowl when I address him. To all men, I doubt not, captivity is irksome; but to me it is not only irksome but horrible; for I am English by birth and lineage, and of all nations it is well known that the English most thoroughly abhor the thought of being deprived of liberty.”