Standing bathed in the rosy light of coming day, she was in high contrast to the rough, weather-beaten man, who quickly clasped her to his breast. The pale and lightly tinted olive complexion, which showed descent from some far-off Castilian ancestor, harmonized well with the dainty but clear cut features. A shapely head, surrounded by a wealth of dark and glossy hair, carried downward from the temples and gathered into a knot behind, so as to completely cover the fragile ears, formed a fitting frame for eyes of the darkest violet, which, as they gazed up into his, showed the fondest love. A soft gray gown, half closed at the throat and fastened about the waist by a silver girdle, completed the attire of a slender but perfect figure, thrown into bold outline by her attitude. "Forsooth," exclaimed Fawkes, as soon as he could speak for her caresses, "methinks thou at least art glad to see thy old father once again." Then, as he held her at arm's length, that he might better gaze upon the face, "indeed, thou art changed; 'tis the promise of the bud fulfilled in the blossoming flower. But let us in, for the cold air ill becomes me after the warming sun of Spain, and frost but roughly handles such tender plants as thou art." "Nay, nay!" exclaimed she, closing the door and throwing her arms about him, "thy tender plant is naught but a sprig of hardy ivy, which hath needed these many months the sturdy oak on which to cling." Then, with a little shiver, and a laugh, as her warm body rested against the cold steel of his breastplate, "thou dost give thy ivy but a chilly hold, Sir Oak." "Ah," said Fawkes, looking at her; "thou wert always the same dainty puss, but I trow this cold cuirass hath been warm enough even for thy nestling, as down it hath gushed the warm blood of many a valiant foe killed in close conflict. But enough of battles now, my pretty, for home once more am I, and not sorry to let such bloody deeds rest." Unfastening his cloak, sword and breastplate, he threw himself into a chair before the fire which burned brightly on the hearth. "But where's thy good grandam?" queried he, "must she tarry to put on silks and satins in which to bid her son a welcome?" "Nay," replied the girl with a laugh, kneeling at his side; "she, poor soul, was but half awake; for these cold days illy suit her bones, and she doth lie long in bed." "And thou," said the man, taking her head between his hands, "art up like a lark, to bid thy father welcome. Didst expect my return?" "Sir Winter made mention of thy coming, but set no special day for thy arrival," answered the girl, a shadow passing over her face as she looked into the blaze. "And did he say for what I was to come?" inquired Fawkes, evidently anxious to set his mind at rest upon that subject.