And first, by your leave, I would say this: I write, it is true, of days now some six hundred years old, yet human nature has been human nature from the time of our first parents. It is a melody composed at the beginning of the ages; it is repeated throughout the centuries, the air ever the same, underlying the many variations woven around it. And now to Isabel. Of her outward seeming I have shown you, in so far as I am able with mere pen to portray what should verily be limned by painter’s art. Of herself, the inward woman, there is this to say. She desired power. There, in three words, you will perceive the keynote. That given we will on to the further composition. It is by no means certain how far she knew that she desired it. We desire air that we may live and breathe, yet we are not always seeking it, since it is ever with us; it surrounds us, and we accept it with no thought on our own part. Let it be withdrawn and we are conscious of the lack, go forth to seek it. Power was then to Isabel as air is to mankind at large. From childhood—babyhood even—it had been hers to command. All had been ready to do her homage, first on account of her beauty, secondly on account of her charm, since charm she had. There were those, truly, who gave her homage somewhat against their own will, drawn thereto mainly by the example of others. Belonging to a court it is ill to stand aloof from the worship the mistress of the court demands, that worship which her courtiers freely accord her. And this reason may well count for thirdly. Full homage then was done to Isabel; the power she desired was hers for the most part without effort. Peregrine alone denied it to her. Personally I see in her neither the heights now accorded her by Peregrine, nor the depths her maids saw in her. Had the heights been hers she surely would have been indifferent to the thought that one man alone refused to do her homage; had the depths been hers she would have borne him malice, set herself to conquer and then to slay. But there was not then, I believe, any definite thought of ill towards him. Of later I am none so sure. It was merely the fruit beyond her reach which had excited her desire. Peregrine the Jester, whose presence she had first demanded with the same indifference she had times out of number demanded the presence of his sire, had, from the moment of his entrance, stirred interest in her. She saw in him, as you have already seen, something more than Jester. The perception was elusive enough to bring the interest to full awakening, to set it as it were on the scent of something further to be discovered. She had heard his song, had seen his face, and had read therein, something of a challenge, or perhaps more rightly had seen a barrier thrown down by the man. “As fool I give you my allegiance,” she might have heard him say. “In that rôle you shall exact from me your due to the uttermost farthing. One iota beyond you shall never gain.”