Dropping on one knee he kissed it very humbly. Had she demanded his soul from him at that instant he had given it, believing it were better in her keeping than in his own. Perchance she had spoken again, but Mary Chester came softly across the grass, saw the two with eyes faintly troubled. * * * * * Hereafter there were days of sweet glamour for Peregrine. That he was understood he had guessed before in part, as we have seen. Here now were the words from his lady’s very lips. Of all those who did her service none knew her as he knew her, none saw the depths beneath the sparkling surface, none saw the heart-loneliness beneath the radiant smile. Days followed on days, outwardly the same, yet holding many an exchange of glances, many a tender half-uttered sigh, now and again an unwatched meeting. There were hours in her chamber when he sang to her among her women, each word holding a meaning known to the two alone; hours in the garden in the full radiance of sun and colour, when every bird that sang, when every flower that bloomed poured benediction on them; and—quintessence of joy—rare solitary meetings, when heart spoke freely to heart in low tender words. Small wonder he forgot all else in the thought of her. Even Pippo’s artless companionship became at times burdensome to him. So she lured him on, saw the white flame of his adoration turn to red with the fuel of her giving. And softly day by day she threw closer meshes round his soul. Unsuspecting, it struggled not at all, made no attempt to escape. Isabel smiled. The Devil, who had set the stage, I am very sure laughed. At Sangdieu Brigid prayed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER X WITHERED ROSES FOOL You cry in your heart, and perchance again, Fool! Yet for my part I find his folly in a manner to my liking. I had liefer see a man prodigal of his gifts, though he bestow them on an unworthy object, than see him a niggard, grudging in his giving. But, an’ you would know him truly, he saw not himself as giving, believed not that he bestowed gifts, believed himself merely the recipient of them. Wherein the wrong lay verily was that he forgot the Creator in the created. This you will have doubtless guessed already; it needs not that I show it you. An’ you call to mind the prophecy of the old sage, who read the message of the stars at his birth, you will remember his foretelling; see Peregrine here the recipient of favours from one of high birth, will look to their withering like June roses when picked. Now to the manner of their withering. * * * * *