“There is no other woman, Bertrade,” said Norman of Torn. “I have no wife; nor within the limits of my memory have my lips ever before touched the lips of another, for I do not remember my mother.” She sighed a happy little sigh of relief, and laughing lightly, said: “It is some old woman’s bugaboo that you are haling out of a dark corner of your imagination to frighten yourself with. I do not fear, since I know that you must be all good. There be no line of vice or deception upon your face and you are very brave. So brave and noble a man, Roger, has a heart of pure gold.” “Don’t,” he said, bitterly. “I cannot endure it. Wait until I come again and then, oh my flower of all England, if you have it in your heart to speak as you are speaking now, the sun of my happiness will be at zenith. Then, but not before, shall I speak to the Earl, thy father. Farewell, Bertrade, in a few days I return.” “If you would speak to the Earl on such a subject, you insolent young puppy, you may save your breath,” thundered an angry voice, and Simon de Montfort strode, scowling, into the room. The girl paled, but not from fear of her father, for the fighting blood of the De Montforts was as strong in her as in her sire. She faced him with as brave and resolute a face as did the young man, who turned slowly, fixing De Montfort with level gaze. “I heard enough of your words as I was passing through the corridor,” continued the latter, “to readily guess what had gone before. So it is for this that you have wormed your sneaking way into my home? And thought you that Simon de Montfort would throw his daughter at the head of the first passing rogue? Who be ye, but a nameless rascal? For aught we know, some low born lackey. Get ye hence, and be only thankful that I do not aid you with the toe of my boot where it would do the most good.” “Stop!” cried the girl. “Stop, father, hast forgot that but for Roger de Conde ye might have seen your daughter a corpse ere now, or, worse, herself befouled and dishonored?” “I do not forget,” replied the Earl, “and it is because I remember that my sword remains in its scabbard. The fellow has been amply repaid by the friendship of De Montfort, but now this act of perfidy has wiped clean the score. An’ you would go in peace, sirrah, go quickly, ere I lose my temper.” “There has been some misunderstanding on your part, My Lord,” spoke Norman of Torn, quietly and without apparent anger or excitement. “Your daughter has not told me that she loves me, nor did I contemplate asking you for her hand. When next I come, first shall I see her and if she will have me, My Lord, I shall come to you to tell you that I shall wed her. Norm—Roger de Conde asks permission of no man to do what he would do.” Simon de Montfort was fairly bursting with rage but he managed to control himself to say,