“My daughter weds whom I select, and even now I have practically closed negotiations for her betrothal to Prince Philip, nephew of King Louis of France. And as for you, sir, I would as lief see her the wife of the Outlaw of Torn. He, at least, has wealth and power, and a name that be known outside his own armor. But enough of this; get you gone, nor let me see your face again within the walls of Leicester’s castle.” “You are right, My Lord, it were foolish and idle for us to be quarreling with words,” said the outlaw. “Farewell, My Lady. I shall return as I promised, and your word shall be law.” And with a profound bow to De Montfort, Norman of Torn left the apartment, and in a few minutes was riding through the courtyard of the castle toward the main portals. As he passed beneath a window in the castle wall, a voice called to him from above, and drawing in his horse, he looked up into the eyes of Bertrade de Montfort. “Take this, Roger de Conde,” she whispered, dropping a tiny parcel to him, “and wear it ever, for my sake. We may never meet again, for the Earl my father, is a mighty man, not easily turned from his decisions; therefore I shall say to you, Roger de Conde, what you forbid my saying. I love you, and be ye prince or scullion, you may have me, if you can find the means to take me.” “Wait, my lady, until I return, then shall you decide, and if ye be of the same mind as today, never fear but that I shall take ye. Again, farewell.” And with a brave smile that hid a sad heart, Norman of Torn passed out of the castle yard. When he undid the parcel which Bertrade had tossed to him, he found that it contained a beautifully wrought ring set with a single opal. The Outlaw of Torn raised the little circlet to his lips, and then slipped it upon the third finger of his left hand. CHAPTER XII Norman of Torn did not return to the castle of Leicester “in a few days,” nor for many months. For news came to him that Bertrade de Montfort had been posted off to France in charge of her mother. From now on, the forces of Torn were employed in repeated attacks on royalist barons, encroaching ever and ever southward until even Berkshire and Surrey and Sussex felt the weight of the iron hand of the outlaw. Nearly a year had elapsed since that day when he had held the fair form of Bertrade de Montfort in his arms, and in all that time he had heard no word from her. He would have followed her to France but for the fact that, after he had parted from her and the intoxication of her immediate presence had left his brain clear to think rationally, he had realized the futility of his hopes, and he had seen that the pressing of his suit could mean only suffering and mortification for the woman he loved.