A chorus of protests burst from the knights; not a man but offered his steed to save Oliver; but the countess said hastily, 'Attend to my behest, I pray thee, Sir Hoël!' and hurried from the room. She went to her bower, where Eadgyth was awaiting her. She had not trusted any of her ladies to attend her in her council-chamber, lest their courage should give way, and so weaken her influence over the knights. Now, when she met Eadgyth's look of tender inquiry, and felt her caressing arms round her, she was overcome herself. She dropped her poor weary head on Eadgyth's shoulder and wept--wept as she had never done in her life before--no, not even in the chapel through that long sad night when she believed herself a widow; for her fresh young strength was in its prime then, and now she was weakened physically by the strain of continued anxiety and the acute pain of her wounded arm. The storm of sobs was so long and violent, that Eadgyth, who had scarcely ever seen her cry, was sore afraid. She dreaded that some fell disaster had befallen. But she was a good comforter; she did not tease with questions, she only pressed her friend fondly to her, and kissed and caressed her till she grew calmer. 'Oh, Eadgyth,' said the countess at length, 'they are going to kill the horses, and Ralph's destrier must die. The dear Oliver!' To Eadgyth this reason for such excessive grief seemed almost absurd, and her blue eyes opened widely. 'Oh, I am a poor weak fool!' said Emma, drawing away, 'to break down so utterly. But my arm aches shrewdly, Eadgyth, and I am not used to pain.' She threw herself upon the embroidered bed, tears rolling silently down her cheeks. 'Poor sweet!' said Eadgyth. 'I do not marvel that even thy wonderful spirit should yield to nature. This day has been fearful indeed.' 'Why does not Ralph come? Why does he not come?' exclaimed Emma, covering her face with her slender hands, which had grown so thin that she could scarce keep on her wedding ring. 'My heart is full of fears, Eadgyth. I dreamt of him last night, ill and sorrowful, tossing on a bed of fever. He was ill when he went away, his wounds half-healed. It is all doubt and dread--and horror!' 'Ah, Christ have mercy upon us!' said Eadgyth, who was kneeling beside the bed. 'I dare not ask for mercy,' said Emma piteously. 'I am fighting in a wrong cause! Thy Sir Aimand said it. I have brought all this woe and suffering on the man who loved me, and on those who love him and follow him, like leal knights and true!' 'Oh, do not torment yourself with such thoughts, sweet heart! Surely it was no wrong cause to strive with the oppressor of this wretched land,--he whose minions were killing the heart out of his victims with every species of wrong and outrage!' The tears were running swiftly enough down Eadgyth's cheeks now. 'Alas!' said Emma, 'I fear we thought less of that than of our own revenge and ambition.' 'But how couldst thou have helped it?'