He waited for no protestations from the abject wizard, and turned his steps towards the river. As he was crossing the open space, however, he suddenly felt a tight grip on his cloak; he turned, yet could see nothing, for the capricious moon had once more hidden her light behind a passing cloud, and the darkness, by contrast, seemed all the more intense. But he heard a sound which was very like a sob, and then a murmur which had a curious ring of passion in it-- "Thou hast saved my life . . . 'tis thine . . . I give it thee! . . . Henceforth, whene'er I read the starlit firmament I'll pray to God that the most glorious star in heaven shall guide thy destiny!" He gave a pleasant laugh, gently disengaged his cloak, and without another word went his way. PART II THE LADY URSULA CHAPTER X A BEVY OF FAIR MAIDENS Never in all her life had Her Grace of Lincoln experienced anything so awful. Her very coif, usually a pattern of propriety, looked awry and scarcely sober on her dear old head, whilst her round, chubby face, a beautiful forest of tangled wrinkles, expressed the most dire distress, coupled with hopeless, pathetic bewilderment. "Well?" she repeated over and over again in breathless eagerness. She seemed scarce to notice the pretty picture before her--two young girls standing with arms linked round one another's waists, eyes aglow with excitement, and cheeks made rosy with the palpitating intensity of the narrative. Yet was not Her Grace justly proud of the flock of fair maids committed to her charge? What more charming than these two specimens of austere Queen Mary's dainty maids-of-honour, with their slim figures in the stiff corsets and unwieldy farthingales, their unruly curls held in becomingly by delicate lace coifs, and the sombre panelling of the room throwing up in harmonious contrast the vivid colouring of robes and kerchiefs, of lace and of complexion? But to-day the Duchess of Lincoln had no eye for the charming sight. Leaning well forward in her high, straight-backed chair, her fat, be-ringed fingers were beating a veritable devil's tattoo against its brocaded arms. "Alicia, girl, why don't you go on?" she added impatiently. "La! I vow the wench'll make me die of choler." Alicia, in the eagerness of telling her thrilling story, had somewhat lost her breath; but now she made a vigorous effort to resume. "Well," she said, "Your Grace must remember the night was very dark. Barbara and I were strolling by the low wall, when suddenly the clouds parted, the river was flooded with light, and just below us, not ten paces away, we saw----" But here she broke off suddenly. A look of genuine distress crossed her piquant little face; she looked inquiringly at her companion, then at the Duchess, whilst her merry eyes began to fill with tears. "Oh! I scarce like to repeat it," she said hesitatingly at last, "for truly I love her so."