They stood near the arched gateway that opened on the terrace from the inner court. Music still sounded from the great banquet hall of Gorice XI. Under the archway and in the shadows of the huge buttresses of the walls it was as though the elements of gloom, expelled from the bright circles round the flamboys, huddled with sister glooms to make a double darkness. “Well, my lord,” said Prezmyra, “doth thy wisdom bless my resolve?” “Whate’er it be, yes, because it is thine, O Queen.” “Whate’er it be!” she cried. “Dost hang in doubt on’t? What else, but seek audience with the King as my first care in the morning. Have I not my lord’s bidding so far?” “And if thy zeal outrun his bidding in one particular?” said Gro. “Why, just!” said she. “And if I bring thee not word ere to-morrow’s noon that order is given for Demonland, and my Lord Corund named his general for that sailing, ay, and letters sealed for his straight recall from Orpish——” “Hist!” said Gro. “Steps i’ the court.” They turned towards the archway, Prezmyra singing under her breath: Nor he that still his Mistresse payes, For she is thrall’d therefore; Nor he that payes not, for he sayes Within, shee’s worth no more. Is there then no kinde of men Whom I may freely prove? I will vent that humour then In mine own selfe love. Corinius met them in the gateway, coming from the banquet house. He halted full in their path to peer closely through the darkness at Prezmyra, so that she felt the heat of his breath, heavy with wine. It was too dark to know faces but he knew her by her stature and bearing. “Cry thee mercy, madam,” he said. “Methought an instant ’twas—but no matter. Your best of rest.” So saying he made way for her with a deep obeisance, jostling roughly against Gro with the same motion. Gro, little minded for a quarrel, gave him the wall, and followed Prezmyra into the inner court. • • • • • The Lord Corinius sat him down on the nearest of the benches, leaned his stalwart back luxuriously upon the cushions and there rested, thripping his fingers and singing to himself: What an Ass is he Waits a woman’s leisure For a minute’s pleasure, And perhaps may be Gull’d at last, and lose her; What an ass is he? What need I to care For a woman’s favour? If another have her, Why should I despair? When for gold and labour I can have my share. If I chance to see One that’s brown, I love her, Till I see another Browner is than she; For I am a lover Of my liberty.