"Not at first. They came to the castle where I had been left all alone after they were married, and my father told me that I must call the Lady Goda my mother. She kissed me as if she were fond of me for his sake."
Gilbert started a little, and his teeth set together, while he clasped his hands over one knee and waited to hear more. Beatrix understood his look, and knew that she had unintentionally hurt him. She laid her hand softly upon his arm.
"Forgive me," she said. "I should not talk about it."
"No," he said harshly, "go on! I feel nothing; I am past feeling there. They were kind to you at first, you said."
"Yes," she continued, looking at him sideways. "They were kind when they remembered to be, but they often forgot. And then, it was hard to treat her with respect when I came to know how she had got your inheritance for my father, and how she had let you leave England to wander about the world. And then, last year, it seemed to me all at once that I was a woman and could not bear it any longer, for I saw that she hated me. And when a son was born to them, my father turned against me and threatened that he would send me to a nunnery. So I fled, one day when my father had ridden to Stoke and the Lady Goda was sleeping in her chamber. A groom and my handmaid helped me and went with me, for my father would have hanged them if they had stayed behind; so I took refuge with the Empress Maud at Oxford, and soon there came a letter from the Queen of France to the Empress, asking that I might be sent to the French court if I would. And something of the reason for the Queen's wish I can guess. But not all."
She ceased, and for some moments Gilbert sat silent beside her, but not as if he had nothing to say. He seemed rather to be checking himself lest he should say too much.
"So you were at Vezelay," he said at last; "yet I sought your face everywhere, and I could not see you."
"How did you know?" asked Beatrix.
"The Queen had written to me," he answered; "so I came back from Rome."
"I understand," said the young girl, quietly.
"What is it that you understand?"
"I understand why she has prevented me from seeing you, when you have been near me for almost a year."
She checked a little sigh, and then looked out at the water again.
"I wish I did," Gilbert answered, with a short laugh.
Beatrix laughed too, but in a different tone.
"How dull you are!" she cried. Gilbert looked at her quickly, for no man likes to be told that he is dull, by any woman, old or young.
"Am I? It seems to me that you do not put things very clearly."
Beatrix was evidently not persuaded that he was in earnest, for she looked at him long and gravely.
"We have not met for so long," she said, "that I am not quite sure of you."
She threw her head back and scrutinized his face with half-closed lids; and about her lips there was an attempt to smile, that came and went fitfully.
"Besides," she added, as she turned away at last, "you could not possibly be so simple as that."
"By 'simple,' do you mean foolish, or do you mean plain?"
"Neither," she answered without looking at him. "I mean innocent."
"Oh!"
Gilbert uttered the ejaculation in a tone expressive rather of bewilderment than of surprise. He did not in the least understand what she meant. Seeing that she did not enlighten him, and feeling uncomfortable, it was quite natural that he should attack her on different ground.
"You have changed," he said coldly. "I suppose you have grown up, as you call it."
For a moment Beatrix said nothing, but her lips trembled as if she were trying not to smile at what he said; and suddenly she could resist no longer, and laughed at him outright.
"I cannot say the same for you," she retorted presently; "you are certainly not grown up yet!"
This pleased Gilbert even less than what she had said before, for he was still young enough to wish himself older. He therefore answered her laughter with a look of grave contempt. She was woman enough to see that the time had come to take him by surprise, with a view of ascertaining the truth.
"How long has the Queen loved you?" she asked suddenly; and while she seemed not to be looking at him, she was watching every line in his face, and would have noticed the movement of an eyelash if there had been nothing else to note. But Gilbert was really surprised.
"The Queen! The Queen love me! Are you beside yourself?"
"Not at all," answered the young girl, quietly; "it is the talk of the court. They say that the King is jealous of you."
She laughed-gayly, this time, for she saw that he really had had no idea of the truth. Then she grew grave all at once, for it occurred to her that she had perhaps made a mistake in putting the idea into his head.
"At least," she said, as if correcting herself, "that is what they used to say last year."
"You are quite mad," he said, without a smile. "I cannot imagine how such an absurd idea could have suggested itself to you. In the first place, the Queen would never look at a poor Englishman like me-"
"I defy any woman not to look at you," said Beatrix.
"Why?" he asked, with, curiosity.
"Is this more simplicity, or is it more dulness?"
"Both, I suppose," answered Gilbert, in a hurt tone. "You are very witty."
"Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "Wit is quite another thing."
Then her tone changed and her face softened wonderfully as she took his hand.
"I am glad that you do not believe it," she said; "and I am glad that you do not care to be thought handsome. But I think it is true that the Queen loves you, and if she sent to England for me, that was merely in order to bring you back to France. Of course she could not know-"
She checked herself, and he, of course, asked what she had meant to say, and insisted upon knowing.
"The Queen could not know," she said at last, "that we should seem so strange to each other when we met."
"Do I seem so strange to you?" he asked, in a sorrowful tone.
"No," she answered, "it is the other way. I can see that you expected me to be very different."
"Indeed, I did not," answered Gilbert, with some indignation. "At least," he added hastily, "if I thought anything about it, I did not expect that you would be half so pretty, or half-"
"If you thought anything about it," laughed Beatrix, interrupting him.
"You know what I mean," he said, justly annoyed by his own lack of tact.
"Oh, yes; of course I do-that is the trouble."
"If we are going to do nothing but quarrel," he said, "I am almost sorry that I came here."
Again her tone changed, but this time she did not touch his hand. Hearing her voice, he expected that she would, and he was oddly disappointed that she did not.
"Nothing could make me sorry that you found me," she answered. "You do not know how hard I have tried to see you all through this last year!"
Her tone was tender and earnest, and though they had been long parted, she was nearer to him than he knew. His hand closed upon hers, and in the little thrill that he felt he forgot his disappointment.
"Could you not send me any word?" he asked.
"I am a prisoner," she answered, more than half in earnest. "It would be ill for you if the Queen found you here; but there is no danger, for they are all gone to the high mass in the cathedral."
"And why are you left behind?" he asked.
"They always say that I am not strong," she replied, "especially when there might be a possibility of your seeing me. She has never allowed me to be with all the others when the court is together, since I was brought over from England."
"That is why I did not see you at Vezelay," he said, suddenly understanding.
And with him to understand was to act. He might have had some difficulty in persuading himself at leisure that he was seriously in love with Beatrix, but being taken suddenly and unawares, he had not the slightest doubt as to what he ought to do. Before she could answer his last words, he had risen to his feet and was drawing her by the hand.