Beatrix of Clare | Page 4

she demanded. "You had one
last night."

Where she had seen him he did not know; he had not seen her--and it
only tangled the matter the more, for now she would know he was not
dumb. But how to explain?
He smiled and bowed.
"That is the sixth time I have got a bow when a word was due," she said.
"There may be a language of genuflections, but I do not know it."
He bowed again.
"Seven," she counted; "the perfect number--stop with it."
He put his hand to his lips and shook his head in negation--then pointed
to the sun and the tree, and shook his head again--then once more to the
sun and slowly upward to the top of the tree, and nodded in affirmation.
She watched him with a puzzled frown.
"Are you trying to tell me why you do not speak?" she asked.
He nodded eagerly.
"Tell me again" . . . and she studied his motions carefully. . . "The sun
and the tree--and the sun and the tree again . . . is that your
meaning? . . . Ah! . . . the top of the tree . . . I think I am beginning to
understand. . . . Where is your doublet?"
De Lacy pointed into the forest.
"And your bonnet? . . . with your doublet? . . . and your dagger? . . .
gone with the others? . . . you mean your ring? and it went with them,
too? . . . yes, yes--I see now--outlaws, and your wound got in the
struggle." . . . She turned toward the tree. . . "Ah! I have it:--you are
paroled to silence until the sun has risen above the highest branch . . .
what? . . . and also must remain here until then? . . . I see--it was that or
die . . . no? . . . Oh! that or be bound? . . . well, truly the knaves were
wondrous courteous!" . . . She studied De Lacy's face a moment--then
sat down. "Would you like company?" she asked.

Would he like company! Her company!
She laughed gayly--though a bit of color touched her cheek.
"Thank you," she said, "I can read your countenance better than your
bows."
Then suddenly his face grew grave and he motioned no.
"Yes, and I can understand that, too," she smiled, "and thank you for it.
It may be a trifle uncommon to sit here in the depths of Windsor forest
with a man I never met . . . never even saw until last night . . . and who
has never spoken a single word to me . . . yet" (glancing at the sun) "the
time is not long and . . . the path is rarely traveled."
He smiled--but the concern lingered in his eyes and he shook his head
questioningly.
"Nay, sir, do you not see your very urging me to go proves me safe in
staying?"
He hesitated, still doubtful--then threw himself on the turf at her feet.
"I suppose it is for me to do the talking," she observed.
And as she talked he fell to watching the sun in her hair--the play of her
lips--the light in her eyes. . . . Never before would he have believed that
grey could be so deep and tender; or that a mouth could be so
tantalizing; or the curve of a cheek so sweet; or ruddy tresses so
alluring. . . . And her voice--was there ever such another!--soft, low,
clear, like silver bells at twilight out at sea.
And in the watching he lost her words, nor nodded when he
should--until, at length, she sprang up and went over to her horse. And
when in sharp contrition he followed after to apologize, she met him
with a laugh and gracious gesture--then pointed to the sun.
"The parole is lifted," she said. "Will you put me up?"

With his sound arm he swung her into saddle--and with Rollo in
advance and him beside her they went slowly back to Windsor. And
now he did the talking--telling first the story of the outlaws.
When the towers of the huge castle showed afar through the trees, De
Lacy halted.
"Would you deem me rude if I went no further with you?" he asked.
She smiled kindly. "On the contrary, I would deem you very wise."
"I care not to proclaim my adventure with the outlaws. It would make
me a merry jest in the hall."
"I understand--and yet, wounded and without bonnet or doublet, you
will not pass unnoted; an explanation will be obligatory."
"The wound is easy," he said; "my own dagger made it, you
remember--but the doublet and bonnet, particularly the doublet,