Beatrix of Clare | Page 4

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, are bothersome."
She looked at him with quick decision.
"I will manage that," she said; "your squire shall bring both to you here."
De Lacy's face lighted with sudden pleasure, and he put out his hand toward hers--then drew it sharply back and bowed.
"Still bowing?" she said naively.
"I have no words to speak my gratitude," he said.
"And I no ears that wish to hear them, if you had," she laughed. "This morning you have had much trouble--I much pleasure--the scales are balanced--the accounts canceled. We will forget it all. Never will I mention it to you--nor you to me--nor either to another. When we meet again it will be as though to-day had never been. . . Nay, sir, it must be so. You have been unfortunate, I unconventional--it is best for both we start afresh."
"But am I not even to know your name?" he protested.
She shook her head. "Not