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My lady stood and looked down at him from under her long, white hand, and he stood and looked up at my lady, as one looks upward at a fair picture. And the evening light crept between them. I was ashamed of my own folly, when I did catch myself remembering Marian’s silly sayings; but for all that, they did come back to me, as the words of a foolish woman will return to the wisest of men. And in truth he did gaze up at her, as though she were more holy than the heavens above her. And for all her hand, the sunset found its way unto her cheek.

What I now relate was told me by Marian some three days after. ‘Twas on the night of the day on which Sir John had brought the stranger to Amhurste, and Marian was carding out my lady’s tresses before her bedroom fire.

Quoth my lady, suddenly, “Nurse, didst thou see Lord Denbeigh ere he went?”

And Marian said that she had seen him.

“He hath a strange face, nurse.”

“How ‘strange,’ my lady?”

“Why, it seems to me that each feature in it doth contradict the other. His brow is stern, and saith to his eyes, ‘Ye shall not be gentle.’ His eyes say to his nose, ‘Spread not thy nostrils so proudly.’ His nose commands his lips that they smile not; but, nurse, there was ne’er a sweeter smile on the lips o’ a saint!”

Marian fell a-thinking, and pulled my lady’s hair. My lady heeded it not, so Marian fell a-thinking yet more deeply.

“It is not a face that tells of a bad heart,” continued my lady. “Rather it speaks of rebellion and misfortune. A sad story–a sad story.”

“What is, my lady?” asked Marian; but my lady was far away, whither Marian could not follow.

“Nurse,” she saith, presently, “that were a soul worth saving.” Then got she suddenly to her feet, and turned and took her nurse’s hands with hers. “It shall be saved,” she saith, “God helping.”

And she kissed Marian, and lay down upon her bed. But Marian did tell me how that no sleep visited her lady’s eyes that night. Through the darkness she could hear her turn, first on this side, then on that; then sigh and move her pillow, and sigh again.

Methought Marian would have split in sunder with importance, when Lord Denbeigh took to coming sometimes to Amhurste. ‘Twas never for even an hour that he stayed; and ’twas always some question of business that brought him. But my lady and he touched hands full oft during a week, and always he would look at her with a different look from that which his eyes did wear at other times. And she spoke to him e’er courteously and kindly, even as though he had been a holy man and worthy of all reverence.

One day it chanced that my lady rode the blue-roan out into the woods, towards the hut of old Joan Gobble, who was crippled by reason of age. My lady had me follow her on Dumble, th’ white nag, with a pat o’ butter and some wine. I was taken up with pondering as to why my lady should go in person to Dame Gobble’s, seeing she might have sent me alone on Dumble as well. Be that as it may, as we rode along by a brook-side, under the thick leaves, whom should we come upon but my Lord Denbeigh. He was kneeling beside the water, and holding down his hand into the brook. As I looked I saw that his hand was befouled with gore, and that the brown stream did rush away ruddily from beneath his fingers.

My lady did not wait for me to hold Robin Hood, but did swing herself from her saddle, and was beside the earl in a trice. He looked up, and seeing her, did start upon his feet.

“Nay,” said she, putting out her hand, “but tell me if I can aid thee.”