nce when she had left that country on her nuptials, was a Gascon
woman, and had taught the language of the country to her young mistress.
It was natural that the woman should be disposed to return to her native
land at this crisis; and for Constanza to attempt to hold her own -- a
timid maiden against a score of rapacious foes -- was obviously out of
the question. Together they had fled, taking with them such family
jewels as could easily be carried upon their persons, and disguised as
peasants they had reached and crossed the frontier, and found their way
to Saut, where the Lord of Navailles generally spent such of his time as
was not occupied in forays against his neighbours, or in following the
fortunes either of the French or English King, as best suited the fancy
of the moment.

He had received his niece not unkindly, but with complete indifference,
and had soon ceased to think about her in any way. She had a home
beneath his roof. She had her own apartments, and she was welcome to
occupy herself as she chose. Sometimes, when he was in a better humour
than usual, he would give her a rough caress. More frequently he swore
at her for being a useless girl, when she might, as a boy, have been of
some good in the world. He had no intention of providing her with any
marriage portion, so that it was superfluous to attempt to seek out a
husband for her. She and Annette were occasionally of use when there was
sickness within the walls of the Castle, or when he or his followers
came in weary and wounded from some hard fighting. On the whole he did
not object to her presence at Saut, and her own little bower was not
devoid of comfort, and even of luxury.

But for all that, the girl was often sick at heart with all that she saw
and heard around her, and was unconsciously pining for some life, she
scarce knew what, but a life that should be different from the one she
was doomed to now.

"Sometimes I think that I will retire to a Convent and shut myself up
there," she said to Gaston, her eyes looking far away over the wooded
plain before them; "and yet I love my liberty. I love to roam the forest
glades -- to hear the songs of the bird, and to feel the fresh winds of
heaven about me. Methinks I should pine and die shut up within high
walls, without the liberty to rove as I will. And then I am not
/devote/. I love not to spend long hours upon my knees. I feel nearest
to the Blessed Saints and the Holy Mother of God out here in