d go
after him, and he will not know me till I am wounded. Oh I pray he will
never, never be wounded. I wonder what I should feel if Richard was ever
to die."

Upstairs Clare was lying dead.

"Lady Blandish said there was a likeness between Richard and me. Richard
said I hope I do not hang down my head as she does. He is angry with me
because I do not look people in the face and speak out, but I know I am
not looking after earthworms."

Yes. He had told her that. A shiver seized him at the recollection.

Then it came to a period when the words: "Richard kissed me," stood by
themselves, and marked a day in her life.

Afterwards it was solemnly discovered that Richard wrote poetry. He read
one of his old forgotten compositions penned when he had that ambition.

"Thy truth to me is truer
Than horse, or dog, or blade;
Thy vows to me are fewer
Than ever maiden made.

Thou steppest from thy splendour
To make my life a song:
My bosom shall be tender
As thine has risen strong."

All the verses were transcribed. "It is he who is the humble knight,"
Clare explained at the close, "and his lady, is a Queen. Any Queen would
throw her crown away for him."

It came to that period when Clare left Raynham with her mother.

"Richard was not sorry to lose me. He only loves boys and men. Something
tells me I shall never see Raynham again. He was dressed in blue. He said
Good-bye, Clare, and kissed me on the cheek. Richard never kisses me on
the mouth. He did not know I went to his bed and kissed him while he was
asleep. He sleeps with one arm under his head, and the other out on the
bed. I moved away a bit of his hair that was over his eyes. I wanted to
cut it. I have one piece. I do not let anybody see I am unhappy, not even
mama. She says I want iron. I am sure I do not. I like to write my name.
Clare Doria Forey. Richard's is Richard Doria Feverel."

His breast rose convulsively. Clare Doria Forey! He knew the music of
that name. He had heard it somewhere. It sounded faint and mellow now
behind the hills of death.

He could not read for tears. It was midnight. The hour seemed to belong
to her. The awful stillness and the darkness were Clare's. Clare's voice
clear and cold from the grave possessed it.

Painfully, with blinded eyes, he looked over the breathless pages. She
spoke of his marriage, and her finding the ring.

"I knew it was his. I knew he was g