d's marvellous comeliness reaching Sir Jacques, he won
entrance to the cottage crouching against his outer walls, disguised as
a woodman; for the mighty weald had reclaimed its own in the period
visited by Paul's unfettered spirit and foresters roamed the greenwood.
He wooed maid Flamby, employing many an evil wile, but she was obdurate
and repulsed him shrewdly. Whereupon he caused Dame Duveen to be seized
as a weaver of spells and one who had danced before Asmodeus at the
Witches' Sabbath to music of the magic pipe. To serve his end Sir
Jacques invoked inhuman papal witch-law; the stake was set, each faggot
laid. But by stratagem of a humble cowherd who loved her with a fidelity
staunch unto death, Flamby secured the Dame's escape and the two fled
together covertly, through the forest and by night....

VIII

A few paces beyond the giant elm, Flamby paused, breathless, looking
down at the drawing which she held in her hand. Then turning, she
retraced her steps until she could peep around the great trunk of the
tree. Thus peeping she stood and watched Paul Mario until, coming to the
stile at the end of the meadow, he climbed over and was hidden by the
high hedgerow.

Flamby looked at the sketch again, seized it as if to tear the board
across; then changed her mind, studied the drawing attentively, smiled,
and looked straight before her, but not at anything really visible. She
was dreaming, as many another had dreamed who had heard Paul Mario's
voice and looked into Paul Mario's eyes. From these maiden dreams, which
may not be set down because they are formless, like all spiritual
things, her mind drifted into a channel of reflection.

The memory of Paul's voice came back again and thrilled her as though he
had but just spoken. She grew angry because she had imagined his voice
to resemble that of Sir Jacques. Poor little Flamby, the very name of
Sir Jacques was sufficient to make her shudder, to cast black shadows
upon the sunny fields of her dream-world. She dared not believe that
Paul's interest was sincere and disinterested--yet her heart believed
it.

Almost the earliest recollection of her young womanhood was of a man's
interest in her welfare; that was at the big racing stables in Yorkshire
where her father had trained for Lord Loamhurst. Flamby was thirteen,
then, and already her beauty, later to develop into that elfin
loveliness which had excited the wonder of Don, was unusual. The man in
question was hi