had grey streaks in his face. 'Ah,' he says hoarsely, 'go on,
cousin.' The young man stammered.

'Beau sire, God strikes in divers places, but always finds out the
joints of our harness.'

'Go on,' says King Richard, sitting very still.

'Dear sire, my cousin, the Abbot Milo went out of Acre three weeks
before the death of the Marquess. With him also went Madame Jehane; but
he returned without her. This is all I know, though it is not all that
the abbot knows.'

At the mention of her name the King took a sharp breath, as you or I do
when quick pain strikes us. To the rest he listened without a sign; and
asked at the end, 'Where is Milo?'

'He is at Acre, sire,' says the Count; 'and in prison.'

'Who put him there?'

'Myself, sire.'

'You did wrong, Count. Get you back to Acre and bring him to me.'
Champagne went away.

* * * * *

Great trouble, as you know, always made Richard dumb; the grief struck
inwards and congealed. He became more than ever his own councillor, the
worst in the world. Lucky for the Abbot Milo that he was in bonds; but
now you see why he penned the aphorism with which I began this chapter.

After that short, stabbing flash across his face, he shut down misery in
a vice. The rest of his talk with the Count might have been held with a
groom. Henry of Champagne, knowing the man, left him the moment he got
the word; and King Richard sat down by the table, and for three hours
never stirred. He was literally motionless. Straightly rigid, a little
grey about the face, white at the cheek-bones; his clenched hand stiff
on the board, white also at the knuckles; his eyes fixed on the
door--men came in, knelt and said their say, then encountering his blank
eyes bent their heads and backed out quietly. If he thought, none may
learn his thought; if he felt, none may touch the place; if he prayed,
let those who are able imagine his prayers. What Jehane had been to him
this book may have shadowed out: this only I say, that he knew, from the
very first hint of the fact, why she had gone out with Milo and sent
Milo home alone. The Queen knew, because Jehane had told her; but he
knew with no telling at all. She had gone away to save him from herself.
Needing him not, because she so loved him, it was her beauty which was
hungry for his desire. Not daring to mar her beauty, she had sought to
hide it. Greater love hath none than this. If he thought of that it
should have soft