face he rode up to the party of three
who had come out to meet him. He made his obeisance to Sybilla first,
with a look of supremest happiness in his eyes which many women would
have given their all to see there. As he came close he leaped from his
horse, and advancing to his lady he bent and kissed her hand.

"My Lady Sybilla," he said, "I am as ever your loyal servant."

The Chancellor and the ambassador had both dismounted, not to be
outdone in courtesy, and one after the other they greeted him with
what cordiality they could muster. The narrow, thin-bearded face of
the Chancellor and the pallid death-mask of de Retz, out of which
glittered orbs like no eyes of human being, furnished a singular
contrast to the uncovered head, crisp black curls, slight moustache,
and fresh olive complexion of the young Earl of Douglas.

And as often as he was not looking at her, the eyes of the Lady
Sybilla rested on Lord Douglas with a strange expression in their
deeps. The colour in her cheek came and went. The vermeil of her lip
flushed and paled alternate, from the pink of the wild rose-leaf to
the red of its autumnal berry.

But presently, at a glance from her kinsman, Sybilla de Thouars seemed
to recall herself with difficulty from a land of dreams, and with an
obvious effort began to talk to William Douglas.

"Whom have you brought to see me?" she said.

"Only a few men-at-arms, besides Sholto my squire, and my brother
David," he made answer. "I did not wait for more. But let me bring the
lad to you. Sholto you did not like when he was a plain archer of the
guard, and I fear that he will not have risen in your grace since I
dubbed him knight."

David Douglas willingly obeyed the summons of his brother, and came
forward to kiss the hand of the Lady Sybilla.

"Here, Sholto," cried his lord, "come hither, man. It will do your
pride good to see a lady who avers that conceit hath eaten you up."

Sholto came at the word and bowed before the French damosel as he was
commanded, meekly enough to all outward aspect. But in his heart he
was saying over and over to himself words that consoled him mightily:
"A murrain on her! The cozening madam, she will never be worth naming
on the same day as Maud Lindesay!"

"Nay," cried the Lady Sybilla, laughing; "indeed, I said not that I
disliked this your squire. What woman thinks the worse of a lad of
mettle that he does not walk with his head between his feet. But 'tis
pity that there