ope was
always fluttering in the distance, on the sea, or clouds, or flitting
vapour of the morning. Even so she now was looking at the mounting glory
of the sun above the sea-clouds, the sun that lay along the land, and
made the distance roll away.

"Hard and bitter is my task," the gallant lord began with her, "to say
farewell to all I love. But so it ever must be."

Frida looked at his riding-dress, and cold fear seized her suddenly, and
then warm hope that he might only be riding after the bustards.

"My lord," she said, "will you never grant me that one little prayer of
mine--to spare poor birds, and make those cruel gaze-hounds run down one
another?"

"I shall never see the gaze-hounds more," he answered petulantly; "my
time for sport is over. I must set forth for the war to-day."

"To-day!" she cried; and then tried to say a little more for pride's
sake; "to go to the war to-day, my lord!"

"Alas! it is too true. Either I must go, or be a traitor and a dastard."

Her soft blue eyes lay full on his, and tears that had not time to flow
began to spread a hazy veil between her and the one she loved.

He saw it, and he saw the rise and sinking of her wounded heart, and how
the words she tried to utter fell away and died within her for the want
of courage; and light and hard, and mainly selfish as his nature was,
the strength, and depth, and truth of love came nigh to scare him for
the moment even of his vanities.

"Frida!" he said, with her hand in his, and bending one knee on the
moss; "only tell me that I must stay; then stay I will; the rest of the
world may scorn if you approve me."

This, of course, sounded very well and pleased her, as it was meant to
do; still, it did not satisfy her--so exacting are young maidens, and so
keen is the ear of love.

"Aubyn, you are good and true. How very good and true you are! But even
by your dear voice now I know what you are thinking."

Lord Auberley, by this time, was as well within himself again as he
generally found himself; so that he began to balance chances very
knowingly. If the king should win the warfare and be paramount again,
this bright star of the court must rise to something infinitely higher
than a Devonshire squire's child. A fine young widow of a duke, of the
royal blood of France itself, was not far from being quite determined
to accept him, if she only could be certain how these things would end
themselves. Many other ladies were determined qu