I not tell thee so at first?"

This curious conversation had taken so long, and had been interrupted by
so many pauses, that Bruno appeared before it had progressed further.
He glanced at the pair with some amusement in his eyes, not unmixed with
sadness, for he had a decided foreboding that he was about to lose his
Beatrice. But no more was said that night.

The next morning, Sir John de Averenches made the formal appeal which
Bruno was fully expecting.

"I am not good at words, Father," he said, with honest manliness; "and I
know the maiden is fair beyond many. You may easily look higher for
her; but you will not easily find one that loves her better."

"Truly, my son, that is mine own belief," said Bruno. "But hast thou
fully understood that she is of Jewish descent, which many Christian
knights would count a blot on their escocheons?"

"Being a Christian, that makes _no_ difference to me."

"Well! She shall decide for herself; but I fancy I know what she will
say. It will be hard to part with her."

"Why should you, Father? Will she not still want a confessor?--and
could she have a better than you?"

"Thank you, Father!" said Beatrice demurely, when Bruno told her that
his consent was given, contingent upon hers. "Then I will begin my
wedding-dress."

In this extremely cool manner the fair maiden intimated her intention of
becoming a matron. But Bruno, who knew every change of her features and
colour, was well aware that she felt a great deal more than she said.
The mask was soon dropped.

The wedding-dress was a marvel of her own lovely embroidery. It was
worn about the beginning of winter, and once more Bruno resigned his
parish duties, and became, as his son-in-law had wisely suggested, a
family confessor.

They heard from Bury that the marriage of Eva de Braose took place about
the same time. And the general opinion in the Lincolnshire parsonage
was rather, as respected Sir William de Cantilupe, one of condolence
than of congratulation.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eighteen years after that summer, a solitary traveller was approaching
the city of Tewkesbury. He sat down on a low wall which skirted the
road, and wiped his heated brow. He was a tall, fine-looking man, with
a dark olive complexion, and clustering masses of black hair. There was
no one in sight, and the traveller began to talk in an undertone to
himself, as solitary men are s