the things
which cause the various effects and, as it were, pull thee by the
strings.'

"There lies the choice which every man must make--or rationally, as his
reason goes, to accept his own limitations and make the best of his
allotted prison-yard? or stupendously to play the fool and swear even
to himself (while his own judgment shrieks and proves a flat denial),
that he is at will omnipotent? You have chosen long ago, my poor proud
Ysabeau; and I choose now, and differently: for poltroon that I am!
being now in a cold drench of terror, I steadfastly protest I am not
much afraid, and I choose death, madame."

It was toward Rosamund that the Queen looked, and smiled a little
pitifully. "Should Queen Ysabeau be angry or vexed or very cruel now,
my Rosamund? for at bottom she is glad."

More lately the Queen said: "I give you back your plighted word. I
ride homeward to my husks, but you remain. Or rather, the Countess of
Farrington departs for the convent of Ambresbury, disconsolate in her
widowhood and desirous to have done with worldly affairs. It is most
natural she should relinquish to her beloved and only brother all her
dower-lands--or so at least Messire de Berners acknowledges. Here,
then, is the grant, my Gregory, that conveys to you those lands of
Ralph de Belomys which last year I confiscated. And this tedious
Messire de Berners is willing now--nay, desirous--to have you for a
son-in-law."

About them fell the dying leaves, of many glorious colors, but the air
of this new day seemed raw and chill, what while, very calmly, Dame
Ysabeau took Sir Gregory's hand and laid it upon the hand of Rosamund
Eastney. "Our paladin is, in the outcome, a mortal man, and therefore
I do not altogether envy you. Yet he has his moments, and you are
capable. Serve, then, not only his desires but mine also, dear
Rosamund."

There was a silence. The girl spoke as though it was a sacrament. "I
will, madame and Queen."

Thus did the Queen end her holiday.

A little later the Countess of Farrington rode from Ordish with all her
train save one; and riding from that place, where love was, she sang
very softly, and as to herself.

Sang Ysabeau:

"_As with her dupes dealt Circe
Life deals with hers, pardie!
Reshaping without mercy,
And shaping swinishly,
To wallow swinishly,
And for eternity--_

"_Though, harder than the witch was,
Life, changing ne'er the whole,
Transmutes the bod