e of her presence
must have drawn me, since suddenly I turned to see her standing before
me. She was clad all in white, having a round cap or coronet upon her
head beneath which her shining fair hair was looped in braids. Her
little coat, trimmed with ermine, was fastened with a single jewel, that
ruby heart embraced by serpents which I had given her. She wore no other
ornament. Thus seen she looked most lovely and most sweet and all my
heart went out in yearning for her.

"My father tells me that you wish to speak with me, so I have come," she
said in her low clear voice, searching my face curiously with her large
eyes.

I bowed my head and paused, not knowing how to begin.

"How can I serve you, who, I fear, have been ill served?" she went on
with a little smile as though she found amusement in my confusion.

"In one way only," I exclaimed, "by giving yourself in marriage to me.
For that I seek, no less."

Now her fair face that had been pale became stained with red and she
let her eyes fall as though she were searching for something among the
rushes that strewed the floor.

"Hearken before you answer," I continued. "When first I spoke with you
on that bloody day at Hastings and you had but just come to womanhood, I
loved you and swore to myself that I would die to save you. I saved you
and we kissed and were parted. Afterwards I tried to put you out of my
heart, knowing that you were set far above me and no meat for such as I,
though still for your sake I wooed no other woman in marriage. The years
went by and fortune brought us together again, and lo! the old love was
stronger than before. I know that I am not worthy of you who are so high
and good and pure. Still----" and I stopped, lacking words.

She moved uneasily and the red colour left her cheeks as though she had
been suddenly pained.

"Bethink you," she said with a touch of hardness in her voice, "can
one who lives the life I live and keeps my company, remain as holy and
unstained as you believe? If you would gather such a lily, surely you
should seek it in a country garden, not in the reek of London."

"I neither know nor care," I answered, whose blood was all afire. "I
know only that wherever you grow and from whatever soil, you are the
flower I would pluck."

"Bethink you again; an ugly slug might have smeared my whiteness."

"If so the honest sun and rain will recover and wash it and I am a
gardener who scatters lime to shrivel slugs."

"I