ad he a thought of any other sentiment toward her than that
of friend and protector.

And then there came to him as in a vision another fair and beautiful
face--Bertrade de Montfort's--and Norman of Torn was still more puzzled;
for at heart he was clean, and love of loyalty was strong within him.
Love of women was a new thing to him, and, robbed as he had been all his
starved life of the affection and kindly fellowship, of either men or
women, it is little to be wondered at that he was easily impressionable
and responsive to the feeling his strong personality had awakened in two
of England's fairest daughters.

But with the vision of that other face, there came to him a faint
realization that mayhap it was a stronger power than either friendship
or fear which caused that lithe, warm body to cling so tightly to him.
That the responsibility for the critical stage their young acquaintance
had so quickly reached was not his had never for a moment entered his
head. To him, the fault was all his; and perhaps it was this quality of
chivalry that was the finest of the many noble characteristics of his
sterling character. So his next words were typical of the man; and did
Joan de Tany love him, or did she not, she learned that night to respect
and trust him as she respected and trusted few men of her acquaintance.

"My Lady," said Norman of Torn, "we have been through much, and we are
as little children in a dark attic, and so if I have presumed upon our
acquaintance," and he lowered his arm from about her shoulder, "I ask
you to forgive it for I scarce know what to do, from weakness and from
the pain of the blow upon my head."

Joan de Tany drew slowly away from him, and without reply, took his hand
and led him forward through a dark, cold corridor.

"We must go carefully now," she said at last, "for there be stairs
near."

He held her hand pressed very tightly in his, tighter perhaps than
conditions required, but she let it lie there as she led him forward,
very slowly down a flight of rough stone steps.

Norman of Torn wondered if she were angry with him and then, being new
at love, he blundered.

"Joan de Tany," he said.

"Yes, Roger de Conde; what would you?"

"You be silent, and I fear that you be angry with me. Tell me that you
forgive what I have done, an it offended you. I have so few friends," he
added sadly, "that I cannot afford to lose such as you."

"You will never lose the friendship of Joan de Tany,"