cret was now public, and the white hart endangered.
And Rosalind's thought was, "It shall be no Queen's quarry!" And
Harding's, "It shall be no man's but mine!" Then Harding plied his way
to the ferry, and Rosalind went hers to none knew where; though some
had tried vainly to track her.

In due course June passed its middle, and the Queen rode under the
Downs from Bramber to Amberley. And early on Midsummer Eve, while her
servants made busy about the coming festival, Queen Maudlin went over
the fields to the waterside and lay in the grass looking to Bury, and
teased some seven of her court, each of whom had sworn to bring her the
Crown of Beauty at his sword's point on the morrow. Her four maidens
were with her, all maids of great loveliness. There was Linoret who was
like morning dew on grass in spring, and Clarimond queenly as day at
its noon, and Damarel like a rose grown languorous of its own grace,
and Amelys, mysterious as the spirit of dusk with dreams in its hair.
But Maudlin was the pale gold wonder of the dawn, a creature of
ethereal light, a vision of melting stars and wakening flowers. And she
delighted in making seem cheap the palpable prettiness of this, or too
robust the fuller beauty of that, or dim and dull the elusive charm of
such-an-one. She would have scorned to set her beauty to compete with
those who were not beautiful, even as a proved knight would scorn to
joust with an unskilled boor. So now amongst her beautiful attendants,
knowing that in their midst her greater beauty shone forth a diamond
among crystals, she laughed at her seven lovers; and her four friends
laughed with her.

"You do well, Queen Maudlin, to make merry," said one of the knights,
"for I know none that gains so much service for so little portion. What
will you give to-morrow's victor?"

"What will to-morrow's victor think his due?" said she.

The seven said in a breath, "A kiss!" and the five laughed louder than
ever.

Then Maudlin said, "For so great an honor as victory, I should feel
ashamed to bestow a thing of such little worth."

"Do you call that thing a little worth," said one, "which to us were
more than a star plucked out of heaven?"

"The thing, it is true," said Maudlin, "has two values. Those who are
over-eager make it a thing of naught, those from whom it is hard-won
render it priceless. But, sirs, you are all too eager, I could scatter
you baubles by the hour and leave you still desiring. But if ever I
w