In the meanwhile she was satisfied to live in the present, to console and comfort the noble exile, to lavish on him the treasures of her young and innocent love, to endow him in her imagination with all those mental and physical attributes which her romantic nature admired most.

The spring had come, clothing the weird branches of the elms with a tender garb of green, the anemones in the woods yielded to the bluebells and these to carpets of primroses and violets.  The forests of Thanet echoed with songs of linnets and white-throats.  She was happy and she was in love.

With the lengthened days came some petty sorrows.  He was obviously worried, sometimes even impatient.  Their meetings became fewer and shorter, for the evening hours were brief.  She found it difficult to wander out so late across the park, unperceived, and he would never meet her by day-light.

This no doubt had caused him to fret.  He loved her and desired her all his own.  Yet ’twere useless of a surety to ask Sir Marmaduke’s consent to her marriage with her French prince.  He would never give it, and until she came of age he had absolute power over her choice of a husband.

She had explained this to him and he had sighed and murmured angry words, then pressed her with increased passion to his heart.

To-night as she walked through the park, she was conscious—­for the first time perhaps—­of a certain alloy mixed with her gladness.  Yet she loved him—­oh, yes! just, just as much as ever.  The halo of romance with which she had framed in his mystic personality was in no way dimmed, but in a sense she almost feared him, for at times his muffled voice sounded singularly vehement, and his words betrayed the uncontrolled violence of his nature.

She had hoped to bring him some reassuring news anent Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse’s intentions with regard to herself, but the conversation round the skittle-alley, her guardian’s cruel allusions to “the foreign adventurer,” had shown her how futile were such hopes.

Yet, there were only three months longer of this weary waiting.  Surely he could curb his impatience until she was of age and mistress of her own hand!  Surely he trusted her!

She sighed as this thought crossed her mind, and nearly fell up against a dark figure which detached itself from among the trees.

“Master Lambert!” she said, uttering a little cry of surprise, pressing her hand against her heart which was palpitating with emotion.  “I had no thought of meeting you here.”

“And I still less of seeing your ladyship,” he rejoined coldly.

“How cross you are,” she retorted with childish petulance, “what have I done that you should be so unkind?”

“Unkind?”

“Aye!  I had meant to speak to you of this ere now—­but you always avoid me ... you scarce will look at me ... and ... and I wished to ask you if I had offended you?”