“Ah! ah!” came from the thoroughly awaked King.

“—­is the greatest beauty in England.”  For the first time Constance gave Katherine her dues.

“Dost thou speak truth, lad?”

“I fear my King too much to speak otherwise, unless, indeed, it were to save his life.”

“Then—­” said the King, with flashing eyes.—­“We shall have her back; we’ll send for her at once; and, my pretty lad, thou shalt remain here to see the fun, with your King.  ’Twill be rare sport, eh?” He gave Constance so sound a smack upon the shoulder, it came near to knocking her flat.  It brought the tears and made her bite her tongue.  The King fairly roared with laughter.

Buckingham heard the King’s order to recall the woman.  He also knew the King’s informant, and for reasons of his own sent straightway one to intercept his Majesty’s messenger.

Lady Constance, believing that Sir Julian, with Katherine, would return to Tabard Inn, mentioned it.  This, of course, allowing they followed Constance’ suggestion, gave Sir Julian a good start and Buckingham’s messengers time to reach their several destinations.

The night had come with even greater heat than the day.  The sultry gloaming foretold a near-by storm.  Clouds were brewing fast and thick, with ominous mutterings.  Already every inch of blue sky was overcast with a blackness that was heavy and lowering.  Occasionally the sullen thunder was prefaced by a jaundiced light that swathed the skies from end to end.  The coach bearing Katherine and Janet left the causeway and entered a thick forest.  The great trees seemed even larger; their silence becoming portentous.  There was not a breath of air.  Katherine fanned herself with Janet’s hat, but hardly did her efforts create a breeze large enough to move the threads of hair that waved above her forehead.

They had proceeded but a short way into the forest when the postilion got down to light the lamps.

Sir Julian rode close to the window and spoke of the approaching storm.  The stillness was ominous; there being no sound save the plash of a muskrat as he skurried through a dismal, dark pool near by.  Katherine jumped at the noise and her small hand grasped the arm of Sir Julian, as it lay across the ledge of the window.  She gave a little gasp—­just enough to touch Sir Julian tenderly.

“’Tis nothing but a lusty genet, my dear,” and his hand closed over hers for a moment.  There was something about that touch that thrilled them both; he leant farther toward her as another flash came through the trees and was sure he saw a flush upon her face.  The lights from the lanterns flashed up, then—­stood silent and unmoved, the boy’s breath who stood over them was swallowed in the hot air.  Then the coach began to move and at the same time the giant trees stirred in a peculiar way.  They, like a vast army, bent low with a sound as of heavy artillery rumbling over a bridge that covered vacuous depths.  Then they began a deafening noise, their branches sweeping hard against the coach windows.