She had not seen King Richard for nearly two years, at the thought of which thing and of him the hot blood leapt up, to thrust and tingle in her face.  She did not mean to see him now if she could help it, for she knew just how far she could withstand him; she would save him and then go back.  Thus she reasoned with herself as she trudged:  ’Jehane, ma mye, thou art wife now to a wise old man, who is good to thee, and has exalted thee above all his women.  Thou must have no lovers now.  Only save him, save him, save him, Lord Jesus, Lady Mary!’ She treated this as a prayer, and kept it very near her lips all the way to Gratz, except when she felt herself flush all over with the thought, ’School of God!  Is so great a king to be prayed for, as if he were a sick monk?’ Nevertheless, she prayed more than she flushed.  Nothing disturbed her; she slept in woods, in byres, in stackyards; bought what she needed for food, attracted no attention, and got no annoyance worthy the name.  At the closing in of the fifth day she saw the walls of the city rise above the black moors into the sky, and the towers above them.  The dome of a church, gilded, caught the dying sun’s eye; its towers were monstrous tall, round, and peaked with caps of green copper.  On the walls she counted seven other towers, heavy, squat, flat-roofed fortresses with huge battlements.  A great flag hung in folds, motionless about a staff.  All was a uniform dun, muffled in stormy sky, lowering, remote from knowledge, and alien.

But Jehane herself was of the North, and not impressionable.  Grey skies were familiar tents to her, moorlands roomy places, one heap of stones much like another.  But her heart beat high to know Richard half a league away; all her trouble was how she should find him in such a great town.  It was dusk when she reached it; they were about to shut the gates.  She let them, having seen that there were booths and hovels at the barriers, even a little church.  It was there she spent the night, huddled in a corner by the altar.

Dawn is a laggard in Styria.  She awoke before it was really light, and crept out, munching a crust.  The suburb was dead asleep, a little breeze ruffled the poplars, and blew wrinkles on the town ditch.  About and about the walls she went, peering up at their ragged edge, at the huge crumbling towers, at the storks on steep roofs.  ’Eh, Lord God, here lies in torment my lovely king!’ she cried to herself.  The keen breeze freshened, the cloud-wrack went racing westward; it left the sky clean and bare.  Out of the east came the red sun, and struck fire upon the dome of Saint Stanislas.  Out of a high window then came the sound of a man singing, a sharp strong voice, tremulous in the open notes.  She held her bosom as she heard—­

     Al entrada del tems clar, eya! 
     Per joja recomencar, eya! 
     Vol la regina mostrar
     Qu’el’ es si amoroza.

The sun kindled her lifted face, filled her wet eyes with light, and glistened on her praying lips.