He put his hand on her fair hair and stroked it softly.  “Nay, dear, the wearisome work is over now, I trust.  Henceforth it will be pleasanter . . .  Pardieu! was there ever another woman, I wonder, who needed encouragement to wear a crown?”

“A Neville once refused one,” she replied.

“True, indeed; and gave it back to the miserable Henry. . .  You resemble your great father in many ways—­and may our own dear son be like you both.”

“You are very good to me, Richard,” she said, taking his hand.

“But much short of what you deserve, dear one.”

Suddenly a bugle rang loudly from before the barbican, followed in a moment by the rattle of the drawbridge and the clatter of hoofs on the planks.

“It is Beatrix and Sir John returning from their ride,” the Queen said.

“It was not De Bury’s call,” he answered.

“Why, it is Sir Aymer de Lacy!” she exclaimed, as a pair of horsemen cantered across the inner bailey.

Richard nodded.  “And a day earlier than I anticipated . . . but he has a good excuse.”

“And a bit of disappointment also, that Beatrix is not here to greet him.”

“He can spare her until he has supped, I fancy.”

“She would not be pleased to think so.”

“A woman wants a man to think of naught but her,” he smiled.

“Yes, she does—­and even though she know it to be futile . . . it is foolish, doubtless.”

“It is more than foolish; it is unfortunate.  It annoys the man and grieves the woman.”

“Nay, Richard, you look at it with a man’s view only.”

“And you, my dear?”

“I?—­with the proper view, of course.”

The King laughed aloud; and as De Lacy, who had just dismounted before the keep, recognized the voice and glanced up, Richard leaned over the parapet and beckoned to him.

“We are glad to see you,” he said, as the Knight presently bent knee and kissed the Queen’s hand.

“Yes, Sir Aymer, you are always welcome,” she added.

“Your Majesties overwhelm me.”

“Well, if our greeting overwhelm you,” the King remarked, “the Countess of Clare’s wilt likely end your life.”

“I am very anxious to risk it, Sire,” De Lacy answered quickly.

“Beatrix has left the castle,” said Richard.

“Gone!” Aymer exclaimed.

“Oh . . . only for a ride.”

“A ride—­at night?”

“Surely—­why not—­on a fine night and with a gallant escort?”

“Nay, Richard,” the Queen broke in, “do not distress him.  Sir Aymer, Beatrix is with her uncle, and as they have been absent since before vespers, they must soon return.”

De Lacy’s face cleared so quickly that Richard smiled.

“A bad case, truly,” he commented, putting his arm about the Queen.  “Has the lady the disease so deep?”

“I would not tell you even if I knew,” she answered.