“What shall I give him, mother?” Claudia asked the countess, without a shadow of the embarrassment with which Gervaise had spoken.

“Not a kerchief, Claudia.  In the rough work of the knights, it could not be kept without spot or stain.  Moreover, if I judge Sir Gervaise rightly, methinks he would prefer some token that he could wear without exciting attention and remark from his comrades.  Go, fetch him any of your jewels you may think fit.”

“Then I will give him this,” the girl said; and unfastening a thin gold chain she wore round her neck, she pulled up a heart shaped ornament, in pink coral set in gold and pearls.

Her mother uttered a low exclamation of dissent.

“I know, mother; it was your last gift, and I prize it far beyond anything I have; therefore, it is all the more fit to be my token.”  Then she turned to Gervaise, and went on, without the slightest tremor in her voice, or accession of colour in her cheeks.  “Sir Gervaise Tresham, I bestow upon you this my favour, and shall deem it an honour indeed to know that it is borne by one so brave and worthy.  You said that you would be glad to be one of those who bore my favours.  You will be more than that, for I vow to you that while you live no other knight shall wear a favour of mine.”

“Claudia!” her mother said disapprovingly.

“I know what I am saying, mother.  I have often wondered why maidens should so carelessly bestow their favours upon every knight who begged for them, and have said to myself that when my time came I would grant it but once, and only then to one whom I deemed worthy of it in all ways —­ one in whose loyalty and honour I could trust implicitly, and who would regard it as something sacred, deeming it an honour to wear it, as being the pledge of my trust and esteem.  Kneel, Sir Gervaise, while I fasten this round your neck.”

Gervaise took out the small brooch, that fastened the collar of his silken doublet, and then knelt on one knee.  The girl fastened the clasp round his neck, and as he rose he hid the heart beneath the doublet, and fastened the collar.

“Lady Claudia,” he said earnestly, “I accept your favour in the spirit in which you bestow it.  So long as I live I shall prize and value it beyond any honour I may gain, and as I feel it next to my heart, it will ever recall to me that you gave it me as a pledge of your esteem and trust, and I will strive to the utmost so to bear myself that I may be worthy of the gift.”

None of the others spoke while the little ceremony was being performed.  Caretto glanced at the countess with an amused smile, but the latter looked grave, and somewhat vexed.  However, she made an effort to dispel the cloud on her face, and, when Gervaise ceased speaking, said, “This has been a somewhat more serious business than I intended, Sir Gervaise.  But do not think that I regret in any way the course it has taken; ’tis well for a maiden on the