time had run swiftly in those few days. Not a day had passed that Law
had not met Catharine Knollys, nor had yet one meeting been such as the
girl in her own conscience dared call better than clandestine, even
though they met, as now, under her own roof. Yet, reason as she liked,
struggle as she could, Catharine Knollys had not yet been quite able to
end this swift voyaging on the flood of fate. It was so strange, so new,
so sweet withal, this coming of her suitor, as from the darkness of some
unknown star, so bold, so strong, so confident, and yet so humble! All
the old song of the ages thrilled within her soul, and each day its
compelling melody had accession. That this delirious softening of all
her senses meant danger, the Lady Catharine could not deny. Yet could
aught of earth be wrong when it spelled such happiness, such
sweetness--when the sound of a footfall sent her blood going the faster,
when the sight of a tall form, the ring of a vibrant tone, caused her
limbs to weaken, her throat to choke?

But ah! whence and why this spell, this sorcery--why this sweetness
filling all her being, when, after all, duty and seemliness bade it all
to end, as end it must, to-day? Thus had the Lady Catharine reflected
but the hour before John Law came; her knight of dreams--tall,
yellow-haired, blue-eyed, bold and tender, and surely speaking truth if
truth dwelt beneath the stars. Now he would come--now he had come again.
Here was his red, red rose once more. Here, burning in her ears, singing
in her heart, were his avowing, pleading words. And this must end!

John Law looked at her calmly, but said nothing. One hand, in a gesture
customary with him, flicked lightly at the deep cuff of the other
wrist, and this nervous movement was the sole betrayal of his
uneasiness.