touched lovingly a child; for into her face there had come that look
which it would seem that in the arms of the man she loves every true
woman wears--a look which is somehow like a child's in its trusting,
sweet surrender and appeal, whatsoever may be her stateliness and the
splendour of her beauty.

Yet as he touched her cheek so and her eyes so dwelt on him, suddenly her
head fell heavily upon his breast, hiding her face, even while her
unwreathing arms held more closely.

"Oh! those mad days before!" she cried--"Oh! those mad, mad days before!"

"Nay, they are long passed, sweet," he said, in his deep, noble voice,
thinking that she spoke of the wildness of her girlish years--"and all
our days of joy are yet to come."

"Yes, yes," she cried, clinging closer, yet with shuddering, "they were
_before_--the joy--the joy is all to come."




CHAPTER XV--In which Sir John Oxon finds again a trophy he had lost


His Grace of Osmonde went back to France to complete his business, and
all the world knew that when he returned to England 'twould be to make
his preparations for his marriage with my Lady Dunstanwolde. It was a
marriage not long to be postponed, and her ladyship herself was known
already to be engaged with lacemen, linen-drapers, toyshop women, and