Windsor Forest--though he, not knowing her, had missed the point till
now. He might not presume to speak to her until properly
presented--nor even then to refer to what had passed or so much as
intimate that they had met before. . . And yet had not Gloucester
himself bade him be not so humble--that his birth was equal to her own?
Why should he not aspire . . . why not seek her favor . . . what more
favorable conditions would he ever know than now? How extraordinary it
was that she should be in Pontefract--the length of England from where
he saw her last. Surely the Fates were kind to him! And had she
recognized him? No, for she had not even given him a glance. He had
thought to meet her in the presence chamber this very night; and
now--he must wait until the morrow. Yet the morrow was sure . . . and
then he would see again that sweet face, those ruddy tresses and grey
eyes . . . would hear that silvery voice. . .

Hark! he heard it now.

"Why so abstracted, sir?" it seemed to say.

He stood quite still--would it come again?

St. Denis! there it was!

"Is she so far away, Sir Ralph?" it asked.

Sir Ralph! What had Sir Ralph to do with this music?

There came a soft laugh and a touch of a hand on his shoulder.

He whirled around--and stared in wonder at the woman of his dream.