whose trailing branches the Sieur Amadis de Jocelin lay, covered
by the broad stone slab on which he had carved his own likeness,
and she had put a little knot of the "Glory" roses between his
mailed hands which were folded over the cross on his breast, and
she had said to the silent effigy:

"It is the last day of the haymaking, Sieur Amadis! You would be
glad to see the big crop going in if you were here!"

She was accustomed to talk to the old stone knight in this
fanciful way,--she had done so all her life ever since she could
remember. She had taken an intense pride in thinking of him as her
ancestor; she had been glad to trace her lineage back over three
centuries to the love-lorn French noble who had come to England in
the train of the Due d'Anjou--and now--now she knew she had no
connection at all with him,--that she was an unnamed, unbaptised
nobody--an unclaimed waif of humanity whom no one wanted! No one
in all the world--except Robin! He wanted her;--but perhaps when
he knew her true history his love would grow cold. She wondered
whether it would be so. If it were she would not mind very much.
Indeed it would be best, for she felt she could never marry him.

"No, not if I loved him with all my heart!" she said,
passionately--"Not without a name!--not till I have made a name
for myself, if only that were possible!"

She left the window and walked restlessly about her room, a room
that she loved very greatly because it had been the study of the
Sieur Amadis. It was a wonderful room, oak-panelled from floor to
ceiling, and there was no doubt about its history,--the Sieur