And at her words, within the little cavern there came a silence to be
felt. In undisguised dismay the Englishman gazed at her where she knelt.
Then:

"By the holyrood!" he muttered aghast, "She must have thought, - God
only knows what she must have thought!"

He glanced hurriedly toward the doorway and back again, ashamed. Then
even such impatience as was his gave way, for the moment at least, to
something more chivalric. He stooped and patted awkwardly the smooth
black head.

"Come, Wildenai, little wild rose, look up and speak to me. I must be
going!"

But still the maid lay prostrate, clasping close his rough buskins in
her little brown hands. Never in all his life had Lord Harold been so
sorely uncomfortable. How was it possible she had ever imagined that he
could take her with him, - that he had meant so much? Resentment grew
within him at the thought, yet strangely mingled always with something
far more tender. Hastily he considered, his heart torn between the
desire not to wound her and dread of what he knew she wanted. To be sure
the maid was beautiful, with the softened beauty of a moonlit night in
summer, her eyes beneath her dusky hair like stars between the branches
of dark trees, her voice that of the forest stream when it sings itself
to sleep. Yet past all doubt he knew that not one among the gorgeous
throng that crowded about Elizabeth would ever see that beauty, no
English ear take heed to hear the music of her voice. Nay, he could
even, as he thought of it, picture the amazement of the great queen,