raged against him, she had imprisoned him; she had driven him from her
presence in her anger, but always her paroxysms of rage had been
succeeded by paroxysms of tenderness. Now he saw a colder light in the
sky, a greyer horizon met his eye. So at every corner of the compass he
played for the breaking of the spell.

Yet as he now bowed low before Angele there seemed to show in his face a
very candour of surprise, of pleasure, joined to a something friendly and
protective in his glance and manner. His voice insinuated that bygones
should be bygones; it suggested that she had misunderstood him. It
pleaded against the injustice of her prejudice.

"So far from home!" he said with a smile.

"More miles from home," she replied, thinking of never-returning days in
France, "than I shall ever count again."

"But no, methinks the palace is within a whisper," he responded.

"Lord Leicester knows well I am a prisoner; that I no longer abide in the
palace," she answered.

He laughed lightly. "An imprisonment in a Queen's friendship. I bethink
me, it is three hours since I saw you go to the palace. It is a few
worthless seconds since you have got your freedom."

She nettled at his tone. "Lord Leicester takes great interest in my
unimportant goings and comings. I cannot think it is because I go and
come."