Then Branwen gave one sharp, brief cry, and Richard forgot all things saving this girl, and strode to her.  He had caught up her hard, lithe hands; against his lips he strained them close and very close.

“Branwen—!” he said.  His eyes devoured her.

“Yes, King,” she answered.  “O King of England!  O fool that I have been to think you less!”

In a while Richard said:  “Well, I at least am not fool enough to think of making you a king’s whore.  So I must choose between a peasant wench and England.  Now I choose, and how gladly!  Branwen, help me to be more than King of England!”

Low and very low he spoke, and long and very long he gazed at her, and neither seemed to breathe.  Of what she thought I cannot tell you; but in Richard there was no power of thought, only a great wonderment.  Why, between this woman’s love and aught else there was no choice for him, he knew upon a sudden.  Perhaps he would thus worship her always, he reflected:  and then again, perhaps he would be tired of her before long, just as all other persons seemed to abate in these infatuations:  meanwhile it was certain that he was very happy.  No, he could not go back to the throne and to the little French girl who was in law his wife.

And, as if from an immense distance, came to Richard the dogged voice of Henry of Lancaster.  “It is of common report in these islands that I have a better right to the throne than you.  As much was told our grandfather, King Edward of happy memory, when he educated you and had you acknowledged heir to the crown, but his love was so strong for his son the Prince of Wales that nothing could alter his purpose.  And indeed if you had followed even the example of the Black Prince you might still have been our King; but you have always acted so contrarily to his admirable precedents as to occasion the rumor to be generally believed throughout England that you were not, after all, his son—­”

Richard had turned impatiently.  “For the love of Heaven, truncate your abominable periods.  Be off with you.  Yonder across that river is the throne of England, which you appear, through some lunacy, to consider a desirable possession.  Take it, then; for, praise God! the sword has found its sheath.”

The King answered:  “I do not ask you to reconsider your dismissal, assuredly—­Richard,” he cried, a little shaken, “I perceive that until your death you will win contempt and love from every person.”

“Yes, yes, for many years I have been the playmate of the world,” said Richard; “but to-day I wash my hands, and set about another and more laudable business.  I had dreamed certain dreams, indeed—­but what had I to do with all this strife between the devil and the tiger?  No, Glyndwyr will set up Mortimer against you now, and you two must fight it out.  I am no more his tool, and no more your enemy, my cousin—­Henry,” he said with quickening voice, “there was a time when we were boys and played together, and there was no hatred between us, and I regret that time!”