At the sound of that unstifled yawn, Rosamund turned her head with the slow grace which marked her every movement.

“Would you sleep already, Wulf, and the sun not yet down?” she asked in her rich, low voice, which, perhaps because of its foreign accent, seemed quite different to that of any other woman.

“I think so, Rosamund,” he answered.  “It would serve to pass the time, and now that you have finished gathering those yellow flowers which we rode so far to seek, the time—­is somewhat long.”

“Shame on you, Wulf,” she said, smiling.  “Look upon yonder sea and sky, at that sheet of bloom all gold and purple—­”

“I have looked for hard on half an hour, Cousin Rosamund; also at your back and at Godwin’s left arm and side-face, till in truth I thought myself kneeling in Stangate Priory staring at my father’s effigy upon his tomb, while Prior John pattered the Mass.  Why, if you stood it on its feet, it is Godwin, the same crossed hands resting on the sword, the same cold, silent face staring at the sky.”

“Godwin as Godwin will no doubt one day be, or so he hopes—­that is, if the saints give him grace to do such deeds as did our sire,” interrupted his brother.

Wulf looked at him, and a curious flash of inspiration shone in his blue eyes.

“No, I think not,” he answered; “the deeds you may do, and greater, but surely you will lie wrapped not in a shirt of mail, but with a monk’s cowl at the last—­unless a woman robs you of it and the quickest road to heaven.  Tell me now, what are you thinking of, you two—­for I have been wondering in my dull way, and am curious to learn how far I stand from truth?  Rosamund, speak first.  Nay, not all the truth—­a maid’s thoughts are her own—­but just the cream of it, that which rises to the top and should be skimmed.”

Rosamund sighed.  “I?  I was thinking of the East, where the sun shines ever and the seas are blue as my girdle stones, and men are full of strange learning—­”

“And women are men’s slaves!” interrupted Wulf.  “Still, it is natural that you should think of the East who have that blood in your veins, and high blood, if all tales be true.  Say, Princess”—­and he bowed the knee to her with an affectation of mockery which could not hide his earnest reverence—­“say, Princess, my cousin, granddaughter of Ayoub and niece of the mighty monarch, Yusuf Salah-ed-din, do you wish to leave this pale land and visit your dominions in Egypt and in Syria?”

She listened, and at his words her eyes seemed to take fire, the stately form to erect itself, the breast to heave, and the thin nostrils to grow wider as though they scented some sweet, remembered perfume.  Indeed, at that moment, standing there on the promontory above the seas, Rosamund looked a very queen.

Presently she answered him with another question.

“And how would they greet me there, Wulf, who am a Norman D’Arcy and a Christian maid?”