CHAPTER XXIX. HOW THE BLESSED HOUR OF SIGHT CAME TO THE LADY TIPHAINE.

anywaycomparedtoherinbeautyandingoodness.Shouldanygentlemanthinkotherwise,Ishoulddeemitgreathonortorunasmallcoursewithhim,ordebatethematterinwhateverwaymightbemostpleasingtohim.” “Nay,itwouldillbecomemetocastasluruponaladywhoisbothmyguestandthewifeofmycomrade-in-arms,”saidtheSeneschalofVillefranche.“Ihaveperceivedalsothatonhermantlethereismarkedasilvercross,whichissurelysignenoughthatthereisnoughtofevilinthesestrangepowerswhichyousaythatshepossesses.” Thisargumentoftheseneschal'sappealedsopowerfullytotheBohemianandtotheHospitallerthattheyatonceintimatedthattheirobjectionshadbeenentirelyovercome,whileeventheLadyRochefort,whohadsatshiveringandcrossingherself,ceasedtocastglancesatthedoor,andallowedherfearstoturntocuriosity. “Amongthegiftswhichhavebeenvouchsafedtomywife,”saidDuGuesclin,“thereisthewondrousoneofseeingintothefuturebutitcomesveryseldomuponher,andgoesasquickly,fornonecancommandit.Theblessedhourofsight,asshehathnamedit,hascomebuttwicesinceIhaveknownher,andIcanvouchforitthatallthatshehathtoldmewastrue,forontheeveningoftheBattleofAurayshesaidthatthemorrowwouldbeanilldayformeandforCharlesofBlois.Erethesunhadsunkagainhewasdead,andItheprisonerofSirJohnChandos.Yetitisnoteveryquestionthatshecananswer,butonlythose——” “Bertrand,Bertrand!”criedtheladyinthesamemutteringfar-awayvoice,“theblessedhourpasses.Useit,Bertrand,whileyoumay.” “Iwill,mysweet.Tellme,then,whatfortunecomesuponme?” “Danger,Bertrand—deadly,pressingdanger—whichcreepsuponyouandyouknowitnot.” TheFrenchsoldierburstintoathunderouslaugh,andhisgreeneyestwinkledwithamusement.“Atwhattimeduringthesetwentyyearswouldnotthathavebeenatrueword?”hecried.“DangerisintheairthatIbreathe.Butisthissoveryclose,Tiphaine?” “Here—now—closeuponyou!”Thewordscameoutinbroken,strenuousspeech,whilethelady'sfairfacewaswrithedanddrawnlikethatofonewholooksuponahorrorwhichstrikesthewordsfromherlips.DuGuesclingazedroundthetapestriedroom,atthescreens,thetables,theabace,thecredence,thebuffetwithitssilversalver,andthehalf-circleoffriendly,wonderingfaces.Therewasanutterstillness,saveforthesharpbreathingoftheLadyTiphaineandforthegentlesoughingofthewindoutside,whichwaftedtotheirearsthedistantcalluponaswine-herd'shorn. “Thedangermaybide,”saidhe,shrugginghisbroadshoulders.“Andnow,Tiphaine,telluswhatwillcomeofthiswarinSpain.” “Icanseelittle,”sheanswered,straininghereyesandpuckeringherbrow,asonewhowouldfainclearhersight.“Therearemountains,anddryplains,andflashofarmsandshoutingofbattle-cries.Yetitiswhisperedtomethatbyfailureyouwillsucceed.” “Ha!SirNigel,howlikeyouthat?”quothBertrand,shakinghishead.“Itislikemeadandvinegar,halfsweet,halfsour.Andistherenoquestionwhichyouwouldaskmylady?” “Certesthereis.Iwouldfainknow,fairlady,howallthingsareatTwynhamCastle,andaboveallhowmysweetladyemploysherself.” “ToanswerthisIwouldfainlayhandupononewhosethoughtsturnstronglytothiscastlewhichyouhavenamed.Nay,myLordLoring,itiswhisperedtomethatthereisanotherherewhohaththoughtmoredeeplyofitthanyou.” “Thoughtmoreofmineownhome?”criedSirNigel.“Lady,Ifearthatinthismatteratleastyouaremistaken.” “Notso,SirNigel.Comehither,youngman,youngEnglishsquirewiththegrayeyes!Nowgivemeyourhand,andplaceithereacrossmybrow,thatImayseethatwhichyouhaveseen.Whatisthisthatrisesbeforeme?Mist,mist,rollingmistwithasquareblacktoweraboveit.Seeitshredsout,itthins,itrises,andthereliesacastleingreenplain,withtheseabeneathit,andagreatchurchwithinabow-shot.Therearetworiverswhichrunthroughthemeadows,andbetweenthemliethetentsofthebesiegers.” “Thebesiegers!”criedAlleyne,Ford,andSirNigel,allthreeinabreath. “Yes,truly,andtheypressharduponthecastle,