"I met the women at the door," he said.

"It is kind of you to come," Rosamund went on; "but, in truth, since that day on Death Creek I fear to walk a bow-shot's length alone or in the company of women only. With you I feel safe."

"Or with Wulf?"

"Yes; or with Wulf," she repeated; "that is, when he is not thinking of wars and adventures far away."

By now they had reached the porch of the church, to find that the snow was falling fast.

"Let us bide here a minute," he said; "it is but a pa.s.sing cloud."

So they stayed there in the gloom, and for a while there was silence between them. Then he spoke.

"Rosamund, my cousin and lady, I come to put a question to you, but first--why you will understand afterwards--it is my duty to ask that you will give me no answer to that question until a full day has pa.s.sed."

"Surely, G.o.dwin, that is easy to promise. But what is this wonderful question which may not be answered?"

"One short and simple. Will you give yourself to me in marriage, Rosamund?"

She leaned back against the wall of the porch.

"My father--" she began.

"Rosamund, I have his leave."

"How can I answer since you yourself forbid me?"

"Till this time to-morrow only. Meanwhile, I pray you hear me, Rosamund. I am your cousin, and we were brought up together--indeed, except when I was away at the Scottish war, we have never been apart. Therefore, we know each other well, as well as any can who are not wedded. Therefore, too, you will know that I have always loved you, first as a brother loves his sister, and now as a man loves a woman."

"Nay, G.o.dwin, I knew it not; indeed, I thought that, as it used to be, your heart was other--where."

"Other--where? What lady--?"

"Nay, no lady; but in your dreams."

"Dreams? Dreams of what?"

"I cannot say. Perchance of things that are not here--things higher than the person of a poor maid."

"Cousin, in part you are right, for it is not only the maid whom I love, but her spirit also. Oh, in truth, you are to me a dream--a symbol of all that is n.o.ble, high and pure. In you and through you, Rosamund, I worship the heaven I hope to share with you."

"A dream? A symbol? Heaven? Are not these glittering garments to hang about a woman's shape? Why, when the truth came out you would find her but a skull in a jewelled mask, and learn to loath her for a deceit that was not her own, but yours. G.o.dwin, such trappings as your imagination pictures could only fit an angel's face."

"They fit a face that will become an angel's."

"An angel's? How know you? I am half an Eastern; the blood runs warm in me at times. I, too, have my thoughts and visions. I think that I love power and imagery and the delights of life--a different life from this. Are you sure, G.o.dwin, that this poor face will be an angel's?"

"I wish I were as sure of other things. At least I'll risk it."

"Think of your soul, G.o.dwin. It might be tarnished. You would not risk that for me, would you?"

He thought. Then answered:

"No; since your soul is a part of mine, and I would not risk yours, Rosamund."

"I like you for that answer," she said. "Yes; more than for all you have said before, because I know that it is true. Indeed, you are an honourable knight, and I am proud--very proud--that you should love me, though perhaps it would have been better otherwise." And ever so little she bent the knee to him.

"Whatever chances, in life or death those words will make me happy, Rosamund."

Suddenly she caught his arm. "Whatever chances? Ah! what is about to chance? Great things, I think, for you and Wulf and me.

Remember, I am half an Eastern, and we children of the East can feel the shadow of the future before it lays its hands upon us and becomes the present. I fear it, G.o.dwin--I tell you that I fear it."

"Fear it not, Rosamund. Why should you fear? On G.o.d's knees lies the scroll of our lives, and of His purposes. The words we see and the words we guess may be terrible, but He who wrote it knows the end of the scroll, and that it is good. Do not fear, therefore, but read on with an untroubled heart, taking no thought for the morrow."

She looked at him wonderingly, and asked,

"Are these the words of a wooer or of a saint in wooer's weeds? I know not, and do you know yourself? But you say you love me and that you would wed me, and I believe it; also that the woman whom G.o.dwin weds will be fortunate, since such men are rare. But I am forbid to answer till to-morrow. Well, then I will answer as I am given grace. So till then be what you were of old, and--the snow has ceased; guide me home, my cousin G.o.dwin."

So home they went through the darkness and the cold, moaning wind, speaking no word, and entered the wide hall, where a great fire built in its centre roared upwards towards an opening in the roof, whence the smoke escaped, looking very pleasant and cheerful after the winter night without.

There, standing in front of the fire, also pleasant and cheerful to behold, although his brow seemed somewhat puckered, was Wulf.

At the sight of him G.o.dwin turned back through the great door, and having, as it were, stood for one moment in the light, vanished again into the darkness, closing the door behind him.

But Rosamund walked on towards the fire.

"You seem cold, cousin," said Wulf, studying her. "G.o.dwin has kept you too long to pray with him in church. Well, it is his custom, from which I myself have suffered. Be seated on this settle and warm yourself."

She obeyed without a word, and opening her fur cloak, stretched out her hands towards the flame, which played upon her dark and lovely face. Wulf looked round him.

The hall was empty. Then he looked at Rosamund.

"I am glad to find this chance of speaking with you alone, Cousin, since I have a question to ask of you; but I must pray of you to give me no answer to it until four-and-twenty hours be pa.s.sed."

"Agreed," she said. "I have given one such promise; let it serve for both; now for your question."

"Ah!" replied Wulf cheerfully; "I am glad that G.o.dwin went first, since it saves me words, at which he is better than I am."

"I do not know that, Wulf; at least, you have more of them,"

answered Rosamund, with a little smile.

"More perhaps, but of a different quality--that is what you mean.

Well, happily here mere words are not in question."

"What, then, are in question, Wulf?"

"Hearts. Your heart and my heart--and, I suppose, G.o.dwin's heart, if he has one--in that way."

"Why should not G.o.dwin have a heart?"