"I only know that I love you, Bertrade; I only know that I love you, and with a love that surpasseth even my own understanding.
"Here is the ring that you gave in token of friendship.Take it.The hand that wore it has done no wrong by the light that has been given it as guide.
"The blood that has pulsed through the finger that it circled came from a heart that beat for Bertrade de Montfort; a heart that shall continue to beat for her alone until a merciful providence sees fit to gather in a wasted and useless life.
"Farewell, Bertrade." Kneeling he raised the hem of her garment to his lips.
A thousand conflicting emotions surged through the heart of this proud daughter of the new conqueror of England.The anger of an outraged confidence, gratitude for the chivalry which twice had saved her honor, hatred for the murderer of a hundred friends and kinsmen, respect and honor for the marvellous courage of the man, loathing and contempt for the base born, the memory of that exalted moment when those handsome lips had clung to hers, pride in the fearlessness of a champion who dared come alone among twenty thousand enemies for the sake of a promise made her; but stronger than all the rest, two stood out before her mind's eye like living things -- the degradation of his low birth, and the memory of the great love she had cherished all these long and dreary months.
And these two fought out their battle in the girl's breast.In those few brief moments of bewilderment and indecision, it seemed to Bertrade de Montfort that ten years passed above her head, and when she reached her final resolution she was no longer a young girl but a grown woman who, with the weight of a mature deliberation, had chosen the path which she would travel to the end -- to the final goal, however sweet or however bitter.
Slowly she turned toward him who knelt with bowed head at her feet, and, taking the hand that held the ring outstretched toward her, raised him to his feet.In silence she replaced the golden band upon his finger, and then she lifted her eyes to his.
"Keep the ring, Norman of Torn," she said."The friendship of Bertrade de Montfort is not lightly given nor lightly taken away," she hesitated, "nor is her love.""What do you mean ?" he whispered.For in her eyes was that wondrous light he had seen there on that other day in the far castle of Leicester.
"I mean," she answered, "that, Roger de Conde or Norman of Torn, gentleman or highwayman, it be all the same to Bertrade de Montfort -- it be thee Ilove; thee !"
Had she reviled him, spat upon him, he would not have been surprised, for he had expected the worst; but that she should love him ! Oh God, had his overwrought nerves turned his poor head ? Was he dreaming this thing, only to awaken to the cold and awful truth !
But these warm arms about his neck, the sweet perfume of the breath that fanned his cheek; these were no dream !
"Think thee what thou art saying, Bertrade ?" he cried."Dost forget that I be a low-born knave, knowing not my own mother and questioning even the identity of my father ? Could a De Montfort face the world with such a man for husband ?""I know what I say, perfectly," she answered."Were thou born out of wedlock, the son of a hostler and a scullery maid, still would I love thee, and honor thee, and cleave to thee.Where thou be, Norman of Torn, there shall be happiness for me.Thy friends shall be my friends; thy joys shall be my joys; thy sorrows, my sorrows; and thy enemies, even mine own father, shall be my enemies.
"Why it is, my Norman, I know not.Only do I know that I didst often question my own self if in truth I did really love Roger de Conde, but thee -- oh Norman, why is it that there be no shred of doubt now, that this heart, this soul, this body be all and always for the Outlaw of Torn ?""I do not know," he said simply and gravely."So wonderful a thing be beyond my poor brain; but I think my heart knows, for in very joy, it is sending the hot blood racing and surging through my being till I were like to be consumed for the very heat of my happiness.""Sh !" she whispered, suddenly, "methinks I hear footsteps.They must not find thee here, Norman of Torn, for the King has only this night wrung a promise from my father to take thee in the morning and hang thee.What shall we do, Norman ? Where shall we meet again ?""We shall not be separated, Bertrade; only so long as it may take thee to gather a few trinkets, and fetch thy riding cloak.Thou ridest north tonight with Norman of Torn, and by the third day, Father Claude shall make us one.""I am glad thee wish it," she replied."I feared that, for some reason, thee might not think it best for me to go with thee now.Wait here, I will be gone but a moment.If the footsteps I hear approach this door," and she indicated the door by which he had entered the little room, "thou canst step through this other doorway into the adjoining apartment, and conceal thyself there until the danger passes."Norman of Torn made a wry face, for he had no stomach for hiding himself away from danger.
"For my sake," she pleaded.So he promised to do as she bid, and she ran swiftly from the room to fetch her belongings.
