He had acted under
an impulse, foolishly, almost unconsciously, being guided by something
he did not attempt to understand.
Two months had passed, and more, since he had seen her, and in his life
of excitement and anxiety her face had disappeared from his dreams.
While he had been away from her, she had not existed for him, save as
the only leader of the three to whom he looked for approbation and
support; the woman had been lost in the person of the sovereign, and
had ceased to torment him by the perpetual opposition of that which all
men coveted to that which he truly loved. But now, at the very first
sight of her face, it seemed as if the Queen were gone again, leaving
only the woman to his sight, and at the instant in which he realized it
he had turned and fled, hardly knowing what he did.
He walked steadily on, more than two miles, and all at once he cast no
shadow, for the sun had gone down, and the pale east before him turned
to a cool purple in the reflection. The air was very chilly, for the
night wind came down suddenly from the mountains as the sea breeze died
away, and the solitary man felt cold; for he had no cloak, and exposure
and fighting had used his blood, while within him there was nothing to
cheer his heart.
It had seemed to him for two years that he was always just about to do
the high deed, to make the great decision of life, to find out his
destiny, and he had done bravely and well all that he had found in his
way. The chance came, he seized it, he did his best, and the cheers of
the soldiers had told him a few hours ago that he was no longer the
obscure English wanderer who had met Geoffrey Plantagenet on the road
to Paris.
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