“William de Collingham!” said she, after a pause, during which she seemed to examine her boots, which were curiously embroidered in circles round the ankles, “I deem that you were in exile or----”
“Or dead, you would have added, madam,” said Collingham, smiling. “However, I am alive and in England, as you perceive, and, let me add, wholly at your service.”
Isabel’s colour went and came so as to make Oliver Icingla look and wonder; but the knight took no notice of her agitation. As if to relieve her from the embarrassment which she appeared to feel, he drew forth the king’s letter, and, with great respect, presented it on bended knee. Isabel took it, tore it open, ran her eye over the contents, and uttered a cry of disappointment.
“Alas! alas!” exclaimed she, looking the picture of distress, “I have been deluding myself with the hope of receiving a far different message. It was but yesterday, as it seems to me, that my lord the king wrote these words:--‘I have now made peace with Philip of France, and I have the means of putting mine enemies under my feet, and making myself both king and lord in England;’” and, as Isabel repeated the words used by the king, she wept, and looked so lovely in tears that both the knight and squire were deeply moved.
“Madam,” said Collingham in a voice expressive of sympathy, “be not cast down by adversity, but take comfort. Fortune is much given to change. To-day she favours the king’s enemies; to-morrow she may declare for the king. But anyhow, royal lady, it is best to meet the future with a brave heart; and, for the present, the king deems it expedient that your safety and the safety of your son should be insured by a removal to Gloucester, which is a strong and loyal city, and to which I have orders to conduct you; so that, tide what may, you may feel that you and the prince are secure against the king’s enemies and your own.”
“Gloucester is a place associated in my mind with no pleasant memories,” said the queen with a sigh; “but it is vain to strive against fate, and I submit. I will be prepared to set out on the morrow, sir knight. Oh, vanity of vanities!” exclaimed she, sighing more deeply; “all is vanity and vexation of spirit.”