Not a day had passed that Law had not met Catharine Knollys, nor had yet one meeting been such as the girl in her own conscience dared call better than clandestine, even though they met, as now, under her own roof.

Yet, reason as she liked, struggle as she could, Catharine Knollys had not yet been quite able to end this swift voyaging on the flood of fate.

It was so strange, so new, so sweet withal, this coming of her suitor, as from the darkness of some unknown star, so bold, so strong, so confident, and yet so humble! All the old song of the ages thrilled within her soul, and each day its compelling melody had accession.

That this delirious softening of all her senses meant danger, the Lady Catharine could not deny.

Yet could aught of earth be wrong when it spelled such happiness, such sweetness--when the sound of a footfall sent her blood going the faster, when the sight of a tall form, the ring of a vibrant tone, caused her limbs to weaken, her throat to choke?
But ah! whence and why this spell, this sorcery--why this sweetness filling all her being, when, after all, duty and seemliness bade it all to end, as end it must, to-day?
Thus had the Lady Catharine reflected but the hour before John Law came; her knight of dreams--tall, yellow-haired, blue-eyed, bold and tender, and surely speaking truth if truth dwelt beneath the stars.