'My Richard, my Richard Yea-and-Nay,' she said, as if pitying his wild heart.

The nickname jarred.
'Never call me that,' he told her.

'Leave that to Bertran de Born, a fool's word to the fool who made it.' 'If I could, if I could!' thought Jehane, and sighed.

There were tears in her eyes, also, as she remembered what generosity in him must be frozen up, and what glory of her own.

But she did not falter in what she had to do, while he, too exalted to be pitied, began to sing a Southern song-- Al' entrada del tems clair, eya! When their hair commingled in their love, when they were close together, there was little distinguishing between them; he was more her pair than Eustace her blood-brother, in stature and shape, in hue and tincture of gold.