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Ranulph, I want you to know that I am at least no worse than you thought me." The look in his face was one of triumph, mingled with despair, hatred, and purpose hatred of Philip d'Avranche, and purpose concerning him. He gloried now in knowing that Guida might take her place among the honest women of this world, as the world terms honesty, but he had received the death-blow to his every hope.
Carterette Mattingley also came, but another friend who had watched over Guida for years before Philip appeared in the Place du Vier Prison never entered her doorway now. Only once or twice since that day on the Ecrehos, so fateful to them both, had Guida seen Ranulph. He had withdrawn to St.
Handsome and stalwart though he looked as he entered the cottage in the Place du Vier Prison, on that September morning after the rescue of the chevalier, his tool-basket on his shoulder, and his brown face enlivened by one simple sentiment, she was far from sure that he was far from sure. The little hall-way into which Ranulph stepped from the street led through to the kitchen.
When Ranulph returned to his little house at St. Aubin's Bay night had fallen. Approaching he saw there was no light in the windows. The blinds were not drawn, and no glimmer of fire came from the chimney. He hesitated at the door, for he instinctively felt that something must have happened to his father.
"There'll be no need for Guilbert to go from you," he rejoined, "for when your rights come to you, Philip d'Avranche will not be living." "Will not be living!" she said in amazement. She did not understand. "I mean to kill him," he answered sternly. She started, and the light of anger leaped into her eyes. "You mean to kill Philip d'Avranche you, Maitre Ranulph Delagarde!" she exclaimed.
Several things had come at once: his going, on whom should she lavish her good advice and biting candour now? yesterday's business in the Vier Marchi with Olivier Delagarde, and the bitter change in Ranulph. Sorrowful reflections and as sorrowful curiosity devoured her. All day she tortured herself. The late afternoon came, and she could bear it no longer she would visit Guida.
"Whom has he wronged? Myself and my child only his wife and his child. Men have been killed for lesser wrongs, but the right to kill does not belong to you. You speak of killing Philip d'Avranche, and yet you dare to say you are my friend!" In that moment Ranulph learned more than he had ever guessed of life's subtle distinctions and the workings of a woman's mind; and he knew that she was right.
An officer came up and held out a hand to him. "Your shot ended the business," said he. "You're a brave fellow. What is your name?" "Ranulph Delagarde, sir." "Delagarde eh? Then well done, Delagardes! They say your father was the first man killed. We won't forget that, my lad."
Ranulph Granuile earle of Chester, a man of a very noble house, and learned in both the Lawes, deserues of deutie to be here placed by me in the catalogue of woorthy and notable men.
She hastily hung up the child's cap and her own, and as she gathered in the soft, waving hair, Ranulph noticed how the years had only burnished it more deeply and strengthened the beauty of the head. She had made the gesture unconsciously, but catching the look in his eye a sudden thrill of anxiety ran through her.