But as she waited, and the minutes grew to hours, that flush faded, and the sparkle died gradually from her eyes.

The measure that she had hummed was silenced, and her shapely mouth took on a pout of impatience, which anon grew into a tighter mould, as he continued absent.
A frown drew her brows together, and Mistress Cynthia's thoughts were much as they had been the night before she left Castle Marleigh.

Where was he?
Why came he not?
She took up a book of plays that lay upon the table, and sought to while away the time by reading.

The afternoon faded into dusk, and still he did not come.

Her woman appeared, to ask whether she should call for lights and at that Cynthia became almost violent.
"Where is Sir Crispin ?" she demanded.