"Guida, Guida," he said, speaking as if she were there before him, "you won't--you won't go to him, and spoil your life, and mine too.

Guida, ma couzaine, you'll stay here, in the land of your birth.

You'll make your home here--here with me, ma chere couzaine.

Ah, but then you shall be my wife in spite of him, in spite of a thousand Philip d'Avranches!" He drew himself up firmly, for a great resolve was made.

His path was clear.