Edith was clad in the same manner as when she received King Richard, her long, transparent dark veil hanging around her like the shade of a summer night on a beautiful landscape, disguising and rendering obscure the beauties which it could not hide.
She held in her hand a silver lamp, fed with some aromatic spirit, which burned with unusual brightness.
When Edith came within a step of the kneeling and motionless slave, she held the light towards his face, as if to peruse his features more attentively, then turned from him, and placed her lamp so as to throw the shadow of his face in profile upon the curtain which hung beside.
She at length spoke in a voice composed, yet deeply sorrowful, "Is it you?
It is indeed you, brave Knight of the Leopard--gallant Sir Kenneth of Scotland; is it indeed you ?--thus servilely disguised--thus surrounded by a hundred dangers." At hearing the tones of his lady's voice thus unexpectedly addressed to him, and in a tone of compassion approaching to tenderness, a corresponding reply rushed to the knight's lips, and scarce could Richard's commands and his own promised silence prevent his answering that the sight he saw, the sounds he just heard, were sufficient to recompense the slavery of a life, and dangers which threatened that life every hour.

He did recollect himself, however, and a deep and impassioned sigh was his only reply to the high-born Edith's question.
"I see--I know I have guessed right," continued Edith.

"I marked you from your first appearance near the platform on which I stood with the Queen.

I knew, too, your valiant hound.

She is no true lady, and is unworthy of the service of such a knight as thou art, from whom disguises of dress or hue could conceal a faithful servant.