The White Lady of Hazelwood, by Emily Sarah Holt. 

________________________________________________________________________Her is another of Emily Holt's books set in the middle ages, this timeat the end of the fourteenth century. We are kept constantly aware ofthis by the quaint words and expressions the players in the drama arealways using. Many of these phrases have dropped out of the language, but sometimes the usage is very illuminating, as we can see how we gotsome modern expression or spelling. 

On the whole in this story life goes on quite evenly, with not too manyof those murders that aspiring members of the noblest families ofEngland used to perpetrate in those days. 

The heroine of the story is the "White Lady", the Countess of Montfort, who had fought bravely to bring her son back to power, but who was thenignored by him for many years until her death. For that reason thestory is very moving. One part of the story I liked very much was whena Mercer, a dealer in rich cloths, is trying to tempt his customers tobuy his wares. The variety of his goods, and the prices of them, makeone realise what a wealthy trade he was engaged in. 

________________________________________________________________________THE WHITE LADY OF HAZELWOOD, BY EMILY SARAH HOLT. 

PREFACE. 

On the crowded canvas of the fourteenth century stands out as one of itsmost prominent figures that of the warrior Countess of Montfort. Noreader of Froissart's Chronicle can forget the siege of Hennebon, andthe valiant part she played in the defence of her son's dominions. Actuated by more personal motives than the peasant maid, she wasnevertheless the Joan of Arc of her day, and of Bretagne. 

What became of her?

After the restoration of her son, we see no more of that brave andtender mother. She drops into oblivion. Her work was done. Those whohave thought again of her at all have accepted without question the onlyextant answer--the poor response of a contemporary romance, according towhich she dwelt in peace, and closed an honoured and cherished life in acastle in the duchy of her loving and grateful son. 

It has been reserved for the present day to find the true reply--to drawback the veil from the "bitter close of all, " and to show that thehardest part of her work began when she laid down her sword, and theending years of her life were the saddest and weariest portion. Neversince the days of Lear has such a tale been told of a parent's sacrificeand of a child's ingratitude. In the royal home of the Duke ofBretagne, there was no room for her but for whose love and care he wouldhave been a homeless fugitive. The discarded mother was imprisoned in aforeign land, and left to die. 

Let us hope that as it is supposed in the story, the lonely, brokenheart turned to a truer love than that of her cherished and cruel son--even to His who says "My mother" of all aged women who seek to do thewill of God, and who will never forsake them that trust in Him. 

CHAPTER ONE. 

AT THE PATTY-MAKER'S SHOP. 

 "Man wishes to be loved--expects to be so: And yet how few live so as to be loved!"

 Rev Horatius Bonar, D. D. 

It was a warm afternoon in the beginning of July--warm everywhere; andparticularly so in the house of Master Robert Altham, the patty-maker, who lived at the corner of Saint Martin's Lane, where it runs down intothe Strand. Shall we look along the Strand? for the time is 1372, fivehundred years ago, and the Strand was then a very different place fromthe street as we know it now. 

In the first place, Trafalgar Square had no being. Below where it wasto be in the far future, stood Charing Cross--the real Eleanor Cross ofCharing, a fine Gothic structure--and four streets converged upon it. That to the north-west parted almost directly into the Hay Market andHedge Lane, genuine country roads, in which both the hay and the hedgehad a real existence. Southwards ran King Street down to Westminster;and northwards stood the large building of the King's Mews, where hisMajesty's hawks were kept. Two hundred years later, bluff King Halwould turn out the hawks to make room for his horses; but as yet theword mews had its proper signification of a place where hawks were mewedor confined. At the corner of the Mews, between it and thepatty-maker's, ran up Saint Martin's Lane; its western boundary beingthe long blank wall of the Mews, and its eastern a few houses, and thenSaint Martin's Church. Along the Strand, eastwards, were statelyprivate houses on the right hand, and shops upon the left. Just belowthe cross, further to the south, was Scotland Yard, the site of theancient Palace of King David of Scotland, and still bearing traces ofits former grandeur; then came the Priory of Saint Mary Rouncival, thetown houses of six Bishops, the superb mansion of the Earl of Arundel, and the house of the Bishops of Exeter, interspersed with smallerdwellings here and there. A long row of these stretched between DurhamPlace and Worcester Place, behind which, with its face to the river, stood the magnificent Palace of the Savoy, the city habitation of Johnof Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, eldest surviving son of the reigning King. The Strand was far narrower than now, and the two churches, instead ofbeing in the middle, broke the monotony of the rows of houses on thenorth side. Let us look more especially at the long row which ranunbroken from the corner of Saint Martin's Lane to the first church, that of "our Lady and the holy Innocents atte Stronde. "

What would first strike the eye was the signboards, gaily painted, andswinging in the summer breeze. Every house had one, for there were nonumbers, and these served the purpose; consequently no two similar onesmust be near each other. People directed letters to Master RobertAltham, "at the Katherine Wheel, by Saint Martin's Church, nigh theKing's Mews, " when they had any to write; but letters, except to peoplein high life or in official positions, were very rare articles, andMaster Altham had not received a full dozen in all the seven-and-twentyyears that he had lived in the Strand and made patties. Next door tohim was John Arnold, the bookbinder, who displayed a Saracen's head uponhis signboard; then came in regular order Julian Walton, the mercer, with a wheelbarrow; Stephen Fronsard, the girdler, with a cardinal'shat; John Silverton, the pelter or furrier, with a star; Peter Swan, theCourt broiderer, with cross-keys; John Morstowe, the luminer, orilluminator of books, with a rose; Lionel de Ferre, the French baker, with a vine; Herman Goldsmith, the Court goldsmith, who bore a dolphin;William Alberton, the forcermonger, who kept what we should call a fancyshop for little boxes, baskets, etcetera, and exhibited a_fleur-de-lis_; Michael Ladychapman, who sported a unicorn, and soldgoloshes; Joel Garlickmonger, at the White Horse, who dealt in thefragrant vegetable whence he derived his name; and Theobald atte Home, the hatter, who being of a poetical disposition, displayed a landscapeentitled, as was well understood, the Hart's Bourne. Beyond thesestretched far away to the east other shops--those of a mealman, alapidary, a cordwainer--namely, a shoemaker; a lindraper, for they hadnot yet added the syllable which makes it linen; a lorimer, who dealt inbits and bridles; a pouchmonger, who sold bags and pockets; aparchment-maker; a treaclemonger, a spicer, a chandler, and a pepperer, all four the representatives of our modern grocer; an apothecary; ascrivener, who wrote for the numerous persons who could not write; afuller, who cleaned clothes; a tapiser, who sold tapestry, universallyused for hangings of rooms; a barber, an armourer, a spurrier, ascourer, a dyer, a glover, a turner, a goldbeater, an upholdester orupholsterer, a toothdrawer, a buckler-maker, a fletcher (who featheredarrows), a poulter or poulterer, a vinter or wine-merchant, a pewterer, a haberdasher, a pinner or pin-maker, a skinner, a hamper-maker, and ahosier. The list might be prolonged through fifty other trades, but wehave reached Temple Bar. So few houses between Saint Martin's Lane andTemple Bar! Yes, so few. Ground was cheap, and houses were low, and itcost less to cover much ground than to build high. Only very exaltedmansions had three floors, and more than three were unknown even toimagination. Moreover, the citizens of London had decided ideas of thegarden order. They did not crush their houses tight together, as if tosqueeze out another inch, if possible. Though their streets wereexceedingly narrow, yet nearly every house had its little garden; andbehind that row to which we are paying particular attention, ran "leCovent Garden, " the Abbot of Westminster's private pleasure ground, andon its south-east was Auntrous' Garden, bordered by "the King's highway, leading from the town of Seint Gylys to Stronde Crosse. " The town ofSeint Gylys was quite a country place, and as to such remote villages asBlumond's Bury or Iseldon, which we call Bloomsbury and Islington, nobody thought of them in connection with London, any more than withNottingham or Durham. 

The houses were much more picturesque than those of modern build. Therewas no attempt at uniformity. Each man set his house down as it suitedhim, and some thatches turned to the east and west, while others frontednorth and south. There were few chimneys, except in the larger houses, and no shop windows; a large wooden shutter fixed below the windowcovered it at night, and in the day it was let down to hang, tablewise, as a counter whereon the goods sold by the owner were displayed. 

The Strand was one of the few chief streets where various tradescongregated together. Usually every street had its special calling, andevery trade its own particular street. Some of the latter retain theirsignificant names even yet--Hosier Lane, Cordwainer Street, BreadStreet, Soper's Lane, the Poultry, Silver Street, Ironmonger's Lane, andPaternoster Row, in which last lived the text-writers and rosary-makers. The mercers lived mainly in Cheapside, the drapers in Lombard Street(they were mostly Italians, as the name shows), the furriers in SaintMary Axe, the fishmongers in Knightriders' Street, the brewers by theThames, the butchers in Eastcheap, and the goldsmiths in Guthrum's (nowGutter) Lane. 

But it is time to inquire what kind of patties were inviting thepasser-by on Mr Altham's counter. They were a very large variety:oyster, crab, lobster, anchovy, and all kinds of fish; sausage-rolls, jelly, liver, galantine, and every sort of meat; ginger, honey, cream, fruit; cheese-cakes, almond and lemon; little open tarts called brytarts, made of literal cheese, with a multitude of other articles--eggs, honey or sugar, and spices; and many another compound of multifariousand indigestible edibles; for what number of incongruities, palatable orsanitary, did our forefathers _not_ put together in a pie! For onedescription of dainty, however, Mr Altham would have been asked on thisJuly afternoon in vain. He would have deemed it next door to sacrilegeto heat his oven for a mince pie, outside the charmed period betweenChristmas Eve and Twelfth Day. 

On the afternoon in question, Mr Altham stepped out of his door tospeak with his neighbour the girdler, and no sooner was he well out ofthe way than another person walked into it. This was a youth of someeighteen years, dressed in a very curious costume. Men did not affectblack clothes then, except in mourning; and the taste of few led them tothe sombre browns and decorous greys worn by most now. This younggentleman had on a tunic of dark red, in shape not unlike a butcher'sblue frock, which was fastened round the hips by a girdle of blackleather, studded with brass spangles. His head was covered by a loosehood of bright blue, and his hose or stockings--for stockings andtrousers were in one--were a light, bright shade of apple-green. Lowblack shoes completed this showy costume, but it was not more showy thanthat of every other man passing along the street. Our young man seemedrather anxious not to be seen, for he cast sundry suspicious glances inthe direction of the girdler's, and having at length apparentlysatisfied himself that the patty-maker was not likely to return at once, he darted across the street, and presented himself at the window of thecorner shop. Two girls were sitting behind it, whose ages were twentyand seventeen. These young ladies were scarcely so smart as thegentleman. The elder wore a grey dress striped with black, over whichwas a crimson kirtle or pelisse, with wide sleeves and tight grey onesunder them; a little green cap sat on her light hair, which was braidedin two thick masses, one on each side of the face. The younger wore adress of the same light green as the youth's hose, with a silverygirdle, and a blue cap. 

"Mistress Alexandra!" said the youth in a loud whisper. 

The elder girl took no notice of him. The younger answered as if shehad just discovered his existence, though in truth she had seen himcoming all the time. 

"O Clement Winkfield, is that you? We've no raffyolys [Sausage-rolls]left, if that be your lack. "

"I thank you, Mistress Ricarda; but I lack nought o' the sort. MistressAlexandra knoweth full well that I come but to beg a kind word fromher. "

"I've none to spare this even, " said the elder, with a toss of her head. 

"But you will, sweet heart, when you hear my tidings. "

"What now? Has your mother bought a new kerchief, or the cat catched amouse?"

"Nay, sweet heart, mock me not! Here be grand doings, whereof my Lordtalked this morrow at dinner, I being awaiting. What say you to agoodly tournament at the Palace of the Savoy?"

"I dare reckon you fell asleep and dreamed thereof. "

"Mistress Alexandra, you'd make a saint for to swear! Howbeit, if youreck not thereof, --I had meant for to practise with my cousin at ArundelHouse, for to get you standing room with the maids yonder; but seeingyou have no mind thereto--I dare warrant Mistress Joan Silverton shallnot say me nay, and may be Mistress Argenta--"

"Come within, Clement, and eat a flaune, " said Ricarda in a verydifferent tone, taking up a dish of cheese-cakes from the counter. "When shall the jousting be?"

"Oh, it makes no bones, Mistress Ricarda. Your sister hath no mindthereto, 'tis plain. "

However, Clement suffered himself to be persuaded to do what he liked, and Ricarda going close to her sister to fetch a plate, whispered to hera few words of warning as to what she might lose by too much coldness, whereupon the fair Alexandra thawed somewhat, and condescended to seemslightly interested in the coming event. Ricarda, however, continued todo most of the talking. 

Clement Winkfield was scullion in the Bishop of Durham's kitchen, andwould have been considered in that day rather a good match for atradesman's daughter; for anything in the form of manufacture or barterwas then in a very mean social position. Domestic service stood muchhigher than it does now; and though Mr Altham's daughters wereheiresses in a small way, they could not afford to despise ClementWinkfield, except as a political stratagem. 

"And what like shall the jousting be, Clement?" asked Ricarda, when thatyoung gentleman had been satisfactorily settled on a form inside theshop, with a substantial cheese-cake before him--not a mere mouthful, but a large oval tart from which two or three people might be helped. 

"It shall be the richest and rarest show was seen this many a day, mymistress, " replied Clement, having disposed of his first bite. "In goodsooth, Mistress, but you wot how to make flaunes! My Lord hath nonesuch on his table. "

"That was Saundrina's making, " observed Ricarda with apparentcarelessness. 

"Dear heart! That's wherefore it's so sweet, trow, " responded Clementgallantly. 

Alexandra laughed languidly. "Come now, Clem, tell us all about thejousting, like a good lad as thou art, and win us good places to see thesame, and I will make thee a chowet-pie [liver-pie] of the best, " saidshe, laying aside her affected indifference. 

"By my troth, I'll talk till my tongue droppeth on the floor, " answeredthe delighted Clement; "and I have heard all of Will Pierpoint, that isin my Lord of Arundel his stable, and is thick as incle-weaving with oneof my Lord of Lancaster his palfreymen. The knights be each one in adoublet of white linen, spangled of silver, having around the sleevesand down the face thereof a border of green cloth, whereon is broideredthe device chosen, wrought about with clouds and vines of golden work. The ladies and damsels be likewise in green and white. For the knights, moreover, there be masking visors, fourteen of peacocks' heads, andfourteen of maidens' heads, the one sort to tilt against the other. MyLord Duke of Lancaster, that is lord of the revels, beareth a costume ofwhite velvet paled with cramoisie [striped with crimson velvet], whereonbe wrought garters of blue, and the Lady of Cambridge, that is lady ofthe jousts, and shall give the prizes, shall be in Inde-colour [blue], all wrought with roses of silver. There be at this present forty womenbroiderers a-working in the Palace, in such haste they be paid mightyhigh wage--fourpence halfpenny each one by the day. "

In order to understand the value of these payments, we must multiplythem by about sixteen. The wages of a broideress, according to thepresent worth of money, were, when high, six shillings a day. 

"And the device, what is it?"

"Well, I counsel not any man to gainsay it. `It is as it is'--there youhave it. "

"Truly, a merry saying. And when shall it be, Clem?"

Mistress Alexandra was quite gracious now. 

"Thursday shall be a fortnight, being Saint Maudlin's Day, at ten o' theclock in the forenoon. Will hath passed word to me to get me in, andtwo other with me. You'll come, my mistresses? There'll not be roomfor Mistress Amphillis; I'm sorry. "

Alexandra tossed her head very contemptuously. 

"What does Amphillis want of jousts?" said she. "She's fit for noughtsave to sift flour and cleanse vessels when we have a-done with them. And she hasn't a decent kirtle, never name a hood. I wouldn't be seenin her company for forty shillings. "

"Saundrina's been at Father to put her forth, " added Ricarda, "if hecould but hear of some service in the country, where little plenishingwere asked. There's no good laying no money out on the like of her. "

A soft little sound at the door made them look round. A girl wasstanding there, of about Clement's age--a pale, quiet-looking girl, whoseemed nervously afraid of making her presence known, apparently lestshe should be blamed for being there or anywhere. Alexandra spokesharply. 

"Come within and shut the door, Amphillis, and stare not thus like agoose! What wouldst?"

Amphillis neither came in nor shut the door. She held it in her hand, while she said in a shy way, "The patties are ready to come forth, ifone of you will come, " and then she disappeared, as if frightened ofstaying a minute longer than she could help. 

"`Ready to come forth!'" echoed Ricarda. "Cannot the stupid thing takethem forth by herself?"

"I bade her not do so, " explained her sister, "but call one of us--sheis so unhandy. Go thou, Ricarda, or she'll be setting every one wrongside up. "

Ricarda, with a martyr-like expression--which usually means anexpression very unlike a martyr's--rose and followed Amphillis. Alexandra, thus left alone with Clement, became so extra amiable as toset that not over-wise youth on a pinnacle of ecstasy, until she heardher father's step, when she dismissed him hastily. 

She did not need to have been in a hurry, for the patty-maker wasstopped before he reached the threshold, by a rather pompous individualin white and blue livery. Liveries were then worn far more commonlythan now--not by servants only, but by officials of all kinds, and bygentlemen retainers of the nobles--sometimes even by nobles themselves. To wear a friend's livery was one of the highest compliments that couldbe paid. Mr Altham knew by a glance at his costume that the man whohad stopped him bore some office in the household of the Duke ofLancaster, since he not only wore that Prince's livery, but bore hisbadge, the ostrich feather ermine, affixed to his left sleeve. 

"Master Altham the patty-maker, I take it?"

"He, good my master, and your servant. "

"A certain lady would fain wit of you, Master, if you have at thispresent dwelling with you a daughter named Amphillis?"

"I have no daughter of that name. I have two daughters, whose names beAlexandra and Ricarda, that dwell with me; likewise one wedded, namedIsabel. I have a niece named Amphillis. "

"That dwelleth with you?"

"Ay, she doth at this present, sithence my sister, her mother, isdeparted [dead]; but--"

"You have had some thought of putting her forth, maybe?"

Mr Altham looked doubtful. 

"Well! we have talked thereof, I and my maids; but no certain end wascome to thereabout. "

"That is it which the lady has heard. Mistress Walton the silkwoman, atthe Wheelbarrow, spake with this lady, saying such a maid there was, forwhom you sought service; and the lady wotteth [knows] of a gentlewomanwith whom she might be placed an' she should serve, and the servicesuited your desires for her. "

"Pray you, come within, and let us talk thereon at our leisure. I ambeholden to Mistress Walton; she knew I had some thoughts thereanent[about it], and she hath done me a good turn to name it. "

The varlet, as he was then called, followed Mr Altham into the shop. Aralet is a contraction of this word. But varlet, at that date, was aterm of wide signification, including any type of personal attendant. The varlet of a duke would be a gentleman by birth and education, forgentlemen were not above serving nobles even in very menial positions. People had then, in some respects, "less nonsense about them" than now, and could not see that it was any degradation for one man to hand aplate to another. 

Alexandra rose when the varlet made his appearance. She did not keep aheart, and she did keep a large stock of vanity. She was consequentlyquite ready to throw over Clement Winkfield as soon as ever a moreeligible suitor should present himself; and her idea of mankind rangedthem in two classes--such as were, and such as were not, eligiblesuitors for Alexandra Altham. 

Mr Altham, however, led his guest straight through the shop andupstairs, thus cutting short Miss Altham's wiles and graces. He tookhim into what we should call his study, a very little room close to hisbedchamber, and motioned him to the only chair it contained; for chairswere rare and choice things, the form or bench being the usual piece offurniture. Before shutting the door, however, he called--"Phyllis!"

Somebody unseen to the varlet answered the call, and received directionsin a low voice. Mr Altham then came in and shut the door. 

"I have bidden the maid bring us hypocras and spice, " said he; "so youshall have a look at her. "

Hypocras was a very light wine, served as tea now is in the afternoon, and spice was a word which covered all manner of good things--not onlypepper, sugar, cinnamon, and nutmegs, but rice, almonds, ginger, andeven gingerbread. 

Mr Tynneslowe--for so the varlet was named--sat down in the chair, andawaited the tray and Amphillis. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

_The Goldsmith's Daughter_. 

 "I can live A life that tells on other lives, and makes This world less full of evil and of pain-- A life which, like a pebble dropped at sea, Sends its wide circles to a hundred shores. "

 Rev Horatius Bonar, D. D. 

The coming hypocras interested Mr Tynneslowe more than its bearer. Hewas privately wondering, as he sat awaiting it, whether Mr Altham wouldhave any in his cellar that was worth drinking, especially after that ofhis royal master. His next remark, however, had reference to Amphillis. 

"It makes little matter, good Master, that I see the maid, " said he. "The lady or her waiting-damsels shall judge best of her. You and I cantalk over the money matters and such. I am ill-set to judge of maids:they be kittle gear. "

"Forsooth, they be so!" assented Mr Altham, with a sigh: for his fairand wayward Alexandra had cost him no little care before that summerafternoon. "And to speak truth, Master Tynneslowe, I would not be sorryto put the maid forth, for she is somewhat a speckled bird in minehouse, whereat the rest do peck. Come within!"

The door of the little chamber opened, and Amphillis appeared carrying atray, whereon was set a leather bottle flanked by two silver cups, asilver plate containing cakes, and a little silver-gilt jar withpreserved ginger. Glass and china were much too rare and costlyarticles for a tradesman to use, but he who had not at least two orthree cups and plates of silver in his closet was a very poor man. Ofcourse these, by people in Mr Altham's position, were kept for best, the articles commonly used being pewter or wooden plates, and horn cups. 

Amphillis louted to the visitor--that is, she dropped what we call acharity school-girl's "bob"--and the visitor rose and courtesied inreply, for the courtesy was then a gentleman's reverence. She set downthe tray, poured out wine for her uncle and his guest into the silvercups, handed the cakes and ginger, and then quietly took her departure. 

"A sober maid and a seemly, in good sooth, " said Mr Tynneslowe, whenthe door was shut. "Hath she her health reasonable good? She looks butwhite. "

"Ay, good enough, " said the patty-maker, who knew that Amphillis wassufficiently teased and worried by those lively young ladies, hercousins, to make any girl look pale. 

"Good. Well, what wages should content you?"

Mr Altham considered that question with pursed lips and hands in hispockets. 

"Should you count a mark [13 shillings 4 pence] by the year too much?"

This would come to little over ten pounds a year at present value, andseems a very poor salary for a young lady; but it must be rememberedthat she was provided with clothing, as well as food and lodging, andthat she was altogether free from many expenses which we should reckonnecessaries--umbrellas and parasols, watches, desks, stamps, andstationery. 

"Scarce enough, rather, " was the unexpected answer. "Mind you, MasterAltham, I said a _lady_. "

Master Altham looked curious and interested. We call every woman a ladywho has either money or education; but in 1372 ranks were more sharplydefined. Only the wives and daughters of a prince, peer, or knight weretermed ladies; the wives of squires and gentlemen were gentlewomen;while below that they were simply called wives or maids, according asthey were married or single. 

"This lady, then, shall be--Mercy on us! sure, Master Tynneslowe, you gonot about to have the maid into the household of my Lady's Grace ofCambridge, or the Queen's Grace herself of Castile?"

The Duke of Lancaster having married the heiress of Castile, he and hiswife were commonly styled King and Queen of Castile. 

Mr Tynneslowe laughed. "Nay, there you fly your hawk at somewhat toohigh game, " said he; "nathless [nevertheless], Master Altham, it is alady whom she shall serve, and a lady likewise who shall judge if she bemeet for the place. But first shall she be seen of a certaingentlewoman of my lady's household, that shall say whether she promisefair enough to have her name sent up for judgment. I reckon threenobles [one pound; present value, 6 pounds] by the year shall pay herreckoning. "

"Truly, I would be glad she had so good place. And for plenishing, whatmust she have?"

"Store sufficient of raiment is all she need have, and such jewelling asit shall please you to bestow on her. All else shall be found. Thegentlewoman shall give her note of all that lacketh, if she be preferredto the place. "

"And when shall she wait on the said gentlewoman?"

"Next Thursday in the even, at Master Goldsmith's. "

"I will send her. "

Mr Tynneslowe declined a second helping of hypocras, and took hisleave. The patty-maker saw him to the door, and then went back into hisshop. 

"I have news for you, maids, " said he. 

Ricarda, who was arranging the fresh patties, looked up and stopped herproceedings; Alexandra brought her head in from the window. Amphillisonly, who sat sewing in the corner, went on with her work as if the newswere not likely to concern her. 

"Phyllis, how shouldst thou like to go forth to serve a lady?"

A bright colour flushed into the pale cheeks. 

"I, Uncle?" she said. 

"A lady!" cried Alexandra in a much shriller voice, the word which hadstruck her father's ear so lightly being at once noted by her. "Saidyou a _lady_, Father? What lady, I pray you?"

"That cannot I say, daughter. Phyllis, thou art to wait on a certaingentlewoman, at Master Goldsmith's, as next Thursday in the even, thatshall judge if thou shouldst be meet for the place. Don thee in thybest raiment, and mind thy manners. "

"May I go withal, Father?" cried Alexandra. 

"There was nought said about thee. Wouldst thou fain be put forth? Inever thought of no such a thing. Maybe it had been better that I hadspoken for you, my maids. "

"I would not go forth to serve a city wife, or such mean gear, " saidAlexandra, contemptuously. "But in a lady's household I am well assuredI should become the place better than Phyllis. Why, she has not a wordto say for herself, --a poor weak creature that should never--"

"Hush, daughter! Taunt not thy cousin. If she be a good maid anddiscreet, she shall be better than fair and foolish. "

"Gramercy! cannot a maid be fair and discreet belike?"

"Soothly so. 'Tis pity she is not oftener. "

"But may we not go withal, Father?" said Ricarda. 

"Belike ye may, my maid. Bear in mind the gentlewoman looks to seeAmphillis, not you, and make sure that she wist which is she. Then Isee not wherefore ye may not go. "

Any one who had lived in Mr Altham's house from that day till theThursday following would certainly have thought that Alexandra, notAmphillis, was the girl chosen to go. The former made far more fussabout it, and she was at the same time preparing a new mantle wherein toattend the tournament, of which Amphillis was summoned to do all theplain and uninteresting parts. The result of this preoccupation wouldhave been very stale pastry on the counter, if her father had not seento that item for himself. Ricarda was less excited and egotistical, yetshe talked more than Amphillis. 

The Thursday evening came, and the three girls, dressed in their bestclothes, took their way to the Dolphin. The Court goldsmith was a moreselect individual than Mr Altham, and did not serve in his own shop, unless summoned to a customer of rank. The young men who were there hadevidently been prepared for the girls' coming, and showed them upstairswith a fire of jokes which Alexandra answered smartly, while Amphilliswas silent under them. 

They were ushered into the private chamber of the goldsmith's daughter, who sat at work, and rose to receive them. She kissed them all, forkissing was then the ordinary form of greeting, and people only shookhands when they wished to be warmly demonstrative. 

"Is the gentlewoman here, Mistress Regina?"

"Sit you down, " said Mistress Regina, calmly. "No, she is not yet come. She will not long be. Which of you three is de maiden dat go shall?"

"That my cousin is, " said Alexandra, making fun of the German girl'ssomewhat broken English, though in truth she spoke it fairly for aforeigner. But Amphillis said gently--

"That am I, Mistress Regina; and I take it full kindly of you, that youshould suffer me to meet this gentlewoman in your chamber. "

"So!" was the answer. "You shall better serve of de three. "

Alexandra had no time to deliver the rather pert reply which she waspreparing, for the door opened, and the young man announced "MistressChaucer. "

Had the girls known that the lady who entered was the wife of a manbefore whose fame that of many a crowned monarch would pale, and whosepoetry should live upon men's lips when five hundred years had fled, they would probably have looked on her with very different eyes. Butthey knew her only as a Lady of the Bedchamber, first to the deceasedQueen Philippa, and now to the Queen of Castile, and therefore deservingof all possible subservience. Of her husband they never thought at all. The "chiel amang 'em takin' notes" made no impression on them: but fivecenturies have passed since then, and the chiel's notes are sterling yetin England. 

Mistress Chaucer sat down on the bench, and with quiet but rapid glancesappraised the three girls. Then she said to Amphillis--

"Is it thou whom I came to see?"

Amphillis louted, and modestly assented, after which the lady took nofurther notice of the two who were the more anxious to attract herattention. 

"And what canst thou do?" she said. 

"What I am told, Mistress, " said Amphillis. 

"_Ach_!" murmured Regina; "you den can much do. "

"Ay, thou canst do much, " quietly repeated Mistress Chaucer. "Canstdress hair?"

Amphillis thought she could. She might well, for her cousins made hertheir maid, and were not easily pleased mistresses. 

"Thou canst cook, I cast no doubt, being bred at a patty-shop?"

"Mistress, I have only dwelt there these six months past. My father wasa poor gentleman that died when I was but a babe, and was held to demeanhimself by wedlock with my mother, that was sister unto mine uncle, Master Altham. Mine uncle was so kindly as to take on him the charge ofbreeding me up after my father died, and he set my mother and me in alittle farm that 'longeth to him in the country: and at after shedeparted likewise, he took me into his house. I know somewhat ofcookery, an' it like you, but not to even my good cousins here. "

"Oh, Phyllis is a metely fair cook, when she will give her mindthereto, " said Alexandra with a patronising air, and a little toss ofher head--a gesture to which that young lady was much addicted. 

A very slight look of amusement passed across Mistress Chaucer's face, but she did not reply to the remark. 

"And thy name?" she asked, still addressing Amphillis. 

"Amphillis Neville, and your servant, Mistress. "

"Canst hold thy peace when required so to do?" Amphillis smiled. "Iwould endeavour myself so to do. "

"Canst be patient when provoked of other?"

"With God's grace, Mistress, I so trust. " Alexandra's face wore anexpression of dismay. It had never occurred to her that silence andpatience were qualities required in a bower-maiden, as the maid orcompanion to a lady was then called; for the maid was the companionthen, and was usually much better educated than now--as education wasunderstood at that time. In Alexandra's eyes the position was simplyone which gave unbounded facilities for flirting, laughing, andgiddiness in general. She began to think that Amphillis was less to beenvied than she had supposed. 

"And thou wouldst endeavour thyself to be meek and buxom [humble andsubmissive] in all things to them that should be set over thee?"

"I would so, my mistress. "

"What fashions of needlework canst do?"

"Mistress, I can sew, and work tapestry, and embroider somewhat if thepattern be not too busy [elaborate, difficult]. I would be glad tolearn the same more perfectly. "

Mistress Chaucer rose. "I think thou wilt serve, " said she. "But I canbut report the same--the deciding lieth not with me. Mistress Regina, Ipray you to allow of another to speak with this maid in your chamberto-morrow in the even, and this time it shall be the lady that must makechoice. Not she that shall be thy mistress, my maid; she dwelleth nothereaway, but far hence. "

Amphillis cared very little where her future duties were to lie. Shewas grateful to her uncle, but she could hardly be said to love him; andher cousins had behaved to her in such a style, that the sensationcalled forth towards them was a long way from love. She felt alone inthe world; and it did not much signify in what part of that lonely placeshe was set down to work. The only point about which she cared at allwas, that she was rather glad to hear she was not to stay in London;for, like old Earl Douglas, she "would rather hear the lark sing thanthe mouse cheep. "

The girls louted to Mistress Chaucer, kissed Regina, and went down intothe shop, which they found filled with customers, and Master Hermanhimself waiting on them, they being of sufficient consequence for thenotice of that distinguished gentleman. On the table set in the midstof the shop--which, like most tables at that day, was merely a couple ofboards laid across trestles--was spread a blue cloth, whereon restedvarious glittering articles--a silver basin, a silver-gilt bottle, a cupof gold, and another of a fine shell set in gold, a set of silverapostle spoons, so-called because the handle of each represented one ofthe apostles, and another spoon of beryl ornamented with gold; but noneof them seemed to suit the customers, who were looking for a suitablechristening gift. 

"_Ach_! dey vill not do!" ejaculated Master Herman, spreading out hisfat fingers and beringed thumbs. "Then belike we must de jewels try. It is a young lady, de shild? _Gut_! den look you here. Here is debotoner of perry [button-hook of goldsmith's work], and de bottons--twelf--wrought wid garters, wid lilies, wid bears, wid leetle bells, orwid a reason [motto]--you can haf what reason you like. Look you hereagain, Madam--de ouches [brooches]--an eagle of gold and enamel, SaintGeorge and de dragon, de white hart, de triangle of diamonds; look youagain, de paternosters [rosaries], dey are _lieblich_! gold and coral, gold and pearls, gold and rubies; de rings, sapphire and ruby anddiamond and smaragdus [emerald]--_ach_! I have it. Look you here!"

And from an iron chest, locked with several keys, Master Herman producedsomething wrapped carefully in white satin, and took off the cover as ifhe were handling a baby. 

"Dere!" he cried, holding up a golden chaplet, or wreath for the head, of ruby flowers and leaves wrought in gold, a large pearl at the base ofevery leaf--"dere! You shall not see a better sight in all decity--_ach_! not in Nuremburg nor Coln. Dat is what you want--it is_schon, schon_! and dirt sheap it is--only von hundert marks. You takeit?"

The lady seemed inclined to take it, but the gentleman demurred at thehundred marks--66 pounds, 13 shillings and 4 pence, which, reduced tomodern value, would be nearly eleven hundred pounds; and the girls, whohad lingered as long as they reasonably could in their passage throughthe attractive shop, were obliged to pass out while the bargain wasstill unconcluded. 

"I'd have had that chaplet for myself, if I'd been that lady!" saidAlexandra as they went forward. "I'd never have cast that away for achristening gift. "

"Nay, but her lord would not find the money, " answered Ricarda. 

"I'd have had it, some way, " said her sister. "It was fair enough for aqueen. Amphillis, I do marvel who is the lady thou shalt serve. There's ever so much ado ere the matter be settled. 'Tis one granderthan Mistress Chaucer, trow, thou shalt see to-morrow even. "

"Ay, so it seems, " was the quiet answer. 

"Nathless, I would not change with thee. I've no such fancy for silenceand patience. Good lack! but if a maid can work, and dress hair, andthe like, what would they of such weary gear as that?"

"Maids be not of much worth without they be discreet, " said Amphillis. 

"Well, be as discreet as thou wilt; I'll none of it, " was the flippantreply of her cousin. 

The young ladies, however, did not neglect to accompany Amphillis on hersubsequent visit. Regina met them at the door. 

"She is great lady, dis one, I am sure, " said she. "Pray you, mind yourrespects. "

The great lady carried on her conversation in French, which in 1372 wasthe usual language of the English nobles. Its use was a survival fromthe Norman Conquest, but the Norman-French was very far from pure, beingderided by the real French, and not seldom by Englishmen themselves. Chaucer says of his prioress:--

 "And French she spake full fair and fetously [cleverly], After the scole of Stratford-atte-Bow, For French of Paris was to hire [her] unknow. "

This lady, the girls noticed, spoke the French of Paris, and was ratherless intelligible in consequence. She put her queries in a short, quickstyle, which a little disconcerted Amphillis; and she had a weary, irritated manner. At last she said shortly--

"Very well! Consider yourself engaged. You must set out from London onLammas Day [August 1st], and Mistress Regina here, who is accustomed tosuch matters, will tell you what you need take. A varlet will come tofetch you; take care you are ready. Be discreet, and do not get intoany foolish entanglements of any sort. "

Amphillis asked only one question--Would the lady be pleased to tell herthe name and address of her future mistress?

"Your mistress lives in Derbyshire. You will hear her name on the way. "

And with a patronising nod to the girls, and another to Regina, the ladyleft the room. 

"Lammas Day!" cried Alexandra, almost before the door was closed. "Gramercy, but we can never be a-ready!"

"_Ach! ja_, but you will if you hard work, " said Regina. 

"And the jousting!" said Ricarda. 

"What for the jousting?" asked Regina. "You are not knights, dat youjoust?"

"We should have seen it, though: a friend had passed his word to takeus, that wist how to get us in. "

"We'll go yet, never fear!" said her sister. "Phyllis must workdouble. "

"Den she will lose de sight, " objected Regina. 

"Oh, _she_ won't go!" said Alexandra, contemptuously. "Much she knowsabout tilting!"

"What! you go, and not your cousin? I marvel if you about it know moredan she. And to see a pretty sight asks not much knowing. "

"I'm not going to slave myself, I can tell you!" replied Alexandra. "Phyllis must work. What else is she good for?"

Regina left the question unanswered. "Well, you leave Phyllis wid me; Ihave something to say to her--to tell her what she shall take, and howshe must order herself. Den she come home and work her share--no more. "

The sisters saw that she meant it, and they obeyed, having no desire tomake an enemy of the wealthy goldsmith's daughter. 

CHAPTER THREE. 

WHO CAN SHE BE?

 "O thou child of many prayers! Life hath quicksands--life hath snares. "

 Longfellow. 

"Now, sit you down on de bench, " said Regina, kindly. "Poor maid! youtremble, you are white. _Ach_! when folks shall do as dey should, deyshall not do as dey do no more. Now we shall have von pleasant talkingtogeder, you and I. You know de duties of de bower-woman? or I tell demyou?"

"Would you tell me, an' it please you?" answered Amphillis, modestly. "I do not know much, I dare say. "

"_Gut_! Now, listen. In de morning, you are ready before your ladycalls; you keep not her awaiting. Maybe you sleep in de truckle-bed inher chamber; if so, you dress more quieter as mouse, you wake not herup. She wakes, she calls--you hand her garments, you dress her hair. If she be wedded lady, you not to her chamber go ere her lord be away. Mind you be neat in your dress, and lace you well, and keep your hairtidy, wash your face, and your hands and feet, and cut short your nails. Every morning you shall your teeth clean. Take care, take much carewhat you do. You walk gravely, modestly; you talk low, quiet; you carryyou sad [Note 1] and becomingly. Mix water plenty with your wine atdinner: you take not much wine, dat should shocking be! You carve dedishes, but you press not nobody to eat--dat is not good manners. Youwash hands after your lady, and you look see there be two seats betwixther and you--no nearer you go [Note 2]. You be quiet, quiet! sad, soberalways--no chatter fast, no scamper, no loud laugh. You see?"

"I see, and I thank you, " said Amphillis. "I hope I am not a giglot. "

"You are not--no, no! Dere be dat are. Not you. Only mind you not sobecome. Young maids can be too careful never, never! You lose yourgood name in one hour, but in one year you win it not back. "

And Regina's plump round face went very sad, as if she remembered somesuch instance of one who was dear to her. 

"_Ach so_!--Well! den if your lady have daughters young, she may dem setin your care. You shall den have good care dey learn courtesy [Note 3], and gaze not too much from de window, and keep very quiet in de bower[Note 4]. And mind you keep dem--and yourself too--from de mans. Mansis bad!"

Amphillis was able to say, with a clear conscience, that she had nohankering after the society of those perilous creatures. 

"See you, " resumed Regina, with some warmth, "dere is one good man inone hundert mans. No more! De man you see, shall he be de hundert man, or one von de nine and ninety? What you tink?"

"I think he were more like to be of the ninety and nine, " said Amphilliswith a little laugh. "But how for the women, Mistress Regina? Be theyall good?"

Regina shook her head in a very solemn manner. 

"Dere is bad mans, " answered she, "and dey is bad: and dere is badwomans, and dey is badder; and dere is bad angels, and dey is baddest ofall. Look you, you make de sharpest vinegar von de sweetest wine. Amphillis, you are good maid, I tink; keep you good! And dat will say, keep you to yourself, and run not after no mans, nor no womans neider. You keep your lady's counsel true and well, but you keep no secrets fromher. When any say to you, `Amphillis, you tell not your lady, ' you sayto yourself, `I want noting to do wid you; I keep to myself, and I haveno secrets from my lady. ' Dat is _gut_!"

"Mistress Regina, wot you who is the lady I am to serve?"

"I know noting, no more dan you--no, not de name of de lady you disevening saw. She came from de Savoy--so much know I, no more. "

Amphillis knew that goldsmiths were very often the bankers of theircustomers, and that their houses were a frequent rendezvous for businessinterviews. It was, therefore, not strange at all that Regina shouldnot be further in the confidence of the lady in question. 

"Now you shall not tarry no later, " said Regina, kissing her. "Youserve well your lady, you pray to God, and you keep from de mans. Good-night!"

"Your pardon granted, Mistress Regina, but you have not yet told me whatI need carry withal. "

"_Ach so_! My head gather de wool, as you here say. Why, you take withyou raiment enough to begin--dat is all. Your lady find you gownsafter, and a saddle to ride, and all dat you need. Only de raiment tobegin, and de brains in de head--she shall not find you dat. Take widyou as much of dem as you can get. Now run--de dark is _gekommen_. "

It relieved Amphillis to find that she needed to carry nothing with, herexcept clothes, brains, and prudence. The first she knew that her unclewould supply; for the second, she could only take all she had; and as tothe last, she must do her best to cultivate it. 

Mr Altham, on hearing the report, charged his daughters to see thattheir cousin had every need supplied; and to do those young ladiesjustice, they took fairly about half their share of the work, until theday of the tournament, when they declared that nothing on earth shouldmake them touch a needle. Instead of which, they dressed themselves intheir best, and, escorted by Mr Clement Winkfield, were favoured bypermission to slip in at the garden door, and to squeeze into a corneramong the Duke's maids and grooms. 

A very grand sight it was. In the royal stand sat the King, old Edwardthe Third, scarcely yet touched by that pitiful imbecility whichtroubled his closing days; and on his right hand sat the queen of thejousts, the young Countess of Cambridge, bride of Prince Edmund, withthe Duke of Lancaster on her other hand, the Duchess being on the leftof the King. All the invited ladies were robed uniformly in green andwhite, the prize-giver herself excepted. The knights were attired asClement had described them. I am not about to describe the tournament, which, after all, was only a glorified prize-fight, and, therefore, suited to days when few gentlemen could read, and no forks were used formeals. We call ourselves civilised now, yet some who considerthemselves such, seem to entertain a desire to return to barbarism. Human nature, in truth, is the same in all ages, and what is calledculture is only a thin veneer. Nothing but to be made partaker of theDivine nature will implant the heavenly taste. 

The knights who were acclaimed victors, or at least the best jousters onthe field, were led up to the royal stand, and knelt before the queen ofthe jousts, who placed a gold chaplet on the head of the first, and tieda silken scarf round the shoulders of the second and third. Happily, noone was killed or even seriously injured--not a very unusual state ofthings. At a tournament eighteen years later, the Duke of Lancaster'sson-in-law, the last of the Earls of Pembroke, was left dead upon thefield. 

Alexandra and Ricarda came back very tired, and not in exceptionallygood tempers, as Amphillis soon found out, since she was invariably asufferer on these occasions. They declared themselves, the nextmorning, far too weary to put in a single stitch; and occupiedthemselves chiefly in looking out of the window and exchanging airynothings with customers. But when Clement came in the afternoon with aninvitation to a dance at his mother's house, their exhausted energiesrallied surprisingly, and they were quite able to go, though the samefarce was played over again on the ensuing morning. 

By dint of working early and late, Amphillis was just ready on the dayappointed--small thanks to her cousins, who not only shirked her work, but were continually summoning her from it to do theirs. Mr Althamgave his niece some good advice, along with a handsome silver brooch, anet of gold tissue for her hair, commonly called a crespine or dovecote, and a girdle of black leather, set with bosses of silver-gilt. Thesewere the most valuable articles that had ever yet been in herpossession, and Amphillis felt herself very rich, though she could havedispensed with Ricarda's envious admiration of her treasures, andAlexandra's acetous remarks about some people who were always grabbingas much as they could get. In their father's presence theseobservations were omitted, and Mr Altham had but a faint idea of whathis orphan niece endured at the hands--or rather the tongues--of hisdaughters, who never forgave her for being more gently born thanthemselves. 

Lammas Day dawned warm and bright, and after early mass in the Church ofSaint Mary at Strand--which nobody in those days would have dreamed ofmissing on a saint's day--Amphillis placed herself at an upstairs windowto watch for her escort. She had not many minutes to wait, before twohorses came up the narrow lane from the Savoy Palace, and trotting downthe Strand, stopped at the patty-maker's door. After them came abaggage-mule, whose back was fitted with a framework intended to sustainluggage. 

One horse carried a man attired in white linen, and the other bore asaddle and pillion, the latter being then the usual means of conveyancefor a woman. On the saddle before it sat a middle-aged man in the royallivery, which was then white and red. The man in linen alighted, andafter a few minutes spent in conversation with Mr Altham, he carriedout Amphillis's luggage, in two leather trunks, which were strapped oneon each side of the mule. As soon as she saw her trunks disappearing, Amphillis ran down and took leave of her uncle and cousins. 

"Well, my maid, God go with thee!" said Mr Altham. "Forget not thineold uncle and these maids; and if thou be ill-usen, or any trouble hapthee, pray the priest of thy parish to write me a line thereanent, and Iwill see what can be done. "

"Fare thee well, Phyllis!" said Alexandra, and Ricarda echoed the words. 

Mr Altham helped his niece to mount the pillion, seated on which, shehad to put her arms round the waist of the man in front, and clasp herhands together; for without this precaution, she would have beenunseated in ten minutes. There was nothing to keep her on, as she satwith her left side to the horse's head, and roads in those days wererough to an extent of which we, accustomed to macadamised ways, canscarcely form an idea now. 

And so, pursued for "luck" by an old shoe from Ricarda's hand, AmphillisNeville took her leave of London, and rode forth into the wide world toseek her fortune. 

Passing along the Strand as far as the row of houses ran, at the StrandCross they turned to the left, and threading their way in and out amongthe detached houses and little gardens, they came at last into Holborn, and over Holborn Bridge into Smithfield. Under Holborn Bridge ran theFleet river, pure and limpid, on its way to the silvery Thames; and asthey emerged from Cock Lane, the stately Priory of Saint Bartholomewfronted them a little to the right. Crossing Smithfield, they turned upLong Lane, and thence into Aldersgate Street, and in a few minutes morethe last houses of London were left behind them. As they came out intothe open country, Amphillis was greeted, to her surprise, by a voice sheknew. 

"God be wi' ye, Mistress Amphillis!" said Clement Winkfield, coming upand walking for a moment alongside, as the horse mounted the slightrising ground. "Maybe you would take a little farewell token of minehand, just for to mind you when you look on it, that you have friends inLondon that shall think of you by nows and thens. "

And Clement held up to Amphillis a little silver box, with a ringattached, through which a chain or ribbon could be passed to wear itround the neck. A small red stone was set on one side. 

"'Tis a good charm, " said he. "There is therein writ a Scripture, thatshall bear you safe through all perils of journeying, and an hair of ashe-bear, that is good against witchcraft; and the carnelian stoneappeaseth anger. Trust me, it shall do you no harm to bear it anighyou. "

Amphillis, though a sensible girl for her time, was not before her time, and therefore had full faith in the wonderful virtues of amulets. Sheaccepted the silver box with the entire conviction that she had gained atreasure of no small value. Simple, good-natured Clement lifted hiscap, and turned back down Aldersgate Street, while Amphillis and herescort went on towards Saint Albans. 

A few miles they rode in silence, broken now and then by a passingremark from the man in linen, chiefly on the deep subject of the hotweather, and by the sumpterman's frequent requests that his mule would"gee-up, " which the perverse quadruped in question showed littleinclination to do. At length, as the horse checked its speed to walk upa hill, the man in front of Amphillis said--

"Know you where you be journeying, my mistress?"

"Into Derbyshire, " she answered. "Have there all I know. "

"But you wot, surely, whom you go to serve?"

"Truly, I wot nothing, " she replied, "only that I go to be bower-womanto some lady. The lady that saw me, and bound me thereto, said that Imight look to learn on the road. "

"Dear heart! and is that all they told you?"

"All, my master. "

"Words must be costly in those parts, " said the man in linen. 

"Well, " answered the other, drawing out the word in a tone which mightmean a good deal. "Words do cost much at times, Master Saint Oly. Theyhave cost men their lives ere now. "

"Ay, better men than you or me, " replied the other. "Howbeit, mymistress, there is no harm you should know--is there, Master Dugan?--that you be bounden for the manor of Hazelwood, some six miles to thenorth of Derby, where dwell Sir Godfrey Foljambe and his dame. "

"No harm; so you tarry there at this present, " said Master Dugan. 

"Ay, I've reached my hostel, " was the response. 

"Then my Lady Foljambe is she that I must serve?"

The man in linen exchanged a smile with the man in livery. 

"You shall see her the first, I cast no doubt, and she shall tell youyour duties, " answered Dugan. 

Amphillis sat on the pillion, and meditated on her information as theyjourneyed on. There was evidently something more to tell, which she wasnot to be told at present. After wondering for a little while what itmight be, and deciding that her imagination was not equal to the tasklaid upon it, she gave it up, and allowed herself to enjoy the sweetcountry scents and sounds without apprehension for the future. 

For six days they travelled on in this fashion, about twenty miles eachday, staying every night but one at a wayside inn, where Amphillis wasalways delivered into the care of the landlady, and slept with herdaughter or niece; once at a private house, the owners of which wereapparently friends of Mr Dugan. They baited for the last time atDerby, and about two o'clock in the afternoon rode into the village ofHazelwood. 

It was only natural that Amphillis should feel a little nervous anduneasy, in view of her introduction to her new abode and unknowncompanions. She was not less so on account of the mystery whichappeared to surround the nameless mistress. Why did everybody whoseemed to know anything make such a secret of the affair?

The Manor house of Hazelwood was a pretty and comfortable place enough. It stood in a large garden, gay with autumn flowers, and a highembattled wall protected it from possible enemies. The trio rode inunder an old archway, through a second gate, and then drew up beneaththe entrance arch, the door being--as is yet sometimes seen in oldinns--at the side of the arch running beneath the house. A man inlivery came forward to take the horses. 

"Well, Master Saint Oly, " said he; "here you be!"

"I could have told thee that, Sim, " was the amused reply. "Is all well?Sir Godfrey at home?"

"Ay to the first question, and No to the second. "

"My Lady is in her bower?"

"My Lady's in the privy garden, whither you were best take the damsel toher. "

Sim led the horses away to the stable, and Saint Oly turned toAmphillis. 

"Then, if it please you, follow me, my mistress; we were best to go tomy Lady at once. "

Amphillis followed, silent, curious, and a little fluttered. 

They passed under the entrance arch inwards, and found themselves in asmaller garden than the outer, enclosed on three sides by the house andits adjacent outbuildings. In the midst was a spreading tree, with aform underneath it; and in its shade sat a lady and a girl about the ageof Amphillis. Another girl was gathering flowers, and an elderly womanwas coming towards the tree from behind. Saint Oly conducted Amphillisto the lady who sat under the tree. 

"Dame, " said he, "here, under your good leave, is Mistress AmphillisNeville, that is come to you from London town, to serve her you wot of. "

This, then, was Lady Foljambe. Amphillis looked up, and saw a tall, handsome, fair-complexioned woman, with a rather grave, not to saystern, expression of face. "Good, " said Lady Foljambe. "You arewelcome, Mistress Neville. I trust you can do your duty, and not giggleand chatter?"

The girl who sat by certainly giggled on hearing this question, and LadyFoljambe extinguished her by a look. 

"I will do my best, Dame, " replied Amphillis, nervously. 

"None can do more, " said her Ladyship more graciously. "Are you awearywith your journey?"

"But a little, Dame, I thank you. Our stage to-day was but short. "

"You left your friends well?" was the next condescending query. 

"Yes, Dame, I thank you. "

Lady Foljambe turned her head. "Perrote!" she said. 

"Dame!" answered the elderly woman. 

"Take the damsel up to your Lady's chambers, and tell her what herduties will be. --Mistress Neville, one matter above all other must Ipress upon you. Whatever you see or hear in your Lady's chamber isnever to come beyond. You will company with my damsels, Agatha--" witha slight move of her head towards the girl at her side--"and Marabel, "--indicating by another gesture the one who was gathering flowers. "Remember, in your leisure times, when you are talking together, nomention of _your_ Lady must ever be made. If you hear it, rebuke it. If you make it, you may not like that which shall follow. Be wise anddiscreet, and you shall find it for your good. Chatter and be giddy, and you shall find it far otherwise. Now, follow Mistress Perrote. "

Amphillis louted silently, and as silently followed. 

The elderly woman, who was tall, slim, and precise-looking, led her intothe house, and up the stairs. 

When two-thirds of them were mounted, she turned to the left along apassage, lifted a heavy curtain which concealed its end, and let it dropagain behind them. They stood in a small square tower, on a littlelanding which gave access to three doors. The door on the right handstood ajar; the middle one was closed; but the left was not only closed, but locked and barred heavily. Mistress Perrote led the way into theroom on the right, a pleasant chamber, which looked out into the largergarden. 

At the further end of the room stood a large bed of blue camlet, with acanopy, worked with fighting griffins in yellow. A large chest ofcarved oak stood at the foot. Along the wall ran a settle, or longbench, furnished with blue cushions; and over the back was thrown adorsor of black worsted, worked with the figures of David and Goliath, in strict fourteenth-century costume. The fireplace was supplied withandirons, a shovel, and a fire-fork, which served the place of a poker. A small leaf table hung down by the wall at one end of the settle, andover it was fixed a round mirror, so high up as to give littleencouragement to vanity. On hooks round the walls were hangings of bluetapestry, presenting a black diamond pattern, within a border of redroses. 

"Will you sit?" said Mistress Perrote, speaking in a voice not exactlysharp, but short and staccato, as if she were--what more voluble personsoften profess to be--unaccustomed to public speaking, and not verytalkative at any time. "Your name, I think, is Amphillis Neville?"

Amphillis acknowledged her name. 

"You have father and mother?"

"I have nothing in the world, " said Amphillis, with a shake of her head, "save an uncle and cousins, which dwell in London town. "

"Ha!" said Mistress Perrote, in a significant tone. "That is whereforeyou were chosen. "

"Because I had no kin?" said Amphillis, looking up. 

"That, and also that you were counted discreet. And discreet you hadneed be for this charge. "

"What charge?" she asked, blankly. 

"You know not?"

"I know nothing. Nobody would tell me anything. "

Mistress Perrote's set features softened a little. 

"Poor child!" she said. "You are young--too young--to be given a chargelike this. You will need all your discretion, and more. "

Amphillis felt more puzzled than ever. 

"You may make a friend of Marabel, if you choose; but beware how youtrust Agatha. But remember, as her Ladyship told you, no word that youhear, no thing that you see, must be suffered to go forth of thesechambers. You may repeat _nothing_! Can you do this?"

"I will bear it in mind, " was the reply. "But, pray you, if I may ask--seeing I know nothing--is this lady that I shall serve an evil woman, that you caution me thus?"

"No!" answered Mistress Perrote, emphatically. "She is a most terriblyinjured--What say I? Forget my words. They were not discreet. Mary, Mother! there be times when a woman's heart gets the better of herbrains. There be more brains than hearts in this world. Lay by yourhood and mantle, child, on one of those hooks, and smooth your hair, andrepose you until supper-time. To-morrow you shall see your Lady. "

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Note 1. Sad, at this time, did not mean sorrowful, but serious. 

Note 2. These are the duties of a bower-woman, laid down in the Booksof Courtesy at that time. 

Note 3. Then a very expressive word, including both morals and manners. 

Note 4. A private sitting-room for ladies. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

THE WHITE LADY. 

 "The future is all dark, And the past a troubled sea, And Memory sits in the heart, Wailing where Hope should be. "

Supper was ready in the hall at four o'clock, and Amphillis foundherself seated next below Agatha, the younger of Lady Foljambe'sdamsels. It was a feast-day, so that meat was served--a boar's head, stewed beef, minced mutton, squirrel, and hedgehog. The last dainty isnow restricted to gypsies, and no one eats our little russet friend ofthe bushy tail; but our forefathers indulged in both. There were alsoroast capons, a heron, and chickens dressed in various ways. NearAmphillis stood a dish of beef jelly, a chowet or liver-pie, a flampoyntor pork-pie, and a dish of sops in fennel. The sweets were Barlee andMon Amy, of which the first was rice cream, and the second a preparationof curds and cream. 

Amphillis looked with considerable interest along the table, and at heropposite neighbours. Lady Foljambe she recognised at once; and besideher sat a younger lady whom she had not seen before. She applied to herneighbour for information. 

"She?" said Agatha. "Oh, she's Mistress Margaret, my Lady'sdaughter-in-law; wife to Master Godfrey, that sits o' t' other side ofhis mother; and that's Master Matthew, o' this side. The priest'sFather Jordan--a fat old noodle as ever droned a psalm through his nose. Love you mirth and jollity?"

"I scarce know, " said Amphillis, hesitatingly. "I have had so little. "

Agatha's face was a sight to see. 

"Good lack, but I never reckoned you should be a spoil-sport!" said she, licking her spoon as in duty bound before she plunged it in the jelly--apiece of etiquette in which young ladies at that date were carefullyinstructed. The idea of setting a separate spoon to help a dish had notdawned upon the mediaeval mind. 

"I shall hate you, I can tell you, if you so are. Things here be likegoing to a funeral all day long--never a bit of music nor dancing, noraught that is jolly. Mistress Margaret might be eighty, so sad andsober is she; and as for my Lady and Mistress Perrote, they are just apair of old jog-trots fit to run together in a quirle [the open car thenused by ladies, something like a waggonette]. Master Godfrey's all forarms and fighting, so he's no better. Master Matthew's best of the lot, but bad's the best when you've a-done. And he hasn't much chanceneither, for if he's seen laughing a bit with one of us, my Lady'sa-down on him as if he'd broke all the Ten Commandments, and whisks himoff ere you can say Jack Robinson; and if she whip you not, you maythank the saints or your stars, which you have a mind. Oh, 'tis a jollyhouse you've come to, that I can tell you! I hoped you'd a bit more funin you than Clarice--she wasn't a scrap of good. But I'm afraid you'reno better. "

"I don't know, really, " said Amphillis, feeling rather bewildered byAgatha's reckless rattle, and remembering the injunction not to make afriend of her. "I suppose I have come here to do my duty; but I knownot yet what it shall be. "

"I detest doing my duty!" said Agatha, energetically. 

"That's a pity, isn't it?" was the reply. 

Agatha laughed. 

"Come, you can give a quip-word, " said she. "Clarice was just a lump ofwood, that you could batter nought into, --might as well sit next a post. Marabel has some brains, but they're so far in, there's no fetching 'emforth. I declare I shall do somewhat one o' these days that shall shockall the neighbourhood, only to make a diversion. "

"I don't think I would, " responded Amphillis. "You might find it ranthe wrong way. "

"You'll do, " said Agatha, laughing. "You are not jolly, but you're nextbest to it. "

"Whose is that empty place on the form?" asked Amphillis, lookingacross. 

"Oh, that's Master Norman's--Sir Godfrey's squire--he's away with him. "

And Agatha, without any apparent reason, became suddenly silent. 

When supper was over, the girls were called to spin, which they did inthe large hall, sitting round the fire with the two ladies and Perrote. Amphillis, as a newcomer, was excused for that evening; and she satstudying her neighbours and surroundings till Mistress Perrotepronounced it bed-time. Then each girl rose and put by her spindle;courtesied to the ladies, and wished them each "Good-even, " receiving asimilar greeting; and the three filed out of the inner door afterPerrote, each possessing herself of a lighted candle as she passed awindow where they stood. At the solar landing they parted, Perrote andAmphillis turning aside to their own tower, Marabel and Agatha going onto the upper floor. [The solar was an intermediate storey, resemblingthe French _entresol_. ] Amphillis found, as she expected, that she wasto share the large blue bed and the yellow griffins with Perrote. Thelatter proved a very silent bedfellow. Beyond showing Amphillis whereshe was to place her various possessions, she said nothing at all; andas soon as she had done this, she left the room, and did not reappearfor an hour or more. As Amphillis lay on her pillow, she heard anindistinct sound of voices in an adjoining room, and once or twice, asshe fancied, a key turned in the lock. At length the voices grewfainter, the hoot of the white owl as he flew past the turret windowscarcely roused her, and Amphillis was asleep--so sound asleep, thatwhen Perrote lay down by her side, she never made the discovery. 

The next morning dawned on a beautiful summer day. Perrote roused heryoung companion about four o'clock, with a reminder that if she werelate it would produce a bad impression upon Lady Foljambe. When theywere dressed, Perrote repeated the Rosary, Amphillis making theresponses, and they went down to the hall. 

Breakfast was at this time a luxury not indulged in by every one, and itwas not served before seven o'clock. Lady Foljambe patronised it. Atthat hour it was accordingly spread in the hall, and consisted ofpowdered beef, boiled beef, brawn, a jug of ale, another of wine, and athird of milk. The milk was a condescension to a personal weakness ofPerrote; everybody else drank wine or ale. 

Amphillis was wondering very much, in the private recesses of her mind, how it was that no lady appeared whom she could suppose to be her ownparticular mistress; and had she not received such strict charges on thesubject, she would certainly have asked the question. As it was, shekept silence; but she was gratified when, after breakfast, having beenbidden to follow Perrote, that worthy woman paused to say, as theyfollowed the passage which led to their own turret--

"Now, Amphillis Neville, you shall see your Lady. "

She stopped before the locked and barred door opposite to their own, unfastened it, and led Amphillis into the carefully-guarded chamber. 

The barred room proved to be an exceedingly pleasant one, except that itwas darker than the other, for it looked into the inner garden, andtherefore much less sun ever entered it. A heavy curtain of blackworsted, whereon were depicted golden vines and recumbent lions, stretched across the room, shutting off that end which formed thebedchamber. Within its shelter stood a bed of green silk wrought withgolden serpents and roses; a small walnut-wood cabinet against the wall;two large chests; a chair of carved walnut-wood, upholstered in yellowsatin; a mirror set in silver; and two very unusual pieces of furniture, which in those days they termed folding-chairs, but which we should calla shut-up washstand and dressing-table. The former held an ewer andbasin of silver-gilt, much grander articles than Amphillis had everseen, except in the goldsmith's shop. In front of the curtain was abench with green silk cushions, and two small tables, on one of whichlay some needlework; and by it, in another yellow satin chair, sat thesolitary inhabitant of the chamber, a lady who appeared to be aboutsixty years of age. She was dressed in widow's mourning, and in 1372that meant pure snowy white, with chin and forehead so covered by barband wimple that only the eyes, nose, and mouth were left visible. Thislady's face was almost as white as her robes. Even her lips seemedcolourless; and the fixed, weary, hopeless expression was only broken bytwo dark, brilliant, sunken eyes, in which lay a whole volume of unreadhistory--eyes that looked as if they could flash with fury, or moistenwith pity, or grow soft and tender with love; eyes that had done allthese, long, long ago! so long ago, that they had forgotten how to doit. Sad, tired, sorrowful eyes--eyes out of which all expectation haddeparted; which had nothing left to fear, only because they had nothingleft to hope. They were turned now upon Amphillis. 

"Your Grace's new chamber-dame, " said Mistress Perrote, "in the room ofClarice. Her name is Amphillis Neville. "

The faintest shadow of interest passed over the sorrowful eyes. 

"Go near, " said Perrote to Amphillis, "and kiss her Grace's hand. "

Amphillis did as she was told. The lady, after offering her hand forthe kiss, turned it and gently lifted the girl's face. 

"Dost thou serve God?" she said, in a voice which matched her eyes. 

"I hope so, Dame, " replied Amphillis. 

"I hope nothing, " said the mysterious lady. "It is eight years since Iknew what hope was. I have hoped in my time as much as ever woman did. But God took away from me one boon after another, till now He hath leftme desolate. Be thankful, maid, that thou canst yet hope. "

She dropped her hand, and went back to her work with a weary sigh. 

"Dame, " said Perrote, "your Grace wot that her Ladyship desires not thatyou talk in such strain to the damsels. "

The white face changed as Amphillis had thought it could not change, andthe sunken eyes shot forth fire. 

"Her Ladyship!" said the widow. "Who is Avena Foljambe, that shelooketh to queen it over Marguerite of Flanders? They took my lord, andI lived through it. They took my daughter, and I bare it. They took myson, my firstborn, and I was silent, though it brake my heart. But bymy troth and faith, they shall not still my soul, nor lay bonds upon mytongue when I choose to speak. Avena Foljambe! the kinswoman of awretched traitor, that met the fate he deserved--why, hath she ten dropsof good blood in her veins? And she looks to lord it over a daughter ofCharlemagne, that hath borne sceptre ere she carried spindle!"

Mistress Perrote's calm even voice checked the flow of angry words. 

"Dame, your Grace speaks very sooth [truth]. Yet I beseech you rememberthat my Lady doth present [represent] an higher than herself--the King'sGrace and no lesser. "

The lady in white rose to her feet. 

"What mean you, woman? King Edward of Windsor may be your master andhers, but he is not mine! I owe him no allegiance, nor I never swareany. "

"Your son hath sworn it, Dame. "

The eyes blazed out again. 

"My son is a hound!--a craven cur, that licks the hand that lashedhim!--a poor court fool that thinks it joy enough to carry his bauble, and marvel at his motley coat and his silvered buttons! That he shouldbe my son, --and _his_!"

The voice changed so suddenly, that Amphillis could scarcely believe itto be the same. All the passionate fury died out of it, and insteadcame a low soft tone of unutterable pain, loneliness, and regret. Thespeaker dropped down into her chair, and laying her arm upon the littletable, hid her face upon it. 

"My poor Lady!" said Perrote in tender accents--more tender thanAmphillis had imagined she could use. 

The lady in white lifted her head. 

"I was not so weak once, " she said. "There was a time when man said Ihad the courage of a man and the heart of a lion. Maiden, never man satan horse better than I, and no warrior ever fought that could more ablyhandle sword. I have mustered armies to the battle ere now; I havepersonally conducted sieges, I have headed sallies on the camp of theKing of France. Am I meek pigeon to be kept in a dovecote? Look aroundthee! This is my cage. Ha! the perches are fine wood, sayest thou? theseed is good, and the water is clean! I deny it not. I say only, it isa cage, and I am a royal eagle, that was never made to sit on a perchand coo! The blood of an hundred kings is thrilling all along my veins, and must I be silent? The blood of the sovereigns of France, thekingdom of kingdoms, --of the sea-kings of Denmark, of the ancient kingsof Burgundy, and of the Lombards of the Iron Crown--it is with this mineheart is throbbing, and man saith, `Be still!' How can I be still, unless I were still in death? And man reckoneth I shall be a-paid formy lost sword with a needle, and for my broken sceptre he offereth me abodkin!"

With a sudden gesture she brushed all the implements for needlework fromthe little table to the floor. 

"There! gather them up, which of you list. I lack no such babe's gear. If I were but now on my Feraunt, with my visor down, clad in armour, asI was when I rode forth of Hennebon while the French were busied withthe assault on the further side of the town, --forth I came with my threehundred horse, and we fired the enemy's camp--ah, but we made a goodlyblaze that day! I reckon the villages saw it for ten miles around ormore. "

"But your Grace remembereth, we won not back into the town at after, "quietly suggested Perrote. 

"Well, what so? Went we not to Brest, and there gathered six hundredmen, and when we appeared again before Hennebon, the trumpets sounded, and the gates were flung open, and we entered in triumph? Thy memorywaxeth weak, old woman! I must refresh it from mine own. "

"Please it, your good Grace, I am nigh ten years younger than yourself. "

"Then shouldest thou be the more 'shamed to have so much worser amemory. Why, hast forgot all those weeks at Hennebon, that we awaitedthe coming of the English fleet? Dost not remember how I went down tothe Council with thyself at mine heels, and the child in mine arms, topray the captains not to yield up the town to the French, and the litherloons would not hear me a word? And then at the last minute, when thegates were opened, and the French marching up to take possession, mindest thou not how I ran to yon window that giveth toward the sea, andthere at last, at last! the English fleet was seen, making straight sailfor us. Then flung I open the contrary casement toward the street, andmyself shouted to the people to shut the gates, and man the ramparts, and cry, `No surrender!' Ah, it was a day, that! Had there been buttime, I'd never have shouted--I'd have been down myself, and slammedthat gate on the King of France's nose! The pity of it that I had nowings! And did I not meet the English Lords and kiss them every one[Note 1], and hang their chambers with the richest arras in my coffers?And the very next day, Sir Walter Mauny made a sally, and destroyed theFrench battering-ram, and away fled the French King with ours inpursuit. Ha, that was a jolly sight to see! Old Perrote, hast thouforgot it all?"

We are accustomed in the present day to speak of the deliverer ofHennebon as Sir Walter Manny. That his name ought really to be speltand sounded Mauny, is evidenced by a contemporary entry which speaks ofhis daughter as the Lady of Maweny. 

Old Perrote had listened quietly, while her mistress poured forth thesereminiscences in rapid words. When the long waiting for the Englishfleet was mentioned, a kind of shudder passed over her, as if herrecollection of that time were painful and distinct enough; butotherwise she stood motionless until the concluding question. Then sheanswered--

"Ay, Dame--no, I would say: I mind it well. "

"Thou shouldest! Then quote not Avena Foljambe to me. I care not abrass nail for Avena Foljambe. Hand me yonder weary gear. It is betterthan counting one's fingers, maybe. "

Amphillis stooped and gathered up the scattered broidery, glancing atPerrote to see if she were doing right. As she approached her mistressto offer them, Perrote whispered, hurriedly, "On the knee, child! on theknee!" and Amphillis, blushing for her mistake, dropped on one knee. She was hoping that the lady would not be angry--that she could beseverely so, there could be no doubt--and she was much relieved to seeher laugh. 

"Thou foolish old woman!" she said to Perrote, as she took her workback. Then addressing Amphillis, she added, --"Seest thou, my maid, manhath poured away the sparkling wine out of reach of my thirsty lips; andthis silly old Perrote reckons it of mighty moment that the empty cup beleft to shine on the buffet. What matters it if the caged eagle havehis perch gilded or no? He would a thousand times liefer sit of a barerock in the sun than of a perch made of gold, and set with emeralds. Soman granteth me the gilded perch, to serve me on the knee like a queen, and he setteth it with emeralds, to call me Duchess in lieu of Countess, and he reckoneth that shall a-pay the caged eagle for her lost liberty, and her quenched sunlight, and the grand bare rock on the mountain tops. It were good enough for the dove to sit on the pigeon-house, and preenher feathers, and coo, and take decorous little flights between thedovecote and the ground whereon her corn lieth. She cares for no more. The bare rock would frighten her, and the sun would dazzle her eyes. Soman bindeth the eagle by a bond long enough for the dove, and quoth he, `Be patient!' I am not patient. I am not a silly dove, that I shouldbe so. Chide me not, old woman, to tug at my bond. I am an eagle. "

"Ah, well, Dame!" said Perrote, with a sigh. "The will of God mustneeds be done. "

"I marvel if man's will be alway God's, in sooth. Folks say, whateverhappeth, `God's will be done. ' Is everything His will?--the evil thingsno less than the good? Is it God's will when man speaketh a lie, orslayeth his fellow, or robbeth a benighted traveller of all his having?Crack me that nut, Perrote. "

"Truly, Dame, I am no priest, to solve such matters. "

"Then leave thou to chatter glibly anentis God's will. What wist anyman thereabout?"

Perrote was silent. 

"Open the window!" said the Countess, suddenly. "I am dying for lack offresh air. "

Lifting her hand to her head, she hastily tore off the barb and wimple, with little respect to the pins which fastened them, and with the resultof a long rent in the former. 

"That's for one of you to amend, " she said, with a short laugh. "Yeshould be thankful to have somewhat to do provided for you. Ay me!"

The words were uttered in a low long moan. 

Perrote made no reply to the petulant words and action. An expressionof tender pity crossed her face, as she stooped and lifted the tornbarb, and examined the rent, with as much apparent calmness as if it hadbeen damaged in the washing. There was evidently more in her than shesuffered to come forth. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note 1. This action, in the estimation of the time, was merelyequivalent to a cordial shaking of hands between the Countess and herdeliverers. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

NEW AND STRANGE. 

 "I stretched mine empty hands for bread, And see, they have given me stones instead!"

 "B. M. "

Before anything more could be said, the door opened, and Lady Foljambecame in. She addressed herself at once to Perrote. 

"Did I not bid you alway to lock the door when you should enter? Lo, here it is unlocked. Wherefore have you a key apart from mine, but thatyou should so do?"

"I cry you mercy, Dame, " said Perrote, meekly. "Did you ever thisbefore?"

"I mind not well, Dame. "

"Well, of a surety! Call you this guarding a prisoner? Mind you notthat which happed at Tickhill, when she 'scaped forth by aid of thatknight--his name I forget--and had nigh reached the border of theliberties ere it was discovered? Is this your allegiance and duty?Dame, I bid you good morrow. "

"Better late than never, Avena, " said the Countess, a littlesatirically. "Thou fond thing, there, lie over twenty years betwixt yonnight at Tickhill and this morrow. And if the night were back, where isthe knight? Nay, Avena Foljambe, I have nought to escape for, now. "

"Dame, I must needs say you be rare unbuxom and unthankful. "

"Ay, so said the fox to the stork, when he 'plained to be served withthin broth. "

"Pray you, look but around. You be lodged fit for any queen, be she thegreatest in Christendom; you need but speak a wish, and you shall haveit fulfilled--"

"Namely, thou shalt not put me off with red silk to my broidery when Iwould have blue. "

"You eat of the best, and lie of the softest, and speak with whom youwould--"

"Hold there!" The fire had come back to the sunken eyes. "I wouldspeak with some that come never anigh me, mine own children, that havecast me off, or be kept away from me; they never so much as ask the oldmother how she doth. And I slaved and wrought and risked my life forthem, times out of mind! And here you keep me, shut up in four walls, --never a change from year end to year end; never a voice to say `Mother!'or `I love thee;' never a hope to look forward to till death take me!No going forth of my cage; even the very air of heaven has to come in tome. And I may choose, may I, whether my bed shall be hung with green orblue? I may speak my pleasure if I would have to my four-hoursmacaroons or gingerbread? and be duly thankful that this liberty andthese delicates are granted me! Avena Foljambe, all your folly liethnot in your legs. "

Lady Foljambe evidently did not appreciate this pun upon her surname. 

"Dame!" she said, severely. 

"Well? I can fare forth, if you have not had enough. What right hathyour King thus to use me? I never was his vassal. I entreated his aid, truly, as prince to prince; and had he kept his bond and word, he hadbeen the truer man. I never brake mine, and I had far more need thanhe. Wherefore played he at see-saw, now aiding me, and now Charles, until none of his knights well knew which way he was bent? I broughtCharles de Blois to him a prisoner, and he let him go for a heap ofyellow stuff, and fiddled with him, off and on, till Charles brake hispledged word, and lost his life, as he deserved, at Auray. I desire toknow what right King Edward had, when I came to visit him after I hadcaptured mine enemy, to make _me_ a prisoner, and keep me so, now andthen suffering me, like a cat with a mouse, to escape just far enough tokeep within his reach when he list to catch me again. But not now, foreight long years--eight long years!"

"Dame, I cannot remain here to list such language of my sovereign. "

"Then don't. I never asked you. My tongue is free, at any rate. Youcan go. "

And the Countess turned back to the black satin on which she wasembroidering a wreath of red and white roses. 

"Follow me, Amphillis, " said Lady Foljambe, with as much dignity as theCountess's onslaught had left her. 

She led the way into the opposite chamber, the one shared by Perrote andAmphillis. 

"It were best, as this hath happed, that you should know quickly whothis lady is that wotteth not how to govern her tongue. She is theDuchess of Brittany. Heard you ever her story?"

"Something, Dame, an' it please you; yet not fully told. I heard, as Ithink, of some quarrel betwixt her and a cousin touching the successionto the duchy, and that our King had holpen her, and gave his daughter inwedlock to the young Duke her son. "

"So did he, in very deed; and yet is she thus unbuxom. Listen, and youshall hear the inwards thereof. In the year of our Lord 1341 died DukeJohn of Brittany, that was called the Good, and left no child. Twobrothers had he--Sir Guy, that was his brother both of father andmother, and Sir John, of the father only, that was called Count deMontfort. Sir Guy was then dead, but had left behind him a daughter, the Lady Joan, that man called Joan the Halting, by reason she was lameof one leg. Between her and her uncle of Montfort was the war ofsuccession--she as daughter of the brother by father and mother, he asnearer akin to Duke John, being brother himself. [Note 1. ] Our Kingtook part with the Count de Montfort, and the King of France espousedthe cause of the Lady Joan. "

Lady Foljambe did not think it necessary to add that King Edward'spolicy had been of the most halting character in this matter--at onetime fighting for Jeanne, and at another for Montfort, until his noblesmight well have been pardoned, if they found it difficult to remember atany given moment on which side their master was. 

"Well, the King of France took the Count, and led him away captive toParis his city. Whereupon this lady, that is now here in ward, what didshe but took in her arms her young son, that was then a babe of some fewmonths old, and into the Council at Rennes she went--which city is thechief town of Brittany--and quoth she unto the nobles there assembled, `Fair Sirs, be not cast down by the loss of my lord; he was but one man. See here his young son, who shall 'present him for you; and trust me, we will keep the stranger out of our city as well without him as withhim. ' Truly, there was not a man to come up to her. She handled swordas well as any marshal of the King's host; no assault could surpriseher, no disappointment could crush her, nor could any man, however wily, take her off her guard. When she had gone forward to Hennebon--forRennes surrendered ere help could come from our King--man said she radeall up and down the town, clad in armour, encouraging the townsmen, andmoving the women to go up to the ramparts and thence to hurl down on thebesiegers the stones that they tare up from the paved streets. Neverman fought like her!"

"If it please you, Dame, was her lord never set free?" asked Amphillis, considerably interested. 

"Ay and no, " said Lady Foljambe. "Set free was he never, but he escapedout of Louvre [Note 2] in disguise of a pedlar, and so came to Englandto entreat the King's aid; but his Grace was then so busied with foreignwarfare that little could he do, and the poor Count laid it so to heartthat he died. He did but return home to die in his wife's arms. "

"Oh, poor lady!" said Amphillis. 

"Three years later, " said Lady Foljambe, "this lady took prisoner SirCharles de Blois, the husband of the Lady Joan, and brought him to theKing; also bringing her young son, that was then a lad of six years, andwas betrothed to the King's daughter, the Lady Mary. The King orderedher residence in the Castle of Tickhill, where she dwelt many years, until a matter of two years back, when she was brought hither. "

Amphillis felt this account exceedingly unsatisfactory. 

"Dame, " said she, "if I may have leave to ask at you, wherefore is thislady a prisoner? What hath she done?"

Lady Foljambe's lips took a stern set. She was apparently not pleasedwith the freedom of the question. 

"She was a very troublesome person, " said she. "Nothing could stay her;she was ever restless and interfering. But these be matters too highfor a young maid such as thou. Thou wert best keep to thy broidery andsuch-like duties. "

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Harvest Home--the sixteenth of August--arrived when Amphillis had been aweek at Hazelwood. She had not by any means concluded that processwhich is known as "settling down. " On the contrary, she had never feltso unsettled, and the feeling grew rather than diminished. EvenAlexandra and Ricarda had tried her less than her present companions, inone sense; for they puzzled her less, though they teased her more. Shewas beginning to understand her mistress, whose mood was usually one ofweary lack of interest and energy, occasionally broken either by seasonsof acute sorrow, or by sudden flashes of fiery anger: and the last wereless trying than the first--indeed, it seemed sometimes to Amphillisthat they served as a vent and a relief; that for a time after them theweariness was a shade less dreary, and the languor scarcely quite sooverpowering. 

Late in the evening, on the night before Harvest Home, Sir Godfreyreturned home, attended by his squire, Master Norman Hylton. Theimpression received by Amphillis concerning the master of the house wasthat he was a fitting pendant to his wife--tall, square, and stern. Shedid not know that Sir Godfrey had been rather wild in his youth, and, assome such men do, had become correspondingly severe and precise in hisold age. Not that his heart had changed; it was simply that the sins ofyouth had been driven out by the sins of maturer life. And Satan isalways willing to let his slaves replace one sin by another, for itmakes them none the less surely his. Sir Godfrey suffered under nosense of inconsistency in sternly rebuking, when exhibited by Agatha orMatthew, slight tendencies to evil of the same types as he had once beenaddicted to himself. Had he not sown his wild oats, and become areformed character? The outside of the cup and platter were now sobeautifully clean, that it never so much as occurred to him to questionthe condition of the inside. Yet within were some very foul things--alienation from God, and hardness of heart, and love of gold, that grewupon him year by year. And he thought himself a most excellent man, though he was only a whitewashed sepulchre. He lifted his head high, ashe stood in the court of the temple, and effusively thanked God that hewas not as other men. An excellent man! said everybody who knew him--perhaps a little too particular, and rather severe on the peccadilloesof young people. But when the time came that another Voice pronouncedfinal sentence on that whitewashed life, the verdict was scarcely "Welldone!"

Norman Hylton sat opposite to Amphillis at the supper-table, in the onlymanner in which people could sit opposite to each other at a mediaevaltable--namely, when it was in the form of a squared horseshoe. Thetable, which was always one or more boards laid across trestles, wasvery narrow, the inside of the horseshoe being reserved for the servantsto hand the dishes. There were therefore some yards of distance betweenopposite neighbours. Amphillis studied her neighbour, so far as anoccasional glance in his direction allowed her to do so, and she came tothe conclusion that there was nothing remarkable about him except theexpression of his face. He was neither tall nor short, neither handsomenor ugly, neither lively nor morose. He talked a little with his nextneighbour, Matthew Foljambe, but there was nothing in the manner ofeither to provoke curiosity as to the subject of their conversation. But his expression puzzled Amphillis. He had dark eyes--like theCountess's, she thought; but the weary and sometimes fiery aspect ofhers was replaced in these by a look of perfect contentment and peace. Yet it was utterly different from the self-satisfied expression whichbeamed out of Sir Godfrey's eyes. 

"What manner of man is Master Hylton?" she asked of Agatha, who alwayssat next her. Precedence at table was regulated by strict rules. 

"The youngest of six brethren; prithee, trouble not thine head overhim, " was that young lady's answer. 

"But that doth me not to wit what manner of man he is, " respondedAmphillis, turning to the sewer or waiter, who was offering her somerissoles of lamb. 

Agatha indulged in a little explosion of laughter under cover of herhandkerchief. 

"Oh, Amphillis, where hast thou dwelt all thy life? Thou art the fullseliest [simplest, most unconventional] maid ever I did see. "

Amphillis replied literally. "Why, in Hertfordshire was I born, but Idwelt in London town a while ere I came hither. "

"A jolly townswoman must thou have made! Canst not conceive what Imean? Why, the youngest of six brethren hath all his fortune to make, and cannot be no catch at all for a maid, without he be full high ofrank, and she have gold enough to serve her turn without. "

"But I don't want to catch him, " said Amphillis, innocently. 

Agatha burst out laughing, and Lady Foljambe, from the middle of thehorseshoe table, looked daggers at her. Unrestrained laughter at table, especially in a girl, was a serious breach of etiquette. 

"I say, you shouldn't be so funny!" remonstrated Agatha. "How shall manhelp to laugh if you say so comical words?"

"I wist not I was thus comical, " said Amphillis. "But truly I conceiveyou not. Wherefore should I catch Master Hylton, and wherewith, and towhat end?"

"Amphillis, you shall be the death of me! My Lady shall snap off myhead at after supper, and the maid is not born that could help to laughat you. To what end? Why, for an husband, child! As to wherewith, that I leave to thee. " And Agatha concluded with another stifledgiggle. 

"Agatha!" was all that the indignant Amphillis could say in answer. Shecould hardly have told whether she felt more vexed or astonished. Thebare idea of such a thing, evidently quite familiar to Agatha, wasutterly new to her. "You never, surely, signify that any decent maidcould set herself to seek a man for an husband, like an angler withfish?"

"They must be uncommon queer folks in Hertfordshire if thou art a samplethereof, " was the reply. "Why, for sure, I so signified. Thou musthave been bred up in a convent, Phyllis, or else tied to thygrandmother's apron-string all thy life. Shall a maid ne'er have a bitof fun, quotha?"

Amphillis made no answer, but finished her rissoles in silence, andhelped herself to a small pound-cake. 

"Verily, some folks be born as old as their grandmothers, " said Agatha, accepting a fieldfare from the sewer, and squeezing a lemon over it. "Iwould fain enjoy my youth, though I'm little like to do it whilst here Iam. Howbeit, it were sheer waste of stuff for any maid to set her hearton Master Norman; he wist not how to discourse with maids. He shouldhave been a monk, in very sooth, for he is fit for nought no better. There isn't a sparkle about him. "

"He looks satisfied, " said Amphillis, rather wistfully. She was wishingthat she felt so. 

Agatha's answer was a puzzled stare, first at Amphillis, and then at MrHylton. 

"`Satisfied!'" she repeated, as if she wondered what the word couldmean. "Aren't we all satisfied?"

"Maybe you are, " replied Amphillis, "though I reckon I have heard yousay what looked otherwise. You would fain have more life and jollity, if I err not. "

"Truly, therein you err not in no wise, " answered Agatha, laughingagain, though in a more subdued manner than before. "I never loved todwell in a nunnery, and this house is little better. `Satisfied!'" shesaid again, as though the word perplexed her. "I never thought of nosuch a thing. Doth Master Norman look satisfied? What hath satisfiedhim, trow?"

"That is it I would fain know, " said Amphillis. 

"In good sooth, I see not how it may be, " resumed Agatha. "He has nevera penny to his patrimony. I heard him to say once to Master Godfreythat all he had of his father was horse, and arms, and raiment. Norhath he any childless old uncle, or such, that might take to him, andmake his fortune. He lives of his wits, belike. Now, I am an onlydaughter, and have never a brother to come betwixt me and theinheritance; I shall have a pretty penny when my father dies. So I havesome right to be jolly. Ay, and jolly I'll be when I am mine ownmistress, I warrant you! I've no mother, so there is none to overseeme, and rule me, and pluck me by the sleeve when I would go hither andthither, so soon as I can be quit of my Lady yonder. Oh, there's ajolly life afore _me_. "

It was Amphillis's turn to be astonished. 

"Dear heart!" she said. "Why, I have no kindred nearer than uncle andcousins, but I have ever reckoned it a sore trouble to lose my mother, and no blessing. "

"Very like it was to you!" said Agatha. "You'd make no bones if youwere ruled like an antiphonarium [music-book for anthems and chants], I'll be bound, I'm none so fond of being driven in harness. I love myown way, and I'll have it, too, one of these days. "

"But then you have none to love you! That is one of the worst sorrowsin the world, I take it. "

"Love! bless you, I shall have lovers enough! I've three hundred a yearto my fortune. "

Three hundred pounds in 1372 was equal to nearly five thousand now. 

"But what good should it do you that people wanted your money?" askedAmphillis. "That isn't loving _you_. "

"Amphillis, I do believe you were born a hundred years old! or else insome other world, where their notions are quite diverse from this, " saidAgatha, taking a candied orange from the sewer. "I never heard suchthings as you say. "

"But lovers who only want your money seem to me very unsatisfyingfolks, " replied Amphillis. "Will they smooth your pillows when you aresick? or comfort you when your heart is woeful?"

"I don't mean my heart to be woeful, and as to pillows, there bethousands will smooth them for wages. "

"They are smoother when 'tis done for love, " was the answer. 

Agatha devoted herself to her orange, and in a few minutes Lady Foljambegave the signal to rise from table. The young ladies followed her toher private sitting-room, where Agatha received a stern reprimand forthe crime of laughing too loud, and was told she was no better than asilly giglot, who would probably bring herself some day to diredisgrace. Lady Foljambe then motioned her to the spindle, and desiredher not to leave it till the bell rang for evening prayers in thechapel, just before bed-time. Agatha pulled a face behind LadyFoljambe's back, but she did not dare to disobey. 

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Note 1. It seems very strange to us that the Count de Montfort shouldhave imagined himself to have a better claim to the crown than hisniece; but the principle under which he claimed was the law ofnon-representation, which forbade the child of a deceased son or brotherto inherit; and this, little as it is now allowed or even understood, was not only the custom of some Continental states, but was the law ofsuccession in England, itself until 1377. The struggle between Stephenand the Empress Maud, and that between King John and his nephew Arthur, were fought upon this principle. 

Note 2. The Louvre, then considered _near_ Paris, was usually mentionedwithout the article. 

CHAPTER SIX. 

A THANKLESS CHILD. 

 "We will not come to Thee Till Thou hast nailed us to some bitter cross And made us look on Thee. "

 "B. M. "

Amphillis took her own spindle, and sat down beside Marabel, who wasjust beginning to spin. 

"What was it so diverted Agatha at supper?" inquired Marabel. 

"She laughs full easily, " answered Amphillis; and told her what had beenthe subject of discourse. 

"She is a light-minded maid, " said Marabel. "So you thought MasterNorman had a satisfied look, trow? Well, I count you had the right. "

"Agatha said she knew not of nought in this world that should satisfyhim. "

Marabel smiled. "I misdoubt if that which satisfieth him ever came outof this world. Amphillis, whenas you dwelt in London town, heard you atall preach one of the poor priests?"

"What manner of folks be they?"

"You shall know them by their raiment, for they mostly go clad of afrieze coat, bound by a girdle of unwrought leather. "

"Oh, ay? I heard once a friar so clad; and I marvelled much to whatOrder he belonged. But it was some while gone. "

"What said he?"

"Truly, that cannot I tell you, for I took not but little note. I wasbut a maidling, scarce past my childhood. My mother was well pleasedtherewith. I mind her to have said, divers times, when she lay of herlast sickness, that she would fain have shriven her of the friar in thefrieze habit. Wherefore, cannot I say. "

"Then perchance I can say it for you:--for I reckon it was because hebrought her gladder tidings than she had heard of other. "

Amphillis looked surprised. "Why, whatso? Sermons be all alike, so faras ever I could tell. "

"Be they so? No, verily, Amphillis. Is there no difference betwixtpreaching of the law--`Do this, and thou shalt live, ' and preaching ofthe glad gospel of the grace of God--`I give unto them everlastinglife?'"

"But we must merit Heaven!" exclaimed Amphillis. 

"Our Lord, then, paid not the full price, but left at the least a fewmarks over for us to pay? Nay, He bought Heaven for us, Amphillis: andonly He could do it. We have nothing to pay; and if we had, how shouldour poor hands reach to such a purchase as that? It took God to savethe world. Ay, and it took God, too, to love the world enough to saveit. "

"Why, but if so be, we are saved--not shall be. "

"We are, if we ever shall be. "

"But is that true Catholic doctrine?"

"It is the true doctrine of God's love. Either, therefore, it isCatholic doctrine, or Catholic doctrine hath erred from it. "

"But the Church cannot err!"

"Truth, so long as she keep her true to God's law. The Church is men, not God! and God must be above the Church. But what is the Church? Isit this priest or that bishop? Nay, verily; it is the congregation ofall the faithful elect that follow Christ, and do after Hiscommandments. So long, therefore, as they do after His commands, andfollow Him, they be little like to err. `He that believeth in the Son_hath_ everlasting life. '"

"But we all believe in our Lord!" said Amphillis, feeling as if so manynew ideas had never entered her head all at once before. 

"Believe what?" said Marabel, and she smiled. 

"Why, we believe that He came down from Heaven, and died, and roseagain, and ascended, and such-like. "

"Wherefore?"

"Wherefore came He? Truly, that know I not. By reason that it likedHim, I count. "

"Ay, that was the cause, " said Marabel, softly. "He came because--shallwe say?--He so loved Amphillis Neville, that He could not do without herin Heaven: and as she could win there none other way than by the layingdown of His life, He came and laid it down. "

"Marabel! Never heard I none to speak after this manner! Soothly, ourLord died for us: but--"

"But--yet was it not rightly for us, thee and me, but for some folks along way off, we cannot well say whom?"

Amphillis span and thought--span fast, because she was thinking hard:and Marabel did not interrupt her thoughts. 

"But--we must merit it!" she urged again at last. 

"Dost thou commonly merit the gifts given thee? When man meriteth thathe receiveth--when he doth somewhat, to obtain it--it is a wage, not agift. The very life and soul of a gift is that it is not merited, butgiven of free favour, of friendship or love. "

"I never heard no such doctrine!"

Marabel only smiled. 

"Followeth my Lady this manner?"

"A little in the head, maybe; for the heart will I not speak. "

"And my La--I would say, Mistress Perrote?" Amphillis suddenlyrecollected that her mistress was never to be mentioned. 

"Ask at her, " said Marabel, with a smile. 

"Then Master Norman is of this fashion of thinking?"

"Ay. So be the Hyltons all. "

"Whence gat you the same?"

"It was learned me of my Lady Molyneux of Sefton, that I served aschamberer ere I came hither. I marvel somewhat, Amphillis, that thouhast never heard the same, and a Neville. All the Nevilles of Raby beof our learning--well-nigh. "

"Dear heart, but I'm no Neville of Raby!" cried Amphillis, with a laughat the extravagance of the idea. "At the least, I know not well whencemy father came; his name was Walter Neville, and his father was Ralph, and more knew I never. He bare arms, 'tis true--gules, a saltireargent; and his device, `_Ne vile velis_. '"

"The self arms of the Nevilles of Raby, " said Marabel, with an amusedsmile. "I marvel, Amphillis, thou art not better learned in thine ownfamily matters. "

"Soothly. I never had none to learn me, saving my mother; and thoughshe would tell me oft of my father himself, how good and true man hewere, yet she never seemed to list to speak much of his house. Maybe itwas by reason he came below his rank in wedding her, and his kin refusedto acknowledge her amongst them. Thus, see you, I dropped down, as manshould say, into my mother's rank, and never had no chance to learnnought of my father's matters. "

"Did thine uncle learn thee nought, then?"

"He learned me how to make patties of divers fashions, " answeredAmphillis, laughing. "He was very good to me, and belike to my mother, his sister; but I went not to dwell with him until after she wasdeparted to God. And then I was so slender [insignificant] a countrymaid, with no fortune, ne parts [talents], that my cousins did somewhatslight me, and keep me out of sight. So never met I any that should belike to wise me in this matter. And, the sooth to say, but I would notdesire to dwell amongst kin that had set my mother aside, and reckonedher not fit to company with them, not for no wickedness nor unseemlydealing, but only that she came of a trading stock. It seemeth me, hadsuch wist our blessed Lord Himself, they should have bidden Him standaside, for He was but a carpenter's son. That's the evil of being inhigh place, trow. "

"Ah, no, dear heart! It hath none ado with place, high or low. 'Tishuman nature. Thou shalt find a duchess more ready to company with asquire's wife, oft-times, than the squire's wife with the bailiff'swife, and there is a deal further distance betwixt. It hangeth on theheart, not on the station. "

"But folks' hearts should be the better according to their station. "

Marabel laughed. "That were new world, verily. The grace of God is thesame in every station, and the like be the wiles of Satan--not that hebringeth to all the same temptation, for he hath more wit than so; buthe tempteth all, high and low. The high have the fairer look-out, yetthe more perilous place; the low have the less to content them, yet arethey safer. Things be more evenly parted in this world than many think. Many times he that hath rich food, hath little appetite for it; and hethat hath his appetite sharp, can scarce get food to satisfy it. "

"But then things fit not, " said Amphillis. 

"Soothly, nay. This world is thrown all out of gear by sin. Thingsfitted in Eden, be thou sure. Another reason is there also--that hewhich hath the food may bestow it on him that can relish it, and hath itnot. "

The chapel bell tolled softly for the last service of the day, and thewhole household assembled. Every day this was done at Hazelwood, forprime, sext, and compline, at six a. M. , noon, and seven p. M. Respectively, and any member of the household found missing would havebeen required to render an exceedingly good reason for it. The serviceswere very short, and a sermon was a scarcely imagined performance. After compline came bed-time. Each girl took her lamp, louted to LadyFoljambe and kissed her hand, and they then filed upstairs to bed afterPerrote, she and Amphillis going to their own turret. 

Hitherto Perrote had been an extremely silent person. Not one wordunnecessary to the work in hand had she ever uttered, since those few onAmphillis's first arrival. It was therefore with some little surprisethat the girl heard her voice, as she stood that evening brushing herhair before the mirror. 

"Amphillis, who chose you to come hither?"

"Truly, Mistress, that wis I not. Only, first of all, Mistress Chaucer, of the Savoy Palace, looked me o'er to see if I should be meet fortaking into account, and then came a lady thence, and asked at me diversquestions, and judged that I should serve; but who she was I knew not. She bade me be well ware that I gat me in no entanglements of no sort, "said Amphillis, laughing a little; "but in good sooth, I see herenothing to entangle me in. "

"She gave thee good counsel therein. There be tangles of divers sorts, my maid, and those which cut the tightest be not alway the worst. Thoumayest tangle thy feet of soft wool, or rich silk, no less than of roughcord. Ah me! there be tangles here, Amphillis, and hard to undo. Therewere skilwise fingers to their tying--hard fingers, that thought only topull them tight, and harried them little touching the trouble of such asshould be thus tethered. And there be knots that no man can undo--onlyGod. Why tarry the wheels of His chariot?"

Amphillis turned round from the mirror. 

"Mistress Perrote, may I ask a thing at you?"

"Ask, my maid. "

"My Lady answered me not; will you? What hath our Lady done to be thusshut close in prison?"

"_She_ done?" was the answer, with a piteous intonation. Perrote lookedearnestly into the girl's face. "Amphillis, canst thou keep a secret?"

"If I know myself, I can well. "

"Wilt thou so do, for the love of God and thy Lady? It should harm her, if men knew thou wist it. And, God wot, she hath harm enough. "

"I will never speak word, Mistress Perrote, to any other than you, without you bid me, or grant me leave. "

"So shall thou do well. Guess, Amphillis, who is it that keepeth thispoor lady in such durance. "

"Nay, that I cannot, without it be our Lord the King. "

"He, surely; yet is he but the gaoler. There is another beyond him, atwhose earnest entreaty, and for whose pleasure he so doth. Who is it, thinkest?"

"It seemeth me, Mistress, looking to what you say, this poor lady mustneeds have some enemy, " said Amphillis. 

"Amphillis, that worst enemy, the enemy that bindeth these fetters uponher, that bars these gates against her going forth, that hath quenchedall the sunlight of her life, and hushed all the music out of it--thisenemy is her own son, that she nursed at her bosom--the boy for whoselife she risked hers an hundred times, whose patrimony she only saved tohim, whose welfare through thirty years hath been dearer to her than herown. Dost thou marvel if her words be bitter, and if her eyes besorrowful? Could they be aught else?"

Amphillis looked as horrified as she felt. 

"Mistress Perrote, it is dreadful! Can my said Lord Duke be Christianman?"

"Christian!" echoed Perrote, bitterly. "Dear heart, ay! one of the bestCatholics alive! Hath he not built churches with the moneys of hismother's dower, and endowed convents with the wealth whereof hedefrauded her? What could man do better? A church is a great matter, and a mother a full little one. Mothers die, but churches and conventsendure. Ah, when such mothers die and go to God, be there no words writon the account their sons shall thereafter render? Is He all silentthat denounced the Jewish priests for their Corban, by reason theyallowed man to deny to his father and mother that which he had devote toGod's temple? Is His temple built well of broken hearts, and His altarmeetly covered with the rich tracery of women's tears? `The hope of thehypocrite shall perish, when God taketh away his soul. '"

Never before had Amphillis seen any one change as Perrote had changednow. The quiet, stolid-looking woman had become an inspired prophetess. It was manifest that she dearly loved her mistress, and wasproportionately indignant with the son who treated her so cruelly. 

"Child, " she said to Amphillis, "she lived for nought save that boy!Her daughter was scarce anything to her; it was alway the lad, the lad!And thus the lad a-payeth her for all her love and sacrifice--for theheart that stood betwixt him and evil, for the gold and jewels that shethought too mean to be set in comparison with him, for the weary armsthat bare him, and the tired feet that carried him about, a littlewailing babe--for the toil and the labour, the hope and the fear, thewaiting and the sorrow! Ay, but I marvel in what manner of coin God ourFather shall pay him!"

"But wherefore doth he so?" cried Amphillis. 

"She was in his way, " replied Perrote, in a tone of constrainedbitterness. "He could not have all his will for her. He desired tomake bargains, and issue mandates, and reign at his pleasure, and shetold him the bargains were unprofitable, and the mandates unjust, and itwas not agreeable. 'Twas full awkward and ill-convenient, look you, tohave an old mother interfering with man's pleasure. He would, have sether in a fair palace, and given her due dower, I reckon, would she butthere have tarried, like a slug on a cabbage-leaf, and let him alone;and she would not. How could she? She was not a slug, but an eagle. And 'tis not the nature of an eagle to hang hour after hour upon acabbage-leaf. So, as King Edward had at the first kept her in durancefor his own ends, my gracious Lord Duke did entreat him to continue thesame on his account. As for my Lady Duchess, I say not; I know her not. This only I know, that my Lady Foljambe is her kinswoman. And, mosttimes, there is a woman at the bottom of all evil mischief. Ay, thereis so!"

"Mistress Perrote, it seemeth me this is worser world than I wist ere Icame hither. "

"Art avised o' that? Ay, Phyllis, thou shalt find it so; and thefurther thou journeyest therein, the worser shalt thou find it. "

"Mistress, wherefore is it that this poor lady of ours is kept sosecret? It seemeth as though man would have none know where she were. "

"_Ha, chetife_! [Oh, miserable!] I can but avise thee to ask so muchat them that do keep her. "

"Shall she never be suffered to come forth?"

"Ay, " said Perrote, slowly and solemnly. "She shall come forth one day. But I misdoubt if it shall be ere the King come Himself for her. "

"The King! Shall his Grace come hither?" inquired Amphillis, with muchinterest. She thought of no king but Edward the Third. 

Perrote's eyes were uplifted towards the stars. She spoke as if shewere answering them rather than Amphillis. 

"He shall deem [judge] the poor men of the people, and He shall makesafe the sons of poor men; and He shall make low the false challenger. And He shall dwell with the sun, and before the moon, in generation andin to generation. . . And He shall be Lord from the sea till to the sea, and from the flood till to the ending of the world. . . For He shalldeliver a poor man from the mighty, and a poor man to whom was nonehelper. He shall spare a poor man and needy, and He shall make safe thesouls of poor men. . . Blessed be the name of His majesty withouten end!and all earth shall be filled with His majesty. Be it done, be itdone!" [Note 1. ]

Amphillis almost held her breath as she listened, for the first time inher life, to the grand roll of those sonorous verses. 

"That were a King!" she said. 

"That shall be a King, " answered Perrote, softly. "Not yet is Hiskingdom of this world. But He is King of Israel, and King of kings, andKing of the everlasting ages; and the day cometh when He shall be Kingof nations, when there shall be one Lord over all the earth, and HisName one. Is He thy King, Amphillis Neville?"

"Signify you our blessed Lord, Mistress Perrote?"

"Surely, my maid. Could any other answer thereto?"

"I reckon so, " said Amphillis, calmly, as she put away her brush, andbegan undressing. 

"I would make sure, if I were thou. For the subjects be like to dwellin the Court when they be preferred to higher place. `Ye ben servantisto that thing to which ye han obeisched. ' [Note 2. ] Whose servant artthou? Who reigns in thine inner soul, Phyllis?"

"Soothly, Mistress, I myself. None other, I ween. "

"Nay, one other must there needs be. Thou obeyest the rule of one oftwo masters--either Christ our Lord, or Satan His enemy. "

"In very deed, Mistress, I serve God. "

"Then thou art concerned to please God in everything. Or is it rather, that thou art willing to please God in such matters as shall notdisplease Amphillis Neville?"

Amphillis folded up sundry new and not altogether agreeable thoughts inthe garments which she was taking off and laying in neat order on thetop of her chest for the morning. Perrote waited for the answer. Itdid not come until Amphillis's head was on the pillow. 

"Cannot I please God and myself both?"

"That canst thou, full well and sweetly, if so be thou put God first. Otherwise, nay. "

"Soothly, Mistress, I know not well what you would be at. "

"What our Saviour would be at Himself, which is, thy true bliss andblessedness, Phyllis. My maid, to be assured of fair ending and goodwelcome at the end of the journey makes not the journeying wearier. Toknow not whither thou art wending, save that it is into the dark; to bemet of a stranger, that may be likewise an enemy; to be had up afore thejudge's bar, with no advocate to plead for thee, and no surety ofacquittal, --that is evil journeying, Phyllis, Dost not think so much?"

Perrote listened in vain for any answer. 

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Note 1. Psalm seventy-two, verses 4, 5, 8, 12, 13, 18, 19; Hereford andPurvey's version, 1381-8. 

Note 2. Romans six, verse 16; Wycliffe's version, 1382. 

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

ON THE TERRACE. 

 "Where we disavow Being keeper to our brother, we're his Cain. "

 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 

"Hylton, thou art weary gear!"

"What ails me?"

"What ails thee, forsooth? Marry, but that's as good a jest as I heardthis year! I lack thee to tell me that. For what ails me at thee, thatwere other matter, and I can give thee to wit, an' thou wilt. Thou artas heavy as lead, and as dull as ditch-water, and as flat as dowled[flat] ale. I would I were but mine own master, and I'd mount my horse, and ride away from the whole sort of you!"

"From your father and mother, Matthew?"

"Certes. Where's the good of fathers and mothers, save to crimp andcramp young folks that would fain stretch their wings and be off intothe sunlight? Mine never do nought else. "

"Think you not the fathers and mothers might reasonably ask, Where's thegood of sons and daughters? How much have you cost yours, Matthew, since you were born?"

Matthew Foljambe turned round with a light laugh, and gazed halfcontemptuously at the speaker. 

"Gentlemen never reckon, " said he. "'Tis a mean business, only fit fortradesfolk. "

"You might reckon that sum, Matthew, without damage to your gentleblood. The King himself reckoneth up the troops he shall lack, and theconvention-subsidy due from each man to furnish them. You shall scantlygo above him, I count. "

"I would I were but a king! Wouldn't I lead a brave life!"

"That would not I be for all the riches in Christendom. "

"The which speech showeth thine unwisdom. Why, a king can have hispurveyor to pick of the finest in the market ere any other be serven; hecan lay tax on his people whenas it shall please him [this was true atthat time]; he can have a whole pig or goose to his table every morrow;and as for the gifts that be brought him, they be without number. Marry, but if I were a king, wouldn't I have a long gown of blue velvet, all o'er broidered of seed-pearl, and a cap of cramoisie [crimsonvelvet], with golden broidery! And a summer jack [the garment of whichjacket is the diminutive] of samitelle would I have--let me see--green, I reckon, bound with gold ribbon; and fair winter hoods of miniver andermine, and buttons of gold by the score. Who so bravely apparelled asI, trow?"

"Be your garments not warm enough, Matthew?"

"Warm enough? certes! But they be only camoca and lamb's far, withnever a silver button, let be gold. "

"What advantage should gold buttons be to you? Those pearl do attachyour gown full evenly as well. "

"Hylton, thou hast no ambitiousness in thee! Seest not that folksshould pay me a deal more respect, thus donned [dressed] in my bravery?"

"That is, they should pay much respect to the blue velvet and the goldbuttons? You should be no different that I can see. "

"I should be a vast sight comelier, man alive!"

"You!" returned Hylton. 

"Where's the good of talking to thee? As well essay to learn a sparrowto sing, `_J'ay tout perdu mon temps_. '"

"I think you should have lost your time in very deed, and your labourbelike, if you spent them on broidering gowns and stitching on buttons, when you had enow aforetime. "

"Thou sely loon! [Simple creature!] Dost reckon I mean to work mineown broidery, trow? I'd have a fair score of maidens alway a-broideringfor me, so that I might ever have a fresh device when I lacked a newgown. "

"The which should come in a year to--how much?"

"Dost look for me to know?"

"I do, when I have told you. Above an hundred and twenty pound, MasterMatthew. That should your bravery cost you, in broidering-maids alone. "

"Well! what matter, so I had it?"

"It might serve you. I should desire to buy more happiness with such asum than could be stitched into golden broidery and seed-pearl. "

"Now come, Norman, let us hear thy notion of happiness. If thou hadstin thine hand an hundred pound, what should'st do withal?"

"I would see if I could not dry up as many widows' tears as I had goldenpieces, and bring as many smiles to the lips of orphans as they shoulddivide into silver. "

"Prithee, what good should that do thee?"

"It should keep mine heart warm in the chillest winter thereafter. ButI thought rather of the good it should do them than me. "

"But what be such like folks to thee?"

"Our Lord died for them, and He is something to me. "

"Fate meant thee for a monk, Hylton. Thou rannest thine head againstthe wall to become a squire. "

"Be monks the sole men that love God?"

"They be the sole men that hold such talk. "

"I have known monks that held full different talk, I do ensure you. AndI have known laymen that loved God as well as any monk that ever pacedcloister. "

"Gramercy! do leave preaching of sermons. I have enow of them from myLady my mother. Let's be jolly, if we can. "

"You should have the better right to be jolly, to know whither you weregoing, and that you should surely come out safe at the far end. "

"Happy man be my dole! I'm no wise feared. I'll give an hundred poundto the Church the week afore I die, and that shall buy me asoft-cushioned seat in Heaven, I'll warrant. "

"Who told you so much? Any that had been there?"

"Man alive! wilt hold thy peace, and let man be? Thou art turned nowinto a predicant friar. I'll leave thee here to preach to thegilly-flowers. "

And Matthew walked off, with a sprig of mint in his mouth. He was not abad man, as men go. He was simply a man who wanted to please himself, and to be comfortable and easy. In his eyes the whole fabric of theuniverse revolved round Matthew Foljambe. He did not show it as theroyal savage did, who beat a primitive gong in token that, as he had satdown to dinner, the rest of the world might lawfully satisfy theirhunger; but the sentiment in Matthew's mind was a civilised and refinedform of the same idea. If he were comfortable, what did it signify ifeverybody else were uncomfortable?

Like all men in his day--and a good many in our own--Matthew had a lowopinion of woman. It had been instilled into him, as it was at thattime into every man who wrote himself "esquire, " that the utmostchivalrous reverence was due to the ladies as an abstract idea; but thisabstract idea was quite compatible with the rudest behaviour and thesupremest contempt for any given woman in the concrete. Woman was anarticle of which there were two qualities: the first-class thing was atoy, the second was a machine. Both were for the use of man--which wastrue enough, had they only realised that it meant for man's real helpand improvement, bodily, mental, and spiritual; but they understood itto mean for the bodily comfort and mental amusement of the nobler halfof the human race. The natural result of this was that every woman mustbe appropriated to some master. The bare notion of allowing a woman tochoose whether she would go through life unattached to a master, or, ifotherwise, to reject one she feared or disliked, would have seemed toMatthew the most preposterous audacity on the part of the inferiorcreature, as it would also have appeared if the inferior creature hadshown discontent with the lot marked out for it. The inferior creature, on the whole, walked very meekly in the path thus swept for it. Thiswas partly, no doubt, because it was so taught as a religious duty; butpartly, also, because the style of education then given to women left noroom for the mental wings to expand. The bird was supplied with goodseed and fresh water, and the idea of its wanting anything else wasregarded as absurd. Let it sit on the perch and sing in a properlysubdued tone. That it was graciously allowed to sing was enough for anyreasonable bird, and ought to call forth on its part overflowinggratitude. 

Even then, a few of the caged birds were not content to sit meekly onthe perch, but they were eyed askance by the properly behaved ones, andheld up to the unfledged nestlings as sorrowful examples of thepernicious habit of thinking for one's self. Never was bird lesssatisfied to be shut up in a cage than the hapless prisoner in thatmanor house, whom the peasants of the neighbourhood knew as the WhiteLady. Now and then they caught a glimpse of her at the window of herchamber, which she insisted on having open, and at which she would standsometimes by the hour together, looking sorrowfully out on the blue skyand the green fields, wherein she might wander no more. A wild bird wasMarguerite of Flanders, in whose veins ran the blood of those untamedsea-eagles, the Vikings of Denmark; and though bars and wires might keepher in the cage, to make her content with it was beyond their power. 

So thought Norman Hylton, looking up at the white figure visible behindthe bars which crossed the casement of the captive's chamber. He knewlittle of her beyond her name. 

"Saying thy prayers to the moon, Hylton? or to the White Lady?" asked avoice behind him. 

"Neither, Godfrey. I was marvelling wherefore she is mewed up there. Dost know?"

"I know she was a full wearisome woman to my Lord Duke her son, and thathe is a jollier man by the acre since she here dwelt. "

"Was she his own mother?" asked Norman. 

"His own?--ay, for sure; and did him a good turn at the beginning, bypreserving his kingdom for him when he was but a lad. "

"And could he find no better reward for her than this?"

"Tut! she sharped [teased, irritated] him, man. He could not have hiswill for her. "

"Could he ne'er have put up with a little less of it? Or was his willso much dearer to him than his mother?"

"Dost reckon he longed sore to be ridden of an old woman, and made totrot to market at her pleasure, when his own was to take every gate andhurdle in his way? Thou art old woman thyself, an' thou so dost. MyLord Duke is no jog-trot market-ass, I can tell thee, but as fiery awar-charger as man may see in a summer's day. And dost think awar-charger should be well a-paid to have an old woman of his back?"

"My Lady his mother, then, hath no fire in her?" said Norman, glancingup at her where she stood behind the bars in her white weeds, lookingdown on the two young men in the garden. 

"Marry, enough to burn a city down. She did burn the King of France'scamp afore Hennebon. And whenas she was prisoner in Tickhill Castle, acertain knight, whose name I know not, [the name of this knight isapparently not on record], covenanted secretly with her by means of somebribe, or such like, given to her keepers, that he would deliver herfrom durance; and one night scaled he the walls, and she herself gatdown from her window, and clambered like a cat by means of thewater-spout and slight footholds in the stonework, till she came to thebottom, and then over the walls and away. They were taken, as thoumayest lightly guess, yet they gat them nigh clear of the liberties erethey could again be captivated. Fire! ay, that hath she, and ever will. Forsooth, that is the cause wherefore she harried her son. If shewould have sat still at her spinning, he'd have left her be. But, lookthou, she could not leave him be. "

"Wherein did she seek to let him, wot you?"

"Good lack! not I. If thou art so troubled thereanent, thou wert bestask my father. Maybe he wist not. I cannot say. "

"It must have been sore disheartenment, " said Norman, pityingly, "to winnearly away, and then be brought back. "

"Ay, marry; and then was she had up to London afore the King's Grace, and had into straiter prison than aforetime. Ere that matter was shetreated rather as guest of the King and Queen, though in good sooth shewas prisoner; but after was she left no doubt touching that question. Some thought she might have been released eight years agone, when theconvention was with the Lady Joan of Brittany, which after her lord waskilled at Auray, gave up all, receiving the county of Penthievre, thecity of Limoges, and a great sum of money; and so far as Englandreckoned, so she might, and maybe would, had it been to my Lord Duke'sconvenience. But he had found her aforetime very troublesome to him. Why, when he was but a youth, he fell o' love with some fair damsel ofhis mother's following, and should have wedded her, had not my LadyDuchess, so soon as ever she knew it, packed her off to a nunnery. "

"Wherefore?"

"That wis I not, without it were that she was not for him. "[Unsuitable. ]

"Was the tale true, think you?"

"That wis I not likewise. Man said so much--behold all I know. Anyway, she harried him, and he loved it not, and here she is. That'senough for me. "

"Poor lady!"

"Poor? what for poor? She has all she can want. She is fed and clad aswell as ever she was--better, I dare guess, than when she was besiegedin Hennebon. If she would have broidery silks, or flowers, or any sortof women's toys, she hath but to say, and my Lady my mother shall rideto Derby for them. The King gave order she should be well used, andwell used she is. He desireth not that she be punished, but only keptsure. "

"I would guess that mere keeping in durance, with nought more to vexher, were sorest suffering to one of her fashioning. "

"But what more can she lack? Beside, she is only a woman. "

"Women mostly live in and for their children, and your story sounds asthough hers cared little enough for her. "

"Well! they know she is well treated; why should they harry them overher? They be young, and would lead a jolly life, not to be tied forever to her apron-string. "

"I would not use my mother thus. "

"What wouldst? Lead her horse with thy bonnet doffed, and make a legafore her whenever she spake unto thee?"

"If it made her happy so to do, I would. Meseemeth I should be as wellemployed in leading her horse as another, and could show my chivalry aswell towards mine old mother as any other lady. I were somewhat morebeholden to her of the twain, and God bade me not honour any other, butHe did her. "

"_Ha, chetife_! 'Tis easier work honouring a fair damsel, with goldenhair and rose-leaf cheek, than a toothless old harridan that is for everplaguing thee. "

"Belike the Lord knew that, and writ therefore His fifth command. "

Godfrey did not answer, for his attention was diverted. Two well-ladenmules stood at the gate, and two men were coming up to the Manor House, carrying a large pack--a somewhat exciting vision to country people inthe Middle Ages. There were then no such things as village shops, andonly in the largest and most important towns was any great stock kept bytradesmen. The chief trading in country places was done by theseitinerant pedlars, whose visits were therefore a source of greatinterest to the family, and especially to the ladies. They servedfrequently as messengers and carriers in a small way, and wereparticularly valuable between the four seasons, when alone anythingworth notice could be expected in the shops--Easter, Whitsuntide, AllSaints, and Christmas. There were also the spring and autumn fairs, butthese were small matters except in the great towns. As it was now thebeginning of September, Godfrey knew that a travelling pedlar would be amost acceptable visitor to his mother and wife. 

The porter, instructed by his young master, let in the pedlars. 

"What have ye?" demanded Godfrey. 

"I have mercery, sweet Sir, and he hath jewelling, " answered the tallerof the pedlars, a middle-aged man with a bronzed face, which told ofmuch outdoor exposure. 

"Why, well said! Come ye both into hall, and when ye have eaten anddrunk, then shall ye open your packs. "

Godfrey led the pedlars into the hall, and shouted for the sewer, whomhe bade to set a table, and serve the wearied men with food. 

An hour later, Amphillis, who was sewing in her mistress's chamber, roseat the entrance of Lady Foljambe. 

"Here, Dame, be pedlars bearing mercery and jewelling, " said she. "Would your Grace anything that I can pick forth to your content?"

"Ay, I lack a few matters, Avena, " said the Countess, in her usualbitter-sweet style. "A two-three yards of freedom, an' it like thee;and a boxful of air, so he have it fresh; and if thou see a silver chainof daughter's duty, or a bit of son's love set in gold, I could serve meof those if I had them. They'll not come over sea, methinketh. "

"Would it like your Grace, " asked Lady Foljambe, rather stiffly, "tospeak in plain language, and say what you would have?"

"`Plain language!'" repeated the Countess. "In very deed, but Ireckoned I had given thee some of that afore now! I would have myliberty, Avena Foljambe; and I would have my rights; and I would have ofmine own childre such honour as 'longeth to a mother by reason and God'slaw. Is that plain enough? or wouldst have it rougher hewn?"

"Dame, your Grace wist well that such matter as this cometh not ofpedlars' packs. "

"Ay!" said the Countess, with a long, weary sigh. "I do, so! Nor outof men's hearts, belike. Well, Avena, to come down to such petty matteras I count I shall be suffered to have, prithee, bring me some violetsilk of this shade for broidery, and another yard or twain of redsamitelle for the backing. It were not in thy writ of mattersallowable, I reckon, that the pedlars should come up and open theirpacks in my sight?"

Lady Foljambe looked scandalised. 

"Dear heart! Dame, what means your Grace?"

"I know, " said the Countess. "They have eyes, no less than I; and theyshall see an old woman in white doole, and fall to marvelling, and maybetalking, wherefore their Lord King Edward keepeth her mewed up with barsacross her casement. His Grace's honour must be respected, trow. Be itdone. 'Tis only one penny the more to the account that the Lord of thehelpless shall demand of him one day. I trust he hath in his cofferswherewith to pay that debt. Verily, there shall be some strangemeetings in that further world. I marvel something what manner of talemine old friend De Mauny carried thither this last January, when he wenton the long journey that hath no return. Howbeit, seeing he wedded hismaster's cousin, maybe it were not to his conveniency to remind the Lordof the old woman behind the bars at Hazelwood. It should scantlyredound to his lord's credit. And at times it seemeth me that the Lordlacketh reminding, for He appears to have forgot me. "

"I cannot listen, Dame, to such speech of my Sovereign. "

"Do thy duty, Avena. After all, thy Sovereign's not bad man, as men go. Marvellous ill they go, some of them! He hath held his sceptre welleven betwixt justice and mercy on the whole, saving in two matters, whereof this old woman is one, and old women be of small account withmost men. He should have fared well had he wist his own mind a bitbetter--but that's in the blood. Old King Harry, his father'sgrandfather, I have heard say, was a weary set-out for that. Go thyways, Avena, and stand not staring at me. I'm neither a lovesome youngdamsel nor a hobgoblin, that thou shouldst set eyes on me thus. Threeells of red samitelle, and two ounces of violet silk this hue--and a bitof gold twist shall harm no man. Amphillis, my maid, thou art not gluedto the chamber floor like thy mistress; go thou and take thy pleasure tosee the pedlars' packs. Thou hast not much here, poor child!"

Amphillis thankfully accepted her mistress's considerate permission, andran down to the hall. She found the mercer's pack open, and the richstuffs hung all about on the forms, which had been pulled forward forthat purpose. The jeweller meanwhile sat in a corner, resting until hewas wanted. Time was not of much value in the Middle Ages. 

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

ALNERS AND SAMITELLE. 

 "And there's many a deed I could wish undone, though the law might not be broke; And there's many a word, now I come to think, that I wish I had not spoke. "

The mercer's stock, spread out upon the benches of the hall, was a sightat once gay and magnificent. Cloth of gold, diaper, baldekin, velvet, tissue, samite, satin, tartaryn, samitelle, sarcenet, taffata, sindon, cendall, say--all of them varieties of silken stuffs--ribbons of silk, satin, velvet, silver, and gold, were heaped together in brilliant andbewildering confusion of beautiful colours. Lady Foljambe, MrsMargaret, Marabel, and Agatha, were all looking on. 

"What price is that by the yard?" inquired Lady Foljambe, touching apiece of superb Cyprus baldekin, striped white, and crimson. Baldekinwas an exceedingly rich silk, originally made at Constantinople: it wasnow manufactured in England also, but the "oversea" article was the morevaluable, the baldekin of Cyprus holding first rank. Baldachino isderived from this word. 

"Dame, " answered the mercer, "that is a Cyprus baldekin; it is eightpound the piece of three ells. "

Lady Foljambe resigned the costly beauty with a sigh. 

"And this?" she asked, indicating a piece of soft blue. 

"That is an oversea cloth, Dame, yet not principal [of first-classquality]--it is priced five pound the piece. "

Lady Foljambe's gesture intimated that this was too much for her purse. "Hast any gold cloths of tissue, not over three pound the piece?"

"That have I, Dame, " answered the mercer, displaying a pretty palegreen, a dark red, and one of the favourite yellowish-brown shade knownas tawny. 

Lady Foljambe looked discontented; the beautiful baldekins first seenhad eclipsed the modest attractions of their less showy associates. 

"Nay, I pass not [do not care] for those, " said she. "Show me velvet. "

The mercer answered by dexterously draping an unoccupied form, firstwith a piece of rich purple, then one of tawny, then one of deepcrimson, and lastly a bright blue. 

"And what price be they?"

He touched each as he recounted the prices, beginning with the purple. 

"Fifteen shillings the ell, Dame; a mark [13 shillings 4 pence];fourteen shillings; half a mark. I have also a fair green at halfa mark, a peach blossom at fourteen shillings, a grey atseven-and-sixpence, and a murrey [mulberry colour] at a mark. "

Lady Foljambe slightly shrugged her shoulders. 

"Say a noble [6 shillings 8 pence] for the grey, and set it aside, " shesaid. 

"Dame, I could not, " replied the mercer, firmly though respectfully. "My goods be honest matter; they be such as they are set forth, and theyhave paid the King's dues. "

Like many other people, Lady Foljambe would have preferred smuggledgoods, if they were cheaper than the honest article. Her conscience wasvery elastic about taxes. It was no great wonder that this spiritprevailed in days when the Crown could ruthlessly squeeze its subjectswhenever it wanted extra money, as Henry the Third had done a hundredyears before; and though his successors had not imitated his example, the memory of it remained as a horror and a suspicion. Dishonestpeople, whether they are kings or coal-heavers, always make a place moredifficult to fill for those who come after them. 

"Well! then set aside the blue, " said Lady Foljambe, with a slight pout. "Margaret, what lackest thou?"

Mrs Margaret looked wistfully at the fourteen-shilling crimson, andthen manfully chose the six-and-eightpenny green. 

"Now let us see thy samitelles, " said her Ladyship. 

Samitelle, as its name implies, was doubtless a commoner quality of therich and precious samite, which ranked in costliness and beauty withbaldekin and cloth of gold, and above satin and velvet. Samite was asilk material, of which no more is known than that it was veryexpensive, and had a glossy sheen, like satin. Some antiquaries havesupposed it to be an old name for satin; but as several Wardrobe Rollscontain entries relating to both in immediate sequence, this suppositionis untenable. 

The mercer exhibited three pieces of samitelle. 

"Perse, Dame, four marks the piece, " said he, holding up a very paleblue; "ash-colour, thirty shillings; apple-bloom, forty shillings. "

"No, " said Lady Foljambe; "I would have white. "

"Forty-five shillings the piece, Dame. "

"Hast no cheaper?"

"Not in white, Dame. "

"Well! lay it aside; likewise three ells of the red. I would havemoreover a cendall of bean-flower colour, and a piece or twain of say--murrey or sop-in-wine. "

Cendall was a very fine, thin silk fit for summer wear, resembling whatis now called foulard; say was the coarsest and cheapest sort of silk, and was used for upholstery as well as clothing. 

"I have a full fair bean-flower cendall, Dame, one shilling the ell; anda good sop-in-wine say at twopence. "

The mercer, as he spoke, held up the piece of say, of a nondescriptcolour, not unlike what is now termed crushed strawberry. 

"That shall serve for the chamberers, " said Lady Foljambe; "but thecendall is for myself; I would have it good. "

"Dame, it is principal; you shall not see better. "

"Good. Measure me off six ells of the cendall, and nine of the say. Then lay by each piece skeins of thread of silk, an ounce to the piece, each to his colour; two ounces of violet, and two of gold twist. Enoughfor this morrow. "

The mercer bowed, with deft quickness executed the order, and proceededto pack up the remainder of his goods. When the forms were denuded oftheir rich coverings, he retired into the corner, and the jeweller cameforward. 

The little jeweller was less dignified, but more lively and loquacious, than his companion the mercer. He unstrapped his pack, laid it open atthe feet of Lady Foljambe, and executed a prolonged flourish of twoplump brown hands. 

"What may I lay before your Ladyship? Buttons and buttoners of de best, paternosters of de finest, gold and silver collars, chains, crucifixesgarnished of stones and pearls; crespines, girdles of every fashion, ouches, rings, tablets [tablets were of two sorts, reliquaries andmemorandum-books], charms, gipsers, and forcers [satchels to hang fromthe waist, and small boxes], combs, spoons, caskets, collars for deleetle dogs, bells, points [tagged laces, then much used], alners[alms-bags, larger than purses], purses, knives, scissors, cups--whatasks your Ladyship? Behold dem all. "

"Dost call thyself a jeweller?" asked Lady Foljambe, with a laugh. "Why, thou art jeweller, silversmith, girdler, forcer-maker, andcutler. "

"Dame, I am all men to please my customers, " answered the littlejeweller, obsequiously. "Will your Ladyship look? Ah, de beautifultings!"

"Art thou Englishman?"

"Ah! no, Madame, I am a Breton. I come from Hennebon. "

A sudden flash of suspicious uneasiness lighted up the eyes of theCountess of Montfort's gaoler. Yet had the man meant mischief, he wouldscarcely have been so communicative. However that might be, LadyFoljambe determined to get him out of the house as quickly as possible. 

"I lack but little of thy sort, " she said. "Howbeit, thou mayest showus thine alners and thy buttons. "

"I would fain have a gipser, " said Mrs Margaret. 

While Mrs Margaret was selecting from the stock of gipsers a pretty redvelvet one with a silver clasp, price half-a-crown, Perrote came quietlyinto the hall, and stood beside Amphillis, a little behind LadyFoljambe, who had not heard her entrance. 

"Here are de alners, Madame, " said the lively little Breton. "Blue, green, black, white, red, tawny, violet. Will your Ladyship choose?T'ree shillings to free marks--beautiful, beautiful! Den here are--_Bonsaints, que vois-je_? Surely, surely it is Mademoiselle de Carhaix!"

"It is, " said Perrote; "and thou art Ivo filz Jehan?"

"I am Ivo filz Jehan, dat man calls Ivo le Breton. I go from Cornwall, where dwell my countrymen, right up to de Scottish border. And howcomes it, den, if a poor man may ask, dat I find here, in de heart ofEngland, a Breton damsel of family?"

Lady Foljambe was in an agony. She would have given her best gold chainfor the little Breton jeweller to have kept away from Hazelwood. If hehad any sort of penetration, another minute might reveal the secrethitherto so jealously guarded, that his Sovereign's missing mother was aprisoner there. Her misery was the greater because she could not feelat all sure of Perrote, whom she strongly suspected of more loyalty toher mistress than to King Edward in her heart, though she had not shownit by any outward action. Perrote knew the direction of Lady Foljambe'sthoughts as well as if she had spoken them. She answered very calmly, and with a smile. 

"May Breton damsels not tarry in strange lands, as well as Bretonpedlars? I have divers friends in England. "

"Surely, surely!" said the pedlar, hastily, perceiving that he hadtransgressed against Lady Foljambe's pleasure. "Only, if so poor manmay say it, it is full pleasant to see face dat man know in strangeland. Madame, would it please your Ladyship to regard de alners?"

Lady Foljambe was only too glad to turn Ivo's attention back to thealners. She bought six for presents--they were a favourite form ofgift; and picked out twenty buttons of silver-gilt, stamped with aneagle. Mrs Margaret also selected a rosary, of coral set in silver, tohelp her in saying her prayers, for which article, in her eyes of thefirst necessity, she gave 33 shillings 4 pence, and for a minuteenamelled image of the Virgin and Child, in a little tabernacle or caseof silver filagree, of Italian work, she paid five pounds. This was tobe set before her on the table and prayed to. Mrs Margaret would nothave put it quite in that plain form of words, for no idolater will everadmit that he addresses the piece of wood or stone; but it was what shereally did without admitting it. Alas for the worshipper whose god hasto be carried about, and requires dusting like any other ornament!"They that make them are like unto them; so is every one that trustethin them. "

Perrote bought an ivory comb of Ivo, which cost her three shillings, forold acquaintance sake; Marabel purchased six silver buttons in the formof a lamb, for which she paid 8 shillings 9 pence; Agatha invested fourshillings in a chaplet of pearls; while Amphillis, whose purse was verylow, and had never been otherwise, contented herself with a sixpennycasket. Ivo, however, was well satisfied, and packed up his goods witha radiant face. 

When the two itinerant tradesmen had shouldered their packs, and hadgone forth, Lady Foljambe hastily summoned her husband's squire. Shewas not sufficiently high in dignity to have a squire of her own. 

"Prithee, keep watch of yon little jeweller packman, " said she, uneasily. "Mark whither he goeth, and see that he hold no discoursewith any of the household, without it be to trade withal. I desire toknow him clear of the vicinage ere the dark falleth. "

Norman Hylton bowed in answer, and went out. 

He found the two packmen in the courtyard, the centre of an admiringthrong of servants and retainers, all of whom were anxious to inspecttheir goods, some from a desire to make such purchases as they couldafford, and all from that longing to relieve the monotony of life whichbesets man in general, and must have been especially tempting in theMiddle Ages. A travelling pedlar was the substitute for an illustratednewspaper, his pack supplying the engravings, and his tongue the text. These men and pilgrims were the chief newsmongers of the day. 

Ivo dangled a pair of blue glass ear-rings before the enchanted eyes ofKate the chambermaid. 

"You shall have dem dirt sheap! Treepence de pair--dat is all. Vatlack you, my young maids? Here is mirrors and combs, scissors andknives, necklaces, beads and girdles, purses of Rouen, forcers andgipsers--all manner you can wish. Relics I have, if you desire dem--alittle finger-bone of Saint George, and a tooth of de dragon dat heslew; a t'read of de veil of Saint Agat'a, and de paring of SaintMatthew's nails. Here is brooches, crespines, charms, spectacles, alners, balls, puppets, coffers, bells, baskets for de maids'needlework, pins, needles, ear-rings, shoe-buckles, buttons--everyting!And here--here is my beautifullest ting--my chiefest relic, in de leetlesilver box--see!"

"Nay, what is it, trow?" inquired Kate, who looked with deep interestthrough the interstices of the filagree, and saw nothing but a fewinches of coarse linen thread. 

"Oh, it is de blessed relic! Look you, our Lady made shirt for SaintJoseph, and she cut off de t'read, and it fall on de floor, and dere itlie till Saint Petronilla come by, and she pick it up and put it in herbosom. It is all writ down inside. De holy Fader give it my moder'sgrandmoder's aunt, when she go to Rome. It is wort' tousands ofpounds--de t'read dat our blessed Lady draw t'rough her fingers. Youshould have no maladies never, if you wear dat. "

"Ay, but such things as that be alonely for folk as can pay for 'em, Ireckon, " said Kate, looking wistfully, first at the blue ear-rings, andthen at the blessed relic. 

Ivo made a screen of his hand, and spoke into Kate's ear. 

"See you, now! You buy dem, and I trow him you into de bargain! Said Iwell, fair maid?"

"What, all for threepence?" gasped the bewitched Kate. 

"All for t'ree-pence. De blessed relic and de beautiful ear-rings! Itis dirt sheap. I would not say it to nobody else, only my friends. Seeyou?"

Kate looked in his face to see if he meant it, and then slowly drew outher purse. The warmth of Ivo's friendship, ten minutes old at the most, rather staggered her. But the ear-rings had taken her fancy, and shewas also, though less, desirous to possess the holy relic. She pouredout into the palm of her hand various pence, halfpence, and farthings, and began endeavouring to reckon up the threepence; a difficult task fora girl utterly ignorant of figures. 

"You leave me count it, " suggested the little packman. "I will notcheat you--no, no! How could I, wid de blessed relic in mine hand?One, two, free. Dere! I put in de rings in your ears? ah, dey make youlook beautiful, beautiful! De widow lady, I see her not when I have mypack in hall. She is well?"

"What widow lady, trow?" said Kate, feeling the first ear-ring glidesoftly into her ear. 

"Ah, I have afore been here. I see a widow lady at de window. Why comeshe not to hall?--Oh, how fair you shall be! you shall every eyecharm!--She is here no more--yes?"

"Well, ay--there is a widow lady dwelleth here, " said Kate, offering theother ear to her beguiler, just as Norman Hylton came up to them; "butshe is a prisoner, and--hush! haste you, now, or I must run withoutthem. "

"Dat shall you not, " said Ivo, quickly slipping the second ear-ring intoits place. "Ah, how lovesome should you be, under dat bush by the gate, that hath de yellow flowers, when de sun was setting, and all goldenbehind you! Keep well de holy relic; it shall bring you good. "

And with a significant look, and a glance upwards at the house, Ivoshouldered his pack, and turned away. 

The mercer had not seemed anxious to do business with the household. Perhaps he felt that his wares were scarcely within their means. He satquietly in the gateway until the jeweller had finished his chaffering, when he rose and walked out beside him. The two packs were carefullystrapped on the waiting mules, which were held by the lad, and the partymarched down the slope from the gateway. 

"What bought you with your holy relic and your ear-rings, Ivo?" askedthe mercer, with a rather satirical glance at his companion, when theywere well out of hearing. "Aught that was worth them?"

"I bought the news that our Lady abideth hither, " was the grave reply;"and it was cheap, at the cost of a scrap of tin and another of glass, and an inch or twain of thread out of your pack. If yon maid have butwit to be under the shrub by the gate at sunset, I shall win more ofher. But she's but a poor brain, or I err. Howbeit, I've had myear-rings' worth. They cost but a halfpenny. Can you see aught fromhere? Your eyes be sharper than mine. "

"I see somewhat white at yonder window. But, Ivo, were you wise to tellthe lady you came from Hennebon?"

"I was, Sir Roland. She will suspect me now, instead of you; and if, asI guess, she send a spy after us, when we part company he will followme, and you shall be quit of him. "

The mercer glanced back, as though to see if any one were following. 

"Well, perchance you say well, " he answered. "There is none behind, methinks. So now to rejoin Father Eloy. "

Norman Hylton had not followed the packmen beyond the gate. He did notlike the business, and was glad to be rid of it. He only kept watch ofthem till they disappeared up the hill, and then returned to tell LadyFoljambe the direction which they had taken. 

Kate's mind was considerably exercised. As Ivo had remarked, her witswere by no means of the first quality, but her conceit and love ofadmiration far outstripped them. The little jeweller had seen this, andhad guessed that she would best answer his purpose of the youngermembers of the household. Quiet, sensible Joan, the upper chambermaid, would not have suited him at all; neither would sturdy, straightforwardMeg, the cook-maid; but Kate's vanity and indiscretion were both sopatent that he fixed on her at once as his chosen accomplice. His onlydoubt was whether she had sense enough to understand his hint aboutbeing under the bush at sunset. Ivo provided himself with a showybrooch of red glass set in gilt copper, which Kate was intended toaccept as gold and rubies; and leaving his pack under the care of hisfellow conspirator--for Ivo was really the pedlar which Roland was not--he slipped back to Hazelwood, and shortly before the sun set wasprowling about in the neighbourhood of the bush which stood just outsidethe gate of Hazelwood Manor. Before he had been there many minutes, alight, tripping footstep was heard; and poor, foolish Kate, with theblue drops in her ears, came like a giddy fly into the web of Ivo thespider. 

CHAPTER NINE. 

MISCHIEF. 

 "I've nothing to do with better and worse--I haven't to judge for the rest: If other men are not better than I am, they are bad enough at the best. "

When Ivo thought proper to see Kate approaching, he turned with anexclamation of hyperbolical admiration. He knew perfectly the type ofwoman with whom he had to deal. "Ah, it is den you, fair maid? You befair widout dem, but much fairer wid de ear-rings, I you assure. Ah, ifyou had but a comely ouche at your t'roat, just dere, "--and Ivo laid afat brown finger at the base of his own--"your beauty would be perfect--perfect!"

"Lack-a-day, I would I had!" responded silly Kate; "but ouches and suchbe not for the likes of me. "

"How? Say no such a ting! I know of one jewel, a ruby of de best, andde setting of pure gold, fit for a queen, dat might be had by de maidwho would give herself one leetle pain to tell me only one leetle ting, dat should harm none; but you care not, I dare say, to trouble you-selfso much. "

And Ivo thrust his hands in his pockets, and began to whistle softly. 

"Nay, now; do you?" said the bewitched fly, getting a little deeper intothe web. "Good Master Packman, do of your grace tell me how a maidshould earn that jewel?"

Ivo drew the brooch half out of his breast, so as just to allow Kate theleast glance at it possible. 

"Is that the jewel?" she asked, eagerly. "Eh, but it shineth well-nighto match the sun himself! Come, now; what should I tell you? I'll doaught to win it. "

Ivo came close to her, and spoke into her ear. 

"Show me which is the prisoner's window. "

"Well, it's yon oriel, on the inner side of--Eh, but I marvel if I doill to tell you!"

"Tell me noting at all dat you count ill, " was the pious answer of Ivo, who had got to know all he needed except one item. "You can tarry alittle longer? or you are very busy? Sir Godfrey is away, is it not?"

"Nay, he's at home, but he'll be hence next week. He's to tilt at thetournament at Leicester. "

"Ah! dat will be grand sight, all de knights and de ladies. But I amsure--sure--dere shall not be one so fair as you, sweet maid. Look you, I pin de jewel at your neck. It is wort von hundred pound, I do ensureyou. "

"Eh, to think of it!" cried enchanted Kate. 

"And I would not part wid it but to my friend, and a maid so fair anddelightsome. See you, how it shine! It shine better as de sun when itdo catch him. You sleep in de prisoner's chamber?--yes?"

"Nay, I'm but a sub-chambermaid, look you--not even an upper. MistressPerrote, she sleeps in the pallet whenas any doth; but methinks herLadyship lieth alone at this present. Howbeit, none never seeth hersave Mistress Perrote and Mistress Amphillis, and my Lady and SirGodfrey, of course, when they have need. I've ne'er beheld her myself, only standing behind the casement, as she oft loveth to do. My Ladyhath a key to her chamber door, and Mistress Perrote the like; and nonesave these never entereth. "

Ivo drank in all the information which Kate imparted, while he onlyseemed to be carelessly trimming a switch which he had pulled from awillow close at hand. 

"They be careful of her, it should seem, " he said. 

"You may say that. They're mortal feared of any man so much as seeingher. Well, I reckon I should go now. I'm sure I'm right full indebtedto you, Master Packman, for this jewel: only I don't feel as if I havepaid you for it. "

"You have me paid twice its value, to suffer me look on your beautifulface!" was the gallant answer, with a low bow. "But one more word, andI go, fair maid, and de sun go from me wid you. De porter, he is whatof a man?--and has he any dog?"

"Oh ay, that he hath; but I can peace the big dog well enough, an' I didbut know when it should be. Well, as for the manner of man, he'spleasant enough where he takes, look you; but if he reckons you're afteraught ill, you'll not come round him in no wise. "

"Ah, he is wise man. I see. Well, my fairest of maidens, you shall, ifit please you, keep de big dog looking de oder way at nine o'clock of deeven, de night Sir Godfrey goes; and de Lady Princess have not so fair acrespine for her hair as you shall win, so to do. Dat is Monday night, trow?"

"Nay, 'tis Tuesday. Well, I'll see; I'll do what I can. "

"Fair maid, if I t'ought it possible, I would say, de saints make youbeautifuller! But no; it is not possible. So I say, de saints make youhappier, and send you all dat you most desire! Good-night. "

"Good even, Master Packman, and good befall you. You'll not forget thatcrespine?"

"Forget? Impossible! Absolute impossible! I bear your remembrance onmine heart all de days of my life. I adore you! Farewell. "

When Meg, the next minute, joined Kate under the tree, there was no moresign of Ivo than if he had been the airy creature of a dream. 

The little pedlar had escaped dexterously, and only just in time. Hehid for a moment beneath the shade of a friendly shrub, and, as soon ashe saw Meg's back turned, ran downwards into the Derby road as lithelyas a cat, and took the way to that city, where he recounted to hiscompanions, when other people were supposed to be asleep, thearrangement he had made to free the Countess. 

"Thou art sore lacking in discretion, my son, " said Father Eloy, whosenormal condition was that of a private confessor in Bretagne, and whosetemporary disguise was that of a horse-dealer. "Such a maid as thoudescribest is as certain to want and have a confidant as she is to wearthat trumpery. Thou wilt find--or, rather, we shall find--the wholehouse up and alert, and fully aware of our intention. "

Ivo's shoulders were shrugged very decidedly. 

"_Ha, chetife_!" cried he; "she will want the crespine. "

"Not so much as she will want to impart her secret, " answered thepriest. "Who whispered to the earth, `Midas has long ears'?"

"It will not matter much to Ivo, so he be not taken, " said the knight. "Nor, in a sense, to you, Father, as your frock protects you. I shallcome off the worst. "

"You'll come off well enough, " responded Ivo. "You made an excellentmercer this morrow. You only need go on chaffering till you have soldall your satins, and by that time you will have your pockets well lined;and if you choose your route wisely, you will be near the sea. "

"Well and good! if we are not all by that time eating dry bread at theexpense of our worthy friend Sir Godfrey. "

"Mind _you_ are not, Sir Roland, " said Ivo. "Every man for himself. Ialways fall on my feet like a cat, and have nine lives. "

"Nine lives come to an end some day, " replied Sir Roland, grimly. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"On what art thou a-thinking thus busily, Phyllis?"

"Your pardon, Mistress Perrote; I was thinking of you. "

"Not hard to guess, when I saw thine eyes look divers times my ways. What anentis me, my maid?"

"I cry you mercy, Mistress Perrote; for you should very like say thatwhereon I thought was none of my business. Yet man's thoughts will notalway be ruled. I did somewhat marvel, under your pleasure, at youranswer to yon pedlar that asked how you came to be hither. "

"Wherefore? that I told him no more?"

"Ay; and likewise--"

"Make an end, my maid. "

"Mistress, again I cry you mercy; but it seemed me as though, while yousore pitied our Lady, you had no list to help her forth of her trouble, an' it might be compassed. And I conceived [Note 1] it not. "

"It could not be compassed, Phyllis; and granting it so should, to whatgood purpose? Set in case that she came forth this morrow, a freewoman--whither is she to wend, and what to do? To her son? He willhave none of her. To her daughter? Man saith she hath scantly morefreedom than her mother in truth, being ruled of an ill husband thatgiveth her no leave to work. To King Edward? It should but set him inthe briars with divers other princes, the King of France and the Duke ofBretagne more in especial. To my Lady Princess? Verily, she is goodwoman, yet is she mother of my Lady Duchess; and though I cast no doubtshe should essay to judge the matter righteously, yet 'tis but like thatshe should lean to her own child, which doubtless seeth through herlord's eyes; and it should set her in the briars no less than KingEdward. Whither, then, is she to go for whom there is no room on middleearth [Note 2], and whose company all men avoid? Nay, my maid, for theLady Marguerite there is no home save Heaven; and there is none to beglad of her company save Him that was yet more lonely than she, andwhose foes, like hers, were they of His own house. "

"'Tis sore pitiful!" said Amphillis, looking up with the tears in hereyes. 

"`Pitiful'! ay, never was sadder case sithence that saddest of all inthe Garden of Gethsemane. Would God she would seek Him, and accept ofHis pity!"

"Surely, our Lady is Christian woman!" responded Amphillis, in a ratherastonished tone. 

"What signifiest thereby?"

"Why she that doth right heartily believe Christ our Lord to have beenborn and died, and risen again, and so forth. "

"What good should that do her?"

Amphillis stared, without answering. 

"If that belief were very heartfelt, it should be life and comfort; butmeseemeth thy manner of belief is not heartfelt, but headful. Tobelieve that a man lived and died, Phyllis, is not to accept his help, and to affy thee in his trustworthiness. Did it ever any good andpleasure to thee to believe that one Julius Caesar lived over a thousandyears ago?"

"No, verily; but--" Amphillis did not like to say what she was thinking, that no appropriation of good, nor sensation of pleasure, had ever yetmingled with that belief in the facts concerning Jesus Christ on whichshe vaguely relied for salvation. She thought a moment, and then spokeout. "Mistress, did you mean there was some other fashion of believingthan to think certainly that our Lord did live and die?"

"Set in case, Phyllis, that thou shouldst hear man to say, `I believe inMaster Godfrey, but not in Master Matthew, ' what shouldst reckon him tosignify? Think on it. "

"I suppose, " said Amphillis, after a moment's pause for consideration, "I should account him to mean that he held Master Godfrey for a trueman, in whom man might safely affy him; but that he felt not thus sureof Master Matthew. "

"Thou wouldst not reckon, then, that he counted Master Matthew as afabled man that was not alive?"

"Nay, surely!" said Amphillis, laughing. 

"Then seest not for thyself that there is a manner of belief far besideand beyond the mere reckoning that man liveth? Phyllis, dost thou trustChrist our Lord?"

"For what, Mistress? That He shall make me safe at last, if I do myduty, and pay my dues to the Church, and shrive me [confess sins to apriest] metely oft, and so forth? Ay, I reckon I do, " said Amphillis, in a tone which sounded rather as if she meant "I don't. "

"Hast alway done thy duty, Amphillis?"

"Alack, no, Mistress. Yet meseemeth there be worser folks than I. I amalway regular at shrift. "

"The which shrift thou shouldst little need, if thou hadst never failedin duty. But how shall our Lord make thee safe?"

"Why, forgive me my sins, " replied Amphillis, looking puzzled. 

"That saith what He shall do, not how He shall do it. Thy sins are adebt to God's law and righteousness. Canst thou pay a debt withoutcost?"

"But forgiveness costs nought. "

"Doth it so? I think scarce anything costs more. Hast ever meditated, Amphillis, what it cost God to forgive sin?"

"I thought it cost Him nothing at all. "

"Child, it could only be done in one of two ways, at the cost of Hisvery self. Either He should forgive sin without propitiation--whichwere to cost His righteousness and truth and honour. Could that be? Inno wise. Then it must be at the cost of His own bearing the penalty dueunto the sinner. Thy sins, Amphillis, thine every failure in duty, thine every foolish thought or wrongful word, cost the Father His ownSon out of His bosom, cost the Son a human life of agony and a death ofuttermost terribleness. Didst thou believe that?"

A long look of mingled amazement and horror preceded the reply. "Mistress Perrote, I never thought of no such thing! I thought--Ithought, " said Amphillis, struggling for the right words to make hermeaning clear, "I thought our Lord was to judge us for our sins, and ourblessed Lady did plead with Him to have mercy on us, and we must do thebest we could, and pray her to pray for us. But the fashion you so putit seemeth--it seemeth certain, as though the matter were settled anddone with, and should not be fordone [revoked]. Is it thus?"

If Perrote de Carhaix had not been gifted with the unction from the HolyOne, she would have made a terrible mistake at that juncture. All thatshe had been taught by man inclined her to say "no" to the question. But "there are a few of us whom God whispers in the ear, " and those whohear those whispers often go utterly contrary to man's teaching, beingbound only by God's word. So bound they must be. If they speak notaccording to that word, it is because there is no light in them--only an_ignis fatuus_ which leads the traveller into quagmires. But they areoften free from all other bonds. Perrote could not have told what madeher answer that question in the way she did. It was as if a soft handwere laid upon her lips, preventing her from entering into any doctrinaldisputations, and insisting on her keeping the question down to thepersonal level. She said--or that inward monitor said through her--

"Is it settled for thee, Amphillis?"

"Mistress, I don't know! Can I have it settled?"

"`He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life. ' `I give untothem eternal life. '" [John three verse 36; ten, verse 28. ] Perrotesaid no more. 

"Then, if I go and ask at Him--?"

"`My Lord God, I cried unto Thee, and Thou madest me whole. ' `All yethat hope in the Lord, do manly, and your heart shall be comforted. '"[Psalm thirty, verse 3; thirty-one, verse 25; Hereford and Purvey'sversion. ]

Once more it was as by a heavenly instinct that Perrote answered inGod's words rather than in her own. Amphillis drew a long breath. Thelight was rising on her. She could not have put her convictions intowords; and it was quite as well, for had she done so, men might havepersuaded her out of them. But the one conviction "borne in upon her"was--God, and not man; God's word, not men's words; God the Saviour ofmen, not man the saviour of himself; God the Giver of His Son for thesalvation of men, not men the offerers of something to God for their ownsalvation. And when man or woman reaches that point, that he sees inall the universe only himself and God, the two points are not likely toremain long apart. When the one is need longing for love, and the Otheris love seeking for need, what can they do but come close together?

Sir Godfrey set forth for his tournament in magnificent style, and LadyFoljambe and Mistress Margaret with him. Young Godfrey was alreadygone. The old knight rode a fine charger, and was preceded by hisstandard-bearer, carrying a pennon of bright blue, whereon wereembroidered his master's arms--sable, a bend or, between six scallops ofthe second. The ladies journeyed together in a quirle, and wereprovided with rich robes and all their jewellery. The house and theprisoner were left in the hands of Matthew, Father Jordan, and Perrote. Norman Hylton accompanied his master. 

Lady Foljambe's mind had grown tolerably easy on the subject of Ivo, andshe only gave Perrote a long lecture, warning her, among other things, never to leave the door unlocked nor the prisoner alone. Either Perroteor Amphillis must sleep in the pallet bed in her chamber during thewhole time of Lady Foljambe's absence, so that she should never be leftunguarded for a single moment. Matthew received another harangue, towhich he paid little attention in reality, though in outward seeming hereceived it with due deference. Father Jordan languidly washed hishands with invisible soap, and assured his patrons that no harm couldpossibly come to the prisoner through their absence. 

The Tuesday evening was near its close. The sun had just sunk behindthe western hills; the day had been bright and beautiful in the extreme. Amphillis was going slowly upstairs to her turret, carrying her littlework-basket, which was covered with brown velvet and adorned with silvercord, when she saw Kate standing in the window of the landing, as if shewere waiting for something or some person. It struck Amphillis thatKate looked unhappy. 

"Kate, what aileth thee?" she asked, pausing ere ere she mounted thelast steps. "Dost await here for man to pass?"

"Nay, Mistress--leastwise--O Mistress Amphillis, I wis not what to do!"

"Anentis what, my maid?"

"Nay, I'd fain tell you, but--Lack-a-day, I'm all in a tumblement!"

"What manner of tumblement?" asked Amphillis, sitting down in thewindow-seat. "Hast brake some pottery, Kate, or torn somewhat, thatthou fearest thy dame's anger?"

"Nay, I've brake nought saving my word; and I've not done that _yet_. "

"It were evil to break thy word, Kate. "

"Were it so?" Kate looked up eagerly. 

"Surely, without thou hadst passed word to do somewhat thou shouldstnot. "

Kate's face fell. She had thought she saw a way out of her difficulty;and it was closing round her again. 

"It's none so easy to tell what man shouldn't, " she said, in a troubledtone. 

"What hast thou done, Kate?"

"Nay, I've done nought yet. I've only passed word to do. "

"To do what?"

Before Kate could answer, Agatha whisked into the corner. 

"Thank goodness they're all gone, the whole lot of them! Won't we havesome fun now! Kate, run down stairs, and bring me up a cork; and I wanta long white sheet and a mop. Now haste thee, do! for I would faincause Father Jordan to skrike out at me, and I have scarce time to getmy work done ere the old drone shall come buzzing up this gait. Besharp, maid! and I'll do thee a good turn next time. "

And Agatha fairly pushed Kate down the stairs, allowing her neitherexcuse nor delay--a piece of undignified conduct which would bitterlyhave scandalised Lady Foljambe, could she have seen it. By the timethat Kate returned with the articles prescribed, Agatha had possessedherself of a lighted candle, wherein she burnt the end of the cork, andwith it proceeded to delineate, in the middle of the sheet, a veryclever sketch of a ferocious Turk, with moustaches of stupendous length. Then elevating the long mop till it reached about a yard above herhead, she instructed Kate to arrange the sheet thereon in such a mannerthat the Turk's face showed close to the top of the mop, and gave theidea of a giant about eight feet in height. 

"Now then--quick! I hear the old bumble-bee down alow yonder. Keep asstill as mice, and stir not, nor laugh for your lives!"

Kate appeared to have quite forgotten her trouble, and entered intoAgatha's mischievous fun with all the thoughtless glee of a child. 

"Agatha, " said Amphillis, "my Lady Foljambe should be heavy angered ifshe wist thy dealing. Prithee, work not thus. If Father Jordan verilybelieved thou wert a ghost, it were well-nigh enough to kill him, poorsely old man. And he hath ill deserved such treatment at thine hands. "

In the present day we should never expect an adult clergyman to fallinto so patent a trap; but in the Middle Ages even learned men werecredulous to an extent which we can scarcely imagine. Priests were inthe habit of receiving friendly visits from pretended saints, andmeeting apparitions of so-called demons, apparently without the faintestsuspicion that the spirits in question might have bodies attached tothem, or that their imaginations might be at all responsible for thevision. 

"Thank all the Calendar she's away!" was Agatha's response. "Thee holdthy peace, and be not a spoil-sport. I mean to tell him I'm a soul inPurgatory, and none save a priest named Jordan can deliver me, and heonly by licking of three crosses in the dust afore our Lady's altarevery morrow for a month. That shall hurt none of him! and it shallcause me die o' laughter to see him do it. Back! quick! here cometh he. I would fain hear the old snail skrike out at me, `Avaunt, Sathanas!'as he surely will. "

Amphillis stepped back. Her quicker ear had recognised that the stepbeginning to ascend the stairs was not that of the old priest, and shefelt pretty sure whose it was--that healthy, sturdy, plain-spoken Meg, the cook-maid, was the destined victim, and was likely to be littleinjured, while there was a good chance of Agatha's receiving herdeserts. 

Just as Meg reached the landing, a low groan issued from the uncannything. Agatha of course could not see; she only heard the steps, whichshe still mistook for those of Father Jordan. Meg stood calmly gazingon the apparition. 

"Will none deliver an unhappy soul in Purgatory?" demanded a hollowmoaning voice, followed by awful groans, such as Amphillis had notsupposed it possible for Agatha to produce. 

"I rather reckon, my Saracen, thou'rt a soul out o' Purgatory with abody tacked to thee, " said Meg, in the coolest manner. "Help thee? Ohay, that I will, and bring thee back to middle earth out o' thy pains. Come then!"

And Meg laid hands on the white sheet, and calmly began to pull it down. 

"Oh, stay, Meg! Thou shalt stifle me, " said the Turk, in Agatha'svoice. 

"Ay, I thought you'd somewhat to do wi' 't, my damsel; it were like you. Have you driven anybody else out o' her seven senses beside me wi' yonfoolery?"

"You've kept in seventy senses, " pouted Agatha, releasing herself fromthe last corner of her ghostly drapery. "Meg, you're a spoil-sport. "

"My dame shall con you but poor thanks, Mistress Agatha, if you travailfolks o' this fashion while she tarrieth hence. Mistress Amphillis, too! Marry, I thought--"

"I tarried here to lessen the mischief, " said Amphillis. 

"It wasn't thee I meant to fright, " said Agatha, with a pout. "Ithought Father Jordan was a-coming; it was he I wanted. Never blameAmphillis; she's nigh as bad as thou. "

"Mistress Amphillis, I ask your pardon. Mistress Agatha, you're a badun. 'Tis a burning shame to harry a good old man like Father Jordan. Thee hie to thy bed, and do no more mischief, thou false hussy! I'lltell my dame of thy fine doings when she cometh home; I will, so!"

"Now, Meg, dear, sweet Meg, don't, and I'll--"

"You'll get you abed and 'bide quiet. I'm neither dear nor sweet; I'm acook-maid, and you're a young damsel with a fortin, and you'd neither`sweet' nor `dear' me without you were wanting somewhat of me. Forsooth, they'll win a fortin that weds wi' the like of you! Get abed, thou magpie!"

And Meg was heard muttering to herself as she mounted the upper stairsto the attic chamber, which she shared with Joan and Kate. 

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Note 1. Understood. The word _understand_ was then restricted to anoriginal idea; _conceive_ was used in the sense of understanding anotherperson. 

Note 2. The term "middle earth" arose from the belief then held, thatthe earth was in the midst of the universe, equidistant from Heavenabove it and from Hell beneath. 

CHAPTER TEN. 

NIGHT ALARMS. 

 "Oh let me feel Thee near me, -- The world is very near: I see the sights that dazzle, The tempting sounds I hear; My foes are ever near me, Around me and within; But, Jesus, draw Thou nearer, And save my soul from sin. "

 John E. Bode. 

"Phyllis, thou wilt lie in my Lady's pallet, tonight, " said Perrote, asshe let her into their own chamber. Amphillis looked rather alarmed. She had never yet been appointed to that responsible office. But it wasnot her nature to protest against superior orders; and she quietlygathered up such toilet articles as she required, and prepared to obey. 

"You know your duty?" said Perrote, interrogatively. "You first helpyour Lady abed, and then hie abed yourself, in the dark, as silently andhastefully as may be. There is no more to do, without she call in thenight, till her _lever_, for which you must be ready, and have a carenot to arouse her till she wake and summon you, without the hour growexceeding late, when you may lawfully make some little bruit to wake herafter a gentle fashion. Come now. "

Amphillis followed Perrote into the Countess's room. 

They found her standing by the window, as she often was at night, forthe sunset and the evening lights had a great attraction for her. Sheturned her head as they entered. 

"At last, Perrote!" she said. "In good sooth, but I began to think thouhadst forgot me, like everybody else in earth and heaven. "

"My Lady knows I shall never do that, " was the quiet reply. "Dame, myLady Foljambe entreats of your Ladyship leave that Amphillis here shalllie in your pallet until she return. "

"Doth she so?" answered the Countess, with a curt laugh. "My LadyFoljambe is vastly pleasant, trow. Asking her caged bird's leave to setanother bird in the cage! Well, little brown nightingale, what sayest?Art feared lest the old eagle bite, or canst trust the hooked beak for aweek or twain?"

"Dame, an' it please you, I am in no wise feared of your Grace. "

"Well said. Not that thou shouldst make much difference. Had I a mindto fight for the door or the window, I could soon be quit of such awhite-faced chit as thou. Ah me! to what end? That time is by, for me. Well! so they went off in grand array? I saw them. If GodfreyFoljambe buy his wife a new quirle, and his daughter-in-law a new gown, every time they cry for it, he shall be at the end of his purse ere mycushion yonder be finished broidering. Lack-a-day! I would one of youwould make an end thereof. I am aweary of the whole thing. Green andtawny and red--red and tawny and green; tent-stitch down here, andsatin-stitch up yonder. And what good when done? There's acushion-cover more in the world; that is all. Would God--ah, would God, from the bottom of mine heart, that there were but one weary womanless!"

"My dear Lady!" said Perrote, sympathisingly. 

"Ay, old woman, I know. Thou wouldst fain ask, Whither should I go? Iknow little, verily, and care less. Only let me lie down and sleep forever, and forget everything--I ask but so much. I think God might letme have that. One has to wake ever, here, to another dreary day. Ifman might but sleep and not wake! or--ah, if man could blot out thirtyyears, and I sit once more in my mail on my Feraunt at the gate ofHennebon! Dreams, dreams, all empty dreams! Come, child, and lay bythis wimple. 'Tis man's duty to hie him abed now. Let's do our duty. 'Tis all man has left to me--leave to do as I am bidden. What was thatbruit I heard without, an half-hour gone?"

Amphillis, in answer, for Perrote was unable to speak, told the story ofAgatha's mischievous trick. The Countess laughed. 

"'Tis right the thing I should have done myself, as a young maid, " saidshe. "Ay, I loved dearly to make lordly, sober folks look foolish. Poor Father Jordan, howbeit, was scarce fit game for her crossbow. Ifshe had brought Avena Foljambe down, I'd have given her a clap on theback. Now, maid, let us see how thou canst braid up this old white hairfor the pillow. It was jet black once, and fell right to my feet. Ilittle thought, then--I little thought!"

The _coucher_ accomplished, the Countess lay down in her bed; Perrotetook leave of her, and put out the light, admonishing Amphillis to bequick. Then she left the room, locking the door after her. 

"There!" said the voice of the Countess through the darkness. "Now thenwe are prisoners, thou and I. How doth it like thee?"

"It liketh me well, Dame, if so I may serve your Grace. "

"Well said! Thou shalt be meet for the Court ere long. But, child, thou hast not borne years of it, as I have: sixteen years with a hope ofrelease, and eight with none. Tell me thy history: I have no list tosleep, and it shall pass the time. "

"If it may please your Grace, I reckon I have had none. "

"Thou wert best thank the saints for that. Yet I count 'tis scarcethus. Didst grow like a mushroom?"

"Truly, no, Dame, " said Amphillis, with a little laugh. "But I fear itshould ill repay your Grace to hear that I fed chickens and milked cows, and baked patties of divers sorts. "

"It should well repay me. It were a change from blue silk and yellowtwist, and one endless view from the window. Fare forth!"

Thus bidden, Amphillis told her story as she lay in the pallet, uninterrupted save now and then by a laugh or a word of comment. It wasnot much of a story, as she had said; but she was glad if it amused theroyal prisoner, even for an hour. 

"Good maid!" said her mistress, when she saw that the tale was finished. "Now sleep thou, for I would not cut off a young maid from her rest. Ican sleep belike, or lie awake, as it please the saints. "

All was silence after that for half-an-hour. Amphillis had just droppedasleep, when she was roused again by a low sound, of what nature sheknew not at first. Then she was suddenly conscious that the porter'swatch-dog, Colle, was keeping up a low, uneasy growl beneath the window, and that somebody was trying to hush him. Amphillis lay and listened, wondering whether it were some further nonsense of Agatha's manufacture. Then came the sound of angry words and hurrying feet, and a woman'sshrill scream. 

"What ado is there?" asked the Countess. "Draw back the curtain, Phyllis, and see. "

Amphillis sprang up, ran lightly with bare feet across the chamber, anddrew back the curtain. The full harvest moon was shining into the innercourt, and she discerned eight black shadows, all mixed together in whatwas evidently a struggle of some kind, the only one distinguishablebeing that of Colle, who was as busy and excited as any of the group. At length she saw one of the shadows get free from the others, and speedrapidly to the wall, pursued by the dog, which, however, could notprevent his escape over the wall. The other shadows had a further shortscuffle, at the end of which two seemed to be driven into the outer yardby the five, and Amphillis lost sight of them. She told her mistresswhat she saw. 

"Some drunken brawl amongst the retainers, most like, " said theCountess. "Come back to thy bed, maid; 'tis no concern of thine. "

Amphillis obeyed, and silence fell upon the house. The next thing ofwhich she was conscious was Perrote's entrance in the morning. 

"What caused yon bruit in the night?" asked the Countess, as Amphilliswas dressing her hair. 

"Dame, " said Perrote, "it was an attack upon the house. "

"An attack?" The Countess turned suddenly round, drawing her hair outof her tirewoman's hands. "After what fashion? thieves? robbers? foes?Come, tell me all about it. "

"I scantly know, Dame, how far I may lightly tell, " said Perrote, uneasily. "It were better to await Sir Godfrey's return, ere much besaid thereanentis. "

The Countess fixed her keen black eyes on her old attendant. 

"The which means, " said she, "that the matter has too much ado with methat I should be suffered to know the inwards thereof. Perrote, was itthat man essayed once more to free me? Thou mayest well tell me, for Iknow it. The angels whispered it to me as I lay in my bed. "

"My dear Lady, it was thus. Pray you, be not troubled: if so were, should you be any better off than now?"

"Mary, Mother!" With that wail of pain the Countess turned back to hertoilet. "Who was it? and how? Tell me what thou wist. "

Perrote considered a moment, and then answered the questions. 

"Your Grace hath mind of the two pedlars that came hither a few daysgone?"

"One of whom sold yon violet twist, the illest stuff that ever threadedneedle? He had need be 'shamed of himself. Ay: well?"

"Dame, he was no pedlar at all, but Sir Roland de Pencouet, a knight ofBretagne. "

"Ha! one of Oliver Clisson's following, or I err. Ay?"

A look of intense interest had driven out the usual weary listlessnessin the black eyes. 

"Which had thus disguised him in order to essay the freeing of yourGrace. "

"I am at peace with him, then, for his caitiff twist. Knights make illtradesmen, I doubt not. Poor fool, to think he could do any such thing!What befell him?"

"With him, Dame, were two other--Ivo filz Jehan, yon little Bretonjeweller that was used to trade at Hennebon; I know not if your Gracehave mind of him--"

"Ay, I remember him. "

"And also a priest, named Father Eloy. The priest won clean away overthe wall; only Mark saith that Colle hath a piece of his hose for aremembrance. Sir Roland and Ivo were taken, and be lodged in thedungeon. "

"Poor fools!" said the Countess again. "O Perrote, Perrote, to befree!"

"Dear my Lady, should it be better with you than now?"

"What wist thou? To have the right to go right or left, as man would;to pluck the flowerets by the roadside at will; to throw man upon thegrass, and breathe the free air; to speak with whom man would; to feelthe heaving of the salt sea under man's boat, and to hear the clash ofarms and see the chargers and the swords and the nodding plumes file outof the postern--O Perrote, Perrote!"

"Mine own dear mistress, would I might compass it for you!"

"I know thou dost. And thou canst not. But wherefore doth not Godcompass it? Can He not do what He will? Be wrong and cruelty andinjustice what He would? Doth He hate me, that He leaveth me thus tolive and die like a rat in a hole? And wherefore? What have I done? Iam no worser sinner than thousands of other men and women. I neverstole, nor murdered, nor sware falsely; I was true woman to God and tomy lord, and true mother to the lad that they keep from me; ay, and truefriend to Lord Edward the King, that cares not a brass nail whether Ilive or die--only that if I died he would be quit of a burden. Holysaints, but I would full willingly quit him of it! God! when I ask Theefor nought costlier than death, canst Thou not grant it to me?"

She looked like an inspired prophetess, that tall white-haired woman, lifting her face up to the morning sun, as if addressing through it theEternal Light, and challenging the love and wisdom of His decrees. Amphillis shrank back from her. Perrote came a little nearer. 

"God is wiser than His creatures, " she said. 

"Words, words, Perrote! Only words. And I have heard them allaforetime, and many a time o'er. If I could but come at Him, I'd see ifHe could not tell me somewhat better. "

"Ay, " said Perrote, with a sigh; "if we could all but come at Him! Dearmy Lady--"

"Cross thyself, old woman, and have done. When I lack an homilypreacher, I'll send for a priest. My wimple, Phyllis. When comes SirGodfrey back?"

"Saturday shall be a week, Dame. "

Sir Godfrey came back in a bad temper. He had been overcome at thetournament, which in itself was not pacifying; and he was extremelyangry to hear of the unsuccessful attempt to set his prisoner free. Hescolded everybody impartially all round, but especially Matthew andFather Jordan, the latter of whom was very little to blame, since he wasnot only rather deaf, but he slept on the other side of the house, andhad never heard the noise at all. Matthew growled that if he had calmlymarched the conspirators up to the prisoner's chamber, and delivered herto them, his father could scarcely have treated him worse; whereas hehad safely secured two out of the three, and the prisoner had never beenin any danger. 

Kate had been captured as well as the conspirators, and instead ofreceiving the promised crespine, she was bitterly rueing her folly, locked in a small turret room whose only furniture was a bundle of strawand a rug, with the pleasing prospect of worse usage when her mistressshould return. The morning after their arrival at home, Lady Foljambemarched up to the turret, armed with a formidable cane, wherewith sheinflicted on poor Kate a sound discipline. Pleading, sobs, and evenscreams fell on her ears with as little impression as would have beencaused by the buzzing of a fly. Having finished her proceeding, sheadministered to the suffering culprit a short, sharp lecture, and thenlocked her up again to think it over, with bread and water as the onlyrelief to meditation. 

The King was expected to come North after Parliament rose--somewhereabout the following February; and Sir Godfrey wrathfully averred that heshould deal with the conspirators himself. The length of time that aprisoner was kept awaiting trial was a matter of supremely littleconsequence in the Middle Ages. His Majesty reached Derby, on his wayto York, in the early days of March, and slept for one night atHazelwood Manor, disposing of the prisoners the next morning, before heresumed his journey. 

Nobody at Hazelwood wished to live that week over again. The Kingbrought a suite of fourteen gentlemen, beside his guard; and they allhad to be lodged somehow. Perrote, Amphillis, Lady Foljambe, and MrsMargaret slept in the Countess's chamber. 

"The more the merrier, " said the prisoner, sarcastically. "Prithee, Avena, see that the King quit not this house without he hath a word withme. I have a truth or twain to tell him. "

But the King declined the interview. Perhaps it was on account of anuneasy suspicion concerning that truth or twain which might be told him. For fifty years Edward the Third swayed the sceptre of England, and hisrule, upon the whole, was just and gentle. Two sore sins lie at hisdoor--the murder of his brother, in a sudden outburst of most righteousindignation; and the long, dreary captivity of the prisoner of Tickhilland Hazelwood, who had done nothing to deserve it. Considering what amother he had, perhaps the cause for wonder is that in the main he didso well, rather than that on some occasions he acted very wrongly. Thefrequent wars of this King were all foreign ones, and under hisgovernment England was at rest. That long, quiet reign was now drawingnear its close. The King had not yet sunk into the sad state of seniledementia, wherein he ended his life; but he was an infirm, tired oldman, bereft of his other self, his bright and loving wife, who had lefthim and the world about four years earlier. He exerted himself a littleat supper to make himself agreeable to the ladies, as was then held tobe the bounden duty of a good knight; but after supper he enjoyed apeaceful slumber, with a handkerchief over his face to keep away theflies. The two prisoners were speedily disposed of, by being sent inchains to the Duke of Bretagne, to be dealt with as he should think fit. The King seemed rather amused than angered by Kate's share in thematter: he had the terrified girl up before him, talked to her in afatherly fashion, and ended by giving her a crown-piece with his ownhand, and bidding her in the future be a good and loyal maid, and notsuffer herself to be beguiled by the wiles of evil men. Poor Katesobbed, promised, and louted confusedly; and in due course of time, whenKing Edward had been long in his grave, and Kate was a staidgrandmother, the crown-piece held the place of honour on her son's chestof drawers as a prized family heirloom. 

The next event of any note, a few weeks afterwards, was Marabel'smarriage. In those days, young girls of good family, instead of beingsent to school, were placed with some married lady as bower-women orchamberers, to be first educated and then married. The mistress wasexpected to make the one her care as much as the other; and it was notconsidered any concern of the girl's except to obey. The husband wasprovided by the mistress, along with the wedding-dress and thewedding-dinner; and the bride meekly accepted all three with becomingthankfulness--or at least was expected to do so. 

The new chamberer, who came in Marabel's place, was named Ricarda; thegirls were told this one evening at supper-time, and informed that shewould arrive on the morrow. Her place at table was next belowAmphillis, who was greatly astonished to be asked, as she sat down tosupper--

"Well, Phyllis, what hast thou to say to me?"

Amphillis turned and gazed at the speaker. 

"Well?" repeated the latter. "Thou hast seen me before. "

"Ricarda! How ever chanceth it?"

The astonishment of Amphillis was intense. The rules of etiquette atthat time were chains indeed; and the daughter of a tradesman was not ina position to be bower-woman to a lady of title. How had her cousincome there?

"What sayest, then, " asked Ricarda, with a triumphant smile, "to knowthat my Lady Foljambe sent to covenant with me by reason that she was sofull fain of thee that she desired another of thy kin?"

"Is it soothly thus?" replied Amphillis, her surprise scarcely lessenedby hearing of such unusual conduct on the part of the precise LadyFoljambe. "Verily, but--And how do my good master mine uncle, and mygood cousin Alexandra?"

"Saundrina's wed, and so is my father. And Saundrina leads Clement alife, and Mistress Altham leads my father another. I was none so sorryto come away, I can tell thee. I hate to be ruled like a ledger andnotched like a tally!"

"Thou shalt find things be well ruled in this house, Rica, " saidAmphillis, thinking to herself that Ricarda and Agatha would make apair, and might give their mistress some trouble. "But whom hath mineuncle wed, that is thus unbuxom [disobedient] to him?"

"Why, Mistress Regina, the goldsmith's daughter, that counts herselfworth us all, and would fain be a queen in the patty-shop, and cut usall out according to her will. "

"But, Ricarda, I reckoned Mistress Regina a full good and wise woman. "

"`Good and wise!' She may soon be so. I hate goodness and wisdom. There's never a bit of jollity for her. 'Tis all `thou shalt not. ' Shemight as well be the Ten Commandments and done with it. "

"Wouldst thou fain not keep the Ten Commandments, Rica?"

"I'd fain have my own way, and be jolly. Oh, she keeps the house wellenough. Father saith he's tenfold more comfortable sithence hercoming. "

"I thought thou saidst she led him an ill, diseaseful [Note 1] life?"

"Well, so did I. Father didn't. "

"Oh!" said Amphillis, in an enlightened tone. 

"And she's a rare hand at the cooking, that will I say. She might havemade patties all her life. She catches up everything afore you can say`Jack Robinson. ' She says it's by reason she's a Dutchwoman [Note 2]. Rubbish! as if a lot of nasty foreigners could do aught better, or halfas well, as English folks!"

"Be all foreigners nasty?" asked Amphillis, thinking of her mistress. 

"Of course they be! Phyllis, what's come o'er thee?"

"I knew not anything had. "

"Lack-a-day! thou art tenfold as covenable and deliver [Note 3] as thouwert wont to be. Derbyshire hath brightened up thy wits. "

Amphillis smiled. Privately, she thought that if her wits werebrightened, it was mainly by being let alone and allowed to develop freeof perpetual repression. 

"I have done nought to bring the same about, Ricarda. But must Iconceive that Master Winkfield's diseaseful life, then, is in thineeyes, or in his own?"

"He reckons himself the blissfullest man under the sun, " said Ricarda, as they rose from the table: "and he dare not say his soul is his own;not for no price man should pay him. "

Amphillis privately thought the bliss of a curious kind. 

"Phyllis!" said her cousin, suddenly, "hast learned to hold thy tongue?"

"I count I am metely well learned therein, Rica. "

"Well, mind thou, not for nothing of no sort to let on to my Lady thatFather is a patty-maker. I were put forth of the door with no more ado, should it come to her ear that I am not of gentle blood like thee. "

"Ricarda! Is my Lady, then, deceived thereon?"

"'Sh--'sh! She thinks I am a Neville, and thy cousin of the father'sside. Thee hold thy peace, and all shall be well. "

"But, Rica! that were to tell a lie. "

"Never a bit of it! Man can't tell a lie by holding his peace. "

"Nay, I am not so sure thereof as I would like. This I know, he mayspeak one by his life no lesser than his words. "

"Amphillis, if thou blurt out this to my Lady, I'll hate thee for everand ever, Amen!" said Ricarda. 

"I must meditate thereon, " was her cousin's answer. "Soothly, I wouldnot by my good will do thee an ill turn, Rica; and if it may stand withmy conscience to be silent, thou hast nought to fear. Yet if my Ladyask me aught touching thee, that may not be thus answered, I must speaktruth, and no lie. "

"A murrain take thy conscience! Canst not say a two-three times theRosary of our Lady to ease it?"

"Maybe, " said Amphillis, drily, "our Lady hath no more lore for lyingthan I have. "

"Mistress Ricarda!" said Agatha, joining them as they rose from thetable, "I do right heartily pray you of better acquaintance. I trustyou and I be of the same fashion of thinking, and both love laughterbetter than tears. "

"In good sooth, I hate long faces and sad looks, " said Ricarda, accepting Agatha's offered kiss of friendship. 

"You be not an ill-matched pair, " added Amphillis, laughing. "Only, Ipray you, upset not the quirle by over much prancing. "

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Note 1. Still used in its original sense of uncomfortable. 

Note 2. The Dutch were then known as High Dutch, the Germans as LowDutch. 

Note 3. Agreeable and ready in conversation. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

BEATEN BACK. 

 "I know not why my path should be at times So straitly hedged, so strangely barred before: I only know God could keep wide the door; But I can trust. "

"Mistress Perrote, I pray you counsel me. I am sore put to it to bafflemy cousin's inquirations touching our Lady. How she cometh to knowthere is any such cannot I say; but I may lightly guess that Agatha hathlet it 'scape: and in old days mine uncle was wont to say, none nevercould keep hidlis [secrets] from Ricarda. Truly, might I have knownaforehand my Lady Foljambe's pleasure, I could have found to mine handto pray her not to advance Ricarda hither: not for that I would stand inher way, but for my Lady's sake herself. "

"I know. Nay, as well not, Phyllis. It should tend rather to thine owndisease, for folk might lightly say thou wert jealous and unkindly tothy kin. The Lord knoweth wherefore such things do hap. At times Ithink it be to prevent us from being here in earth more blissful than itwere good for us to be. As for her inquirations, parry them as bestthou mayest; and if thou canst not, then say apertly [openly] that thouart forbidden to hold discourse thereanentis. "

Amphillis shook her head. She pretty well knew that such an assertionwould whet Ricarda's curiosity, and increase her inquisitive queries. 

"Mistress Perrote, are you ill at ease?"

"Not in health, thank God. But I am heavy of heart, child. Our Lady isin evil case, and she is very old. "

We should not now call a woman very old who was barely sixty years ofage; we scarcely think that more than elderly. But in 1373, when thenumerous wars and insurrections of the earlier half of the century hadalmost decimated the population, so that, especially in the upperclasses, an old man was rarely to be seen, and when also human life wasusually shorter than in later times, sixty was the equivalent of eightyor ninety with us, while seventy was as wonderful as we think a hundred. King Edward was in his second childhood when he died at sixty-five;while "old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster, " scarcely passed hisfifty-ninth birthday. 

"Is she sick?" said Amphillis, pityingly. She had not seen her mistressfor several days, for her periods of attendance on her were fitful anduncertain. 

"She is very sick, and Father Jordan hath tried his best. "

The household doctor at that time, for a country house, was either themistress of the family or the confessor. There were few medical men whowere not also priests, and they only lived in chief cities. Ladies weretaught physic and surgery, and often doctored a whole neighbourhood. Ina town the druggist was usually consulted by the poor, if they consultedany one at all who had learned medicine; but the physicians most infavour were "white witches, " namely, old women who dealt in herbs andcharms, the former of which were real remedies, and the latterheathenish nonsense. A great deal of superstition mixed with thepractice of the best medical men of the day. Herbs must be gatheredwhen the moon was at the full, or when Mercury was in the ascendant;patients who had the small-pox must be wrapped in scarlet; theblood-stone preserved its wearer from particular maladies; a hair from asaint's beard, taken in water, was deemed an invaluable specific. Theybled to restore strength, administered plasters of verdigris, and madetheir patients wait for a lucky day to begin a course of treatment. 

"He hath given her, " pursued Perrote, sorrowfully, "myrrh and milelotand tutio [oxide of zinc], and hath tried plasters of diachylon, litharge, and ceruse, but to no good purpose. He speaketh now ofantimony and orchis, but I fear--I fear he can give nothing to do anygood. When our Lord saith `Die, ' not all the help nor love in the worldshall make man live. And I think her time is come. "

"O Mistress Perrote! must she die without deliverance?"

"Without earthly deliverance, it is like, my maid. Be it so. But, ahme, what if she die without the heavenly deliverance! She will not listme: she never would. If man would come by that she would list, andmight be suffered so to do, I would thank God to the end of my days. "

"Anentis what should she list, good Mistress?"

"Phyllis, she hath never yet made acquaintance with Christ our Lord. Heis to her but a dead name set to the end of her prayers--an image nailedto a cross--a man whom she has heard tell of, but never saw. Theliving, loving Lord, who died and rose for her--who is ready at thishour to be her best Friend and dearest Comforter--who is holding forthHis hands to her, as to all of us, and entreating her to come to Him andbe saved--she looketh on Him as she doth on Constantine the Great, asman that was good and powerful once, but long ago, and 'tis all over anddone with. I would fain have her hear man speak of Him that knowethHim. "

"Father Jordan, Mistress?"

"No. Father Jordan knows about Him. He knoweth Him not--at the leastnot so well as I want. Ay, I count he doth know Him after a fashion;but 'tis a poor fashion. I want a better man than he, and I want leavefor him to come at her. And me feareth very sore that I shall winneither. "

"Shall we ask our Lord for it?" said Amphillis, shyly. 

"So do, dear maid. Thy faith shameth mine unbelief. "

"What shall I say, Mistress?"

"Say, `Lord, send hither man that knoweth Thee, and incline the heartsof them in authority to suffer him to come at our Lady. ' I will speakyet again with Sir Godfrey, but I might well-nigh as good speak to thedoor-post: he is as hard, and he knows as little. And her time is verynear. "

There were tears in Perrote's eyes as she went away, and Amphillisentirely sympathised with her. She was coming to realise the paramountimportance to every human soul of that personal acquaintance with JesusChrist, which is the one matter of consequence to all who have felt thepower of an endless life. The natural result of this was that lessermatters fell into their right place without any difficulty. There wasno troubling "May I do this?" or "How far is it allowable to enjoythat?" If this were contrary to the mind of God, or if that grated onthe spiritual taste, it simply could not be done, any more thansomething could be done which would grieve a beloved human friend, orcould be eaten with relish if it were ill-flavoured and disgusting. Butsuppose the relish does remain? Then, either the conscience isill-informed and scrupulous, requiring enlightenment by the Word of God, and the heart setting at liberty; or else--and more frequently--theacquaintance is not close enough, and the new affection not sufficientlydeep to have "expulsive power" over the old. In either case, the remedyis to come nearer to the Great Physician, to drink deeper draughts ofthe water of life, to warm the numbed soul in the pure rays of the Sunof Righteousness. "If any man thirst, let him _come unto Me_ anddrink, "--not stay away, hewing out for himself broken cisterns which canhold no water. How many will not come to Christ for rest, until theyhave first tried in vain to rest their heads upon every hard stone andevery thorny plant that the world has to offer! For the world can giveno rest--only varieties of weariness are in its power to offer those whodo not bring fresh hearts and eager eyes, as yet unwearied and unfilled. For those who do, it has gay music, and sparkling sweet wine, andgleaming gems of many a lovely hue: and they listen, and drink, andadmire, and think there is no bliss beyond it. But when the eager eyesgrow dim, and the ears are dulled, and the taste has departed, the tiredheart demands rest, and the world has none for it. A worn-outworldling, whom the world has ceased to charm, is one of the mostpitiable creatures alive. 

Sir Godfrey Foljambe had not arrived at that point; he was in acondition less unhappy, but quite as perilous. To him the world hadoffered a fresh apple of Sodom, and he had grasped it as eagerly as thefirst. The prodigal son was in a better condition when he grew weary ofthe strange country, than while he was spending his substance on riotousliving. Sir Godfrey had laid aside the riotous living, but he was notweary of the strange country. On the contrary, when he ran short offood, he tried the swine's husks, and found them very palatable--decidedly preferable to going home. He put bitter for sweet, and sweetfor bitter. The liberty wherewith Christ would have made him free wasconsidered as a yoke of bondage, while the strong chains in which Satanheld him were perfect freedom in his estimation. 

It was not with any hope that he would either understand or grant herrequest that Perrote made a last application to her lady's gaoler. Itwas only because she felt the matter of such supreme importance, thetime so short, and the necessity so imperative, that no fault of hersshould be a hindrance. Perhaps, too, down in those dim recesses of thehuman heart which lie so open to God, but scarcely read by man himself, there was a mustard-seed of faith--a faint "Who can tell?" which did notrise to hope--and certainly a love ready to endure all if it might gainits blessed end. 

"Sir, " said Perrote, "I entreat a moment's speech of you. "

Sir Godfrey, who was sauntering under the trees in the garden, stoppedand looked at her. Had he spoken out his thoughts, he would have said, "What on earth does this bothering old woman want?" As it was, he stoodsilent, and waited for her to proceed. 

"Sir, my Lady is full sick. "

"Well! let Father Jordan see her. "

"He hath seen her, Sir, and full little can he do. "

"What would you? No outer physician can be called in. "

"Ah, Sir, forgive me, but I am thinking rather of the soul than thebody: it is the worser of the twain. "

"Verily, I guess not how, for she should be hard put to it to commitmortal sin, when mewed for eight years in one chamber. Howbeit, if sobe, what then? Is not Father Jordan a priest? One priest is full asgood as another. "

"Once more, forgive me, Sir! For the need that I behold, one priest isnot as good as another. It is not a mass that my Lady needeth to besung; it is counsel that she lacketh. "

"Then let Father Jordan counsel her. "

"Sir, he cannot. "

"Cannot! What for, trow? Hath he lost his wits or his tongue?"

"No, he hath lost nothing, for that which he lacketh I count he neverhad, or so little thereof that it serveth not in this case. Man cannotsound a fathom with an inch-line. Sir, whether you conceive me or not, whether you allow me or no, I do most earnestly entreat you to sufferthat my Lady may speak with one of the poor priests that go about infrieze coats bound with leather girdles. They have whereof to ministerto her need. "

Sir Godfrey thought contemptuously that there was no end to the fads andfancies of old women. His first idea of a reply was to say decidedlythat it was not possible to trust any outsider with the cherished secretof the Countess's hiding-place; his next, that the poor priests were intolerably high favour with the great, that the King had commanded theprisoner to be well treated, that the priest might be sworn to secrecy, and that if the Countess were really near her end, little mischief wouldbe done. Possibly, in his inner soul, too, a power was at work which hewas not capable of recognising. 

"Humph!" was all he said; but Perrote saw that she had made animpression, and she was too wise to weaken it by adding words. SirGodfrey, with his hands in the pockets of his _haut-de-chausses_, took aturn under the trees, and came back to the suppliant. "Where be they tobe found?"

"Sir, there is well-nigh certain to be one or more at Derby. If itpleased you to send to the Prior of Saint Mary there, or to your ownAbbey of Darley, there were very like to be one tarrying on his way, ormight soon come thither; and if, under your good leave, the holy Fatherwould cause him to swear secrecy touching all he might see or hear, nomischief should be like to hap by his coming. "

"Humph!" said Sir Godfrey again. "I'll meditate thereon. "

"Sir, I give you right hearty thanks, " was the grateful answer ofPerrote, who had taken more by her motion than she expected. 

As she passed from the inner court to the outer on her way to the hall, where supper would shortly be served, she heard a little noise andbustle of some sort at the gate. Perrote stopped to look. 

Before the gate, on a richly-caparisoned mule, sat the Abbot of Darley, with four of his monks, also mounted on those ecclesiastical animals. The porter, his keys in his hand, was bowing low in reverential awe, foran abbot was only a step below a bishop, and both were deemed holy andspiritual men. Unquestionably there were men among them who were bothspiritual and holy, but they were considerably fewer than the generalpopulace believed. The majority belonged to one of four types--thedry-as-dust scholar, the austere ascetic, the proud tyrant, or thejovial _ton vivant_. The first-class, which was the best, was not alarge one; the other three were much more numerous. The present Abbotof Darley was a mixture of the two last-named, and could put on eitherat will, the man being jovial by nature, and the abbot haughty bytraining. He had now come to spend a night at Hazelwood on his way fromDarley to Leicester; for the Foljambes were lords of Darley Manor, andmany of them had been benefactors to the abbey in their time. It wasdesirable, for many reasons, that Sir Godfrey and the Abbot should keepon friendly terms. Perrote stepped back to tell the knight who stood athis gate, and he at once hastened forward with a cordial welcome. 

The Abbot blessed Sir Godfrey by the extension of two priestly fingersin a style which must require considerable practice, and, in tones whichsavoured somewhat more of pride than humility, informed him that he cameto beg a lodging for himself and his monks for one night. Sir Godfreyknew, he said, that poor monks, who abjured the vanities of the world, were not accustomed to grandeur; a little straw and some coarse rugswere all they asked. Had the Abbot been taken at his word, he wouldhave been much astonished; but he well knew that the best bedchambers inthe Manor House would be thought honoured by his use of them. HisReverence alighted from his mule, and, followed by the four monks, wasled into the hall, his bareheaded and obsequious host preceding them. The ladies, who were assembling for supper, dropped on their knees atthe sight, and also received a priestly blessing. The Abbot wasconducted to the seat of honour, on Sir Godfrey's right hand. 

The servers now brought in supper. It was a vigil, and therefore meat, eggs, and butter were forbidden; but luxury, apart from these, beingunforbidden to such as preferred the letter to the spirit, the meal wassufficiently appetising, notwithstanding this. Beside some fishes whosenames are inscrutable, our ancestors at this time ate nearly all wehabitually use, and in addition, whelks, porpoises, and lampreys. Therewere soups made of apples, figs, beans, peas, gourds, rice, and wheat. Fish pies and fruit pies, jellies, honey cakes and tarts, biscuits ofall descriptions, including maccaroons and gingerbread, vegetables farmore numerous than we use, salads, cucumbers, melons, and all fruits inseason, puddings of semolina, millet, and rice, almonds, spices, pickles--went to make up a _menu_ by no means despicable. 

Supper was half over when Sir Godfrey bethought himself of Perrote'sappeal and suggestion. 

"Pray you, holy Father, " said he, "have you in your abbey at this seasonany of them called the poor priests, or know you where they may befound?"

The Abbot's lips took such a setting as rather alarmed his host, whobegan to wish his question unasked. 

"I pray you of pardon if I ask unwisely, " he hastily added. "I hadthought these men were somewhat in good favour in high place at thistime, and though I desire not at all to--"

"Wheresoever is my Lady Princess, there shall the poor priests findfavour, " said the Abbot, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "TheKing, too, is not ill-affected toward them. But I forewarn you, my son, that they be not over well liked of the Church and the dignitariesthereof. They go about setting men by the ears, bringing down to theminds of the commoner sort high matters that are not meet for such tohandle, and inciting them to chatter and gabble over holy things inunseemly wise. Whereso they preach, 'tis said, the very women willleave their distaffs, and begin to talk of sacred matter--mostunbecoming and scandalous it is! I avise you, my son, to have none adowith such, and to keep to the wholesome direction of your own priest, which shall be far more to your profit. "

"I cry you mercy, reverend Father! Truly it was not of mine own motionthat I asked the same. 'Twas a woman did excite me thereto, seeing--"

"That may I well believe, " said the Abbot, contemptuously. "Women beever at the bottom of every ill thing under the sun. "

Poor man! he knew nothing about them. How could he, when he was taughtthat they were unclean creatures with whom it was defilement toconverse? And he could not remember his mother--the one womanly memorywhich might have saved him from the delusion. 

Sir Godfrey, in his earnest anxiety to get out of the scrape into whichPerrote had brought him, hastily introduced a fresh topic as the easiestmeans of doing so. 

"Trust me, holy Father, I will suffer nought harmful to enter my doors, nor any man disapproved by your Lordship. Is there news abroad, may manwit?"

"Ay, we had last night an holy palmer in our abbey, " responded theAbbot, with a calmer brow. "He left us this morrow on his way toJesmond. You wist, doubtless, that my Lord of York is departed?"

"No, verily--my Lord of York! Is yet any successor appointed?"

"Ay, so 'tis said--Father Neville, as men say. "

Amphillis looked up with some interest, on hearing her own name. 

"Who is he, this Father Neville?"

"Soothly, who is he?" repeated the Abbot, with evident irritation. "Brother to my Lord Neville of Raby; but what hath he done, trow, to beadvanced thus without merit unto the second mitre in the realm? Somemeaner bishop, or worthy abbot, should have been far fitter for thepreferment. "

"The worthy Abbot of Darley in especial!" whispered Agatha in the ear ofAmphillis. 

"What manner of man is he, holy Father, by your leave?"

"One of these new sectaries, " replied the Abbot, irascibly. "A man thatfavours the poor priests of whom you spake, and swears by the Rector ofLudgarshall, this Wycliffe, that maketh all this bruit. Prithee, who isthe Rector of Ludgarshall, that we must all be at his beck and ordering?Was there no truth in the whole Church Catholic, these thirteen hundredyears, that this Dan John must claim for to have discovered it anew?Pshaw! 'tis folly. "

"And what other tidings be there, pray you, holy Father?"

"Scarce aught beside of note, I think, " answered the Abbot, meditatively--"without it be the news from Brittany of late--'tis saidall Brittany is in revolt, and the King of France aiding the same, andthe Duke is fled over hither to King Edward, leaving my Lady Duchessshut up in the Castle of Auray, which 'tis thought the French King shallbesiege. Man reckons he comes for little--I would say, that our Kingshall give him little ado over that matter, without it were to ransom myLady, should she be taken, she being step-daughter unto my Lord Prince. "

"The Lord King, then, showeth him no great favour?"

"Favour enough to his particular [to himself personally]; but you willquickly judge there is little likelihood of a new army fitted out forBrittany, when you hear that his Grace writ to my Lord Archbishop ofCanterbury that he should in no wise submit to the tax laid on theclergy by my Lord Cardinal of Cluny, that came o'er touching thoseaffairs, and charged the expenses of his journey on the clergy ofEngland. The King gave promise to stand by them in case they shouldresist, and bade them take no heed of the censure of the said Nuncio, seeing the people of England were not concerned touching matters ofBrittany; and where the cause, quoth he, is so unjust, the curse mustneeds fall harmless. "

"Brave words, in good sooth!" said young Godfrey. 

"Ay, our Lord the King is not he that shall suffer man to ride roughshodover him, " added his father. 

"The which is full well in case of laymen, " said the Abbot, a littleseverely; "yet it becometh even princes to be buxom and reverent to theChurch, and unto all spiritual men. "

"If it might please you, holy Father, would you do so much grace as tellme where is my Lord Duke at this present?"

It was Perrote who asked the question, and with evident uneasiness. 

The Abbot glanced at her, and then answered carelessly. She was onlyone of the household, as he saw. What did her anxiety matter to my LordAbbot of Darley?

"By my Lady Saint Mary, that wis I little, " said he. "At Windsor, maybe, or Woodstock--with the King. "

"The palmer told us the King was at Woodstock, " remarked one of thehitherto silent monks. 

The Abbot annihilated him by a glance. 

"Verily, an' he were, " remarked Sir Godfrey, "it should tell but littleby now, when he may as like as not be at Winchester or Norwich. "

Our Plantagenet sovereigns were perpetual travellers up and down thekingdom, rarely staying even a fortnight in one place, thoughoccasionally they were stationary for some weeks; but the old and infirmKing who now occupied the throne had moved about less than usual of lateyears. 

Perrote was silent, but her face took a resolute expression, which SirGodfrey had learned to his annoyance. When the "bothering old woman"looked like that, she generally bothered him before he was much older. And Sir Godfrey, like many others of his species, detested beingbothered. 

He soon found that fate remembered him. As he was going up to bed thatnight, he found Perrote waiting for him on the landing. 

"Sir, pray you a word, " said she. 

Sir Godfrey stood sulkily still. 

"If my Lord Duke be now in England, should he not know that his motheris near her end?"

"How am I to send to him, trow?" growled the custodian. "I wis notwhere he is. "

"A messenger could find out the Court, Sir, " answered Perrote. "And itwould comfort her last days if he came. "

"And if he refused?"

Perrote's dark eyes flashed fire. 

"Then may God have mercy on him!--if He have any mercy for such aheartless wretch as he should so be. "

"Keep a civil tongue in your head, Perrote de Carhaix, " said SirGodfrey, beginning to ascend the upper stair. "You see, your poorpriests are no good. You'd better be quiet. "

Perrote stood still, candle in hand, till he disappeared. 

"I will be silent towards man, " she said, in a low voice; "but I willpour out mine heart as water before the face of the Lord. The roadtoward Heaven is alway open: and they whom men beat back and tread downare the most like to win ear of Him. Make no tarrying, O my God!"

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

WHEREIN SUNDRY PEOPLE ACT FOOLISHLY. 

 "Why for the dead, who are at rest? Pray for the living, in whose breast The struggle between right and wrong Is raging terrible and strong. "

 Longfellow. 

Amphillis Neville was a most unsuspicious person. It never occurred toher to expect any one to do what, in his place, she would not have done;and all that she would have done was so simple and straightforward, thatscheming of every sort was an impossible idea, until suggested by someone else. She was consequently much surprised when Perrote said oneevening--

"Phyllis, I could find in mine heart to wish thy cousin had tarriedhence. "

The discovery of Ricarda's deception was the only solution of thisremark which presented itself to Amphillis, but her natural cautionstood her in good stead, and she merely inquired her companion'smeaning. 

"Hast not seen that she laboureth to catch Master Hylton into her net?"

Thoughts, which were not all pleasant, chased one another through themind of Amphillis. If Ricarda were trying to win Norman Hylton, wouldshe be so base as to leave him under the delusion that she was aNeville, possibly of the noble stock of the Lords of Raby? Mr Hylton'sfriends, if not himself, would regard with unutterable scorn the idea ofmarriage with a confectioner's daughter. He would be held to havedemeaned himself to the verge of social extinction. And somehow, somewhere, and for some reason--Amphillis pushed the question no furtherthan this--the thought of assisting, by her silence, in the ruin ofNorman Hylton, seemed much harder to bear than the prospect of beinghated by Ricarda Altham, even though it were for ever and ever. Whenthese meditations had burned within her for a few seconds, Amphillisspoke. 

"Mistress Perrote, wit you how my cousin came hither?"

"Why, by reason my Lady Foljambe sent to thine uncle, to ask at him ifthou hadst any kin of the father's side, young maids of good birth andbreeding, and of discreet conditions, that he should be willing to putforth hither with thee. "

Amphillis felt as if her mind were in a whirl. Surely it was notpossible that Mr Altham had known, far less shared, the dishonesty ofhis daughter? She could not have believed her uncle capable of suchmeanness. 

"Sent to mine uncle?" seemed all that she could utter. 

"Ay, but thine uncle, as I heard say, was away when the messenger came, and he saw certain women of his house only. "

"Oh, then my uncle was not in the plot!" said Amphillis to herself withgreat satisfaction. 

"Maybe I speak wrongly, " added Perrote, reflectively; "I guess he sawbut one woman, a wedded cousin of thine, one Mistress Winkfield, whosaid she wist of a kinswoman of thine on the father's side that she wassecure her father would gladly prefer, and she would have her up fromHertfordshire to see him, if he would call again that day week. "

How the conspiracy had been managed flashed on Amphillis at once. MrAltham was always from home on a Wednesday, when he attended a meetingof his professional guild in the city. That wicked Alexandra had donethe whole business, and presented her own sister to the messenger as thecousin of Amphillis, on that side of her parentage which came of gentleblood. 

"Mistress, I pray you tell me, if man know of wrong done or lying, andutter it not, hath he then part in the wrong?"

"Very like, dear heart. Is there here some wrong-doing? I nigh guessedso much from thy ways. Speak out, Phyllis. "

"Soothly, Mistress, I would not by my good will do my kinswoman an illturn; yet either must I do so, or else hold my peace at wrong done to myLady Foljambe, and peradventure to Master Hylton. My cousin Ricarda isnot of my father's kin. She is daughter unto mine uncle, thepatty-maker in the Strand. I know of no kin on my father's side. "

"Holy Mary!" cried the scandalised Perrote. "Has thine uncle, then, hadpart in this wicked work?"

"I cry you mercy, Mistress, but I humbly guess not so. Mine uncle, as Ihave known him, hath been alway an honest and honourable man, thatshould think shame to do a mean deed. That he had holpen my cousinsthus to act could I not believe without it were proven. "

"Then thy cousin, Mistress Winkfield?"

"Alexandra? I said not so much of her. "

"Phyllis, my Lady Foljambe must know this. "

"I am afeard, Mistress, she must. Mistress, I must in mine honestyconfess to you that these few days I have wist my cousin had called herby the name of Neville; but in good sooth, I wist not if I ought tospeak or no, till your word this even seemed to show me that I must. Mycousins have been somewhat unfriends to me, and I held me back lest Ishould be reckoned to revenge myself. " Perrote took in the situation ata glance. "Poor child!" she said. "It is well thou hast spoken. Idare guess, thou sawest not that mischief might come thereof. "

"In good sooth, Mistress, that did I not until this even. I neverthought of no such a thing. "

"Verily, I can scarce marvel, for such a thing was hardly heard ofafore. To deceive a noble lady! to 'present herself as of gentle blood, when she came but of a trading stock! 'Tis horrible! I can scarcethink of worser deed, without she had striven to deceive the priesthimself in confession. "

The act of Ricarda Altham was far more shocking in the eyes of a lady inthe fourteenth century than in the nineteenth. The falsehood she hadtold was the same in both cases; or rather, it would weigh more heavilynow than then. But the nature of the deception--that what they wouldhave termed "a beggarly tradesman's brat" should, by deceiving a lady offamily, have forced herself on terms of comparative equality into thesociety of ladies--was horrible in the extreme to their eclectic souls. Tradesmen, in those days, were barely supposed, by the upper classes, tohave either morals or manners, except an awe of superior people, whichwas expected to act as a wholesome barrier against cheating theiraristocratic customers. In point of fact, the aristocratic customerswere cheated much oftener than they supposed, on the one side, and someof the "beggarly tradesfolk" were men of much higher intellect andprinciple than they imagined, on the other. Brains were held to be aprerogative of gentle blood, extra intelligence in the lower classesbeing almost an impertinence. The only exception to this rule lay withthe Church. She was allowed to develop a brain in whom she would. Thesacredness of her tonsure protected the man who wore it, permitting himto exhibit as much (or as little) of manners, intellect, and morals, ashe might think proper. 

Perrote's undressing on that evening was attended with numerous shakesof the head, and sudden ejaculations of mingled astonishment and horror. 

"And that Agatha!" was one of the ejaculations. 

Amphillis looked for enlightenment. 

"Why, she is full hand in glove with Ricarda. The one can do noughtthat the other knows not of. I dare be bound she is helping her to drawpoor Master Norman into her net--for Agatha will have none of him; she'safter Master Matthew. "

"Lack-a-day! I never thought nobody was after anybody!" said innocentAmphillis. 

"Keep thy seliness [simplicity], child!" said Perrote, smiling on her. "Nor, in truth, should I say `poor Master Norman, ' for I think he islittle like to be tangled either in Ricarda's web or Agatha's meshes. If I know him, his eyes be in another quarter--wherein, I would say, heshould have better content. Ah me, the folly of men! and women belike--I leave not them out; they be oft the more foolish of the twain. Thegood God assoil [forgive] us all! Alack, my poor Lady! It doth seem asif the Lord shut all doors in my face. I thought I was about to win SirGodfrey over--and hard work it had been--and then cometh this Abbot ofDarley, and slams the door afore I may go through. Well, the Lord canopen others, an' He will. `He openeth, and none shutteth; He shutteth, and none openeth;' and blessed be His holy Name, He is easilier come ata deal than men. If I must tarry, it is to tarry His leisure; and Heknows both the hearts of men, and the coming future; and He is securenot to be too late. He loves our poor Lady better than I love her, andI love her well-nigh as mine own soul. Lord, help me to wait Thy time, and help mine unbelief!"

The ordeal of telling Lady Foljambe had to be gone through the nextmorning. She was even more angry than Perrote had anticipated, and muchmore than Amphillis expected. Ricarda was a good-for-nought, a hussy, awicked wretch, and a near relative of Satan, while Amphillis was only ashade lighter in the blackness of her guilt. In vain poor Amphillispleaded that she had never guessed Lady Foljambe's intention of sendingfor her cousin, and had never heard of it until she saw her. Then, saidLady Foljambe, unreasonable in her anger, she ought to have guessed it. But it was all nonsense! Of course she knew, and had plotted it allwith her cousins. 

"Nay, Dame, " said Perrote; "I myself heard you to say, the even aforeRicarda came, that it should give Phyllis a surprise to see her. "

If anything could have made Lady Foljambe more angry than she was, itwas having it shown to her that she was in the wrong. She now turnedher artillery upon Perrote, whom she scolded in the intervals of heapingunsavoury epithets upon Amphillis and Ricarda, until Amphillis thoughtthat everything poor Perrote had ever done in her life to LadyFoljambe's annoyance, rightly or wrongly, must have been dragged out ofan inexhaustible memory to lay before her. At last it came to an end. Ricarda was dismissed in dire disgrace; all that Lady Foljambe wouldgrant her was her expenses home, and the escort of one mounted servantto take her there. Even this was given only at the earnest pleading ofPerrote and Amphillis, who knew, as indeed did Lady Foljambe herself, that to turn a girl out of doors in this summary manner was to exposeher to frightful dangers in the fourteenth century. Poor Ricarda wasquite broken down, and so far forgot her threats as to come to Amphillisfor help and comfort. Amphillis gave her every farthing in her purse, and desired the servant who was to act as escort to convey aconciliatory message to her uncle, begging forgiveness for Ricarda forher sake. She sent also an affectionate and respectful message to hernew aunt, entreating her to intercede with her husband for his daughter. 

"Indeed, Rica, I would not have told if I could have helped it andbidden true to my trust!" was the farewell of Amphillis. 

"O Phyllis, I wish I'd been as true as you, and then I should never havefallen in this trouble!" sobbed the humbled Ricarda. "I shouldn't havethought of it but for Saundrina. But there, I've been bad enough! I'llnot lay blame to other folks. God be wi' thee! if I may take God's nameinto my lips; but, peradventure, He'll be as angry as my Lady. "

"I suppose He is alway angered at sin, " said Amphillis. "But, Rica, theworst sinner that ever lived may take God's name into his lips to say, `God, forgive me!' And we must all alike say that. And MistressPerrote saith, if we hide our stained souls behind the white robes ofour Lord Christ, God the Father is never angered with Him. All thatanger was spent, every drop of it, upon the cross on Calvary; so thereis none left now, never a whit, for any sinner that taketh refuge inHim. Yea, it was spent on Him for this cause, that all souls takingshelter under His wing unto all time might find there only love, andrest, and peace. "

"O Phyllis, thou'rt a good maid. I would I were half as good as thou!"

"If I am good at all, dear Rica, Jesu Christ hath done it; and He willdo it for thee, for the asking. "

So the cousins parted in more peace than either of them would once havethought possible. 

For some hours Amphillis was in serious doubt whether she would notshare the fate of her cousin. Perrote pleaded for her, it seemed, invain; even Mrs Margaret added her gentle entreaties, and was sharplybidden to hold her tongue. But when, on the afternoon of that eventfulday, Amphillis went, as was now usual, to mount guard in the Countess'schamber, she was desired, in that lady's customary manner--

"Bid Avena Foljambe come and speak with me. "

Amphillis hesitated an instant, and her mistress saw it. 

"Well? Hast an access [a fit of the gout], that thou canst not walk?"

"Dame, I cry your Grace mercy. I am at this present ill in favour of myLady Foljambe, and I scarce know if she will come for my asking. "

The Countess laughed the curt, bitter laugh which Amphillis had so oftenheard from her lips. 

"Tell her she may please herself, " she said; "but that if she be nothere ere the hour, I'll come to her. I am not yet so sick that I cannotcrawl to the further end of the house. She'll not tarry to hear thattwice, or I err. "

Amphillis locked the door behind her, as she was strictly ordered to dowhenever she left that room, unless Perrote were there, and finding LadyFoljambe in her private boudoir, tremblingly delivered the more civilhalf of her message. Lady Foljambe paid no heed to her. 

"Dame, " said poor Amphillis, "I pray you of mercy if I do ill; but herGrace bade me say also that, if you came not to her afore the clockshould point the hour, then would she seek you. "

Lady Foljambe allowed a word to escape her which could only be termed amild form of swearing--a sin to which women no less than men, and of allclasses, were fearfully addicted in the Middle Ages--and, withoutanother look at Amphillis, stalked upstairs, and let herself with herown key into the Countess's chamber. 

The Countess sat in her large chair of carved walnut, made easy by beinglined with large, soft cushions. There were no easy chairs of any otherkind. She was in her favourite place, near the window. 

"Well, Avena, good morrow! Didst have half my message, or the whole?"

"I am here, Dame, to take your Grace's orders. "

"I see, it wanted the whole. `To take my Grace's orders!' Soothly, thou art pleasant. Well, take them, then. My Grace would like a couchprepared on yonder lawn, and were I but well enough, a ride onhorseback; but I misdoubt rides be over for me. Go to: what is this Ihear touching the child Amphillis?--as though thou wentest about to berid of her. "

"Dame, I have thought thereupon. "

"What for? Now, Avena, I will know. Thou dost but lose thy pains tofence with me. "

In answer, Lady Foljambe told the story, with a good deal of angrycomment. The Countess was much amused, a fact which did not help tocalm the narrator. 

"_Ha, jolife_!" said she, "but I would fain have been in thy bower whenthe matter came forth! Howbeit, I lack further expounding thereanentis. Whereof is Phyllis guilty?"

Lady Foljambe, whose wrath was not up at the white heat which it hadtouched in the morning, found this question a little difficult toanswer. She could not reasonably find fault with Amphillis for beingRicarda's cousin, and this was the real cause of her annoyance. Theonly blame that could be laid to her was her silence for a few days asto the little she knew. Of this crime Lady Foljambe made the most. 

"Now, Avena, " said the Countess, as peremptorily as her languorpermitted, "hearken me, and be no more of a fool than thou canst help. If thou turn away a quiet, steady, decent maid, of good birth andconditions, for no more than a little lack of courage, or maybe ofjudgment--and thou art not a she-Solomon thyself, as I give thee to wit, but thou art a fearsome thing to a young maid when thou art angered; andunjust anger is alway harder, and sharper, and fierier than the just, asif it borrowed a bit of Satan, from whom it cometh--I say, if thou turnher away for this, thou shalt richly deserve what thou wilt very likeget in exchange--to wit, a giddy-pate that shall blurt forth all thyprivy matter (and I am a privy matter, as thou well wist), or one ofsome other ill conditions, that shall cost thee an heartbreak to rule. Now beware, and be wise. And if it need more, then mind thou"--and thetone grew regal--"that Amphillis Neville is my servant, not thine, andthat I choose not she be removed from me. I love the maid; she hathsense, and she is true to trust; and though that keeps me in prison, yetcan I esteem it when known. 'Tis a rare gift. Now go, and think onwhat I have said to thee. "

Lady Foljambe found herself reluctantly constrained to do the Countess'sbidding, so far, at least, as the meditation was concerned. And thecalmer she grew, the more clearly she saw that the Countess was right. She did not, however, show that she felt she had been in the wrong. Amphillis was not informed that she was forgiven, nor that she was toretain her place, but matters were allowed to slide silently back intotheir old groove. So the winter came slowly on. 

"The time drew near the birth of Christ, " that season of peace andgood-will to men which casts its soft sunshine even over the world, bringing absent relatives together, and suggesting general familyamnesties. Perrote determined to make one more effort with Sir Godfrey. About the middle of December, as that gentleman was mounting hisstaircase, he saw on the landing that "bothering old woman, " standing, lamp in hand, evidently meaning to waylay some one who was going up tobed. Sir Godfrey had little doubt that he was the destined victim, andhe growled inwardly. However, it was of no use to turn back on somepretended errand; she was sure to wait till his return, as he knew. SirGodfrey growled again inaudibly, and went on to meet his fate in theform of Perrote. 

"Sir, I would speak with you. "

Sir Godfrey gave an irritable grunt. 

"Sir, the day of our Lord's birth is very nigh, when men be wont to makeup old quarrels in peace. Will you not yet once entreat of my LordDuke, being in England, to pay one visit to his dying mother?"

"I wis not that she is dying. Folks commonly take less time over theirdying than thus. "

Perrote, as it were, waved away the manner of the answer, and repliedonly to the matter. 

"Sir, she is dying, albeit very slowly. My Lady may linger divers weeksyet. Will you not send to my Lord?"

"I did send to him, " snapped Sir Godfrey. 

"And he cometh?" said Perrote, eagerly for her. 

"No. " Sir Godfrey tried to pass her with that monosyllable, but Perrotewas not to be thus baffled. She laid a detaining hand upon his arm. 

"Sir, I pray you, for our Lord's love, to tell me what word came backfrom my Lord Duke?"

Our Lord's love was not a potent factor in Sir Godfrey's soul. Morepowerful were those pleading human eyes--and yet more, the sentimentwhich swayed the unjust judge--"Because this widow troubleth me, I willavenge her. " He turned back. 

"Must you needs wit? Then take it: it shall do you little pleasure. MyLord writ that he was busily concerned touching the troubles inBrittany, and ill at ease anentis my Lady Duchess, that is besieged inthe Castle of Auray, and he could not spare time to go a visiting;beside which, it might be taken ill of King Edward, whose favour at thispresent is of high import unto him, sith without his help he is like tolose his duchy. So there ends the matter. No man can look for a princeto risk the loss of his dominions but to pleasure an old dame. "

"One only, Sir, it may be, is like to look for it; and were I my LordDuke, I should be a little concerned touching another matter--theaccount that he shall give in to that One at the last day. In thegolden balances of Heaven I count a dying mother's yearning may weighheavy, and the risk of loss of worldly dominion may be very light. Ithank you, Sir. Good-night. May God not say one day to my Lord Duke, `Thou fool!'"

Perrote disappeared, but Sir Godfrey Foljambe stood where she had lefthim. Over his pleasure-chilled, gold-hardened conscience a breath fromHeaven was sweeping, such a breath as he had often felt in earlieryears, but which very rarely came to him now. Like the soft toll of apassing bell, the terrible words rang in his ears with their accent ofhopeless pity--"Thou fool! Thou fool!" Would God, some day, in thatupper world, say that to _him_?

The sound was so vivid and close that he actually glanced round to seeif any one was there to hear but himself. But he was alone. Only Godhad heard them, and God forgets nothing--a thought as dreadful to Hisenemies as it is warmly comforting to His children. Alas, for those towhom the knowledge that God has His eye upon them is only one of terror!

Yet there is one thing that God does forget. He tells us that Heforgets the forgiven sin. "As far as the sun-rising is from thesun-setting [Note 1], so far hath He removed our transgressions fromus"--"Thou wilt cast all their sins into the depths of the sea. " But asit has been well said, "When God pardons sin, He drops it out of Hismemory into that of the pardoned sinner. " We cannot forget it, becauseHe has done so. 

For Sir Godfrey Foljambe the thought of an omniscient eye and ear wasfull of horror. He turned round, went downstairs, and going to aprivate closet in his own study, where medicines were kept, drank offone of the largest doses of brandy which he had ever taken at once. Itwas not a usual thing to do, for brandy was not then looked on as abeverage, but a medicine. But Sir Godfrey wanted something potent, tostill those soft chimes which kept saying, "Thou fool!" Anything to getaway from God!

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Note 1. This is really the Hebrew of Psalm 103, verse 12. The infidelobjection, therefore, that since "east" and "west" meet, the verse hasno meaning, is untenable as concerns the inspired original. It is onlyvalid as a criticism on the English translation. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

MY LORD ELECT OF YORK. 

 "She only said, --`The day is dreary, He will not come, ' she said: She wept, --`I am aweary, weary, -- O God, that I were dead!'"

 Tennyson. 

"What, ho! Gate, ho! Open unto my Lord elect of York!"

The cry startled the porter at Hazelwood Manor from an afternoon nap. He sprang up and hurried out, in utter confusion at his negligence. Tokeep a priest waiting would have been bad manners enough, and an abbotstill worse; but an archbishop was, in the porter's estimate, asemi-celestial being. True, this Archbishop was not yet consecrated, nor had he received his pallium from Rome, both which considerationsdetracted from his holiness, and therefore from his importance; but hewas the Archbishop of the province, and the shadow of his future dignitywas imposing to an insignificant porter. Poor Wilkin went down on hisknees in a puddle, as soon as he had got the gate open, to beg thepotentate's pardon and blessing, and only rose from them summarily tocollar Colle, who had so little notion of the paramount claims of anarchbishop that he received the cavalcade with barks as noisy as hewould have bestowed on any worldly pedlar. Nay, so very unmannerly wasColle, that when he was let go, he marched straight to the Archbishop, and after a prolonged sniff at the archiepiscopal boots, presumed so faras to wag his very secular tail, and even to give an uninvited lick tothe archiepiscopal glove. The Archbishop, instead of excommunicatingColle, laid his hand gently on the dog's head and patted him; which soemboldened that audacious quadruped that he actually climbed up theprelate, with more decided wagging than before. 

"Nay, my son!" said the Archbishop, gently, to an officious young priestin his suite, who would have dragged the dog away--"grudge me not mywelcome. Dogs be honest creatures, and dissemble not. Hast thou neverheard the saw, that `they be ill folks that dogs and children will notgo withal'?"

And with another pat of Colle's head, the Archbishop dismissed him, andwalked into the hall to meet a further welcome from the whole family andhousehold, all upon their knees. Blessing them in the usual priestlymanner, he commanded them to rise, and Sir Godfrey then presented hissons and squire, while Lady Foljambe did the same for the young ladies. 

"Mistress Margaret Foljambe, my son's wife, an' it please your Grace;and Mistress Perrote de Carhaix, my head chamberer. These be mybower-women, Agatha de La Beche and Amphillis Neville. "

"Neville!" echoed the Archbishop, instantly. "Of what Nevilles comestthou, my maid?"

"Please it you, holy Father, " said the confused Amphillis, morefrightened still to hear a sharp "your Grace!" whispered from LadyFoljambe; "I know little of my kin, an' it like your Grace. My fatherwas Walter Neville, and his father a Ralph, but more know I not, underyour Grace's pleasure. "

"How comes it thou wist no more?"

"May it please your Grace, my father dwelt in Hertfordshire, and hewedded under his estate, so that his family cast him off, as I haveheard, " said Amphillis, growing every moment more hot and confused, forit was no light ordeal for one in her position to be singled out forconversation by an archbishop, and she sorely feared an after ebullitionof Lady Foljambe's wrath. 

"My child!" said the Archbishop with great interest, and very gently, "did thy father wed one Margery Altham, of London, whose father dwelt inthe Strand, and was a baker?"

"He did so, under your Grace's pardon, " said poor Amphillis, blushingfor the paternal shortcomings; "but, may it please your Grace, he was amaster-pastiller, not a baker. "

A little smile of amusement at the delicate distinction played about theArchbishop's lips. 

"Why, then, Cousin Amphillis, I think thy cousin may ask thee for akiss, " said he, softly touching the girl's cheek with his lips. "MyLady Foljambe, I am full glad to meet here so near a kinswoman, and I doheartily entreat you that my word may weigh with you to deal well withthis my cousin. "

Lady Foljambe, with a low reverence, assured his Grace that she had beenentirely unaware, like Amphillis herself, that her bower-woman couldclaim even remote kindred with so exalted a house and so dignified aperson; and that in future she should assume the position proper to herbirth. And to her astonishment, Amphillis was passed by her Ladyship upthe table, above Agatha, above even Perrote--nay, above MistressMargaret--and seated, not by any means to her comfort, next to LadyFoljambe herself. From that day she was no more addressed with thefamiliar _thou_, but always with the _you_, which denoted equality orrespect. When Lady Foljambe styled her Mistress Amphillis, she enduredit with a blush. But when Perrote substituted it for the affectionate"Phyllis" usual on her lips, she was tearfully entreated not to make achange. 

The Archbishop was on his way south for the ceremony of consecration, which required a dispensation if performed anywhere outside theCathedral of Canterbury, unless bestowed by the Pope himself. His visitset Sir Godfrey thinking. Here was a man who might safely be allowed tovisit the dying Countess--being, of course, told the need for secrecy--and if he requested it of him, Perrote must cease to worry him afterthat. No poor priest, nor all the poor priests put together, could bethe equivalent of a live Archbishop. 

He consulted Lady Foljambe, and found her of the same mind as himself. It would be awkward, she admitted, if the Countess died, to findthemselves censured for not having supplied her with spiritualministrations proper for her rank. Here was a perfect opportunity. Itwould be a sin to lose it. 

It was, indeed, in a different sense to that in which she used thewords, a perfect opportunity. The name of Alexander Neville has comedown to us as that of the gentlest man of his day, one of the mostlovable that ever lived. Beside this quality, which rendered him apeculiarly fit ministrant to the sick and dying, he was among the mostprominent Lollards; he had drunk deep into the Scriptures, and, therefore, while not free from superstition--no man then was--he wasvery much more free than the majority. Charms and incantations, textstied round the neck, and threads or hairs swallowed in holy water, hadlittle value to the masculine intellect of Alexander Neville. And alongwith this masculine intellect was a heart of feminine tenderness, whichwould enable him to enter, so far as it was possible for a celibatepriest to enter, into the sad yearnings of the dying mother, whosechildren did not care to come to her, and held aloof even in the lasthour of her weary life. In those times, when worldliness had eaten likea canker into the heart of the Church, almost as much as in our own--when preferment was set higher than truth, and Court favour was held ofmore worth than faithfulness, one of the most unworldly men living wasthis elect Archbishop. The rank of his penitent would weigh nothingwith him. She would be to him only a passing soul, a wronged woman, alonely widow, a neglected mother. 

After supper, Sir Godfrey drew the Archbishop aside into his privateroom, and told him, with fervent injunctions to secrecy, the sorrowfultale of his secluded prisoner. As much sternness as was in ArchbishopNeville's heart contracted his brows and drew his lips into a frown. 

"Does my Lord Duke of Brittany know his mother's condition?"

"Ay, if it please your Grace. " Sir Godfrey repeated the substance ofthe answer already imparted to Perrote. 

"Holy saints!" exclaimed the Archbishop. "And my Lady Basset, whatsaith she?"

"An' it like your Grace, I sent not unto her. "

"But wherefore, my son? An' the son will not come, then should thedaughter. I pray you, send off a messenger to my Lady Basset at once;and suffer me to see your prisoner. Is she verily nigh death, or mayshe linger yet a season?"

"Father Jordan reckoneth she may yet abide divers weeks, your Grace; inespecial if the spring be mild, as it biddeth fair. She fadeth but fullslow. "

Sir Godfrey's tone was that of an injured man, who was not properlytreated, either by the Countess or Providence, through this very gradualdemise of the former. The Archbishop's reply--"Poor lady!" was inaccents of unmitigated compassion. 

Lady Foljambe was summoned by her husband, and she conducted the prelateto the turret-chamber, where the Countess sat in her chair by thewindow, and Amphillis was in attendance. He entered with uplifted hand, and the benediction of "Christ, save all here!"

Amphillis rose, hastily gathering her work upon one arm. The Countess, who had heard nothing, for she had been sleeping since her bower-maidenreturned from supper, looked up with more interest than she usuallyshowed. The entrance of a complete stranger was something veryunexpected and unaccountable. 

"Christ save you, holy Father! I pray you, pardon me that I arise not, being ill at ease, to entreat your blessing. Well, Avena, what hasmoved thee to bring a fresh face into this my dungeon, prithee? Itshould be somewhat of import. "

"Madame, this is my Lord's Grace elect of York, who, coming hither onhis way southwards, mine husband counted it good for your Grace's soulto shrive you of his Grace's hand. My Lord, if your Grace have need ofa crucifix, or of holy water, both be behind this curtain. Come, Mistress Amphillis. His Grace will be pleased to rap on the door, whenit list him to come forth; and I pray you, abide in your chamber, andhearken for the same. "

"I thank thee, Avena, " said the Countess, with her curt laugh. "Soothto say, I wist not my soul was of such worth in thine eyes, and stillless in thine husband's. I would my body weighed a little more with thepair of you. So I am to confess my sins, forsooth? That shall be alight matter, methinks; I have but little chance to sin, shut up in thiscage. Truly, I should find myself hard put to it to do damage to any ofthe Ten Commandments, hereaway. A dungeon's all out praisable forkeeping folks good--nigh as well as a sick bed. And when man has bothtogether, he should be marvellous innocent. There, go thy ways; I'llsend for thee when I lack thee. "

Lady Foljambe almost slammed the door behind her, and, locking it, charged Amphillis to listen carefully for the Archbishop's knock, and tounlock the door the moment she should hear it. 

The Archbishop, meanwhile, had seated himself in the only chair in theroom corresponding to that of the Countess. A chair was an object ofconsequence in the eyes of a mediaeval gentleman, for none but personsof high rank might sit on a chair; all others were relegated to a form, styled a bench when it had a back to it. Stools, however, were allowedto all. That certain formalities or styles of magnificence should havebeen restricted to persons of rank may be reasonable; but it does seemabsurd that no others should have been allowed to be comfortable. "Thegood old times" were decidedly inconvenient for such as had no handlesto their names. 

"I speak, as I have been told, to the Lady Marguerite, Duchess ofBrittany, and mother to my Lord Duke?" inquired the Archbishop. 

"And Countess of Montfort, " was the answer. "Pray your Grace, give meall my names, for nought else is left me to pleasure me withal--saving atwo-three ounces of slea-silk and an ell of gold fringe. "

"And what else would you?"

"What else?" The question was asked in passionate tones, and the darkflashing eyes went longingly across the valley to the Alport heights. "I would have my life back again, " she said. "I have not had a fairchance. I have done with my life not that I willed, but only that whichothers gave leave for me to do. Six and twenty years have I beentethered, and fretted, and limited, granted only the semblance of power, the picture of life, and thrust and pulled back whensoever I strained inthe least at the leash wherein I was held. No dog has been more pennedup and chained than I! And now, for eight years have I been cabined inone chamber, shut up from the very air of heaven whereunto God made allmen free--shut up from every face that I knew and loved, saving one ofmine ancient waiting-maids--verily, if they would use me worser than so, they shall be hard put to it, save to thrust me into my coffin andfasten down the lid on me. I want my life back again! I want thebright harvest of my youth, which these slugs and maggots have devoured, which I never had. I want the bloom of my dead happiness which men tareaway from me. I want my dead lord, and mine estranged children, and mylost life! Tell me, has God no treasury whence He pays compensation forsuch wrongs as mine? Must I never see my little child again, the babylad that clung to me and would not see me weep? My pillow is wet now, and no man careth for it--nay, nor God Himself. I was alway true woman;I never wronged human soul, that I know. I paid my dues, and shrived meclean, and lived honestly. Wherefore is all this come upon me?"

"Lady Marguerite, if you lost a penny and gained a gold noble, would youthink you were repaid the loss or no?"

"In very deed I should, " the sick woman replied, languidly; the fire hadspent itself in that outburst, and the embers had little warmth left inthem. 

"Yet, " said the Archbishop, significantly, "you would not have won thelost thing back. "

"What matter, so I had its better?"

"We will return to that. But first I have another thing to ask. Yousay you never wronged man to your knowledge. Have you always paid allyour dues to Him that is above men?"

"I never robbed the Church of a penny!"

"There be other debts than pence, my daughter. Have you kept, to thebest of your power, all the commandments of God?"

"In very deed I have. "

"You never worshipped any other God?"

"I never worshipped neither Jupiter nor Juno, nor Venus, nor Diana, norMars, nor Mercury. "

"That can I full readily believe. But as there be other debts thanmoney, so there be other gods than Jupiter. Honoured you no man northing above God? Cared you alway more for His glory than for the fameof Marguerite of Flanders, or the comfort of Jean de Bretagne?"

"Marry, you come close!" said the Countess, with a laugh. "Fame andease be not gods, good Father. "

"They be not God, " was the significant answer. "`Ye are servants to himwhom ye obey, ' saith the apostle, and man may obey other than his lawfulmaster. Whatsoever you set, or suffer to set himself, in God's place, that is your god. What has been your god, my daughter?"

"I am never a bit worse than my neighbours, " said the Countess, leavingthat inconvenient question without answer, and repairing, as thousandsdo, to that very much broken cistern of equality in transgression. 

"You must be better than your neighbours ere God shall suffer you in Hisholy Heaven. You must be as good as He is, or you shall not winthither. And since man cannot be so, the only refuge for him is to takeshelter under the cross of Christ, which wrought righteousness to coverhim. "

"Then man may live as he list, and cover him with Christ'srighteousness?" slily responded the Countess, with that instant recourseto the Antinomianism inherent in fallen man. 

"`If man say he knoweth Him, and keepeth not His commandments, he is aliar, '" quoted the Archbishop in reply. "`He that saith he abideth inHim, ought to walk as He walked. ' Man cannot abide in Christ, andcommit sin, for He hath no sin. You left unanswered my question, Lady:what has been your god?"

"I have paid due worship to God and the Church, " was the rather stubbornanswer. "Pass on, I pray you. I worshipped no false god; I took notGod's name in vain no more than other folks; I always heard mass of aSunday and festival day; I never murdered nor stole; and as to tellingfalse witness, beshrew me if it were false witness to tell AvenaFoljambe she is a born fool, the which I have done many a time in theday. Come now, let me off gently, Father. There are scores of worserwomen in this world than me. "

"God will not judge you, Lady, for the sins of other women; neither willHe let you go free for the goodness of other. There is but One otherfor whose sake you shall be suffered to go free, and that only if you beone with Him in such wise that your deeds and His be reckoned as one, like as the debts of a wife be reckoned to her husband, and his honoursbe shared by her. Are you thus one with Jesu Christ our Lord?"

"In good sooth, I know not what you mean. I am in the Church: what morelack I? The Church must see to it that I come safe, so long as I shriveme and keep me clear of mortal sin: and little chance of mortal sin haveI, cooped up in this cage. "

"Daughter, the Church is every righteous man that is joined with Christ. If you wist not what I mean, can you be thus joined? Could a woman bewedded to a man, and not know it? Could two knights enter intocovenant, to live and die each with other, and be all unsure whetherthey had so done or no? It were far more impossible than this, that youshould be a member of Christ's body, and not know what it meaneth so tobe. "

"But I am in Holy Church!" urged the Countess, uneasily. 

"I fear not so, my daughter. "

"Father, you be marvellous different from all other priests that everspake to me. With all other, I have shrived me and been absolved, andthere ended the matter. I had sins to confess, be sure; and they lookedI should so have, and no more. But you--would you have me perfectsaint, without sin? None but great saints be thus, as I have beentaught. "

"Not the greatest of saints, truly. There is no man alive that sinnethnot. What is sin?"

"Breaking the commandments, I reckon. "

"Ay, and in especial that first and greatest--`Thou shalt love the Lordthy God with all thine heart, and with all thy mind, and with all thysoul, and with all thy strength. ' Daughter, hast thou so loved Him--sothat neither ease nor pleasure, neither fame nor life, neither earth norself, came between your love and Him, was set above Him, and servedafore Him? Speak truly, like the true woman you are. I wait youranswer. "

It was several moments before the answer came. 

"Father, is that sin?"

"My daughter, it is the sin of sins: the sin whence all other sinsflow--this estrangement of the heart from God. For if we truly lovedGod, and perfectly, should we commit sin?--could we so do? Could wedesire to worship any other than Him, or to set anything before Him?--could we bear to profane His name, to neglect His commands, to gocontrary to His will? Should we then bear ill-will to other men wholove Him, and whom He loveth? Should we speak falsely in His ears whois the Truth? Should we suffer pride to defile our souls, knowing thatHe dwelleth with the lowly in heart? Answer me, Lady Marguerite. "

"Father, you are sore hard. Think you God, that is up in Heaven, takethnote of a white lie or twain, or a few cross words by nows and thens?not to name a mere wish that passeth athwart man's heart and is gone?"

"God taketh note of sin, daughter. And sin is _sin_--it is rebellionagainst the King of Heaven. What think you your son would say to acaptain of his, which pleaded that he did but surrender one littlepostern gate to the enemy, and that there were four other strong portalsthat led into the town, all whereof he had well defended?"

"Why, the enemy might enter as well through the postern as any other. To be in, is to be in, no matter how he find entrance. "

"Truth. And the lightest desire can be sin, as well as the wickedestdeed. Verily, if the desire never arose, the deed should be ill-set tofollow. "

"Then God is punishing me?" she said, wistfully. 

"God is looking for you, " was the quiet answer. "The sheep hath goneastray over moor and morass, and the night is dark and cold, and itbleateth piteously: and the Shepherd is come out of the warm fold, andis tracking it on the lonely hills, and calling to it. Lady, will thesheep answer His voice? will it bleat again and again, until He find it?or will it refuse to hear, and run further into the morass, and beengulfed and fully lost in the dark waters, or snatched and carried intothe wolf's den? God is not punishing you now; He is loving you; He iswaiting to see if you will take His way of escape from punishment. Butthe punishment of your sins must be laid upon some one, and it is foryou to choose whether you will bear it yourself, or will lay it upon Himwho came down from Heaven that He might bear it for you. It must beeither upon you or Him. "

The face lighted up suddenly, and the thin weak hands were stretchedout. 

"If God love me, " she said, "let Him give me back my children! Hewould, if He did. Let them come back to me, and I shall believe it. Without this I cannot. Father, I mean none ill; I would fain think asyou say. But my heart is weak, and my life ebbs low, and I cannot bleatback again. O God, for my children!--for only one of them! I would becontent with one. If Thou lovest me--if I have sinned, and Thou wouldstspare me, give me back my child! `Thou madest far from me friend andneighbour'--give me back _one_, O God!"

"Daughter, we may not dictate to our King, " said the Archbishop, gently. "Yet I doubt not there be times when He stoops mercifully to weaknessand misery, and helps our unbelief. May He grant your petition! Andnow, I think you lack rest, and have had converse enough. I will seeyou again ere I depart. _Benedicite_!"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

POSTING A LETTER. 

 "Whose fancy was his only oracle; Who could buy lands and pleasure at his will, Yet slighted that which silver could not win. "

 Rev Horatius Bonar, D. D. 

The Archbishop rapped softly on the door of the chamber, and Amphillissprang to let him out. She had to let herself in, so he passed her withonly a smile and a blessing, and going straight to his own chamber, spent the next hour in fervent prayer. At the end of that time he wentdown to the hall, and asked for writing materials. 

This was a rather large request to make in a mediaeval manor house. Father Jordan was appealed to, as the only person likely to know thewhereabouts of such scarce articles. 

"Well, of a surety!" exclaimed the old priest, much fluttered by theinquiry. "Methinks I may find the inkhorn, --and there _was_ some ink init, --but as for writing-paper!--and I fear there shall be never a bit ofparchment in the house. Wax, moreover--Richard, butler, took the lastfor his corks. Dear, dear! only to think his Grace should lack matterfor writing! Yet, truly, 'tis not unnatural for a prelate. Now, whatever shall man do?"

"Give his Grace a tile and a paint-brush, " said careless Matthew. 

"Cut a leaf out of a book, " suggested illiterate Godfrey. 

Father Jordan looked at the last speaker as if he had proposed to cook achild for dinner. Cut a leaf out of a book! Murder, theft, and arsoncombined, would scarcely have been more horrible in his eyes. 

"Holy saints, deliver us!" was his shocked answer. 

Norman Hylton came to the rescue. 

"I have here a small strip of parchment, " said he, "if his Grace werepleased to make use thereof. I had laid it by for a letter to mymother, but his Grace's need is more than mine. "

The Archbishop took the offered gift with a smile. 

"I thank thee, my son, " said he. "In good sooth, at this moment my needis great, seeing death waiteth for no man. "

He sat down, and had scarcely remembered the want of ink, when FatherJordan came up, carrying a very dilapidated old inkhorn. 

"If your Grace were pleased to essay this, and could serve you withal, "suggested he, dubiously; "soothly, there is somewhat black at thebottom. "

"And there is alegar in the house, plenty, " added Matthew. 

The Archbishop looked about for the pen. 

"Unlucky mortal that I am!" cried Father Jordan, smiting himself on theforehead. "Never a quill have I, by my troth!"

"Have you a goose? That might mend matters, " said Matthew. "Had we buta goose, there should be quills enow. "

"_Men culpa, mea culpa_!" cried poor Father Jordan, as though he were atconfession, to the excessive amusement of the young men. 

Norman, who had run upstairs on finding the pen lacking, now returnedwith one in his hand. 

"Here is a quill, if your Grace be pleased withal. It is but an oldone, yet I have no better, " he said, modestly. 

"It shall full well serve me, my son, " was the answer; "and I thank theefor thy courtesy. "

For his day the Archbishop was a skilful penman, which does not by anymeans convey the idea of covering sheet after sheet of paper with rapidwriting. The strip of parchment was about fourteen inches by four. Helaid it lengthwise before him, and the letters grew slowly on it, in theold black letter hand, which took some time to form. Thus ran hisletter:--

"Alexander, by Divine sufferance elect of York, to the Lady Basset ofDrayton wisheth peace, health, and the blessing of God Almighty. 

"Very dear Lady, --

"Let it please you to know that the bearer hereof hath tidings todeliver of serious and instant import. We pray you full heartily tohear him without any delay, and to give full credence to such matter ashe shall impart unto you: which having done, we bid you, as you valueour apostolical blessing, to come hither with all speed, and we chargeour very dear son, your lord, that he let not nor hinder you in obeyingthis our mandate. The matter presseth, and will brook no delay: and weaffy ourself in you, Lady, as a woman obedient to the Church, that youwill observe our bidding. And for so doing this shall be your warrant. Given at Hazelwood Manor, in the county of Derby, this Wednesday afterCandlemas. "

The Archbishop laid down his pen, folded his letter, and asked for silkto tie it. Matthew Foljambe ran off, returning in a moment with a rollof blue silk braid, wherewith the letter was tied up. Then wax wasneeded. 

"_Ha, chetife_!" said Father Jordan. "The saints forgive me my sins!Never a bit of wax had I lacked for many a month, and I gave the last toRichard, butler. "

"Hath he used it all?" asked Matthew. 

"Be sure he so did. He should have some left only if none needed it, "responded his brother. 

A search was instituted. The butler regretfully admitted that all thewax supplied, to him was fastening down corks upon bottles of Alicantand Osey. Sir Godfrey had none; he had sent for some, but had not yetreceived it. Everybody was rather ashamed; for wax was a very necessaryarticle in a mediaeval household, and to run short of it was a smalldisgrace. In this emergency Matthew, usually the person of resources, came to the rescue. 

"Hie thee to the cellar, Dick, and bring me up a two-three bottles ofthy meanest wine, " said he. "We'll melt it off the corks. "

By this ingenious means, sufficient wax was procured to take the impressof the Archbishop's official seal, without which the letter would bearno authentication, and the recipient could not be blamed if she refusedobedience. It was then addressed--"To the hands of our very dear Lady, the Lady Joan Basset, at Drayton Manor, in the county of Stafford, bethese delivered with speed. Haste, haste, for thy life, haste!"

All nobles and dignitaries of the Church in 1374 used the "we" nowexclusively regal. 

Having finished his preparations, the Archbishop despatched youngGodfrey to ask his father for a private interview. Sir Godfrey at oncereturned to the hall, and ceremoniously handed the Archbishop into hisown room. 

All large houses, in those days, contained a hall, which was the generalmeeting-place of the inhabitants, and where the family, servants, andguests, all took their meals together. This usually ran two storeyshigh; and into it opened from the lower storey the offices andguard-chambers, and from the upper, into a gallery running round it, theprivate apartments of the family, a spiral stair frequently winding downin the corner. The rooms next the hall were private sitting-rooms, leading to the bedchambers beyond; and where still greater secrecy wasdesired, passages led out towards separate towers. Every bedroom hadits adjoining sitting-room. Of course in small houses such elaboratearrangements as these were not found, and there were no sitting-roomsexcept the hall itself; while labourers were content with a two-roomedhouse, the lower half serving as parlour and kitchen, the upper as thefamily bedchamber. 

Young Godfrey carried a chair to his father's room. An Archbishop couldnot sit on a form, and there were only three chairs in the house, two ofwhich were appropriated to the Countess. The prelate took his seat, andlaid down his letter on a high stool before Sir Godfrey. 

"Fair Sir, may I entreat you of your courtesy, to send this letter withall good speed to my Lady Basset of Drayton, unto Staffordshire?"

"Is it needful, holy Father?"

"It is in sooth needful, " replied the Archbishop, in rather peremptorytones, for he plainly saw that Sir Godfrey would not do this part of hisduty until he could no longer help it. 

"It shall put her Ladyship to great charges, " objected the knight. 

"The which, if she defray unwillingly, then is she no Christian woman. "

"And be a journey mighty displeasant, at this winter season. "

"My answer thereto is as to the last. "

"And it shall blurt out the King's privy matters. "

"In no wise. I have not writ thereof a word in this letter, but haveonly prayed her Ladyship to give heed unto that which the bearer thereofshall make known to her privily. "

"Then who is to bear the same?"

"I refer me thereon, fair Sir, to your good judgment. Might one of yourown sons be trusted herewith?"

Sir Godfrey looked dubious. "Godfrey should turn aside to see an horse, or to tilt at any jousting that lay in his path; and Matthew, I cast nodoubt, should lose your Grace's letter in a snowdrift. "

"Then have you brought them up but ill, " said the Archbishop. "But whathindereth that you go withal yourself?"

"I, holy Father! I am an old man, and infirm, an' it like your Grace. "

"Ay, you were full infirm when the tilting was at Leicester, " repliedthe Archbishop, ironically. "My son, I enjoin thee, as thineArchbishop, that thou send this letter. Go, or send a trusty messenger, as it liketh thee best; and if thou have no such, then shall mysecretary, Father Denny, carry the same, for he is full meet therefor;but go it must. "

Poor Sir Godfrey was thus brought to the end of all his subterfuges. Hecould only say ruefully that his eldest son should bear the letter. TheArchbishop thereupon took care to inform that young gentleman that ifhis missive should be either lost or delayed, its bearer would have toreckon with the Church, and might not find the account quite convenientto pay. 

Godfrey was ready enough to go. Life at Hazelwood was not so excitingthat a journey, on whatever errand, would not come as a very welcomeinterlude. He set forth that evening, and as the journey was barelyforty miles, he could not in reason take longer over it than three daysat the utmost. Sir Godfrey, however, as well as the Archbishop, hadconfided his private views to his son. He charged him to see LordBasset first, and to indoctrinate him with the idea that it was mostdesirable Lady Basset should not receive the prelate's message. Couldhe find means to prevent it?

Lord Basset was a man of a type not uncommon in any time, andparticularly rife at the present day. He lived to amuse himself. Ofsuch things as work and duty he simply had no idea. In his eyes workwas for the labouring class, and duty concerned the clergy; neither ofthem applied at all to him. He was, therefore, of about as much valueto the world as one of the roses in his garden; and if he would be moremissed, it was because his temper did not at all times emulate thesweetness of that flower, and its absence would be felt as a relief. This very useful and worthy gentleman was languidly fitting on thejesses of a hawk, when young Godfrey was introduced into the hall. LadyBasset was not present, and Godfrey seized the opportunity to initiateher husband into the part he was to play. He found to his annoyancethat Lord Basset hesitated to perform the task assigned to him. Had theletter come from an insignificant layman, he would have posted it intothe fire without more ado; but Lord Basset, who was aware of sundryhabits of his own that he was not able to flatter himself were thefashion in Heaven, could not afford to quarrel with the Church, which, in his belief, held the keys of that eligible locality. 

"Nay, verily!" said he. "I cannot thwart the delivering of his Grace'sletter. "

"Then will my Lady go to Hazelwood, and the whole matter shall be blazedabroad. It is sure to creep forth at some corner. "

"As like as not. Well, I would not so much care--should it serve you ifI gave her strict forbiddance for to go?"

"Would she obey?"

Lord Basset laughed. "That's as may be. She's commonly an easy mare todrive, but there be times when she takes the bit betwixt her teeth, andbolts down the contrary road. You can only try her. "

"Then under your leave, may I deliver the letter to her?"

"Here, De Sucherche!" said Lord Basset, raising his voice. "BidEmeriarde lead this gentleman to thy Lady; he hath a privy word todeliver unto her. "

Emeriarde made her appearance in the guise of a highly respectable, middle-aged upper servant, and led Godfrey up the staircase from thehall to Lady Basset's ante-chamber, where, leaving him for a moment, while she announced a visitor to her mistress, she returned andconducted him into the presence of the Princess of Bretagne. 

He saw a woman of thirty-six years of age, tall and somewhat stately, only moderately good-looking, and with an expression of intenseweariness and listlessness in her dark eyes. The face was a true indexto the feelings, for few lonelier women have ever shut their sorrows intheir hearts than the Princess Jeanne of Bretagne. She had no child;and her husband followed the usual rule of people who spend life inamusing themselves, and who are apt to be far from amusing to their ownfamilies. His interest, his attractions, and his powers ofentertainment were kept for the world outside. When his wife saw him, he was generally either vexed, and consequently irritable, or tired andsomewhat sulky. All the sufferings of reaction which fell to him werevisited on her. She was naturally a woman of strong but silentcharacter; a woman who locked her feelings, her sufferings, and herthoughts in her own breast, and having found no sympathy where she oughtto have found it, refrained from seeking it elsewhere. 

Lord Basset would have been astonished had he been accused of ill-usinghis wife. He never lifted his hand against her, nor even found faultwith her before company. He simply let her feel as if her life were notworth living, and there was not a soul on earth who cared to make it so. If, only now and then, he would have given her half an hour of thatbrilliance with which he entertained his guests! if he wouldoccasionally have shown her that he cared whether she was tired, that itmade any difference to his happiness whether she was happy! She was awoman with intense capacity for loving, but there was no fuel for thefire, and it was dying out for sheer want of material. Women of lightercharacter might have directed their affections elsewhere; women of moreversatile temperament might have found other interests for themselves;she did neither. Though strong, her intellect was neither quick nor ofgreat range; it was deep rather than wide in its extent. It must beremembered, also, that a multitude of interests which are open to awoman in the present day, were quite unknown to her. The whole world ofliterature and science was an unknown thing; and art was only accessiblein the two forms of fancy work and illumination, for neither of whichhad she capacity or taste. She could sew, cook, and act as a doctorwhen required, which was not often; and there the list of heraccomplishments ended. There was more in her, but nobody cared to drawit out, and herself least of all. 

Lady Basset bowed gravely in reply to Godfrey's courtesy, broke the sealof the letter, and gazed upon the cabalistic characters therein written. Had they been Chinese, she would have learned as much from them as shedid. She handed back the letter with a request that he would read it toher, if he possessed the art of reading; if not, she would send forFather Collard. 

For a moment, but no more, the temptation visited Godfrey to read theletter as something which it was not. He dismissed it, not from anyconscientious motive, but simply from the doubt whether he could keep upthe delusion. 

"Good!" said Lady Basset, when the letter had been read to her; "and nowwhat is that you are to tell me?"

"Dame, suffer me first to say that it is of the gravest moment thatthere be no eavesdroppers about, and that your Ladyship be pleased tokeep strait silence thereupon. Otherwise, I dare not utter thatwherewith his Grace's letter hath ado. "

"There be no ears at hand save my bower-woman's, and I will answer forher as for myself. I can keep silence when need is. Speak on. "

"Then, Lady, I give you to know that the Duchess' Grace, your mother, isnow in ward under keeping of my father, at Hazelwood Manor, and--"

Lady Basset had risen to her feet, with a strange glow in her eyes. 

"My mother!" she said. 

"Your Lady and mother, Dame; and she--"

"My mother!" she said, again. "My mother! I thought my mother was deadand buried, years and years ago!"

"Verily, no, Lady; and my Lord Archbishop's Grace doth most earnestlydesire your Ladyship to pay her visit, she being now near death, andyour Lord and brother the Duke denying to come unto her. "

The glow deepened in the dark eyes. 

"My Lord my brother refused to go to my mother?"

"He did so, Dame. "

"And she is near death?"

"Very near, I am told, Lady. "

"And he wist it?"

"He wist it. "

Lady Basset seemed for a moment to have forgotten everything but theone. 

"Lead on, " she said. "I will go to her--poor Mother! I can scarceremember her; I was so young when taken from her. But I think she lovedme once. I will go, though no other soul on earth keep me company. "

"Lady, " said Godfrey, saying the exact reverse of truth, "I do rightheartily trust your Lord shall not let you therein. "

"What matter?" she said. "If the Devil and all his angels stood in theway, I would go to my dying mother. "

She left the room for a minute, and to Godfrey's dismay came backattired for her journey, as if she meant to set out there and then. 

"But, Lady!" he expostulated. 

"You need not tarry for me, " she said, calmly. "I can find the way, andI have sent word to bid mine horses. "

This was unendurable. Godfrey, in his dismay, left the room with only acourtesy, and sought Lord Basset in the hall. 

"Ah! she's taken the bit betwixt her teeth, " said he. "I warrant you'dbest leave her be; she'll go now, if it be on a witch's broom. I'llforbid it, an' you will, but I do you to wit I might as well entreat yontree not to wave in the wind. When she doth take the bit thus, she's--"

An emphatic shake of Lord Basset's head finished the sentence. He roseas if it were more trouble than it was reasonable to impose, walked intohis wife's room, and asked her where she was going that winter day. 

"You are scarce wont to inquire into my comings and goings, " she said, coldly. "But if it do your Lordship ease to wit the same, I am going toHazelwood Manor, whence yonder young gentleman is now come. "

"How if I forbid it?"

"My Lord, I am sent for to my dying mother. Your Lordship is agentleman, I believe, and therefore not like to forbid me. But if youso did, yea, twenty times twice told, I should answer you as now I do. Seven years have I done your bidding, and when I return I will do it yetagain. But not now. Neither you, nor Satan himself, should stay methis one time. "

"Your Ladyship losengeth, " [flatters] was the careless answer. "Fareyou well. I'll not hinder you. As for Satan, though it pleaseth you tocount me in with him, I'll be no surety for his doings. MasterFoljambe, go you after this crack-brained dame of mine, or tarry youhere with me and drink a cup of Malvoisie wine?"

Godfrey would very much have preferred to remain with Lord Basset; but awholesome fear of his father and the Archbishop together restrained himfrom doing so. He was exceedingly vexed to be made to continue hisjourney thus without intermission; but Lady Basset was already on apillion behind her squire, and Emeriarde on another behind the groom, afew garments having been hastily squeezed into a saddle-bag carried bythe latter. This summary way of doing things was almost unheard of inthe fourteenth century; and Godfrey entertained a private opinion that"crack-brained" was a truthful epithet. 

"Needs must, " said he; "wherefore I pray your Lordship mercy. HerLadyship shall scantly make good road to Hazelwood without I go withal. But--_ha, chetife_!"

Lord Basset slightly laughed, kissed his hand to his wife, lifted hishat to Godfrey with a shrug of his shoulders, and walked back intoDrayton Manor House. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN. 

TOO LITTLE. 

 "God's very kindest answers to our prayers Come often in denials or delays. "

 S. W. Partridge. 

Lord Basset turned back into his house with a sensation akin to relief. Not that he allowed the thought of his wife's unhappiness to deter himfrom any course on which he had set his heart, but that he felt thepressure of her atmosphere, and could not enjoy his transgressions withthe full _abandon_ which he would have liked. Her stately, cold, unbending reserve was like a constant chill and blight. How much morehappy they might have been if they had chosen! The world held many aworse man than Lord Basset; he was rather idle and careless than wicked, though idleness and carelessness are very often the seed of wickedness, when left to go to flower. If she would only have dropped that haughtycoldness, he thought, he could have felt interest in her, and have takensome pleasure in her society; while her conviction was that if he wouldonly have shown some interest, she could have loved him and returned it. Would both have done it together, the result might have been attained. 

Mr Godfrey Foljambe was meditating, not on this, but on his ownpersonal wrongs, as he led the little cavalcade in an easterlydirection. First, he had been deprived of that glass of Malvoisie--which would probably have been plural rather than singular--and of aconversation with Lord Basset, which might have resulted in something ofinterest: and life was exceedingly devoid of interest, thought MrGodfrey, in a pessimistic spirit. He had not discovered that, to agreat extent, life is to every man what he chooses to make it; that hewho keeps his eyes fixed on street mud need not expect to discoverpearls, while he who attentively scans the heavens is not at allunlikely to see stars. Let a man set himself diligently to hunt foreither his misfortunes or his mercies, and he will find plenty of thearticle in request. Misfortunes were the present object of MrGodfrey's search, and he had no difficulty in discovering them. He wasdisgusted with the folly of Lady Basset in thus setting off at once, andmaking him set off, without so much as an hour's rest. It was just likea woman! Women never had a scrap of patience. This pleasing illusionthat all patience was masculine was kept up in popular literature justso long as men were the exclusive authors; when women began to write, otherwise than on kingly sufferance of the nobler half of creation, itwas seen that the feminine view of that and similar subjects was notquite so restricted. Last and worst to young Godfrey was theexpectation of his father's displeasure. Sir Godfrey's anger was nopassing cloud, as his son well knew. To be thought to have failed inhis mission--as assuredly he would be--by his own fault, would result inconsiderable immediate discomfort, and might even damage his worldlyprospects in future. He would gladly have prolonged the journey; forhis instinct always led him to put off the evil day rather than to faceit and put it behind him--which last is usually the wiser course; butLady Basset would brook no delay, and on the afternoon of the second dayafter leaving Drayton they rode up to Hazelwood Manor. 

Godfrey hastily despatched the porter's lad to inform his mother of LadyBasset's arrival; and Lady Foljambe met her on the steps of the hall. The latter was scandalised to find that the former saw no need forsecrecy, or at any rate had no intention of preserving it. 

"Dame, " said Lady Foljambe, "I am honoured by your Ladyship's visit. Pray you, suffer me to serve you with hypocras and spice in your privychamber. "

This was intended as a gentle hint to the visitor that secrets were notto be talked in the hall; but the hint was not accepted. 

"How fares my Lady and mother?" was the response. 

"Dame, much worse than when my son departed, " said Lady Foljambe, in afluttered manner. 

"Then I pray you to break my coming, and lead me to her forthwith, " saidLady Basset, in her style of stately calm. 

A curtain was drawn aside, and Perrote came forward. 

"Damoiselle Jeanne!" she said, greeting Lady Basset by the old youthfultitle unheard for years. "My darling, mine own dear child!"

A smile, not at all usual there, quivered for a moment on the calm fixedlips. 

"Is this mine ancient nurse, Perrote de Carhaix?" she said. "I think Iknow her face. "

The smile was gone in a moment, as she repeated her wish to be takenimmediately to the Countess. 

Lady Foljambe felt she had no choice. She led the way to the chamber ofthe royal prisoner, requesting Lady Basset to wait for a moment at thedoor. 

The Countess sat no longer in her cushioned chair by the window. Shewas now confined to her bed, where she lay restlessly, moaning atintervals, but always on one theme. "My children! my lost children!Will not God give me back _one_?"

Lady Foljambe signed to Perrote--she scarcely knew why--to break thenews to the suffering mother. 

"Lady, the Lord hath heard your moaning, and hath seen your tears, " saidPerrote, kneeling by the bed. "He hath given you back--"

"My son?"

The cry was a pitiful one. Then, as ever, the boy was the dearest tohis mother's heart. 

"Very dear Lady, no. Your daughter. "

It was painful to see how the sudden gleam died out of the weary eyes. 

"Ah, well!" she said, after an instant's pause. "Well! I asked but forone, and when man doth that, he commonly gets the lesser of the twain. Well! I shall be glad to see my Jeanne. Let her come in. "

Lady Basset came forward and bent over the dying woman. 

"Dame!" she said. 

"Come, now!" was the answer. "There be folks enough call me Dame. Onlytwo in all this world can call me Mother. "

"Mother!" was the response, in a tremulous voice. And then the icystateliness broke up, and passionate sobs broke in, mingled with thesounds of "O Mother! Mother!"

"That's good, little lass, " said the Countess. "It's good to hear that, but once, _ma fillette_. But wherefore tarrieth thy brother away? Itmust be King Edward that will not suffer him to come. "

It was piteous to hear her cling thus to the old illusion. All the timeof her imprisonment, though now and then in a fit of anger she couldhurl bitter names at her son, yet, when calm, she had usually maintainedthat he was kept away from her, and refused to be convinced that hisabsence was of his own free will. The longer the illusion lasted, themore stubbornly she upheld it. 

"'Tis not always the best-loved that loveth back the best, " saidPerrote, gently, "without man's best love be, as it should be, fixed onGod. And 'tis common for fathers and mothers to love better than theybe loved; the which is more than all other true of the Father inHeaven. "

"Thou mayest keep thy sermons, old woman, till mass is sung, " said theCountess, in her cynical style. "Ah me! My Jean would come to the old, white-haired mother that risked her life for his--he would come if hecould. He must know how my soul hungereth for the sight of his face. Iwant nothing else. Heaven would be Purgatory to me without him. "

"Ah, my dear Lady!" tenderly replied Perrote. "If only I might hear yousay that of the Lord that laid down His life for you!"

"I am not a nun, " was the answer; "and I shall not say that which I feelnot. "

"God forbid you should, Lady! But I pray Him to grant you so to feel. "

"I tell thee, I am not a nun, " said the Countess, rather pettishly. 

Her idea was that real holiness was impossible out of the cloister, andthat to love God was an entirely different type of feeling from theaffection she had for her human friends. This was the usual sentimentin the Middle Ages. But Perrote had been taught of God, and while hereducational prejudices acted like coloured or smoked glass, and dimmedthe purity of the heavenly light, they were unable to hide italtogether. 

"Very dear Lady, " she said, "God loveth sinners; and He must then loveother than nuns. Shall they not love Him back, though they be not incloister?"

"Thou hadst better win in cloister thyself, when thou art rid of me, "was the answer, in a tone which was a mixture of languor and sarcasm. "Thou art scarce fit to tarry without, old woman. "

"I will do that which God shall show me, " said Perrote, calmly. "Dame, were it not well your Grace should essay to sleep?"

"Nay, not so. I have my Jeanne to look at, that I have not seen forfive-and-twenty years. I shall sleep fast enough anon. Daughter, artthou a happy woman, or no?"

Lady Basset answered by a shake of the head. "Why, what aileth thee?Is it thy baron, or thy childre?"

"I have no child, Mother. "

The Countess heard the regretful yearning of the tone. 

"Thank the saints, " she said. "Thou wert better. Soothly, to increaseobjects for love is to increase sorrow. If thou have no childre, they'll never be torn from thee, nor they will never break thine heartby ill behaving. And most folks behave ill in this world. _Ha, chetife_! 'tis a weary, dreary place, this world, as ever a poor womanwas in. Hast thou a good man to thy baron, child?"

"He might be worser, " said Lady Basset, icily. 

"That's true of an handful of folks, " said the Countess. "And I reckonhe might be better, eh? That's true of most. Good lack, I marvelwherefore we all were made. Was it by reason God loved or hated us?Say, my Predicant Friaress. "

"Very dear Lady, the wise man saith, `God made a man rightful, and hemeddled himself with questions without, number. ' [Ecclesiastes eight, verse 29. ] And Saint Paul saith that `God commendeth His charity in us, for when we were sinners, Christ was dead for us. ' [Romans five, verse8. ] Moreover, Saint John--"

"Hold! There be two Scriptures. Where is the sermon?"

"The Scriptures, Lady, preach a better sermon than I can. "

"That's but a short one. Man's ill, and God is good; behold all thinehomily. That man is ill, I lack no preaching friar to tell me. As toGod being good, the Church saith so, and there I rest. Mary, Mother! ifHe were good, He would bring my Jean back to me. "

"Very dear Lady, God is wiser than men, and He seeth the end from thebeginning. "

"Have done, Perrotine! I tell thee, if God be good, He will bring myJean to me. There I abide. I'll say it, if He do. I would love anyman that wrought that: and if He will work it, I will love Him--and nototherwise. Hold! I desire no more talk. "

The Countess turned her face to the wall, and Perrote retired, withtears in her eyes. 

"Lord, Thou art wise!" she said in her heart; "wiser than I, than she, than all men. But never yet have I known her to depart from such a wordas that. Oh, if it be possible, --if it be possible!--Thou who camestdown from Heaven to earth, come down once more to the weak and stubbornsoul of this dying woman, and grant her that which she requests, if soshe may be won to love thee! Father, the time is very short, and hersoul is very dark. O fair Father, Jesu Christ, lose not this soul forwhich Thou hast died!"

Perrote's next move was to await Lady Basset's departure from hermother's chamber, and to ask her to bestow a few minutes' private talkon her old nurse. The Princess complied readily, and came into theopposite chamber where Amphillis sat sewing. 

"Damoiselle Jeanne, " said Perrote, using the royal title of LadyBasset's unmarried days; "may I pray you tell me if you have of lateseen the Lord Duke your brother?"

"Ay, within a year, " said Lady Basset, listlessly. 

"Would it please you to say if King Edward letteth his coming?"

"I think not so. "

"Would he come, if he were asked yet again, and knew that a few weeks--maybe days--would end his mother's life?"

"I doubt it, Perrotine. "

"Wherefore? He can love well where he list. "

"Ay, where he list. But I misdoubt if ever he loved her--at the least, sithence she let him from wedding the Damoiselle de Ponteallen. "

"Then he loved the Damoiselle very dearly?"

"For a month--ay. "

"But wherefore, when the matter was by--"

Lady Basset answered with a bitter little laugh, which reminded Perroteof her mother's. 

"Because he loved Jean de Montfort, and she thwarted _him_, not theDamoiselle. He loved Alix de Ponteallen passionately, and passion dies;'tis its nature. It is not passionately, but undyingly, that he loveshimself. Men do; 'tis their nature. "

Perrote shrewdly guessed that the remark had especial reference to oneman, and that not the Duke of Bretagne. 

"Ah, that is the nature of all sinners, " she said, "and therefore of allmen and women also. Dame, will you hearken to your old nurse, and granther one boon?"

"That will I, Perrotine, if it be in my power. I grant not so manyboons, neither can I, that I should grudge one to mine old nurse. Whatwouldst?"

"Dame, I pray you write a letter to my Lord Duke, the pitifullest youmay pen, and send one of your men therewith, to pray him, as he lovethyou, or her, or God, that he will come and look on her ere she die. Tell him his old nurse full lovingly entreateth him, and if he will sodo, I will take veil when my Lady is gone hence, and spend four nightsin the week in prayer for his welfare. Say I will be his bedes-womanfor ever, in any convent he shall name. Say anything that will bringhim!"

"I passed thee my word, and I will keep it, " said Lady Basset, as sherose. "But if I know him, what I should say certainly to bring himwould be that Sir Oliver de Clisson lay here in dungeon, and that if hewould come he should see his head strake off in yonder court. He is afair lover, my brother; but he is a far better hater. "

Perrote sighed. 

"Amphillis!" came faintly up the stairs and along the gallery. "Am-phil-lis!"

"Go, child, " said Perrote, replying to a look from Amphillis. "'TisAgatha calling thee. What would the foolish maid?"

Amphillis left her work upon the bench and ran down. 

"Well, it is merry matter to catch hold of thee!" said Agatha, who waswaiting at the foot of the stairs, and who never could recollect, unlessLady Foljambe were present, that Amphillis was to be addressed with morereverence than before. "Here be friends of thine come to visit thee. "

"Friends!--of mine!" exclaimed Amphillis, in surprise. "Why, I haven'tany friends. "

"Well, enemies, then, " said Agatha, with a giggle. "Come, go into halland see who they be, and then tell me. "

Amphillis obeyed, and to her still greater surprise, found herself inthe presence of Mr Altham and Regina. 

"Ah, here she cometh!" was her uncle's greeting. "Well, my maid, I amfain to see thee so well-looking, I warrant thee. Can'st love a newaunt, thinkest?"

"That am I secure, " replied Amphillis, smiling, and kissing thegoldsmith's daughter. 

"And an old uncle belike?" pursued Mr Altham, kissing her in his turn. 

"Assuredly, dear Uncle; but I pray, how came you hither?"

"Dat shall I tell you, " said Mrs Altham, "for oderwise you shall notknow what good uncle you have. He promise to take me to mine own homein Dutchland, to see my greatmoder and mine aunts; and when we nighready were, he say, `See you, now! shall we not go round by Derbyshire, to see Amphillis, and sail from Hull?' So we come round all dis way; hemiss you so, and want to make him sure you be well and kindly used. Seeyou?"

"How kind and good are you both!" said Amphillis, gratefully. "Prayyou, good Aunt Regina, came Ricarda home safe?"

"She came safe, and she had but de scold well, tanks to your message; ifnot, she had de beat, beat, I ensure you, and she deserve dat full well. She was bad girl, bad. Said I not to you, De mans is bad, and dewomans is badder? It is true. "

"She's a weary hussy!" said Mr Altham; "but she's been a sight bettermaid sithence she came back. She saith 'tis thy doing, Phyllis. "

"Mine?" exclaimed Amphillis. 

"She saith so. I wis not how. And art happy here, my maid? Doth thydame entreat thee well? and be thy fellows pleasant company? Because ifno, there's room for thee in the patty-shop, I can tell thee. Saundrina's wed, and Ricarda looks to be, and my wife and I should befull fain to have thee back for our daughter. Howbeit, if thou art herewelsome and comfortable, we will not carry thee off against thy will. What sayest?"

"Truly, dear Uncle, I am here full welsome, saving some small matters oflittle moment; and under your good pleasure, I would fain not go henceso long as one liveth that is now sore sick in this house, and nigh todeath. Afterward, if it like you to dispose of me otherwise, I am alwayat your bidding. "

"Well said. But what should best like thee?"

Amphillis felt the question no easy one. She would not wish to leavePerrote; but if Perrote took the veil, that obstacle would be removed;and even if she did not, Amphillis had no certain chance of accompanyingher wherever she might go, which would not improbably be to DraytonManor. To leave the rest of her present companions would be no hardshipat all, except--

Amphillis's heart said "except, " and her conscience turned away anddeclined to pursue that road. Norman Hylton had shown no preference forher beyond others, so far as she knew, and her maidenly instinct warnedher that even her thoughts had better be kept away from him. Before sheanswered, a shadow fell between her and the light; and Amphillis lookedup into the kindly face of Archbishop Neville. 

The Archbishop had delayed his further journey for the sake of the dyingCountess, whom he wished to see again, especially if his influence couldinduce her son to come to her. He now addressed himself to Mr Altham. 

"Master Altham, as I guess?" he asked, pleasantly. 

Mr Altham rose, as in duty bound, in honour to a priest, and a priestwho, as he dimly discerned by his canonicals, was not altogether acommon one. 

"He, and your humble servant, holy Father. "

"You be uncle, I count, of my cousin Amphillis here?"

"Sir! Amphillis your cousin!"

"Amphillis is my cousin, " was the quiet answer; "and I am the Archbishopof York. "

To say that Mr Altham was struck dumb with amazement would be no figureof speech. He stared from the Archbishop to Amphillis, and back again, as if his astonishment had fairly paralysed his powers, that of sightonly excepted; and had not Regina roused him from his condition ofhelplessness by an exclamation of "_Ach, heilige, Maria_!" there is nosaying how long he might have stood so doing. 

"Ay, Uncle, " said Amphillis, with a smile; "this is my Lord elect ofYork, and he is pleased to say that my father was his kinsman. "

"And if it serve you, Master Altham, " added the Archbishop, "I wouldfain have a privy word with you touching this my cousin. "

Mr Altham's reply was two-fold. "Saints worshipped might they be!" wasmeant in answer to Amphillis. Then, to the Archbishop, he hastilycontinued, "Sir, holy Father, your Grace's most humble servant! I holdmyself at your Grace's bidding, whensoever it shall please your Grace. "

"That is well, " said the Archbishop, smiling. "We will have some talkthis evening, if it serve you. "

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. 

THE REQUEST GRANTED. 

 "It is not love that steals the heart from love: 'Tis the hard world, and its perplexing cares; Its petrifying selfishness, its pride, its low ambition, and its paltry aims. "

 Caroline Bowles. 

Lady Basset fulfilled her promise of writing to her brother, and senther own squire with the letter. It was uncertain where the Duke mightbe, and consequently how long the journey might take. The messenger wasinstructed to seek him first at Windsor, and to be guided in his furthermovements by what he might hear there. No time was lost, for the squireset out on his journey that very evening. 

About the time of his departure, the Archbishop and Mr Altham heldtheir little conference. Regina was at work in the window-seat, by herhusband's contrivance. Theoretically, he took the popular view of thecondign inferiority of the female intellect; while practically he heldhis Regina in the highest reverence, and never thought of committinghimself on any important subject without first ascertaining her opinion. And the goldsmith's daughter deserved his esteem; for she possessed awarm heart and a large reserve of quiet good sense. They were bothhighly delighted to see that the Archbishop seemed inclined to showkindness to the young cousin whose relationship he, at least, was nottoo proud to acknowledge. 

"Nor should he not be, " said Regina, whose tiny bobbins were flyingabout on her lace-cushion, too fast for the eye to follow. "Did we notcome, all, from von man and von woman? I tink Adam was not too proud tospeak to Abel: and if Cain would not talk, he was bad man, and we shouldnot take de pattern after de bad mans. Ach! if dere was none but goodmans and good womans, what better of a world it should be!"

Regina had too much tact and sense of propriety to thrust herself intothe conversation between the Archbishop and her husband; she satsilently listening and working, and the sprigs of lace flowers grewrapidly under her skilful fingers. 

"I would fain speak with you, Mr Altham, " said the Archbishop, "touching the disposing of my cousin Amphillis. I cannot but feel thatthe maid hath been somewhat wronged by her father's kin; and though, thanks be to God, I never did her nor him any hurt, yet, being of hiskindred, I would desire you to suffer me a little to repair this wrong. She seemeth me a good maid and a worthy, and well bred in courtesy;wherefore, if my word might help her to secure a better settlement, Iwould not it were lacking. I pray you, therefore, to count me as yourfriend and hers, and tell me how you think to order her life. She hath, I take it, none other guardian than you?"

"My Lord, your Grace doth us great honour. 'Tis true, the maid hathnone other guardian than I; and her mother was mine only sister, and Iheld her dear: and seeing she had none other to give an helping hand, Iwas in the mind to portion her with mine own daughters. I gave to thetwo, and shall give to the other, five pound apiece to their marriages, and likewise their wedding gear; and seeing she is a good, decent maid, and a credit to her kin, I would do the same by Amphillis. "

"Therein do you act full nobly, Master Altham, " said the Archbishop; forthe sum named was a very handsome one for a girl in Mr Altham's stationof life at that time. Only a tradesman very well-to-do could haveafforded to portion his daughter so highly, with an amount equivalent inthe present day to about 80 pounds. "Go to, then: will you suffer methat I endow my young kinswoman with the like sum, and likewise find herin an horse for her riding?"

In days when public conveyances of all kinds were totally unknown, ahorse was almost a necessity, and only the very poor were without one atleast. The price of such a horse as would be considered fit forAmphillis was about thirty shillings or two pounds. The offer of theArchbishop therefore struck Mr Altham as a most generous one, and histhanks were profuse accordingly. 

"Have you taken any thought for her disposal?" inquired the prelate. 

"No, in very deed, " replied the worthy patty-maker, with somehesitation. "There be nigh me divers youths of good conditions, that Idare be bound should be fain to wed with a maid of good lineage anddecent 'haviour, with a pretty penny in her pocket; but I never brake mymind to any, and--" here Mr Altham glanced at Regina, and received anoptic telegram across the bobbins--"if your Grace were pleased to thinkof any that you had a favour for, I would not in no wise stand in theway thereto. "

"Methinks, " said the Archbishop, "under your leave, worthy MasterAltham, my cousin might look somewhat higher. Truly, I mean not to castscorn on any good and honest man; we be all sons of Adam: but--in aword, to speak out straightway, I have one in my mind that I reckonshould not make an ill husband for Amphillis, and this is Sir GodfreyFoljambe his squire, Master Norman Hylton, that is of birth even withher, and I believe a full worthy young man, and well bred. If it maysuit with your reckoning, what say you to breaking your mind to himthereupon, and seeing if he be inclined to entertain the same?"

"My Lord, " replied Master Altham, after exchanging another telegram withhis Mentor, "in good sooth, both Phyllis and I are much beholden untoyou, and I will full gladly so do. "

"Yet, Master Altham, I would desire you to be satisfied touching thisyoung man's conditions, ere you do fix your mind upon him. I hear wellof him from all that do know him--indeed, I am myself acquaint with someof his near kin--with twain of his uncles and a brother--yet I wouldfain have you satisfied therewith no less than myself. "

Optic telegrams would not answer this time, for Regina's eyes were notlifted from the lace-cushion. Mr Altham hesitated a moment, murmured afew words of thanks, and at last came out openly with--"What sayest, sweetheart?"

"He will do, " was Regina's answer. "He is good man. He have cleareyes, he look you in de face; he pray in de chapel, and not run his eyesall round; he laugh and chatter-patter not wid other damsels; he is sad, courteous, and gent. He will do, husband. "

Little idea had Amphillis that her future was being thus settled for herdownstairs, as she sat in the Countess's chamber, tending her sick lady. The Countess was slowly sinking. Father Jordan thought she might liveperhaps for another month; it was only a question of time. Perrote saidthat the soul was keeping the body alive. The old fiery flashes ofpassion were never seen now; she showed a little occasional irritabilityand petulance, but usually her mood was one of listless, languidweariness, from which nothing aroused her, and in which nothinginterested her. The one burning, crying desire of her heart was to seeher son. She did not know of the fruitless application which had beenalready made to him; still less of the renewed appeal, to which noanswer could be returned for some days at least. Her belief was thatSir Godfrey would not permit any message to be sent, and that if he did, King Edward would not allow the Duke, who was his vassal, to obey it. To the least hint that the Duke might or could himself decline, sherefused to listen so decidedly that no one had the heart to repeat it. More plaintive, day by day, grew the dying mother's yearning moans forher best-loved child. In vain Perrote tried to assure her that humanlove was inadequate to satisfy the cravings of her immortal soul; thatGod had made her for Himself, and that only when it reached and touchedHim could the spirit which He had given find rest. 

"I cannot hearken to thee, old woman, " said the dying prisoner. "Mywhole soul is set on my lad, and is bent to see him before I die. LetGod grant me that, and I will listen to Him after--I will love the goodGod then. I cannot rest, I cannot rest without my lad!"

The days wore on, and the snows of February passed into the winds ofMarch. Lady Basset remained at Hazelwood, but her squire had notreturned. The Countess was very weak now. 

The Archbishop of York had delayed his departure too. He would answerfor it, he said, both to his superior of Canterbury and to the King. Inhis own heart he was not satisfied with the ministrations of kindly, ignorant Father Jordan, who was very desirous to soothe the perturbedsoul of the Countess, and had not the least idea how to do it. Hethought he might yet be of service to the dying Princess. 

Very cautiously Mr Altham ventured with some trepidation to soundNorman Hylton as to his feelings towards Amphillis. Notwithstanding theArchbishop's countenance and solid help, he was sorely afraid of beingsnubbed and sat upon for his presumption. He was thereforeproportionately relieved when Norman assured him he wished no betterfate to overtake him, but that he was unable to see how he couldpossibly afford to marry. 

"Verily, Master Altham, I do you to wit, I have but five possessions--myself, my raiment, mine harness [armour was termed harness up to theseventeenth century], mine horse, and my book. Not a yard of land haveI, nor look to have: nor one penny in my plack, further than what Iearn. How then can I look to keep a wife? Well I wot that MistressAmphillis were fortune in herself to him that is so lucky as to win her;but in good sooth, no such thing is there as luck, and I should say, that hath so much favour of. God, seeing the wise man saith that `aprudent wife is given properly of the Lord. ' Yet I reckon that thewisest in the world can scarce keep him warm of a winter day by lappinghim in his wisdom; and the fairest and sweetest lady shall lack somewhatto eat beside her own sweetness. Could I see my way thereto, trust me, I would not say you nay; but--"

"But how, Master Hylton, if she carried her pocket full of nobles?"

"Ah, then it were other matter. I would stand to it gladly if so were. "

"Well, for how much look you? Amphillis should bring you a portion often pound beside her wedding gear, and an horse. "

"Say you so? Methinks we were made, then, could we win into some greathouse to serve the lord and lady thereof. "

"I cast no doubt, if he had the opportunity, my Lord's Grace of Yorkshould help you at that pinch. He seems full ready to do his youngkinswoman all the good he may. "

"May I but see my way afore me, Master Altham, nought should make megladder than to fulfil this your behest. "

Mr Altham laid the case before the Archbishop. 

"Tell Master Hylton he need give himself not so much thought thereon asa bee should pack in his honey-bag, " was the smiling reply. "I willwarrant, so soon as it is known in the Court that I lack place for anewly-wedded cousin and her husband, there shall be so many warm nestslaid afore me, that I shall have but to pick and choose. If that be allthe bar to my cousin's wedding, I may bless it to-morrow. "

It was evident that there was no other difficulty, from the glad lightin Norman Hylton's eyes when he was told the Archbishop's answer. Thematter was settled at once. Only one small item was left out, considered of no moment--the bride-elect knew nothing about thetransaction. That was a pleasure to come. That it would, should, might, or could, be anything but a pleasure, never occurred either tothe Archbishop or to Mr Altham. They would not have belonged to theircentury if it had done so. 

It was the afternoon of the ninth of March. No answer had been receivedfrom the Duke, and Perrote had almost lost hope. The Countesspetulantly declined to allow any religious conversation in her chamber. She was restless and evidently miserable, Perrote thought more so thanmerely from the longing desire to see her son; but some strange andunusual reserve seemed to have come over her. Physically, she sank dayby day: it would soon be hour by hour. 

Amphillis was off duty for the moment, and had seated herself with herwork at the window of her own room, which looked into the outer court, and over the walls towards Derby. She kept upstairs a good deal at thistime. There were several reasons for this. She wished to be close athand if her services were needed; she had no fancy for Agatha's rattle;and--she had not asked herself why--she instinctively kept away from thecompany of Norman Hylton. Amphillis was not one of those girls who weartheir hearts upon their sleeves; who exhibit their injuries, bodily ormental, and chatter freely over them to every comer. Her instinct wasrather that of the wounded hart, to plunge into the deepest covert, awayfrom every eye but the Omniscient. 

Mr and Mrs Altham had pursued their journey without any furthercommunication to Amphillis. It was Lady Foljambe's prerogative to makethis; indeed, a very humble apology had to be made to her for taking thematter in any respect out of her hands. This was done by theArchbishop, who took the whole blame upon himself, and managed thedelicate affair with so much grace, that Lady Foljambe not only forgavethe Althams, but positively felt herself flattered by his interference. She would inform Amphillis, after the death of the Countess, how herfuture had been arranged. 

The maiden herself, in ignorance of all arrangements made or imagined, was indulging in some rather despondent meditations. The state of theCountess, whom she deeply pitied; the probably near parting fromPerrote, whom she had learned to love; and another probable parting ofwhich she would not let herself think, were enough to make her heartsink. She would, of course, go back to her uncle, unless it pleasedLady Foljambe to recommend (which meant to command) her to the serviceof some other lady. And Amphillis was one of those shy, intense soulsfor whom the thought of new faces and fresh scenes has in it more fearthan hope. She knew that there was just a possibility that LadyFoljambe might put her into Ricarda's place, which she had not yetfilled up, three or four different negotiations to that end havingfailed to effect it; and either this or a return to her uncle was thesecret hope of her heart. She highly respected and liked her new AuntRegina, and her Uncle Robert was the only one of her relatives on themother's side whom she loved at all. Yet the prospect of a return toLondon was shadowed by the remembrance of Alexandra, who had ever beento Amphillis a worry and a terror. 

As Amphillis sat by the window, she now and then lifted her head to lookout for a moment; and she did so now, hearing the faint ring of a hornin the distance. Her eyes lighted on a party of horsemen, who werecoming up the valley. They were too far away to discern details, butshe saw some distant flashes, as if something brilliant caught thesunlight, and also, as she imagined, the folds of a banner floating. Was it a party of visitors coming to the Manor, or, more likely, a groupof travellers on their way to Chesterfield from Derby? Or was it--oh, was it possible!--the Duke of Bretagne?

Amphillis's embroidery dropped on the rushes at her feet, as she sprangup and watched the progress of the travellers. She was pretty surepresently that the banner was white, then that some of the travellerswere armed, then that they were making for Hazelwood, and at last thatthe foremost knight of the group wore a helmet royally encircled. Shehardly dared to breathe when the banner at last showed its blazon aspure ermine; and it scarcely needed the cry of "Notre Dame de Gwengamp!"to make Amphillis rush to the opposite room, beckon Perrote out of it, and say to her in breathless ecstasy--

"The Duke! O Mistress Perrote, the Lord Duke!"

"Is it so?" said Perrote, only a little less agitated than Amphillis. "Is it surely he? may it not be a messenger only?"

"I think not so. There is an ermine pennon, and the foremost knighthath a circlet on his helm. "

"Pray God it so be! Phyllis, I will go down anon and see how mattersbe. Go thou into our Lady's chamber--she slept but now--and if shewake, mind thou say not a word to her hereupon. If it be in very deedmy Lord Duke, I will return with no delay. "

"But if she ask?"

"Parry her inquirations as best thou mayest. "

Amphillis knew in her heart that she was an exceedingly bad hand at thatbusiness; but she was accustomed to do as she was told, and accordinglyshe said no more. She was relieved to find the Countess asleep, the cryfor admission not having been loud enough to wake her. She sat down andwaited. 

Perrote, meanwhile, had gone down into the hall, where Lady Foljambe satat work with Agatha. Sir Godfrey was seated before the fire, at whichhe pointed a pair of very straight and very lengthy legs; his hands werein his pockets, and his look conveyed neither contentment norbenevolence. In a recess of the window sat young Matthew, whistlingsoftly to himself as he stroked a hawk upon his gloved wrist, while hisbrother Godfrey stood at another window, looking out, with his arms uponthe sill. The only person who noticed Perrote's entrance was Agatha, and she pulled a little face by way of relief to her feelings. LadyFoljambe worked on in silence. 

"Sir, " said Perrote, addressing herself to the master of the house, "Phyllis tells me a party be making hither, that she hath seen from thewindow; and under your good pleasure, I reckon, from what the maid saw, that it be my Lord's Grace of Bretagne and his meynie. "

Sir Godfrey struggled to his feet with an exclamation of surprise. Hiselder son turned round from the window; the younger said, "_Ha, jolife_!Now, Gille, go on thy perch, sweet heart!" and set the falcon on itsperch. Agatha's work went down in a moment. Lady Foljambe alone seemedinsensible to the news. At the same moment, the great doors at the endof the hall were flung open, and the seneschal, with a low bow to hismaster and mistress, cried--

"Room for the Duke's Grace of Brittany!"

As the new arrivals entered the hall, Lady Basset came in from theopposite end. The Duke, a fine, rather stern-looking man, strodeforward until he reached the dais where the family sat; and then, doffing his crowned helmet, addressed himself to Sir Godfrey Foljambe. 

"Sir, I give you good even. King Edward your Lord greets you by me, andbids you give good heed to that which you shall find herein. "

At a motion from the Duke, quick and peremptory, one of his knightsstepped forth and delivered the royal letter. 

Sir Godfrey took it into his hands with a low reverence, and bade hisseneschal fetch Father Jordan, without whose assistance it wasimpossible for him to ascertain his Sovereign's bidding. 

Father Jordan hastened in, cut the silken string, and read the letter. 

"Messire, --Our will and pleasure is, that you shall entertain in yourManor of Hazelwood, for such time as shall be his pleasure, our verydear and well-beloved son, John, Duke of Brittany and Count de Montfort, neither letting nor deferring the said Duke from intercourse with ourprisoner his mother, Margaret, Duchess of Brittany, but shall suffer himto speak with her at his will. And for so doing this shall be yourwarrant. By the King. At our Castle of Winchester, the morrow of SaintRomanus. "

Lady Foljambe turned to the Duke and inquired when it would be hispleasure to speak with the prisoner. 

"When her physician counts it meet, " said he, with a slight movement ofhis shapely shoulders, which did not augur much gratification at theprospect before him. "By my faith, had not King Edward my fatherinsisted thereon, then had I never come on so idle a journey. When Ilooked every morrow for news from Bretagne, bidding me most likelythither, to trot over half England for an old dame's diversion wereenough to try the patience of any knight on earth! I shall not tarrylong here, I do ensure you, his Highness' bidding fulfilled; and I trustyour physician shall not long tarry me. "

Sir Godfrey and Lady Foljambe were full of expressions of sympathy. Lady Basset came forward, and spoke in a slightly cynical tone. 

"Good morrow, my Lord, " said she to her brother. "You came not to seeme, I think, more in especial as I shall one of these days be an oldwoman, when your Grace's regard for me shall perish. Father Jordan, Ipray you, let it not be long ere you give leave for this loving son tohave speech of his mother. 'Twere pity he should break his heart bytarrying. "

Father Jordan nervously intimated that if the Countess were not asleep, he saw no reason why his Grace's visit should be delayed at all. 

"Nay, but under your leave, my good host, I will eat first, " said theDuke; "were it but to strengthen me for the ordeal which waiteth me. "

Lady Foljambe disappeared at once, on hospitable thoughts intent, andSir Godfrey was profuse in apologies that the suggestion should haveneeded to come from the Duke. But the only person in the hall who, except his sister, was not afraid of the Duke, stepped forth and spokeher mind. 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. 

SATISFIED AT LAST. 

 "I am not eager, bold, Nor strong--all that is past: I'm ready _not_ to do, At last--at last. 

 "My half-day's work is done, And this is all my part; I give a patient God My patient heart. 

 "And grasp His banner still, Though all its blue be dim: These stripes, no less than stars, Lead after Him. "

"Fair Lord, " said Perrote de Carhaix, in the native tongue of bothherself and the Duke, "I am your old nurse, who held you in her arms asa babe, and who taught your infant lips to speak. I taught you the TenCommandments of God; have you forgotten them? or do you call such wordsas you have spoken honouring your mother? Is this the reward you payher for her mother-love, for her thousand anxieties, for her riskedlife? If it be so, God pardon you as He may! But when you too reachthat point which is the common lot of all humanity--when you too lieawaiting the dread summons of the inevitable angel who shall lead youeither into the eternal darkness or the everlasting light, beware lestyour dearest turn away from you, and act by you as you have done byher!"

The Duke's black eyes shot forth fire. He was an exceedingly passionateman. 

"Mademoiselle de Carhaix, do you know that you are my subject?"

"I am aware of it, my Lord. "

"And that I could order your head struck off in yonder court?"

"You could, if yonder court were in Bretagne. In the realm of anothersovereign, I scarcely think so, under your gracious pleasure. But doyou suppose I should be silent for that? When God puts His words intothe lips of His messengers, they must speak them out, whatever theresult may be. "

"Mademoiselle considers herself, then, an inspired prophetess?" was thecontemptuous response. 

"The Lord put His words once into the mouth of an ass, " replied Perrote, meekly. "I think I may claim to be an ass's equal. I have spoken, fairLord, and I shall add no more. The responsibility lies now with you. My message is delivered, and I pray God to give you ears to hear. "

"Sir Godfrey Foljambe, is this the manner in which you think it meetthat one of your household should address a Prince?"

"Most gracious Lord, I am deeply distressed that this gentlewoman shouldso far have forgotten herself. But I humbly pray your Grace to rememberthat she is but a woman; and women have small wit and muchspitefulness. "

"In good sooth, I have need to remember it!" answered the Duke, wrathfully. "I never thought, when I put myself to the pains to journeyover half England to satisfy the fancies of a sick woman, that I was tobe received with insult and contumely after this fashion. I pray you tosend this creature out of my sight, as the least reparation that can beoffered for such an injury. "

"You need not, Sir, " was the immediate reply of Perrote. "I go, formine errand is done. And for the rest, may God judge between us, and Hewill. "

The Duke sat down to the collation hastily spread before him, with theair of an exceedingly injured man. He would not have been quite soangry, if his own conscience had not been so provoking as to secondevery word of Perrote's reprimand. And as it is never of the least usefor a man to quarrel with his conscience, he could do nothing but makePerrote the scape-goat, unless, indeed, he had possessed sufficientgrace and humility to accept and profit by the rebuke:--which in hiseyes, was completely out of the question. Had the Archbishop of Yorkbeen the speaker, he might possibly have condescended so far. But thewhims of an old nurse--a subject--a woman--he told himself, must needsbe utterly beneath the notice of any one so exalted. The excellence ofthe medicine offered him could not even be considered, if it werepresented in a vessel of common pottery, chipped at the edges. 

Notwithstanding his wrath, the Duke did sufficient justice to thecollation; and he then demanded, if it must be, to be taken to hismother at once. The sooner the ordeal was over, the better, and he didnot mean to remain at Hazelwood an hour longer than could be helped. 

Lady Foljambe went up to prepare the Countess for the interview. In herchamber she found not only Amphillis, who was on duty, but theArchbishop also. He sat by the bed with the book of the Gospels in hishands--a Latin version, of course--from which he had been translating apassage to the invalid. 

"Well, what now, Avena?" faintly asked the Countess, who read news inLady Foljambe's face. 

There was no time to break it very gradually, for Lady Foljambe knewthat the Duke's impatience would not brook delay. 

"Dame, " she said, shortly, "my Lord your son--"

"Bring him in!" cried the Countess, in a voice of ecstasy, withoutallowing Lady Foljambe to finish her sentence. How it was to end sheseemed to have no doubt, and the sudden joy lent a fictitious strengthto her enfeebled frame. "Bring him in! my Jean, my darling, my littlelad! Said I not the lad should never forsake his old mother? Bring himin!"

Lady Foljambe drew back to allow the Duke to enter, for his step wasalready audible. He came in, and stood by the bed--tall, upright, silent. 

"My Jean!" cried the dying mother. 

"Madame!" was the answer, decorous and icy. 

"Kiss me, my Jean! Why dost thou not kiss me? Lad, I have not seenthee all these weary years!"

The Duke, in a very proper manner, kissed the weak old hand which wasstretched out towards him. His lips were warm, but his kiss was as coldas a kiss well could be. 

"Madame, " said the Duke, mindful of the proprieties, "it gives meindescribable grief to find you thus. I am also deeply distressed thatit should be impossible for me to remain with you. I expect news fromBretagne every day--almost every hour--which I hope will summon me backthither to triumph over my rebellious subjects, and to resume my thronein victory. You will, therefore, grant me excuse if it be impossiblefor me to do more than kiss your hand and entreat your blessing. "

"Not stay, my Jean!" she said, in piteous accents. "Not stay, when thouhast come so far to see me! Dost thou know that I am dying?"

"Madame, I am infinitely grieved to perceive it. But reasons of stateare imperative and paramount. "

"My Lord will pardon me for observing, " said the Archbishop's voice, "with a royal kinsman of his own, that God may grant him many kingdoms, but he can never have but one mother. "

The Duke's answer was in his haughtiest manner. "I assure you of myregret, holy Father. Necessity has no law. "

"And no compassion?"

"Jean, my Jean! Only one minute more--one minute cannot be ofimportance. My little lad, my best-loved! lay thy lips to mine, and saythou lovest thine old mother, and let me bless thee, and then go, if itmust be, and I will die. "

Amphillis wondered that the piteous passion of love in the tones of thepoor mother did not break down entirely the haughty coldness of theroyal son. The Duke did indeed bend his stately knee, and touch hismother's lips with his, but there was no shadow of response to herclinging clasp, no warmth, however faint, in the kiss into which shepoured her whole heart. 

"Jean, little Jean! say thou lovest me?"

"Madame, it is a son's duty. I pray your blessing. "

"I bless thee with my whole heart!" she said. "I pray God bless thee inevery hour of thy life, grant thee health, happiness, and victory, andcrown thee at last with everlasting bliss. Now go, my dear heart! Theold mother will not keep thee to thy hurt. God be with thee, and blessthee!"

Even then he did not linger; he did not even give her, unsolicited, onelast kiss. She raised herself on one side, to look after him and listento him to the latest moment, the light still beaming in her sunken eyes. His parting words were not addressed to her, but she heard them. 

"Now then, Du Chatel, " said the Duke to his squire in the corridor, "letus waste no more time. This irksome duty done, I would be awayimmediately, lest I be called back. "

The light died out of the eager eyes, and the old white head sank backupon the pillow, the face turned away from the watchers. Amphillisapproached her, and tenderly smoothed the satin coverlet. 

"Let be!" she said, in a low voice. "My heart is broken. "

Amphillis, who could scarcely restrain her own sobs, glanced at theArchbishop for direction. He answered her by pressing a finger on hislips. Perrote came in, her lips set, and her brows drawn. She hadevidently overheard those significant words. Then they heard the trampof the horses in the courtyard, the sound of the trumpet, the cry of"Notre Dame de Gwengamp!" and they knew that the Duke was departing. They did not know, however, that the parting guest was sped by a fewexceedingly scathing words from his sister, who had heard his remark tothe squire. She informed him, in conclusion, that he could strike offher head, if he had no compunction in staining his spotless erminebanner with his own kindly blood. It would make very little differenceto her, and, judging by the way in which he used his dying mother, shewas sure it could make none to him. 

The Duke flung himself into his saddle, and dashed off down the slopefrom the gate without deigning either a response or a farewell. 

As the Archbishop left the Countess's chamber, he beckoned Amphillisinto the corridor. 

"I tarry not, " said he, "for I can work no good now. This is not thetime. A stricken heart hath none ears. Leave her be, and leave her toGod. I go to pray Him to speak to her that comfort which she mayreceive alone from Him. None other can do her any help. To-morrow, maybe--when the vexed brain hath slept, and gentle time hath somewhatdulled the first sharp edge of her cruel sorrow--then I may speak and beheard. But now she is in that valley of the shadow, where no voice canreach her save that which once said, `Lazarus, come forth!' and whichthe dead shall hear in their graves at the last day. "

"God comfort her, poor Lady!" said Amphillis. "Ay, God comfort her!"And the Archbishop passed on. 

He made no further attempt to enter the invalid chamber until theevening of the next day, when he came in very softly, after a word withPerrote--no part of any house was ever closed against a priest--and satdown by the sufferer. She lay much as he had left her. He offered nogreeting, but took out his Evangelistarium from the pocket of hiscassock, and began to read in a low, calm voice. 

"`The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me, for He hath anointed Me; He hathsent Me to evangelise the poor, to heal the contrite in heart, to preachliberty to the captives and sight to the blind, to set the bruised atliberty, to preach the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day ofretribution. '" [Luke four, verses 18, 19, Vulgate version. ]

There was no sound in answer. The Archbishop turned over a few leaves. 

"`Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy-laden, and I willrefresh you. ' [Matthew nine, verse 28. ] `And God shall dry all tearsfrom their eyes; and there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, norclamour, nor shall there be any more pain. ' [Revelations twenty-one, verse 4. ] `Trouble not your heart: believe in God, and believe in Me. '`Peace I bequeath to you, My peace I give to you: not as the worldgiveth, give I to you. Trouble not your heart, neither be it afraid. '[John fourteen, verses 1, 27. ] `Whom the Lord loveth, He chastiseth;and whippeth also every son whom He receiveth. '" [Hebrews twelve, verse6. ]

He read or quoted from memory, as passages occurred to him. When he hadreached this point he made a pause. A deep sigh answered him, but nowords. 

"`And he looked round about on them which sat about Him, and said, Behold My mother and My brethren! For whosoever shall do the will ofGod, the same is My brother, and My sister, and mother. '"

"I dare say He kissed His mother!" said the low plaintive voice. Sheevidently knew of whom the reader spoke. "The world giveth not muchpeace. `Heavy-laden!' ay, heavy-laden! `Thou hast removed from mefriend and neighbour. ' I have lost my liberty, and I am losing my life;and now--God have mercy on me!--I have lost my son. "

"Dame, will you take for your son the Lord that died for you? He offersHimself to you. `The same is My mother. ' He will give you not loveonly, but a son's love, and that warm and undying. `With perpetualcharity I delighted in thee, ' He saith; `wherefore, pitying, I drew theeto Me. ' Oh, my daughter, let Him draw thee!"

"What you will, Father, " was the low answer. "I have no bodilystrength; pray you, make not the penance heavier than I can do. Elsewise, what you will. My will is broken; nothing matters any morenow. I scarce thought it should have so been--at the end. Howbeit, God's will be done. It must be done. "

"My daughter, `this is the will of God, your sanctification. ' The endand object of all penances, of all prayers, is that you may be joined toChrist. `For He is our peace, ' and we are `in Him complete. ' In Him--not in your penances, nor in yourself. If so were that my Lord Bassethad done you grievous wrong, it might be you forgave him fully, not foranything in him, but only because he is one with your own daughter, andyou could not strike him without smiting her; his dishonour is herdishonour, his peace is her peace, to punish him were to punish her. Sois it with the soul that is joined to Christ. If He be exalted, it mustbe exalted; if it be rejected, He is rejected also. And God cannotreject His own Son. "

The Archbishop was not at all sure that the Countess was listening tohim. She kept her face turned away. He rose and wished her goodevening. The medicine must not be administered in an overdose, or itmight work more harm than good. 

He came again on the following evening, and gave her a little more. Forthree days after he pursued the same course, and, further than courtesydemanded, he was not answered a word. On the fourth night he found theface turned. A pitiful face, whose aspect went to his heart--wan, white, haggard, unutterably pathetic. That night he read the fourteenthchapter of Saint John's Gospel, and added few words of his own. Onleaving her, he said--

"My daughter, God is more pitiful than men, and His love is better thantheirs. "

"It had need be so!" were the only words that replied. In the corridorhe met Father Jordan. The Archbishop stopped. 

"How fareth she in the body?"

"As ill as she may be, and live. Her life is counted by hours. "

The Archbishop stood at the large oriel of stained glass at the end ofthe corridor, looking out on the spring evening--the buds just beginningto break, the softened gold of the western sky. His heart was veryfull. 

"O Father of the everlasting age!" he said aloud, "all things arepossible unto Thee, and Thou hast eternity to work in. Suffer not thisburdened heart to depart ere Thou hast healed it with Thine eternalpeace! Grant Thy rest to the heavy-laden, Thy mercy to her on whom manhath had so little mercy! Was it not for this Thou earnest, O Saviourof the world? Good Shepherd, wilt Thou not go after this lost sheepuntil Thou find it?"

The next night the silence was broken. 

"Father, " she said, "tell me if I err. It looks to me, from the wordsyou read, as if our Lord lacketh not penances and prayers, and goodworks; He only wants _me_, and that by reason that He loveth me. Andwhy all this weary life hath been mine, He knoweth, and I am content toleave it so, if only He will take me up in His arms as the shepherd doththe sheep, and will suffer me to rest my weariness there. Do I err, Father?"

"My daughter, you accept the gospel of God's peace. This it is to cometo Him, and He shall give you rest. "

The work was done. The proud spirit had stooped to the yoke. Thebitter truth against which she had so long fought and struggled wasaccepted at the pierced hands which wounded her only for her healing. That night she called Lady Basset to her. 

"My little girl, my Jeanne!" she said, "I was too hard on thee. I lovedthy brother the best, and I defrauded thee of the love which was thydue. And now thou hast come forty miles to close mine eyes, and heturneth away, and will have none of me. Jeanette, darling, take mydying blessing, and may God deal with thee as thou hast dealt by the oldmother, and pay thee back an hundredfold the love thou hast given me!Kiss me, sweet heart, and forgive me the past. "

Two days later, the long journey by the way of the wilderness was over. On the 18th of March, 1374, Perrote folded the aged, wasted hands uponthe now quiet breast. 

 "All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, All the dull, deep pain, and the constant anguish of patience! And as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, `Father, I thank Thee!'"

The fate which had harassed poor Marguerite in life pursued her to thevery grave. There was no sumptuous funeral, no solemn hearse, no regalbanners of arms for her. Had there been any such thing, it would haveleft its trace on the Wardrobe Rolls of the year. There was not even acourt mourning. It was usual then for the funerals of royal persons tobe deferred for months after the death, in order to make the ceremonymore magnificent. But now, in the twilight of the second evening, whichwas Monday, a quiet procession came silently across from the Manor Houseto the church, headed by Father Jordan; twelve poor men bore torchesbeside the bier; the Mass for the Dead was softly sung, and thosebeautiful, pathetic words which for ages rose beside the waitingcoffin:--

 "King of awful majesty, By Thy mercy full and free, Fount of mercy, pardon me!

 "Think, O Saviour, in what way On Thine head my trespass lay; Let me not be lost that day!

 "Thou wert weary seeking me; On Thy cross Thou mad'st me free; Lose not all Thine agony!"

Then they prayed for her everlasting rest--not joy. The thought ofactive bliss could hardly be associated with that weary soul. "Jesus, grant her Thine eternal rest!" And the villagers crept round with baredheads, and whispered to one another that they were burying the WhiteLady--that mysterious prisoner whom no one ever saw, who never came tochurch, nor set foot outside the walls of her prison; and they dimlyguessed some thousandth part of the past pathos of that shadowed life, and they joined in the Amen. And over her grave were set up nosculptured figure and table tomb, only one slab of pure white marble, carved with a cross, and beneath it, the sole epitaph of Marguerite ofFlanders, the heroine of Hennebon, --"Mercy, Jesu!" So they left her toher rest. 

Ten years later, in a quiet Manor House near Furness Abbey, a knight'swife was telling a story to her three little girls. 

"And you called me after her, Mother!" said little fair-haired Margaret. 

"But what became of the naughty man who didn't want to come and see hispoor mother when she was so sick and unhappy, Mother?" askedcompassionate little Regina. 

"Naughty man!" echoed Baby Perrotine. 

Lady Hylton stroked her little Margaret's hair. 

"He led not a happy life, my darlings; but we will not talk about him. Ay, little Meg, I called thee after the poor White Lady. I pray Godthou mayest give thine heart to Him earlier than she did, and not haveto walk with weary feet along her wilderness way. Let us thank God forour happy life, and love each other as much as we can. "

A hand which she had not known was there was laid upon her head. 

"Thinkest thou we can do that, my Phyllis, any better than now?" askedSir Norman Hylton. 

"We can all try, " said Amphillis, softly. "And God, our God, shallbless us. "

APPENDIX. 

Marguerite of Flanders, Countess of Montfort, was the only daughter ofLoys de Nevers, eldest surviving son of Robert the First, Count ofFlanders (who predeceased his father), and of Marie or Jeanne, daughterof the Count de Rethel. She had one brother, Count Loys the First ofFlanders, who fell at Crecy. Many modern writers call her Jeanne; buther name in the contemporary public records of England is invariablyMargareta. Her birth probably took place about 1310, and it may havebeen about 1335 that she married Jean of Bretagne, Count de Montfort, ayounger son of Duke Arthur the Second. 

Duke Arthur, the son of Beatrice of England, had been twice married--toMarie of Limoges and Violette of Dreux, Countess of Montfort in her ownright. With other issue who are not concerned in the story, he had byMarie two sons, Duke Jean the Third and Guyon; and by Violette one, JeanCount of Montfort, the husband of Marguerite. On the childless death ofJean the Third in 1341, a war of succession arose between the daughterof his deceased brother Guyon, and his half-brother the Count ofMontfort. The daughter, Jeanne la Boiteuse, claimed the right torepresent her father Guyon, while Montfort stood by the law ofnon-representation, according to which no deceased prince could berepresented by his child, and the younger brother even by the half-bloodwas considered a nearer relative than the child of the elder. The Kingof France took the part of Jeanne and her husband, Charles de Blois; hecaptured the Count of Montfort, and imprisoned him in the Louvre. TheCountess Marguerite, "who had the heart of a lion, " thenceforth carriedon the war on behalf of her husband and son. In the spring of 1342 sheobtained the help of King Edward the Third of England, which however wasfitfully rendered, as he took either side in turn to suit his ownconvenience. Some account of her famous exploits is given in the story, and is familiar to every reader of Froissart's Chronicle. Shortly afterthis the Countess brought her son to England, and betrothed him to theKing's infant daughter Mary; but she soon returned to Bretagne. In 1345the Count of Montfort escaped from his prison in the disguise of apedlar, and arrived in England: but the King was not at that timedisposed to assist him, and Montfort took the refusal so much to heartthat--probably combined with already failing health--it killed him inthe following September. When the war was reopened, the Countess tookcaptive her rival Charles de Blois, and brought him to England. TheKing appointed her residence in Tickhill Castle, granting the very smallsum of 15 pounds per annum for her expenses "there or wherever we mayorder her to be taken, while she remains in our custody. " (Patent Roll, 25 Edward the Third, Part 3. ) It is evident that while treated overtlyas a guest, the Countess was in reality a prisoner: a fact yet moreforcibly shown by an entry in December, 1348, recording the payment of60 shillings expenses to John Burdon for his journey to Tickhill, "tobring up to London the Duchess of Bretagne and the knight who ran awaywith her. " This seems to have been an attempt to free the prisoner, towhom, as the upholder of her husband's claim on the throne of Bretagne, the King of course accorded the title of Duchess. The testimony of therecords henceforward is at variance with that of the chroniclers, thelatter representing Marguerite as making sundry journeys to Bretagne incompany with her son and others, and as being to all intents at liberty. The Rolls, on the contrary, when she is named, invariably speak of heras a prisoner in Tickhill Castle, in keeping of Sir John Delves, andafter his death, of his widow Isabel. That the Rolls are the superiorauthority there can be no question. 

The imprisonment of Charles de Blois was very severe. He offered aheavy ransom and his two elder sons as hostages; King Edward demanded400, 000 deniers, and afterwards 100, 000 gold florins. In 1356 Charleswas released, his sons Jean and Guyon taking his place. They wereconfined first in Nottingham Castle, and in 1377 were removed toDevizes, where Guyon died about Christmas 1384. In 1362 Edward andCharles agreed on a treaty, which Jeanne refused to ratify, allegingthat she would lose her life, or two if she had them, rather thanrelinquish her claims to young Montfort. Two years later Charles waskilled at the battle of Auray, and Jeanne thereon accepted a settlementwhich made Montfort Duke of Bretagne, reserving to herself the county ofPenthievre, the city of Limoges, and a sum of ten thousand _livresTournois_. 

The only authority hitherto discovered giving any hint of the history ofMarguerite after this date, is a contemporary romance, _Le Roman de laComtesse de Montfort_, which states that she retired to the Castle ofLucinio, near Vannes, and passed the rest of her life in tranquillity. Even Mrs Everett Green, in her _Lives of the Princesses of England_, accepted this as a satisfactory conclusion. It was, indeed, the onlyone known. But two entries on the public records of England entirelydissipate this comfortable illusion. On 26th September 1369, the PatentRoll states that "we allowed 105 pounds per annum to John Delves for thekeeping of the noble lady, the Duchess of Bretagne; and we now grant toIsabel his widow, for so long a time as the said Duchess shall be in herkeeping, the custody of the manor of Walton-on-Trent, value 22 pounds, "and 52 pounds from other lands. (Patent Roll, 43 Edward the Third, Part2. ) The allowance originally made had evidently been increased. Thehapless prisoner, however, was not left long in the custody of IsabelDelves. She was transferred to that of Sir Godfrey Foljambe, whosewife, Avena Ireland, was daughter of Avena de Holand, aunt of JoanDuchess of Bretagne, the second wife of young Montfort. Lastly, a PostMortem Inquisition, taken in 1374, announces that "Margaret Duchess ofBretagne died at Haselwood, in the county of Derby, on the 18th ofMarch, 48 Edward the Third, being sometime in the custody of GodfreyFoljambe. " (Inquisitions of Exchequer, 47-8 Edward the Third, countyDerbyshire). 

It is therefore placed beyond question that the Countess of Montfortdied a prisoner in England, at a date when her son had been for tenyears an independent sovereign, and though on friendly terms with Edwardthe Third, was no longer a suppliant for his favour. Can it haveoccurred without his knowledge and sanction? He was in England when shedied, but there is no indication that he ever went to see her, and herfuneral, as is shown by the silence of the Wardrobe Rolls, was withoutany ceremony. Considering the character of the Duke--"violent in allhis feelings, loving to madness, hating to fury, and rarely overcoming aprejudice once entertained"--the suspicion is aroused that all the earlysacrifices made by his mother, all the gallant defence of his dominions, the utter self-abnegation and the tender love, were suffered to pass byhim as the idle wind, in order that he might revenge himself upon herfor the one occasion on which she prevented him from breaking hispledged word to King Edward's daughter, and committing a _mesalliance_with Alix de Ponteallen. For this, or at any rate for some thwarting ofhis will, he seems never to have forgiven her. 

Marguerite left two children--Duke Jean the Fourth, born 1340, diedNovember 1, 1399: he married thrice, --Mary of England, Joan de Holand, and Juana of Navarre--but left no issue by any but the last, and by hera family of nine children, the eldest being only twelve years old whenhe died. Strange to say, he named one of his daughters after hisdiscarded mother. His sister Jeanne, who was probably his senior, wasoriginally affianced to Jean of Blois, the long-imprisoned son ofCharles and Jeanne: she married, however, Ralph, last Lord Basset ofDrayton, and died childless, November 8, 1403.