; for
his instinct always led him to put off the evil day rather than to face
it and put it behind him--which last is usually the wiser course; but
Lady Basset would brook no delay, and on the afternoon of the second day
after leaving Drayton they rode up to Hazelwood Manor.

Godfrey hastily despatched the porter's lad to inform his mother of Lady
Basset'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 for
secrecy, 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 privy
chamber."

This was intended as a gentle hint to the visitor that secrets were not
to 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 a
fluttered manner.

"Then I pray you to break my coming, and lead me to her forthwith," said
Lady 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 youthful
title unheard for years. "My darling, mine own dear child!"

A smile, not at all usual there, quivered for a moment on the calm fixed
lips.

"Is this mine ancient nurse, Perrote de Carhaix?" she said. "I think I
know her face."

The smile was gone in a moment, as she repeated her wish to be taken
immediately to the Countess.

Lady Foljambe felt she had no choice. She led the way to the chamber of
the royal prisoner, requesting Lady Basset to wait for a moment at the
door.

The Countess sat no longer in her cushioned chair by the window. She
was now confined to her bed, where she lay restlessly, moaning at
intervals, 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 the
news to the suffering mother.

"Lady, the Lord hath heard your moaning, and hath seen your tears," said
Perrote, 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 to
his 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