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 priest
who, as he dimly discerned by his canonicals, was not altogether a
common 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 Archbishop
of York."

To say that Mr Altham was struck dumb with amazement would be no figure
of speech. He stared from the Archbishop to Amphillis, and back again,
as if his astonishment had fairly paralysed his powers, that of sight
only excepted; and had not Regina roused him from his condition of
helplessness by an exclamation of "_Ach, heilige, Maria_!" there is no
saying how long he might have stood so doing.

"Ay, Uncle," said Amphillis, with a smile; "this is my Lord elect of
York, and he is pleased to say that my father was his kinsman."

"And if it serve you, Master Altham," added the Archbishop, "I would
fain have a privy word with you touching this my cousin."

Mr Altham's reply was two-fold. "Saints worshipped might they be!" was
meant in answer to Amphillis. Then, to the Archbishop, he hastily
continued, "Sir, holy Father, your Grace's most humble servant! I hold
myself at your Grace's bidding, whensoever it shall please your Grace."

"That is well," said the Archbishop, smiling. "We will have some talk
this 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 sent
her own squire with the letter. It was uncertain where the Duke might
be, and consequently how long the journey might take. The messenger was
instructed to seek him first at Windsor, and to be guided in his further
movements by what he might hear there. No time was lost, for the squire
set out on his journey that very evening.

About the time of his departure, the Archbishop and Mr Altham held
their little conference. Regina was at work in the window-seat, by her
husband's contrivance. Theoretically, he took the popular view of the
condign inferiority of the female intellect; while practically he held
his Reg