ur, there are full twenty pages little older than
yourself--Lord Thomas Holland, the Prince's stepson, brother to the
lady that led you to me; little Piers de Greilly, nephew to the Captal
de Buch; young Lord Henry of Lancaster; and the little Prince Edward
himself. You will have no lack of merry playmates."

"Ah, but to whom can I talk of my blessed mother and of Uncle Eustace,
and of Lynwood Keep, and poor old Blanc Etoile, that I promised Ralph I
would bear in mind?"

"Well, Arthur," said Agnes, cheerfully, "it is the pages' duty to wait
on the ladies in hall and bower, and the ladies' office to teach them
all courtly manners, and hear them read and say the Credo and Ave. You
shall be my own especial page and servant. Is it agreed?"

"Oh yes," said the boy. "I wonder if the master of the Damoiseaux is
as strict as that lady said, and I wonder when I shall see Uncle
Eustace again."

CHAPTER XI

If Arthur Lynwood felt desolate when he left his uncle's side, it was
not otherwise with Sir Eustace as he lost sight of the child, who had
so long been his charge, and who repaid his anxiety with such confiding
affection. The coveted fame, favour, and distinction seemed likewise
to have deserted him. The Prince's coldness hung heavily on him, and
as he cast his eyes along the ranks of familiar faces, not one friendly
look cheered him. His greetings were returned with coldness, and a
grave haughty courtesy was the sole welcome. Chafed and mortified, he
made a sign to Gaston, and they were soon in the street once more.

"Coward clown!" burst forth Gaston at once. "Would that I could send
all his grinning teeth down the false throat of him!"

"Whose? What mean you?"

"Whose but that sulky recreant, Ashton? He has done well to obtain
knighthood, or I would beat him within an inch of his life with my
halbert, and if he dared challenge me, slay him as I would a carrion
crown! He a Knight! Thanks to his acres and to Lord Pembroke!"

"Patience, patience, Gaston--I have not yet heard of what he accuses
me."

"No! he has learnt policy--he saith it not openly! He would deny it,
as did his Esquire when I taxed him with it! Would that you could not
tell a letter! Sir Eustace, of your favour let me burn every one of
your vile books."

"My innocent friends! Nay, nay, Gaston--they are too knightly to merit
such measure. Then it is the old accusation of witchcraft, I suppose.
So I was in league with the Ca