onted two
people, who were walking slowly along the terrace, and conversing in
hushed tones. Sir Piers Ingham was evidently and deeply interested, his
head slightly bowed towards Clarice who was as earnestly engaged in the
dissection of one of the _few_ leaves which Christmas had left
fluttering on the garden bushes. As De Chaucombe approached she looked
up with a startled air, and blushed to her eyes.

De Chaucombe muttered something indistinct which might pass for "Good
evening," and resumed his path rather more rapidly than before.

"So the wind blows from that direction!" he said to himself. "Well, it
does not matter a straw to me. But what our amiable mistress will say
to the fair Clarice, when she comes to know of it, is another question.
I do believe that, if she had made up her mind to a match between them,
she would undo it again, if she thought they wished it. It would be
just like her."

It had never occurred to Clarice to suppose that she did anything wrong
in thus disobeying point blank the known orders of her mistress that the
bower-maidens were to hold no intercourse whatever with the gentlemen of
the household. She knew perfectly well that if the Countess saw her
talking to Sir Piers, she would be exceedingly angry; and she knew that
her parents fully intended and expected her to obey her mistress as she
would themselves. Poor Clarice's code of morals looked upon discovery,
not disobedience, as the thing to be dreaded; and while she would have
recoiled with horror from the thought of unfaithfulness to her beloved,
she looked with absolute complacency on the idea of disloyalty to the
mistress whom she by no means loved. How could she do otherwise when
she had never been taught better?

Clarice's standard was _loyaute d'amour_. It is the natural standard of
all men, the only difference being in the king whom they set up. A vast
number are loyal to themselves only, for it is themselves whom alone
they love. Fewer are loyal to some human being; and poor humanity being
a very fallible thing, they often make sad shipwreck. Very few indeed--
in comparison of the mass--are loyal to the King who claims and has a
right to their hearts' best affections. And Clarice was not one of
these.

Inside the house the Countess and Mistress Underdone were very busy
indeed. Before them, spread over forms and screens, lay piles of
material for clothing--linen, serge, silk, and crape, of many colours.
On a le