n her side her three idols: first and foremost, Jove and
supreme ruler, was her lord, Harry's patron, the good Viscount of
Castlewood. All wishes of his were laws with her. If he had a headache,
she was ill. If he frowned, she trembled. If he joked, she smiled and was
charmed. If he went a-hunting, she was always at the window to see him
ride away, her little son crowing on her arm, or on the watch till his
return. She made dishes for his dinner: spiced his wine for him: made the
toast for his tankard at breakfast: hushed the house when he slept in his
chair, and watched for a look when he woke. If my lord was not a little
proud of his beauty, my lady adored it. She clung to his arm as he paced
the terrace, her two fair little hands clasped round his great one; her
eyes were never tired of looking in his face and wondering at its
perfection. Her little son was his son, and had his father's look and
curly brown hair. Her daughter Beatrix was his daughter, and had his
eyes--were there ever such beautiful eyes in the world? All the house was
arranged so as to bring him ease and give him pleasure. She liked the
small gentry round about to come and pay him court, never caring for
admiration for herself; those who wanted to be well with the lady must
admire him. Not regarding her dress, she would wear a gown to rags,
because he had once liked it: and, if he brought her a brooch or a ribbon,
would prefer it to all the most costly articles of her wardrobe.

My lord went to London every year for six weeks, and the family being too
poor to appear at Court with any figure, he went alone. It was not until
he was out of sight that her face showed any sorrow: and what a joy when
he came back! What preparation before his return! The fond creature had
his arm-chair at the chimney-side--delighting to put the children in it,
and look at them there. Nobody took his place at the table; but his silver
tankard stood there as when my lord was present.

A pretty sight it was to see, during my lord's absence, or on those many
mornings when sleep or headache kept him abed, this fair young lady of
Castlewood, her little daughter at her knee, and her domestics gathered
round her reading the Morning Prayer of the English Church. Esmond long
remembered how she looked and spoke kneeling reverently before the sacred
book, the sun shining upon her golden hair until it made a halo round
about her. A dozen of the servants of the house kneeled in a line op