se than ever. But at last, after many years, God gave her
one--thyself. I thought, perchance, if anything would soften him, thy
smiles and babyish ways might do it. But--soften him! It had been
easier to soften a rock of stone. When he knew that it was only a girl
that was born, he hated her worse than ever. Three years more; then the
last blow fell. Earl Henry of Lancaster bade him to his castle. As
they talked, quoth the Earl,--`I would you had not been a wedded man, my
Lord of Arundel; I had gladly given you one of my daughters.'--`Pure
foy!' quoth he, `but that need be no hindrance, nor shall long.' Nor
was it. He sent to our holy Father the Pope--with some lie, I trow--and
received a divorce, and a dispensation to wed Alianora, his cousin, the
young widow of the Lord de Beaumont, son of that Sir Henry that captured
the King and my father. All the while he told Isabel nothing. The
meanest of her scullions knew of the coming woe before she knew it. The
night ere Earl Richard should be re-wedded, he thought proper to dismiss
his discarded wife.

"`Dame,' said he to her, as he rose from the supper-table, `I pray you,
give good ear for a moment to what my chaplain is about to read.'

"He was always cruelly courteous before men.

"She stayed and listened. Then she grew faint and white--then she
grasped the seat to support her--then she lost hold and sense, and fell
down as if dead before him. Poor, miserably-crushed heart! She loved
this monster so well!

"He waited till she came to herself. Then he gave the last stroke.

"`I depart now,' said he, `to fetch home my bride. May I beg that the
Lady Isabel La Despenser will quit the castle before she comes. It
would be very unpleasant to her otherwise.'

"Unpleasant--to Alianora! And to Isabel, what would it be? Little he
recked of that. She had received her dismissal. He had said to her, in
effect,--`You are my wife, and Lady of Arundel, no more.'

"She lifted herself up a little, and looked into his face. She knew she
was looking upon him for the last time. And once more the fervent,
unvalued, long-outraged love broke forth,--once more, for the last time.

"`My lord! my lord!' she wailed. `Leave me not so, Richard! Give me
one kiss for farewell!'

"He did not lift her from the ground; he did not kiss her; but he was
not quite silent to that last bitter cry. He held forth his hand--the
hand which had been uplifted to strike her so often.