as
much diversion out of his business as he could.

"Very good indeed, Lady," said that worthy Minister. "Your confession
may spare you some annoyance. But as to your Lord, it will do nothing.
You hardly expect us to swallow this pretty little fiction, I suppose?
If you do, I beg you will undeceive yourself.--Officers, do your duty."
The officers had evidently received previous instructions, for they at
once laid their hands on the shoulders of Earl Hubert and Sir Richard.
The half-insensible Margaret was roused into life by the attempt to take
her bridegroom from her. With a cry that might have touched any heart
but that of Sir Piers de Rievaulx, she flung her arms around him and
held him close.

Apparently the officers were touched, for they stopped and looked at
their chief for further orders.

"Coward loons as ye are!--are ye frightened of a girl?" said Sir Piers
with a harsh laugh, and he came forward himself. "Lady Margaret, there
is no need to injure you unless you choose. Please yourself. I am
going to arrest this young knight."

But for one second, Sir Piers waited himself. Those around mistook it
for that knightly courtesy of which there was none in him. They did not
know that suddenly, to him, out of Margaret's pleading eyes looked the
eyes of the dead sister, Serena de Rievaulx, and it seemed to him as
though soft child-fingers held him off for an instant. He had never
loved any mortal thing but that dead child.

With one passionate, pleading gaze at Sir Piers, Margaret laid her head
on the breast of Sir Richard, and sobbed as though her heart were
breaking.

"My Lord, my Lord!" came, painfully mixed with long-drawn sobs, from the
lips of the young bride. "My own, own Richard! And only two months
since we were married!--Have you the heart to part us?" she cried,
suddenly turning to Sir Piers. "Did you never love any one?"

"Never, Madam." For once in his life, Sir Piers spoke truth, Never--
except Serena: and not much then.

"Brute!" And with this calumnious epithet--for brutes can love dearly--
Margaret resumed her former attitude.

"Lady Margaret, I must trouble you," said Sir Piers, in tones of
hardness veneered with civility.

"My darling, you must let me go," interposed the young Earl of
Gloucester, who seemed scarcely less miserable than his bride.

"Magot, my child, we may not stay justice," said the distressed tones of
her father.

Yet she held tight until Sir Piers tore