his nature's self and all its pains--a
thing of which, before, he had never dreamed, for how could he have
imagined that an old woman living alone could have so followed him with
her heart that she had guessed his deepest secret; but this indeed she
had, and her next words most touchingly revealed it.

"Being widowed and childless when I came to you," she said, her emotion
rising to a passion, "'twas as if you grew to be my own--and in those
summer days three years gone, life and love were strong in you--life
and love and youth. And _her_ eyes dared not turn to you, nor yours to
her--and I am a woman and was afraid--for my man who died and left me
widowed was my lover as well as my husband, and soul and body we had
been one--so I _knew!_ But as I sate here and saw you as you passed
below with your company, I said it to myself again and again, 'He is
the King--he is the King!'" And as his Grace rose from his seat, not
angered, indeed, gazing at her tenderly, though growing pale, she
seized his hand and kissed it, her tears falling.

"If 'tis unseemly," she said, "forgive me, your Grace, forgive me; but
I had sate here so long this very morning, and thought but of this
thing--and in the midst of my thinking came this woman, and she is from
Gloucestershire, and told me of her ladyship of Dunstanwolde--whose
chariot passed her on the road, and she goes up to town, and rode
radiant and blooming in rich colours, having cast her weeds aside and
looking, so the woman said, like a beauteous creature new born, with
all of life to come."

_CHAPTER XXIV_

_Sir John Oxon Returns Also_

When his Grace of Osmonde returned to town he found but one topic of
conversation, and this was of such interest and gave such a fillip to
gossip and chatter that fierce Sarah of Marlborough's encounters with
Mrs. Masham, and her quarrels with Majesty itself, were for the time
actually neglected. Her Grace had engaged in battles royal for so long
a time and with such activity that the Court and the world were a
little wearied and glad of something new. And here was a most promising
event which might be discussed from a thousand points and bring forth
pretty stories of past and present, as well as prophecies for the
future.

The incomparable and amazing Clorinda, Countess of Dunstanwolde, having
mourned in stately retirement for near upon two years (when Fashion
demanded but one) and having paid such reverence to her old lord's
memory a