perceptibly
when he opened a note one day, brought by a royal groom, that asked him
to come that very afternoon if he could, to Whitehall Palace, where
Mistress Corbet would be delighted to see him and renew their
acquaintance.

As he came, punctual to the moment, into the gallery overlooking the
tilt-yard, the afternoon sun was pouring in through the oriel window, and
the yard beyond seemed all a haze of golden light and dust. He heard an
exclamation, as he paused, dazzled, and the servant closed the door
behind him; and there came forward to him in the flood of glory, the same
resplendent figure, all muslin and jewels, that he remembered so well,
with the radiant face, looking scarcely older, with the same dancing eyes
and scarlet lips. All the old charm seemed to envelop him in a moment as
he saluted her with all the courtesy of which he was capable.

"Ah!" she cried, "how happy I am to see you again--those dear days at
Great Keynes!" And she took both his hands with such ardour that poor
Anthony was almost forced to think that he had never been out of her
thoughts since.

"How can I serve you, Mistress Corbet?" he asked.

"Serve me? Why, by talking to me, and telling me of the country. What
does the lad mean? Come and sit here," she said, and she drew him to the
window seat.

Anthony looked out into the shining haze of the tilt-yard. Some one with
a long pole was struggling violently on the back of a horse, jerking the
reins and cursing audibly.

"Look at that fool," said Mary, "he thinks his horse as great a dolt as
himself. Chris, Chris," she screamed through her hands--"you sodden ass;
be quieter with the poor beast--soothe him, soothe him. He doesn't know
what you want of him with your foul temper and your pole going like a
windmill about his ears."

The cursing and jerking ceased, and a red furious face with thick black
beard and hair looked up. But before the rider could speak, Mary went on
again:

"There now, Chris, he is as quiet as a sheep again. Now take him at it."

"What does he want?" asked Anthony. "I can scarcely see for the dust."

"Why, he's practising at the quintain;--ah! ah!" she cried out again, as
the quintain was missed and swung round with a hard buffet on the man's
back as he tore past. "Going to market, Chris? You've got a sturdy
shepherd behind you. Baa, baa, black sheep."

"Who's that?" asked Anthony, as the tall horseman, as if driven by the
storm of contumely from the wind