nd so was likewise the Lady Elizabeth, my Lord of Exeter his
widow, with the Lord Fanhope. Men say there shall be divers weddings at
Court this next summer, and these, as I reckon, among them."

"Ah! the Lady Elizabeth's Grace danceth right well!" said Bertram
sarcastically. "Marry, Robin Falconer, of my Lord's Grace of York's
following, which bare hither certain letters this last month, told me
they had dances at Court in Epiphany octave, when we rade for our lives
from Oxford; and that very night my Lord's Grace of Exeter was beheaden
at Pleshy, his wife, the Lady Elizabeth, was at the cushion dance and
singing to her lute in the Lady Blanche [the Princess Royal] her
chamber, where all the Court was gathered."

"Aid us, our Lady of Pity!" whispered Maude in a shocked voice.

"There be some women hard as stones!" pursued Bertram disgustedly.

For men knew the Lady Elizabeth well in those days, as fairest and
gayest of the Princesses. She was King Henry's favourite sister, though
that royal gentleman showed his favour rather oddly, by granting her a
quantity of damaged goods of her late husband, among which were sundry
towels, "used and torn." During the terrible struggle which had just
occurred, she had sided with her brother, against King Richard, of whom
her husband Exeter was a fervent partisan. Perhaps such vacillation as
was occasionally to be seen in Exeter's conduct may be traced to her
influence. The night that King Richard was taken, she "made good
cheer," though the event was almost equivalent to the signing of her
husband's death-warrant. I doubt if we must not class this accomplished
and beautiful Elizabeth among the most heartless women whose names have
come down to us on the roll of history. And where a woman is heartless,
she is heartless indeed.

"Forsooth, Master Lyngern, methinks I wis what you mean by women hard as
stones," observed Maude with a slight shudder. "They do give me alway
the horrors."

"Think you there is naught of the stone in the Lady Custance?" said Hugh
in a low voice.

Maude energetically repudiated the imputation.

"She a stone? nay!--she is a butterfly," said Bertram.

"And, pray you, which were better--to have a stone or a butterfly to
your wife?" asked Hugh, laughingly.

"The stone, in good surety," said Bertram. "I were allgates [always]
afeard of hurting the butterfly."

"Very well," responded Hugh, rather drily; "but the stone might hurt
thee."

The s