stance, who was again becoming extremely restless. They heard of
wars and rumours of war--conspiracy after conspiracy, all more or less
futile: some to free King Richard, whom a great number believed to be
still living; some to release and crown the little Earl of March, yet a
close prisoner in Windsor Castle; some to depose or assassinate Henry.
But they were all to the dwellers in Cardiff Castle like the sounds of
distant tempest, until the summer of 1402, when two terrible events
happened almost simultaneously, and one at their very doors. Owain
Glyndwr, the faithful Welsh henchman of King Richard, took and burnt
Cardiff in one of his insurrectionary marches; sparing the Castle and
one of the monasteries on account of the loyalty (to Richard) of their
inmates; and about the same time Hugh Calverley came one day from
Bristol, to summon the Princess to come immediately to Langley. Her
father was dying.

Constance reached Langley in time to receive his last blessing. He died
in the same quiet, apathetic manner in which he had lived--his intellect
insufficient to realise all the mischief of which he had been guilty,
but having realised one mistake he had made--his second marriage. He
desired to be buried in the Priory Church at Langley, by the side of his
"dear wife Isabel," whose worth he had never discovered until she was
lost to him for ever.

It was on the first of August that Edmund of Langley died. After his
funeral, the Duchess Joan--now a young woman of nineteen--intimated her
intention of paying a visit to Court, as soon as her first mourning was
over, and blandishingly hoped that her dear daughter would do her the
pleasure of accompanying her. Maude would have liked her mistress to
decline the invitation, for she would far rather have gone home. But
Constance accepted it eagerly. It was exactly what she wished. They
reached Westminster Palace just after the King had returned from his
autumn progress, and he expressed a hope that his aunt and cousin would
stay with him long enough to be present at the approaching ceremony of
his second marriage with the Duchess Dowager of Bretagne.

It was the evening after their arrival at Westminster, and Maude sat on
a stool in the great hall, every now and then recognising and addressing
some acquaintance of old time. On the dais was a brilliant crowd of
royal and semi-royal persons, among whom Constance sat engaged in
animated conversation, and evidently enjoyi