with him; so that,
with one or another obstacle arising, Constance's second marriage was
not quite so quick in coming as Maude had expected. But at last it did
come.

The Duke of York and his Duchess--not long married--and the Earl of
Cambridge, journeyed to Cardiff for their sister's wedding. The Duchess
of York, though both an heiress and a beauty, left no mark on her time.
She was by profession at least a Lollard; and since Lollardism was not
now walking in silver slippers, this says something for her. But in all
other respects she appears to have been one of those beautiful, mindless
women whom clever men frequently marry. Perhaps no woman with a decided
character of her own would have ventured on such a husband as Edward
Duke of York.

It was a mild winter day, and a picnic was projected in the woods near
Cardiff. The wedding was to take place in about a week. Maude rode on
a pillion to the scene where the rustic dinner was to be behind Bertram
Lyngern, who seemed in a particularly bright and amiable mood. When a
woman rode on a pillion, it must be remembered that she was in a very
insecure position; and it was an absolute necessity for the fair rider
to clasp her arms round the waist of the man who sat before her, and,
when the road was rough, to cling pretty tightly. It was therefore
desirable that the pair should be at least reasonably civil to one
another, and should not get on quarrelsome terms. There was little
likelihood of Maude's quarrelling with Bertram, her friend of twenty
years' standing; but she did not share his evident light-heartedness as
he rode carolling along, now breaking out into a snatch of one song, and
now of another, and constantly interrupting himself with playful
remarks.

"`Sitteth all still, and hearkeneth to me:
The King of Almayne, by my leaute,
Thritti thousand pound asked he--'

"A squirrel, Mistress Maude! shall I catch it?

"_Dame avec l'oeil de beaute_--

"So, my good lad, softly! so, Lyard! How clereful a day! Nigh as soft
as summer.

"`Summer is ycomen in--
Merry sing, cuckoo!
Groweth glede, and bloweth mead,
And springeth wood anew.'

"Be merry, Mistress Maude, I pray you! you mope not, surely?"

"I scarce know, Master Lyngern. Mayhap so."

"Shame to mope on such a day!" said Bertram, springing from the saddle,
and holding his hand to help Maude to jump down also. "There hath not
been so fair a morrow this month gone."

He was soon