m, Madam?"

"They need it not," she murmured, absently.

"In verity," said Ademar; "neither wasteth our Lord His comfort on them
that dance, nor His pitifulness on them that be at ease. And I have
seen ere now, Madam, that while He holdeth wide the door of His fold for
all His sheep to enter in, yet there be some that will not come in till
they be driven. Yea, and some lack a sharp rap of the shepherd's rod
ere they will quit the wayside herbage."

"And you think she feedeth thereby?"

"I think that an' she be of the sheep, she must be fetched within; and
maybe not one nor two strokes shall be spent in so doing."

"Amen, even if so! But this rap hath fallen on the tenderest side."

"The Shepherd knoweth the tender side, Madam; and lo' you, that so
doing, He witteth not only where to smite with the rod, but where to lay
the plaister."

"And you, Sir Ademar--lack you no plaister?"

"Madam, I have but received a gift. `For it is _ghouun_ [given] to you
for Christ, that not oonli ghe [ye] bileuen in him, but also that ghe
suffren for him.'"

"Can you so take it, it is well." And the old lady turned aside with a
sigh.

"Ay," said the Lollard priest, "it was well with the Shunammite
gentlewoman. And after all, it is but a little while ere our Lord is
coming. 'Tis light gear to watch for the full day, when you see the sun
gilding the crests of the mountains."

"Yet when you see _not_ the sun--?"

"Then, Lady, you long the more for his coming."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was no slight stir that morning on Berkhamsted Green. The whole
Court was gathered there, fringed on its outskirts by a respectful and
admiring crowd of sight-seers. Under a spreading tree sat the King, on
a fine black charger, a hooded hawk borne upon his wrist. Close beside
him was a little white palfrey, bearing a lady, and on her wrist also
was a hooded hawk. They were apparently waiting for somebody. In
front, the Prince of Wales, being of an active turn of mind, was amusing
himself by making his horse prance and curvet all about the green, and
levelling invisible lances at imperceptible foes--to the intense
interest of the outside crowd.

"Late, late, my Lord of Kent!" he cried lightly, as a bay charger shot
past him, its rider doffing his plumed cap.

Kent merely bowed again in answer, and rode rapidly up to the King.

"Better late than never, fair Cousin!" was Henry's