you the way."

There was no more said on either side at the time. But if ever a weary,
heavy-laden sinner came to Christ, Custance Le Despenser came that
night.

The next day she resumed her widow's garb. At that period the weeds of
widowhood were pure white, the veil bound tightly round the face, a
piece of embroidered linen crossing the forehead, and another the chin,
so that the only portion of the face visible was from the eyebrows to
the lips. Indeed, the head-dress of a widow and that of a nun were so
similar that inexperienced eyes might easily mistake one for the other.
The costume was not by any means attractive.

The hour was yet early when the Duchess of York was announced; and when
the door was opened, the little Richard, whose presence had been
purchased at so heavy a cost, sprang into his mother's arms. His little
sister, who followed, was shy and hung back, clinging close to the
Duchess. The year which had elapsed since she had seen Custance and
Maude seemed to have obliterated both from her recollection. With all
her faults, Custance was an affectionate mother, with that sort of
affection which develops itself in petting; and it pained her to see how
Isabel shrank away from her. The only comfort lay in the hope that time
would accustom her to her mother again; and beyond the mere affection of
custom, Isabel's nature would never reach.

It soon became evident that King Henry meant to keep his word. Two
months after her arrival at Westminster, Custance received a grant of
all her late husband's goods forfeited to the Crown; and five days later
was the marriage of Edmund of Kent and Lucia of Milan.

They were married in the Church of Saint Mary Overy, Southwark, the King
himself giving the bride. The Queen and the whole Court were present;
but Kent never knew who was present or absent; his eyes and thoughts
were absorbed with Lucia. He never saw a white-draped figure which
shrank behind the Queen, with eyes unlifted from the beginning of mass
to the end. So, on that last occasion when the separated pair met,
neither saw the face of the other.

But Custance was not left to pass through her terrible ordeal alone. As
the Queen's procession filed into the church, Richard of Conisborough
placed himself by the side of his sister, and clasped her hand in his:
He left her again at the door of her own chamber. No words were spoken
between the brother and sister; the hearts were too near each other