ests were all gone home
to bed; and so soon as the ground were clear, mine uncle rapped of the
door; and the Lady Julian came after me to the sacristy, close lapped in
my cloak--"

How long Alvena might have proceeded to shock Maude's susceptibilities
and outrage her preconceived opinions, it is impossible to say; for at
this moment Thurstan opened the door and announced in a rather
consequential manner--

"The Lord Le Despenser, to visit the Lady Custance, and Dame Margaret
his sister."

Maude lifted her eyes to the height of Alvena, and found that she had to
lower them to her own. A young lady of about sixteen entered, dressed
in a rose-coloured silk striped with gold, and a gold-coloured mantle
lined with the palest blue. She led by the hand a very pretty little
boy of ten or eleven years of age, attired in a velvet tunic of that
light, bright shade of apple-green which our forefathers largely used.
It was edged at the neck by a little white frill. He carried in his
hand a black velvet cap, from which depended a long and very full red
plume of ostrich feathers. His stockings were white silk, his boots red
leather, fastened with white buttons. The brother and sister were
alike, but the small, delicately-cut features of both were the more
delicate in the boy, and on his dark brown hair was a golden gloss which
was not visible on that of his sister.

"Give you good morrow, Mistress Alvena," said Dame Margaret pleasantly.
"The Lady Custance--may one have speech of her?"

Before Alvena could reply, the curtain which shrouded the door leading
to the Countess's rooms was drawn aside, and Constance came forward
herself.

"Good morrow, Meg," said she, kissing the young lady. "Thou hast
mistaken thy road, Tom."

"Wherefore so?" asked Dame Margaret; for her little brother was silent,
except that he offered a kiss in his turn, and looked rather
disconcerted when no notice was taken of it.

"Why, Ned is playing quoits below, and Tom should have bidden with him.
Come hither, Meg; I have a pretty thing to show thee."

"But Tom came to see your Ladyship."

"Well, he has seen me!" said the little Princess impatiently. "I love
not lads. They are fit for nought better than playing quoits. Let them
go and do it."

"What, Dickon?" said Margaret, smiling.

"Oh, Dickon!" returned Constance in a changed tone. "But Tom is not
Dickon. Neither is he an angel, I wis, for I heard him gainsay once his
preceptor."

To