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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of In Convent Walls, by Emily Sarah Holt
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: In Convent Walls
+       The Story of the Despensers
+
+Author: Emily Sarah Holt
+
+Illustrator: M. Irwin
+
+Release Date: February 1, 2009 [EBook #27958]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN CONVENT WALLS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
+
+
+
+
+In Convent Walls, by Emily Sarah Holt.
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+The historical portion of this tale has been partially narrated in one
+of my previous volumes, "In All Time of our Tribulation," in which the
+Despenser story is begun, and its end told from another point of view.
+That volume left Isabelle of France at the height of her ambition, in
+the place to reach which she had been plotting so long and so
+unscrupulously.  Here we see the Nemesis come upon her and the chief
+partner of her guilt; the proof that there is a God that judgeth in the
+earth.  It is surely one of the saddest stories of history--sad as all
+stories are which tell of men and women whom God has endowed richly with
+gifts, and who, casting from them the Divine hand which would fain lift
+them up into the light of the Golden City, deliberately choose the
+pathway of death, and the blackness of darkness for ever.  Few women
+have had grander opportunities given them than Isabelle for serving God
+and making their names blessed and immortal.  She chose rather to serve
+self: and thereby inscribed her name on one of the blackest pages of
+England's history, and handed down her memory to eternal execration.
+For "life is to do the will of God"--the true blessedness and glory of
+life here, no less than the life hereafter.
+
+  "Oh, the bitter shame and sorrow,
+  That a time should ever be
+  When I let the Saviour's pity
+  Plead in vain, and proudly answered--
+  `All of self, and none of Thee!'
+
+  "Yet He found me; I beheld Him
+  Bleeding on the accursed tree,--
+  Heard Him pray, `Forgive them, Father!'
+  And my wistful heart said faintly,
+  `Some of self, and some of Thee!'
+
+  "Day by day, His tender mercy,
+  Healing, helping, full and free,
+  Sweet and strong, and, ah! so patient,
+  Brought me lower, while I whispered,
+  `Less of self, and more of Thee!'
+
+  "Higher than the highest heaven,
+  Deeper than the deepest sea,
+  Lord, Thy love at last hast conquered:
+  Grant me now my heart's desire--
+  `None of self, and all of Thee!'"
+
+
+
+PART ONE, CHAPTER 1.
+
+WHEREIN DAME CICELY DE CHAUCOMBE SCRIBETH SOOTHLINESS (1360).
+
+WHEREIN COMMENCE THE ANNALS OF CICELY.
+
+  "Heaven does with us, as we with torches do--
+  Not light them for themselves."
+
+  Shakespeare.
+
+"It is of no use, Jack," quoth I.  "I never did love her, I never can,
+and never shall."
+
+"And I never bade you, Sissot," answered he.  "Put that in belike,
+prithee."
+
+"But you bade me write the story out," said I.  "Ay, I did so.  But I
+left you free to speak your mind of any body that should come therein,
+from a bishop to a baa-lamb," said he.
+
+"Where shall I go for mine ink?"  I made answer: "seeing that some part
+of my tale, to correspond to the matter, should need to be writ in
+vernage, [Note 1] and some other in verjuice."
+
+"Keep two quills by you," saith he, "with inkhorns of the twain, and use
+either according to the matter."
+
+"Ay me!" said I.  "It should be the strangest and woefullest tale ever
+writ by woman."
+
+"The more need that it should be writ," quoth Jack, "by them that have
+lived it, and can tell the sooth-fastness [truth] thereof.  Look you,
+Sissot, there are men enough will tell the tale of hearsay, such as they
+may win of one and another, and that is like to be full of guile and
+contrariousness.  And many will tell it to win favour of those in high
+place, and so shall but the half be told.  Thou hast lived through it,
+and wist all the inwards thereof, at least from thine own standing-spot.
+Let there be one tale told just as it was, of one that verily knew, and
+had no purpose to win gold or favour, but only to speak sooth-fastness."
+
+"You set me an hard task, Jack!"  I said, and I think I sighed.
+
+"Easier to do, maybe, than to reckon on," saith he, in his dry,
+tholemode [Note 2] way.  "Thou needest write but one word at once, and
+thou canst take thine own time to think what word to write."
+
+"But I have no parchment," said I.  I am a little afraid I coveted not
+any, for I fancied not the business at all.  It was Jack who wanted the
+story writ out fair, not I.
+
+"Well, I have," saith Jack calmly.
+
+"Nor any quills," said I.
+
+"I have," saith Jack, after the same fashion.
+
+"And the ink is dried-up."
+
+"Then will we buy more."
+
+"But--" I stayed, for I thought I had better hold my tongue.
+
+"But--I have no mind to it," saith Jack.  "That might have come first,
+Sissot.  It shows, when it doth, that thou hast come to an end of thine
+excuses.  Nay, sweet heart, do but begin, and the mind will have after."
+
+"Lack-a-daisy!" said I, trying to laugh, though I felt somewhat irked
+[worried, irritated]: "I reckon, then, I had best do mine husband's
+bidding without more ado."
+
+"There spake my Sissot," saith he.  "Good dame!"
+
+So here am I, sat at this desk, with a roll of parchment that Jack hath
+cut in even leches [strips] for to make a book, and an inkhorn of fresh
+ink, and divers quills--O me! must all this be writ up?
+
+Well, have forth!  I shall so content Jack, and if I content not myself,
+that shall pay me.
+
+It was through being one of Queen Isabel's gentlewomen that I came to
+know these things, and, as Jack saith, to live through my story.  And I
+might go a step further back, for I came to that dignity by reason of
+being daughter unto Dame Alice de Lethegreve, that was of old time nurse
+to King Edward.  So long as I was a young maid, I was one of the Queen's
+sub-damsels; but when I wedded my Jack (and a better Jack never did
+maiden wed) I was preferred to be damsel of the chamber: and in such
+fashion journeyed I with the Queen to France, and tarried with her all
+the time she dwelt beyond seas, and came home with her again, and was
+with her the four years following, until all brake up, and she was
+appointed to keep house at Rising Castle.  So the whole play was played
+before mine own eyes.
+
+I spake only sooth-fastness when I told Jack I could never love her.
+How can man love whom he cannot trust?  It would have been as easy to
+put faith in a snake because it had lovesome marks and colouring, as in
+that fair, fair face--ay, I will not deny that it was marvellous fair--
+with the gleaming eyes, which now seemed to flash with golden light, and
+now to look like the dark depths of a stagnant pool.  Wonderful eyes
+they were!  I am glad I never trusted them.
+
+Nor did I never trust her voice.  It was as marvellous as the eyes.  It
+could be sweet as honey and sharp as a two-edged sword; soft as dove's
+down, and hard as an agate stone.  Too soft and sweet to be sooth-fast!
+She meant her words only when they were sword and agate.
+
+And the King--what shall I say of him?  In good sooth, I will say
+nothing, but leave him to unfold himself in the story.  I was not the
+King's foster-sister in sooth, for I was ten years the younger; and it
+was Robin, my brother, that claimed kin with him on that hand.  But he
+was ever hendy [amiable, kindly, courteous] to me.  God rest his hapless
+soul!
+
+But where shall my tale begin?  Verily, I have no mind to set forth from
+the creation, as chroniclers are wont.  I was not there then, and lived
+not through that, nor of a long while after.  Must I then begin from my
+creation? aswhasay [as who should say--that is to say], as near it as my
+remembrance taketh me.  Nay, I think not so: for then should I tell much
+of the reign of King Edward of Westminster [Edward the First], that were
+right beside the real story.  I think I shall take date from the time of
+the Queen's first departure to France, which was the year of our Lord
+God, 1324.
+
+I was a young maid of seventeen years when I entered the Queen's
+household,--her own age.  But in another sense, I was tenfold the child
+that she was.  Indeed, I marvel if she ever were a child.  I rather
+think she was born grown-up, as the old heathen fabled Minerva to have
+been.  While on waiting, I often used to see and hear things that I did
+not understand, yet which I could feel were disapproved by something
+inside me: I suppose it must have been my conscience.  And if at those
+times I looked on my mother's face, I could often read disapproval in
+her eyes also.  I never loved the long secret discourses there used to
+be betwixt the Queen and her uncle, my Lord of Lancaster: they always
+had to me the air of plotting mischief.  Nor did I ever love my Lord of
+Lancaster; there was no simplicity nor courtesy in him.  His natural
+manner (when he let it be seen) was stern and abrupt; but he did very
+rarely allow it to be seen; it was nearly always some affectation put
+on.  And I hate that, and so doth Jack.
+
+At that time I loved and hated instinctively, as I think children do;
+and at seventeen years, I was a child in all things save by the almanac.
+I could rarely tell why I did not love people--only, I did not love
+them.  I knew oftener why I did.  I never thought much of Sir Piers de
+Gavaston, that the King so dearly affected, but I never hated him in a
+deadly fashion, as some did that I knew.  I loved better Sir Hugh Le
+Despenser, that was afterwards Earl of Gloucester, for he--
+
+"Sissot," saith a voice behind me, "what is the name of that chronicle?"
+
+"I cannot tell, Jack," said I.  "What wouldst have it called?"
+
+"`The Annals of Cicely,'" quoth he; "for she is beginning, middle, and
+end of it."
+
+I felt as though he had cast a pitcher of cold water over me.  I sat
+looking at my parchment.
+
+"Read it over, prithee," saith he, "and count how many great I's be
+therein."
+
+So did I, and by my troth there were seventy-seven.  Seventy-seven of
+me! and all in six leaves of parchment, forsooth.  How many soever shall
+there be by the time I make an end?
+
+"That's an ill beginning, Jack!" said I, and I felt ready to cry.  "Must
+I begin over again?"
+
+"Sissot," quoth he, "nothing is ever undone in this world."
+
+"What mean you?" said I.
+
+"There was man died the year before thou wert born," he made answer,
+"that was great friend of my father.  He was old when my father was
+young, yet for all that were they right good friends.  He was a very
+learned man; so wise in respect of things known but to few, that most
+men accounted him a very magician, and no good Christian.  Howbeit, my
+father said that was but folly and slander.  He told my father some of
+the strange matters that he found in nature; and amongst them, one
+thing, which hath ever stuck by me.  Saith Friar Roger, Nothing is ever
+destroyed.  Nothing that hath once had being, can ever cease to be."
+
+"Why, Jack!" cried I.  "Verily that must be folly!  I cast this scrap of
+parchment on the chafer, and it burneth up.  It is gone, see thou.
+Surely it hath ceased to be?"
+
+"No," saith he.  "It is gone into ashes and smoke."
+
+"What be ashes and smoke?" asked I, laughing.
+
+"Why, they be ashes and smoke," he made answer.  "And the smoke curleth
+up chimney, and goeth out into the air: and the air cometh up Sissot's
+nose-thirls, and feedeth her bodily life; and Sissot maketh
+seventy-seven I's to six pages of parchment."
+
+"Now, Jack, softly!" said I.
+
+"So it is, my dame," pursueth he.  "Every thing that dieth, feedeth
+somewhat that liveth.  But I can go further an' thou wilt.  Friar Roger
+thought (though he had not proved it) that every word spoken might as it
+were dwell in the air, and at bidding of God hereafter, all those words
+should return to life and be heard again by all the world."
+
+I could not help but laugh.
+
+"Why, what a din!" said I.  "Do but think, all the words, in all
+languages, buzzing about man's ears, that were ever spoken since Adam
+dwelt in the Garden of Eden!"
+
+"Wouldst thou like all thy words repeated thus, Sissot?"
+
+"I would not mind, Jack."
+
+"Wouldst not?  Then I am worser than thou, which is like enough.  I
+would not like to hear all my foolish words, all my angry words, all my
+sinful words, echoed back to me from the starry walls of heaven.  And
+suppose, Sissot--only suppose that God should do as much with our
+thoughts!  I dare say He knows how."
+
+I covered my face with mine hands.
+
+"That would be dreadful!"  I whispered.
+
+"It will be, in very deed," softly said Jack, "when the Books are
+opened, and the names read out, in the light of that great white Throne
+which shall be brighter than noon-day.  I reckon in that day we shall
+not be hearkening for Sir Piers de Gavaston's name, nor for Sir Hugh Le
+Despenser's, but only for those of John and Cicely de Chaucombe.  Now,
+set again to thy chronicling, my Sissot, and do it in the light of that
+Throne, and in the expectation of that Book: so shall it be done well."
+
+And so Jack left me.  But to speak sooth, seeing the matter thus makes
+me to feel as though I scarce dared do it at all.  Howsobe, I have it to
+do: and stedfast way maketh stedfast heart.
+
+There were plenty of people who hated Sir Hugh Le Despenser, but I and
+my mother Dame Alice were not amongst them.  He had been brought up with
+the King from his youth, but the King never loved him till after the
+death of Sir Piers de Gavaston.  The Queen loved him, just so long as
+the King did not.  That was always her way; the moment that she saw he
+cared for anything which was not herself, she at once began to hate it.
+And verily he never gave her cause, for he held her ever dearest of any
+mortal thing.
+
+Sir Hugh was as goodly a gentleman as man's eyes might see.  Those who
+loved him not called him proud--yea, the very spirit of pride.  But the
+manner they thought pride seemed to me rather a kind of sternness or
+shortness of speech, as if he wished to have done with the matter in
+hand.  Some people call every thing pride; if man talk much, they say he
+loves to hear his own voice; if he be silent, he despises his company.
+Now it seems to me that I often speak and am silent from many other
+causes than pride, and therefore it may be the like with other folk.  Do
+those which are ever accusing other of pride, do all their actions for
+that reason?  If not so, how or why should they suspect it in other men?
+I do not think Sir Hugh was so much prouder than other.  He knew his
+own value, I dare say; and very like he did not enjoy being set at
+nought--who doth so?  Other said he was ambitious: and there might be
+some sooth-fastness in the accusation; yet I fancy the accusers loved a
+slice of worldly grandeur no less than most men.  And some said he was
+wicked man: that did I never believe.
+
+As for his wife, Dame Alianora, I scarcely know what to say of her.  She
+was a curious mixture of qualities.  She clung to the King her uncle
+when others forsook him, she was free-handed, and she could feel for man
+in trouble: those were her good points.  Yet she seemed to feel but what
+she saw; it was "out of sight, out of mind," with her; and she loved new
+faces rather too well to please me.  I think, for one thing, she was
+timid; and that oft-times causes man to appear what he is not.  But she
+was better woman than either of her sisters--the Lady Margaret Audley
+and the Lady Elizabeth de Clare.  I never saw her do, nor heard her say,
+the heartless acts and speeches whereof I knew both of them guilty.  I
+dare say, as women go, she was not ill woman.  For, alas!  I have lived
+long enough to know that there be not many good ones.
+
+Well, I said--no did I?--that I would begin with the year 1324 of our
+Lord God.  But, lack-a-day! there were matters afore 1324, like as there
+were men before Agamemnon.  Truly, methinks there be a two-three I did
+well not to omit: aswhasay, the dying of Queen Margaret, widow of King
+Edward of Westminster, which deceased seven years earlier than so.  I
+shall never cease to marvel how it came to pass that two women of the
+same nation, of the same family, being aunt and niece by blood, should
+have been so strangely diverse as those two Queens.  All that was good,
+wise, and gentle, was in Queen Margaret: what was in Queen Isabel will
+my chronicle best tell.  This most reverend lady led a very retired life
+after her husband's death, being but a rare visitor to the Court,
+dwelling as quietly and holily as any nun might dwell, and winning love
+and respect from all that knew her.  Very charitable was she and most
+devout: and (if it be lawful to say thus) had I been Pope, I had sooner
+canonised her than a goodly number that hath been.  But I do ill to
+speak thus, seeing the holy Father is infallible, and acts in such
+matters but by the leading of God's Spirit, as saith the Church.  Good
+lack, but there be queer things in this world!  I saw once Father Philip
+screw up his mouth when one said the same in his hearing, and saith he--
+
+"The Lord Pope is infallible when he speaketh _ex cathedra_, but so
+only."
+
+"But how," saith he that spake, "shall we know when he is sat in his
+chair and when he is out of it?"
+
+An odd look came into Father Philip's eyes.
+
+"Master," saith he, "when I was a little lad, my mother told me divers
+times that it was not seemly to ask curious questions."
+
+But I guess what the good Friar thought, though it be not always
+discreet to speak out man's thoughts.  Ah me! will the time ever come
+when man may say what he will, with no worse thereafter than a sneer or
+a sharp rebuke from his neighbour?  If so were, I would I had been born
+in those merry days--but I should want Jack to be born then belike.
+
+"Sissot," saith a voice over my shoulder, "wist thou the full meaning of
+thy wish?"
+
+Jack is given to coming in quietly--I never knew him make a noise--and
+peeping over my shoulder to see how my chronicle maketh progress: for he
+can well read, though he write not.
+
+"What so, Jack?" said I.
+
+"I reckon we should be the younger by some centuries," quoth he, "and
+perchance should not be at all.  But allowing it, dost thou perceive
+that such a difference should mean a change in all things?--that no fear
+should in likelihood mean no reverence nor obedience, and might come to
+mean more than that?"
+
+"That were dread!" said I.  "What manner of times should they be?"
+
+"I think," saith he, "those very `_tempora periculosa_' whereof Saint
+Paul speaketh, when men shall love their own selves, and be proud,
+unthankful, without affection, peace, or benignity, loving their
+pleasures rather than God.  And if it serve thee, I would not like to
+live in those times."
+
+"Dear heart, nor would I!" quoth I.  "Yet surely, Jack, that seemeth a
+gainsaying.  Were all men free to speak what they would, and not be
+called to account therefor, it were soothly to love their neighbours and
+show benignity."
+
+"Ay, if it were done for that end," he made answer.  "But the heart of
+man is a cage of deceits.  Much must befall the world, I take it, ere
+that cometh to pass: and while they that bring it about may be good men
+that mean well, they that come to use it may be evil, and mean ill.  The
+Devil is not come to an end of his shifts, be thou sure.  Let man run as
+fast and far as he will, Satan shall wit how to keep alongside."
+
+I said nought.  Jack is very wise, a deal more than I, yet I cannot
+always see through his eye-glasses.  Mayhap it is not always because I
+am wiser of the twain.
+
+"Freedom to do good and be good is a good thing," then saith he: "but
+freedom to be ill, and do ill, must needs be an ill thing.  And man
+being what he is, how makest thou sure that he shall always use his
+freedom for good, and not for ill?"
+
+"Why, that must man chance," said I.
+
+"A sorry chance," answereth he.  "I were liever not to chance it.  I
+thought I heard thee deny Fina this last week to go to the dance at
+Underby Fair?"
+
+"So thou didst," said I.  "She is too young, and too giddy belike, to
+trust with a bevy of idle damosels as giddy as she."
+
+"Well, we are none of us so far grown-up in all wisdom that it were safe
+to trust us with our own reins in all things.  Hast never heard the saw,
+`He that ruleth his own way hath a fool to his governor'?"
+
+"Well!" said I; "but then let the wise men be picked out to rule us, and
+the fools to obey."
+
+"Excellent doctrine, my Sissot!" quoth Jack, smiling in his eyes: "at
+least, for the fools.  I might somewhat pity the wise men.  But how to
+bring it about?  Be the fools to pick out the wise men? and are they
+wise enough to do it?  I sorely fear we shall have a sorry lot of
+governors when thy law comes to be tried.  I think, Wife, thou and I had
+better leave God to rule the world, for I suspect we should do it
+something worser than He."
+
+Let me fall back to my chronicling.  Another matter happed in the year
+1319, the which I trow I shall not lightly forget.  The Queen abode at
+Brotherton, the King being absent.  The year afore, had the Scots made
+great raids on the northern parts of England, had burned the outlying
+parts of York while the King was there, and taken the Earl of Richmond
+prisoner: and now, hearing of the Queen at Brotherton, but slenderly
+guarded, down they marched into Yorkshire, and we, suspecting nought,
+were well-nigh caught in the trap.
+
+Well I mind that night, when I was awoke by pebbles cast up at my
+casement, for I lay in a turret chamber, that looked outward.  So soon
+as I knew what the sound meant, I rose from my bed and cast a mantle
+about me, and opened the casement.
+
+"Is any there?" said I.
+
+"Is that thou, Sissot?" quoth a voice which I knew at once for my
+brother Robert's, "Lose not one moment, but arouse the Queen, and pray
+her to take horse as speedily as may be, or she shall be captured of the
+Scots, which come in great force by the Aire Valley, and are nearhand
+[nearly] at mine heels.  And send one to bid the garrison be alert, and
+to let me in, that I may tell my news more fully."
+
+I wis not whether I shut the casement or no, for ere man might count ten
+was I in the Queen's antechamber, and shaking of Dame Elizabeth by the
+shoulders.  But, good lack, she took it as easy as might be.  She was
+alway one to take matters easy, Dame Elizabeth de Mohun.
+
+"Oh, let be till daylight," quoth she, as she turned on her pillow.
+"'Tis but one of Robin Lethegreve's fumes and frets, I'll be bound.  He
+is for ever a-reckoning that the Scots be at hand or the house o' fire,
+and he looks for man to vault out of his warm bed that instant minute
+when his fearsome news be spoken.  Go to sleep, Cicely, and let folks
+be."
+
+And round turned she, and, I warrant, was asleep ere I could bring forth
+another word.  So then I fell to shaking Joan de Vilers, that lay at
+tother end of the chamber.  But she was right as bad, though of another
+fashion.
+
+"Wherefore rouse me?" saith she.  "I can do nought.  'Tis not my place.
+If Dame Elizabeth arise not, I cannot.  Thou wert best go back abed,
+dear heart.  Thou shalt but set thyself in trouble."
+
+Well, there was no time to reason with such a goose; but I longed to
+shake her yet again.  Howbeit, I tarried no longer in the antechamber,
+but burst into the Queen's own chamber where she lay abed, with Dame
+Tiffany in the pallet--taking no heed that Joan called after me--
+
+"Cicely!  Cicely! how darest thou?  Come back, or thou shall be mispaid
+or tint!"  [Held in displeasure or ruined.]
+
+But I cared not at that moment, whether for mispayment or tinsel.  I had
+my duty to do, and I did it.  If the news were true, the Queen was
+little like to snyb [blame] me when she found it so: and if no, well, I
+had but done as I should.  And I knew that Dame Tiffany, which tended
+her like a hen with one chicken, should hear my tidings of another
+fashion from the rest.  Had Dame Elizabeth lain that night in the
+pallet, and Dame Tiffany in the antechamber, my work had been the
+lighter.  But afore I might win to the pallet--which to do I had need to
+cross the chamber,--Queen Isabel's own voice saith from the state
+bed--"Who is there?"
+
+"Dame," said I,--forgetting to kneel, in such a fluster was I--"my
+brother hath now brought tidings that the Scots come in force by the
+Aire Valley, with all speed, and are nearhand at the very gate;
+wherefore--"
+
+The Queen heard me no further.  She was out of her bed, and herself
+donning her raiment, ere I might win thus far.
+
+"Send Dame Elizabeth to me," was all she said, "and thyself bid De
+Nantoil alarm the garrison.  Well done!"
+
+I count I am not perfect nor a saint, else had I less relished that
+second shake of Dame Elizabeth--that was fast asleep--and deliverance of
+the Queen's bidding.  I stayed me not to hear her mingled contakes and
+wayments [reproaches and lamentations], but flew off to the outermost
+door, and unbarring the same, spake through the crack that wherewith I
+was charged to Oliver de Nantoil, the usher of the Queen's chamber,
+which lay that night at her outer door.  Then was nought but bustle and
+stir, both within and without.  The Queen would have up Robin, and
+hearkened to his tale while Alice Conan combed her hair, the which she
+bade bound up at the readiest, to lose not a moment.  In less than an
+hour, methinks, she won to horse, and all we behind, and set forth for
+York, which was the contrary way to that the Scots were coming.  And, ah
+me!  I rade with Dame Elizabeth, that did nought but grieve over her
+lost night's rest, and harry poor me for breaking the same.  I asked at
+her if she had better loved to be taken of the Scots; since if so, the
+Queen's leave accorded, we might have left her behind.
+
+"Scots!" quoth she.  "Where be these ghostly [fabulous, figurative]
+Scots?  I will go bail they be wrapped of their foldings [plaids] fast
+asleep on some moor an hundred miles hence.  'Tis but Robin, the clown!
+that is so clumst [stupid] with his rashness, that he seeth a Scot full
+armed under every bush, and heareth a trumpeter in every corncrake: and
+as if that were not enough, he has a sister as ill as himself, that must
+take all for gospel as if Friar Robert preached it.  Mary love us! but I
+quoke when thou gattest hold on me by the shoulders!  I count it was a
+good hour ere I might sleep again."
+
+"Dear heart, Dame!" cried I, "but it was not two minutes!  It is scantly
+an hour by now."
+
+"Then that is thy blame, Cicely, routing like a bedel [shouting like a
+town-crier], and oncoming [assaulting] folks as thou dost.  I marvel
+thou canst not be peaceable!  I alway am.  Canst mind the night that
+ever I shaked thee awake and made thee run out of thy warm bed as if a
+bear were after thee?"
+
+I trust I kept out of my voice the laughter that was in my throat as I
+said, "No, Dame: that cannot I."  The self notion of Dame Elizabeth ever
+doing thus to any was so exceeding laughable.
+
+"Well! then why canst--Body o' me! what ever is yonder flaming light?"
+
+Master Oliver was just alongside, and quoth he drily--
+
+"Burden not your Ladyship; 'tis but the Scots that have reached
+Brotherton, and be firing the suburbs."
+
+"Holy Mary, pray for us!" skraighs Dame Elizabeth, at last verily
+feared: "Cicely, how canst thou ride so slow?  For love of all the
+saints; let us get on!"
+
+Then fell she to her beads, and began to invoke all the Calendar, while
+she urged on her horse till his rapid trotting brake up the _aves_ and
+_oras_ into fragments that man might scarce hear and keep him sober.  I
+warrant I was well pleased, for all my weariness, when we rade in at
+Micklebar of York; and so, I warrant, was Dame Elizabeth, for all her
+impassibility.  We tarried not long at York, for, hearing that the Scots
+came on, the Queen removed to Nottingham for safer keeping.  And so
+ended that year.
+
+But no contakes had I, save of Dame Elizabeth, that for the rest of that
+month put on a sorrowful look at the sight of me.  On the contrary part,
+Robin had brave reward from the King, and my Lady the Queen was pleased
+to advance me, as shall now be told, shortly thereafter: and ever
+afterwards did she seem to affy her more in me, as in one that had been
+tried and proved faithful unto trust.
+
+Thus far had I won when I heard a little bruit behind me, and looking
+up, as I guessed, I saw Jack, over my shoulder.
+
+"Dear heart, Jack!" said I, "but thou hast set me a merry task!  Two
+days have I been a-work, and not yet won to the Queen's former journey
+to France; yet I do thee to wit, I am full disheartened at the stretch
+of road I see afore me.  Must I needs tell every thing that happed for
+every year?  Mary love us! but I feel very nigh at my wits' end but to
+think of it.  Why, my Chronicle shall be bigger than the Golden Legend
+and the Morte Arthur put together, and all Underby Common shall not
+furnish geese enow to keep me in quills!"
+
+I ended betwixt laughter and tears.  To say sooth, I was very nigh the
+latter.
+
+"Take breath, Sissot," saith Jack, quietly.
+
+"But dost thou mean that, Jack?"
+
+"I mean not to make a nief [serf] of my wife," saith he.  I was
+something comforted to hear that.
+
+"As for time, dear heart," he pursueth, "take thou an hour or twain by
+the day, so thou weary not thyself; and for events, I counsel thee to
+make a diverse form of chronicle from any ever yet written."
+
+"How so, Jack?"
+
+"Set down nothing because it should go in a chronicle, but only those
+matters wherein thyself was interested."
+
+"But that, Jack," said I, laughing as I looked up on him, "shall be the
+`Annals of Cicely' over again; wherewith I thought thou wert not
+compatient."  [Pleased, satisfied; the adjective of compassion.]
+
+"Nay, the Annals of Cicely were Cicely's fancies and feelings," he made
+answer: "this should be what Cicely heard and saw."
+
+I sat and meditated thereon.
+
+"And afore thou wear thy fingers to the bone with thy much scribing,"
+saith he, with that manner of smile of his eyes which Jack hath, "call
+thou Father Philip to write at thy mouth, good wife."
+
+"Nay, verily!" quoth I.  "I would be loth to call off Father Philip from
+his godly meditations, though I cast no doubt he were both fairer scribe
+and better chronicler than I."
+
+To speak sooth, it was Father Philip learned me to write, and the master
+should be better than the scholar.  I marvel more that have leisure
+learn not to write.  Jack cannot, nor my mother, and this it was that
+made my said mother desirous to have me taught, for she said, had she
+wist the same, she could have kept a rare chronicle when she dwelt at
+the Court, and sith my life was like to be there also, she would fain
+have me able to do so.  I prayed Father Philip to learn my discreet
+Alice, for I could trust her not to make an ill use thereof; but I
+feared to trust my giddy little Vivien with such edged tools as Jack
+saith pen and ink be.  And in very sooth it were a dread thing if any
+amongst us should be entrapped into intelligence with the King's
+enemies, or such treasonable matter; and of this are wise men ever
+afeared, when their wives or daughters learn to write.  For me, I were
+little feared of such matter as that: and should rather have feared (for
+such as Vivien) the secret scribing of love-letters to unworthy persons.
+Howbeit, Jack is wiser than I, and he saith it were dangerous to put
+such power into the hands of most men and women.
+
+Lo! here again am I falling into the Annals of Cicely.  Have back, Dame
+Cicely, an' it like you.  Methinks I had best win back: yet how shall I
+get out of the said Annals, and forward on my journey, when the very
+next thing that standeth to be writ is mine own marriage?
+
+It was on the morrow of the Epiphany, 1320, that I was wedded to my Jack
+in the Chapel of York Castle.  I have not set down the inwards of my
+love-tale, nor shall I, for good cause; for then should I not only fall
+into the Annals of Cicely, but should belike never make end thereof.
+Howbeit, this will I say,--that when King Edward bestowed me on my Jack,
+I rather count he had his eyes about him, and likewise that there had
+been a few little passages that might have justified him in so doing:
+for Jack was of the household, and we had sat the one by the other at
+table more than once or twice, and had not always held our tongues when
+so were.  So we were no strangers, forsooth, but pretty well to the
+contrary: and verily, I fell on my feet that morrow.  I am not so sure
+of Jack.  And soothly, it were well I should leave other folks to blow
+my trumpet, if any care to waste his breath at that business.
+
+I was appointed damsel of the chamber on my marriage, and at after that
+saw I far more of the Queen than aforetime.  Now and again it was my
+turn to lie in that pallet in her chamber.  Eh, but I loved not that
+work!  I used to feel all out [altogether] terrified when those great
+dark eyes flashed their shining flashes, and there were not so many
+nights in the seven that they did not.  She was as easy to put out as to
+shut one's eyes, but to bring in again--eh, that was weary work!
+
+I am not like to forget that July even when, in the Palace of
+Westminster, my Lord of Exeter came to the Queen, bearing the Great
+Seal.  It was a full warm eve, and the Queen was late abed.  Joan de
+Vilers was that night tire-woman, and I was in waiting.  I mind that
+when one scratched on the door, we thought it Master Oliver, and instead
+of going to see myself, I but bade one of the sub-damsels in a whisper.
+But no sooner said she,--"Dame, if it shall serve you, here is my Lord
+of Exeter and Sir Robert de Ayleston,"--than there was a full great
+commotion.  The Queen rose up with her hair yet unbound, and bade them
+be suffered to enter: and when my Lord of Exeter came in, she--and after
+her all we of her following--set her on her knees afore him to pray his
+blessing.  This my Lord gave, but something hastily, as though his
+thoughts were elsewhere.  Then said he--
+
+"Dame, the King sends you the Great Seal, to be kept of you until such
+time as he shall ask it again."
+
+And he motioned forward Sir Robert de Ayleston, that held in his arms
+the great bag of white leather, wherein was the Great Seal of gold.
+
+Saw I ever in all my life face change as hers changed then!  To judge
+from her look, she might have been entering the gates of Heaven.  (A
+sorry Heaven, thought I, that gold and white leather could make betwixt
+them.)  Her eyes glowed, and flashed, and danced, all at once: and she
+sat her down in a chair of state, and received the Seal in her own
+hands, and saith she--
+
+"Bear with you my duty to the King my lord, and tell him that I will
+keep his great charge in safety."
+
+So her words ran.  But her eyes said--and eyes be apt to speak truer
+than voices--"This day am I proudest of all the women in England, and I
+let not go this Seal so long as I can keep it!"
+
+Then she called Dame Elizabeth, which received the Seal upon the knee,
+and the Queen bade her commit it to the great cypress coffer wherein her
+royal robes were kept.
+
+Not long after that, the Queen took her chamber at the Tower afore the
+Lady Joan was born; and the Great Seal was then returned to the King's
+Wardrobe.  Master Thomas de Cherleton was then Comptroller of the
+Wardrobe: but he was not over careful of his office, and left much in
+the hands of his clerks; and as at that time Jack was clerk in charge,
+he was truly Keeper of the Great Seal so long as the Queen abode in the
+Tower.  He told me he would be rare thankful when the charge was over,
+for he might not sleep o' nights for thinking on the same.  I do think
+folks in high place, that be set in great charge, should do their own
+work, and not leave it to them beneath, so that Master Comptroller hath
+all the credit when things go well, and poor John Clerk payeth all the
+wyte if things go wrong.  But, dear heart! if man set forth to amend all
+the crooked ways of this world, when shall he ever have done?  Maybe if
+I set a-work to amend me, Cicely, it shall be my best deed, and more
+than I am like to have done in any hurry.
+
+Now come I to the Queen's journey to France in 1324, and my tale shall
+thereupon grow more particular.  The King sent her over to remonstrate
+with the King of France her brother for his theft of Guienne--for it was
+no less; and to conclude a treaty with him to restore the same.  It was
+in May she left England and just before that something had happened
+wherein I have always thought she had an hand.  In the August of the
+year before, Sir Roger de Mortimer brake prison from the Tower, and made
+good his escape to Normandy; where, after tarrying a small season with
+his mother's kinsmen, the Seigneurs de Fienles, he shifted his refuge to
+Paris, where he was out of the King's jurisdiction.  Now in regard of
+that matter it did seem to me that King Edward was full childish and
+unwise.  Had his father been on the throne, no such thing had ever
+happed: he wist how to deal with traitors.  But now, with so slack an
+hand did the King rule, that not only Sir Roger gat free of the Tower by
+bribing one of his keepers and drugging the rest, but twenty good days
+at the least were lost while he stale down to the coast and so won away.
+There was indeed a hue and cry, but it wrought nothing, and even that
+was not for a week.  There was more diligence used to seize his lands
+than to seize him.  And at the end of all, just afore the Queen's
+journey, if my Lady Mortimer his wife, that had gone down to Southampton
+thinking to join him, was not taken and had to Skipton Castle, and the
+young damsels, her children, that were with her, sent to separate
+convents!  I have ever believed that was the Queen's doing.  It was she
+that loved not the Lady Mortimer should go to France: it should have
+interfered with her game.  But what weakness and folly was it that the
+King should hearken her!  Well--
+
+"Soft you, now!"
+
+"O Jack, how thou didst start me!  I very nigh let my pen fall."
+
+"Then shouldst thou have inked thy tunic, Sissot; and it were pity, so
+good Cologne sindon as it is.  But whither goest thou with thy
+goose-quill a-flying, good wife?  Who was Sir Roger de Mortimer? and
+what like was he?"
+
+"Who was he, Jack?" quoth I, feeling somewhat took aback.  "Why, he
+was--he was Sir Roger de Mortimer."
+
+"How like a woman!" saith Jack, setting his hands in the pockets of his
+singlet.
+
+"Now, Jack!" said I.  "And what was he like, saidst thou?  Why, he was
+as like a traitor, and a wastrel, and every thing that was bad, as ever
+I saw man in all my life."
+
+"Horns, belike--and cloven feet--and a long tail?" quoth Jack.  "I'll
+give it up, Sissot.  Thou wert best write thy chronicle thine own way.
+But it goeth about to be rarely like a woman."
+
+"Why, how should it not, when a woman is she that writeth it?" said I,
+laughing.  But Jack had turned away, with that comical twist of his
+mouth which shows him secretly diverted.
+
+Verily, I know not who to say Sir Roger was, only that he was Lord of
+Wigmore and Ludlow, and son of the Lady Margaret that was born a
+Fienles, and husband of the Lady Joan that was born a Geneville; and the
+proudest caitiff and worst man that ever was, as shall be shown ere I
+lay down my pen.  He was man that caused the loss of himself and of
+other far his betters, and that should have been the loss of England
+herself but for God's mercy.  The friend of Sathanas and of all evil,
+the foe of God and of all good--this, and no less, it seemeth me, was
+Sir Roger de Mortimer of Wigmore.  God pardon him as He may [if such a
+thing be possible]!
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Note 1.  A very sweet, luscious wine.  Verjuice was the most acid type
+of vinegar.
+
+Note 2.  Quiet, calm, patient.  In Lowland Scotch, to _thole_ is still
+to endure; and _thole-mood_ must mean calm endurance.
+
+
+
+PART ONE, CHAPTER 2.
+
+WHEREIN CICELY BEGINS TO SEE.
+
+  "Tempt not the Tempter; he is near enough."
+
+  Dr Horatius Bonar.
+
+Now can any man tell what it is in folks that causeth other folks to
+fancy them? for I have oft-times been sorely pestered to find out.
+Truly, if man be very fair, or have full winning ways, and sweet words,
+and so forth, then may it be seen without difficulty.  I never was
+puzzled to know why Sir Roger or any other should have fallen o' love
+with Queen Isabel.  But what on earth could draw her to him, that
+puzzled me sore.  He was not young--about ten years elder than she, and
+she was now a woman of thirty years.  Nor was he over comely, as men
+go,--I have seen better-favoured men, and I have seen worser.  Nor were
+his manners sweet and winning, but the very contrary thereof, for they
+were rough and rude even to women, he alway seemed to me the very
+incarnation of pride.  Men charged Sir Hugh Le Despenser with pride, but
+Sir Roger de Mortimer was worse than he tenfold.  One of his own sons
+called him the King of Folly: and though the charge came ill from his
+lips that brought it, yet was it true as truth could be.  His pride
+showed every where--in his dress, in the way he bore himself, in his
+words,--yea, in the very tones of his voice.  And his temper was furious
+as ever I saw.  Verily, he was one of the least lovesome men that I knew
+in all my life: yet for him, the fairest lady of that age bewrayed her
+own soul, and sold the noblest gentleman to the death.  Truly, men and
+women be strange gear!
+
+I had written thus far when I laid down my pen, and fell a-meditating,
+on the strangeness of such things as folks be and do in this world.  And
+as I there sat, I was aware of Father Philip in the chamber, that had
+come in softly and unheard of me, so lost in thought was I.  He smiled
+when I looked up on him.
+
+"How goeth the chronicle, my daughter?" saith he.
+
+"Diversely, Father," I made answer.  "Some days my pen will run apace,
+but on others it laggeth like oxen at plough when the ground is heavy
+with rain."
+
+"The ground was full heavy when I entered," saith he, "for the plough
+was standing still."
+
+I laughed.  "So it was, trow.  But I do not think I was idle, Father; I
+was but meditating."
+
+"Wise meditations, that be fruitful in good works, be far away from
+idlesse," quoth he.  "And on what wert thou thinking thus busily, my
+daughter?"
+
+"On the strange ways of men and women, Father."
+
+"Did the list include Dame Cicely de Chaucombe?" saith Father Philip,
+with one of his quiet smiles.
+
+"No," I made answer.  "I had not reached her."
+
+"Or Philip de Edyngdon?  Perchance thou hadst not reached him."
+
+"Why, Father, I might never think of sitting in judgment on you.  No, I
+was thinking of some I had wist long ago: and in especial of Dame Isabel
+the Queen, and other that were about her.  What is it moveth folks to
+love one another, or to hate belike?"
+
+"There be but three things can move thee to aught, my daughter: God,
+Satan, and thine own human heart."
+
+"And my conscience?" said I.
+
+"Men do oftentimes set down to conscience," saith he, "that which is
+either God or Satan.  The enlightened conscience of the righteous man
+worketh as God's Holy Spirit move him.  The defiled conscience of the
+evil man listeneth to the promptings of Satan.  And the seared
+conscience is as dead, and moveth not at all."
+
+"Father, can a man then kill his conscience?"
+
+"He may lay it asleep for this life, daughter: may so crush it with
+weights thereon laid that it is as though it had the sickness of palsy,
+and cannot move limb.  But I count, when this life is over, it shall
+shake off the weight, and wake up, to a life and a torment that shall
+never end."
+
+"I marvel if she did," said I, rather to myself than him.
+
+"Daughter," he made answer, "whoso _she_ be, let her be.  God saith not
+to thee, _He_, and _she_, but _I_, and _thou_.  When Christ knocketh at
+thy door, if thou open not, shall He take it as tideful answer that thou
+wert full busy watching other folks' doors to see if they would open?"
+
+"Yet may we not learn, Father, from other folks' blunders?"
+
+"Hast thou so learned, daughter?"
+
+"Well, not much," said I.  "A little, now and then, maybe."
+
+"I never learned much," saith he, "from the blunders of any man save
+Philip de Edyngdon.  What I learned from other folks' evil deeds was
+mostly to despise and be angered with them--not to beware for myself.
+And that lore cometh not of God.  Thou mayest learn from such things set
+down in Holy Writ: but verily it takes God to pen them, so that we may
+indeed profit and not scorn,--that we may win and not lose.  Be sure
+that whenever God puts in thine hand a golden coin of His realm, with
+the King's image stamped fair thereon, Satan is near at hand, with a
+gold-washed copper counterfeit stamped with his image, and made so like
+that thou hast need to look close, to make sure which is the true.
+`Hold not all gold that shineth'--a wise saw, my daughter, whether it be
+a thing heavenly or earthly."
+
+"I will endeavour myself to profit by your good counsel, Father," said
+I.  "But mine husband bade me write this chronicle, though, sooth to
+say, I had no list thereto.  And if I shall leave to deal with he and
+she, how then may my chronicle be writ?"
+
+"Write thy chronicle, my daughter," he answered.  "But write it as God
+hath writ His Chronicles.  Set down that which men did, that which thou
+sawest and heardest.  Beware only of digging into men's purposes where
+thou knewest them not, and sawest but the half thereof.  And it is
+rarely possible for men to see the whole of that which passeth in their
+own day.  Beware of setting down a man as all evil for one evil thing
+thou mayest see him to do.  We see them we live amongst something too
+close to judge them truly.  And beware, most of all, of imagining that
+thou canst get behind God's purposes, and lay bare all His reasons.
+Verily, the wisest saint on earth cannot reach to the thousandth part
+thereof.  God can be fully understood, only of God."
+
+I have set down these wise words of good Father Philip, for though they
+be too high and wide for mine understanding, maybe some that shall read
+my chronicle may have better brains than she that writ.
+
+So now once again to my chronicling, and let me endeavour to do the same
+as Father Philip bade me.
+
+It was on the eve of Saint Michael, 1325, that the Queen and her meynie
+(I being of them) reached Paris.  We were ferried over the Seine to the
+gate of Nully [Note 1], and thence we clattered over the stones to the
+Hotel de Saint Pol [Note 2], where the Queen was lodged in the
+easternmost tower, next to our Lady Church, and we her meynie above.
+Dame Isabel de Lapyoun and I were appointed to lie in the pallet by
+turns.  The Queen's bedchamber was hung with red sindon, broidered in
+the border with golden swans, and her cabinet with blue say, powdered
+with lily-flowers in gold, which is the arms of France, as every man
+knoweth, seeing they are borne by our King that now is, in right of this
+same Queen Isabel his mother.  He, that was then my Lord of Chester, was
+also of the cortege, having sailed from Dover two days before Holy Cross
+[Note 3], and joined the Queen in Guienne; but the Queen went over in
+March, and was all that time in Guienne.
+
+Dear heart! but Jack--which loveth to be square and precise in his
+matters--should say this were strange fashion wherein to write
+chronicles, to date first September and then the March afore it!  I had
+better go back a bit.
+
+It was, then, the 9th of March the Queen crossed from Dover to Whitsand,
+which the French call Guissant.  She dwelt first, as I said, in Guienne,
+for all that summer; very quiet and peaceful were we, letters going to
+and fro betwixt our Queen and her lord, and likewise betwixt her and the
+King of France; but no visitors (without there were one that evening
+Dame Isabel lay in the pallet in my stead, and was so late up, and
+passed by the antechamber door with her shoes in her hands, as little
+Meliora the sub-damsel would have it she saw by the keyhole): and we
+might nearhand as well have been in nunnery for all the folks we saw
+that were not of the house.  Verily, I grew sick irked [wearied,
+distressed] of the calm, that was like a dead calm at sea, when ships
+lie to, and can win neither forward nor backward.  Ah, foolish Cicely!
+thou hadst better have given thanks for the last peace thou wert to see
+for many a year.
+
+Well, my Lord of Chester come, which was the week after Holy Cross, we
+set forth with few days' delay, and came to Paris, as I said, the eve of
+Michaelmas.  Marvellous weary was I with riding, for I rade of an horse
+the whole way, and not, as Dame Isabel did, with the Queen in her char.
+I was so ill tired that I could but eat a two-three wafers [Note 4], and
+drink a cup of wine, and then hied I to my bed, which, I thank the
+saints, was not the pallet that night.
+
+The King and Queen of France were then at Compiegne, King Charles having
+been wed that same summer to his third wife, Dame Jeanne of Evreux: and
+a good woman I do believe was she, for all (as I said aforetime) there
+be but few.  But I do think, and ever shall, that three wives be more
+than any man's share.  The next morrow, they came in from Compiegne, to
+spend Michaelmas in Paris: and then was enough noise and merriment.
+First, mass in our Lady Church, whereto both Dame Isabel and I waited on
+the Queen; and by the same token, she was donned of one of the fairest
+robes that ever she bare, which was of velvet blue of Malyns [Malines],
+broidered with apple-blossom and with diapering of gold.  It did not
+become her, by reason of her dark complexion, so well as it should have
+done S--
+
+"Hold!  Man spelleth not Cicely with an S."
+
+"Jack, if thou start me like this any more, then will I turn the key in
+the lock when I sit down to write," cried I, for verily mine heart was
+going pitter-patter to come up in my throat, and out at my mouth, for
+aught I know.  "Thou irksome man, I went about to write `some folks,'
+not `Cicely.'"
+
+"But wherefore?" saith Jack, looking innocent as a year-old babe.  "When
+it meaneth Cicely, then would I put Cicely."
+
+"But I meant _not_ Cicely, man o' life, bless thee!"
+
+"I thank thee for thy blessing, Sissot; and I will fain hope thou didst
+mean that any way.  I will go bail thy pen meant not Cicely, good wife;
+but if it were not in thine heart that Sissot's fair hair, and rose-red
+complexion, and grey eyes, should have gone better with that blue velvet
+gown than Queen Isabel's dusky hair and brown eyes, then do I know
+little of man or woman.  And I dare be bound it would, belike."
+
+And Jack lifteth his hat to me right courteously, and is gone afore I
+well know whether to laugh or to be angered.  So I ween I had better
+laugh.
+
+Where was I, trow?  Oh, at mass in our Lady Church of Paris, where that
+day was a miracle done on two that were possessed of the Devil, whose
+names were Geoffrey Boder and Jeanne La Petite; and the girdle of Saint
+Mary being shown on the high altar, they were allowed to touch the same,
+whereon they were healed straightway.  And the Queen, with her own
+hands, gave them alms, a crown; and her oblation to the image of Saint
+Mary in the said church, being a festival, was a crown (her daily
+oblation being seven-pence the day); and to the said holy girdle a
+crown, and to the holy relics, yet another.  Then came we home by the
+water of Seyne, for which the boatman had twelve pence.  [Note 5.]
+
+We dwelt after this full peacefully at Paris for divers weeks, saving
+that we made short journeys to towns in the neighbourhood; as, one day
+to the house of the Sisters Predicants of Poissy, and another to God's
+House of Loure [Note 6], and another to Villers, where tarried the Queen
+of France, and so forth.  And some days spent we likewise at Reyns and
+Sessouns.  [Note 7.]
+
+At Paris she had her robes made, of purple and colour of Malbryn, for
+the feast of All Saints, and they were furred with miniver and beasts
+ermines.  And to me Cicely was delivered, to make my robe for the same,
+three ells rayed [striped] cloth and a lamb fur, and an hood of budge.
+
+The Queen spent nigh an whole day at Sessouns, and another at Reyns, in
+visiting the churches; and the last can I well remember, by reason of
+that which came after.  First, we went to the church of Saint Nicholas,
+where she offered a cloth of Turk, price forty shillings; and to Saint
+Remy she gave another, price forty-five shillings; and to the high altar
+of the Cathedral one something better.  And to the ampulla [Note 7] and
+shrine of Saint Remy a crown, and likewise a crown to the holy relics
+there kept.  Then to the Friars Minors, where at the high altar she
+offered a cloth of Lucca bought in the town, price three and an half
+marks [Note 8].  And (which I had nearhand forgot) to the head of Saint
+Nicasius in the Cathedral, a crown.
+
+The last night ere we left Sessouns, I remember, as I came into the
+Queen's lodging from vespers in the Cathedral,--Jack, that went with me,
+having tarried at the potter's to see wherefore he sent not home three
+dozen glasses for the Queen's table (and by the same token, the knave
+asked fifteen pence for the same when they did come, which is a price to
+make the hair stand on end)--well, as I said, I was a-coming in, when I
+met one coming forth that at first sight I wist not.  And yet, when I
+meditated, I did know him, but I could not tell his name.  He had taken
+no note of me, save to hap his mantle somewhat closer about his face, as
+though he cared not to be known--or it might be only that he felt the
+cold, for it was sharp for the time of year.  Up went I into the Queen's
+lodging, which was then in the house of one John de Gyse, that was an
+honester man than Master Bolard, with whom she lodged at Burgette, for
+that last charged her three shillings and seven-pence for a worser
+lodging than Master Gyse gave her for two shillings.
+
+I had writ thus far when I heard behind me a little bruit that I knew.
+
+"Well, Jack?" said I, not looking up.
+
+"Would thou wert better flyer of falcons, Sissot!" saith he.
+
+"Dear heart! what means that, trow?" quoth I.
+
+"Then shouldst thou know," he made answer, "that to suffer a second
+quarry to turn thee from thy first is oft-times to lose both."
+
+"Verily, Jack, I conceive not thy meaning."
+
+"Why, look on yon last piece.  It begins with thee coming home from
+vespers.  Then it flieth to me, to the potter and his glasses, to the
+knavery of his charges, and cometh back to the man whom thou didst meet
+coming forth of the door--whom it hath no sooner touched, than it is off
+again to the cold even; then comest thou into the Queen's lodging, and
+down `grees' [degrees, that is, stairs] once more to the landlord's
+bill.  Do, prithee, keep to one heron till thou hast bagged him."
+
+"_Ha, chetife_!" cried I.  "Must I have firstly, secondly, thirdly, yea,
+up to thirty-seventhly, like old Father Edison's homilies?"
+
+"Better so," saith he, "than to course three hares together and catch
+none."
+
+"I'll catch mine hare yet, as thou shall see," saith I.
+
+"Be it done.  Gee up!" saith he.  [Note 9].
+
+Well, up came I into the Queen's antechamber, where were sat Dame
+Elizabeth, and Dame Isabel de Lapyoun, and Dame Joan de Vaux, and little
+Meliora.  And right as I came in at the door, Dame Joan dropped her
+sewing off her knee, and saith--
+
+"Lack-a-day!  I am aweary of living in this world!"
+
+"Well, if so," saith Dame Elizabeth, peacefully waxing her thread, "you
+had best look about for a better."
+
+"Nay!" quoth she, "how to get there?"
+
+"Ask my Lord of Winchester," saith Dame Isabel.
+
+"I shall lack the knowledge ill ere I trouble him," she made answer.
+"Is it he with the Queen this even?"
+
+"There's none with the Queen!" quoth Dame Isabel, as sharp as if she
+should have snapped her head off.
+
+Dame Joan looked up in some astonishment.
+
+"Dear heart!" said she, "I thought I heard voices in her chamber."
+
+"There was one with her," answereth Meliora, "when I passed the door
+some minutes gone."
+
+"Maybe the visitor is gone," said I.  "As I came in but now, I met one
+coming forth."
+
+"Who were it, marry?" quoth Dame Joan.
+
+"It was none of the household," said I.  "A tall, personable man,
+wrapped in a great cloak, wherewith he hid his face; but whether it were
+from me or from the November even, that will I not say."
+
+"There hath been none such here," saith Dame Elizabeth.
+
+"Not in this chamber," saith Meliora.
+
+"Meliora Servelady!"  Dame Isabel made answer, "who gave thee leave to
+join converse with thy betters?"  [Note 10].
+
+The sub-damsel looked set down for a minute, but nought ever daunted her
+for long.  She was as pert a little maid as ever I knew, and but little
+deserved her name of Meliora.  (Ah me, is this another hare?  Have
+back.)
+
+"There hath been none of any sort come to the Queen to-day," said Dame
+Isabel, in so angered a tone that I began at once to marvel who had come
+of whom she feared talk.
+
+"Nay, but there so hath!" makes response Dame Joan: "have you forgot
+Master Almoner that was with her this morrow nigh an hour touching his
+accounts?--and Ralph Richepois with his lute after dinner?"
+
+"Marry, and the Lady Gibine, Prioress of Oremont," addeth Dame
+Elizabeth.
+
+"And the two Beguines--" began Meliora; but she ended not, for Dame
+Isabel boxed her ears.
+
+"Ay, and Jack Bonard, that she sent with letters to the Queen of
+France," saith Dame Joan.
+
+"Yea, and Ivo le Breton came a-begging, yon poor old man that had served
+her when a child," made answer Dame Elizabeth.
+
+"And Ma--" Poor Meliora got no further, for Dame Isabel gave her a
+buffet on the side of her head that nigh knocked her off the form.  I
+could not but think that some part of that buffet was owing to us three,
+though Meliora had it all.  But what so angered Dame Isabel, that might
+I not know.
+
+At that time came the summons to supper, so the matter ended.  But as
+supper was passing, Dame Joan de Vaux, by whom I sat, with Master
+Almoner on mine other hand, saith to me--
+
+"Pray you, Dame Cicely, have you any guess who it were that you met
+coming forth?"
+
+"I have, and I have not," said I.  "There was that in his face which I
+knew full well, yet cannot I bethink me of his name."
+
+"It was not Master Madefray, trow?"
+
+"In no wise: a higher man than he, and of fairer hair."
+
+"Not a priest neither?"
+
+"Nay, certes."
+
+"Leave not to sup your soup, Dame Cicely, nor show no astonishment, I
+pray, while I ask yet a question.  Was it--Sir Roger the Mortimer of
+Ludlow?"
+
+For all Dame Joan's warnful words, I nigh dropped my spoon, and I never
+knew how the rest of the soup tasted.
+
+"Wala wa!" said I, under my breath, "but I do believe it was he."
+
+"I saw him," saith she, quietly.  "And take my word for it, friend--that
+man cometh for no good."
+
+"Marry!" cried I in some heat, "how dare he come nigh the Queen at all?
+he, a banished man!  Without, soothly, he came humbly to entreat her
+intercession with the King for his pardon.  But e'en then, he might far
+more meetly have sent his petition by some other.  Verily, I marvel she
+would see him!"
+
+"Do you so?" saith Dame Joan in that low quiet voice.  "So do not I.
+She will see him yet again, or I mistake much."
+
+"_Ha, chetife_!"  I made answer.  "It is full well we be on our road
+back to Paris, for there at least will he not dare to come."
+
+"Not dare?"
+
+"Surely not, for the King of France, which himself hath banished him,
+should never suffer it."
+
+Dame Joan helped herself to a roasted plover with a smile.  When the
+sewer was gone, quoth she--
+
+"I think, Dame Cicely, you know full little whether of Sir Roger de
+Mortimer or of the King of France.  For the last, he is as easily
+blinded a man as you may lightly see; and if our Queen his sister told
+him black was white, he should but suppose that she saw better than he.
+And for the other--is there aught in all this world, whether as to
+bravery or as to wickedness, that Sir Roger de Mortimer would _not_
+dare?"
+
+"Dear heart!" cried I.  "I made account we had done with men of that
+order."
+
+"You did?"  Dame Joan's tone, and the somewhat dry smile which went with
+it, said full plainly, "In no wise."
+
+"Well, soothly we had enough and to spare!" quoth I.  "There was my Lord
+of Lancaster--God rest his soul!--and Sir Piers de Gavaston (if he were
+as ill man as some said)."
+
+"He was not a saint, I think," she said: "yet could I name far worser
+men than he."
+
+"And my sometime Lord of Warwick," said I, "was no saint likewise, or I
+mistake."
+
+"Therein," saith she, "have you the right."
+
+"Well," pursued I, "all they be gone: and soothly, I had hoped there
+were no more such left."
+
+"Then should there be no original sin left," she made answer; "yea, and
+Sathanas should be clean gone forth of this world."
+
+The rest of the converse I mind not, but that last sentence tarried in
+my mind for many a day, and hath oft-times come back to me touching
+other matters.
+
+We reached Loure on Saint Martin's Day [November 11th], and Paris the
+next morrow.  There found we the Bishops of Winchester and Exeter,
+[Stratford and Stapleton], whom King Edward had sent over to join the
+Queen's Council.  Now I never loved overmuch neither of these Reverend
+Fathers, though it were for very diverse causes.  Of course, being
+priests, they were holy men; but I misdoubt if either were perfect man
+apart from his priesthood--my Lord of Winchester more in especial.
+Against my Lord of Exeter have I but little to say; he was fumish
+[irritable, captious] man, but no worse.  But my Lord of Winchester did
+I never trust, nor did I cease to marvel that man could.  As to King
+Edward, betray him to his enemies to-day, and he should put his life in
+your hands again to-morrow: never saw I man like to him, that no
+experience would learn mistrust.  Queen Isabel trusted few: but of them
+my said Lord of Winchester was one.  I have noted at times that they
+which be untrue themselves be little given to trust other.  She trusted
+none save them she had tried: and she had tried this Bishop, not once
+nor twice.  He never brake faith with her; but with King Edward he brake
+it a score of times twice told, and with his son that is now King
+belike.  I wis not whether at this time the Queen was ready to put
+affiance in him; I scarce think she was: for she shut both Bishops out
+of her Council from the day she came to Paris.  But not at this time,
+nor for long after did I guess what it signified.
+
+November was nigh run out, when one morrow Dame Joan de Vaux brought
+word that the Queen, being a-cold, commanded her velvet mantle taken to
+her cabinet: and I, as the dame in waiting then on duty, took the same
+to her.  I found her sat of a chair of carven wood, beside the brasier,
+and two gentlemen of the other side of the hearth.  Behind her chair
+Dame Elizabeth waited, and I gave the mantle to her to cast over the
+Queen's shoulders.  The gentlemen stood with their backs to the light,
+and I paid little note to them at first, save to see that one was a
+priest: but as I went about to go forth, the one that was not a priest
+turned his face, and I perceived to mine amaze that it was Sir Roger de
+Mortimer.  Soothly, it needed all my courtly self-command that I should
+not cry out when I beheld him.  Had I followed the prompting of mine own
+heart, I should have cried, "Get thee gone, thou banished traitor!"  He,
+who had returned unlicenced from Scotland ere the war was over, in the
+time of old King Edward of Westminster; that had borne arms against his
+son, then King, under my Lord of Lancaster; that, having his life
+spared, and being but sent to the Tower, had there plotted to seize
+three of the chief fortresses of the Crown--namely, the said Tower, and
+the Castles of Windsor and Wallingford,--and had thereupon been cast for
+death, and only spared through the intercession of the Queen and the
+Bishop of Hereford: yet, after all this, had he broken prison, bribing
+one of his keepers and drugging the rest, and was now a banished felon,
+in refuge over seas: _he_ to dare so much as to breathe the same air
+with the wife of his Sovereign, with her that had been his advocate, and
+that knew all his treacheries!  Could any worser insult to the Queen
+have been devised?  But all at once, as I passed along the gallery,
+another thought came in upon me.  What of her? who, knowing all this and
+more, yet gave leave for this man--not to kneel at her feet and cry her
+mercy--that had been grace beyond any reasonable hope: but suffered him
+to stand in her presence, to appear in her privy cabinet--nay, to act as
+though he were a noble appointed of her Council!  Had she forgot all the
+past?
+
+I travelled no further for that time.  The time was to come when I
+should perceive that forgetfulness was all too little to account for her
+deeds.
+
+That night, Dame Tiffany being appointed to the pallet, it so fell out
+that Dame Elizabeth, Dame Joan, and I, lay in the antechamber.  We had
+but began to doff ourselves, and Dame Elizabeth was stood afore the
+mirror, a-combing of her long hair--and rare long hair it was, and of a
+fine colour (but I must not pursue the same, or Jack shall find in the
+hair an hare)--when I said to her--
+
+"Dame Elizabeth, pray you tell me, were you in waiting when Sir Roger de
+Mortimer came to the Queen?"
+
+"Ay," saith she, and combed away.
+
+"And," said I, "with what excuse came he?"
+
+"Excuse?" quoth she.  "Marry, I heard none at all."
+
+"None!"  I cried, tarrying in the doffing of my subtunic.  "Were you not
+ill angered to behold such a traitor?"
+
+"Dame Cicely," saith she, slowly pulling the loose hairs forth of the
+comb, "if you would take pattern by me, and leave troubling yourself
+touching your neighbours' doings, you should have fewer griefs to mourn
+over."
+
+Could the left sleeve of my subtunic, which I was then a-doffing, have
+spoke unto me, I am secure he should have 'plained that he met with full
+rough treatment at my hands.
+
+"Good for you, Dame, an' you so can!" said I somewhat of a heat.  "So
+long as my neighbours do well, I desire not to mell [meddle] nor make in
+their matters.  But if they do ill--"
+
+"Why, then do I desire it even less," saith she, "for I were more like
+to get me into a muddle.  Mine own troubles be enough for me, and full
+too many."
+
+"Dear heart! had you ever any?" quoth I.
+
+"In very deed, I do ensure you," saith she, "for this comb hath one of
+his teeth split, and he doth not only tangle mine hair, but giveth me
+vile wrenches betimes, when I look not for them.  And 'tis but a month
+gone, at Betesi [Bethizy], that I paid half-a-crown for him.  The rogue
+cheated me, as my name is Bess.  I could find in mine heart to give him
+a talking."
+
+"Only a talking?" saith Dame Joan, and laughed.  "You be happy woman, in
+good sooth, if your worsest trouble be a comb that hath his teeth
+split."
+
+"Do but try him!" quoth Dame Elizabeth, and snorked [twisted, contorted]
+up her mouth, as the comb that instant moment came to a spot where her
+hair was louked [fastened] together.  "Bless the comb!" saith she, and I
+guess she meant it but little.  "Wala wa!  Dame Joan, think you 'tis
+matter for laughter?"
+
+"More like than greeting," [weeping], she made answer.
+
+"Verily," said I, "but I see much worser matter for tears than your
+comb, Dame Elizabeth.  Either the Queen is sore ill-usen of her brother,
+that such ill companions should be allowed near her, or else--"
+
+Well for me, my lace snapped at that moment, and I ended not the
+sentence.  When I was laid down beside Dame Joan, it came to me like a
+flash of lightning--"Or else--what?"  And at that minute Dame Joan
+turned her on the pillows, and set her lips to mine ear.
+
+"Dame Cicely," quoth she, "mine heart misdoubts me it is the `or else.'
+Pray you, govern your tongue, and use your eyes in time to come.  Trust
+not her in the red bed too much, and her in the green-hung chamber not
+at all."
+
+The first was Dame Elizabeth, and the last Dame Isabel de Lapyoun, that
+lay in a chamber hung with green, with Dame Tiffany.  I was secure she
+meant not the other, but to make certain I whispered the name, and she
+saith, "She."
+
+I reckoned it not ill counsel, for mine own thoughts assented thereto,
+in especial as touched Dame Isabel.
+
+After that day wherein Sir Roger de Mortimer was in the Queen's cabinet,
+I trow I kept mine eyes open.
+
+For a few days he came and went: but scarce more than a sennight had
+passed ere I learned that he had come to dwell in Paris all out; and but
+little more time was spent when one even, Dame Isabel de Lapyoun came
+into our chamber as we were about to hie us abed, and saith she,
+speaking to none in especial, but to all--
+
+"Sir Roger de Mortimer is made of the Prince's following, and shall as
+to-morrow take up his abode in the Queen's hostel."
+
+"Dear heart!" saith Dame Elizabeth, making pause with one hand all wet,
+and in the other the napkin whereon she went about to dry it.  "Well, no
+business of mine, trow."
+
+I could not help to cry, "_Ha, chetife_!"
+
+Dame Isabel made answer to neither the one nor the other, but marched
+forth of the door with her nose an inch higher than she came in.  She
+was appointed to the pallet for that night, so we three lay all in our
+chamber.
+
+"This passeth!" saith Dame Elizabeth, drying of her fingers, calm
+enough, on the napkin.
+
+"Even as I looked for," saith Dame Joan, but her voice was not so calm.
+There was in it a note of grief [a tone of indignation].
+
+"_I_ ne'er trouble me to look for nought," quoth Dame Elizabeth.  "What
+good, trow?  Better to leave folks come and go, as they list, so long as
+they let [hinder] you not to come and go likewise."
+
+"I knew not you were one of Cain's following, Dame Bess."
+
+"Cain's following!" saith she, drawing off her fillet.  "Who was Cain,
+trow?  Wala wa! but if my fillet be not all tarnished o' this side.  I
+would things would go right!"
+
+"So would I, and so did not Cain," Dame Joan makes answer.  "Who was he,
+quotha?  Why, he that slew his brother Abel."
+
+"Oh, some of those old Scripture matters?  I wis nought o' those folks.
+But what so?  I have not slain my brother, nor my sister neither."
+
+"It looks as though your brother and your sister too might go astray and
+be lost ere you should soil your fingers and strain your arms a-pulling
+them forth."
+
+"Gramercy!  Every man for himself!" saith Dame Elizabeth, a-pulling off
+her hood.  "Now, here's a string come off!  Alway my luck!  If a body
+might but bide in peace--"
+
+"And never have no troubles, nor strings come off, nor buttons broke,
+nor stitches come loose--" adds Dame Joan, a-laughing.
+
+"Right so--man might have a bit of piece of man's life, then.  Why, look
+you, the string is all chafen, that it is not worth setting on anew; and
+so much as a yard of red ribbon have I not.  I must needs don my hood of
+green of Louvaine."
+
+She said it in a voice which might have gone with the direst calamity
+that could befall.
+
+"Dame Elizabeth de Mohun, you be a full happy woman!"
+
+"What will the woman say next?"
+
+"That somewhat hangeth on what you may next say."
+
+"Well, what I next say is that I am full ill-used to have in one hour a
+tarnished fillet and a broken string, and--Saint Lucy love us! here be
+two of my buttons gone!"
+
+I could thole no longer, and forth brake I in laughter.  Dame Joan
+joined with me, and some ado had we to peace Dame Elizabeth, that was
+sore grieved by our laughing.
+
+"Will you leave man be?" quoth she.  "They be right [real] silver
+buttons, and not one more have I of this pattern: I ensure you they cost
+me four shillings the dozen at John Fairhair's in London [a London
+goldsmith].  I'll be bound I can never match them without I have them
+wrought of set purpose.  Deary, deary me!"
+
+"Well!" saith Dame Joan, "I may break my heart afore I die, but I count
+it will not be over buttons."
+
+"Not o'er your buttons, belike," saith Dame Elizabeth.  "And here, this
+very day, was Hilda la Vileyne at me, begging and praying me that I
+would pay her charges for that hood of scarlet wrought with gold and
+pearls the which I had made last year when I was here with the Queen.
+Truly, I forgat the same at that time; and now I have not the money to
+mine hand.  But deary me, the pitiful tale she told!--of her mother ill,
+and her two poor little sisters without meet raiment for winter, and
+never a bit of food nor fuel in the house--I marvel what maids would be
+at, to make up such tales!"
+
+"It was not true, trow?"
+
+"True?" saith Dame Elizabeth, pulling off her rings.  "It might be true
+as Damascus steel, for aught I know.  But what was that to me?  I lacked
+the money for somewhat that liked me better than to buy fuel for a
+parcel of common folks like such.  They be used to lack comforts, and
+not I.  And I hate to hear such stories, belike.  Forsooth, man might as
+well let down a black curtain over the window on a sunshine day as be
+plagued with like tales when he would fain be jolly.  I sent her off in
+hot haste, I can tell you."
+
+"With the money?"
+
+"The saints be about us!  Not I."
+
+"And the little maids may greet them asleep for lack of food?" saith
+Dame Joan.
+
+"How wis I there be any such?  I dare be bound it was all a made-up tale
+to win payment."
+
+"You went not to see?"
+
+"I go to see!  I!  Dame Joan, you be verily--"
+
+"I am verily one for whom Christ our Lord deigned to die on the bitter
+rood, and so is Hilda la Vileyne.  Tell me but where she dwelleth, and
+_I_ will go to see if the tale be true."
+
+"Good lack!  I carry not folks' addresses in mine head o' that fashion.
+Let be; she shall be here again in a day or twain.  She hath granted me
+little peace these last ten days."
+
+"And you verily wis not where she dwelleth?"
+
+"I wis nought thereabout, and an' I did I would never tell you to-night.
+Dear heart, do hie you abed and sleep in peace, and let other folks do
+the like!  I never harry me with other men's troubles.  Good even!"
+
+And Dame Elizabeth laid her down and happed the coverlet about her, and
+was fast asleep in a few minutes.
+
+The next even, when we came into hall for supper, was Sir Roger de
+Mortimer on the dais, looking as though the world belonged to him.
+Maybe he thought it was soon to do the same; and therein was he not
+deceived.  The first day, he sat in his right place, at the high table,
+after the knights and barons of France whom the King of France had
+appointed to the charge of our Queen: but not many days were over ere he
+crept up above them--and then above the bishops themselves, until at
+last he sat on the left hand of Queen Isabel, my Lord of Chester being
+at her right.  But this first night he kept his place.
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Note 1.  Neuilly.  Queen Isabelle's scribe is responsible for the
+orthography in this and subsequent places.
+
+Note 2.  The old Palace of the French Kings, the remaining part of which
+is now known as the Conciergerie.
+
+Note 3.  September 12th.
+
+Note 4.  Cakes made with honey.  Three pennyworth were served daily at
+the royal table.
+
+Note 5.  Wardrobe Account, 19 Edward the Second, 25/15.
+
+Note 6.  Rheims and Soissons.  An idea of the difficulties of travelling
+at that time maybe gathered from the entry of "Guides for the Queen
+between Paris and Rheims, 18 shillings."
+
+Note 7.  The vessel containing the oil wherewith the Kings of France
+were anointed, oil and ampulla being fabled to have come from Heaven.
+
+Note 8. 2 pounds 13 shillings 4 pence.--Wardrobe Account, 19 Edward the
+Second, 25/15.
+
+Note 9.  Gee.  This is one of the few words in our tongue directly
+derivable from the ancient Britons.
+
+Note 10.  "Avice Serueladi" occurs on the Close Roll for 1308.
+
+
+
+PART ONE, CHAPTER 3.
+
+HOW DAME ELIZABETH'S BILL WAS PAID.
+
+  "And yet it never was in my soul
+  To play so ill a part:
+  But evil is wrought by want of thought
+  As well as by want of heart."
+
+  Thomas Hood.
+
+As I came forth of hall, after supper, that even, and we were entered
+into the long gallery whereinto the Queen's degrees opened, I was aware
+of a full slender and white-faced young maid, that held by the hand a
+small [little child] of mayhap five or six years.  She looked as though
+she waited for some man.  The Queen had tarried in hall to receive a
+messenger, and Dame Joan de Vaux was in waiting, so Dame Elizabeth, Dame
+Isabel, Dame Tiffany, and I were those that passed along the gallery.
+Dame Isabel and Dame Tiffany the maid let pass, with no more than a
+pitiful look at the former, that deigned her no word: but when Dame
+Elizabeth came next, on the further side, I being betwixt, the maid
+stepped forward into the midst, as if to stay her.  Her thin hands were
+clasped over her bosom, and the pitifullest look ever I saw was in her
+eyes.
+
+"_Dame, ayez pitie_!" was all she said; and it was rather breathed than
+spoken.
+
+"Bless us, Saint Mary!--art thou here again?" quoth Dame Elizabeth of a
+testier fashion than she was wont.  "Get thee gone, child; I have no
+time to waste.  Dear heart, what a fuss is here over a crown or twain!
+Dost think thy money is lost?  I will pay thee when it liketh me; I have
+not my purse to mine hand at this minute."
+
+And on she walked, brushing past the maid.  I tarried.
+
+"Are you Hilda la Vileyne?"  I said unto her.
+
+"Dame, that is my name, and here is my little sister Iolande.  She hath
+not tasted meat [food] this day, nor should not yesterday, had not a
+kindly gentleman, given me a denier to buy soup.  But truly I do not ask
+for charity--only to be paid what I have honestly earned."
+
+"And hadst thou some soup yesterday?"
+
+"Yes--no--Oh, I am older; I can wait better than the little ones.  The
+mother is sick: she and the babes must not wait.  It does not signify
+for me."
+
+Oh, how hungered were those great eyes, that looked too large for the
+white face!  The very name of soup seemed to have brought the craving
+look therein.
+
+I turned to the small.  "Tell me, Iolande, had Hilda any of the soup
+yesterday?"
+
+"No," said the child; "I and Madeleine drank it, every drop, that our
+mother left."
+
+"And had Hilda nothing?"
+
+"There was a mouldy crust in the cupboard," said the child.  "It had
+dropped behind the cup, and Hilda found it when she took the cup down.
+We could not see it behind.  We can only just reach to take the cup
+down, and put it up again.  That was what Hilda had, and she wiped the
+cup with one end of it."
+
+"The cup that had held the soup?"
+
+"Yes, surely," said the child, with a surprised look.  "We only have
+one,--does not Madame know?"
+
+"It is an esquelle [porringer; a shallow bowl], not a cup," said Hilda,
+reddening a little: "the child hardly knows the difference."
+
+I felt nearhand as though I could have twisted Dame Elizabeth's neck for
+meat for those children.
+
+"And are you, in good sooth, so ill off as that?" said I.  "No meat, and
+only one esquelle in all the house?"
+
+"Dame," said Hilda meekly, as in excuse, "our father was long ill, and
+now is our mother likewise; and many things had to be sold to pay the
+apothecary, and also while I waited on them could I not be at work; and
+my little sisters are not old enough to do much.  But truly it is only
+these last few weeks that we have been quite so ill off as to have no
+food, and I have been able to earn but a few deniers now and then--
+enough to keep us alive, but no more."
+
+"How much oweth you Dame Elizabeth?" said I.
+
+"Dame, it is seven crowns for the hood I wrought, and three more for a
+girdle was owing aforetime, and now four for kerchiefs broidering: it is
+fourteen crowns in all.  I should not need to ask charity if I could but
+be paid my earnings.  The apothecary said our mother was sick rather
+from sorrow and want of nourishment than from any malady; and if the
+good Dame would pay me, I might not only buy fresh matter for my work,
+but perchance get food that would make my mother well--at least well
+enough to sew, and then we should have two pairs of hands instead of
+one.  I do not beg, Dame!"
+
+She louted low as she spoke, and took her little sister again by the
+hand.  "Come, Iolande; we keep Madame waiting."
+
+"But hast thou got no money?" pleaded the barne.  "Thou saidst to
+Madeleine that we should bring some supper back.  Thou didst, Hilda!"
+
+"I did, darling," allowed her sister, looking a little ashamed.  "I
+could not peace the babe else, and--I hoped we should."
+
+I could bear no more.  The truth of those maids' story was in the little
+one's bitter disappointment, and in poor Hilda's hungry eyes.  Eyes
+speak sooth, though lips be false.
+
+"Come," said I.  "I pray you, tarry but one moment more.  You shall not
+lose by it."
+
+"We are at Madame's service," said Hilda.
+
+I ran up degrees as fast as ever I could.  As the saints would have it,
+that very minute I oped the door, was Dame Elizabeth haling forth silver
+in her lap, and afore her stood the jeweller's man awaiting to be paid.
+Blame me who will, I fell straight on those gold pieces and silver
+crowns.
+
+"Fourteen crowns, Dame Elizabeth!" quoth I, all scant of breath.
+"Quick! give me them--for Hilda la Vileyne--and if no, may God forgive
+you, for I never will!"
+
+Soothly, had the Archangel Raphael brake into the chamber and demanded
+fourteen crowns, Dame Elizabeth could have gazed on him no more astonied
+than she did on me, Cicely, that she had seen nearhand every day of her
+life for over a dozen years.  I gave her leave to look how it listed
+her.  From the coins in her lap I counted forth nine nobles and a French
+crown, and was half-way down degrees again ere she well knew what I
+would be at.  If I had had to pay her back every groat out of mine own
+purse--nay, verily, if I had stood to be beheaden for it--I would have
+had that money for Hilda la Vileyne that night.
+
+They stood where I had left them, by the door of the long gallery, near
+the _porte-cochere_, but now with them was a third--mine own Jack, that
+had but now come in from the street, and the child knew him again, as
+she well showed.
+
+"O Hilda!"
+
+I heard her say, as I came running down swiftly--for I was dread afraid
+Dame Elizabeth should overtake me and snatch back the money--and I might
+have spared my fears, for had I harried the Queen's crown along with her
+crowns, no such a thing should ever have come in her head--"O Hilda!"
+saith the child, "see here the good Messire who gave us the denier to
+buy soup."
+
+I might have guessed it was Jack.  He o'erheard the child, and stayed
+him to pat her on the head.
+
+"Well, little one, was the soup good?"
+
+"So good, Messire!  But Hilda got none--not a drop."
+
+"Hush!" saith Hilda; but the child would go on.
+
+"None at all! why, how was that?" saith Jack, looking at Hilda.
+
+I answered for her.  "The sick mother and helpless babes had the soup,"
+said I; "and this brave maid was content with a mouldy crust.  Jack, a
+word in thine ear."
+
+"Good!" saith he, when I had whispered to him.  "Go thy ways,
+sweetheart, and so do."
+
+"Nay, there is no need to go any ways," said I, "for here cometh Meliora
+down degrees, and of a truth I somewhat shrink from facing Dame
+Elizabeth after my robbery of her, any sooner than must be--Meliora,
+child, wilt run above an instant, and fetch my blue mantle and the
+thicker of mine hoods?"
+
+Meliora ran up straightway; for though she was something too forward,
+and could be pert when she would, yet was she good-natured enough when
+kindly used.  I turned to Hilda.
+
+"Hold thy palm, my maid," said I.  "Here is the money the lady ought
+[owed] thee."  And I haled into her hand the gold pieces and the silver
+crown.
+
+Verily, I could have greeted mine eyes sore to see what then befell.
+The barne capered about and clapped her hands, crying, "Supper! supper!
+now we shall have meat!" but Hilda covered her eyes with her void hand,
+and sobbed as though her heart should break.
+
+"God Almighty bless you, kind Dame!" said she, when as she could speak
+again.  "I was nearhand in utter mishope [nearly in despair].  Now my
+mother can have food and physic, and maybe, if it please God, she shall
+recover.  May I be forgiven, but I was beginning to think the good God
+cared not for poor folks like us, or maybe that there was no God to care
+at all."
+
+Down came Meliora with my hood and mantle, which I cast all hastily
+about me, and then said I to Hilda--
+
+"My maid, I would fain see thy mother; maybe I could do her some good;
+and mine husband here will go with us for a guard.  Lead on."
+
+"God bless you!" she said yet again.  "He _must_ have heard me."  The
+last words were spoken lowly, as to herself.
+
+We went forth of the great gates, and traversed the good streets, and
+came into divers little alleys that skirt the road near Saint Denis'
+Gate.  In one of these Hilda turned into an house--a full poor hut it
+was--and led me up degrees into a poor chamber, whither the child ran
+gleefully afore.  Jack left me at the door, he and I having covenanted,
+when we whispered together, what he should do whilst I visited Hilda's
+mother.
+
+Little Iolande ran forward into the chamber, crying, "Supper! supper!
+Mother and Madeleine, Hilda has money for supper!"
+
+What I then beheld was a poor pallet, but ill covered with a thin
+coverlet, whereon lay a pale, weak woman, that seemed full ill at ease,
+yet I thought scarce so much sick of body as sick at heart and faint
+with fasting and sorrow.  At the end of the pallet sat a child something
+elder than Iolande, but a child still.  There was no form in the
+chamber, but Hilda brought forward an old box, whereon she cast a clean
+apron, praying me to sit, and to pardon them that this should be the
+best they had to offer.  I sat me down, making no matter thereof, for in
+very deed I was full of pity for these poor creatures.
+
+The mother, as was but like, took me for Dame Elizabeth, and began to
+thank me for having paid my debts--at long last, she might have said.
+But afore I could gainsay it, Hilda saith warmly--
+
+"Oh no, Mother!  This is not the lady that ought the money.  Madame here
+is good--so good! and that lady--she has no heart in her, I think."
+
+"Not very good, Hilda," said I, laughing, "when I fell on the dame that
+ought thee the money, and fairly wrenched it from her, whether she would
+or no.  Howbeit," I continued to the poor woman, "_I_ will be good to
+you, if I can."
+
+By bits and scraps I pulled her story forth of her mouth.  It was no
+uncommon tale: a sickly wife and a selfish husband,--a deserted,
+struggling wife and mother--and then a penniless widow, with no friends
+and poor health, that could scant make shift to keep body and soul
+together, whether for herself or the children.  The husband had come
+home at last but to be a burden and sorrow--to be nursed through a
+twelve months' sickness and then to die; and what with the weariness and
+lack of all comfort, the poor widow fell sick herself soon after, and
+Hilda, the young maid, had kept matters a-going, as best she might, ever
+sithence.
+
+I comforted the poor thing to my little power; told her that I would
+give Hilda some work to do (and pay her for it), and that I would come
+and see her by times whilst the Queen should abide in Paris; but that
+when she went away must I go likewise, and it might be all suddenly,
+that I could not give her to wit.  Hilda had sent the children forth to
+buy food, and there were but her and her mother.  Mine husband was
+longer in return than I looked for.
+
+"My maid," said I to Hilda, "prithee tell me a thing.  What didst thou
+signify by saying to thyself, right as we set forth from the Palace,
+that God must have heard thee?"
+
+A great wave of colour passed over her face and neck.
+
+"Dame," she said, "I will speak soothliness.  It was partly because I
+had prayed for money to buy food and physic: but partly also, because I
+was afraid of something, and I had asked the good God to keep it away
+from me.  When you said that you and Messire would condescend to come
+with me, it delivered me from my fear.  The good God must have heard me,
+for nobody else knew."
+
+"Afraid!" said I.  "Whereof, my maid?  Was it the porter's great dog?
+He is a gentle beast as may be, and would never touch thee.  What could
+harm thee in the Queen's Palace?"
+
+The wave of colour came again.  "Madame does not know," she said, in a
+low voice.  "There are men worse than brutes: but such great ladies do
+not see it.  One stayed me and spoke to me the night afore.  I was
+afraid he might come again, and there was no one to help me but the good
+Lord.  So I called to Him to be my guard, for there was none else; and I
+think He sent two of His angels with me."
+
+Mine own eyes were full, no less than Hilda's.
+
+"May the good Lord guard thee ever, poor maid!" said I.  "But in very
+sooth, I am far off enough from an angel.  Here cometh one something
+nearer thereto"--for I heard Jack's voice without.  "But tell me, dost
+thou know who it was of whom thou wert afraid?"
+
+"I only know," she said, "that his squire bare a blue and white livery,
+guarded in gold.  I heard not his name."
+
+"Verily!" said I to myself, "such gentlemen be fair company for Dame
+Isabel the Queen!"
+
+For I could have no doubt that poor Hilda's enemy was that bad man, Sir
+Roger de Mortimer.  Howbeit, I said no more, for then oped the door, and
+in came Jack, with a lad behind, bearing a great basket.  Jack's own
+arms were full of fardels [parcels], which he set down in a corner of
+the chamber, and bade the lad empty the basket beside, which was charged
+with firewood, "There!" saith he, "they be not like to want for a day or
+twain, poor souls!  Come away, Sissot; we have earned a night's rest."
+
+"Messire!" cried the faint voice of the poor woman.  "Messire is good as
+an angel from Heaven!  But surely Messire has not demeaned himself to
+carry burdens--and for us!"
+
+She seemed nearhand frightened at the thought.
+
+"Nay, good woman," saith Jack, merrily--"no more than the angel that
+carried the cruse of water for the Prophet Elias.  Well-a-day! securely
+I can carry a fardel without tarnishing my spurs?  I would I might never
+do a worse deed."
+
+"Amen!" said I, "for both of us."
+
+We bade the woman and Hilda good even, and went forth, followed by
+blessings till we were in the very street: and not till then would I
+say--
+
+"Jack, thou art the best man ever lived, but I would thou hadst a little
+more care for appearances.  Suppose Sir Edmund or Master de Oxendon had
+seen thee!"
+
+"Well?" saith Jack, as calm as a pool in a hollow.  "Suppose they had."
+
+"Why, then should they have laughed thee to scorn."
+
+"Suppose they did?"
+
+"Jack!  Dost thou nothing regard folks' thoughts of thee?"
+
+"Certes.  I regard thine full diligently."
+
+"But other folks, that be nought to thee, I would say."
+
+"If the folks be nought to me, wherefore should the thoughts be of
+import?  Securely, good wife, but very little.  I shall sleep the
+sweeter for those fardels: and I count I should sleep none the worser if
+man laughed at me.  The blessing of the poor and the blessing of the
+Lord be full apt to go together: and dost thou reckon I would miss
+that--yea, so much as one of them--out of regard for that which is,
+saith Solomon, `_sonitum spinarum sub olla_'?  [Ecclesiastes chapter
+seven, verse 6].  _Ha, jolife_! let the thorns crackle away, prithee;
+they shall not burn long."
+
+"Jack," said I, "thou _art_ the best man ever lived!"
+
+"Rhyme on, my fair _trouvere_," quoth he.  [Troubadour.  Their lays were
+usually legends and fictitious tales.] "But, Sissot, to speak sooth, I
+will tell thee, if thou list to hearken, what it is keepeth my steps
+from running into many a by-way, and mine heart from going astray after
+many a flower sown of Satan in my path."
+
+"Do tell me, Jack," said I.
+
+"There be few days in my life," saith he, "that there cometh not up
+afore mine eyes that Bar whereat I shall one day stand, and that Book
+out of the which all my deeds shall be read afore men and angels.  And I
+have some concern for the thoughts of them that look on, that day,
+rather than this.  Many a time--ay, many a time twice told--in early
+morn or in evening twilight, have I looked up into heaven, and the
+thought hath swept o'er me like a fiery breeze--`What if our Lord be
+coming this minute?'  Dost thou reckon, Sissot, that man to whom such
+thoughts be familiar friends, shall be oft found sitting in the
+alebooth, or toying with frothy vanities?  I trow not."
+
+"But, Jack!" cried I, letting all else drop, "is that all real to thee?"
+
+"Real, Sissot?  There is not another thing as real in life."
+
+I burst forth.  I could not help it.
+
+"O Jack, Jack!  Don't go and be a monk!"
+
+"Go and be a monk!" saith Jack, with an hearty laugh.  "Why, Wife, what
+bees be in thine hood?  I thought I was thine husband."
+
+"So thou art, the saints be thanked," said I.  "But thou art so good, I
+am sore afraid thou wilt either die or be a monk."
+
+"I'll not be a monk, I promise thee," quoth he.  "I am not half good
+enough, nor would I lose my Sissot.  As to dying, be secure I shall not
+die an hour afore God's will is: and the Lord hath much need of good
+folks to keep this bad world sweet.  I reckon we may be as good as we
+can with reasonable safety.  I'll try, if thou wilt."
+
+So I did, and yet do: but I shall never be match to Jack.
+
+Well, by this time we had won back to the Queen's lodging; and at foot
+of degrees I bade good-night to Jack, being that night appointed to the
+pallet--a business I never loved.  I was thinking on Jack's last words,
+as I went up, and verily had for the nonce forgat that which went afore,
+when all at once a voice saith in mine ear--
+
+"Well, Dame Cicely!  Went you forth in such haste lest you should be
+clapped into prison for stealing?  Good lack, but mine heart's in my
+mouth yet!  Were you wood [mad], or what ailed you?"
+
+"Dame Elizabeth," said I, as all came back on me, "I have been to visit
+Hilda's mother."
+
+"Dear heart!  And what found you?  Was she a-supping on goose and leeks?
+That make o' folks do alway feign to be as poor as Job, when their
+coffers be so full the lid cannot be shut.  You be young, Dame Cicely,
+and know not the world."
+
+"Maybe," said I.  "But if you will hearken me, I will tell you what I
+found."
+
+"Go to, then," saith she, as she followed me into our chamber.
+"Whate'er you found, you left me too poor to pay the jeweller.  I would
+fain have had a sapphire pin more than I got, but your raid on my purse
+disabled me thereof.  The rogue would give me no credit."
+
+"Hear but my tale," said I, "and if when it be told you regret your
+sapphire pin, I beseech you say so."
+
+So I told her in plain words, neither 'minishing nor adding, how I had
+found them, and the story I had heard from the poor woman.  She
+listened, cool enough at first, but ere I made an end the water stood in
+her eyes.
+
+"_Ha, chetife_!" said she, when I stayed me.  "I'll pay the maid another
+time.  Trust me, Dame Cicely, I believed not a word.  If you had been
+cheated as oft--!  Verily, I am sorry I sent not man to see how matters
+stood with them.  Well, I am fain you gave her the money, after all.
+But, trust me, you took my breath away!"
+
+"And my own belike," said I.
+
+I think Hilda and hers stood not in much want the rest of that winter.
+But whenever she came with work for me, either Margaret my maid, or
+Jack's old groom, a sober man and an ancient, walked back with her.
+
+Meantime Sir Roger de Mortimer played first viol in the Court
+minstrelsy.  Up and yet higher up he crept, till he could creep no
+further, as I writ a few leaves back.  On the eve of Saint Pancras was
+crowned the new Queen of France in the Abbey of Saint Denis, which is to
+France as Westminster Abbey to us: and there ramped my Lord of Mortimer
+in the very suite of the Queen herself, and in my Lord of Chester's own
+livery.  Twice-banished traitor, he appeared in the self presence of the
+King that had banished him, and of the wife of his own natural Prince,
+to whom he had done treason of the deepest dye.  And not one voice said
+him nay.
+
+Thus went matters on till the beginning of September, 1326.  The Queen
+abode at Paris; the King of France made no sign: our King's trusty
+messager, Donald de Athole, came and went with letters (and if it were
+not one of his letters the Queen dropped into the brasier right as I
+came one day into her chamber, I marvel greatly); but nought came forth
+that we her ladies heard.  On the even of the fifth of September, early,
+came Sir John de Ostrevant to the Palace, and had privy speech of the
+Queen--none being thereat but her confessor and Dame Isabel de Lapyoun:
+and he was scarce gone forth when, as we sat in our chamber a-work, the
+Queen herself looked in and called Dame Elizabeth forth.
+
+I thought nought of it.  I turned down hem, and cut off some threads,
+and laid down scissors, and took up my needle to thread afresh--in the
+Hotel de Saint Pol at Paris.  And that needle was not threaded but in
+the Abbey of Saint Edmund's Bury in Suffolk, twenty days after.  Yet if
+man had told me it should so be, I had felt ready to laugh him to scorn.
+Ah me, what feathers we be, that a breath from God Almighty can waft
+hither or thither at His will!
+
+Never but that once did I see Dame Elizabeth to burst into a chamber.
+And when she so did, I was in such amaze thereat that I fair gasped to
+see it.
+
+"Good lack!" cried I, and stared on her.
+
+"Well may you say it!" quoth she.  "Lay by work, all of you, and make
+you ready privily in all haste for journeying by night.  Lose not a
+moment."
+
+"Mary love us!" cries Isabel de la Helde.  "Whither?"
+
+"Whither the Queen's will is.  Hold your tongues, and make you ready."
+
+We lay that night--and it was not till late--in the town of Sessouns, in
+the same lodging the Queen had before, at Master John de Gyse's house.
+The next night we lay at Peronne, and the third we came to Ostrevant.
+
+Dame Isabel told us the reason of this sudden flight.  The Queen had
+heard that her brother the King of France--who for some time past had
+been very cool and distant towards her--had a design to seize upon her
+and deliver her a prisoner to King Edward: and Sir John of Hainault,
+Count of Ostrevant, who came to bring her this news, offered her a
+refuge in his Castle of Ostrevant.  I believed this tale when Dame
+Isabel told it: I have no faith in it now.  What followed did away
+entirely therewith, and gave me firm belief that it was nothing save an
+excuse to get away in safety and without the King of France's knowledge.
+Be it how it may, Sir Roger de Mortimer came with her.
+
+We were not many days at Ostrevant: only long enough for the Count to
+raise his troops, and then, when all was ready, the Queen embarked for
+England.  On the 22nd of September we came ashore at Orwell, and had
+full ill lodging; none having any shelter save the Queen herself, for
+whom her knights ran up a shed of driftwood, hung o'er with carpets.
+Never had I so discomfortous a night--the sea tossing within a few
+yards, and the wind roaring in mine ears, and the spray all-to beating
+over me as I lay on the beach, lapped in a mantle.  I was well pleased
+the next morrow, when the Queen, whose rest had been little, gave
+command to march forward to Bury.  But afore we set forth, come nearhand
+an army of peasants into the presence, 'plaining of the Queen's
+officers, that had taken their cows, chickens, and fruits, and paid not
+a penny.  The Queen had them all brought afore her, and with her own
+hands haled forth the money due to each one, bidding them bring all
+oppressions to her own ears, and straitly commanding her officers that
+they should take not so much as an egg without payment.  By this means
+she won all the common people to her side, and they were ready to set
+their lives in pledge for her truth and honour.
+
+At that time I was but little aware how matters verily stood.  I said to
+Dame Joan de Vaux that the Queen showed her goodness hereby--for though
+I knew the Mortimer by then to be ill man, I wist not that she knew it,
+and reckoned her yet as innocent and beguiled woman.
+
+"Doth she so?" answered Dame Joan.  "How many grapes may man gather of a
+bramble?"
+
+"Nay!" said I, scarce perceiving her intent, "but very grapes come not
+of brambles."
+
+"Soothly," saith she: "neither do very brambles bear grapes."
+
+Three days the Queen tarried at Bury: then, with banners flying, she
+marched on toward Essex.  I thought it strange that even she should
+march with displayed banners, seeing the King was not of her company:
+but I reckoned she had his order, and was acting as his deputy.
+Elsewise had it been dread treason [Note 1], even in her.  I was
+confirmed in my thought when my Lord of Lancaster, the King's cousin,
+and my Lord of Norfolk, the King's brother, came to meet her and joined
+their troops to her company; and yet more when the Archbishop of Dublin,
+and the Bishops of Hereford, Lincoln, and Ely, likewise joined them to
+her.  Verily, such holy men could not countenance treason.
+
+Truth enough: but that which was untrue was not the treason, but the
+holiness of these Caiaphases.
+
+And now began that woeful Dolorous Way, which our Lord King Edward trod
+after his Master Christ.  But who knoweth whither a strange road shall
+lead him, until he be come to the end thereof?  I wis well that many
+folk have said unto us--Jack and me--since all things were made plain,
+How is it ye saw not aforetime, and wherefore followed ye the Queen thus
+long?  They saw not aforetime, no more than we; but now that all is
+open, up come they with wagging heads and snorkilling noses,
+and--"Verily, we were sore to blame for not seeing through the mist"--
+the mist through the which, when it lay thick, no man saw.  _Ha,
+chetife_!  I could easily fall to prophesying, myself, when all is over.
+Could we have seen what lay at the end of that Dolorous Way, should any
+true and loyal man have gone one inch along it?
+
+And who was like to think, till he did see, what an adder the King
+nursed in his bosom?  Most men counted her a fair white dove, all
+innocent and childlike: that did I not.  I did see far enough, for all
+the mist, to see she was no child in that fashion; yet children love
+mischief well enough betimes; and I counted her, if not white, but
+grey--not the loathly black fiend that she was at the last seen to be.
+I saw many a thing I loved not, many a thing I would not have done in
+her place, many a thing that I but half conceived, and feared to be ill
+deed--but there ended my seeing.  I thought she was caught within the
+meshes of a net, and I was sorry she kept not thereout.  But I never
+guessed that the net was spread by her own hands.
+
+My mother, Dame Alice de Lethegreve, I think, saw clearer than I did:
+but it was by reason she loved more,--loved him who became the
+sacrifice, not the miserable sinner for whose hate and wickedness he was
+sacrificed.
+
+So soon as King Edward knew of the Queen's landing, which was by
+Michaelmas Eve at latest, he put forth a proclamation to all his lieges,
+wherein he bade them resist the foreign horde about to be poured upon
+England.  Only three persons were to be received with welcome and
+honour: which was, the Queen herself, Edward her son (his father, in his
+just ire, named him not his son, neither as Earl of Chester), and the
+King's brother, the Lord Edmund of Kent.  I always was sorry for my Lord
+of Kent; he was so full hoodwinked by the Queen, and never so much as
+guessed for one moment, that he acted a disloyal part.  He was a noble
+gentleman, a kindly and a generous; not, maybe, the wisest man in the
+realm, and something too prone to rush after all that had the look of a
+noble deed, ere he gave himself time enough to consider the same.  But
+if the world held no worser men at heart than he, it were marvellous
+better world than now.
+
+One other thing did King Edward, which showed how much he had learned:
+he offered a great price of one thousand pounds [about 18,000 pounds,
+according to modern value], for the head of the Mortimer: and no sooner
+did the Queen hear thereof, than she offered double--namely, two
+thousand pounds--for the head of Sir Hugh Le Despenser--a man whose
+little finger was better worth two thousand than the Mortimer's head was
+worth one.  Two days later, the King fortified the Tower, and appointed
+the Lord John of Eltham governor thereof; but he being only a child of
+ten years, the true governor was the Lady Alianora La Despenser, who was
+left in charge of the King's said son.  And two days afore Saint Francis
+[October 2nd] he left the Tower, and set forth toward Wallingford,
+leaving the Bishop of Exeter to keep the City: truly a thankless
+business, for never could any man yet keep the citizens of London.  Nor
+could he: for a fortnight was not over ere they rose in insurrection
+against the King's deputies, invested the Tower, wrenched the keys from
+the Constable, John de Weston, to whom the Lady Alianora had confided
+them, brought her out with the young Lord, and carried them to the
+Wardrobe--not without honour--and then returning, they seized on the
+Bishop, with two of his squires, and strake off their heads at the
+Standard in Chepe.  And this will I say for the said Bishop, though he
+were not alway pleasant to deal withal, for he was very furnish--yet was
+he honest man, and loved his master, ay, and held to him in days when it
+was little profit so to do.  And seeing how few honest men there be,
+that will hold on to the right when their profit lieth to the left, that
+is much to say.
+
+With the King went Sir Hugh Le Despenser--I mean the younger, that was
+create Earl of Gloucester by reason of his marriage; for the Lady
+Alianora his wife was eldest of the three sisters that were coheirs of
+that earldom.  And thereanent--well-a-day! how different folks do from
+that I should do in their place!  I can never tell wherefore, when man
+doth ill, the penalty thereof should be made to run over on his innocent
+sons.  Because Sir Hugh forfeited the earldom, wherefore passed it not
+to his son, that was loyal man and true, and one of the King's best
+councillors all his life?  On the contrary part, it was bestowed on Sir
+Hugh de Audley, that wedded the Lady Margaret (widow of Sir Piers de
+Gavaston), that stood next of the three coheirs.  And it seemeth me
+scarce just that Sir Hugh de Audley, that had risen up against King
+Edward of old time, and been prisoned therefor, and was at best but a
+pardoned rebel, should be singled out for one of the finest earldoms in
+England, and not Sir Hugh Le Despenser, whose it was of right, and to
+whose charge--save the holding of the Castle of Caerphilly against Queen
+Isabel, which was in very loyalty to his true lord King Edward--no fault
+at all could be laid.  I would I had but the world to set right!  Then
+should there be justice done, and every wrong righted, and all crooked
+ways put straight, and every man and woman made happy.  Dear heart, what
+fair and good world were this, when I had made an end of--
+
+Did man laugh behind me?
+
+"Jack!  Soothly, I thought it must be thou.  What moveth thy laughter?"
+
+"Dame Cicely de Chaucombe," saith he, essaying to look sober--which he
+managed but ill.  "The Annals of Cicely, likewise; and the imaginings of
+Cicely in especial."
+
+"Well, what now mispayeth [displeases] thee?" quoth I.
+
+"There was once man," saith Jack, "thought as thou dost.  And seeing
+that the hollyhocks in his garden were taller than the daisies, he bade
+his gardener with a scythe cut short the hollyhocks, that all the
+flowers should be but of one height."
+
+"Well, what happed?" said I.
+
+"Why, next day were there no hollyhocks.  And then the hollyhock stems
+and the daisies both laid 'plaint of the gardener."
+
+"Both?" said I.
+
+"Both.  They alway do."
+
+"But what 'plaint had the daisies to offer?"
+
+"Why, that they had not been pulled up to the height of the hollyhocks,
+be sure."
+
+"But how could they so?"
+
+"Miscontent hath no `can' in his hornbook.  Not what thou canst, but
+what he would, is his measure of justice."
+
+"But justice is justice," said I--"not what any man would, but what is
+fair and even."
+
+"Veriliest.  But what is fair and even?  If thou stand on Will's haw
+[hillock], the oak on thy right hand is the largest tree; if thou stand
+on Dick's, it shall be the beech on thy left.  And thine ell-wand
+reacheth not.  How then to measure?"
+
+"But I would be on neither side," said I, "but right in the midst: so
+should I see even."
+
+"Right in the midst, good wife, is where God standeth; and few men win
+there.  There be few matters whereof man can see both to the top and to
+the bottom.  Mostly, if man see the one end, then he seeth not the
+other.  And that which man seeth not, how shall he measure?  Without
+thou lay out to follow the judge which said that he would clearly man
+should leave to harry him with both sides of a matter.  So long as he
+heard but the plaintiff, he could tell full well where the right lay;
+but after came the defendant, and put him all out, that he wist not on
+which side to give judgment.  Maybe Judge Sissot should sit on the bench
+alongside of him."
+
+"Now, Jack," said I, "thou laughest at me."
+
+"Good discipline for thee, sweetheart," saith he, "and of lesser
+severity than faulting thee.  But supposing the world lay in thine hands
+to set right, and even that thou hadst the power thereto, how long time
+dost think thy work should abide?"
+
+"_Ha, chetife_!" cried I.  "I ne'er bethought me of that."
+
+"The world was set right once," quoth Jack, "by means of cold water, and
+well washed clean therein.  But it tarried not long, as thou wist.  Sin
+was not washed away; and Satan was not drowned in the Flood: and very
+soon thereafter were they both a-work again.  Only one stream can wash
+the world to last, and that floweth right from the rood on Calvary."
+
+"Yet there is enough," said I, "to wash the whole world."
+
+"Verily.  But how, if the world will not come and wash?  `He that
+will'--_qui vult_--`let him take water of life freely.'  But he that is
+not athirst for the holy water, shall not have it forced down his throat
+against his will."
+
+"How shall man come by the thirst, Jack, if he hath it not?  For if the
+gift shall be given only to him that thirsteth for it, it seemeth me the
+thirst must needs be born ere we shall come for the water."
+
+"Nay, sweetheart, we all desire happiness and wealth and honour; the
+mistake is that we be so ready to slake our thirst at the pools of muddy
+water which abound on every hand, rather than go to the fount of living
+water.  We grasp at riches and honours and pleasures of this life: lo,
+here the blame, in that we are all athirst for the muddy pool, and have
+no desire for the holy water--for the gold of the royal mint stamped
+with the King's image, for the crown of everlasting life, for the bliss
+which shall endure unto all ages.  We cry soothly for these things; but
+it is aswhasay, Give me happiness, but let it end early; give me seeming
+gold, but let it be only tinsel; give me a crown, but be it one that
+will fade away.  Like a babe that will grip at a piece of tin whereon
+the sun shineth, and take no note of a golden ingot that lieth by in
+shadow."
+
+"But who doth such things, Jack?"
+
+"Thou and I, Sissot, unless Christ anoint our eyes that we see in
+sooth."
+
+"Jack!" cried I, all suddenly, "as I have full many times told thee,
+thou art better man than many a monk."
+
+"Now scornest thou at me," saith he.  "How can I be perfect, that am
+wedded man?  [Note 2.]  Thou wist well enough that perfect men be only
+found among the contemplative, not among them that dwell in the world.
+Yet soothly, I reckon man may dwell in the world and love Christ, or he
+may dwell in cloister and be none of His."
+
+Well, I know not how that may be; but this do I know, that never was
+there any Jack even to my Jack; and I am sore afraid that if I ever win
+into Heaven, I shall never be able to see Jack, for he shall be ten
+thousand mile nearer the Throne than I Cicely am ever like to be.
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Note 1.  At this time it was high treason for any subject to march with
+banners displayed, unless he acted as the King's representative by his
+distinct commission.
+
+Note 2.  The best men then living looked on the life of idle
+contemplation as the highest type of Christian life, to which no married
+man could attain.
+
+
+
+PART ONE, CHAPTER 4.
+
+THE GLAMOUR OF THE QUEEN.
+
+  "Hast thou beheld thyself, and couldst thou stain
+  So rare perfection?  Even for love of thee
+  I do profoundly hate thee."
+
+  Lady Elizabeth Carew.
+
+So I was got into the Annals of Cicely, was I?  Well then, have back.
+Dear heart! but what a way have I to go back ere I can find where I was
+in my story!
+
+Well the King left the Tower for Wallingford, and with him Sir Hugh Le
+Despenser, and Hugh his young son, Archdeacon Baldok, Edward de Bohun
+the King's nephew, and divers of his following.  I know not whether he
+had with him also his daughters, the young Ladies Alianora and Joan, or
+if they were brought to him later.  By Saint Denis' Eve [October 7th] he
+had reached Wallingford.
+
+The Queen was in march to London: but hearing that the King had left,
+she altered her course, and went to Oxford.  There tarried we one day,
+and went to our duties in the Church of Saint Martin [Note 1], where an
+homily was preachen by my Lord of Hereford [Note 2].  And a strange
+homily it was, wherein Eva our mother stood for the Queen, and I suppose
+Adam for the King, and Sir Hugh Le Despenser (save the mark!) was the
+serpent.  I stood it out, but I will not say I goxide [gaped] not.  The
+next day went the Queen on toward Gloucester, pursuing the King, which
+had been there about ten days afore her.  She put forth from
+Wallingford, on her way between Oxford and Gloucester, a letter wherein
+she earnestly prayed the King to return, and promised that he should
+receive the government with all honour if he would conform him to his
+people.  I had been used to hear of the people obeying the King, as in
+duty bound to him whom God had set over them; and this talk of the King
+obeying the people was marvellous strange to mine ears.  Howbeit, it was
+talk only; for what was really meant was that he should conform himself
+to his wife.  And considering how much wives be bidden of God to obey
+their lords, that surely was as ill as the other.  Which the King saw
+belike, for instead of coming nearer he went further away, right over
+the Severn, and strengthened himself, first in the strong Castle of
+Chepstow, and after in the Castle of Caerphilly.  For us, we went on,
+though not so quick as he, to Gloucester, and thence to Bristol, where
+Sir Hugh de Despenser the father was governor, and where the citizens,
+on the Queen's coming, opened the gates to her, and Sir Hugh on
+perceiving it retired into the Castle.  But she summoned the Castle also
+to surrender, which was done speedily of the officers, and Sir Hugh
+delivered into her hands.  Moreover, the two little ladies, the King's
+daughters, whom he had sent from Gloucester on his retreat across the
+Severn, were brought to her [Note 3], and she welcomed them motherly, or
+at least seemed to do so.  Wala wa!  I have no list to set down what
+followed, and will run by the same as short as shall serve truth.
+
+The morrow of Saint Crispin, namely, the 26th day of October, the Queen
+and her son, now Duke of Aquitaine--whom man whilome called Earl of
+Chester--came into the great hall of Bristol Castle, and sat in state: I
+Cicely being behind the Queen's chair, and Jack in waiting on my Lord
+the Duke.  Which done, they called council of the prelates and nobles of
+the realm, being the Archbishop of Dublin and five bishops; the King's
+two brothers, my Lords of Norfolk and Kent; my Lord of Lancaster their
+cousin; and all the nobles then present in Bristol town: thus they
+gathered, the Duke on the right hand of the throne and the Queen on the
+left, the throne all empty.  Then a marvellous strange thing happened:
+for the Queen rose up and spake, in open Council, to the prelates and
+nobles of England.  When she first arose (as afterwards I heard say)
+were there some murmurs that a woman should so speak; and divers up and
+down the hall rowned [whispered] one the other in the ear that it had
+been more seemly had she kept to her distaff.  But when she ended, so
+great was the witchery of her fair face, and the gramary [magic] of her
+silver voice, that scarce man was in the hall but was ready to live and
+die with her.  _Ha, chetife_! how she witched the world! yet never did
+she witch me.
+
+How can it be, I marvel at times, that men--and women too--will suffer
+themselves to be thus led astray, and yet follow on, oft knowing whither
+they go, after some one man or woman, that casteth over them a manner of
+gramary?  There be some that can witch whom they will, that God keepeth
+not.  And 'tis not alway a fair face that witcheth; I have known full
+unbright [plain, ugly] folks that have this charm with them.  And I note
+moreover, that many times he that wields it doth use it for evil, and
+not for good.  I dare not say no good man ever hath the same; for
+securely I know not all folks in this world: yet of them I do know, I
+cannot call to mind a verily good man or woman that hath seemed me to
+possess this power over his fellows.  I have known some metely good folk
+that had a touch thereof; but of such as I mean, that do indeed wield it
+in power, and draw all manner of men to them, and after them, nearhand
+whether they choose or no--of such I cannot call to mind one that was
+true follower of our Lord.  Therefore it seems me an evil power, and one
+that may come of Satan, sith it mostly is used in his service.  And I
+pray God neither of my daughters may ever show the same, for at best it
+must be full of peril of pride to him that possesseth it.  Indeed, had
+it so been, I think they should have shown it afore now.
+
+But now to have back to the hall of Bristol Castle, lest Jack, coming in
+to look stealthily over my shoulder as he doth betimes, should say I
+have won again into the Annals of Cicely.
+
+Well, all the prelates and nobles were full witched by Dame Isabel the
+Queen, and agreed unto all her plans, the which came ready cut and
+dried, as though all had been thought on and settled long afore.
+Verily, I dare say it so had.  First, they elected the Duke of Aquitaine
+to the regency--which of course was the self thing as electing his
+mother, since he, being a mere lad, was but her mouthpiece, and was
+buxom [submissive] unto her in all things: and all present sware to
+fulfil his pleasure, as though he had been soothly king, under his privy
+seal, for there was no seal meet for the regency.  And incontinent
+[immediately] thereafter, the said Duke, speaking doubtless the pleasure
+of the Queen, commanded Sir Hugh Le Despenser the father to be brought
+to his trial in the hall of the Castle.
+
+Then was he led in, an old white-haired man, [See note in Appendix, on
+the Despensers], stately and venerable, who stood up before the Council
+as I would think none save innocent man should do, and looked the Queen
+straight in the face.  He was not witched with her gramary; and soothly
+I count in all that hall he was the sole noble that escaped the spell.
+A brave man was he, of great probity, prudent in council, valiant in
+war: maybe something too readily swayed by other folks (the Queen
+except), where he loved them (which he did not her), and from this last
+point came all his misfortunes [Note 4].
+
+Now stood he up to answer the charges laid against him (whereof there
+were nine), but answer such as man looked for made he none.  He passed
+all by as of no account, and went right to the heart and verity of the
+whole matter.  I could not but think of a Prisoner before him who had
+answered nothing; and I crede he knew that in like case, "per invidiam
+tradidissent eum."  [Note 5].  Moreover, he spake not to them that did
+the will of other, but to her that was at the core of the whole matter.
+
+"Ah, Dame!" quoth he, bowing low his white, stately head, "God grant us
+fair trial and just judge; and if we may not find it in this world, we
+look for it in another."
+
+I trust he found it in that other world--nay, I know he must have done.
+But in this world did he not find it.  Fair trial had he none; it was an
+end foregone from the beginning.  And as to just judge--well, she is
+gone now to her judgment, and I will leave her there.
+
+I had forgot to say in due order that my Lord of Arundel was he that was
+tried with him, but he suffered not till later.  [This appears to be the
+case from comparison of the best authorities.]  He, therefore, was had
+back to prison; but Sir Hugh was hung on the common gallows in his coat
+armour, in strong cords, and when he was cut down, after four days, his
+head was struck off and his quarters cast to the dogs.  On whose soul
+God have mercy!  Amen.  In very deed, I think he deserved a better fate.
+Secure am I, that many men be hung on gallows which might safely be
+left to die abed, and many more die abed that richly demerit the
+gallows.  This world is verily a-crooked: I reckon it shall be smoothed
+out and set straight one day.  There be that say that day shall last a
+thousand years; and soothly, taking into account all the work to be done
+ere the eve droppeth, it were small marvel an' it did so.
+
+This done, we tarried not long at Bristol.  Less than a month thereafter
+was the King taken at Neath Abbey in Wales, and all that yet obeyed him
+were either taken with him or dispersed.  The news found the Queen at
+Hereford, whither she had journeyed from Bristol: and if I had yet a
+doubt left touching her very nature [real character], I think it had
+departed from me when I beheld how she received that news.  Sir Thomas
+Le Blount, his Steward of the Household, was he that betrayed him: and
+may God pardon him easier than I could.  But my Lord of Lancaster (whom
+I can pray God pardon with true heart, seeing he afterward repented
+bitterly), the Lord Zouche of Ashby, and Rhys ap Howel--these were they
+that took him.  With him they took three other--Sir Hugh Le Despenser
+the son, and Archdeacon Baldok, and Sir Simon de Reading.  The good
+Archdeacon, that was elect [_Bishop_ is understood] of Norwich, was
+delivered over to the tender mercies (which, as saith the Psalmist, were
+cruel) of that priest of Baal, the Bishop of Hereford, whom indeed I
+cannot call a priest of God, for right sure am I that God should never
+have owned him.  If that a man serveth be whom he worshippeth, then was
+Sir Adam de Orleton, Bishop of Hereford, priest of Sathanas and none
+other.  The King was had to Kenilworth Castle, in ward of my Lord of
+Lancaster--a good though mistaken man, that used him not ungently, yet
+kept him straitly.  Sir Hugh and Sir Simon were brought to the Queen at
+Hereford, and I was in waiting when they came into her presence.  I had
+but one glimmer of her face (being behind her) when she turned her head
+for a moment to bid me send Oliver de Nantoil to fetch my Lord of
+Lincoln to the presence: but if ever I beheld pictured in human eyes the
+devilish passions of hate, malice, and furious purpose, I beheld them
+that minute in those lovely eyes of hers.  Ay, they were lovely eyes:
+they could gleam soft as a dove's when she would, and they could shoot
+forth flames like a lioness robbed of her prey.  Never saw I those eyes
+look fiercer nor eviller than that night when Sir Hugh Le Despenser
+stood a captive at her feet.
+
+For him, he was full calm: stately as his father--he was comelier of the
+twain, yea, the goodliest man ever mine eyes lit on: but I thought not
+on that in that hour.  His chief fault, man deemed, was pride: not the
+vanity that looketh for applause of man, but rather the lofty-mindedness
+that is sufficient to himself, and despiseth other.  I beheld no trace
+thereof as he there stood.  All that had been--all that was of earth and
+earthy--seemed to have dropped away from him: he was calm and tranquil
+as the sea on a summer eve when not a breath stirreth.  Wala wa! we have
+all our sins: and what be we, to throw the sins of another in his face?
+Sir Hugh did some ill deeds, belike; and so, God wot, hath done Cicely
+de Chaucombe; and whose sins of the twain were worser in His sight, He
+knoweth, not I.  Verily, it was whispered that he had taint of heresy,
+the evillest thing that may be: but I trust that dread charge were
+untrue, and that he was but guilty of somewhat more pride and ambitious
+desires than other.  Soothly, pride is one of the seven deadly sins--
+pray God save us all therefrom!--yet is heresy, as the Church teacheth,
+an eighth deadlier than all the seven.  And if holy Church hath the
+words of God, and is alonely guided of His Spirit, then must it be an
+awful and deadly sin to gainsay her bidding.  There be that take in hand
+to question the same: whom holy Church condemneth.  I Cicely cannot
+presume to speak thereof, not being a priest, unto whom alone it
+appertaineth to conceive such matter.  'Tis true, there be that say lay
+folk can as well conceive, and have as much right as any priest; but
+holy Church agreeth not therewith.  God be merciful to us all,
+whereinsoever we do err!
+
+But now was the Queen in a sore strait: for that precious treasure that
+had once been in her keeping--to wit, the Great Seal--was no longer with
+her.  The King had the same; and she was fain to coax it forth of his
+keeping, the which she did by means of my said Lord of Hereford.  I know
+not if it were needful, but until she had this done, did not Sir Hugh Le
+Despenser suffer.
+
+It was at Hereford, the eve of Saint Katherine, that he died.  I thank
+the saints I was not there; but I heard dread stories of them that were.
+Dame Isabel de Lapyoun was in waiting that day; I think she was fittest
+for it.
+
+I ween it was on that morrow, of the eve of Saint Katherine, that mine
+eyes first began to ope to what the Queen was in very deed.  Wherefore
+was she present at that deed of blood?  Dame Tiffany reckoned she deemed
+it her duty: and truly, to behold what man can deem his duty, is of the
+queerest things in this queer world.  I never knew a cow that reckoned
+it duty to set her calf in peril, and herself tarry thereout; nor a dog
+that forsook his master's company by reason of his losing of worldly
+gear; nor an horse that told falsehoods to his own profit.  I have wist
+men that would do all these things, and more; because, forsooth, it was
+their duty!  Now, after what manner it could be duty to Dame Isabel the
+Queen to preside in her own person at the execution of Sir Hugh, that
+cannot I Cicely tell.  Nay, the saints love us! what need was there of
+an execution at all?  Sir Hugh was dying fast.  Since he was taken would
+he never open his lips, neither to speak nor yet to eat; and that eve of
+Saint Katherine had seen his end, had they left him die in peace.
+Veriliest, I wis not what he had done so much worser than other men,
+that so awesome an ensample should be made of him.  I do trust the
+rumour was not true that ran of his heresy; for if so, then must not man
+pity him.  And yet--
+
+_Virgo sanctissima_! what is heresy?  The good Lord wot.
+
+My Lord of Lincoln was he, as I heard, which brought tidings to the
+Queen that Sir Thomas Wager had done him to wit Sir Hugh would die that
+day.  Would die--whether man would or no.  Holy Mary, the pity of it!
+Had I been Sir Thomas, never word would I have spoken till the breath
+was clean gone out of him, and then, if man coveted vengeance, let him
+take it on the silent dust.  But no sooner was it known to the Queen--to
+her, a woman and a mother!--than she gave command to have the scaffold
+run up with all speed, and that dying man drawn of an hurdle through the
+city that all men might behold, with trumpets going afore, and at last
+hanged of the gallows till he were dead.  Oh, the pity of it! the pity
+of it!
+
+The command was obeyed--so far as man could obey.  But ere the agony
+were full over, God Almighty stepped in, and bare him away from what she
+would have had him suffer.  When they put him on the hurdle, he lay as
+though he wist not; when they twined a crown of nettles and pressed it
+on his brow, he was as though he felt not; when, the torture over, they
+made ready to drag him to the gallows, they saw that he was dead.  God
+cried to them, "Let be!"
+
+God assoil that dead man!  Ay, maybe he shall take less assoiling than
+hath done that dead woman.
+
+Man said that when my Lord of Lincoln came to tell her of this matter,
+she was counting the silver in my Lord of Arundel his bags, that were
+confiscate, and had then been brought to her: and but a few days later,
+at Marcle, Sir William de Blount brought from the King the Great Seal in
+its leathern bag sealed with the privy seal, and delivered it unto the
+Queen and her Keeper [Chancellor] the Bishop of Norwich.  Soothly, it
+seemed to me as though those canvas bags that held my Lord of Arundel's
+silver, and the white leathern bag that held the Great Seal, might be
+said to be tied together by a lace dipped in blood.  And somewhat later,
+when we had reached Woodstock, was Sir Hugh Le Despenser's plate brought
+to the Wardrobe, that had been in the Tower with the Lady Alianora his
+wife--five cups and two ewers of silver, and twenty-seven cups and six
+ewers of gold; and his horses and hers delivered into the keeping of
+Adam le Ferrour, keeper of the Queen's horses: and his servants either
+cast adrift, or drafted, some of them, into the household of the Lord
+John of Eltham.  Go to! saith man: was all this more than is usual in
+like case?  Verily, nay: but should such things be usual in Christendom?
+Was it for this our Lord came to found His Church--that Christian blood
+should thus treat his Christian brother?  And if no, what can be said of
+such as called themselves His priests, and passed by on the other
+side?--nay, rather, took into their own hands the arrows of Sathanas,
+and wounded their brother with their own fingers?  "_Numquid adhaeret
+Tibi sedes iniquitatis_?"  [Psalm 94, verse 20].  Might it not have been
+said to Dame Isabel the Queen like as Moses said to Korah, "Is it
+nothing to you that you have been joined to the King, and set by his
+side on the throne, and given favour in his eyes, so that he suffereth
+you to entreat him oftener and more effectually than any other, but you
+must needs covet the royal throne theself?"  [Itself.]
+
+Ah, what good to write such words, or to speak them?  When man hath no
+fear of God before his eyes, what shall he regard the reasonings of men?
+But the day of doom cometh, and that sure.
+
+The morrow of that awesome day, to wit, Saint Katherine, departed we
+from Hereford, and came to Gloucester and Cirencester, going back on the
+road we had come.  By Woodstock (where Dame Margery de Verdon joined us
+from Dover) we came to Wallingford: where was the Lord John of Eltham,
+that had come from London, and awaited the Queen his mother.  So, by
+Reading and Chertsey, came we to Westminster Palace, on the fourth day
+of January [1327].  And here was Dame Alice de Lethegreve, mine honoured
+mother, whom I was full fain to see after all the long and somewhat
+weariful time that I had been away from England.
+
+My mother would have me tell her all I had seen and heard, in the which
+she oft stayed me by tears and lamentations.  And saith she--
+
+"I bid thee well to note, Cicely, how much ill can come of the deeds of
+one woman.  Deeds, said I?  Nay, but of the thoughts and feelings; for
+all deeds are but the flowers whereto man's thoughts be the seed.  And
+forget not, daughter, that there must ever be one first thought that is
+the beginning of it all.  O Cis, take thou heed of the first evil
+thought in thine heart, and pray God it lead not to a second.  They that
+fear not God be prone to ask, What matter for thoughts?  Deeds be the
+things that signify.  My thoughts are mine own; who shall govern me
+therein?  Ah, verily, who shall, without God doth, and thou dost?  He
+that makes conscience of his thoughts, men reckon a great saint.  I
+would say rather, he that maketh not conscience of his thoughts cannot
+serve God at all.  Pray God rule thee in thine innermost heart; then
+shall thy deeds please Him, and thy life shall be a blessing to thy
+fellows."
+
+"Dame," said I, "would you signify that the Queen is not ruled of God?"
+
+"He governeth better than so, Cis," saith she.
+
+"Yet is she Christian woman," quoth I.
+
+"A Christian woman," made answer my mother, "is a woman that followeth
+Christ.  And thou followest not Jack, Cis, when thou goest along one
+road, and Jack goeth another.  Man may follow near or far; but his face
+must be set the same way.  Christ's face was ever set to do the will of
+God.  If thou do thy will, and I do mine, our faces be set contrary."
+
+"Then must we turn us around," said I.
+
+"Ay, and flat round, too," she saith.  "When thou standest without
+Aldgate, ready to pass within, 'tis but a full little turn shall take
+thee up to Shoreditch on the right hand, or down Blanche Chappleton on
+the left.  Thy feet shall be set scarce an inch different at beginning.
+Yet pursue the roads, and the one shall land thee at York, and the other
+at Sandwich.  Many a man hath reckoned he set forth to follow Christ,
+whose feet were scarce an inch out of the way.  `Go to,' quoth he; `what
+can an inch matter? what difference shall it make?'  Ah me, it maketh
+all the difference between Heaven and Hell, for the steps lead to
+diverse roads.  Be well assured of the right road; and when thou so art,
+take heed to walk straight therein.  Many a man hath turned a score out
+of the way, by reason that he walked a-crooked himself."
+
+"Do we know alway when we walk straight?" said I.
+
+"Thou hast thy Psalter and thine Evangelisterium," made she answer: "and
+thou hast God above.  Make good use of the Guide and the map, and thou
+art not like to go far astray.  And God pardon the souls that go astray!
+Ay, God forgive us all!"
+
+She sat and span a while, and said nought.
+
+"Cicely," then quoth she, "I shall not abide here."
+
+"Whither go you, Dame?"
+
+"Like Abraham of old," she saith, "to the land which God shall show me.
+If I could serve my dear master,--the lad that once lay in mine arms--by
+tarrying hither, I could bear much for his sake.  But now can I do
+nought: and soothly I feel as though I could not bear to stand and look
+on.  I can pray for him any whither.  Cicely, this will go on.  Man that
+setteth foot on slide shall be carried down it.  Thou mayest choose to
+take or let be the first step; but oft-times thou canst not choose
+touching the second and all that be to follow.  Or if thou yet canst
+choose, it shall be at an heavy cost that thou draw back thy foot.  One
+small twinge may be all the penalty to-day, when an hour's deadly
+anguish shall not pay the wyte to-morrow.  Thou lookest on me aswhasay,
+What mean you by this talk?  I mean, dear heart, that she which hath
+entered on this road is like to pursue it to the bitter end.  A bitter
+end it shall be--not alone to her.  It means agony to him and all that
+love him: what maimer of agony God wot, and in His hand is the ell-wand
+to measure, and the balances to weigh.  Lord!  Thou wilt not blunder to
+give an inch too much, nor wilt Thou for all our greeting weigh one
+grain too little.  Thou wilt not let us miss the right way, for the
+rough stones and the steep mountain-side.  Thou hast trodden before us
+every foot of that weary road, and we need but to plant our steps in Thy
+footmarks, which we know well from all others by their blood-marked
+track.  O blessed Jesu Christ! it is fair journeying to follow Thee, and
+Thou leadest Thy sheep safe to the fold of the Holy Land."
+
+I mind her words well.  For, woe is me! they were nearhand the last that
+ever I heard of her.
+
+"Dame," said I, "do you bid me retreat belike?"
+
+"Nay, daughter," quoth she, and smiled, "thou art no longer at my
+bidding.  Ask thine husband, child."
+
+So I told Jack what my mother had said.  He sat and meditated thereon
+afore the fire, while I made ready my Christmas gown of blue kaynet
+guarded with stranling.  [Note 6.]
+
+"Sissot," saith he, his meditation ended, "I think Dame Alice speaks
+wisely."
+
+"Then wouldst thou depart the Court, Jack?" said I.
+
+"I?  Nay, sweet heart.  The young King hath about him no more true men
+than he needeth.  And as I wait at his _coucher_, betimes I can drop a
+word in his ear that may, an' it please God, be to his profit.  He is
+yet tender ground, and the seed may take root and thrive: and I am tough
+gnarled old root, that can thole a blow or twain, and a rough wind by
+now and then."
+
+"Jack!" cried I, laughing.  "`A tough gnarled old root,' belike!  Thou
+art not yet of seven-and-thirty years, though I grant thee wisdom enough
+for seventy."
+
+"I thank you heartily, Dame Cicely, for that your courtesy," quoth he,
+and made me a low reverence.  "Ay, dear heart, a gnarled root of
+cross-grained elm, fit for a Yule log.  I 'bide with the King, Sissot.
+But thou wist, that sentence [argument] toucheth not thee, if thou
+desire to depart with Dame Alice.  And maybe it should be the best for
+thee."
+
+"I depart from the Court, Jack, on a pillion behind thee," said I, "and
+no otherwise.  I say not I might not choose to dwell elsewhere the
+rather, if place were all that were in question; but to win out of ill
+company at the cost of thy company, were to be at heavier charge than my
+purse can compass.  And seeing I am in my duty therein, I trust God
+shall keep me from evil and out of temptation."
+
+"Amen!" saith Jack, and kissed me.  "We will both pray, my dear heart,
+to be kept out of temptation; but let us watch likewise that we slip not
+therein.  They be safe kept that God keepeth; and seeing that not our
+self-will nor folly, but His providence, brought us to this place, I
+reckon we have a right to ask His protection."
+
+Thus it came that I tarried yet in the Queen's household.  And verily,
+they that did so, those four next years, had cause to seek God's
+protection.
+
+On the first of February was--but, wala wa! my pen runneth too fast.  I
+must back nearhand a month.
+
+It was the seventh of January, being the morrow of the Epiphany, and
+three days after we reached Westminster, that the Queen met the King's
+Great Council, the which she had called together on the eve of Saint
+Barbara [December 3rd], the Duke sitting therein in state as keeper of
+the kingdom.  Having opened the said Parliament, the Duke, by his
+spokesmen, my Lords of Hereford and Lincoln, laid before them all that
+had taken place since they last met, and bade them deliberate on what
+was now to be done for the safety of the realm and Church of England.
+[Note 7].  Who at once adjudged the throne void, and the King to be put
+down and accounted such no longer: appointing certain nobles to go with
+the Duke to show these things unto the Queen.
+
+Well do I mind that morrow of the Epiphany.  The Queen sat in the
+Painted Chamber, spinning amongst us, when the nobles waited upon her.
+She had that morrow been full furnish, sharply chiding Joan de Vilers
+but a moment ere the Duke entered the presence: but no sooner came he in
+than she was all honey.
+
+"Dame," saith he, "divers nobles of the Council pray speech of you."
+
+The Queen looked up; she sighed, and her hand trembled.  Then pulled she
+forth her sudary [handkerchief], and wiped her cheek: I am somewhat
+unsure of the tears thereon.  Yet maybe they were there, for verily she
+could weep at will.
+
+Dame Elizabeth, that sat in the casement, saith to Dame Joan, that was
+on the contrary side thereof, I being by her,--"Will the Queen swoon,
+think you?"
+
+"She will come to an' she do," answered she.
+
+I was ready at one time to reckon Dame Joan de Vaux somewhat hard toward
+the Queen: I saw later that she had but better sight than her
+neighbours.
+
+Then came in the prelates and nobles which were deputed of the
+Parliament to convey the news, and the Queen bowed her head when they
+did reverence.
+
+My Lord of Winchester it was that gave her the tidings that the
+Parliament then sitting had put down King Edward, and set up the Duke,
+which there stood, as King.  All innocent stood he, that had been told
+it was his father's dearest wish to be free of that burden of state, and
+himself too true and faithful to imagine falsehood or unfaithfulness in
+her that spake it.
+
+Soothly, she played her part full well.  She greet plenteously, she
+wrung her hands, she tare off the hood from her head, she gripped her
+hair as though to tear that, yea, she cast her down alow on the rushes,
+and swooned or made believe thereto.  The poor young Duke was full
+alarmed, and kneeling beside her, he would have cast his arms about her,
+but she thrust him away.  Until at the last he arose, and with mien full
+princely, told the assembled nobles that he would never consent to that
+which so mispaid [displeased, distressed] his dear mother, without his
+father should himself command the same.  She came to, it seemed me, full
+soon thereafter.
+
+Then was sent my Lord of Lancaster and other to the King to hear his
+will thereon.  Of these was my Lord of Hereford one, and man said he
+spake full sharply and poignantly to the King, which swooned away
+thereunder (somewhat more soothly, as I guess); and the scene, said man
+that told me, was piteous matter.  Howbeit, the King gave full assent,
+and resigned the crown to his son, who was now to be king, he that had
+so been being thenceforth named only Sir Edward of Caernarvon.  This was
+the eve of Saint Agnes [January 20th, 1327], the twentieth year of the
+said King.
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Note 1.  Better known as Carfax.  The exact church is not on record, but
+it was likely to be this.
+
+Note 2.  Adam de Orleton.  He and Henry Burghersh, Bishop of Lincoln,
+are the two Bishops whom Thomas de la Moor, King Edward's squire, brands
+as "priests of Baal" and "Caiaphases."
+
+Note 3.  I have here given the version of events which seems best to
+reconcile the accounts of the chroniclers with the testimony of
+contemporary documents.  See Appendix.
+
+Note 4.  This is the character sketched of him by De La Moor, to whom he
+was personally known.
+
+Note 5.  "For envy they had delivered Him."  Matthew, twenty-seven,
+verse 18.
+
+Note 6.  Kennet, a coarse Welsh cloth, trimmed with stranling, the fur
+of the squirrel taken between Michaelmas and Christmas.
+
+Note 7.  The idea of some persons that the Church of England began to
+exist at the Reformation would have astonished the medieval reckoners
+"according to the computation of the Church of England," who were
+accustomed to hear Parliaments summoned to debate "concerning the
+welfare of the kingdom and Church of England."  The former notion is
+purely modern.
+
+
+
+PART ONE, CHAPTER 5.
+
+THE REIGN OF KING ROGER.
+
+  "She is no sheep who goes walking with the wolf."
+
+  Russian Proverb.
+
+And now, were I inditing a very chronicle, should I dip my quill next in
+the red ink, and write in full great letters--"Here beginneth the reign
+of King Edward of Windsor, the Third after the Conquest."
+
+But, to scribe soothliness, I cannot do so.  For not for four years
+thereafter did he in verity begin to reign.  And what I should write, if
+I writ truth, should be--"Here beginneth the reign of King Roger de
+Mortimer, the First in England."
+
+Now, here cometh an other matter I have noted.  When man setteth him up
+to do that whereto he was not born, and hath not used himself, he is
+secure to do the same with never so much more din and outrage
+[extravagance] than he to whom it cometh of nature.  If man be but a
+bedel [herald, crier] he shall rowt [Shout] like a lion the first day;
+and a prince's charetter [charioteer] shall be a full braver [finer,
+more showy] man than the prince his master.  Sir Roger made a deal more
+bruit than ever the King himself; that during all these four years was
+meek and debonair [humble and gentle], as though he abode his time.  He
+wrought what he would (which was mostly ill), and bare him like those of
+whom the Psalmist speaketh, that said, "Our lips are of us, who is our
+lord?"  [Psalm 9 4, Rolle's translation.]  He held up but a finger, and
+first the King, and all else after, followed along his path.  Truly, I
+fault not the King; poor lad, he was in evil case, and might well enough
+have found hard to know the way he should go.  But I do fault them that
+might have oped his eyes, and instead thereof, as being smoother way,
+chose to run after King Mortimer with his livery on their backs.
+
+"How many of them knew the man, thinkest?" saith Jack, that had come in
+while I writ the last piece.
+
+"Jack!" cried I.  "What, to see him do that he did, more in especial
+when his pride was bolned [swollen, pulled up] by being create Earl of
+March--when he had larger following than the King himself, having nine
+score knights at his feet; when he arose from the King's table ere the
+King stirred, as though he were lord and master of all; when he suffered
+the King to rise on his coming into the presence, all meekly and
+courteously, yet himself, when the King entered, kept his seat as he
+micht afore a servitor; when he walked even with the King, and sometimes
+afore him; when he was wont to put him down, and mock at him, and make
+him a laughing-stock.  I have heard him myself say to the King--`Hold
+thy peace, lad!' and the King took it as sweetly as if he had been
+swearing of allegiance."
+
+"I have eyes in mine head, my fair warrior, and ears belike.  I saw so
+much as thou--maybe a little more, since I was something oftener in my
+Lord's company than thou."
+
+"But thou sawest what he was?" said I.
+
+"So did I; and sorry am I to have demerited the wrath of Dame Cicely de
+Chaucombe, for that I oped not the King my master's even."
+
+"Nay, Jack!  I never meant thee.  I have somewhat more reverence for
+mine husband than so."
+
+"Then art thou a very pearl amongst women.  Most dames' husbands find
+not much reverence stray their way--at least from that quarter.  I
+misdoubt if Vivien's husband ever picks up more than should lightly slip
+into his pocket."
+
+"Sir James Le Bretun is not so wise as thou," said I.  "But what I
+meant, Jack, was such as my Lord of Lancaster and my Lord of Kent, and
+my Lord of Hereford--why did never such as these tell the King sooth
+touching the Mortimer?"
+
+"As for my Lord of Hereford," saith Jack, "I reckon he was too busied
+feeling of his pulse and counting his emplastures, and telling his
+apothecary which side of his head ached worser since the last draught of
+camomile and mallows.  Sir Edmund de Mauley was wont to say he had a
+grove of aspens at Pleshy for to make his own populion [Note 1], and
+that he brake his fast o' dragons' blood and dyachylon emplasture.
+Touching that will I not say; but I reckon he thought oftener on his
+tamarind drink than on the public welfare.  He might, perchance, have
+bestirred him to speak to the King had he heard that he had a freckle of
+his nose, for to avise him to put white ointment thereon; but scarce, I
+reckon, for so small a matter as the good government of the realm."
+
+"Now, Jack!" said I, a-laughing.
+
+"My Lord of Kent," went he forth, "was he that, if he thought he had
+hurt the feelings of a caterpillar, should have risen from his warm bed
+the sharpest night in winter to go and pray his pardon of his bare
+knees.  God assoil him, loving and gentle soul!  He was all unfit for
+this rough world.  And the dust that Sir Roger cast up at his
+horse-heels was in my Lord of Kent's eyes as thick as any man's.  He
+could not have warned the King, for himself lacked the warning."
+
+"Then my Lord of Lancaster--why not he?"
+
+"He did."
+
+"Ay, at long last, when two years had run: wherefore not long ere that?
+The dust, trow, was not in his eyes."
+
+"Good wife, no man's eyes are blinder than his which casts the dust into
+his own.  My Lord of Lancaster had run too long with the hounds to be
+able all suddenly to turn him around and flee with the hare."
+
+"Soothly, I know he met the Queen on her landing, and likewise had the
+old King in his ward: but--"
+
+"I reckon, Sissot, there were wheels within wheels.  We need not judge
+my Lord of Lancaster.  He did his duty at last.  And mind thou, between
+him and his duty to King Edward the father, stood his brother's
+scaffold."
+
+"Which never man deserved richer."
+
+"Not a doubt thereof: but man may scarce expect his brother to behold
+it."
+
+"Then," said I, "my Lord Zouche of Mortimer--but soothly he was cousin
+to the traitor.  Jack, I never could conceive how it came about that he
+ever wedded the Lady Alianora.  One of the enemies of her own husband,
+and she herself set prisoner in his kinsman's keeping, and to wed her
+gaoler's cousin, all against the King's pleasure and without his
+licence--canst solve the puzzle?"
+
+"I can tell thee why he wed her, as easy as say `twice two be four.'
+She was co-heir of the earldom of Gloucester, and his sword was nearhand
+his fortune."
+
+"Then wherefore wed she him?"
+
+"Kittle [ticklish, delicate] ground, Sissot, for man to take on him to
+account for the doings of woman.  I might win a clap to mine ears, as
+like as not."
+
+"Now, Jack, thou wist well I never demean me so unbuxomly.  Tell me thy
+thought."
+
+"Then I think," saith he, "that the Lady Alianora La Despenser was woman
+of that manner that fetch their souls from the vine.  They must have
+somewhat to lean on.  If an oak or a cedar be nigh, good: but if no, why
+then, a bramble will serve their turn.  The one thing that they cannot
+do is to stand alone.  There be not only women of this fashion; there be
+like men, but too many.  God help them, poor weak souls!  The woman that
+could twine round the Lord Zouche the tendrils torn from Sir Hugh Le
+Despenser must have been among the very weakest of women."
+
+"It is sore hard," said I, "to keep one from despising such weakness."
+
+"It is full hard, soothly.  I know but one way--to keep very near to Him
+that never spurned the weakest that prayed His help, and that tholed
+weakness amidst other meeknesses [humiliations], by reason that it
+behoved Him to resemble His brethren in all things.  And some of His
+brethren are very weak.  Sissot, when our daughters were babes, I was
+wont to think thou lovedst better Alice than Vivien, and I am nearhand
+secure that it was by reason she was the weaker of the twain, and pave
+thee the more thought."
+
+"Surely," said I; "that alway holdeth good with a mother, that the barne
+which most needeth care is the dearest."
+
+Jack's answer, I knew, came from Holy Writ.
+
+"`As by him whom his mother blandisheth, thus will I comfort you.'"
+
+The Sunday after the Conversion of Saint Paul [February 1st, 1327] was
+the young King crowned in Westminster Abbey before the high altar, by
+Walter [Reynolds] Archbishop of Canterbury, that had been of old a great
+friend of King Edward the father, and was carried away like the rest by
+the glamour of the Queen.  But his eyes were opened afore most other,
+and he died of a broken heart for the evil and unkindness which himself
+had holpen, the day of Saint Edmund of Pontigny [November 16th] next
+thereafter.  Also present were nine bishops, the King's uncles, and many
+nobles: yea, and Queen Isabel likewise, that caused us to array her in
+great doole [mourning], and held her sudary at her eyes nearhand all the
+office [Service] through.  And it was no craft, for she could weep when
+it listed her--some women have that power--and her sudary was full wet
+when she returned from the Abbey.  And the young King, that was but then
+full fourteen years of age, took oath as his father and all the kings
+had done afore him, that he would confirm to the people of England the
+laws and the customs to them granted by the ancient Kings of England his
+predecessors, the rights and offerings of God, and particularly the
+laws, customs, and liberties granted to the clergy and people by the
+glorious King, Saint Edward, his predecessor.  He sware belike to keep
+unto God and holy Church, unto the clergy and the people, entire peace
+and concord to his power; to do equal and true justice in all his
+judgments, and discretion in mercy and truth; to keep the laws and
+righteous customs which the commons of his realm should have elected
+[_Auera estu_ are the rather singular words used], and to defend and
+enforce them, to the honour of God and to his power.  [Note 2.]
+
+Six sennights we tarried at Westminster: but, lack-a-day! what a time
+had we at after!  All suddenly the Queen gave order to depart thence.
+She controlled all things, and the King her son was but a puppet in her
+hands.  How did we trapes up and down all the realm!
+
+To Canterbury the first round, a-pilgrimage to Saint Thomas; then right
+up as far as York, where we tarried a matter of five weeks.  Then to
+Durham, which we had scarce reached ere we were aflight again, this time
+to Auckland, and a bit into that end of Yorkshire; back again to Durham,
+then away to York, and ten days later whisked off to Nottingham; there a
+fortnight, off again to Lincoln.  I guess well now, what I wist not
+then, the meaning of all this.  It was to let the young King from taking
+thought touching his father, and all that had happed of late.  While he
+was cheerful and delectable [full of enjoyment], she let him be; but no
+sooner saw she his face the least downfell [cast down] than she plucked
+him away, and put turn to his thoughts by sending him some other
+whither.  It paid [Note 3] for a time.
+
+It was while we were at Lincoln, where we tarried from the morrow of
+Holy Cross to Michaelmas Eve [September 15th to 28th], that Donald the
+Scots messager came from the southern parts with tidings.  For some
+time--divers weeks, certes--afore that, had the Queen been marvellous
+unrestful and hard to serve.  That which liked her yesterday was all out
+this morrow, and each matter man named for her plesance was worser than
+that had gone afore.  I was nearhand driven out of senses that very
+morrow, so sharp [irritable] was she touching her array.  Not a gown in
+her wardrobe would serve the turn; and when at last she chose which she
+would don, then were her hoods all awry; and then would she have no
+hood, but only a wimple of fair cloth of linen.  Then, gramercy! such
+pains had we to find her a fillet: this was too deep, and that too
+narrow, and this set with amethysts should ill fit with her gown of
+rose-colour, and that wrought of lily-flowers should catch in her hair.
+
+I wished me at the further end of the realm from Lincoln, ay, a dozen
+times twice told.
+
+At long last we gat her filleted; and then came the mantle.  First, Dame
+Elizabeth brought one of black cloth of Stamford, lined with fox fur:
+no, that served not.  Then brought Dame Joan de Vaux the fair mantle of
+cloth of velvet, grey, that I ever reckoned the fairest in the Queen's
+wardrobe, guarded with black budge, and wrought in embroidery of
+rose-colour and silver: she waved it away as though the very sight
+'noyed [disgusted] her.  Then fetched Isabel de la Helde the ray mantle,
+with corded ground, of blue, red, and green; and the Queen chid her as
+though she had committed one of the seven deadly sins.  At the last, in
+uttermost wanhope [despair], ran I and brought the ugsomest of all, the
+corded olive green with border of grey; and forsooth, that would she
+have.  Well-a-day, but I was fain when we had her at last arrayed!
+
+When the Queen had left the chamber, Dame Elizabeth cast her on the
+nearest bench, and panted like a coursed hare.
+
+"Deary, deary me!" crieth she: "I would I were abed."
+
+"Abed!" crieth Isabel de la Helde.  "Abed at five o'clock of a morrow!"
+
+"Ay, or rather, I would I had never gat out.  Gramercy, but how
+fractious is the Queen!  I counted we ne'er should have her donned."
+
+"She never spoke to me so sharp in her life," saith Isabel.
+
+"I tell you, I am fair dog-weary!" quoth Dame Elizabeth.
+
+"Whatever hath took the Queen?" saith Joan de Vilers.
+
+"Foolish childre, all of you!" saith old Dame Tiffany, looking on us
+with a smile.  "When man is fractious like to this, with every man and
+every matter, either he suffereth pain, or else he hath some hidden
+anguish or fear that hath nought to do with the matter in hand.  'Tis
+not with you that my Lady is wrathful.  There is something harrying her
+at heart.  And she hath not told me."
+
+In hall, during dinner.  I cast eyes from time to time on the Queen, and
+I could not but think Dame Tiffany spake sooth.  She looked fair
+haggard, as though some bitter care were eating out her heart.  I never
+loved her, as I said at the first: but that morn I felt sorry for her.
+
+Sorry for _her_!  Ah, I soon knew what sore cause there was to be sorry
+to the very soul for some one else!
+
+It was while we were sat at supper that Donald came.  I saw him enter
+from the high table where I sat, and I knew in an instant that he
+brought some fearsome tidings.  I lost him in the crowd at the further
+end, and then Mereworth, one of the varlets of the King's chamber, came
+all in haste up the hall, with a face that had evil news thereon writ:
+and Sir John de Ros, that was then Seneschal, saw him, and guessing, as
+I think, the manner of word he brought, stepped down from the dais to
+meet him.  Then, in an other minute, I saw Donald brought up to the King
+and to the Queen.
+
+I watched them both.  As Donald's news was told, the young King's face
+grew ashen pale, and he cried full dolefully "_Dieu eit mercie_!"  The
+news troubled him sore and sure enough.  But the Queen's eyes, that a
+moment before had been full of terror and untholemodness [impatience],
+shot out one flash of triumphant gladness: and the next minute she had
+hidden her face in her sudary, and was greeting as though her heart had
+broke.  I marvelled what tidings they could be, that were tene [grief]
+to the King, and blisfulhed [happiness] to the Queen.  Sir John de
+Gaytenby, the King's confessor, was sat next to me at the table, and to
+him I said--
+
+"Father, can you guess what manner of news Donald de Athole shall have
+brought?"
+
+"Ay, daughter," he made answer.  "Would I were in doubt!"
+
+"You think--?"  I asked him, and left him to fill up.
+
+"I think," he saith in a low voice somewhat sorrowful of tone, "that God
+hath delivered from all labour and sorrow one of His servants that trust
+in Him."
+
+"Why, that were nought to lament o'er!"  I was about to say; but I
+stayed me when half through.  "Father, you mean there is man dead?"
+
+"We call it death," saith Sir John de Gaytenby--"we of this nether
+world, that be ever in sickness and weariness, in tene and in
+temptation.  Know we what they call it which have forded the Rubicon,
+and stand safe on the pavement of the Golden City?  `_Multo magis
+melius_,' saith the Apostle [Philippians One verse 23]: `much more
+better' to dissolve and to be with Christ.  And the colder be the waters
+man hath to ford, the gladder and welcomer shall be the light of the
+Golden City.  They were chill, I cast no doubt: and all the chiller for
+the hand that chilled them.  With how sharp thorns and briers God hath
+to drive some of His sheep!  But once in the Fold, there shall be time
+to forget them all.  `When thou passest through the waters, I will be
+with thee' [Isaiah 43 verse 2]--that is enough now.  We can stay us upon
+that promise till we come through.  And then there shall be no more need
+for Him to be with us in tribulation, since we shall reign with Him for
+ever and ever."
+
+Old Sir Simon de Driby came up behind us as the Confessor ended.
+
+"Have you guessed, Sir John, our dread news?--and you, Dame Cicely?"
+
+"I have guessed, and I think rightly," answered Sir John.  "For Dame
+Cicely I cannot say."
+
+I shook mine head, and Sir Simon told me.
+
+"Sir Edward of Caernarvon is dead."
+
+"Dead--the King!"
+
+"`The King' no longer," saith Sir Simon sorrowfully.
+
+"O Sir Simon!" cried I.  "How died he?"
+
+"God knoweth," he made answer.  "I misdoubt if man shall know."
+
+"Or woman?" quoth Sir John, significantly.
+
+"The schoolmaster learned me that man includeth woman," saith Sir Simon,
+smiling full grimly.
+
+"He learned you not, I reckon, that woman includeth man," saith Sir
+John, somewhat after the same manner.
+
+"Ah, _woe_ worth the day!"  Sir Simon fetched an heavy sigh.  "Well, God
+forgive us all!"
+
+"Amen!"  Sir John made answer.
+
+I think few men were in the realm that did not believe the King's death
+was murder.  But nought was done to discover the murderers, neither to
+bring them to justice.  It was not until after the Mortimer was out of
+the way that any such thing was done.  When so it was, mandate was
+issued for the arrest of Sir Thomas de Gournay, Constable of Bristol
+Castle, and William de Ocle, that had been keepers of the King at
+Berkeley Castle.  What came of Ocle know I not; but Sir Thomas fled
+beyond seas to the King's dominions of Spain [Note 3], and was
+afterwards taken.  But he came not to trial, for he died on the way: and
+there were that said he knew too much to be permitted to make defence.
+[Note 4.]
+
+The next thing that happed, coming under mine eyes, was the young King's
+betrothal and marriage.  The Lady Philippa of Hainault, that was our
+young Queen, came over to England late in that same year, to wit, the
+first of King Edward, and was married the eve of the Conversion of Saint
+Paul, the year of our Lord 1327, after the computation of the Church of
+England [Note 5].  Very praisable [lovely] and fulbright [beautiful] was
+the said lady, being sanguine of complexion, of a full fair face, and
+fair hair, having grey [grey] cyen and rosen colour of her cheeks.  She
+was the same age as the King, to wit, fifteen years.  They were wed in
+York Minster.
+
+"Where hast reached to, Sissot?" saith Jack, that was sat by the fire,
+as I was a-bending the tail of my Y in York.
+
+"Right to the King's wedding," said I.
+
+"How many more skins o' parchment shall I bring thee for to set forth
+the gowns?"
+
+"Dear heart!" cried I, "must I do that for all that were there?"
+
+"Prithee use thy discretion.  I wist not a woman could write a chronicle
+without telling of every gown that came in her way."
+
+"Go thy ways, Jack!" said I.  "Securely, if I set down the King's, and
+the Queen's, and thine and mine, that shall serve well enough."
+
+"It should serve me, verily," quoth he.  "Marry, I hope thou mindest
+what manner of raiment I had on, for I ensure thee I do not a whit."
+
+"Dost thou ever, the morrow thereof?" said I.  "Nay, I wis I must pluck
+that out of mine own memory."
+
+The King, then, was donned of a robe of purple velvet, with a pair of
+sotlars of cloth of gold of Nakes silk; the said velvet robe wrought
+with the arms of England, of golden broidery.  The Queen bare a robe of
+green cloth of velvet, with a cape thereto, guarded with miniver, and an
+hood of miniver; her hair falling full sweetly over from under her
+golden fillet, sith she put not on her hood save to leave the Minster.
+And at the feast thereafter, she ware a robe of cloth of samitelle, red
+and grey, with a tunic and mantle of the same.  [Note 6.]
+
+As for Jack, that was then clerk of the Wardrobe [Note 7], he ware a
+tabard of the King's livery [the arms of France and England] of mine own
+broidering, and hosen of black cloth, his hood being of the same.  I had
+on a gown of grey cloth of Northampton, guarded with gris, and mine hood
+was of rose-colour say [Note 8] lined with black velvet.
+
+But over the inwards of the wedding must I not linger, for much is yet
+to write.  The latter end of February was the Lady La Despenser loosed
+from the Tower, and in April was all given back to her.  All, to wit,
+that could be given.  Her little children, that the Queen Isabel had
+made nuns without any leave given save her own, could come back to her
+never more.  I misdoubt if she lamented it greatly.  She was one from
+whom trouble and sorrow ran lightly, like the water from a duck's back:
+and I reckon she thought more on her second marriage, which had place
+secretly about a year after her release, than she ever did for her lost
+children.  And here may I say that those sisters, coheirs of Gloucester,
+did ever seem to me the queerest mothers I wist.  The Lady Margaret
+Audley gave up her little Kate (a sweet child she was) to the Ankerage
+at Ledbury with scarce a sigh; and the Lady Alianora, of whom I write,
+took but little thought for her maids at Sempringham, or I err.  I would
+not have given up my Alice after that fashion: and I did sore pity those
+little barnes, of which the eldest was not seven years old.  Folk said
+it was making of gift to God, and was an holy and blessed thing.
+Soothly, I marvel if God setteth store by such like gifts, when men do
+but cast at his feet that whereof they would be rid!  The innermost
+sanctuary of the Temple, it seemeth me, is scarce the fittest place to
+shoot rubbish.  And when the rubbish is alive, if it be but vermin, I
+cannot slack to feel compassion for it.
+
+Methinks the Lady Alianora felt it sorer trouble of the twain, when she
+suffered touching certain jewels reported to be missing from the Tower
+during her governance thereof--verily a foolish charge, as though the
+Lady of Gloucester should steal jewels!  Howbeit, she was fined twenty
+thousand pound, for the which she rendered up her Welsh lands, with the
+manors of Hanley and Tewkesbury, being the fairest and greatest part of
+her heritage.  The King allowed her to buy back the said lands if she
+should, in one and the same day, pay ten thousand marks: howbeit, one
+half the said fine was after remitted at the intercession of the Lords
+and Commons.
+
+That autumn was the insurrection of my Lord of Lancaster--but a bit too
+soon, for the time was not ripe, but I reckon they knew not how longer
+to bear the ill thewis [manners, conduct] of the Mortimer, which ruled
+every thing at his will, and allowed none, not even my Lord of
+Lancaster, to come nigh the King without his leave, and then he had them
+watched of spies.  The Parliament was held at Salisbury that Michaelmas,
+whereto all men were forbidden to come in arms.  Thither, nathless, came
+the said Mortimer, with a great rabble of armed men at his heels.  My
+Lord of Lancaster durst not come, so instead thereof he put himself in
+arms, and sent to expound matters to the King.  He was speedily joined
+by all that hated the Mortimer (and few did not), among whom were the
+King's uncles, the Bishops of Winchester and London, the Lord Wake, the
+Lord de Beaumont, Sir Hugh de Audley, and many another that had stood
+stoutly for Queen Isabel aforetime.  Some, I believe, did this out of
+repentance, seeing they had been deceived; other some from nought save
+hate and envy toward the Mortimer.  The demands they put forth were no
+wise unskilwise [unreasonable].  They were chiefly that the King should
+hold his revenues himself (for the Queen had so richly dowered herself
+that scarce a noble was left to the King); that the Queen should be
+dowered of the third part, as queens had been aforetime; and that the
+Mortimer should live on his own lands, and make no encroachments.  They
+charged him with divers evil deeds, that he had avised the King to
+dissolve his Council appointed of twelve peers, he had wasted the royal
+treasure, he had counselled the King to give up Scotland, and had caused
+the Lady Joan to wed beneath her dignity.
+
+"Make no encroachments!" grimly quoth old Sir Simon, when he heard of
+this; "verily, an' this present state of matters go on but a little
+longer, the Mortimer can make no encroachments, for he shall have all
+England to his own."
+
+The Mortimer, that had yet the King's ear (though I think he chafed a
+bit against the rein by now and then), avised him that the Lords sought
+his crown, causing him to ride out against them as far as Bedford, and
+that during the night.  Peace was patched up some way, through the
+mediating of Sir Simon de Mepham, the new Archbishop of Canterbury, my
+Lord of Lancaster being fined eleven thousand pounds--though, by the
+same token, he never paid it.  [Note 9.]  That same Michaelmas was the
+King's uncle, the Lord Edmund de Woodstock, create Earl of Kent (marry,
+I named him my Lord of Kent all through, seeing he should so best be
+known, but he was not so create until now), and King Roger, that was
+such, but was not so-called, had avancement to the dignity of Earl of
+March.  There was many a lout and courtesy and many a leg made, when as
+my Lord's gracious person was in presence; and when as he went forth,
+lo! brows were drawn together, and lips thrust forth, and words
+whispered beneath the breath that were not all of praise.
+
+Now, whether it be to fall into the Annals of Cicely or no, this must I
+needs say--and Jack may flout me an' he will (but that he doth never)--
+that I do hate, and contemn, and full utterly despise, this manner of
+dealing.  If I love a man, maybe I shall be bashful to tell him so: but
+if I love him not, never will I make lout nor leg afore him for to win
+of him some manner of advantage.  I would speak a man civilly, whether I
+loved him or no; that 'longeth to my gentlehood, not his: but to
+blandish and losenge him [coax and flatter], and say `I love thee well'
+and `Thou art fairest and wisest of all' twenty times in a day, when in
+mine heart I wished him full far thence, and accounted of him as fond
+and ussome [foolish and ugly]--that could I never demean me to do, an' I
+lived to the years of Methuselah.
+
+And another thing do I note--I trust Jack shall have patience with me--
+that right in proportion as a man is good, so much doth an ill man hate
+him.  My Lord of Lancaster was wise man and brave, as he oft showed,
+though he had his failings belike; and he did more than any other
+against the Mortimer, until the time was full ripe: my Lord of Kent was
+gent, good, and sweet of nature, and he did little against him--only to
+consort with my said Lord of Lancaster: yet the Mortimer hated my Lord
+of Kent far worser than my Lord of Lancaster, and never stayed till he
+had undone him.  Alas for that stately stag of ten, for the cur pulled
+him down and worried him!
+
+My Lord of Kent, as I writ afore, had dust cast in his eyes by the
+Queen.  He met her on her landing, and marched with her, truly believing
+that the King (as she told him) was in thrall to the old and young Sir
+Hugh Le Despenser, and that she was come to deliver him.  Nought less
+than his brother's murder tare open his sealed eyes.  Then he woke up,
+and aswhasay looked about him, as a man roughly wakened that scarce hath
+his full sense.  Bitter was his lamentation, and very sooth his
+penitence, when he saw the verity of the matter.  Now right as this was
+the case with him, the Queen and the Mortimer, having taken counsel
+thereon, (for they feared he should take some step that should do them a
+mischief), resolved to entangle him.  They spread a rumour, taking good
+care it should not escape his ears, that King Edward his brother yet
+lived, and was a prisoner in Corfe Castle.  He, hearing this, quickly
+despatched one of his chaplains, named Friar Thomas Dunhead, a
+Predicant--for all the Predicants were on the King's side--to see if the
+report were as it was said: and Sir John Deveroil, then Keeper of the
+Castle, having before his instructions, took the Friar within, seeming
+nothing loth, and showed unto him the appearance of a king seated at
+supper in hall, with his sewers [waiters] and other officers about him.
+This all had been bowned [prepared] afore, of purpose to deceive my Lord
+of Kent, and one chosen to present [represented] the King that was like
+enough to him in face and stature to pass well.  On this hearing went my
+Lord of Kent with all speed to Avignon, to take counsel with Pope John
+[John Twenty-Two] who commended him for his good purpose to deliver his
+brother, and bade him effect the same by all means in his power:
+moreover, the said Pope promised himself to bear all charges--which was
+a wise deed of the holy Father, for my Lord of Kent was he that could
+never keep money in his pocket, but it flowed out of all sides.  Then my
+Lord returned back, and took counsel with divers how to effect the same.
+Many an one promised him help--among other, the Archbishop of York, and
+the Lord Zouche of Mortimer (that wedded the Lady Alianora, widow of Sir
+Hugh Le Despenser), the Lord Wake (which had wrought much against the
+King of old, and was brother unto my Lady of Kent), and Sir Ebulo
+L'Estrange, (that wedded my Lady of Lancaster, widow of Earl Thomas),
+and the young Earl of Arundel, and others of less sort.  My said Lady of
+Kent was likewise a-work in the matter, for she was not woman to let
+either tongue or hand lie idle.
+
+Now, wherefore is it, that if man be rare sweet, gent, and tender,
+beyond other men, he shall sure as daydawn go and wed with woman that
+could hold castle or govern army if need were?  'Tis passing strange,
+but I have oft noted the same.  And if he be rough and fierce, then
+shall he take fantasy to some soft, nesh [Note 10], bashful creature
+that scarce dare say nay to save her life.  Right as men of high stature
+do commonly wed with small women, and the great women with little men.
+Such be the ways of Providence, I take it.
+
+Jack saith--which I must not forget to set down--that he credeth not a
+whit that confession set forth as made of my Lord of Kent, nor any
+testimony of Friar Dunhead, but believeth the whole matter a pack of
+lies, saving only that my Lord believed the report of his brother
+prisoner in Corfe Castle.  Howbeit, my Lord of Kent writ a letter as to
+the King his brother, offering his deliverance, which he entrusted to
+Sir John Deveroil: who incontinently carried the same to the Mortimer,
+and he to the Queen.  She then showed it to the young King, saying that
+herein might he see his uncle was conspiring to dethrone him and take
+his life and hers.  The King, that dearly loved his mother, allowed
+inquiry into the same, pending the which my said Lord was committed to
+prison.
+
+The next morrow came the Mortimer to the Queen as she sat at dinner, and
+prayed instant speech of her, and that full privy: and the Queen,
+arising from the table, took him into her privy closet.  Dame Isabel de
+Lapyoun alone in waiting.  I had learned by then to fear mischief
+whensoever the Queen bade none follow her save Dame Isabel, for I do
+verily believe she was in all the ill secrets of her mistress.  They
+were in conference maybe ten minutes, and then hastened the Mortimer
+away, nor would he tarry so long as to drink one cup of wine.  It was
+not many minutes after that the young King came in; and I perceived by
+their discourse that the Queen his mother had sent for him.  Verily, all
+that day (which was Saint Joseph [March 19th]) she watched him as cat,
+mouse.  He could not leave the chamber a moment but my Lord of March
+crept after.  I reckoned some mischief was brewing, but, _purefoy_!  I
+guessed not how much.  That day died my Lord of Kent, on the scaffold at
+Winchester.  And so beloved was he that from noon till four of the clock
+they had to wait, for no man would strike him, till at last they
+persuaded one in the Marshalsea, that had been cast for [sentenced to]
+death, to behead him as the price of his own life.
+
+A little after that hour came in Sir Hugh de Turpington, that was
+Marshal of the Hall to the King.
+
+"Sir," saith he to the King, "I am required of the Sheriff to tell you
+that my Lord of Kent hath paid wyte on the scaffold.  So perish all your
+enemies!"
+
+Up sprang the King with a face wherein amaze and sore anguish strave for
+the mastery.
+
+"My uncle Edmund is dead on scaffold!" cried he in voice that rang
+through hall.  "Mine enemies!  _He_ was none!  What mean you?  I gave no
+mandate for such, nor never should have done.  _Dieu eit mercie_! mine
+enemies be they that have murdered my fair uncle, that I loved dear.
+Where and who be they?  Will none here tell me?"
+
+Wala wa! was soul in that hall brave enough to tell him?  One of those
+two chief enemies stale softly to his side, hushing the other (that
+seemed ready to break forth) by a look.
+
+"Fair Son," saith the Queen, in her oiliest voice, "hold you so light
+your own life and your mother's?  Was your uncle (that wist full well
+how to beguile you) dearer to you than I, on whose bosom you have lain
+as babe, and whose heart hath been rent at your smallest malady?"
+
+(Marry, I marvel when, for I never beheld less careful mother than Dame
+Isabel the Queen.  But she went forth.)
+
+"The proofs of what I say," quoth she, "shall be laid afore you in full
+Parliament, and you shall then behold how sorely you have been deceived
+in reckoning on a friend in your uncle.  Meanwhile, fair Son, trust me.
+Who should seek your good, or care for your safety, more than your own
+mother?"
+
+Ah verily, who should!  But did she so?  I could see the King was
+somewhat staggered by her sweet words, yet was he not peaced in a
+moment.  His anger died down, but he brake forth in bitter tears, and so
+left the hall, greeting as he went.
+
+Once more all passed away: and they that had hoped for the King to awake
+and discover truth found themselves beguiled.
+
+Order was sent to seize my Lady of Kent and her childre, that were then
+in Arundel Castle.  But the officers, there coming, told her the dread
+tidings, whereat she fell down all in swoon, and ere the eve was born
+the Lord John her son, and baptised, poor babe, in such haste in the
+Barefooted Friars' Church, that his young brother and sister, no more
+than babes themselves, were forced to stand sponsors for him with the
+Prior of the Predicants [Note 11].  Howbeit he lived to grow to man's
+estate, yea, longer than the Lord Edmund his brother, and died Earl of
+Kent a matter of eight years gone.
+
+The Castle of Arundel, and the lands, that had been given to my Lord of
+Kent when my Lord of Arundel was execute, were granted to Queen Isabel
+shortly after his 'heading.  I think they were given as sop to keep him
+true to the Queen: not that he was man to be bought, but very like she
+thought all men were.  Dear heart, what strange gear are we human
+creatures!  I marvel at times whether the angels write us down greater
+knaves or fools.
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Note 1.  The crystallised juice of the aspen.  Earl John of Hereford
+seems to have been a valetudinarian.
+
+Note 2.  Close Roll, 1 Edward the Third, Part One.  The exact wording of
+the coronation oath is of some importance, since it has sometimes been
+stated that our sovereigns have sworn to maintain religion precisely as
+it existed in the days of Edward the Confessor.  The examination of the
+oath shows that they promised no such thing.  They engaged only to keep
+and defend to the people, clerical and lay, the laws, customs, rights,
+and liberties granted by their predecessors, and by Edward more
+especially.  "To his power" means "to the best of his power."
+
+Note 3.  Then not an unusual way of saying "the King of Spain's
+dominions."
+
+Note 4.  In my former volume, _In All Time of our Tribulation_, I
+committed the mistake of repeating the popular error that the Queen took
+immediate vengeance, by banishment, on the murderers of her husband.  It
+was only Gournay and Ocle who were directly charged with the murder: the
+others who had a share in it were merely indicted for treason.  Gournay
+was Constable of Bristol in December, 1328; and the warrant for his
+apprehension was not issued until December 3, 1330--after the fall of
+Mortimer, when Edward the Third, not his mother, was actually the ruler.
+
+Note 5.  By this phrase was meant the reckoning of the year from Easter
+to Easter, subsequently fixed for convenience' sake at the 25th of
+March.
+
+Note 6.  I have searched all the Wardrobe Accounts in vain for the
+wedding attire of this royal pair.  The robes described are that worn by
+the King for his coronation; that in which the Queen rode from the Tower
+to Westminster the day before her coronation; and that in which she
+dined after the same ceremony.  These details are given in the Wardrobe
+Accounts, 33/2, and 34/13.  It was the fashion at this time for a
+bride's hair to be left flowing straight from head to foot.
+
+Note 7.  Chaucombe was in the Household, but of his special office I
+find no evidence.
+
+Note 8.  A coarse variety of silk, used both for garments and
+upholstery.
+
+Note 9.  Dr Barnes tells his readers that Lancaster was at this time so
+old as to be nearly decrepit; and two years later, that he was "almost
+blind for age."  He was exactly forty-one, having been born in 1287
+(Inq. Tho. Com. Lane, 1 Edward the Third 1. 88), and 53 years had not
+elapsed since the marriage of his parents.  We may well say, after
+Chancellor Oxenstiern, "See with how little accuracy history is
+written!"
+
+Note 10.  Tender, sensitive, either in body or mind.  This word is still
+a provincialism in the North and West.
+
+Note 11.  _Prob. aet. Johannis Com. Kant._, 23 Edward the Third 76,
+compared with _Rot. Pat._, 4 Edward the Third, Part 1, and _Rot.
+Claus._, 4 Edward the Third.
+
+
+
+PART ONE, CHAPTER 6.
+
+NEMESIS.
+
+  "The mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small."
+
+  Longfellow.
+
+After this, the Queen kept the King well in hand.  To speak sooth, I
+should say the old Queen, or Queen Isabel, for now had we a young Queen.
+But verily, all this time Queen Philippa was treated as of small
+account; and she, that was alway sweet and gent, dwelt full peaceably,
+content with her babe, our young Prince of Wales, that was born at
+Woodstock, at Easter of the King's fourth year [Note 1], and the old
+Queen Isabel ruled all.  She seemed fearful of letting the King out of
+her sight.  When he journeyed to the North in August, she went withal,
+and came back with him to Nottingham in October.  It was she that writ
+to my Lord of Hereford that he should not fail to be at the Colloquy
+[note 2] to be held in that town the fifteenth of October.  With her was
+ever my Lord of March, that was as her shadow: my Lady of March, that
+might have required to have her share of him with some reason, being
+left lone with her childre in Ludlow Castle.  It was the 13th of October
+that we came to Nottingham.  My Lord of Hereford, that was Lord High
+Constable, was at that time too sick to execute his office (or thought
+he was); maybe he desired to keep him well out of a thing he foresaw:
+howbeit, he writ his excuse to the King, praying that his brother Sir
+Edward de Bohun might be allowed his deputy.  To this the King assented:
+but my Lord of March, that I guess mistrusted more Sir Edward than his
+brother (the one having two eyes in his head, and the other as good as
+none), counselled the Queen to take into her own hand the keys of the
+Castle.  Which she did, having them every night brought to her by Sir
+William Eland, then Constable thereof, and she laid them under her own
+pillow while the morning.
+
+The part of my tale to follow I tell as it was told to me, in so far as
+matters fell not under mine eye.
+
+The King, the old Queen, the Earl of March, and the Bishop of Lincoln,
+were lodged in the Castle with their following: and Sir Edward de Bohun,
+doing office for his brother, appointed my Lord of Lancaster to have his
+lodging there likewise.  Whereat my glorious Lord of March was greatly
+angered, that he should presume to appoint a lodging for any of the
+nobles so near the person of Queen Isabel.  (He offered not to go forth
+himself.)  Sir Edward smiled something grimly, and appointed my Lord of
+Lancaster his lodging a mile forth of the town, where my Lord of
+Hereford also was.
+
+That night was dancing in the hall; and a little surprised was I that
+Sir William de Montacute [Note 3] should make choice of me as his
+partner.  He was one of the bravest knights in all the King's
+following--a young man, with all his wits about him, and lately wed to
+the Lady Katherine de Grandison, a full fair lady of much skill [Note 4]
+and exceeding good repute.  It was the pavon [Note 5] we danced, and not
+many steps were taken when Sir William saith--
+
+"Dame Cicely, I have somewhat to say to you, under your good leave."
+
+"Say on, Sir William," quoth I.
+
+"Say I well, Dame, in supposing you true of heart to the old King, as
+Dame Alice de Lethegreve's daughter should be?"
+
+"You do so, in good sooth," I made answer.
+
+"So I reckoned," quoth he.  "Verily, an' I had doubted it, I had held my
+peace.  But now to business:--Dame, will you help me?"
+
+I could not choose but laugh to hear him talk of business.
+
+"That is well," saith he.  "Laugh, I pray you; then shall man think we
+do but discourse of light matter.  But what say you to my question?"
+
+"Why, I will help you with a very good will," said I, "if you go about a
+good matter, and if I am able, and if mine husband forbid me not."
+
+"Any more ifs?" quoth he--that I reckon wished to make me to laugh, the
+which I did.
+
+"Not at this present," made I answer.
+
+"Then hearken me," saith he.  "Can you do a deed in the dark, unwitting
+of the cause--knowing only that it is for the King's honour and true
+good, and that they which ask it be true men?"
+
+I meditated a moment.  Then said I,--"Ay; I can so."
+
+"Will you pass your word," saith he, "to the endeavouring yourself to
+keep eye on the Queen and my Lord of March this even betwixt four and
+five o' the clock?  Will you look from time to time on Sir John de
+Molynes, and if you hear either of them speak any thing as though they
+should go speak with the King, will you rub your left eye when Sir John
+shall look on you?  But be you ware you do it not elsewise."
+
+"What, not though it itch?" said I, yet laughing.
+
+"Not though it itch to drive you distraught."
+
+"Well!" said I, "'tis but for a hour.  But what means it, I pray you?"
+
+"It means," saith he, "that if the King's good is to be sought, and his
+honour to be saved, you be she that must help to do it."
+
+Then all suddenly it came on me, like to a levenand [lightning] flash,
+what it was that Sir William and his fellows went about to do.  I looked
+full into his eyes.  And if ever I saw truth, honour, and valour writ in
+man's eyes, I read them there.
+
+"I see what you purpose," said I.
+
+"You be marvellous woman an' you do," answered he.
+
+"Judge you.  You have chosen that hour to speak with the King, and to
+endeavour the opening of his eyes.  For Queen Isabel or my Lord of March
+to enter should spoil your game.  Sir John de Molynes is he that shall
+give you notice if such be like to befall, and I am to signify the same
+to him."
+
+Right at that minute I had to take a volt [jump], and turn to the right
+round Sir John Neville.  When I returned back to my partner, saith he,
+so that Sir John could hear--
+
+"Dame Cicely, you vault marvellous well!"
+
+"That was not so ill as might have been, I reckon," quoth I.
+
+"Truly, nay," he made answer: "it was right well done."
+
+I knew he meant to signify that I had guessed soothly.
+
+"Will you try it yet again?" saith he.
+
+"That will I," I said: and I saw we were at one thereon.
+
+"Good," saith he.  "I reckoned, if any failed me at this pinch, it
+should not be Dame Alice's daughter."
+
+That eve stood I upon tenterhooks.  As the saints would have it, the
+Queen was a-broidering a certain work whereon Dame Elizabeth wrought
+with her: and for once in my life I thanked the said hallows [saints]
+for Dame Elizabeth's laziness.
+
+"Dame Cicely," quoth she, "an' you be not sore pressed for time, pray
+you, thread me a two-three needles.  I wis not how it befalleth, but
+thread a neeld can I never."
+
+I could have told her well that _how_, for whenso she threadeth a neeld
+she maketh no bones of the eye, but thrusteth forward the thread any
+whither it shall go, on the chance that it shall hit, which by times it
+doth: I should not marvel an' she essayed to thread the point.  Howbeit,
+her ill husbandry was right then mine encheson [Note 6].
+
+"Look you," said I, "I can bring my work to that end of the chamber;
+then shall I be at hand to thread your neeld as it shall be voided."
+
+"Verily, you be gent therein," saith she.
+
+The which I fear I was little.  Howbeit, there sat I, a-threading Dame
+Elizabeth her neeld, now with red silk and now with black, as she
+lacked, and under all having care that I rubbed not my left eye, the
+which I felt strong desire to frote [rub].  I marvel how it was, for the
+hour over, I had no list to touch it all the even.
+
+My task turned out light enough, for my Lord of March was playing of
+tables [backgammon] with Sir Edward de Bohun, and never left his seat
+for all the hour: and the Queen wrought peacefully on her golden
+vulture, and moved no more than he.  When I saw it was five o' the clock
+[Note 7], I cast an eye on Sir John de Molynes, which threw a look to
+the clock, and then winked an eye on me; and I saw he took it we had
+finished our duty.
+
+The next morrow, which was Saint Luke's even [October 17th], came a
+surprise for all men.  It was found that the Constable of the Castle,
+with Sir William de Montacute, Sir Edward de Bohun, Sir John de Molynes,
+the Lord Ufford, the Lord Stafford, the Lord Clinton, and Sir John
+Neville, had ridden away from the town the night afore, taking no man
+into their counsel.  None could tell wherefore their departure, nor what
+they purposed.  I knew only that the King was aware thereof, though
+soothly he counterfeited surprise as well as any man.
+
+"What can they signify?" saith Sir Edmund de Mortimer, the eldest son of
+my Lord of March--a much better man than his father, though not nigh so
+crafty.
+
+"Hold thy peace for a fool as thou art!" saith his father roughly.
+"They are afraid of me, I cast no doubt at all.  And they do well.  I
+could sweep them away as lightly as so many flies, and none should miss
+them!"
+
+He ended with a mocking laugh.  Verily, pride such as this was full
+ready for a fall.
+
+We knew afterward what had passed in that hour the day afore.  The King
+had been hard to insense [cause to understand: still a Northern
+provincialism] at the first.  So great was his faith in his mother that
+he ne could ne would believe any evil of her.  As to the Mortimer, he
+was ready enough, for even now was he a-chafing under the yoke.
+
+"Be he what he may--the very foul fiend himself an' you will," had he
+said to his Lords: "but she, mine own mother, my beloved--Oh, not she,
+not she!"
+
+Then--for themselves were lost an' they proved not their case--they were
+fain to bring forth their proofs.  Sir William de Montacute told my Jack
+it was all pitiful to see how our poor young King's heart fought full
+gallantly against the light as it brake on his understanding.  Poor lad!
+for he was but a lad; and it troubled him sore.  But they knew they must
+carry the matter through.
+
+"Oh, have away your testimonies!" he cried more than once.  "Spare her--
+and spare me!  Mother, my mother, mine own dear Lady! how is this
+possible?"
+
+At the last he knew all: knew who had set England in flame, who had done
+Sir Hugh Le Despenser and his son to death, who had been his own
+father's murderer.  The scales were off his eyes; and had he list to do
+it, he could never set them on again.  They said he covered his face,
+and wept like the child he nearhand was.  Then he lifted his head, the
+tears over, and in his eyes was the light of a settled purpose, and in
+his lips a stern avisement.  No latsummes [backwardness, reluctance] was
+in him when once fully set.
+
+"Take the Mortimer," quoth he, firm enough.
+
+"Sir," quoth Sir William de Montacute, "we, not being lodged in the
+Castle, shall never be able to seize him without help of the Constable."
+
+"Now, surely," saith the King, "I love you well: wherefore go to the
+Constable in my name, and bid him aid you in taking of the Mortimer, on
+peril of life and limb."
+
+"Sir, then God grant us speed!" saith Sir William.
+
+So to the Constable they went, and brake the matter, only at first
+bidding him in the King's name (having his ring for a token) to aid them
+in a certain enterprise which concerned the King's honour and safety.
+The Constable sware so to do, and then saith Sir William--
+
+"Now, surely, dear friend, it behoved us to win your assent, in order to
+seize on the Mortimer, sith you are Keeper of the Castle, and have the
+keys at your disposal."
+
+Then the Constable, having first lift his brows and made grimace of his
+mouth, fell in therewith, and quoth he--
+
+"Sirs, if it be thus, you shall wit that the gates of the Castle be
+locked with the locks that Queen Isabel sent hither, and at night she
+hath all the keys thereof, and layeth them under the pillow of her bed
+while morning: and so I may not help you into the Castle at the gates by
+any means.  But I know an hole that stretcheth out of the ward under
+earth into the Castle, beginning on the west side [still called
+Mortimer's Hole], which neither the Queen nor her following nor Mortimer
+himself, nor none of his company, know anything of; and through this
+passage I will lead you till you come into the Castle without espial of
+enemies."
+
+Thereupon went they forth that even, as though to flee away from the
+town, none being privy thereto save the King.  And Saint Luke's Day
+passed over quiet enough.  The Queen went to mass in the Church of the
+White Friars, and offered at the high altar five shillings, her
+customary offering on the great feasts and chief saints' days.  All
+peaceful sped the day; the Queen gat her abed, and the keys being
+brought of the Constable's deputy, I (that was that night in waiting)
+presented them unto her, which she received in her own hands and laid
+under the pillow of her bed.  Then went we, her dames and damsels, forth
+unto our own chambers in the upper storey of the Castle: and I, set at
+the casement, had unlatched the same and thrown it open (being nigh as
+warm as summer), and was hearkening to the soft flow of the waters of
+the Leene, which on that side do nearhand wash the Castle wall.  I was
+but then thinking how peaceful were all things, and what sore pity it
+were that man should bring in wrong, and bitterness, and anguish, on
+that which God had made so beautiful--when all suddenly my fair peace
+changed to fierce tumult and the clang of armed men--the tramp of
+mail-clad feet and the hoarse crying of roaring voices.  I was as though
+I held my breath: for I could well guess what this portended.  Then
+above all the routing and bruit [shouting and noise], came the voice of
+Queen Isabel, clear and shrill.
+
+"Now, fair Sirs, I pray you that you do no harm unto his body, for he is
+a worthy knight, our well-beloved friend, and our dear cousin."
+
+"They have him, then!" quoth I, scarce witting that I spake aloud, nor
+who heard me.
+
+"`Have him!'" saith Dame Joan de Vaux beside me: "whom have they?"
+
+Then, suddenly, a word or twain in the King's voice came up to where we
+stood; on which hearing, an anguished cry rang out from Queen Isabel.
+
+"Fair Son, fair Son! have pity on the sweet Mortimer!"  [Note 8.]
+
+Wala wa! that time was past.  And she had shown no pity.
+
+I never loved her, as in mine opening words I writ: yet in that dread
+moment I could not find in mine heart to leave her all alone in her
+agony.  I have ever found that he which brings his sorrows on his own
+head doth not suffer less thereby, but more.  And let her be what she
+would, she was a woman, and in sorrow, not to say mine own liege Lady:
+and signing to Dame Joan to follow me, down degrees ran I with all
+haste, and not staying to scratch on the door [Note 9], into the chamber
+to the Queen.
+
+We found her sitting up in her bed, her hands held forth, and a look of
+agony and horror on her face.
+
+"Cicely, is it thou?" she shrieked.  "Joan!  Whence come ye?  Saw ye
+aught?  What do they to him? who be the miscreants?  Is my son there?
+Have they won him over--the coward neddirs [serpents] that they be!
+Speak I who be they?--and what will they do?  Ah, Mary Mother, what will
+they do with him?"
+
+Her voice choked, and I spake.
+
+"Dame, the King is there, and divers with him."
+
+"What do they?" she wailed like a woman in her last agony.
+
+"There hath been sharp assault, Dame," said I, "and I fear some slain;
+for as I ran in hither, I saw that which seemed me the body of a dead
+man at the head of degrees."
+
+"Who?"  She nearhand screamed.
+
+"Dame," I said, "I think it was Sir Hugh de Turpington."
+
+"But what do they with _him_?" she moaned again, an accent of anguish on
+that last word.
+
+I save no answer.  What could I have given?
+
+Dame Joan de Vaux saith, "Dame, the King is there, and God will be with
+the King.  We may well be ensured that no wrong shall be done to them
+that have done no wrong.  This is not the contekes [quarrel] of a rabble
+rout; it is the justice of the Crown upon his enemies."
+
+"His enemies?--whose?  Mine enemies are dead and gone.  All of them--
+all!  I left not one.  Who be these? who be they, I say?  Cicely, answer
+me!"
+
+Afore I could speak word, I was called by another voice.  I was fain
+enough of the reprieve.  Leaving Dame Joan with the Queen, I ran forth
+into the Queen's closet, where stood the King.
+
+What change had come over him in those few hours!  No longer a bashful
+lad that was nearhand afraid to speak for himself ere he were bidden.
+This was a young man [he was now close on eighteen years of age] that
+stood afore me, a youthful warrior, a budding Achilles, that would stand
+to no man's bidding, but would do his will.  King of England was this
+man.  I louted low before my master.
+
+He spake in a voice wherein was both cold constrainedness, and
+bitterness, and stern determination--yet under them all something else--
+I think it was the sorely bruised yet living soul of that deep
+unutterable tenderness which had been ever his for the mother of his
+love, but could be the same never more.  Man is oft cold and bitter and
+stern, when an hour before he hath dug a grave in his own heart, and
+hath therein laid all his hopes and his affections.  And they that look
+on from afar behold the sheet of ice, but they see not the grave beneath
+it.  They only see him cold and silent: and they reckon he cares for
+nought, and feels nothing.
+
+"Dame Cicely, you have been with the Queen?"
+
+"Sir, I have so."
+
+"Take heed she hath all things at her pleasure, of such as lie in your
+power.  Let my physician be sent for if need arise, as well as her own;
+and if she would see any holy father, let him be fetched incontinent
+[immediately].  See to it, I charge you, that she be served with all
+honour and reverence, as you would have our favour."
+
+He turned as if to depart.  Then all suddenly the ice went out of his
+voice, and the tears came in.
+
+"How hath she taken it?" saith he.
+
+"Sir," said I, "full hardly as yet, and is sore troubled touching my
+Lord of March, fearing some ill shall be done him.  Moreover, my Lady
+biddeth me tell her who these be.  Is it your pleasure that I answer the
+same?"
+
+"Ay, answer her," saith he sorrowfully, "for it shall do no mischief
+now.  As for my Lord of March, no worser fate awaits him than he hath
+given better men."
+
+He strade forth after that kingly fashion which was so new in him, and
+yet sat so seemly upon him, and I went back to the Queen's chamber.
+
+"Cicely, is that my son?" she cried.
+
+"In good sooth, Dame," said I.
+
+"What said he to thee?"
+
+I told her the King had bidden me answer all her desire; that if she
+required physician she should be tended of his chirurgeon beside her
+own, and she should speak with any priest she would.  I had thought it
+should apay [gratify] her to know the same; but my words had the
+contrariwise effect, for she looked more frightened than afore.
+
+"Nought more said he?"
+
+"Dame," said I, "the Lord King bade me to serve you with all honour and
+reverence.  And he said, for my Lord of March--"
+
+"Fare forth!"  [go on] she cried, though I scarce knew that I paused.
+
+"He answered, that no worser should befall him than he had caused to
+better men than he."
+
+"Mary, Mother!"
+
+I thought I had scarce ever heard wofuller wail than she made then.  She
+sank down in the bed, clutching the coverlet with her hands, and casting
+it over her, as she buried her face in the pillows.  I went nigh, and
+drew the coverlet full setely [properly, neatly] over her.
+
+"Let be!" she saith in a smothered voice.  "It is all over.  Life must
+fare forth, and life is of no more worth.  My bird is flown from the
+cage, and none can win him back.  Is there so much as one of the saints
+will speak for me?  As I have wrought, so hast Thou paid me, God!"
+
+Not an other word spake she all the livelong day.  Never day seemed
+longer than that weary eve of Saint Ursula [October 20th].  That morrow
+were taken in the town the two sons of my Lord of March, Sir Edmund and
+Sir Geoffrey, beside divers of his friends--Sir Oliver Byngham, Sir
+Simon de Bereford, and Sir John Deveroil the chief.  All were sent that
+same day under guard to London, with the Mortimer himself.
+
+No voice compassionated him.  Nay, "my Lord of March" was no more, but
+in every man's mouth "the Mortimer" as of old time.  Some that had
+seemed his greatest losengers [flatterers] now spake of him with the
+most disdain, while they that, while they allowed him not [did not
+approve of him], had yet never abused ne reviled him, were the least
+wrathful against him.  I heard that when he was told of all, my Lord of
+Lancaster flung up his cap for joy.
+
+Some things afterward said were not true.  It was false slander to say,
+as did some, that the Mortimer was taken in the Queen's own chamber.  He
+was arrest in the Bishop of Lincoln's chamber (which had his lodging
+next the Queen), and in conference with the said Bishop.  They took not
+that priest of Baal; I had shed no tears had they so done.  Sir Hugh de
+Turpington and Sir John Monmouth, creatures of the Mortimer, were slain;
+Sir John Neville, on the other side, was wounded.
+
+Fourteen charges were set forth against the Mortimer.  The murder of
+King Edward was one; the death of my Lord of Kent an other.  One thing
+was not set down, but every man knew how to read betwixt the lines, when
+the indictment writ that other articles there were against him, which in
+respect of the King's honour were not to be drawn up in writing.  Wala
+wa! there was honour concerned therein beside his own: but he was very
+tender of her.  His way was hard to walk and beset with snares, and he
+walked it with cleaner feet than most men should.  Never heard I from
+his lips word unreverent toward her; and if other lips spake the same to
+his knowing, they forthank [regretted] it.
+
+That same day the King departed from Nottingham for Leicester, on his
+way to London.  He left behind him the Lord Wake de Lydel, in whose
+charge he placed Queen Isabel, commanding that she should be taken to
+Berkhamsted Castle as soon as might be.  I know not certainly if he
+spake with her afore he set forth, but I think rather nay than yea.
+
+October was not out when we reached Berkhamsted.  The Queen's first
+anguish was over, and she scarce spake; but I could see she hearkened
+well if aught was said in her hearing.
+
+The King sent command to seize all lands and goods of the Mortimer into
+his hands; but the Lady of March he bade to be treated with all respect
+and kindliness, and that never a jewel nor a thread of her having should
+be taken.  Indeed, I heard never man nor woman speak of her but tenderly
+and pitifully.  She was good woman, and had borne more than many.  For
+the Lady Margaret her mother-in-law, so much will I not say; for she was
+a firebrand that (as saith Solomon) scattered arrows and death: but the
+Lady Joan was full gent and reverend, and demerited better husband than
+the Fates gave her.  Nay, that may I not say, sith no such thing is as
+Fate, but only God, that knoweth to bring good out of evil, and hath
+comforted the Lady Joan in Paradise these four years gone.
+
+But scarce three weeks we tarried at Berkhamsted, and then the Lord Wake
+bore to the Queen tidings that it was the King's pleasure she should
+remove to Windsor.  My time of duty was then run out all but a two-three
+days; and the Queen my mistress was pleased to say I might serve me of
+those for mine own ease, so that I should go home in the stead of
+journeying with her to Windsor.  At that time my little maid Vivien was
+not in o'er good health, and it paid me well to be with her.  So from
+this point mine own remembrances have an end, and I serve me, for the
+rest, of the memory of Dame Joan de Vaux, mine old and dear-worthy
+friend, and of them that abode with Queen Isabel till she died.  For
+when her household was 'minished and again stablished on a new footing,
+it liked the King of his grace to give leave to such as should desire
+the same to depart to their own homes, and such as would were at liberty
+to remain--one except, to wit, Dame Isabel de Lapyoun, to whom he gave
+conge with no choice.  I was of them that chose to depart.  Forsooth, I
+had seen enough and to spare of Court life (the which I never did much
+love), and I desired no better than to spend the rest of my life at
+home, with my Jack and my little maids, and my dear mother, so long as
+God should grant me.
+
+My brother Robert (of whom, if I spake not much, it was from no lack of
+loving-kindness), on the contrary part, chose to remain.  He hath ever
+loved a busy life.
+
+I found my Vivien full sick, and a weariful and ugsome time had I with
+her ere she recovered of her malady.  Soothly, I discovered that
+diachylum emplasture was tenpence the pound, and tamarinds fivepence;
+and grew well weary of ringing the changes upon rosin and frankincense,
+litharge and turpentine, oil of violets and flowers of beans, _Gratia
+Dei_, camomile, and mallows.  At long last, I thank God, she amended;
+but it were a while ere mine ears were open to public matter, and not
+full filled of the moaning of my poor little maid.  So now, to have back
+to my story, as the end thereof was told me by Dame Joan de Vaux.
+
+Queen Isabel came to Windsor about Saint Edmund the King [November
+20th]; and nine days thereafter, on the eve of Saint Andrew [November
+29th], was the Mortimer hanged at Tyburn.  He was cast [sentenced] as
+commoner, not as noble, and was dragged at horse's tail for a league
+outside the city of London to the Elms.  But the penalties that commonly
+came after were not exacted, seeing his body was not quartered, nor his
+head set up on bridge ne gate.  His body was sent to the Friars Minors'
+Church at Coventry, whence one year thereafter, it was at the King's
+command delivered to the Lady Joan his widow and Sir Edmund his son,
+that they might bury him in the Abbey of Wigmore with his fathers.  His
+mother, the Lady Margaret, overlived him but four years; but the Lady
+Joan his wife died four years gone, the very day and month that he was
+taken prisoner, to wit, the nineteenth day of October, 1356, nigh two
+years afore Queen Isabel.
+
+The eve of Saint Andrew, as I writ, was the Mortimer hanged, without
+defence by him made (he had allowed none to Sir Hugh Le Despenser and my
+Lord of Kent): and four days hung his body in irons on the gibbet, as
+Sir Hugh's the father had done.  Verily, as he had done, so did God apay
+him, which is just Judge over all the earth.
+
+And the very next day, Saint Andrew, came His dread judgment upon one
+other--upon her that had wrought evil and not good, and that had
+betrayed her own lord to his cruel death.  All suddenly, without one
+instant's warning, came the bolt out of Heaven upon Isabel of France.
+While the body of the Mortimer hung upon the gibbet at the Elms of
+Tyburn, God stripped that sinful woman of the light of reason which she
+had used so ill, and she fell into a full awesome frenzy, so dread that
+she was fain to be strapped down, and her cries and shrieks were
+nearhand enough to drive all wood that heard her.  While the body hung
+there lasted this fearsome frenzy.  But the hour it was taken down, came
+change over her.  She sank that same hour into the piteous thing she was
+for long afterward, right as a little child, well apaid with toys and
+shows, a few glass beads serving her as well as costly jewels, and a
+yard of tinsel or fringe bright coloured a precious treasure.  The King
+was sore troubled; but what could he do?  At the first the physicians
+counselled that she should change the air often; and first to Odiham
+Castle was she taken, and thence to Hertford, and after to Rising.  But
+nothing was to make difference to her any more for many a year,--only
+that by now and then, for a two-three hours, she hath come to her wit,
+and then is she full gent and sad, desiring ever the grace of our Lord
+for her ill deeds, and divers times saying that as she hath done, so
+hath God requited her.  I have heard say that as time passed on, these
+times of coming to her wit were something oftener and tarried longer,
+until at last, a year afore she died, she came to her full wit, and so
+abode to the end.
+
+The King, that dealt full well with her, and had as much care of her
+honour as of his own (and it was whispered that our holy Father the Pope
+writ unto him that he should so do), did at the first appoint her to
+keep her estate in two of her own castles, to wit, Hertford and Rising:
+and set forth a new household for her, appointing Sir John de Molynes
+her Seneschal, and Dame Joan de Vaux her chief dame in waiting.  Seldom
+hath she come to Town, but when there, she tarried in the Palace of my
+Lord of Winchester at Southwark, on the river side, and was once in
+presence when the King delivered the great Seal to Sir Robert Parving.
+Then she was in her wit for a short time.  But commonly, at the King's
+command, she hath tarried in those two her castles,--to wit, Hertford
+and Rising--passing from one to the other according to the counsel of
+her physicians.  The King hath many times visited her (though never the
+Queen, which he ever left at Norwich when he journeyed to Rising), and
+so, at times, have divers of his children.  Ten years afore her death,
+the King's adversary of France, Philippe de Valois, that now calleth him
+King thereof, moved the King that Queen Isabel should come to Eu to
+treat with his wife concerning peace: and so careful is the King, and
+hath ever been, of his mother's honour, that he would not answer him
+with the true reason contrary thereto, but treated with him on that
+footing, and only at the last moment made excuse to appoint other
+envoys.  Poor soul! she had no wit thereto.  I never saw her after I
+left her service saving once, which was when she was at Shene, on
+Cantate Sunday [April 29th], an eleven years ere her death, at supper in
+the even, where were also the King, the Queen of Scots [her younger
+daughter], and the Earl of March [grandson of the first Earl]; and
+soothly, for all the ill she wrought, mine heart was woe for the caged
+tigress with the beautiful eyes, that was wont to roam the forest wilds
+at her pleasure, and now could only pace to and fro, up and down her
+cage, and toy with the straws upon the floor thereof.  It was pitiful to
+see her essaying, like a babe, as she sat at the board, to cause a wafer
+to stand on end, and when she had so done, to clap her hands and laugh
+with childish glee, and call her son and daughter to look.  Very gent
+was the King unto her, that looked at her bidding, and lauded her skill
+and patience, as he should have done to his own little maid that was but
+three years old.  Ah me, it was piteous sight! the grand, queenly
+creature that had fallen so low!  Verily, as she had done, so God
+requited her.
+
+She died at Hertford Castle, two days afore Saint Bartholomew next
+thereafter [August 22nd, 1358.  See Note in Appendix].  I heard that in
+her last hours, her wit being returned to her as good as ever it had
+been, she had her shriven clean, and spake full meek [humble] and
+excellent words of penitence for all her sins, and desired to be buried
+in the Church of the Friars Minors in London town, and the heart of her
+dead lord to be laid upon her breast.  They have met now in the presence
+above, and he would forgive her there.  _Lalme de qui Dieux eit mercie_!
+Amen.
+
+Here have ending the Annals of Cicely.
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Note 1.  The chroniclers (and after them the follow-my-leader school of
+modern historians) are unanimous in their assertion that the Black
+Prince was born on June 15th.  If this be so, it is, to say the least, a
+little singular that the expenses of the Queen's churching were defrayed
+on the 24th and 28th of April previous (Issue Roll, Easter, 4 Edward the
+Third).  On the 3rd, 5th, and 13th of April, the King dates his mandates
+from Woodstock; on the 24th of March he was at Reading.  This looks very
+much as if the Prince's birth had taken place about the beginning of
+April.  The 8th of that month was Easter Day.
+
+Note 2.  Modern writers make no difference between a Colloquy and a
+Parliament.  The Rolls always distinguish them, treating; the Colloquy
+as a lesser and more informal gathering.
+
+Note 3.  Second son of the elder Sir William de Montacute and Elizabeth
+de Montfort.  He appears as a boy in the first chapter of the companion
+volume, _In All Time of our Tribulation_.
+
+Note 4.  Discretion, wisdom.
+
+Note 5.  The pavon was a slow, stately dance, but it also included high
+leaps.
+
+Note 6.  Occasion, opportunity.  Needles, at this time, were great
+treasures; a woman who possessed three or four thought herself wealthy
+indeed.
+
+Note 7.  Striking clocks were not invented until about 1368.
+
+Note 8.  Had the Queen spoken in English, she would certainly have said
+_sweet_, not _gentle_, which last is an incorrect translation of
+_gentil_.  This latter speech, though better known, is scarcely so well
+authenticated as the previous one.
+
+Note 9.  Royal etiquette prescribed a scratch on the door, like that of
+a pet animal; the knock was too rough and plebeian an appeal for
+admission.
+
+
+
+PART TWO, CHAPTER 1.
+
+WHEREIN AGNES THE LADY OF PEMBROKE TELLETH TALE (1348).
+
+THE CHILDREN OF LUDLOW CASTLE.
+
+  "O little feet, that, such long years,
+  Must wander on through hopes and fears,
+  Must ache and bleed beneath your load:
+  I, nearer to the wayside inn
+  Where toil shall cease and rest begin,
+  Am weary, thinking of your road."
+
+  Longfellow.
+
+Hereby I promise, and I truly mean to execute it, to give my new green
+silk cloth of gold piece, bordered with heads of griffins in golden
+broidery, to the Abbey of Saint Austin at Canterbury, if any that
+liveth, man or woman, will tell me certainly how evil came into this
+world.  I want to know why Eva plucked that apple.  She must have
+plucked it herself, for the serpent could not give it her, having no
+hands.  And if man--or woman--will go a step further, and tell me why
+Adam ate another, he shall have my India-coloured silk, broidered with
+golden lions and vultures, whereof I had meant to make me a new gown for
+this next Michaelmas feast.  It doth seem as if none but a very idiot
+could have let in evil and sin and sorrow and pain all over this world,
+for the sake of a sweet apple.  It must have been sweet, I should think,
+because it grew in Eden.  But was there never another in all the garden
+save only on that tree?  Or did man not know what would happen? or was
+it that man would not think?  That is the way sometimes with some folks,
+else that heedless Nichola had not broken my favourite comb.
+
+The question has been in my head many a score of times; but it came just
+now because my Lady, my lord's mother, was earnest with me to write in a
+book what I could remember of mine early days, when my Lady mine own
+mother was carried to Skipton and Pomfret.  If those were not evil days,
+I know not how to spell the word.  And I am very sure it was evil men
+that made them; and evil women.  I believe bad woman is far worse than
+bad man.  So saith the Lady Julian, my lord's mother; and being herself
+woman, and having been thrice wed, she should know somewhat of women and
+men too.  Ay, and I were ill daughter if I writ not down also that a
+good woman is one of God's blessedest gifts to this evil world; for such
+is mine own mother, the Lady Joan de Geneville, that was sometime wife
+unto the Lord Roger Mortimer, Earl of March, whose name men of this day
+know but too well.
+
+Well-a-day! if a thing is to be, it is best over.  It is never any good
+to sit on the brink shivering before man plunge in.  So, if I must needs
+write, be it done.  Here is a dozen of parchment, and a full inkhorn,
+and grey goose-quills: and I need nothing else save brains; whereof, I
+thank the saints, I have enough and to spare.  And indeed, it is as well
+I should, for in this world--I say not, in this house--there be folks
+who have none too many.  But I reckon, before I begin my tale, I had
+best say who and what I am, else shall those who read my book be like
+men that walk in a mist, which is not pleasant, as I found this last
+summer, when for a time I lost my company--and thereby, myself--on the
+top of a Welsh mountain.
+
+I, then, who write, am Agnes de Hastings, Countess of Pembroke and Lady
+of Leybourne: and I am wife unto the Lord Lawrence de Hastings, Earl and
+Baron of the same.  My father and mother I have already named, but I may
+say further that my said mother is a Princess born, being of that great
+House of Joinville in France--which men call Geneville in England--that
+are nobles of the foremost rank in that country.  These my parents had
+twelve children, of whom I stand right in the midst, being the seventh.
+My brother Edmund was the eldest of us; then came Margaret, Joan, Roger,
+Geoffrey, Isabel, and Katherine; then stand I Agnes, and after me are
+Maud, John, Blanche, and Beatrice [Note 1].  And of them, Edmund and
+Margaret have been commanded to God.  He died young, my poor brother
+Edmund, for he set his heart on being restored to the name and lands
+which our father had forfeited, and our Lord the King thought not good
+to grant it; so his heart broke, and he died.  Poor soul!  I would not
+say an unkind word over his grave; where the treasure is, there will the
+heart be; but I would rather set my heart on worthier treasure, and I
+think I should scarce be so weak as to die for the loss.  God assoil
+him, poor soul!
+
+I was born in the Castle of Ludlow, on the morrow of the Translation of
+Saint Thomas, in the year of King Edward of Caernarvon the eleventh
+[Note 2], so that I am now thirty years of age.  I am somewhat elder
+than my lord, who was born at Allesley, by Coventry town, on Saint
+Cuthbert's Day, in the fourteenth year of the same [March 20th, 1321].
+I might say I was wiser, and not look forward to much penance for lying;
+for I should be more likely to have it set me if I said that all the
+wits in this world were in his head.  Howbeit, there is many a worse man
+than he: a valiant knight, and courteous, and of rarely gentle and
+gracious ways; and maybe, if he were wiser, he would give me more
+trouble to rule him, which is easy enough to do.  Neverthelatter, there
+be times when it should do me ease to take him by the shoulders and give
+him an hearty shake, if I could thereby shake a bit more sense into him:
+and there be times when it comes over me that he might have been better
+matched, as our sometime Lord King Edward meant him to have been, with
+the Lady Alianora La Despenser, that Queen Isabel packed off to a
+nunnery in hot haste when she came in.  Poor soul!  He certainly is not
+matched with me, unless two horses be matched whereof one is black and
+of sixteen handfuls, and steppeth like a prince, and the other is white,
+and of twelve handfuls, and ambles of a jog-trot.  I would he had a bit
+more stir in him.  Not that he lacks knightly courage--never a whit;
+carry him into battle, and he shall quit him like a man; but when all is
+said, he is fitter for the cloister, for he loveth better to sit at home
+with Joan of his knee, and a great clerkly book afore him wherein he
+will read by the hour, which is full well for a priest, but not for a
+noble of the King's Court.  He never gave me an ill word (veriliest
+[truly], I marvel if ever he said `I won't!' in all his life), yet, for
+all his hendihood [courtesy, sweetness], will he have his own way by
+times, I can never make out how.  But he is a good man on the whole, and
+doth pretty well as he is bid, and I might change for a worse without
+taking a long journey.  So, take it all in all, there are many women
+have more to trouble them than I, the blessed saints be thanked, and our
+sweetest Lady Saint Mary and my patron Saint Agnes in especial.  Only I
+do hope Jack shall have more wit than his father, and I shall think the
+fairies have changed him if he have not.  _My_ son should not be short
+of brains.
+
+But now, to have back, and begin my story: for I reckon I shall never
+make an end if I am thus lone: in coming to the beginning.
+
+We were all brought up in the Castle of Ludlow, going now and then to
+sweeten [to have the house thoroughly cleaned] to the Castle of Wigmore.
+Of course, while we were little children, we knew scarce any thing of
+our parents, as beseemed persons of our rank.  The people whom I verily
+knew were Dame Hilda our mistress [governess], and Maud and Ellen our
+damsels, and Master Terrico our Chamberlain, and Robert atte Wardrobe,
+our wardrobe-keeper, and Sir Philip the clerk (I cry him mercy, he
+should have had place of Robert), and Stephen the usher of the chamber,
+and our four nurses, whose names were Emelina, Thomasia, Joan, and
+Margery, and little Blaise the page.  They were my world.  But into this
+world, every now and then, came a sweet, fair presence--a vision of a
+gracious lady in velvet robes, whose hand I knelt to kiss, and who used
+to lay it on my head and bless me: and at times she would take up one of
+us in her arms, and sit down with the babe on her velvet lap, and a look
+would come into her eyes which I never saw in Dame Hilda's; and she
+would bend her fair head and kiss the babe as if she loved her very
+much.  But that was mostly while we were babies.  I cannot recollect her
+doing that to me--it was chiefly to Blanche and Beatrice.  Until one
+day, and then--
+
+Nay, I have not come to that yet.  And then, at times, we should hear a
+voice below--a stern, deep voice, or a peal of loud laughter--and in an
+instant the light and the joy would die out of the tender eyes of that
+gracious vision, and instead would come a frightened look like that of a
+hunted hare, and commonly she would rise suddenly, and put down the
+babe, and hasten away, as if she had been indulging in some forbidden
+pleasure, and was afraid of being caught.  I can remember wishing that
+the loud laugh and the stern angry voice would go away, and never come
+back, but that the gracious vision would stay always with us, and not
+only pay us a rare visit.  Ay, and I can remember wishing that she would
+take _me_ on that velvet lap, and let me nestle into her soft arms, and
+dare to lay my little head on her warm bosom.  I think she would have
+done it, if she had known!  I used to feel in those days like a little
+chicken hardly feathered, and longed to be under the soft brooding wings
+of the hen.  The memory of it hath caused me to pet my Jack and Joan a
+deal more than I should without it.
+
+Then, sometimes, we had a visit from a very different sort of guest.
+That was an old lady--about a hundred and fifty, I used to fancy her--
+dressed in velvet full as costly, but how differently she wore it!  She
+never took us on her lap--not she, indeed!  We used to have to kneel and
+kiss her hand--and Roger whispered to me once that if he dared, he would
+bite it.  This horrid old thing (who called herself our grandmother)
+used to be like a storm blowing through the house.  She never was two
+minutes in the room before she began to scold somebody; and if she could
+not find reasonable fault with any body, that seemed to vex her more
+than anything else.  Then she scolded us all in a lump together.  "Dame
+Hilda, what an untidy chamber!"--she usually began in that way--"why
+don't you make these children put their playthings tidy?  (Of course
+Dame Hilda did, at the end of the day; but how could we have playthings
+tidy while we were playing with them?)  Meg, your hair is no better than
+a mop!  Jack, how got you that rent in your sleeve?  (I never knew Jack
+without a rent in some part of his clothes; I should not have thought it
+was Jack if he had come in whole garments.)  Joan, how ungainly you sit!
+pluck yourself up this minute.  Nym, take your elbows off the table.
+Maud, your chaucers [slippers] are down at heel.  How dirty your hands
+are, Roger! go and wash them.  Agnes, that wimple of yours is all awry;
+who pinned it up?"
+
+So she went on--rattle and scold, scold and rattle--as long as she
+stayed in the room.  Jack, always the saucy one, asked her one day, when
+he was very little--
+
+"Are you really Grandmother?"
+
+"Certes, child," said she, turning to look at him: "why?"
+
+"Because I wish you were somebody else!"
+
+_Ha, chetife_! did Jack forget that afternoon?  I trow not.
+
+I had a sound whipping once myself from Dame Hilda, because I said,
+right out, that I hated the Lady Margaret: and Joan,--poor delicate
+Joan, who was perpetually scolded for stooping--looked at me as if she
+wished she dared say it too.  Roger had his ears boxed because he
+drawled out, "Amen!"  I think we all said Amen in our hearts.
+
+Sometimes the Lady Margaret did not come upstairs, but sent for some of
+us down to her.  That was worse than ever.  There were generally a
+number of gentlemen there, who seemed to think that children were only
+made to be teased: and some of them I disliked, and others I despised.
+Only of one I was terribly afraid: and that was--mercy, Jesu!--mine own
+father.
+
+I should have found it difficult to say what it was in him that
+frightened me.  I used to call it fear then; but when I look back on the
+feeling from my present state, I think it was rather a kind of
+ungovernable antipathy.  He did not scold us all round as Lady Margaret
+did.  The worst thing, I think, that I remember his saying to me was a
+sharp--"Get out of the way, girl!"  And I wished I only could get out of
+his way, for ever and ever.  Something made me feel as if I could not
+bear to be in the same room with him.  I used to shiver all over, if I
+only heard his voice.  Yet he never ill-used any of us; he scarcely even
+looked at us.  It was not any thing he did which made me feel so; it was
+just himself.
+
+Surely never did man dress more superbly than he.  I recollect thinking
+that the King was not half so fine; yet King Edward liked velvet and
+gold as well as most men.  My Lord my father never wore worsted summer
+tunics or woollen winter cloaks, like others.  Silk, velvet, samite, and
+cloth of gold, were his meanest wear; and his furs were budge, ermine,
+miniver, and gris.  I can remember hearing how once, when the furrier
+sent him in a robe of velvet guarded with hare's fur, he flung it on one
+side in a fury, and ordered the poor man to be beaten cruelly.  He
+always wore much golden broidery, and buttons of gems or solid gold; and
+he never would wear a suit of any man's livery--not even the King's,--
+save once, when he wore the Earl of Chester's at the coronation of the
+Queen of France, just to vex King Edward--as it sorely did, for he was
+then a proscribed fugitive, who had no right to use it.
+
+It is a hard matter when a child is frightened of its own father.  It is
+yet harder when he makes it hate him.  Ah, it is easy to say, That was
+wicked of thee.  So it was: and I know it.  But doth not sin lead to
+sin?--spring out of it, like branches from a stem, like leaves from a
+branch?  And when one man's act of sin creates sin in another man, and
+that again in a third, whose is the sin--the black root, whereof came
+the rotten branches and the withered leaves?  Are we not all our
+brothers' and our sisters' keepers?  Well, it will not answer to pursue
+that road: for I know well I should trace up the sin too high, to one of
+whom it were not meet for me to speak in the same breath with ugly
+words.  Ay me! what poor weak things we mortal creatures are!  Little
+marvel, little marvel for the woe that was wrought!--so fair, so fair
+she was!  She had the soul of a fiend with the face of an angel.  Was it
+any wonder that men--ay, and some women--were beguiled with that angel
+face, and fancied but too rashly that the soul must be as sweet as it?
+God have mercy on all Christian souls!  Verily, I myself, only this last
+spring-time, was ready to yield to the witch's spell--never was woman
+such enchantress as she!--and athwart all the past, despite all I knew,
+gazing on that face, even yet fairer than the faces of younger women, to
+think it possible that all the tales were false, and all the past a
+vision of the night, and that the lovely face and the sweet, soft voice
+covered a soul white as the saints in Heaven!  And men are easier
+deluded by such dreams than women--or at least I think it.  My poor
+father!  If only he had never seen her that haled him to his undoing! he
+might, perchance, have been a better man.  Any way, he paid the bill in
+his heart's blood.  So here I leave him.  God forgive us all!
+
+And now to my story.  While I was but a little child, we saw little of
+our mother: little more, indeed, than we did of our father.  I think, of
+the two, we oftener saw our grandmother.  And little children, as God
+hath wisely ordered it, live in the present moment, and take no note of
+things around them which men and women see with half an eye.  Now,
+looking back, I can recall events which then passed by me as of no
+import.  It was so, and there was an end of it.  But I can see now why
+it was so: and I know enough to guess the often sorrowful nature of that
+wherefore.
+
+So it was nothing to us children, unless it were a relief, that after I
+was about four years old, we missed our father almost entirely.  We
+never knew why he tarried away for months at a time.  We had not a
+notion that he was first in the prison of the Tower, and afterwards a
+refugee over seas.  And we saw without seeing that our mother grew thin
+and white, and her sweet eyes were heavy with tears which we never saw
+her shed.  All we perceived was that she came oftener to the nursery,
+and stayed longer with us, and petted the babies more than had been her
+wont.  And that such matters had a meaning,--a deep, sad, terrible
+meaning--never entered our heads.  Later on we knew that during those
+lonely years her heart was being crucified, and crucifixion is a dying
+that lasts long.  But she never let us know it.  I think she would not
+damp our fresh childish glee by even the spray of that roaring cataract
+wherein her life was overwhelmed.  Mothers--such mothers as she--are
+like a reflection of God.
+
+I remember well, though I was but just seven years old, the night when
+news came to Ludlow Castle that my father had escaped from the Tower.
+It was a very hot night in August--too hot to sleep--and I lay awake,
+chattering to Kate and Isabel, who were my bedfellows, about some grand
+play we meant to have the next afternoon, in the great gallery--when all
+at once we heard a horse come dashing up to the portcullis, past our
+chamber wall, and a horn crying out into the night.
+
+Isabel sat up in bed, and listened.
+
+"Is it my Lord coming home?"  I said.
+
+"What, all alone, with no company?" answered Isabel, who is four years
+elder than I.  "Silly child!  It is some news for my Lady my mother.
+The saints grant it be good!"
+
+Of course we could hear nothing of what passed at the portcullis, as our
+window opened on the base court.  But in a few minutes we heard the
+horse come trotting into our court, and the rider 'lighted down: and
+Isabel, who lay with her head next the casement, sat up again and put
+her head out of the curtain.  It was a beautiful moonlight night, almost
+as bright as day.
+
+"What is it, Ibbot?" said Kate.
+
+"It is a man in livery," answered Isabel; "but whose livery I know not.
+It is not ours."
+
+Then we heard the man call to the porter, and the door open, and the
+sound of muffled voices to and fro for a minute; and then Master Inge's
+step, which we knew--he was then castellan--coming in great haste past
+our door as if he were going to my Lady's chamber.  Then the door of the
+large nursery opened, and we heard Dame Hilda within, saying to Tamzine,
+"Thou wert better run and see."  And Tamzine went quickly along the
+gallery, as if she, too, were going to my Lady.
+
+For a long, long time, as it seemed to us--I dare say it was not many
+minutes--we lay and listened in vain.  At length Tamzine came back.
+
+"Good tidings, or bad?" we heard Dame Hilda ask.
+
+"The saints wot!" whispered Tamzine.  "My Lord is 'scaped from the
+Tower."
+
+"_Ha, chetife_! will he come here?" said Dame Hilda: and we saw that it
+was bad news in her eyes.
+
+"Forsooth, nay!" replied Tamzine.  "There be hues and cries all over for
+him, but man saith he is fled beyond seas."
+
+"Amen!" ejaculated Dame Hilda.  "He may win to Cathay [China] by my good
+will; and if he turn not again till mine hair be white, then will I give
+my patron saint a measure in wax.  But what saith my Lady?"
+
+"Her I saw not," answered Tamzine; "but Mistress Robergia, who told me,
+said she went white and red both at once, and her breast heaved as
+though her very heart should come forth."
+
+"Gramercy!" said Dame Hilda.  "How some folks do set their best pearls
+in copper!"
+
+"Eh, our Lady love us!" responded Tamzine.  "That's been ever sith world
+began to run, Dame, I can tell you."
+
+"I lack no telling, lass," was Dame Hilda's answer.  "Never was there
+finer pearl set in poorer ore than that thou and I wot of."
+
+I remember that bit of talk because I puzzled myself sorely as to what
+Dame Hilda could mean.  Kate was puzzled, too, for she said to Isabel--
+
+"What means the Dame?  I never saw my Lady wear a pearl set in copper."
+
+"Oh, let be!" said Isabel.  "'Tis but one of the Dame's strange sayings.
+She is full of fantasies."
+
+But whether Isabel were herself perplexed, or whether she understood,
+and thought it better to shut our mouths, that cannot I tell to this
+day.
+
+Well, after that things were quiet again for a while: a very long while,
+it seemed to me.  I believe it was really about six months.  During that
+time, we saw much more of our mother than we used to do; she would come
+often into the nursery, and take one of the little ones on her lap--it
+was oftenest Blanche--and sit there with her.  Sometimes she would talk
+with Dame Hilda; but more frequently she was silent and sad, at times
+looking long from the casement as if she saw somewhat that none other
+eyes could see.  Jack said one day--
+
+"Whither go Mother's eyes when she looks out of the window?"
+
+"For shame, Damsel [Note 3] John!" cried Dame Hilda.  "`Mother,' indeed!
+Only common children use such a word.  Say `my Lady' if you please."
+
+"She is my mother, isn't she?" said Jack stubbornly.  "Why shouldn't I
+call her so, I should like to know?  But you haven't answered me, Dame."
+
+"I know not what you mean, Damsel."
+
+"Why, when she sits down in that chair, and takes Blanchette on her
+knee,--her eyes go running out of the window first thing.  Whither wend
+they?"
+
+"Children like you cannot understand," replied Dame Hilda, with one of
+those superior smiles which used to make me feel so very naughty.  It
+seemed to say, "My poor, little, despicable insect, how could you dream
+of supposing that your intellect was even with Mine?"  (There, I have
+writ that a capital M in red ink.  To have answered to Dame Hilda's tone
+when she put that smile on, it should have been in vermilion and gold
+leaf.)  Howbeit, Jack never cared for all the airs she put on.
+
+"Then why don't you make us understand it?" said he.
+
+I do not remember what Dame Hilda said to that, but I dare say she boxed
+Jack's ears.
+
+Deary me, how ill doth my tale get forward!  Little things keep a-coming
+to my mind, and I turn aside after them, like a second deer crossing the
+path of the first.  That shall never serve; I must keep to my quarry.
+
+All this time our mother grew thinner and whiter.  Poor soul, she loved
+him well!--but so sure as the towel of the blessed Nicodemus is in the
+sacristy of our Lady at Warwick, cannot I tell for why.  Very certain am
+I that he never gave her any reason.
+
+We reckoned those six months dreary work.  There were no banquets in
+hall, nor shows came to the Castle, nor even so much as a pedlar, that
+we children saw; only the same every-day round, and tired enough we were
+of it.  All the music we ever heard was in our lessons from Piers le
+Sautreour; and if ever child loved her music lessons, her name was not
+Agnes de Mortimer.  All the laughter that was amongst us we made
+ourselves; and all the shows were when Jack chose to tumble somersaults,
+or Maud twisted some cold lace round her head, and said, "Now I am Queen
+Isabel."  Dreary work, in good sooth! yet was it a very Michaelmas show
+and an Easter Day choir to that which lay ahead.
+
+And then, one night,--ah, what a night that was!  It was near our
+bed-time, and Jack, Kate, and I, were playing on the landing and up and
+down the staircase of our tower.  I remember, Jack was the stag, and
+Kate and I were the hunters; and rarely did Jack throw up his head, to
+show off his branching horns--which were divers twigs tied on his head
+by a lace of Dame Hilda's, for the use whereof Jack paid a pretty penny
+when she knew it.  Kate had just made a grab at him, and should have
+caught him, had his tunic held, but it gave way, and all she won was an
+handful of worsted and a slip of the step that grazed her shins; and she
+was rubbing of her leg and crying "Lack-a-day!" and Jack above, well out
+of reach, was making mowes [grimaces] at us--when all at once an horn
+rang loud through the Castle, and man on little ambling nag came into
+the court-yard.  Kate forgat her leg, and Jack his mowes, and all we,
+stag and hunters alike, ran to the gallery window for to gaze.
+
+I know not how long we should have tarried at the window, had not
+Emelina come and swept us afore her into the nursery, with an
+impatient--"Deary me! here be these children for ever in the way!"
+
+And Jack cries, "You always say we are in the way; but mustn't we be any
+where?"
+
+Whereto she makes answer--"Go and get you tucked into bed; that's the
+only safe place for the like of you!"
+
+Jack loudly resented being sent to bed before the proper time, whereupon
+he and Emelina had a fight (as they had most nights), and Kate and I ran
+into the nursery to get out of the way.  Here was Margery, turning down
+the beds, but Dame Hilda we saw not till, an half-hour after, as we were
+doffing us for bed, she came, with her important face which she was wont
+to wear when some eventful thing had befallen her or us.
+
+"Are the damsels abed, Emelina?" saith she.
+
+"The babes be, Dame; and the elders be a-doffing them."
+
+Dame Hilda came forward into the night nursery.
+
+"Hold you there, young ladies!" saith she: "at the least, I would say my
+three elder young ladies--Dame Margaret, Dame Joan, and Dame Isabel.
+Pray you, don you once more, but of your warmest gear, for a journey by
+night."
+
+"Are we not to go to bed?" asked Joan in surprise: but our three sisters
+donned themselves anew, as Dame Hilda had said, of their warmest gear.
+Dame Hilda spake not word till they were all ready.  Then Meg saith--
+
+"Whither be we bound, Dame?--and with whom?"
+
+"With my Lady, Dame Margaret, to Southampton."
+
+I think we all cried out "Southampton!" in diverse tones.
+
+"There is news come to her Ladyship, as she herself may tell you," said
+Dame Hilda, mysteriously.
+
+"Aren't we to go, Dame?" saith Blanche's little voice.
+
+Dame Hilda turned round sharply, as if she went about to snap Blanche's
+head off; and Blanche shrank in dismay.
+
+"Certainly not, Dame Blanche!  What should my Lady do to be worried with
+babes like you?  She has enough else on her mind at this present,
+without a pack of tiresome children--holy saints be her help!  Eh dear,
+dear, this world!"
+
+"Dame, is this world so bad?" saith Jack, letting his nose appear above
+the bed-clothes.
+
+"Go to sleep, the weary lot of you!" was Dame Hilda's irritable answer.
+
+"Because," saith Jack, ne'er a whit daunted--nothing ever cowed
+Jack--"if it is so bad, hadn't you better be off out of it?  You'd be
+better off, I suppose, and we shouldn't miss you,--that I'll promise.
+Do go, Dame!"
+
+Jack spake these last words with a full compassionate air, as though he
+were seriously concerned for Dame Hilda's happiness; but she, marching
+up to the bed where Jack lay, dealt him a stinging slap for his
+impudence.
+
+"Ah!" saith Jack in a mumbled voice, having disappeared under the
+bed-clothes, "this is a bad world, I warrant you, where folks return
+evil for good o' this fashion!"
+
+We heard no more of Jack beyond divers awesome snores, which I think
+were not altogether sooth-fast: but before many minutes had passed, the
+door of the antechamber opened, and my Lady, donned in travelling gear,
+entered the nursery.
+
+Dame Hilda's words had given me the fancy that some sorrowful, if not
+shocking news, had come to her; and I was therefore much astonished to
+see a faint flush in her cheeks, and a brilliant light in her eyes,
+which looked as though she had heard good news.
+
+"My children," said our mother, "I come to bid you all farewell--may be
+a long farewell.  I have heard that--never mind what; that which will
+take me away.  Meg, and Joan, and Ibbot, must go with me."
+
+"Take me too!" pleaded little Blanche.
+
+"Thee too!" repeated our mother, with a loving smile.  "Nay, sweetheart!
+That cannot be.  Now, my children, I hope you will all be good and
+obedient to Dame Hilda while I am away."
+
+It was on Kate that her glance fell, being the next eldest after Isabel;
+and Kate answered readily--
+
+"We will all be good as gold, Dame."
+
+"Nym, and Hodge, and Geoffrey," she went on, "go also with me; so thou,
+Kate, wilt be eldest left here, and I look to thee to set a good
+ensample to thy brethren,--especially my little wilful Jack."
+
+Jack's snoring had stopped when she came in, and now, as she went over
+and sat her down by the bed wherein Jack lay of the outside, up came
+Jack's head from under the blue velvet coverlet.  Our mother laid her
+hand tenderly upon it.
+
+"My dear little Jack!" she said; "my poor little Jack!"
+
+"Dame, I'm not poor, an't like you!" made answer Jack, in a tone of
+considerable astonishment.  "I've got a whole ball of new string, and
+two battledores and a shuttlecock, and a ball, and a bow and arrows."
+
+"Yes, my little Jack," she said, tenderly.
+
+"There are lots of lads poorer than me!" quoth Jack.  "Nym himself
+hasn't got a whole ball of string, and Geoff hasn't a bit.  I asked him.
+Master Inge gave it me yesterday.  I'm going to make reins with it for
+Annis and Maud, and lots of cats' cradles."
+
+"You're not going to make reins for _me_," said Maud from our bed.
+"Dame, it is horrid playing horses with Jack.  He wants you to take the
+string in your mouth, and you don't know where he's had it.  I don't
+mind having it tied to my arms, but I won't have it in my mouth."
+
+"Did you ever see a horse with his reins tied to his arms?" scornfully
+demanded Jack.  "You do as you are bid, my Lady Maud, or I'll come and
+make you."
+
+"Children!" said our mother's soft voice, before Maud could answer, "are
+you going to quarrel this last night when I have come to say farewell?
+For shame, Maud! this was thy blame."
+
+"Oh, of course, it is always me," muttered Maud, too angry for grammar.
+"Jack's always the favourite; I never do any thing right."
+
+"Yes, you do--now and then, by accident," responded Joan, who was
+sitting at the foot of our bed; a speech which did not better Maud's
+temper, and it was never angelic.
+
+Jack seemed to have forgotten his passage-at-arms with Maud.  He was
+always good-tempered enough, though he did tease outrageously.
+
+"Why am I poor, Dame?" quoth Jack.
+
+"Little Jack, thou must shortly go into the wars, and thou hast no
+armour."
+
+"But you'll get me a suit.  Dame?"
+
+"I cannot, Jack.  Not for these wars.  Neither can I give thee the
+wealth to make thee rich, as I fain would."
+
+"Then, Dame, you will petition the King for a grant, will you not?"
+saith Meg.
+
+"True, my daughter," saith our mother softly.  "I must needs petition
+the King, both for the riches from His treasury, and for the arms from
+His armoury."  And then she bent down to kiss Jack.  "O my boy, lay not
+up treasure for thyself, and thus fail to be rich in God."
+
+I began then to see what she meant; but I rather wondered why she said
+it.  Such talk as that, it seemed to me, was only fit for Sunday.  And
+then I remembered that she was going away for a long, long time, and
+that therefore Sunday talk might be appropriate.
+
+I do not recollect any thing she said to the others, only to Jack and
+me.  Jack and I were always fellows.  We children had paired ourselves
+off, not altogether according to age, but rather according to tastes.
+Edmund and Meg should have gone together, and then Hodge and Joan, and
+so forth: whereas it was always Nym and Joan, and Meg and Hodge.  Then
+Geoffrey and Isabel made the right pair, and Kate, Jack, and I, went in
+a trio.  Maud was by herself; she paired with nobody, and nobody wanted
+her, she was so cross.  Blanche was every body's pet while she was the
+baby, and Beatrice came last of all.
+
+Our mother went round, and kissed and blessed us all.  I lay inside with
+Kate and Maud, and when she said, "Now, my little Agnes,"--I crept out
+and travelled over the tawny silk coverlet, to those gentle velvet arms,
+and she took me on her lap, and lapped me up in a fur mantle that Meg
+bare on her arm.
+
+"And what shall I say to my little Agnes?"
+
+"Mother, say you love me!"
+
+It came out before I knew it, and when I had said it, I was so
+frightened that I hid my face in the fur.  It did not encourage me to
+hear Dame Hilda's exclamation--
+
+"Lack-a-day! what next, trow?"
+
+But the other voice was very tender and gentle.
+
+"Didst thou lack that told thee, mine own little Annis?  Ay me!  Maybe
+men are happier lower down.  Who should love thee, my floweret, if not
+thine own mother?  Kiss me, and say thou wilt be good maid till I see
+thee again."
+
+I managed to whisper, "I will try, Dame."
+
+"How long will it be?" cries Jack.
+
+"I cannot tell thee, Jack," she saith.  "Some months, I fear.  Not
+years--I do trust, not years.  But God knoweth--and to Him I commit
+you."  And as she bent her head low over the mantle wherein I was
+lapped, I heard her say--"_Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere
+nobis, Jesu_!"
+
+I knew that, because I always had to repeat it in my evening prayers,
+though I never could tell what it meant, only, as it seemed to say
+"Agnes" and "Monday," I supposed it had something to do with me, and was
+to make me good after some fashion, but I saw not why it must be only on
+a Monday, especially as I had to say it every day.  Now, of course, I
+know what it means, and I wonder children and ignorant people are not
+taught what prayers mean, instead of being made to say them just like
+popinjays.  I wanted to teach my Joan what it meant, but the Lady
+Julian, my lord's mother, commanded me not to do so, for it was unlucky.
+I begged her to tell me why, and she said the Latin was a holy tongue,
+known to God and the saints, and so long as they understood our prayers,
+we did not need to understand them.
+
+"But, Dame," said I, "saving your presence, if I say prayers I
+understand not, how can I tell the way to use them?  I may be asking for
+a basket of pears when I want a pair of shoes."
+
+"Wherefore trouble the blessed saints for either?" saith she.  "Prayers
+be only for high and holy concerns--not for base worldly matter, such as
+be pears and shoes."
+
+"But I am worldly matter, under your leave, Dame," said I.  "And saith
+not the Paternoster somewhat touching daily bread?"
+
+"Ay, the food of the soul--`_panem supersubstantialem da nobis_'" quoth
+she.  "It means not a loaf of bread, child."
+
+"That's Saint Matthew," said I.  "But Saint Luke hath it `_panem
+quotidianum_,' and saith nought of `_supersubstantialem_.'  And surely
+common food cometh from God."
+
+"Daughter!" saith she, somewhat severely, "thou shouldst do a deal
+better to leave thy fantasies and the workings of thine own brain, and
+listen with meek submission to the holy doctors that can teach thee with
+authority."
+
+"Dame, I cry you mercy," said I.  "But surely our Lord teacheth with
+more authority than they all; and if I have His words, what need I of
+theirs?"
+
+_Ha, chetife_! she would not listen to me,--only bade me yet again to
+beware of pride and presumption, lest I should fall into heresy, from
+the which Saint Agnes preserve me!  But it doth seem strange that folks
+should fall into heresy by studying our Lord's words; I had thought they
+should rather thereby keep them out of it.
+
+Well--dear heart, here again am I got away from my story! this it is to
+have too quick a wit--our mother blessed us, and kissed us all, and set
+forth, the six eldest with her, for Southampton.  I know now, though I
+heard not then, that she was on her way to join our father.  News had
+come that he was safe over seas, in France, with the Sieurs de Fienles,
+the Lady Margaret's kin, and no sooner had she learned it than she set
+forth to join him.  I doubt greatly if he sent for her.  Nay, I should
+rather say he would scarce have blessed her for coming.  But she got not
+thus far on her way, as shall be seen.
+
+His tarrying with the Sieurs de Fienles was in truth but a blind to hide
+his true proceedings.  He stayed in Normandy but a few weeks, until the
+hue and cry was over, and folks in England should all have got well in
+their heads that he was there: then, or ever harm should befall him by
+tarrying there too long, he made quiet departure, and ere any knew of it
+he was safe in the King of France's dominions.  At this time the King of
+France was King Charles le Bel, youngest brother of our Queen.  I
+suppose he was too much taken up with the study of his own perfections
+to see the perfections or imperfections of any body else: otherwise had
+he scarce been so stone-blind to all that went on but just afore his
+nose.  There be folks that can see a mouse a mile off, and there be
+others that cannot see an elephant a yard in front of them.  But there
+be a third sort, and to my honest belief King Charles was of them, that
+can see the mouse as clear as sunlight when it is their own interest to
+detect him, but have not a notion of the elephant being there when they
+do not choose to look at him.  When he wanted to be rid of his first
+wife Queen Blanche, he could see her well enough, and all her failings
+too, as black as midnight; but when his sister behaved herself as ill as
+ever his wife did or could have done, he only shut his eyes and took a
+comfortable nap.  Now King Charles had himself expelled my father from
+his dominions, for some old grudge that I never rightly understood; yet
+never a word said he when he came back without licence.  Marry, but our
+old King Edward should not have treated thus the unlicenced return of a
+banished man!  He would have been hung within the week, with him on the
+throne.  But King Charles was not cut from that stuff.  He let my father
+alone till the Queen came over--our Queen Isabel, his sister, I mean--
+and then who but he in all the French Court!  Howbeit, they kept things
+pretty quiet for that time; nought came to King Edward's ears, and she
+did her work and went home.  Forsooth, it was sweet work, for she
+treated with her brother as the sister of France, and not as the wife of
+England.  King Charles had taken Guienne, and she, sent to demand
+restitution, concluded a treaty of peace on his bare word that it should
+be restored, with no pledge nor security whatever: but bitter complaints
+she laid of the King her husband, and the way in which he treated her.
+Well, it is true, he did not treat her as I should have done in his
+place, for he gave in to all her whims a deal too much, where a good
+buffet on her ear should have been ever so much more for her good--and
+his too, I will warrant.  Deary me, but if some folks were drowned, the
+world would get along without them!  I mention no names (only that weary
+Nichola, that is for ever mashing my favourite things).  So the Queen
+came home, and all went on for a while.
+
+But halt, my goose-quill! thou marchest too fast.  Have back a season.
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Note 1.  This is the probable order of birth.  The date assigned to the
+birth of Agnes is fictitious, but that of her husband is taken from his
+_Probatio Aetatis_.
+
+Note 2.  July 8th, 1317; this is about the probable time.  The Countess
+is supposed to be writing in the spring of 1348.
+
+Note 3.  This word was then used of both sexes, and was the proper
+designation of the son of a prince or peer not yet arrived at the age of
+knighthood.
+
+
+
+PART TWO, CHAPTER 2.
+
+THE LADY OF LUDLOW.
+
+  "Toil-worn and very weary--
+  For the waiting-time is long;
+  Leaning upon the promise--
+  For the Promiser is strong."
+
+So were we children left alone in the Castle of Ludlow, and two weary
+months we had of it.  Wearier were they by far than the six that ran
+afore them, when our mother was there, and our elder brethren, that she
+had now carried away.  Lessons dragged, and play had no interest.  It
+had been Meg that devised all our games, and Nym that made boats and
+wooden horses for us, and Joan that wove wreaths and tied cowslip
+balls--and they were all away.  There was not a bit of life nor fun
+anywhere except in Jack, and if Jack were shut in a coal-hole by
+himself, he would make the coals play with him o' some fashion.  But
+even Jack could fetch no fun out of _amo, amas, amat_; and I grew sore
+weary of pulling my neeld [needle] in and out, and being banged o'er the
+head with the fiddlestick when I played the wrong string.  If we could
+swallow learning as we do meat, what a lessening of human misery should
+it be!
+
+No news came all this while--at least, none that we heard.  Winter grew
+into spring, and May came with her flowers.  Ay, and with something
+else.
+
+The day rose like the long, dreary days that had come before it, and
+nobody guessed that any thing was likely to happen.  We ate eggs and
+butter, and said our verbs and the commandments of God and the Church,
+to Sir Philip, and played some weary, dreary exercises on the spinnet to
+Dame Hilda, and dined (I mind it was on lamb, finches, and flaunes
+[custards]), and then Kate, I, and Maud, were set down to our needles.
+Blanche was something too young for needlework, saving to pull coloured
+silks in and out of a bit of rag for practice.  We had scarce taken
+twenty stitches, when far in the distance we heard a horn sounded.
+
+"Is that my Lady a-coming home?" said I to Kate.
+
+"Eh, would it were!" quoth she.  "I reckon it is some hunters in the
+neighbourhood."
+
+I looked to and fro, and no Dame Hilda could I see--only Margery, and
+she was easy enough with us for little things; so I crept out on tiptoe
+into the long gallery, and looked through the great oriel, which I could
+well reach by climbing on the window-seat.  I remember what a sweet,
+peaceful scene lay before me,--the fields and cottages lighted up with
+the May sunshine, which glinted on the Teme as it wound here and there
+amid the trees.  I looked right and left, but saw no hunters--nothing at
+all, I thought at first.  And then, as I was going to leave the oriel, I
+saw the sun glance on something that moved, and looked like a dark
+square, and I heard the horn ring out again a little nearer.  I watched
+the square thing grow--from dark to red, from an indistinct mass to a
+compact body of marching men, with mounted officers at their head; and
+then, forgetting Dame Hilda and every thing else except the startling
+news I brought, I rushed back into the nursery, crying out--
+
+"The King's troops!  Jack, Kate, the King's troops are coming!  Come and
+see!"
+
+Dame Hilda was there, but she did not scold me.  She turned as white as
+the sindon in her hand, and stood up.
+
+"Dame Agnes, what mean you?  Surely 'tis never thus!  Holy Mary, shield
+us!"
+
+And she hurried forth to the oriel window, where Jack was already
+perched.
+
+The square had grown larger and plainer now.  It was evident they were
+marching straight for the Castle.
+
+Dame Hilda hastened away--I guessed, to confer with Master Inge--and
+having so done, she came back to the nursery, bade us put aside our
+sewing and wash our hands, and come down with her to hall.  We all
+trooped after, Beatrice led by her hand, and she ranged us afore her in
+the great hall, on the dais, standing after our ages,--Kate at the head,
+then I, Maud, and Jack.  And so we awaited our fate.
+
+I scarce think I was frighted.  I knew too little what was likely to
+happen, to feel so.  That something was going to happen, I had uncertain
+fantasy; but our life had been colourless for so long, that the idea of
+any thing to happen which would make a change was rather agreeable than
+otherwise.
+
+We heard the last loud summons of the trumpet, which in our ignorance we
+had mistaken for a hunting-horn, and the trumpeter's cry of "Open to the
+King's troops!"  We heard the portcullis lifted, and the steady tramp of
+the soldiers as they marched into the court-yard.  There was a little
+parleying outside, and then two officers in the King's livery [Note 1]
+came forward into the hall, bowing low to us and Dame Hilda.
+
+The Dame spoke first.  "Sir Thomas Gobioun, if I err not?"
+
+"He, and your servant, Dame," answered one of the officers.
+
+"Then I must needs do you to wit, Sir, that in this castle is neither
+Lord nor Lady, and I trust our Lord the King wars not with little
+children such as you see here."
+
+"Stale news, good Dame!" answered Sir Thomas, with (as methought) a
+rather grim smile.  "We know something more, I reckon, than you,
+touching your Lord and Lady.  Sir Roger de Mortimer is o'er seas in
+Normandy, and the Lady Joan at Skipton Castle."
+
+"At Southampton, you surely mean?" said Master Inge, who stood at the
+other end of the line whereof I made the midmost link.
+
+The knight laughed out.  "Nay, worthy Master Inge, I mean not
+Southampton, but Skipton.  'Tis true, both begin with an _S_, and end
+with a _p_ and a _ton_; but there is a mile or twain betwixt the
+places."
+
+"What should my Lady do at Skipton?" saith Dame Hilda.
+
+"Verily, I conceive not this!" saith Master Inge, knitting his brows.
+"It was to Southampton my Lady went--at least so she told us."
+
+"Your Lady told you truth, Master Castellan.  She set forth for
+Southampton, and reached it.  But ere a fair wind blew for her voyage,
+came a somewhat rougher gale in the shape of a command from the King's
+Grace to the Sheriff to take her into keeping, and send her into ward at
+Skipton Castle, whither she set forth a fortnight past.  Now, methinks,
+Master Inge, you are something wiser than you were a minute gone."
+
+"And our young damsels?" cries Dame Hilda.  "Be they also gone to
+Skipton?"
+
+I felt Kate's hand close tighter upon mine.
+
+"Soft you, now, good Dame!" saith Sir Thomas--who, or I thought so, took
+it all as a very good joke.  "Your damsels be parted in so many as they
+be, and sent to separate convents,--one to Shuldham, one to Sempringham,
+and one to Chicksand--and their brothers be had likewise into ward."
+
+To my unspeakable amazement, Dame Hilda burst into tears, and catched up
+Beatrice in her arms.  I had never seen her weep in my life: and a most
+new and strange idea was taking possession of me--did Dame Hilda
+actually care something for us?
+
+"Sir," she sobbed, "you will never have the heart to part these babes
+from all familiar faces, and send them amongst strangers that may use
+them hardly, to break their baby hearts?  Surely the King, that is
+father of his people, hath never commanded such a thing as that?  At the
+least leave me this little one--or put me in ward with her."
+
+I was beginning to feel frightened now.  I looked at Kate, and read in
+her face that she was as terrified as I was.
+
+"Tut, tut, Dame," saith the other officer (Sir Thomas, it seemed to me,
+enjoyed the scene, and rather wished to prolong it, but this other was
+of softer metal), "take not on where is no cause, I pray you.  The
+little ones bide here under your good care.  Only, as you may guess, we
+be commanded to take to the King's use this Castle of Ludlow and all
+therein, and we charge you--" and he bowed to Dame Hilda, and then to
+Master Inge--"and you, in the King's name, that you thwart not nor
+hinder us, in the execution of his pleasure.  Have here our commission."
+
+Master Inge took the parchment, and scrutinised it most carefully, while
+Dame Hilda wiped her eyes and put Beatrice down with a fervent "Bless
+thee, my jewel!"
+
+Now out bursts Jack, with a big sob that he could contain no longer.
+"Does the King want my new ball of string, and my battledores?"
+
+"Certes," answered Sir Thomas: but I saw a twinkle in his eye, though
+his mouth was as grave as might be.
+
+Jack fell a-blubbering.
+
+"No, no--nonsense!" saith the other officer.  "Don't spoil the fun,
+man!" quoth Sir Thomas.  "Fun! it is no fun to these babes," answered
+the other.  "I've a little lad at home, and this mindeth me of him.  I
+cannot bear to see a child cry--and for no cause!--Nay, my little one,"
+saith he to Jack, "all in this Castle now belongs to the King, as
+aforetime to thy father: but thy father took not thy balls and
+battledores from thee, nor will he.  Cheer up, for thou hast nought to
+fear."
+
+"Please, Sir," saith Kate, "shall all our brothers and sisters be made
+monks and nuns, whether they like or no?"
+
+Sir Thomas roared with laughter.  His comrade saith gently, "Nay, my
+little damsel, the King's will is not so.  It is but that they shall be
+kept safe there during his pleasure."
+
+"And will they get any dinner and supper?" saith Maud.
+
+"Plenty!" he answered: "and right good learning, and play in the convent
+garden at recreation-time, with such other young damsels as shall be
+bred up there.  They will be merry as crickets, I warrant."
+
+Kate fetched a great sigh of relief.  She told me afterwards that she
+had felt quite sure we should every one of us be had to separate
+convents, and never see each other any more.
+
+So matters dropped down again into their wonted course.  For over two
+years, our mother tarried at Skipton, and then she was moved into
+straiter ward at Pomfret, about six weeks only [Note 2] before Queen
+Isabel landed with her alien troops under Sir John of Ostrevant, and
+drave King Edward first from his throne, and finally from this life.
+Our father came with her.  And this will I say, that our mother might
+have been set free something earlier [Note 3], if every body had done
+his duty.  But folks are not much given to doing their duties, so far as
+I can see.  They are as ready as you please to contend for their
+rights--which generally seems to mean, "Let me have somebody else's
+rights;" ay, they will get up a battle for that at short notice: but who
+ever heard of a man petitioning, much less fighting, for the right to do
+his duty?  And yet is not that, really and verily, the only right a man
+has?
+
+It was a gala day for us when our mother returned home, and our brothers
+and sisters were gathered and sent back to us.  Nym (always a little
+given to romance) drew heart-rending pictures of his utter misery, while
+in ward; but Roger said it was not so bad, setting aside that it was
+prison, and we were parted from one another.  And Geoffrey, the sensible
+boy of the family, said that while he would not like a monk's life on
+the whole, being idle and useless, yet he did like the quiet and
+peacefulness of it.
+
+"But I am not secure," said our mother, "that such quiet is what God
+would for us, saving some few.  Soldiers be not bred by lying of a bed
+of rose-leaves beside scented waters.  And I think the soldiers of
+Christ will scarce be taught o' that fashion."
+
+Diverse likewise were the maids' fantasies.  Meg said she would not have
+bidden at Shuldham one day longer than she was forced.  Joan said she
+liked not ill at Sempringham, only for being alone.  But Isabel, as she
+sat afore the fire with me on her lap, the even of her coming home--
+Isabel had ever petted me--and Dame Hilda asked her touching her life at
+Chicksand--Isabel said, gazing with a far-away look into the red ashes--
+
+"I shall go back to Chicksand, some day, if I may win leave of mine
+elders."
+
+"Why, Dame Isabel!" quoth Dame Hilda in some surprise.  "Liked you so
+well as that?"
+
+"Ay, I liked well," she said, in that dreamy fashion.  "Not that I did
+not miss you all, Dame; and in especial my babe here,--who is no longer
+a babe"--and she smiled down at me.  "And verily, I could see that sins
+be not shut out by convent walls, but rather shut in.  Yet--"
+
+"Ay?" said Dame Hilda when she stayed.  I think she wanted to make her
+talk.
+
+"I scarce know how to say it," quoth she.  "But it seemed to me that for
+those who would have it so, Satan was shut in with them, and pleasure
+was shut out.  And also, for those who would have it so, God was shut in
+with them, and snares and temptations--some of them--were shut out.
+Only some: but it was something to be rid of them.  If it were possible
+to have only those who wanted to shut out the world, and to shut
+themselves in with God!  That is the theory: and that would be Heaven on
+earth.  But it does not work in practice."
+
+"Yet you would fain return thither?" said Dame Hilda.
+
+Isabel looked into the fire and answered not, until she said, all
+suddenly, "Dame Hilda, be there two of you, or but one?"
+
+"Truly, Dame Isabel, I take not your meaning."
+
+"Ah!" saith she; "then is there but one of you.  If so, you cannot
+conceive me.  Thou dost, Ellen?"
+
+"Ay, Dame Isabel, that do I, but too well."
+
+"They have easier lives, methinks, that are but one.  You look on me,
+Dame Hilda, as who should say, What nonsense doth this maid talk!  But
+if you knew what it was to have two natures within you, pulling you
+diverse ways, sometimes the one uppermost, and at times the other; and
+which of the twain be _you_, that cannot you tell--I will tell you, I
+have noted this many times"--Isabel's voice sank as if she feared to be
+overheard--"in them whose father and mother have been of divers
+dispositions.  Some of the children may take after the one, and some
+after the other; but there will be one, at least, who partaketh both,
+and then they pull him divers ways, that he knoweth no peace."  Isabel's
+audience had been larger than she supposed.  As she ended, with a weary
+sigh, a soft hand fell upon her head, and I who, sat upon her knees,
+could better see than she, looked up into my Lady's face.
+
+"Sit still, daughter," said she, as Isabel strove to rise.  "Nay, sweet
+heart, I am not angered at thy fantasy, though truly I, being but one
+like Dame Hilda, conceive not thy meaning.  It may be so.  I have not
+all the wit upon earth, that I should scorn or set down the words of
+them that speak out of other knowledge than mine.  But, my Isabel, there
+is another way than this wherein thou mayest have two natures."
+
+"How so, Dame, an' it like you?"
+
+"The nature of sinful man, and the nature of God Almighty."
+
+"They must be marvellous saints that so have," said Dame Hilda, crossing
+herself.
+
+"Some of them," said my Lady gently, "were once marvellous sinners."
+
+"Why, you should have to strive a very lifetime for that," quoth Dame
+Hilda.  "I should think no man could rise thereto that dwelt not in
+anchorite's cell, and scourged him on the bare back every morrow, and
+ate but of black rye-bread, and drank of ditch-water.  Deary me, but I
+would not like that!  I'd put up with a bit less saintliness, _I_
+would!"
+
+"You are all out there, Dame," my Lady made answer.  "This fashion of
+saintliness may be along with such matters, but it cometh not by their
+help."
+
+"How comes it then, Dame, an't like you?"
+
+"By asking for it," saith our mother, quietly.
+
+"Good lack! but which of the saints must I ask for it?" quoth she.
+"I'll give him all the wax candles in Ludlow, a week afore I die.  I'd
+rather not have it sooner."
+
+"When go you about to die, Dame?"
+
+"Our Lady love us!  That cannot I say."
+
+"Then you shall scarce know the week before, I think."
+
+"Oh, no! but the saint shall know.  Look you, Dame, to be too much of a
+saint should stand sore in man's way.  I could not sing, nor dance, nor
+lake me a bit, if I were a saint; and that fashion of saintliness you
+speak of must needs be sorest of all.  If I do but just get it to go to
+Heaven with, that shall serve me the best."
+
+"I thought they sang in Heaven," saith Isabel.
+
+"Bless you, Damsel!--nought but Church music."
+
+"Dame Hilda, I marvel if you would be happy in Heaven."
+
+"Oh, I should be like, when I got there."
+
+My Lady shook her head.
+
+"For that," quoth she, "you must be partaker of the Divine nature.
+Which means not, doing good works contrary to your liking, but having
+the nature which delights in doing them."
+
+"Oh, ay, that will come when we be there."
+
+"On the contrary part, they that have it not here on earth shall not win
+there.  They only that be partakers of Christ may look to enter Heaven.
+And no man that partaketh Christ's merits can miss to partake Christ's
+nature."
+
+"Marry, then but few shall win there."
+
+"So do I fear," saith my Lady.
+
+"Dame, under your good pleasure," saith Dame Hilda, looking her
+earnestly in the face, "where gat you such notions?  They be something
+new.  At the least, never heard I your Ladyship so to speak aforetime."
+
+My Lady's cheek faintly flushed.
+
+"May God forgive me," saith she, "all these years to have locked up his
+Word, which was burning in mine own heart!  Yet in good sooth, Dame, you
+are partly right.  Ere I went to Skipton, I was like one that seeth a
+veiled face, or that gazeth through smoked glass.  But now mine eyes
+have beheld the face of Him that was veiled, and I have spoken with Him,
+as man speaketh with his friend.  And if you would know who helped me
+thereto, it was an holy hermit, by name Richard Rolle, that did divers
+times visit me in my prison at Skipton.  And he knows Him full well."
+
+"Dame!" saith Dame Hilda, looking somewhat anxiously on my mother, "I do
+trust you go not about to die, nor to hie in cloister and leave all
+these poor babes!  Do bethink you, I pray, ere you do either."
+
+My Lady smiled.  "Nay, good my Dame!" saith she.  "How can I go in
+cloister, that am wedded wife?"
+
+"Eh, but you might get your lord's consent thereto--some wedded women
+doth."
+
+I was looking on my Lady, and I saw a terrible change in her face when
+Dame Hilda spoke those words.  I felt, too, Isabel's sudden nervous
+shiver.  And I guessed what they both thought--that assent would be easy
+enough to win.  For in all those months since Queen Isabel came over, he
+had never come near us.  He was ever at the Court, waiting upon her.
+And though his duties--if he had them, but what they were we knew not--
+might keep him at the Court in general, yet surely, had he been very
+desirous to see us, he might have won leave to run over when the Queen
+was at Hereford, were it only for an hour or twain.
+
+Our mother did not answer for a moment.  When she did, it was to
+say--"Nay, vows may not be thus lightly done away.  `Till death' scarce
+means, till one have opportunity to undo."
+
+"Then, pray you, go not and die, Dame!"
+
+"I am immortal till God bids me die," she made answer.  "But why should
+man die because he loveth Jesu Christ better than he was wont?"
+
+"Oh, folks always do when they get marvellous good."
+
+"It were ill for the world an' they so did," saith my Lady.  "That is
+bad enough to lack good folks."
+
+"It is bad enough to lack _you_," saith Dame Hilda.
+
+My Lady gave a little laugh, and so the converse ended.
+
+The next thing that I can remember, after that, was the visit of our
+father.  He only came that once, and tarried scarce ten days; but he
+took Nym and Geoffrey back with him.  I heard Dame Hilda whisper
+somewhat to Tamzine, as though he had desired to have also one or two of
+the elder damsels, and that my Lady had so earnestly begged and prayed
+to the contrary that for once he gave way to her.  It was not often, I
+think, that he did that.  It was four years good ere we saw either of
+our brothers again--not till all was over--and then Geoff told us a
+sorry tale indeed of all that had happed.
+
+It was at the time when our father paid us this visit that my marriage
+and that of Beatrice were covenanted.  King Edward of Caernarvon had
+contracted my lord that now is to the Lady Alianora La Despenser,
+daughter of my sometime Lord of Gloucester [Hugh Le Despenser the
+Younger], who was put to death at Hereford by Queen Isabel.  But she--I
+mean the Queen--who hated him and all his, sent the Lady Alianora to
+Sempringham, with command to veil her instantly, and gave the marriage
+of my Lord to my Lord Prince, the King that now is [Edward the Third].
+So my father, being then at top of the tree, begged the marriage for one
+of his daughters, and it was settled that should be me.  I liked it well
+enough, to feel myself the most important person in the pageant, and to
+be beautifully donned, and all that; and as I was not to leave home for
+some years to come, it was but a show, and cost me nothing.  I dare say
+it cost somebody a pretty penny.  Beatrice was higher mated, with my
+Lord of Norfolk's son, who was the King's cousin, but he died a lad,
+poor soul! so her grandeur came to nought, and she wedded at last a much
+lesser noble.
+
+Thus dwelt we maids with our mother in the Castle of Ludlow, seeing
+nought of the fine doings that were at Court, save just for the time of
+our marriages, which were at Wynchecombe on the day of Saint Lazarus,
+that is the morrow of O Sapientia [Note 4].  The King was present
+himself, and the young Lady Philippa, who the next month became our
+Queen, and his sisters the Ladies Alianora and Joan, and more Earls and
+Countesses than I can count, all donned their finest.  Well-a-day, but
+there must have been many a yard of velvet in that chapel, and an whole
+army of beasts ermines must have laid their lives down to purfile [trim
+with fur] the same!  I was donned myself of blue velvet guarded of
+miniver, and wore all my Lady's jewels on mine head and corsage; and
+marry, but I queened it!  Who but I for that morrow, in very sooth!
+
+Ay, and somebody else [Queen Isabelle, the young King's mother] was
+there, whom I have not named.  Somebody robed in snow-white velvet, with
+close hood and wimple, so that all that showed of her face was from the
+eyebrows to the lips,--all pure, unstained mourning white.  Little I
+knew of the horrible stains on that black heart beneath!  And I thought
+her so sweet, so fair!  Come, I have spoken too plainly to add a name.
+
+So all passed away like a dream, and we won back to Ludlow, and matters
+fell back to the old ways, as if nought had ever happened--the only real
+difference being that instead of "Damsel Agnes" I was "my Lady of
+Pembroke," and our baby Beatrice, instead of "Damsel Beattie," was "my
+Lady Beatrice of Norfolk."  And about a year after that came letters
+from Nym, addressed to "my Lady Countess of March," in which he writ
+that the King had made divers earls, and our father amongst them.  Dame
+Hilda told us the news in the nursery, and Jack turned a somersault, and
+stood on his hands, with his heels up in the air.
+
+"Call me Jack any more, if you dare!" cries he.  "I am my Lord John of
+March, and I shall expect to be addressed so, properly.  Do you hear,
+children?"
+
+"I hear one of the children, in good sooth," said Meg, comically.  And
+Maud saith--
+
+"Prithee, Jack, take no airs, for they beseem thee but very ill."
+
+Whereon Jack fell a-moaning and a-crying out, that Dame Hilda thought he
+was rare sick, and ordered Emelina to get ready a dose of violet oil.
+But before Emelina could so much as fetch a spoon, there was Jack
+dancing a hornpipe and singing, or rather screaming, at the top of his
+voice, till Dame Hilda put her hands over her ears and cried for mercy.
+I never did see such another lad as Jack.
+
+We heard but little, and being children, we cared less, for the events
+that followed--the beheading of my Lord of Kent, and the rising under my
+Lord of Lancaster.  And the next thing after that was the last thing of
+all.
+
+It was in October, 1330.  We had no more idea of such a blow falling on
+us than we had of the visitation of an angel.  I remember we were all
+gathered--except the little ones--in my Lady's closet, for after my
+marriage I was no longer kept in the nursery, though Beattie, on account
+of her much youth, was made an exception to that rule.  My Lady was
+spinning, and her damsel Aveline carding, and Joan and I, our arms round
+each others' waists, sat in the corner, Joan having on her lap a piece
+of finished broidery, and I having nothing: what the others were doing I
+forget.  Then came the familiar sound of the horn, and my Lady turned
+white.  I never felt sure why she always turned white when a horn
+sounded: whether she expected bad news, or whether she expected our
+father.  She was exceeding afraid of him, and yet she loved him, I know:
+I cannot tell how she managed it.
+
+After the horn, we heard the tramp of troops entering the court-yard,
+and I think we all felt that once more something was going to happen.
+Aveline glanced at my Lady, who returned the look, but did not speak;
+and then Lettice, one of the other maidens, rose and went forth, at a
+look from Aveline.  But she could scarcely have got beyond the door when
+Master Inge came in.
+
+"Dame," said he, "my news is best told quickly.  The Castle and all
+therein is confiscate to the Crown.  But the King hath sent strict
+command that the wardrobe, jewels, and all goods, of your Ladyship, and
+of all ladies and children dwelling with you, shall be free from
+seizure, and no hand shall be laid on you nor any thing belonging to
+you."
+
+My Lady rose up, resting her hand on the chair from which she rose; I
+think it was to support her.
+
+"I return humble thanks to the Lord King," said she, in a trembling
+voice.  "What hath happened, Master Inge?"
+
+"Dame," quoth he, "how shall I tell you?  My Lord is a prisoner of the
+Tower, and Sir Edmund and Sir Geoffrey with him--"
+
+If my Lady could turn whiter, I think she did.  I felt Joan's hand-clasp
+tighten upon mine, till I could almost have cried out.
+
+"And Dame Isabel the Queen is herself under ward in the Castle of
+Berkhamsted, and all matters turned upside down.  Man saith that the
+great men with the King be now Sir William de Montacute and Sir Edward
+de Bohun, and divers more of like sort.  And my Lord of Lancaster, man
+saith, flung up his cap, and thanked God that he had lived to see that
+day."
+
+My Lady had stood as still and silent as an image, all the while Master
+Inge was speaking, only that when he said the Queen was in ward, she
+gave a sort of gasp.  When he had done, she clasped her hands, and
+looked up to Heaven.
+
+"Dost Thou come," she said, in a strange voice that did not sound like
+hers, "dost Thou come to judge the earth?  We have waited long for Thee.
+Yet--Oh, if it be possible--if it be possible!  Spare my boys to me!
+And spare--"
+
+A strange kind of sob seemed to come up in her throat, and she held out
+her hands as if she could not see.  I believe, if Master Inge and
+Lettice had not been quick to spring forward and catch her by the arms,
+she would have fallen to the floor.  They bore her into her bedchamber
+close by; and we children saw her not for some time.  Dame Hilda was in
+and out; but when we asked her how my Lady fared, she did nought save
+shake her head, from which we learned little except that things went ill
+in some way.  When we asked Lettice, she said--
+
+"There, now! don't hinder me.  Poor children, you will know soon
+enough."
+
+Aveline was the best, for she sat down and gathered us into her arms and
+comforted us; but even she gave us no real answer, only she kept saying,
+"Poor maids! poor little maids!"
+
+So above a month passed away.  Master John de Melbourne was sent down
+from the King as supervisor of the lands and goods of my Lady and her
+children; but he came with the men-at-arms, so he brought no fresh news:
+and it was after Christmas before we knew the rest.  Then, one winter
+morrow, came a warrant of the Chancery, granting to my Lady all the
+lands of her own inheritance, by reason of the execution of her husband.
+And then she knew that all had come that would come.
+
+We children, Meg except, had not yet been allowed to see our mother, who
+had never stirred from her bedchamber.  One evening, early in January,
+we were sitting in her closet, clad in our new doole raiment (how I
+hated it!), talking to one another in low voices, for I think we all had
+a sort of instinct that things were going wrong somehow, even the babies
+who understood least about it: when all at once, for none of us saw her
+enter, a lady stood before us.  A lady whom we did not know, clad in
+white widow-doole, tall and stately, with a white, white face, so that
+her weeds were scarcely whiter, and a kind of fixed, unalterable
+expression of intense pain, yet unchangeable peace.  It seemed to me
+such a strange look.  Whether the pain or the peace were the greater I
+knew not, nor could I tell which was the newer.  We girls sat and looked
+at her with puzzled faces.  Then a faint smile broke through the pain,
+on the white face, like the sun breaking through clouds, and a voice we
+knew, asked of us--
+
+"Don't you know me, my children?"
+
+And that was how our mother came back to us.
+
+She did not leave us again.  Ever since he died, she has lived for us.
+That white face, full of peace and yet of pain, abides with her; her
+colour has never returned.  But I think the pain grows less with years,
+and the peace grows more.  She smiles freely, but it is faintly, as if
+smiles hardly belonged to her, and were only a borrowed thing that might
+not be kept; and her eyes never light up as of old--only that once, when
+some months after our father's end, Nym and Geoff came back to us.
+Then, just for one moment, her old face came again.  For I think she had
+given them up,--not to King Edward, but to Christ our Lord, who is her
+King.
+
+Ay, I never knew woman like her in that.  There are many that will say
+prayers, and there are some that will pray, which is another thing from
+saying prayers: but never saw I one like her, that seemed to do all her
+work and to live all her living in the very light of the Throne of God.
+Just as an impassioned musician turns every thing into music, and a true
+painter longs to paint every lovely thing he sees, so with her all
+things turn to Jesu Christ.  I should think she will be canonised some
+day.  I am sure she deserves it better than many an one whom I have
+heard man name as meriting to be a saint.  Perhaps it is possible to be
+a saint and not be canonised.  Must man not have been a saint before he
+can be declared one?  I know the Lady Julian would chide me for saying
+that, and bid me remember that the Church only can declare man to be
+saint.  But I wonder myself if the Lord never makes saints, without
+waiting for the Church to do it for Him.  The Church may never call my
+Lady "Saint Joan," but that will she be whether she be so-called or no.
+And at times I think, too, that they who shall be privileged to dwell in
+Heaven will find there a great company of saints of whom they never
+heard, and perchance some of them that sit highest there will not be
+those most accounted of in the Calendar and on festival days.  But I do
+not suppose--as an ancestress of my mother did, in a chronicle she wrote
+which I once read; it is in the possession of her French relatives, and
+was written by the Lady Elaine de Lusignan, daughter of Geoffroy Count
+de la Marche, who was a son of that House [Note 5]--I do not suppose
+that the saints who were nobles in this world will sit nearest the
+Throne, and those who were peasants furthest off.  Nay, I think it will
+be another order of nobility that will obtain there.  Those who have
+served our Lord the best, and done the most for their fellow-men, these
+I think will be the nobles of that world.  For does not our Lord say
+Himself that the first shall be last there, and the last first?  And I
+can guess that Joan de Mortimer, my Lady and mother, will not stand low
+on that list.  It is true, she was a Countess in this life; but it was
+little to her comfort; and she was beside that early orphaned, and a
+cruelly ill-used wife and a bereaved mother.  Life brought her little
+good: Heaven will bring her more.
+
+But I wonder where one Agnes de Hastings will stand in that company.
+Nay, rather, will she be there at all?
+
+It would be well that I should think about it.
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Note 1.  A word which then included uniform and all lands of official
+garb.
+
+Note 2.  On August 3rd she left Skipton, arriving at Pomfret on the 5th.
+
+Note 3.  I find no indication of the date: only that she was at Ludlow
+on October 26, 1330.
+
+Note 4.  The precise date and place are not recorded, but it was about
+this time, and the King, who was present, was in the West only from
+December 16th to the 21st.  It is asserted by Walsingham that Beatrice
+was married "about" 1327.
+
+Note 5.  The Lady Elaine's chronicle is "Lady Sybil's Choice."
+
+
+
+PART THREE, CHAPTER 1.
+
+WHEREIN SISTER ALIANORA LA DESPENSER MAKETH MOAN (1371).
+
+CAGED.
+
+  "But of all sad words by tongue or pen,
+  The saddest are these--
+  `It might have been!'"
+
+  Whittier.
+
+"I marvel if the sun is never weary!"
+
+Thus spoke my sister Margaret [Note 1], as she stood gazing from the
+window of the recreation-room, and Sister Roberga looked up and laughed.
+
+"Nay, what next?" saith she.  "Heard I ever such strange fancies as
+thine?  Thou wilt be marvelling next if the stars be never athirst."
+
+"And if rain be the moon weeping," quoth Sister Philippa, who seemed as
+much amused as Roberga.
+
+"No, the moon weepeth not," said Margaret.  "She is too cold to weep.
+She is like Mother Ada."
+
+"Eh dear, what fancies hast thou!" saith Sister Roberga.  "Who but thou
+would ever have thought of putting the moon and Mother Ada into one
+stall!"
+
+"What didst thou mean, Sister Margaret?" saith the quiet voice of Mother
+Alianora, as she sat by the chimney corner.
+
+Mother Alianora is our father's sister--Margaret's and mine; but I ought
+not to think of it, since a recluse should have no kindred out of her
+Order and the blessed saints.  And there are three Sisters in the Priory
+named Alianora: wherefore, to make diversity, the eldest professed is
+called Alianora, and the second (that is myself) Annora, and the
+youngest, only last year professed, Nora.  We had likewise in this
+convent an Aunt Joan, but she deceased over twenty years gone.  Margaret
+was professed in the Order when I was, but not at this house; and she
+hath been transferred hither but a few weeks [Note 2], so that her mind
+and heart are untravelled ground to me.  She was a Sister at Watton: and
+since I can but just remember her before our profession, it seems
+marvellous strange that we should now come to know one another, after
+nearly fifty years' cloistered life.  There is yet another Sister named
+Margaret, but being younger in profession we call her Sister Magota.
+
+When Mother Alianora spoke, Margaret turned back from the window, as she
+ought when addressed by a superior.
+
+"I mean, Mother, that he never hath any change of work," she said.
+"Every morrow he has to rise, and every night must he set: and always
+the one in east and the other in west.  I think he must be sore, sore
+weary, for he hath been at it over five thousand years."
+
+Sister Roberga and Sister Philippa laughed.  Mother Alianora did not
+laugh.  A soft, rather sorrowful, sort of smile came on her aged face.
+
+"Art thou so weary, my daughter, that the thought grew therefore?" saith
+she.
+
+Something came into Margaret's eyes for a moment, but it was out again,
+almost before I could see it.  I knew not what it was; Margaret's eyes
+are yet a puzzle to me.  They are very dark eyes, but they are different
+in their look from all the other dark eyes in the house.  Sister Olive
+has eyes quite as dark; but they say nothing.  Margaret's eyes talk so
+much that she might do very well without her tongue.  Not that I always
+understand what they say; the language in which they speak is generally
+a foreign one to me.  I fancy Mother Alianora can read it better.  I
+listened for Margaret's reply.
+
+"Dear Mother, is not weariness the lot of all humanity, and more
+especially of women?"
+
+"Mary love us!" cries Philippa.  "What gibberish you talk, Sister
+Margaret!"
+
+"Sister Philippa will come here and ask Sister Margaret's forgiveness at
+once," saith Mother Gaillarde, the sub-Prioress.
+
+Sister Philippa banged down her battledore on the table, and marching
+up, knelt before Margaret and asked forgiveness, making a face behind
+her back as soon as she had turned.
+
+"Sister Philippa will take no cheese at supper," added the sub-Prioress.
+
+Sister Philippa pulled another face--a very ugly one; it reminded me
+somewhat too much of the carved figure of the Devil with his mouth
+gaping on the Prior's stall in our Abbey Church.  That and Sister
+Philippa's faces are the ugliest things I ever saw, except the Cellarer,
+and he looks so good-tempered that one forgets his ugliness.
+
+"Sister Philippa is not weary, as it should seem," saith Mother
+Alianora, again with her quiet smile.  "Otherwise, to speak thereof
+should scarcely seem gibberish to her."
+
+I spoke not, but I thought it was in no wise gibberish to me.  For I
+never had that vocation which alone should make nuns.  Not God, but man,
+forced this veil upon me; for, ah me!  I was meant for another life.
+And that other life, that should have been mine, I never cease to long
+for and to mourn over.
+
+Only six years old was I--for though my seventh birthday was near, it
+was not past--when I was thrust into this house of religion.  My
+vocation and my will were never asked.  We--Margaret and I--were in
+Queen Isabel's way; and she plucked us and flung us over the hedge like
+weeds that cumbered her garden.  It was all by reason she hated our
+father: but what he had done to make her thus hate him, that I never
+knew.  And I was an affianced bride when I was torn away from all that
+should have made life glad, and prisoned here for ever more.  How my
+heart keeps whispering to me, "It might have been!"  There is a woman
+who comes for doles to the convent gate, and at times she hath with her
+the loveliest little child I ever saw; and they smile on each other,
+mother and child, and look so happy when they smile.  Why was I cut off
+thus from all that makes other women happy?  Nobody belongs to me;
+nobody loves me.  The very thought of being loved, the very wish to be
+so, is sin in _me_, who am a veiled nun.  But why was it made sin?  It
+was not sin aforetime.  _He_ might have loved me, he whom I never saw
+after I was flung over the convent wall--he who was mine and not hers to
+whom I suppose they will have wedded him.  But I know nothing: I shall
+never know.  And they say it is sin to think of him.  Every thing seems
+to be sin; and loving people more especially.  Mother Ada told me one
+day that she saw in me an inclination to be too much drawn to Mother
+Alianora, and warned me to mortify it, because she was my father's
+sister, and therefore there was cause to fear it might be an indulgence
+of the flesh.  And now, these weeks past, my poor, dry, withered heart
+seems to have a little faint pulsation in it, and goes out to Margaret--
+my sister Margaret with the strange dark eyes, my own sister who is an
+utter stranger to me.  Must I crush the poor dry thing back, and hurt
+all that is left to hurt of it?  Oh, will no saint in Heaven tell me why
+it is, that God, who loveth men, will not have monks and nuns to love
+each other?  The Lord Prior saith He is a jealous God, and demands that
+we give all our love to Him.  Yet I may love the blessed saints without
+any derogation to Him--but I must not love mine own sister.  It is very
+perplexing.  Do earthly fathers forbid their children to love one
+another, lest they should not be loved themselves sufficiently?  I
+should have thought that love, like other things, increased by exercise,
+and that loving my sister would rather help me to love God.  But they
+say not.  I suppose they know.
+
+Ah me, if I should find out at last that they mistook God's meaning!--
+that I might have had His love and Margaret's too!--nay, even that I
+might have had His love and that other, of which it is so wicked in me
+to think, and yet something is in me that will keep ever thinking!  O
+holy and immaculate Virgin, O Saint Margaret, Saint Agnes, and all ye
+blessed maidens that dwell in Heaven, have mercy on me, miserable
+sinner!  My soul is earth-bound, and I cannot rise.  I am the bride of
+Christ, and I cannot cease lamenting my lost earthly bridal.
+
+But hath Christ a thousand brides?  They say holy Church is His Bride,
+and she is one.  Then how can all the vestals in all the convents be
+each of them His bride?  I suppose I cannot understand as I ought to do.
+Perhaps I should have understood better if that _might have been_ had
+been--if I had not stood withering all these years, taught to crush down
+this poor dried heart of mine.  They will not let me have any thing to
+love.  When Mother Ada thought I was growing too fond of little
+Erneburg, she took her away from me and gave her to Sister Roberga to
+teach.  Yet the child seemed to soften my heart and do it good.
+
+"Are the holy Mother and the blessed saints not enough for thee?" she
+said.
+
+But the blessed saints do not look at me and smile, as Erneburg did.
+She doth it even now, across the schoolroom--though I have never been
+permitted to speak word to her since Mother Ada took her from me.  And I
+must smile back again,--ay, however many times I have to lick a cross on
+the oratory floor for doing it.  Why ought I not?  Did not our Lord
+Himself take the little children into His arms?  I am sure He must have
+smiled on them--they would have been frightened if He had not done so.
+
+They say I have but a poor wit, and am fit to teach only babes.
+
+"And not fit to teach them," saith Mother Ada--in a tone which I am sure
+people would call cross and snappish if she were an extern--"for her
+fancy all runs to playing with them, rather than teaching them any thing
+worth knowing."
+
+Ah, Mother Ada, but is not love worth knowing? or must they have that
+only from their happy mothers, who not being holy women are permitted to
+love, and not from a poor, crushed, hopeless heart like mine?
+
+There is nothing in our life to look forward to.  "Till death" is the
+vow of the Sisterhood.  And death seems a poor hope.
+
+I know, of course, what Mother Ada would say: that I have no vocation,
+and my heart is in the world and of the world.  But God sent me to the
+world: and man--or rather woman--thrust me against my will into this
+Sisterhood.
+
+"Not a bit better than Lot's wife!" says Mother Ada.  "She was struck to
+a pillar of salt for looking back, and so shalt thou be, Sister Annora,
+with thy worldly fancies and carnal longings."
+
+Well, if I were, I am not sure I should feel much different.  Sometimes
+I seem to myself to be hardening into stone, body and soul.  Soul! ah,
+that is the worst of it.
+
+Now and then, in the dead of night, when I lie awake--and for an hour or
+more after lauds, I can seldom sleep--one awful thought harrieth and
+weareth me, at times almost to madness.  I never knew till a year ago,
+when I heard the Lord Prior speaking to Mother Gaillarde thereanent,
+that holy Church held the contract of marriage for the true canonical
+tie.  And if it be thus, and we were never divorced--and I never heard
+word thereof--what then?  Am I his true wife--I, not she?  Is he happy
+with her?  Who is she, and what is she?  Doth she care for him, and make
+him her first thought, and give all her heart to him, as I would have
+done, if--
+
+How the convent bell startled me!  Miserable me!  I am vowed to God, and
+I am His for ever.  But the vow that came first, if it were never
+undone--_Mater purissima, Sancta Virgo virginum, ora pro me_!
+
+Is there some tale, some sad, strange story, lying behind those dark
+eyes, in that shut-up heart of my sister Margaret?  Not like mine; she
+was never betrothed.  But her eyes seem to me to tell a story.
+
+Margaret never speaks to me, unless I do it first: and I dare not,
+except about some work, when Mother Gaillarde or Mother Ada is present.
+Yet once or twice I have caught those dark eyes scanning my face, with a
+wistful look.  Maybe she too is trying to crush down her heart, as I
+have done.  But I cannot help thinking that the heart behind those eyes
+will take a great deal of crushing.
+
+Mother Alianora is so different from the two I named just now, I am sure
+there is not a better nor holier woman in all the Order.  But she is
+always gentle and tender; never cold like Mother Ada, nor hard and
+sarcastic like Mother Gaillarde.  I am glad my Lady Prioress rules with
+an easy hand--("sadly too slack!" saith Mother Gaillarde)--so that dear
+Mother Alianora doth not get chidden for what is the best part of her.
+I should not be afraid of speaking to Margaret if only she were present
+of our superiors.
+
+At recreation-time, this afternoon, Sister Amphyllis asked Mother
+Alianora how long she had been professed.
+
+"Forty-nine years," saith she, with her gentle smile.
+
+I was surprised to hear it.  She hath then been in the Order only five
+years longer than I have.
+
+"And how old were you, Mother?" saith Sister Amphyllis.
+
+"Nineteen years," saith she.
+
+"There must many an one have died since you came here, Mother?"
+
+"Ay," quoth Mother Alianora, with a far-away look at the trees without.
+"The oldest nun in all the Abbey, Sister Margery de Burgh, died the
+month after I came hither.  She remembered a Sister that was nearly an
+hundred years old, and that had received the holy veil from the hand of
+Saint Gilbert himself."
+
+Sister Amphyllis crossed herself.
+
+"Annora," saith Mother Alianora, "canst thou remember Mother Guendolen?"
+
+What did I know about Mother Guendolen?  Some faint, vague, misty
+memories seemed to awake within me--an odd, incongruous mixture like a
+dream--dark eyes like Margaret's, which told a tale, but this seemed a
+tale of terror; and an enamelled cross, which had somewhat to do with a
+battle and a queen.
+
+"I scarcely know, Mother," said I.  "Somewhat do I recall, yet what it
+is I hardly know.  Were her eyes dark, with an affrighted look in them?"
+
+"They were dark," said Mother Alianora, "but the very peace of God was
+in them.  Ah, thou art mixing up two persons--herself and her cousin,
+Mother Gladys.  They were near of an age, and Mother Guendolen only
+outlived Mother Gladys by one year: but they were full diverse manner of
+women.  Thou shouldst remember her, Annora.  Thou wert a maiden of
+fifteen when she died."
+
+All at once she seemed to flash up before me.
+
+"I do remember her, Mother, if it please you.  She was tall, and had
+very black hair, and dark flashing eyes, and she moved like a queen."
+
+"I think of her," saith Mother Alianora, "rather as she was in her last
+days, when those flashing eyes flashed no longer, and the queen was lost
+in the saint."
+
+"If it please you, Mother," I said, "had she not an enamelled cross that
+she wore?  I recollect something about it."
+
+Mother Alianora smiled, somewhat amusedly.
+
+"She had; and perchance thy memory runneth back to a battle over that
+cross betwixt her and Sister Sayena, who laid plaint afore my Lady
+Prioress that Mother Guendolen kept to herself an article of private
+property, which should have gone into the treasury.  It had been her
+mother's, a marriage-gift from the Queen that then was.  Well I remember
+Mother Guendolen's words--`I sware to part from this cross alone with
+life, and the Master granted me to keep it when I entered the Order.'
+Then the fire died out of her eyes, and her voice fell low, and she
+added--`ah, my sister! dost thou envy me Christ's cross?'  Ay, she had
+carried more of that cross than most.  She came here about the age thou
+didst, Annora--a little child of six years."
+
+"Who was she in the world, Mother?" quoth Sister Nora.
+
+I was surprised to see Mother Alianora glance round the room, as if to
+see who was there, afore she answered.  Nor did she answer for a moment.
+
+"She was Sister Guendolen of Sempringham: let that satisfy thee.  Maybe,
+in the world above, she is that which she should have been in this
+world, and was not."
+
+And I could not but wonder if Mother Guendolen's life had held a _might
+have been_ like mine.
+
+I want to know what `carnal' and `worldly' mean.  They are words which I
+hear very often, and always with condemnation: but they seem to mean
+quite different things, in the lips of different speakers.  When Mother
+Ada uses them, they mean having affection in one's heart for any thing,
+or any person, that is not part of holy Church.  When Mother Gaillarde
+speaks them, they mean caring for any thing that she does not care for--
+and that includes everything except power, and grandeur, and the Order
+of Saint Gilbert.  And when Mother Alianora says them, they fall softly
+on the ear, as if they meant not love, nor happiness, nor any thing good
+and innocent, but simply all that could grieve our Lord and hurt a soul
+that loved Him.  They are, with her, just the opposite of Jesus Christ.
+
+Oh, if only our blessed Lord had been on earth now, and I might have
+gone on pilgrimage to the place where He was!  If I could have asked Him
+all the questions that perplex me, and laid at His feet all the sorrows
+that trouble me!  For I do not think He would have commanded the saints
+to chase me away because I maybe have poorer wits than other women,--He
+who let the mothers bring the babes to Him: I fancy He would have been
+patient and gentle, even with me.  I scarce think He would have treated
+sorrow--even wrong or mistaken sorrow, if only it were real--as some do,
+with cold looks, and hard words, and gibes that take so much bearing.  I
+suppose He would have told me wherein I sinned, but I think He would
+have done it gently, so as not to hurt more than could be helped--not
+like some, who seem to think that nothing they say or do can possibly
+hurt any one.
+
+But it is no use saying such things to people.  Once, I did say about a
+tenth part of what I felt, when Mother Ada was present, and she turned
+on me almost angrily.
+
+"Sister Annora, you are scarce better than an idiot!  Know you not that
+confession to the priest is the same thing as to our Lord Himself?"
+
+Well, it may be so, though it never feels like it: but I am sure the
+priest is not the same thing.  If I were a young mother with little
+babes, I could never bring them to any priest I have known save one, and
+that was a stranger who confessed us but for a week, some five years
+gone, when the Lord Prior was ill.  He was quite different from the
+others: there was a soul behind his eyes--something human, not merely a
+sort of metallic box which sounded when you rang it with another bit of
+metal.
+
+I never know why Margaret's eyes make me think of that man, but I
+suppose it may be that there was the same sort of look in his.  I am not
+sure that I can put it into words.  It makes me think, not of a dry
+bough like my heart feels to be, but rather of a walled recluse--
+something alive, very much alive, inside thick, hard, impenetrable walls
+which you cannot enter, and it can never leave, but itself soft and
+tender and sweet.  And I fancy that people who look like that must have
+had histories.
+
+Another person troubles me beside that man and Margaret, and that is
+Saint Peter's wife's mother.  Because, if the holy Apostle had a wife's
+mother, he must have had a wife; and what could a holy Apostle be doing
+with a wife?  I ventured once to ask Mother Ada how it was to be
+explained, and she said that of course Saint Peter must have been
+married before his conversion and calling by our Lord.
+
+"And I dare be bound," added Mother Gaillarde, "that she was a shocking
+vixen, or something bad, so as to serve for a thorn in the flesh to the
+holy Apostle.  He'd a deal better have been an unwedded man."
+
+Well, some folks' relations are thorns in the flesh, I can quite
+suppose.  I should think Mother Gaillarde was, and that her being a nun
+was a mercy to some man, so that she was told off to prick us and not
+him.  But is every body so? and are we all called to be thorns in the
+flesh to somebody?  I should not fancy being looked on by my relations
+(if I were in the world) as nothing but a means of grace.  It might be
+good for them, but I doubt if it would for me.
+
+I wonder if Margaret ever knew that priest whose eyes looked like hers.
+I should like to ask her.  But Mother Ada always forbids us to ask each
+other questions about our past lives.  She says curiosity is a sin; it
+was curiosity which led Eve to listen to the serpent.  But I do not
+think Mother Ada's soul has any wings, and I always feel as if mine
+had--something that, if only I were at liberty, would spread itself and
+carry me away, far, far from here, right up into the very stars, for
+aught I know.  Poor caged bird as I am! how can my wings unfold
+themselves?  I fancy Margaret has wings--very likely, stronger than
+mine.  She seems to have altogether a stronger nature.
+
+Mother Alianora will let us ask questions: she sometimes asks them
+herself.  Well, so does Mother Gaillarde, more than any body; but in
+such a different way!  Mother Alianora asks as if she were comforting
+and helping you: Mother Gaillarde as though you were a piece of
+embroidery that had been done wrong, and she were looking to see where
+the stitches had begun to go crooked.  If I were a piece of lawn, I
+should not at all like Mother Gaillarde to pull the crooked stitches out
+of me.  She pounces on them so eagerly, and pulls so savagely at them.
+
+I marvel what Margaret's history has been!
+
+Last evening, as we were putting the orphans to bed--two of the Sisters
+do it by turns, every week--little Damia saith to me--
+
+"Sister Annora, what is the matter with our new Sister?"
+
+"Who dost thou mean, my child?"  I asked.  "Sister Marian?"
+
+For Sister Marian was our last professed.
+
+"No," said the child; "I mean Sister Margaret, who has such curious
+eyes--eyes that say every thing and don't tell any thing--it is so
+funny!  (So other folks than I had seen those eyes.)  But what was the
+matter with her yesterday morning, at the holy Sacrament?"
+
+"I know not, Damia, for I saw nothing.  A religious, as thou knowest,
+should not lift her eyes, save for adoration."
+
+"O Sister Annora, how many nice things she must lose!  But I will tell
+you about Sister Margaret.  It was just when the holy mass began.
+Father Hamon had said `_Judica me_' and then, you know, the people had
+to reply, `_Quia Tu es_.'  And when they began the response, Sister
+Margaret's head went up, and her eyes ran up the aisle to the altar."
+
+"Damia, my child!"  I said.
+
+"Indeed, Sister, I am not talking nonsense!  It looked exactly like
+that.  Then, in another minute, they came back, looking so sorry, and
+so, _so_ tired!  If you will look at her, you will see how tired she
+looks, and has done ever since.  I thought her soul had been to look for
+something which it could not find, and that made her so sorry."
+
+"Had ever child such odd fancies as thou!" said I, as I tucked her up.
+"Now say thy Hail Mary, and go to sleep."
+
+I thought it but right to check Damia, who has a very lively
+imagination, and would make up stories by the yard about all she sees,
+if any one encouraged her.  But when I sat down again to the loom,
+instead of the holy meditations which ought to come to me, and I suppose
+would do so if I were perfect, I kept wondering if Damia had seen
+rightly, and if Margaret's soul had been to look for something, and was
+disappointed in not finding it.  I looked at her--she was just across
+the room,--and as Damia said, there was a very sorrowful, weary look on
+her face--a look as if some thought, or memory, or hope, had been
+awakened in her, only to be sent back, sorely disappointed and
+disheartened.  Somebody else noticed it too.
+
+My Lady Prioress was rather late last night in dismissing us.  Sister
+Roberga said she was sure there had been some altercation between her
+and Mother Gaillarde: and certainly Mother Gaillarde, as she stood at
+the top of the room by my Lady, did not look exactly an incarnation of
+sweetness.  But my Lady gave the word at last: and as she said--"_Pax
+vobiscum, Sorores_!" every Sister went up to her, knelt to kiss her
+hand, took her own lamp from the lamp-stand, and glided softly from the
+recreation-room.  Half-way down stood Mother Alianora, and at the door
+Mother Ada.  Margaret was just behind me: and as I passed Mother
+Alianora, I heard her ask--
+
+"Sister Margaret, art thou suffering in some wise?"
+
+I listened for Margaret's answer.  There was a moment's hesitation
+before it came.
+
+"No, Mother, I thank you; save from a malady which only One can heal."
+
+"May He heal thee, my child!" was the gentle answer.
+
+I was surprised at Margaret's answering with anything but thanks.
+
+"Mother, you little know for what you pray!"
+
+"That is often the case," said Mother Alianora.  "But He knoweth who
+hath to answer: and He doeth all things well.  He will give thee, maybe,
+not the physic thou lookest for; yet the right remedy."
+
+I heard Margaret answer, as we passed on, in a low voice, as if she
+scarce desired to be heard--"For some diseases there is no remedy but
+death."
+
+There are two dormitories in our house, and Margaret is in the west one,
+while I sleep in the eastern.  At the head of the stairs we part to our
+places.  That I should speak a word to her in the night is impossible.
+And in the day I can never see her without a score of eyes upon us,
+especially Mother Gaillarde's, and she seems to have eyes, not in the
+back of her head only, but all over her veil.
+
+I suppose, if we had lived like real sisters and not make-believe ones,
+Margaret and I would have had a little chamber to ourselves in our
+father's castle, and we could have talked to each other, and told our
+secrets if we wished, and have comforted one another when our hearts
+were sad.  And I do not understand why it should please our Lord so much
+more to have us shut up here, making believe to be one family with
+thirty other women who are not our sisters, except in the sense that all
+Christian women are children of God.  I wonder where it is in the
+Gospels, that our Lord commanded it to be done.  I cannot find it in my
+Evangelisterium.  I dare say the holy Apostles ordered it afterwards: or
+perhaps it is in some Gospel I have never seen.  There are only four in
+my book.
+
+If that strange priest would come again to confess us, I should like
+very much to ask him several questions of that sort.  I never saw any
+other priest that I could speak to freely, as I could to him.  Father
+Hamon would not understand me, I am sure: and Father Benedict would
+rebuke me sharply whether he understood or not; telling me for the
+fiftieth time that I ought to humble myself to the dust because my
+vocation is so imperfect.  Well, I know I have no vocation.  But why
+then was I shut up here when God had not called me?  I had no choice
+allowed me.  Or why, seeing things are thus, cannot the Master or some
+one else loose me from my vow, and let me go back to the world which
+they keep blaming me because they say I love?
+
+Yet what should I do in the world?  My mother has been dead many years,
+for her name is in the obituary of the house.  As to my brothers and
+sisters, I no more know how many of them are living, nor where they are,
+than if they dwelt in the stars.  I remember my brother Hugh, because he
+used to take my part when the others teased me: but as to my younger
+brothers, I only know there were some; I forget even their names.  I
+think one was Hubert, or Robert, or something that ended in _bert_.  And
+my sisters--I remember Isabel; she was three years elder than I.  And--
+was one Elizabeth?  I think so.  But wherever they are, I suppose they
+would feel me a stranger among them--an intruder who was not wanted, and
+who had no business to be there.  I am unfit both for Heaven and earth.
+Nobody wants me--least of all God.
+
+I do not imagine that is Margaret's history.  How far she may or may not
+have a vocation--that I leave; I know nothing about it.  But I cannot
+help fancying that somebody did want her, and that it might be to put
+her out of somebody's way--Foolish woman! what am I saying?  Why,
+Margaret was not five years old when she was professed.  How can she
+have had any history of the kind?  I simply do not understand it.
+
+Poor little Damia!  I think Mother Gaillarde has given her rather hard
+measure.
+
+I found the child crying bitterly when she came into the children's
+south dormitory where I serve this week.
+
+"Why, whatever is the matter, little one?" said I.
+
+"O Sister Annora!" was all she could sob out.
+
+"Well, weep not thus broken-heartedly!" said I.  "Tell me what it is,
+and let us see if it cannot be amended."
+
+"It's Erneburg!" sobbed little Damia.
+
+"Erneburg!  But Erneburg and thou art friends!"
+
+"Oh yes, we're friends enough! only Mother Gaillarde won't let me give
+her the tig."
+
+And little Damia indulged in a fresh burst of tears.
+
+"Give her what?"  I said.
+
+"My tig!  The tig she gave me.  And now I must carry it all night long!
+She might have let me just give it her!"
+
+I thought I saw how matters stood.
+
+"You have been playing?"
+
+"Yes, playing at
+
+  "`Carry my tig
+  To Poynton Brig--'
+
+"and Erneburg gave me a tig, and I can't give it back.  Mo--other
+Gaillarde won't le-et me!" with a fresh burst of sobs.
+
+"Now, whatever is all this fuss?" asked Mother Gaillarde, from the other
+end of the room.  "Sister, do keep these children quiet."
+
+But Mother Ada came to us.
+
+"What is the matter?" she said in her icicle voice.
+
+Little Damia was crying too much to speak, and I had to tell her that
+the children had been playing at a game in which they touched one
+another if they could, and it was deemed a terrible disgrace to be
+touched without being able to return it.
+
+"What nonsense!" said Mother Ada.  "They had better not be allowed to
+play at such silly games.  Go to sleep immediately, Damia: do you hear?
+Give over crying this minute."
+
+I wondered whether Mother Ada thought that joy and sorrow could as
+easily be stopped as a tap could be turned to stop water.  Little Damia
+could not stop crying so instantly as this: and Mother Ada told her if
+she did not, she should have no fruit to-morrow: which made her cry all
+the more.  Mother Gaillarde then marched up, and gave the poor child an
+angry shake: and that produced screams instead of sobbing.
+
+"Blessed saints, these children!" said Mother Gaillarde.  "I wish there
+never were any!  With all reverence I say it, I do think if the Almighty
+could have created men and women grown-up, it would have saved a world
+of trouble.  But I suppose He knows best.--Damia, stop that noise!  If
+not, I'll give thee another shake."
+
+Little Damia burrowed down beneath the bed-clothes, from which
+long-drawn sobs shook the bed at intervals: but she did contrive to stop
+screaming.  Mother Gaillard left the dormitory, with another sarcastic
+remark on the dear delight of looking after children: and the minute
+after, Mother Alianora entered it from the other end.  She came up to
+where I stood, by Damia's bed.
+
+"Not all peace here?" she said, with her tranquil smile.  "Little Damia,
+what aileth thee?"
+
+As soon as her voice was heard, little Damia's head came up, and in a
+voice broken by sobs, she told her tale.
+
+"Come, I think that can be put right," saith the Mother, kindly.  "Lie
+still, my child, till I come to thee again."
+
+She went away, and in a few minutes returned, with Erneburg.  Of course
+Mother Alianora can go where the Sisters cannot.
+
+"Little Damia," she said, smiling, as she laid her hand on the child's
+head, "I bring Erneburg to return thee thy `tig.'  Now canst thou go to
+sleep in peace?"
+
+"Yes, thank you, Mother.  You are good!" said little Damia gratefully,
+looking quite relieved, as Erneburg kissed her.
+
+"Such a little thing!" said Mother Alianora, with a smile.  "Yet thou
+art but a little thing thyself."
+
+They went away, and I tarried a moment to light the blessed Mother's
+lamp, and to say the Hail Mary with the children.  When I came
+down-stairs, the first voice I heard in the recreation-room was Mother
+Gaillarde's.
+
+"Well, if ever I did hear such a story!  Sister, you ruin those
+children!"
+
+"Nay," saith Mother Alianora's gentle voice, "surely not, my Sister, by
+a little kindness such as that."
+
+"Kindness, indeed!  Before I'd have given in to such nonsense!"
+
+"Sister Gaillarde, maybe some matters that you and I would weep over may
+seem full as foolish to the angels and to God.  And to Him it may be of
+more import to comfort a little child in its trouble than to pass a
+statute of Parliament.  Ah, me! if God waited to comfort us till we were
+wise, little comforting should any of us have.  But it is written, `Like
+whom his mother blandisheth, thus I will comfort you,'--and mothers do
+not wait for children to be discreet before they comfort them.  At
+least, my mother did not."
+
+Such a soft, sweet, tender light came into her eyes as made my heart
+ache.  My mother might have comforted me so.
+
+Just then I caught Margaret's look.  I do not know what it was like: but
+quite different from Mother Alianora's.  Something strained and
+stretched, as it were, like a piece of canvas when you strain it on a
+frame for tapestry-work.  Then, all at once, the strain gave way and
+broke up, and calm, holy peace came instead.  If I might talk with
+Margaret!
+
+Mother Alianora is ill in the Infirmary.  And I may not go to her.
+
+I pleaded hard with Mother Ada to appoint me nurse for this week.
+
+"Why?" she said in her coldest voice.
+
+I could not answer.
+
+"Either thou deceivest thyself, Sister," she added, "which is ill
+enough, or thou wouldst fain deceive me.  Knowest thou not that to
+attempt to deceive thy superiors is to lie to the Holy Ghost as Ananias
+and Sapphira did?  How then dost thou dare to do it?  I see plainly
+enough what motive prompts thee: not holy obedience--that is thoroughly
+inconsistent with such fervent entreaties--nor a desire to mortify thy
+will, but simply a wish for the carnal indulgence of the flesh.  Thou
+knowest full well that particular friendships are not permitted to the
+religious, it is only the lust of the flesh which prompts a fancy for
+one above another: if not, every Sister would have an equal share in thy
+regard.  It is a carnal, worldly heart in which such thoughts dwell as
+even a wish for the company of any Sister in especial.  And hast thou
+forgotten that the very purpose for which we were sent here was to
+mortify our wills?"
+
+I thought I was not likely to forget it, so long as nothing was allowed
+me save opportunities for mortifying mine.  But one more word did I dare
+to utter.
+
+"Is obedience so much better than love, Mother?"
+
+"What hast thou to do with love, save the love of God and the blessed
+Mother and the holy saints?  The very word savoureth of the world.  All
+the love thou givest to the creature is love taken from God."
+
+"Is love, then, a thing that can be measured and cut in lengths, Mother?
+The more you tend a plant, the better it flourishes.  If I am to love
+none save God, will not my heart dry and wither, so that I shall not be
+able to love Him?  Sometimes I think it is doing so."
+
+"You think!" she said.  "What right have you to think?  Leave your
+superiors to think for you; and you, cultivate holy obedience, as you
+ought.  All the heresies and schisms that ever vexed the Church have
+arisen from men setting themselves up to _think_ when they should simply
+have obeyed."
+
+"But, Mother, forgive me!  I cannot help thinking."
+
+"That shows how far you are from perfection, Sister.  A religious who
+aims at perfection should never allow herself to think, except only how
+she can best obey.  Beware of pride and presumption, the instant you
+allow yourself to depart from the perfection of obedience."
+
+"But, Mother, that is the perfection of a thing.  And I am a woman."
+
+"Sister Annora, you are reasoning, when your duty is to obey."
+
+If holy obedience means to obey without thinking, I am afraid I shall
+never be perfect in it!  I do not know how people manage to compress
+themselves into stones like that.
+
+I tried Mother Gaillarde next, since I had only found an icicle clad in
+Mother Ada's habit.  I was afraid of her, I confess, for I knew she
+would bite: and she did so.  I begged yet harder, for I had heard that
+Mother Alianora was worse.  Was I not even to see her before she died?
+
+"What on earth does it matter?" said Mother Gaillarde.  "Aren't you both
+going to Heaven?  You can talk there--without fear of disobedience."
+
+"My Lord Prior said.  Mother, in his last charge, that a convent ought
+to be a little heaven.  If that be so, why should we not talk now?"
+
+Mother Gaillarde's laugh positively frightened me.  It was the hardest,
+driest, most metallic sound I ever heard.
+
+"Sister Annora, you must be a baby!  You have lived in a convent nearly
+fifty years, and you ask if it be a little heaven!"
+
+"I cry you mercy, Mother.  I asked if it should not be so."
+
+"That's another matter," said she, with a second laugh, but it did not
+startle me like the first.  "We should all be perfect, of course.  Pity
+we aren't!"
+
+As she worked away at the plums she was stoning without saying either
+yes or no, I ventured to repeat my question.
+
+"You may do as you are told!" was Mother Gaillarde's answer.  "Can't you
+let things alone?"
+
+Snappishly as she spoke, yet--I hardly know why,--I did not feel the
+appeal to her as hopeless as to Mother Ada.  To entreat the latter was
+like beseeching a stone wall.  Mother Gaillarde's very peevishness (if I
+dare call it so) showed that she was a woman, and not an image.
+
+"Mother Gaillarde," I said, suddenly--for something seemed to bid me
+speak out--"be not angry with me, I pray you.  I am afraid of letting
+things alone.  My heart seems to be like a dry bough, and my soul
+withering up, and I want to keep them alive and warm.  Surely death is
+not perfection!"
+
+I was going on, but something which I saw made me stop suddenly.  Two
+warriors were fighting together in Mother Gaillarde's face.  All at once
+she dropped the knife, and hiding her face in her veil, she sobbed for a
+minute as if her heart were breaking.  Then, all at once, she brushed
+away her tears and stood up again.
+
+"Child!" she said, in a voice very unlike her usual one, "you are too
+young for your years.  Do not think that dried-up hearts are the same
+thing as no hearts.  Women who seem as though they could not love any
+thing may have loved once too well, and when they awoke from the dream
+may never have been able to dream again.  Ay, thou art right: death is
+not perfection.  Some of us, maybe, are very far off perfection--further
+than others think us; furthest of all from what we think ourselves.
+There have been times when I seemed to see for a moment what perfection
+is--and it was far, far from all we call it here.  God forgive us all!
+Go to the Infirmary: and if any chide thee for being there, say thou
+earnest in obedience to me."
+
+She turned back to her plum-stoning with a resolute face which might
+have been a mask of iron: and I, after offering lowly thanks, took the
+way to the Infirmary.
+
+I fear I have been unjust to Mother Gaillarde, and I am sorry for it.  I
+seem to see now, that her hard, snappish speeches (for she does snap
+sometimes) are not from absence of heart, but are simply a veil to hide
+the heart.  Ah me! how little we human creatures know of each others'
+hidden feelings!  But I shall never think Mother Gaillarde without heart
+again.
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Note 1.  The rule of silence varied considerably in different Orders,
+but in all, except the very strict, nuns were at liberty to converse
+during some period of the day.
+
+Note 2.  This transferring of Margaret from Watton is purely imaginary.
+
+
+
+PART THREE, CHAPTER 2.
+
+SISTER MARGARET.
+
+  "Do I not know
+  The life of woman is full of woe?
+  Toiling on and on and on,
+  With breaking heart, and tearful eyes,
+  And silent lips--and in the soul
+  The secret longings that arise,
+  Which this world never satisfies?"
+
+  Longfellow.
+
+Mother Alianora was lying in her bed when I entered the Infirmary, just
+under the window, where the soft light of the low autumn sun came in and
+lit up her pillow and her dear old face.  She smiled when she saw me.
+
+There was another Sister in the room, who was stirring a pan over the
+fire, and at first I scarcely noticed her.  I went up to the dear
+Mother, and asked her how she was.
+
+"Well, my child," she said, tenderly.  "Nearly at Home."
+
+Something came up in my throat that would not let me speak.
+
+"Hast thou been sent to relieve Sister Marian?" she asked.
+
+"I know not," said I, after a moment's struggle with myself: then,
+remembering what I had been bidden, I added, "Mother Gaillarde bade me
+come."
+
+We sat silent for a few moments.  Sister Marian poured out the broth and
+brought it to the Mother, and I supported her while she drank a little
+of it.  She could not take much.
+
+Just before the bell rang for compline, Mother Ada came in.
+
+"I bring an order from my Lady," said she.  "Sister Marian will be
+relieved after compline by another Sister, who will be sent up.  Sister
+Annora is to stay with the sick Mother during compline, and both she and
+the Sister who then comes will keep watch during the night."
+
+I was surprised.  I never knew any case of sickness, unless it were
+something very severe and urgent, allowed to interfere with a Sister's
+attendance at compline.  But I was glad enough to stay.
+
+Mother Ada went away again after her orders were given, and Sister
+Marian followed her when the bell rang.  As soon as the little sounds of
+the Sisters' footsteps had died away, and we knew they were all shut in
+the oratory, Mother Alianora, in a faint voice, bade me bring a stool
+beside her bed and sit down.
+
+"Annora," said she, in that feeble voice, "my child, thou art fifty
+years old, yet I think of thee as a child still.  And in many respects
+thou art so.  It has been thy lot, whether for good or evil--which, who
+knoweth save God?--to be safe sheltered from very much of the ill that
+is in the world.  But I doubt not, at times, questionings will arise in
+thy heart, whether the good may not have been shut out too.  Is it so,
+my child?"
+
+I suppose Mother Ada would say I was exceedingly carnal.  But something
+in the touch of that soft, wrinkled hand, in whose veins I knew ran mine
+own blood, seemed to break down all my defences.  I laid my head down on
+the coverlet, my cheek upon her hand, and in answer I poured forth all
+that had been so long shut close in mine own heart--that longing cry
+within me for some real, warm, human love, that ceaseless regret for the
+lost happiness which was meant to have been mine.
+
+"O Mother, Mother! is it wicked in me?"  I cried.  "You, who are so near
+God, you should see with clearer eyes than we, lost in the tangled
+wilderness of this world.  Is it wicked of me to dream of that lost
+love, and of all that it might have been to me?  Am I his true wife, or
+is she--whoever that she may be?  Am I robbing; God when I love any
+other creature?  Must I only love any one in Heaven? and am I to prepare
+for that by loving nobody here on earth?"
+
+The door opened softly, and the Sister who was to share my watch came
+in.  She must have heard my closing words.
+
+"My child!" said the faint voice of the dear Mother, who had always felt
+to me more like what I supposed mothers to be than any other I had
+known--"my child, `it is impossible that scandals should not come: but
+woe unto them through whom they come!'  It seems to me probable that one
+sin may be written in many books: that the actor, and the inciter, and
+the abettor--ay, and those who might have prevented, and did not--may
+all have their share.  Thy coming hither, and thy religious life, having
+received no vocation of God, was not thy fault, poor, helpless,
+oppressed child! and such temptations as distress thee, therefrom
+arising, will not be laid to thy charge as sins.  But if thou let a
+temptation slide into a sin by consenting thereto, by cherishing and
+pursuing it with delight, then art thou not guiltless.  That thou
+shouldst feel thyself unhappy here, in an unsuitable place, and that
+thou mightest have been a happier woman in the wedded life of the
+world,--that is no marvel: truly, I think it of thee myself.  To know it
+is no sin: to repine and murmur thereat, these are forbidden.  Thy lot
+is appointed of God Himself--God, thy Father, who loveth thee, who hath
+given Himself for thee, who pleased not Himself when He came down to die
+for thee.  Are there not here drops of honey to sweeten the bitter cup?
+And if thou want another yet, then remember how short this life is, and
+that after it, they that have done His will shall be together with Him
+for ever.  Dear hearts, it is only a little while."
+
+The Sister who was to watch with me had come forward to the foot of the
+bed, and was standing silent there.  When Mother Alianora thus spoke, I
+fancied that I heard a little sob.  Wondering who she was, I looked up--
+looked up, to my great astonishment, into those dark, strange eyes of my
+own sister Margaret.
+
+Margaret and I, alone, to keep the watch all night long!  What could my
+Lady Prioress mean?  Here was an opportunity to indulge my will, not to
+mortify it; to make my love grow, instead of repressing it.  I had
+actually put into my hand the chance that I had so earnestly desired, to
+speak to Margaret alone.
+
+But now that the first difficulty was removed, another rose up before
+me.  Would Margaret speak to me?  Was she, perhaps, searching for
+opportunities of mortification, and would refuse the indulgence
+permitted?  I knew as much of the King's Court, as much of a knightly
+tournament, as I knew of that sealed-up heart of hers.  Should I be
+allowed to know any more?
+
+"Annora," said our aunt again, "there is one thine in my life that I
+regret sorely, and it is that I was not more of a mother to thee when
+thou earnest as a little child.  Of course I was under discipline: but I
+feel now that I did not search for opportunities as I might have done,
+that I let little chances pass which I might have seized.  My child,
+forgive me!"
+
+"Dearest Mother!"  I said, "you were ever far kinder to me than any one
+else in all the world."
+
+"Thank God I have heard that!" saith she.  "Ah, children--for we are
+children to an aged woman like me--life looks different indeed, seen
+from a deathbed, to what it does viewed from the little mounds of our
+human wisdom as we pass along it.  Here, there is nothing great but God;
+there is nothing fair save Christ and Heaven; there is nothing else
+true, nor desirable, nor of import.  Every thing is of consequence, if,
+and just so far as, it bears on these: and all other things are as the
+dust of the floor, which ye sweep off and forth of the doors into the
+outward.  Life is the way upward to God, or the way down to Satan.  What
+does it matter whether the road were smooth or rough, when ye come to
+the end thereof?  The more weary and footsore, the more chilled and
+hungered ye are, the sweeter shall be the marriage-supper and the rest
+of the Father's House."
+
+"Ay--when we are there."  It was Margaret who spoke.
+
+"And before, let us look forward, my child."
+
+"Easy enough," said Margaret, "when the sun gleameth out fair, and ye
+see the domes of the city stand up bravely afore.  But in the dark
+night, when neither sun nor star appeareth, and ye are out on a wild
+moor, and thick mist closeth you in, so that ye go it may be around
+thinking it be forward, till ye know not whether your face is toward the
+city or no--"
+
+"Let thy face be toward the Lord of the city," said Mother Alianora.
+"He shall lead thee forth by the right way, that thou mayest come to His
+city and to His holy hill.  The right way, daughter, is sometimes the
+way over the moor, and through the mist.  `Who of you walketh in
+darkness, and there is no light to him?  Let him trust in the name of
+the Lord, and lean upon his God.'  Why, my child, it is only when man
+cannot see that it is possible for him to trust.  Faith is not called in
+exercise so long as thou walkest by sight."
+
+"But when thou art utterly alone," said my sister in a low voice, "with
+not one footstep on the road beside thee--"
+
+"That art thou never, child, so thou be Christ's.  _His_ footsteps are
+alway there."
+
+"In suffering, ay: but in perplexity?"
+
+"Daughter, when thou losest His steps, thou yet hast Himself.  `If any
+lack wisdom, let him ask of God.'  And God is never from home."
+
+"Neither is Satan."
+
+"`Greater is He that is in you than he in the world.'"
+
+Mother Alianora seemed weary when she had said this, and lay still a
+while: and Margaret did not answer.  I think the Mother dropped asleep;
+I sat beside her and watched.  But Margaret stood still at the foot of
+the bed, not sitting down, and in the dim light of our one little lamp I
+could scarcely see her face as she stood, only that it was turned toward
+the casement, where a faint half-moon rode in the heavens, and the calm
+ancient stars looked down on us.  Oh, how small a world is ours in the
+great heavens! yet for one soul of one little babe in this small world,
+the Son of God hath died.
+
+My heart went out to Margaret as she stood there: yet my lips were
+sealed.  I felt, strangely, as if I could not speak.  Something held me
+back, and I knew not if it were God, or Satan, or only mine own want of
+sense and bravery.  The long hours wore on.  The church bell tolled for
+lauds, and we heard the soft tramp of the Sisters' feet as they passed
+and returned: then the doors closed, and Mother Ada's voice said,
+
+"_Laus Deo_!" and Sister Ismania's replied, "_Deo gratias_!"  Then
+Mother Ada's footsteps passed the door as she went to her cell, and once
+more all was silence.  On rolled the hours slowly, and still Mother
+Alianora seemed to sleep: still Margaret stood as if she had been cut in
+stone, without so much as moving, and still I sat, feeling much as if I
+were stone too, and had no power to move or speak.
+
+It might be about half-way between lauds and prime when the spell was at
+last broken.  And it was broken, to my astonishment, by Margaret's
+asking me a question that fairly took my breath away.
+
+"Annora, art thou a saint?"
+
+These were the first words Margaret had ever spoken to me, except from
+necessity.  That weary, dried-up thing that I call mine heart, seemed to
+give a little bit of throb.
+
+"Our Lady love us, no!" said I.  "I never was, nor never could be."
+
+"I am glad to hear it," she said.
+
+"Why, Margaret?"
+
+Oh, how my heart wanted to call her something sweeter!  _It_ said, My
+darling, my beloved, mine own little sister!  But my tongue was all so
+unwonted to utter such words that I could not persuade it to say them.
+
+Yet more to my surprise, Margaret came out of the window,--came and
+knelt at my feet, and laid her clasped hands on my knee.
+
+"Hadst thou said `Ay,' I should have spoken no more.  As thou art not--
+Annora, is it true that we twain had one mother?"
+
+Something in Margaret's tone helped me.  I took the clasped hands in
+mine own.
+
+"It is true, mine own Sister," I said.
+
+"`Sister!' and `Mother!'" she said.  "They are words that mean nothing
+at all to me.  I wonder if God meant them to mean nothing to us?  Could
+we not have been as good women, and have served Him as well, if we had
+dwelt with our own blood, as other maidens do, or even if--"
+
+Her voice died away.
+
+"Margaret," I said, "Mother Ada would say it was wicked, but mine heart
+is for ever asking the same questions."
+
+"Is it?" she said eagerly.  "O Annora! then thou knowest!  I thought,
+maybe, thou shouldst count it wicked, and chide me for indulging such
+thoughts."
+
+"How could I chide any one, sinner as I am!" said I.  "Nay, Margaret, I
+doubt not my thoughts have been far unholier than thine.  Thou
+rememberest not, I am sure; but ere we were professed, I was
+troth-plight unto a young noble, and always that life that I have lost
+flitteth afore me, as a bird that held a jewel in his beak might lure me
+on from flower to flower, ever following, never grasping the sweet
+illusion.  Margaret, sister, despise me not for my confession!  But thou
+wilt see I am no saint, nor like to be."
+
+"Despise thee!" she said.  "Dear heart, wert thou to know how much
+further I have gone!"
+
+I looked on her with some alarm.
+
+"Margaret! we are professed religious women."  [Note 1.]
+
+"Religious women!" she answered.  "If thou gild a piece of wood, doth it
+become gold?  Religious women are not women that wear black and white,
+cut in a certain fashion: they are women that set God above all things.
+And have I not done that?  Have I not laid mine heart upon His altar, a
+living sacrifice, because I believed He called me to break that poor
+quivering thing in twain?  And will He judge me that did His will, to
+the best of my power and knowledge, because now and then a human sob
+breaks from my woman-heart, by reason that I am not yet an angel, and
+that He did not make me a stone?  I do not believe it.  I will not
+believe it.  He that gave His own Son to die for man can be no Moloch
+delighting in human suffering--caring not how many hearts be crushed so
+long as there be flowers upon His altar, how many lives be made desolate
+so long as there be choirs to sing antiphons!  Annora, it is not God who
+does such things, but men."
+
+I was doubtful how to answer, seeing I could not understand what she
+meant.  I only said--
+
+"Yet God permits men to do them."
+
+"Ay.  But He never bids them to make others suffer,--far less to take
+pleasure in doing so."
+
+"Margaret," said I, "may I know thy story?  I have told thee mine.
+Truly, it is not much to tell."
+
+"No," she said, as if dreamily,--"not much: only such an one as will be
+told out by the mile rather than the yard, from thousands of convents on
+the day when the great doom shall be.  Only the story of a crushed
+heart--how much does that matter to the fathers of the Order?  There be
+somewhat too many in these cells for them to take any note of one."
+
+I remembered what Mother Gaillarde had said.
+
+"It is terrible, if that be true," I answered.  "I thought I was the
+only one, and that made me unhappy because I must be so wicked.  At
+times, in meditation, I have looked round the chamber and thought--Here
+be all these blessed women, wrapped in holy meditations, and only I
+tempted by wicked thoughts of the world outside, like Lot's wife at
+Sodom."
+
+Margaret fairly laughed.  "Verily," said she, "if it were given to us to
+lift the veil from the hearts of all these blessed women, and scan their
+holy meditations, I reckon thine amaze would not be small.  Annora, I
+think thou art a saint."
+
+"Impossible!" said I.  "Why, I fell asleep in the midst of the Rosary a
+s'ennight back,--having been awake half the night before--and Father
+Benedict said I must do penance for it.  Saints are not such as I."
+
+"Annora, if the angels that write in men's books have no worse to set
+down in thine than what thou hast told me, I count they shall reckon
+their work full light.  O humble and meek of heart, thinking all other
+better than thyself--trust me, they be, at best, like such as thou."
+
+Margaret left her station at my feet, and coming round, knelt down
+beside me, and laid her head on my shoulder.
+
+"Kiss me, Sister," she said.
+
+So did I, at once, without thought: and then, perceiving what I had
+done, I was affrighted.
+
+"O Margaret! have we not sinned?  Is it not an indulgence of the flesh?"
+
+"Wert thou made without flesh?" asked Margaret, with a short, dry laugh.
+
+"No, but it must be mortified!"
+
+"Sin must be mortified," she answered more gravely.  "Why should we
+mortify love?"
+
+"Not spiritual love: but natural love, surely, we renounce."
+
+"Why should we renounce it?  Does God make men sons and brothers,
+husbands and fathers, only that they may have somewhat to renounce?  Can
+He train us only in the wilderness of Sinai, and not in the land flowing
+with milk and honey?"
+
+"But we renounce them for Him."
+
+"We renounce for Him that which He demandeth of us."  Margaret's voice
+was low and sorrowful now.  "Ay, there be times when He holdeth out His
+hand for the one dearest earthly thing, and calls us to resign either it
+or Him.  Blessed are they that then, howsoever they shrink and faint,
+yet love Him more than it, and brace their will to give it up to Him.
+To them that so do, Annora, He giveth Himself; and He is better than any
+earthly thing.  `_Quid enim mihi est in caelo? et a Te quid volui super
+terram_?'  [Psalm 73, verse 25] But it seems to me that we ought to
+beware of renouncing what He does not ask of us.  If we are in doubt,
+then let us draw the line on the safe side,--on His side, not on the
+side of our inclinations.  Yet of one thing am I sure--that many a woman
+mortifies her graces instead of her sins, and resigns to God that which
+He asks not, keeping that which He would have."
+
+"Mortify graces!"  I cried.  "O Margaret! how could we?"
+
+"I think thou wouldst, Sister, if thou hadst refused to kiss me," she
+replied with an amused smile.
+
+"But kisses are such very carnal things," said I.  "Mother Ada always
+says so.  She saith we read of none of the holy Apostles kissing any
+body, save only Judas Iscariot."
+
+"Who told her so?  Doth she find it written that they did not kiss any
+body?  Annora, I marvel if our Lord kissed not the little children.  And
+I am sure the holy patriarchs kissed each other.  I do not believe in
+trying to be better than God.  I have noted that when man endeavours to
+purify himself above our Lord's example, he commonly ends in being
+considerably less good than other men."
+
+"I wish we might love each other!"  I said with a sigh.  And I am very
+much afraid I kissed her again.  I do not know what Mother Ada would
+have said.
+
+"I do not wish we might!" said Margaret, sturdily.  "I do, and I will."
+
+"But if we should make idols of each other!" said I.
+
+"I shall not make an idol of thee," answered my sister, again in that
+low sad tone.  "I set up one idol, and He came to me, and held out His
+pierced hands, and I tore it down from over the altar, and gave it to
+Him.  He is keeping it for me, and He will give it back one day, in the
+world where we need fear no idol-making, nor any sin at all.  Annora,
+thou shalt hear my story."
+
+At that moment I looked up, and saw Mother Alianora's eyes wide open.
+
+"Do you lack aught, dear Mother?"  I asked.
+
+"No, my children," she answered gently.  "Go on with thy tale, Margaret.
+The ears of one that will soon hear the harps of the angels will not
+harm thee."
+
+I was somewhat surprised she could say that.  What of the dread fires of
+Purgatory that must come first?  Did she count herself so great a saint
+as to escape them?  Then I thought, perhaps, she might have had the same
+revealed to her in vision.  The thought did not appear to trouble
+Margaret, who took it as matter of course.  Not, truly, that I should be
+surprised if Mother Alianora were good enough to escape Purgatory, for I
+am sure she is the best woman ever I knew: but it was strange she should
+reckon it of herself.  Mother Ada always says they are no saints that
+think themselves such: whereto Mother Gaillarde once added, in her dry,
+sharp way, that they were not much better who tried to make other folk
+think so.  I do not know of whom she was thinking, but I fancied Mother
+Ada did, from her face.
+
+Then Margaret began her story.
+
+"You know," she saith, "it is this year forty-seven years since Annora
+and I were professed.  And wherefore we were so used, mere babes as we
+were, knew I never."
+
+"Then that I can tell thee," I made answer, "for it was Queen Isabel
+that thrust us in hither.  Our father did somewhat to her misliking,
+what indeed I know not: and she pounced on us, poor little maids, and
+made us to suffer for his deed."
+
+"Was that how it was done?" said Margaret.  "Then may God pardon her
+more readily than I have done!  For long years I hated with all the
+force of my soul him or her that had been the cause thereof.  It is past
+now.  The priests say that man sinneth when, having no call of God, he
+shall take cowl upon him.  What then of those which thrust it on him,
+whether he will or no?  I never chose this habit.  For years I hated it
+as fervently as it lay in me to hate.  Had the choice been given me, any
+moment of those years, I would have gone back to the world that instant.
+The world!"  Her voice changed suddenly.  "What is the world?  It is
+the enemy of God: true.  But will bolts and bars, walls and gates, keep
+it out?  Is it a thing to be found in one city, which man can escape by
+journeying to another?  Is it not rather in his own bosom, and ever with
+him?  They say much of carnal affections that are evil, and creep not
+into religious houses.  As if man should essay to keep Satan and his
+angels out of his house by painting God's name over the door!  But all
+love, of whatsoever sort, say they, is a filthiness of the flesh.  Ah
+me! how about the filthiness of the spirit?  Is there no pride and
+jealousy in a religious house? no strife and envying? no murmuring and
+rebellion of heart?  And are these fairer things in God's sight than the
+natural love of our own blood?  Doth He call us to give up that, and not
+these?  May it not be rather that if there were more true love, there
+were less envy and jealousy? if there were more harmless liberty, there
+were less murmuring?  When man takes God's scourge into his hands, it
+seems to me he is apt to wield it ill."
+
+"But, Margaret!" said I, "so shouldst thou make Satan cast out Satan.
+Forbidden love were as ill as strife and murmuring."
+
+"Forbidden of whom?" saith she.  "God never forbade me to love my
+brethren and sisters.  He told me to do it.  He never forbade me to
+honour my father and mother--to dwell with them, to tend and cherish
+them in their old age.  He told me to do it.  Ay, and He spake of
+certain that did vainly worship Him seeing they taught learning and
+commandments of men."  [Matthew 15, verse 9, Vulgate.]
+
+"O Margaret! what art thou saying?  Holy Church enjoins vows of
+religion."
+
+"Tell me then, Annora, what is Holy Church?  It is a word that fills
+man's mouth full comely, that I know.  But what it _is_, is simply the
+souls of all righteous men--all the redeemed of Christ our Lord, which
+is His Body, and is filled with His Spirit.  When did He enjoin such
+vows? or when did all righteous men thus band together to make men and
+women unrighteous, by binding commands upon them that were of men, not
+of God?"
+
+"Margaret, my Sister!"  I cried in terror.  "Whence drewest thou such
+shocking thoughts?  What will Father Benedict say when thou confessest
+them?"
+
+"It is not to Father Benedict I confess _them_," she said, with a little
+curl of her lips.  "I confess to him what he expects to hear--that I
+loved not to sweep the gallery this morrow, or that I ate a lettuce last
+night and forgot to sign the cross over it.  Toys are meet for babes,
+and babes for toys.  They cannot understand the realities of life.  Such
+matters I confess to--another Priest, and He can understand them."
+
+"Well," said I, "I always thought Father Hamon something less wise than
+Father Benedict: at least, Father Benedict chides me, and Father Hamon
+gives me neither blame nor commendation.  But, Margaret, I do not
+understand thy strange sayings in any wise.  Surely thou knowest what is
+the Church?"
+
+"I know what it is not," saith she; "and that is Father Hamon, or Father
+Benedict, or Father Anything-Else.  Christ and they that are Christ's--
+the Head and the Body, the Bridegroom and the Bride: behold the Church,
+and behold her Priest and Confessor!"
+
+"Margaret," saith Mother Alianora, "who taught thee that?  Where didst
+thou hear such learning?"
+
+She did not speak chidingly, but only as if she desired information.  I
+was surprised she was not more severe, for truly I never heard such
+talk, and I was sorely afraid for my poor Margaret, lest some evil thing
+had got hold of her--maybe the Devil himself in the likeness of some
+Sister in her old convent.
+
+A wave of pain swept over Margaret's eyes when Mother Alianora said
+that, and a dreamy look of calm came and chased it thence.
+
+"Where?" she said.  "In the burning fiery furnace, heated seven times
+hotter than its wont.  Of whom?  Verily, I think, of that Fourth that
+walked there, who was the Son of God.  He walks oftener, methinks, in
+the fiery furnace with His martyrs, than in the gilded galleries with
+the King Nebuchadnezzar and his princes.  At least I have oftener found
+Him there."
+
+She seemed as if she lost herself in thought, until Mother Alianora
+saith, in her soft, faint voice--"Go on, my child."
+
+Margaret roused up as if she were awoke from sleep.
+
+"Well!" she said, "nothing happened to me, as you may well guess, for
+the years of childhood that followed, when I was learning to read,
+write, and illuminate, to sew, embroider, cook, and serve in various
+ways.  My Lady Prioress found that I had a wit at devising patterns and
+such like, so I was kept mainly to the embroidery and painting: being
+first reminded that it was not for mine own enjoyment, but that I should
+so best serve the Order.  I took the words and let them drop, and I took
+the work and delighted in it.  So matters went until I was a maid of
+seventeen years.  And then something else came into my life."
+
+I asked, "What was it?" for she had paused.  But her next words were not
+an answer.
+
+"I marvel," she saith, "of what metal Saint Gilbert was made, that
+founded our Order.  Was it out of pity, or out of bitter hardness, or
+out of simple want of understanding, that he framed our Rule, and gave
+us more liberty than other Sisters?  Is it more or less happy for a lark
+that thou let him out of his cage once in the year in a small cell
+whence he cannot escape into the free air of heaven?  Had I been his
+mother or his sister, when the Saint writ his Rule, I had said to him,
+Keep thy brethren and sisters apart at the blessed Sacrament, or else
+bandage their eyes."
+
+"O Margaret!"  I cried out, for it was awful to hear such words.  As if
+the blessed Saint Gilbert could have made a mistake!  "Dost thou think
+thyself wiser than the holy saints?"
+
+"Yes," she answered simply.  "I am sure I know more about women than
+Saint Gilbert did.  That he did not know much about them was shown by
+such a Rule, he might as well have set the door of the lark's cage open,
+and have said to the bird, `Now, stay in!'  Well, I did not stay in.
+One morrow at mass, I was all suddenly aware of a pair of dark eyes
+scanning my face across the nave--"
+
+"From the brethren's side of the church!  O Margaret!"
+
+"Well, Annora?  I am human: so, perchance, was he.  He had been thrust
+into this life, as I had.  Had we both been free, we might have loved
+each other without a voice saying, `It is sin.'  Why was it sin because
+we wore black and white habits?"
+
+"But the vows, Margaret! the vows!"
+
+"What vows?  I made none, worthy to be called vows.  I was bidden, a
+little babe of four years, to say `ay' and `nay' at certain times, and
+`I am willing,' and so forth.  What knew I of the import attaching to
+such words?  I do ensure thee I knew nothing at all, save that when I
+had been good and done as I was told, I should have a pretty little
+habit like the Sisters, and be called `Sister' as these grown women
+were.  Is that what God calls a vow?--a vow of life-long celibacy,
+dragged from a babe that knew not what vow nor celibacy were!  `Doth God
+lack your lie?' saith Job [Job 13, verse 7].  Yea, the Psalmist crieth,
+`_Numquid adhaeret Tibi sedes iniquitatis_?'  [Psalm 94, verse 20]--Wala
+wa! the only thing I marvel is that He thundereth not down with His
+great wrath, and delivereth not him that is in misery out of the hand of
+him that despoileth."
+
+If it had been any other Sister, I think I should have been horribly
+shocked: but do what I would, I could not speak angrily to my own
+sister.  I wonder if it were very wicked in me!  But it surprised me
+much that Mother Alianora lay and hearkened, and said nought.  Neither
+was she asleep, for I glanced at her from time to time, and always saw
+her awake and listening.  Truly, she had little need of nurses, for it
+was no set malady that ailed her--only a gentle, general decay from old
+age.  Why two of us were set to watch her I could not tell.  Had I
+thought it possible that Mother Gaillarde could do a thing so foreign to
+her nature, I might have fancied that she sent us two there that night
+just in order that we might talk and comfort each other.  If Mother
+Alianora had been the one to do it, I might have thought such a thing:
+or if my Lady had sent us herself, I should have supposed she had never
+considered the matter: but Mother Gaillarde!  Well, whatever reason she
+had, I am thankful for that talk with Margaret.  So I kept silence, and
+my sister pursued her tale.
+
+"He was not a Brother," she said, "but a young man training for the
+priesthood under the Master.  But not yet had he taken the holy vows,
+therefore I suppose thou wilt think him less wicked than me."
+
+She looked up into my face with a half-smile.
+
+"O Margaret!  I wis not what to think.  It all sounds so strange and
+shocking--only that I have not the heart to find fault with thee as I
+suppose I should do."
+
+Margaret answered by a little laugh.
+
+"In short," said she, "thou canst be wicked sometimes like other folk.
+Be it done!  I ensure thee, Annora, it comforts me to know the same.
+Because it is not real wickedness, only painted.  And I fear not painted
+sin, any more than I hold in honour painted holiness.  For real sin is
+not paint; it is devilishness.  And real holiness is not paint; it is
+dwelling in God.  And God is love."
+
+"But not that sort of love!"  I cried.
+
+"Is there any sort but one?" she made answer.  "Love is an angel,
+Annora: it is self-love that is of the Devil.  When man helps man to
+sin, that is not love.  How can it be, when God is love, and God and sin
+are opposites?  Tarry until my tale be ended, and then shalt thou be
+judge thyself how far Roland's love and mine were sin."
+
+"Go on," said I.
+
+"Well," she said, "for many a week it went no further than looks.  Then
+it came to words."
+
+"In the church!"
+
+"No, not in the church, my scrupulous sister!  We should have felt that
+as wrong as thou.  Through the wall between the gardens, where was a
+little chink that I dare be bound we were not the first to find.  Would
+that no sinfuller words than ours may ever pass athwart it!  We found
+out that both of us had been thrust into the religious life without our
+own consent: I, thou savest, by the Queen's wrath (which I knew not
+then); he, by a cousin that coveted his inheritance.  And we talked
+much, and at last came to agreement that as neither he nor I had any
+vocation, it would be more wrong in us to continue in this life than to
+escape and be we'd."
+
+"But what priest should ever have wedded a Sister to man training for
+holy orders?"
+
+"None.  We were young, Annora: we thought not of such things.  As for
+what should come after we were escaped, we left that to chance.  Nay,
+chide me not for my poor broken dream, for it was a dream alone.  The
+Prioress found us out.  That night I was in solitary cell, barred in my
+prison, with no companions save a discipline that I was bidden to use,
+and a great stone crucifix that looked down upon me.  Ay, I had one
+Other, but at first I saw Him not.  Nay, nor for eight years afterwards.
+Cold, silent, stony, that crucifix looked down: and I thought He was
+like that, the living Christ that had died for me, and I turned away
+from Him.  My heart seemed that night as if it froze to ice.  It was
+hard and ice-bound for eight years.  During that time there were many
+changes at Watton.  Our Prioress died; and a time of sore sickness
+removed many of our Sisters.  At the end of the eight years, only three
+Sisters were left who could remember my punishment--it was more than I
+have told"--ah, poor soul! lightly as she passed it thus, I dare be
+bound it was--"and these, I imagine, knew not why it was.  And at last
+our confessor died.
+
+"I thought I had utterly outlived my youthful dream.  Roland had
+disappeared as entirely as if he had never been.  What had become of him
+I knew not--not even if he were alive.  I went about my duties in a
+dull, wooden way, as an image might do, if it could be made to move so
+as to sew or paint without a soul.  Life was worth nothing to me--only
+to get it over.  My love was dead, or it was my heart: which I knew not.
+Either came to the same thing.  There were duties I disliked, and one
+of these was confession: but I went through with them, in the cold, dull
+way of which I spake.  It had to be: what did it matter?
+
+"One morrow, about a week after our confessor's death, my Lady Prioress
+that then was told us at recreation-time that our new confessor had
+come.  We were commanded to go to him, ten in the day, and to make a
+full confession from our infancy.  My turn came on the second day.  So
+many of our elder Sisters had died or been transferred, that I was, at
+twenty-five years, one of the eldest (beside the Mothers) left in the
+house.
+
+"I knelt down in the confessional, and repeated the Confiteor.  Then, in
+that stony way, I went on with my life-confession: the falsehood that I
+had told when a child of eight, the obstinacy that I had shown at ten,
+the general sins whereof I had since been guilty: the weariness of
+divine things which ever oppressed me, the want of vocation that I had
+always felt.  I finished, and paused.  He would ask me some questions,
+of course.  Let him get them over.  There was silence for a moment.  And
+then I heard myself asked--`Is that all thou hast to confess?'--in the
+voice I had loved best of all the world.  My tongue seemed to cleave to
+the roof of my mouth.  I only whispered, `Roland!' in tones which I
+could not have told for mine own.
+
+"`I scarce thought to find thee yet here, Margaret,' he said.  `I
+well-nigh feared to do it.  But after thy confession, I see wherefore
+God hath sent me--that I may pour out into the dry and thirsty cup of
+thine heart a little of that spiced wine of the kingdom which He hath
+given to me.'
+
+"Mine heart sank down very low.  `Thou hast received thy vocation,
+then?'  I said; and I felt the poor broken thing ache so that I knew it
+must be yet alive.  Roland would care no more for me, if he had received
+a vocation.  I must go on yet alone till death freed me.  Alone, for
+evermore!
+
+"`I have received the blessedest of all vocations,' he answered; `the
+call to God Himself.  Margaret, art thou thinking that if this be so, I
+shall love thee no more?  Nay, for I shall love thee more than ever.
+Beloved, God is not stone and ice; He is not indifference nor hatred.
+Nay, He is love, and whoso dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God
+dwelleth in us, and His love is perfected in us.  Open thy heart to that
+love, and then this little, little life will soon be over, and we shall
+dwell together beside the river of His pleasures, unto the ages of the
+ages.'
+
+"`It sounds fair, Roland,' I said; `but it is far away.  My soul is hard
+and dry.  I cannot tell how to open the door.'
+
+"`Then,' said he, `ask Jesus to lift the latch and to come in.  Thou
+wilt never desire Him to go forth again.  I have much to say: but it
+hath been long enough now.  Every time thou prayest, say also, "Lord
+Jesu, come into mine heart and make it soft."  He will come if thou
+desire Him.  And if thou carest not to do this for His sake, do it for
+thine own.'
+
+"`I care not for mine own, nor for any thing,' I answered drearily.
+
+"`Then,' saith he, and the old tenderness came into his tone for a
+moment, `then, Margaret, do it for mine.'
+
+"I believe he forgot to absolve me: but I did not miss it.
+
+"It is four and twenty years since that day: and during all these years
+I have been learning to know Christ our Lord, and the fellowship of His
+sufferings.  For as time passed on, Roland told me much of saintly men
+from whom he had learned, and of many a lesson direct from our Lord
+Himself.  Now He has taken Roland's place.  Not that I love Roland less:
+but I love him differently.  He is not first now: and all the bitterness
+has gone out of my love.  Not all the pain.  For we came to the
+certainty after a time, when he had taught me much, that we had better
+bide asunder for this life, and in that which is to come we shall dwell
+together for evermore.  He was about to resign his post as confessor,
+when the Lord disposed of us otherwise, for the Master thought fit to
+draft me into the house at Shuldham, and after eighteen years there was
+I sent hither.  So Roland, I suppose, bides at Watton.  I know not: the
+Lord knows.  We gave up for His sake the sweet converse wherein our
+hearts delighted, that we might serve Him more fully and with less
+distraction.  I do not believe it was sinful.  That it is sin in me to
+love Roland shall I never own.  But lest we should love each other
+better than we love Him, we journey apart for this lower life.  And I do
+not think our Lord is angry with me when at times the longing pain and
+the aching loneliness seem to overcome me, for a little while.  I think
+He is sorry for me.  For since I learned--from Roland--that He is not
+dead, but the Living One--that He is not darkness, but the Light--that
+He is not cold and hard, but the incarnate Love--since then, I can never
+feel afraid of Him.  And I believe that He has not only made
+satisfaction for my sins, but also that He can carry my burdens, and can
+forgive my blunders.  And if we cannot speak to one another, we can both
+speak to Him, and entrust Him with our messages for each other.  He will
+give them if it be good: and before giving, He will change the words if
+needful, so that we shall be sure to get the right message.  Sometimes,
+when I have felt very lonely, and He comes near me, and sends His peace
+into my heart, I wonder whether Roland was asking Him to do it: and I
+pray Him to comfort and rest Roland whenever he too feels weary.  So you
+see we send each other many more letters round by Heaven than we could
+possibly do by earth.  It was the last word Roland said to me--`The road
+upward is alway open,' and, `_Et de Hierosolymis et de Britannia,
+aequaliter patet aula caelestis_.'"  [Note 2.]
+
+Margaret was silent.
+
+Then said Mother Alianora, "Child, thou hast said strange things: if
+they be good or ill, God wot.  I dare not have uttered some of them thus
+boldly; yet neither dare I condemn thee.  We all know so little!  But
+one thing have I learned, methinks--that God will not despise a gift
+because men cast it at His feet as having no value for them.  I say not,
+He will not despise such givers: verily, they shall have their reward.
+But if the gift be a living thing that can feel and smart under the
+manner of its usage, then methinks He shall stoop to lift it with very
+tender hands, so as to let it feel that it hath value in His eyes--its
+own value, that nought save itself can have.  My children, we are not
+mere figures to Him--so many dwellers in so many houses.  Before Him we
+are living men and real women--each with his separate heart, and every
+separate pang that rends it.  The Church of God is one: but it is His
+Body, and made of many members.  We know, when we feel pain, in what
+member it is.  Is He less wise, less tender, less sensitive than we?
+There are many, Margaret, who would feel nought but horror at thy story;
+I advise thee not to tell it to any other, lest thou suffer in so doing.
+But I condemn thee not: for I think Christ would not, if He stood now
+among us.  Dear child, keep at His feet: it is the only safe place, and
+it is the happy place.  Heaven will be wide enough to hold us all, and
+before long we shall be there."
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Note 1.  To the mind of a Roman Catholic, a "religious person" is only a
+priest, monk, or nun.
+
+Note 2.  "From Jerusalem, or from England, the way to Heaven is equally
+near."--Jerome.
+
+
+
+PART THREE, CHAPTER 3.
+
+ANNORA FINDS IT OUT.
+
+  "Peace, peace, poor heart!
+  Go back and thrill not thus!
+  Are not the vows of the Lord God upon me?"
+
+It would really be a convenience if one could buy common sense.  People
+seem to have so little.  And I am sure I have not more than other
+people.
+
+That story of Margaret's puzzles me sorely.  I sit and think, and think,
+and I never seem to come any nearer the end of my thinking.  And some
+never seem to have any trouble with their thoughts.  I suppose they
+either have more of them, and more sense altogether, so that they can
+see things where I cannot; or else--Well, I do not know what else.
+
+But Margaret's thoughts are something so entirely new.  It is as if I
+were looking out of the window at one end of the corridor, which looks
+towards Grantham, and she were looking from the window at the other end,
+which faces towards Spalding.  Of course we should not see the same
+things: how could we?  And if the glass in one window were blue, and the
+other red, it would make the difference still greater.  I think that
+must be rather the distinction; for it does not seem to lie in the
+things themselves, but in the eyes with which Margaret looks on them.
+
+Dear Mother Alianora yet lives, but she is sinking peacefully.  Neither
+Margaret nor I have been called to watch by her again.  I begged of
+Mother Gaillarde that I might see her once more, and say farewell; and
+all I got for it was "Mind your broidery, Sister!"
+
+I should not wonder if she let me go.  I do not know why it is, but for
+all her rough manner and sharp words, I can ask a favour of Mother
+Gaillarde easier than of Mother Ada.  There seems to be nothing in
+Mother Ada to get hold of; it is like trying to grip a lump of ice.
+Mother Gaillarde is like a nut with a rough outside burr; there is
+plenty to lay hold of, though as likely as not you get pricked when you
+try.  And if she is rough when you ask her anything, yet she often gives
+it, after all.
+
+I have not exchanged a word with Margaret since that night when we
+watched together.  She sits on the other side of the work-room, and even
+in the recreation-room she rather avoids coming near me, or I fancy so.
+
+Whatever I begin with, I always get back to Margaret.  Such strange
+ideas she has!  I keep thinking of things that I wish I had said to her
+or asked her, and now I have lost the opportunity.  I thought of it this
+morning, when the two Mothers were conversing with Sister Ismania about
+the Christmas decorations in our own little oratory.  Sister Ismania is
+the eldest of all our Sisters.
+
+"I thought," said she, "if it were approved, I could mould a little
+waxen image of our Lord for the altar, and wreathe it round with
+evergreens."
+
+"As an infant?" asked Mother Gaillarde.
+
+"Well--yes," said Sister Ismania; but I could see that had not been her
+idea.
+
+"Oh, of course!" answered Mother Ada.  "It would be most highly
+indecorous for _us_ to see Him as a man."
+
+Was it my fancy, or did I see a little curl of Margaret's lips?
+
+"He will be a man at the second advent, I suppose," observed Mother
+Gaillarde.
+
+Mother Ada did not answer: but she looked rather scandalised.
+
+"And must we not have some angels?" said Sister Ismania.
+
+"There are the angels we had for Easter, Sister," suggested Sister
+Roberga.
+
+"Sister Roberga, oblige me by speaking when you are spoken to," said
+Mother Ada, in her icicle manner.
+
+"There is only one will do again," answered Mother Gaillarde.  "Saint
+Raphael is tolerable; he might serve.  But I know the Archangel Michael
+had one of his wings broken; and the Apostle Saint Peter lost a leg."
+
+"We had a lovely Satan among those Easter figures," said Sister Ismania;
+"and Saint John was so charming, I never saw his equal."
+
+"Satan may do again if he gets a new tail," said Mother Gaillarde.  "But
+Pontius Pilate won't; that careless Sister Jacoba let him drop, and he
+was mashed all to pieces."
+
+"Your pardon, Mother, but that was Judas Iscariot."
+
+"It wasn't: it was Pontius Pilate."
+
+"I am sure it was Judas."
+
+"I tell you it wasn't."
+
+"But, Mother, I--"
+
+"Hold your tongue!" said Mother Gaillarde, curtly.
+
+And being bidden by her superior, of course Sister Ismania had to obey.
+I looked across at Margaret, and met her eyes.  And, as Margaret's eyes
+always do, they spoke.
+
+"These are holy women, and this is spiritual love!" said Margaret's
+eyes, ironically.  "We might have spoken thus to our own brethren,
+without going into a convent to do it."
+
+I wonder if Margaret be not right, and we bring the world in with us:
+that it is something inside ourselves.  But then, I suppose, outside
+there are more temptations.  Yet do we not, each of us, make a world for
+herself?  Is it not _ourselves_ that we ought to renounce--the
+earthliness and covetousness of our own desires, rather than the mere
+outside things?  Oh, I do get so tired when I keep thinking!
+
+Yesterday, when Erneburg and Damia were playing at see-saw in the
+garden, with a long plank balanced on the saddling-stone, I could not
+help wondering how it is that one's thoughts play in that way.  Each end
+seems sometimes up, and then the other end comes up, and that goes down.
+I wish I were wiser, and understood more.  Perchance it was better for
+me that I was sent here.  For I never should have been wise or
+brilliant.  And suppose _he_ were, and that he had looked down upon me
+and disliked me for it!  That would have been harder to bear than this.
+
+_Ha, chetife_! have all religious women such stories as we two?  Did
+Mother Ada ever feel a heart in her?  Mother Gaillarde does at times, I
+believe.  As to my Lady, I doubt any such thing of her.  She seems to
+live but to eat and sleep, and if Mother Gaillarde had not more care to
+govern the house than she, I do--Mother of Mercy, but this is evil
+speaking, and of my superiors too!  _Miserere me, Domine_!
+
+As we filed out of the oratory last night as usual, Mother Gaillarde
+stayed me at the door.
+
+"Sister Annora, thou art appointed to the Infirmary to-night."  And in a
+lower tone she added--"It will be the last time."
+
+I knew well what last time she meant: never again in life should I see
+our dear Mother Alianora.  I looked up thankfully.
+
+"Well?" said Mother Gaillarde, in her curt way.  "Are you a stone image,
+or do you think I'm one?"
+
+I kissed her hand, made the holy sign, and passed on.  No, dear Mother:
+thou art not a stone.
+
+In the Infirmary I found Sister Philippa on duty.
+
+"O Sister Annora, I am so glad thou art come!  I hate this sort of work,
+and Mother Gaillarde will keep me at it.  I believe it is because she
+knows I detest it."
+
+"Thou art not just to Mother Gaillarde, Sister," I said, and went on to
+the bed by the window.
+
+"Annora, dear child!" said the feeble voice.  Ay, she was weaker far
+than when I last beheld her, "Thank God I have seen thee yet once more."
+
+I could do little for her--only now and then give her to drink, or raise
+her a little.  And she could not speak much.  A few words occasionally
+appeared to be all she had strength for.  Towards morning I thought she
+seemed to wander and grow light-headed.  She called once "Isabel!" and
+once "Aveline!"  We have at present no Sister in the house named
+Aveline, and when I asked if I should seek permission to call Sister
+Isabel if she wished for her, she said, "No: she will be gone to
+Marlborough," and what she meant I know not.  [Note 1.]  Then, after she
+had lain still a while, she said, "Guendolen--is it thou?"
+
+"No, dearest Mother; it is Sister Annora," said I.
+
+"Guendolen was here," saith she: "where is she?"
+
+"Perhaps she will come again," I answered, for I saw that she scarcely
+had her wits clear.
+
+"She will come again," she saith, softly.  "Ay, He will come again--with
+clouds--and His saints with Him.  And Guendolen will be there--my Sister
+Guendolen, the Princess [Note 2], whom men cast forth,--Christ shall
+crown her in His kingdom.  The last of the royal line!  There are no
+Princes of Wales any more."
+
+Then I think she dropped asleep for a time, and when she woke she knew
+me at first; though she soon grew confused again.
+
+"Christ's blessing and mine be on thee, mine own Annora!" saith she,
+tenderly.  "Margaret, too--poor Magot!  Tell her--tell her--" but her
+voice died away in indistinct murmurs.  "They will soon be here."
+
+"Who, dearest Mother?"
+
+"Joan and Guendolen.  Gladys, perchance.  I don't know about Gladys.
+White--all in white: no black in that habit.  And they sing--No, she
+never sang on earth.  I should like to hear Guendolen sing in Heaven."
+
+The soft toll of the bell for prime came to her dulled ear.
+
+"Are they ringing in Heaven?" she said.  "Is it Guendolen that rings?
+The bells never rang for her below.  They have fairer music up there."
+
+The door opened, and Mother Ada looked in.
+
+"Sister Annora, you are released.  Come to prime."
+
+Oh, to have tarried only a minute!  For a light which never was from sun
+or moon had broken over the dying face, and she vainly tried to stretch
+her hands forth with a rapturous cry of--"Guendolen!  Did the Master
+send thee for me?"
+
+"Sister!  You forget yourself," said Mother Ada, when I lingered.
+"Remember the rule of holy obedience!"
+
+I suppose it was very wicked of me--I am always doing wicked things--but
+I did wish that holy obedience had been at the bottom of the Red Sea, I
+kissed the trembling hand of the dear old Mother, and signed the holy
+cross upon her brow to protect her when she was left alone, and then I
+followed Mother Ada.  After prime I was ordered to the work-room.  I
+looked round, and saw that Sister Roberga and Margaret were missing.  I
+did hope Margaret, and not Sister Roberga, had been sent up to the
+Infirmary.  Of course I could not ask.
+
+For two hours I sewed with my heart in the Infirmary.  If the rule of
+holy obedience had been at the bottom of the Red Sea, I am sure I should
+not have tarried in that work-room another minute.  And then I heard the
+passing bell.  It struck so cold to my heart that I had hard work to
+keep my broidering in a straight line.
+
+A few minutes later, Margaret appeared at the door.  She knelt down in
+the doorway, and made the sign of the cross, saying, "Peace eternal
+grant to us, O Lord!"
+
+And we all responded, led by Mother Ada,--"Lord, grant to Thy servant
+our Sister everlasting peace!"
+
+So then I knew that Mother Alianora had been sent for by the Master of
+us all.
+
+"Sister Margaret!" said Mother Ada.
+
+Margaret rose, went up to Mother Ada, and knelt again.
+
+"How comes it thou art the messenger?  I sent Sister Roberga to the
+Infirmary this morning."
+
+"Mother Gaillarde bade me go to the Infirmary," said Margaret in a low
+voice, "and sent Sister Roberga down to the laundry."
+
+"Art thou speaking truth?" asked Mother Ada.
+
+Margaret's head went up proudly.  "King Alfred the Truth-Teller was my
+forefather," she said.
+
+"Well! perhaps thou dost," answered Mother Ada, as if unwilling to admit
+it.  "But it is very strange.  I shall speak to Sister Gaillarde."
+
+"What about?" said Mother Gaillarde, appearing suddenly from the passage
+to my Lady's rooms.
+
+"Sister Gaillarde, this is very strange conduct of you!" said Mother
+Ada.  "I ordered Sister Roberga to the Infirmary."
+
+"You did, Sister, and I altered your order.  I am your superior, I
+believe?"
+
+Mother Ada, who is usually very pale, went red, and murmured something
+which I could not hear.
+
+"Nonsense!" said Mother Gaillarde.
+
+To my unspeakable astonishment, Mother Ada burst into tears.  She has so
+many times told the children, and not seldom the Sisters, that tears
+were a sign of weakness, and unworthy of reasonable, not to say
+religious, women--that they ought to be shed in penitence alone, or in
+grief at a slight offered to holy Church, that I could only suppose
+Mother Gaillarde had been guilty of some profanity.
+
+"It is very hard!" sobbed Mother Ada.  "That you should set yourself up
+in that way, when I was professed on the very same day as you--"
+
+"What has that to do with it?" asked Mother Gaillarde.
+
+"And my Lady shows you much more favour than she does me: only to-day
+you have been in her rooms twice!"
+
+"I wish she would send for you," said Mother Gaillarde, "for it is
+commonly to waste time over some sort of fiddle-faddle that I despise.
+You are heartily welcome to it, I can tell you!  Now, come, Sister Ada,
+don't be silly and set a bad example.  It is all nonsense, and you know
+it."
+
+Off marched Mother Gaillarde with a firm step.  Mother Ada continued to
+sob.
+
+"Nobody could bear such treatment!" said she.  "The blessed Virgin
+herself would not have stood it.  I am sure Sister Gaillarde is not a
+bit better than I am--of course I do not speak on my own account, but
+for the honour of the Order: that is what I am anxious about.  It does
+not matter in the least how people tread _me_ down--I am the
+humblest-minded Sister in the house; but I am a Mother of the Order, and
+I feel Sister Gaillarde's words exceedingly.  Pride is one of the seven
+deadly sins, and I do marvel where Sister Gaillarde thinks she is going.
+I shall offer my next communion for her, that she may be more
+humble-minded.  I am sure she needs it."
+
+Mother Ada bit off her thread, as she said this, with a determined snap,
+as if it had cruelly provoked her.  I was lost in amazement, for Mother
+Ada has always seemed so calm and icy that I thought nothing could move
+her, and here she was making a fuss about nothing, like one of the
+children.  She had not finished when Mother Gaillarde came back.
+
+"What, not over it yet?" said she, in her usual style.  "Dear me, what a
+storm in a porringer!"
+
+Mother Ada gave a bursting sob and a long wail to end it; but Mother
+Gaillarde took no more notice of her, only telling us all that Mother
+Alianora would be buried to-morrow, and that after the funeral we were
+to assemble in conclave to elect a new Mother.  It will be Sister
+Ismania, I doubt not; for she is eldest of the Sisters, and the one most
+generally held in respect.
+
+In the evening, at recreation-time, Sister Philippa came up to me.
+
+"So we are to meet to elect a new Mother!" said she, with much
+satisfaction in her tone.  "I always like meeting in conclave.  There is
+something grand about it.  For whom will you vote, Sister Annora?"
+
+"I have not thought much about it," said I, "except that I suppose every
+body will vote for Sister Ismania."
+
+"I shall not," said Mother Joan.
+
+I see so little of Mother Joan that I think I have rarely mentioned her.
+She is Mistress of the Novices, and seldom comes where I am.
+
+"You will not, Mother?  For whom, then?" said Sister Philippa.
+
+"If you should be appointed to collect the votes, Sister, you will
+know," was Mother Joan's reply.
+
+"Now, is that not too bad?" said Sister Philippa, when Mother Joan had
+passed on.  "Of course the Mothers will collect the votes."
+
+"I fancy Mother Joan meant we Sisters ought not to ask," I said.
+
+"O Sister! did you not enjoy that quarrel between the Mothers this
+morning?" cried she.
+
+"Certainly not," I answered.  "I could not enjoy seeing any one either
+distressed or angry."
+
+"Oh; but it was so delightful to see Mother Ada let herself down!" cried
+Philippa.  "So proud and stuck-up and like an icicle as she always is!
+_Ha jolife_! and she calls herself the humblest Sister in the house!"
+
+Margaret had come up, and stood listening to us.
+
+"Who think you is the humblest, Sister Philippa?"
+
+"I don't know," said Sister Philippa.  "If you asked me who was the
+proudest, maybe I could tell--only that I should have to name so many."
+
+"Well, I should need to name but one," said I.  "I would fain be the
+humblest; but that surely am I not: and I find so many wicked motions of
+pride in mine heart that I cannot believe any of us can be worse than
+myself."
+
+"I think I know who is the lowliest of us, and the holiest," said
+Margaret as she turned away; "and I shall vote for her."
+
+"Who can she mean?" asked Sister Philippa.
+
+"I do not know at all," said I; and indeed I do not.
+
+Dear Mother Alianora was buried this afternoon.  The mass for the dead
+was very, very solemn.  We laid her down in the Sisters' graveyard, till
+the resurrection morn shall come, when we shall all meet without spot of
+sin in the presence-chamber of Heaven.  Till then, O holy and merciful
+Saviour, suffer us not, now and at our last hour, for any pains of
+death, to fall from Thee!
+
+We passed directly from the funeral into conclave.  My Lady sent word to
+the Master that we were about to elect a Mother, and he sent us his
+benediction on our labour.  We all filed into our oratory, and sat down
+in our various stalls.  Then, after singing the Litany of the Holy
+Ghost, Mother Gaillarde passed down the choir on the Gospel side, and
+Mother Ada on the Epistle side, collecting the votes.  When all were
+collected, the two Mothers went up to my Lady, and she then came out of
+her stall, and headed them to the altar steps, where they all three
+knelt for a short space.  Then my Lady, turning round to us, and coming
+forward, announced the numbers.
+
+"Thirty-four votes: for Sister Roberga, one; for Sister Isabel, two; for
+Sister Ismania, eleven; for Sister Annora, twenty.  Our Sister Annora is
+chosen."
+
+It was a minute before I was able to understand that such an
+unintelligible and astounding thing had happened, as that our community
+had actually chosen me--me, of all people!--to execute the highest
+office in the house, next to my Lady Prioress herself.  Mother Gaillarde
+and Mother Ada came up to me, to lead me up to the altar.
+
+"But it cannot be," said I.  I felt completely confused.
+
+"Thou art our Sister Annora, I believe," saith Mother Gaillarde, looking
+rather amused; "and I marvel the less at the choice since I helped to
+make it."
+
+"I!"  I said again, feeling more amazed than ever at what she said; "but
+I'm not a bit fit for such a place as that!  Oh, do choose again, and
+fix on somebody more worthy than I am!"
+
+"The choice of the community, guided by the Holy Spirit, has fallen on
+you, Sister," said Mother Ada, in a cold, hollow voice.
+
+"Come along, and don't be silly!" whispered Mother Gaillarde, taking my
+right arm.
+
+I really think Mother Gaillarde's words helped to rouse me from my
+stupor of astonishment, better than any thing else.  Of course, if God
+called me to a certain work, He could put grace and wisdom into me as
+easily as into any one else; and I had only to bow to His will.  But I
+did so wish it had been another who was chosen.  Sister Ismania would
+have made a far better officer than I.  And to think of such a poor,
+stupid, confused thing as I am, being put over her head!  But, if it
+were God's will--that settled the matter.
+
+It all felt so dreamy that I can scarcely tell what happened afterwards.
+I remember that I knelt before my Lady, and before the altar--but I
+felt too confused for prayer, and could only say, "_Domine, miserere
+me_!" for no other words would come: and then the Master came and
+blessed me, and made a short address to me (of which I believe I hardly
+took in a word), and appointed the next day for the service of
+ordination.
+
+I am an ordained Mother of the Order of Saint Gilbert.  And I do not
+feel any difference.  I thought I should have done.  The Master himself
+sang the holy mass, and we sang _Veni Creator Spiritus_, and he said in
+his address afterwards, that when his hands were laid on my head, the
+Holy Ghost came down and filled me with His presence--and I did not feel
+that He did.  Of course it was all very solemn, and I did most earnestly
+desire the influences of the blessed Spirit, for I shall never be able
+to do any thing without them: but really I felt our Lord nearer me in
+the evening, when I knelt by my bed for a minute, and asked Him, in my
+own poor words, to keep me in the right way, and teach me to do His
+will.  I think I shall try that again.  Now that I have a cell to
+myself, I can do it.  And I sleep in dear Mother Alianora's cell, where
+I am sure the blessed Lord has been wont to come.  Oh, I hope He will
+not tarry away because I am come into it--I, who am so worthless, and so
+weak, and need His gracious aid so much more than she did!
+
+I do wish, if so great a favour could possibly be vouchsafed to me, that
+I might speak to our Lord just once.  He has ere this held converse with
+the holy saints.  Of course I am not holy, nor a saint, nor in the least
+merit any such grace from Him: but I need it more than those who merit
+it.  Oh, if I could know,--once, certainly, and for ever--whether it is
+earthly, and carnal, and wicked, as people say it is, for me to grieve
+over that lost love of mine!  Sister Ismania says it is all folly and
+imagination on my part, because, having been parted when we were only
+six years old, I cannot possibly (she says) feel any real, womanly love
+for him.  But I do not see why it must be grown-up to be real.  And I
+never knew any thing better or more real.  It may not be like what
+others have, but it was all I had.  I wish sometimes that I knew if he
+still lives, and whether that other wife lives to whom I suppose
+somebody must have married him after I was thrust in here.  I cannot
+feel as if he did not still, somehow, belong to me.  If I only knew
+whether it was wrong!
+
+I have been appointed mistress of the work-room, and I ought to keep it
+in order.  How I can ever do it, I cannot think.  I shall never be able
+to chide the Sisters like the other Mothers: and to have them coming up
+to me, when they are chidden, and kissing the floor at my feet--I do not
+know how I can stand it.  I am sure it will give me a dreadful feeling.
+However, I hope nothing will ever happen of that kind, for a long, long
+while.
+
+What is the good of hoping any thing?  Mother Gaillarde says that hopes,
+promises, and pie-crust are made to be broken.  Certainly hopes seem to
+be.  After all my wishes, if something did not happen the very first
+day!
+
+When I got down to the work-room, what should I find but Sisters Roberga
+and Philippa having a violent quarrel.  They were not only breaking the
+rule of silence, which in itself was bad enough, but they were calling
+each other all manner of names.
+
+I was astonished those two should quarrel, for they have always been
+such friends that they had to be constantly reminded of the prohibition
+of particular friendships among the religious: but when they did, it
+reminded me of the adage that vernage makes the best vinegar.
+
+Sister Isabel cast an imploring look at me, as I entered, which seemed
+to say, "Do stop them!" and I had not a notion how to set about it,
+except by saying--
+
+"My dear Sisters, our rule enjoins silence."
+
+On my saying this (which I did with much reluctance and some trembling)
+both of them turned round and appealed to me.
+
+"She promised to vote for me, and she did not!" cried Sister Roberga.
+
+"I did!" said Sister Philippa.  "I kept my word."
+
+"There was only one vote for me," answered Sister Roberga.
+
+"Well, and I gave it," replied Sister Philippa.
+
+"You couldn't have done!  There must have been more than one."
+
+"Why should there?"
+
+"I know there was."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"I do know."
+
+"You must have voted for yourself, then: you can't know otherwise," said
+Sister Philippa, scornfully.
+
+Sister Roberga fairly screamed, "I didn't, you vile wretch!" and went
+exceedingly red in the face.
+
+"Sister Roberga," said I--
+
+"Don't you interfere!" shrieked Sister Roberga, turning fiercely on me.
+"You want a chance to show your power, of course.  You poor,
+white-faced, sanctimonious creature, only just promoted, and that
+because every body voted for you, thinking you would be easily managed--
+just like a bit of putty in any body's fingers!  And making such a fuss,
+as if you were so humble and holy, professing not to wish for it!
+Faugh! how I hate a hypocrite!"
+
+I stood silent, feeling as if my breath were taken away.
+
+"Yes, isn't she?" cried Sister Philippa.  "Wanting Sister Ismania to be
+preferred, instead of her, after all her plotting with Mother Gaillarde
+and Sister Margaret!  I can't bear folks who look one way and walk
+another, as she does.  _I_ shouldn't wonder if the election were
+vitiated,--not a bit!--and then where will you be, _Mother_ Annora?"
+
+"Where you will be, Sister Philippa, until compline," said a voice
+behind me, "is prostrate on the chapel floor: and after compline, you
+will kiss the floor at Mother Annora's feet, and ask her to forgive you.
+Sister Roberta, go to the laundry--there is nobody there--and do not
+come forth till I fetch you.  You also, after compline, will ask the
+Mother's forgiveness."
+
+Oh, how thankful I felt to Mother Gaillarde for coming in just then!
+She said no more at that time; but at night she came to my cell.
+
+"Sister Annora," said she, "you must not let those saucy girls ride
+rough-shod over you.  You should let them see you mean it."
+
+"But," said I, "I am afraid I don't mean it."
+
+Mother Gaillarde laughed.  "Then make haste and do," said she.  "You'll
+have a bear-garden in the work-room if you don't pull your curb a little
+tighter.  You may always rely on Sister Ismania, Sister Isabel, and
+Sister Margaret to uphold your authority.  It is those silly young
+things that have to be kept in order.  I wish you joy of your new post:
+it is not all flowers and music, I can tell you."
+
+"Oh dear, I feel so unfit for it!"  I sighed.
+
+Mother Gaillarde smiled.  "Sister, I am a bad hand at paying
+compliments," she said.  "But one thing I will say--you are the fittest
+of us all for the office, if you will only stand firm.  Give your orders
+promptly, and stick to them.  _Pax tibi_!"
+
+I have put Mother Gaillarde's advice into action--or rather, I have
+tried to put it--and have brought a storm on my head.  Oh dear, why
+cannot folks do right without all this trouble?
+
+Sisters Amie and Catherine began to cast black looks at one another
+yesterday evening in the work-room, and when recreation-time came the
+looks blossomed into words.  I told them both to be silent at once.
+This morning I was sent for by my Lady, who said that she had not
+expected me to prove a tyrant.  I do not think tyrants feel their hearts
+go pitter-patter, as mine did, both last night and this morning.  Of
+course I knelt and kissed her hand, and said how sorry I was to have
+displeased her.
+
+"But, indeed, my Lady," said I, "I spoke as I did because I was afraid I
+had not been sufficiently firm before."
+
+"Oh, I dare say it was all right," said my Lady, closing her eyes, as if
+she felt worried with the whole affair.  "Only Sister Ada thought--I
+think somebody spoke to her--do as you think best, Sister.  I dare say
+it will all come right."
+
+I wish things would all come right, but it seems rather as if they all
+went wrong.  And I do not _quite_ see what business it is of Mother
+Ada's.  But I ought not to be censorious.
+
+Just as I was leaving the room, my Lady called me back.  It does feel so
+new and strange to me, to have to go to my Lady herself about things,
+instead of to one of the Mothers!  And it is not nearly so satisfactory;
+for where Mother Gaillarde used to say, "Do _so_, of course"--my Lady
+says, "Do as you like."  I cannot even get accustomed to calling them
+Sister Gaillarde and Sister Ada, as, being a Mother myself, I ought to
+do now.  Oh, how I miss our dear Mother Alianora!  It frightens me to
+think of being in her place.  Well, my Lady called me back to tell me
+that the Lady Joan de Greystoke desired to make retreat with us, and
+that we must prepare to receive her next Saturday.  She is to have the
+little chamber next to the linen-wardrobe.  My Lady says she is of good
+lineage, but she did not say of what family she came.  She commanded me
+to tell the Mothers.
+
+"_Miserere_!" said Mother--no, Sister Ada.  "What an annoyance it is, to
+be sure, when externs come for retreat!  She will unsettle half the
+young Sisters, and turn the heads of half the others.  I know what a
+worry they are!"
+
+"Humph!" said Sister Gaillarde.  "Of good lineage, is she?  That means,
+I suppose, that she'll think herself a princess, and look on all of us
+as her maid-servants.  She may clean her own shoes so far as I'm
+concerned.  Do her good.  I'll be bound she never touched a brush
+before."
+
+"Some idle young baggage, I've no doubt," said Sister Ada.
+
+"Marry, she may be a grandmother," said Mo--Sister Gaillarde.  "If she's
+eighty, she'll think she has a right to lecture us; and if she's only
+eighteen, she'll think so ten times more.  You may depend upon it, she
+will reckon we know nought of the world, and that all the wisdom in it
+has got into her brains.  These externs do amuse me."
+
+"It is all very well for you to make fun of it, Sister Gaillarde," said
+Sister Ada, peevishly, "but I can tell you, it will be any thing but fun
+for you and me, if she set half the young Sisters, not to speak of the
+novices and pupils, coveting all manner of worldly pomps and dainties.
+And she will, as sure as my name is Ada."
+
+"Thanks for your warning," said Mother Gaillarde.  "I'll put a rod or
+two in pickle."
+
+The Lady Joan's chamber is ready at last: and I am dad.  Such a business
+I have had of it!  I had no idea Sister Philippa was so difficult to
+manage: and as to Sister Roberga, I pity any one who tries to do it.
+
+"You see, Sister Annora," said Sister Gaillarde, smiling rather grimly,
+"official life is not all flowers and sunshine.  I don't pity my Lady,
+just because she shirks her duties: she merely reigns, and leaves us to
+govern; but I can tell you, no Prioress of this convent would have an
+easy life, if she _did_ her duty.  I remember once, when I was in the
+world, I saw a mountebank driving ten horses at once.  I dare say he
+hadn't an easy time of it.  But, lack-a-day! we have to drive thirty:
+and skittish fillies some of them are.  I don't know what Sister Roberga
+has done with her vocation: but I never saw the corner of it since she
+came."
+
+"Well!"  I said with a sigh, "I suppose I never had one."
+
+"Stuff and nonsense!" said Sister Gaillarde.  "If you mean you never had
+a liking for the life, that may be true--you know more about that than
+I; but if you mean you do not fill your place well, and do your duty as
+well as you know how, and a deal better than most folks--why, again I
+say, stuff and nonsense!  You are not perfect, I suppose.  If you ever
+see any body who is, I should like to know her name.  It won't be
+Gaillarde--that I know!"
+
+I wonder whose daughter the Lady Joan is!  Something in her eyes puzzles
+me so, as if she reminded me of somebody whom I had known, long, long
+ago--some Sister when I was novice, or perchance even some one whom I
+knew in my early childhood, before I was professed at all.  They are
+dark eyes, but not at all like Margaret's.  Margaret's are brown, but
+these are dark grey, with long black lashes; and they do not talk--they
+only look as if they could, if one knew how to make them.  The Lady Joan
+is very quiet and attentive to her religious duties; I think Sister
+Ada's fears may sleep.  She is not at all likely to unsettle any body.
+She talks very little, except when necessary.  Two months, I hear, she
+will remain; and I do not think she will be any trouble to one of us.
+Even Sister Gaillarde says, "She is a decent woman: she'll do."  And
+that means a good deal--from Sister Gaillarde.
+
+I have the chance to speak to Margaret now.  Of course a Mother can call
+any Sister to her cell if needful; and no one may ask why except another
+Mother.  I must be careful not to seem to prefer Margaret above the
+rest, and all the more because she is my own sister.  But last night I
+really had some directions to give her, and I summoned her to my cell.
+When I had told her what I wanted, I was about to dismiss her with "_Pax
+tibi_!" as usual, but Margaret's talking eyes told me she had something
+to say.
+
+I said,--"Well! what is it, Margaret?"
+
+"May I speak to my sister Annora for a moment, and not to the Mother?"
+she asked, with a look half amused and half sad.
+
+"Thou mayest always do that, dear heart," said I.
+
+(I hope it was not wicked.)
+
+"Then--Annora, for whom is the Lady Joan looking?"
+
+"Looking!  I understand thee not, Margaret."
+
+"I think it is either thou or I," she replied.  "Sister Anne told me
+that she asked her if there were not some Sisters of the Despenser
+family here, and wished to have them pointed out to her: and she said to
+Sister Anne, `She whom I seek was professed as a very little child.'
+That must be either thou or I, Annora.  What can she want with us?"
+
+"Verily, Margaret, I cannot tell."
+
+"I wondered if she might be a niece of ours."
+
+"She may," said I.  "I never thought of that.  There is something about
+her eyes that reminds me of some one, but who it is I know not."
+
+"Thou couldst ask her," suggested Margaret.
+
+"I scarcely like to do that," said I.  "But I will think about it,
+Margaret."
+
+I was wicked enough to kiss her, when I let her go.
+
+This morning Sister Ada told me that the Lady Joan had asked leave to
+learn illuminating, so she would spend her mornings henceforth in the
+illumination chamber.  That will bring her with Margaret, who is much
+there.  Perchance she may tell her something.
+
+It would be strange to see a niece or cousin of one's very own!  I
+marvel if she be akin to us.  Somehow, since I had that night watch with
+Margaret, my heart does not feel exactly the dry, dead thing it used to
+do in times past.  I fancy I could love a kinswoman, if I had one.
+
+Sister Gaillarde said such a strange thing to me to-day.  I was
+remarking that the talk in the recreation-room was so often vapid and
+foolish--all about such little matters: we never seemed to take an
+interest in any great or serious subject.
+
+"Sister Annora," said she, with one of her grim smiles, "I always looked
+to see you turn out a reformer."
+
+"Me!" cried I.
+
+"You," said she.
+
+"But a reformer is a great, grand man, with a hard head, and a keen wit,
+and a ready tongue!" said I.
+
+"Why should it not be a woman with a soft heart?" quoth Sister
+Gaillarde.
+
+"_Ha, jolife_!" cried I.  "Sister Gaillarde, you may be cut out for a
+reformer, but I am sure I am not."
+
+I looked up as I spoke, and saw the Lady Joan's dark grey eyes upon me.
+
+"What is to be reformed.  Mother?" said she.
+
+"Why, if each of us would reform herself, I suppose the whole house
+would be reformed," I answered.
+
+"Capital!" said Sister Gaillarde.  "Let's set to work."
+
+"Who will begin?" said Sister Ismania.
+
+"Every body will be the second," replied Sister Gaillarde, "except those
+who have begun already: that's very plain!"
+
+"I expect every body will be the last," said Margaret.
+
+Sister Gaillarde nodded, as if she meant Amen.
+
+"Well, thank goodness, I want no reforms," said Sister Ada.
+
+"Nor any reforming?" said Sister Gaillarde.
+
+"Certainly not," she answered.  "I always do my duty--always.  Nobody
+can lay any thing else to my charge."  And she looked round with an air
+that seemed to say, "Deny it if you can!"
+
+"It is manifest," observed Sister Gaillarde gravely, "that our Sister
+Ada is the only perfect being among us.  I am not perfect, by any means:
+and really, I feel oppressed by the company of a seraph.  I'm not nearly
+good enough.  Perchance, Sister Ada, you would not mind my sitting a
+little further off."
+
+And actually, she rose and went over to the other side of the room.
+Sister Ada tossed her head,--not as I should expect a seraph to do: then
+she too rose, and walked out of the room.  Sister Ismania had laughingly
+followed Sister Gaillarde: so that the Lady Joan, Margaret, and I, were
+alone in that corner.
+
+"My mother had a Book of Evangels," said the Lady Joan, "in which I have
+sometimes read: and I remember, it said, `be ye perfect,' The priests
+say only religious persons can be perfect: yet our Lord, when He said
+it, was not speaking to them, but just to the common people who were His
+disciples, on the hill-side.  Is it the case, that we could all be
+perfect, if only we tried, and entreated the grace of our Lord to enable
+us to be so?"
+
+"Did your Ladyship ever know any who was?" asked Margaret.
+
+The Lady Joan shook her head.  "Never--not perfect.  My mother was a
+good woman enough; but there were flaws in her.  She was cleverer than
+my father, and she let him feel it.  He was nearer perfection than she,
+for he was humbler and gentler--God rest his sweet soul!  Yet she was a
+good woman, for all that: but--no, not perfect!"
+
+Suddenly she ceased, and a light came in her eyes.
+
+"You two," she said, looking on us, "are the Despenser ladies, I
+believe?"
+
+We assented.
+
+"Do you mind telling me--pardon me if I should not ask--which of you was
+affianced, long years ago, to the Lord Lawrence de Hastings, sometime
+Earl of Pembroke?"
+
+"Sometime!" ah me, then my lost love is no more!
+
+I felt as though my tongue refused to speak.  Something was coming--
+what, I did not know.
+
+Margaret answered for me, and the Lady Joan's hand fell softly on mine.
+
+"Did you love each other," she said, "when you were little children?  If
+so, we ought to love each other, for he was very dear to me.  Mother
+Annora, he was my father."
+
+"You!"  I just managed to say.
+
+"Ah, you did, I think," she said, quietly.  "He died a young man, in the
+first great visitation of the Black Death, over twenty years ago: and my
+mother survived him twenty years.  She married again, and died three
+years since."
+
+Margaret asked what I wanted to hear.  I was very glad, for I felt as if
+I could ask nothing.  It was strange how Margaret seemed to know just
+what I wished.
+
+"Who was your mother, my Lady?"
+
+The Lady Joan coloured, and did not answer for a moment.  Then she
+said,--"I fear you will not like to know it: yet it was not her fault,
+nor his.  Queen Isabel arranged it all: and she hath answered for her
+own sins at the Judgment Bar.  My mother was Agnes de Mortimer, daughter
+of the Earl of March."
+
+"Why not?" said Margaret.
+
+"Ah, then you know not.  I scarce expected a Despenser to hear his name
+with patience.  But I suppose you were so young--Sisters, he was the
+great enemy of your father."
+
+So they wedded my lost love to the daughter of my enemy!  Almost before
+the indignation rose up within me, there came to counteract it a vision
+of the cross of Calvary, and of Him who said, "Father, forgive them!"
+The momentary feeling of anger died away.  Another feeling took its
+place: the thought that the after-bond was dissolved now, and death had
+made him mine again.
+
+"Mother Annora," said the Lady Joan's soft voice, "will you reject me,
+and look coldly on me, if I ask whether you can love me a little?  He
+used to love to talk to me of you, whom he remembered tenderly, as he
+might have remembered a little sister that God had taken.  He often
+wondered where you were, and whether you were happy.  And when I was a
+little child, I always wanted to hear of that other child--you lived,
+eternal, a little child, for me.  Many a time I have fancied that I
+would make retreat here, and try to find you out, if you were still
+alive.  Do you think it sinful to love any thing?--some nuns do.  But if
+not, I should like you to love the favourite child of your lost love."
+
+"Methinks," said Margaret, quietly, "it is true in earthly as in
+heavenly things, and to carnal no less than spiritual persons, `_Major
+horum est caritas_.'"  [First Corinthians 13, verse 13.]
+
+I hardly know what I said.  But I think Joan was satisfied.
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Note 1.  Her thoughts wandered to her married sister, Isabel Lady
+Hastings and Monthermer, who lived at Marlborough Castle.
+
+Note 2.  The last native Princess of Wales, being the only (certainly
+proved) child of the last Prince Llywelyn, and Alianora de Montfort.
+She was thrust into the convent at Sempringham with her cousin Gladys.
+
+
+
+PART THREE, CHAPTER 4.
+
+MORTIFYING THE WILL.
+
+  "L'orgueil n'est jamais mieux deguise, et plus capable de tromper, que
+  lorsqu'il se cache sous la figure de l'humilite."
+
+  Rochefoucauld.
+
+"Oh, you have no idea how happy we are here!" said Sister Ada to Joan.
+"I often pity the people who live in the world.  Their time is filled
+with such poor, mean things, and their thoughts must be so frivolous.
+Now our time is all taken up with holy duties, and we have no room for
+frivolous thoughts.  The world is shut out: it cannot creep in here.  We
+are the happiest of women."
+
+I happened to look at Sister Gaillarde, and I saw the beginning of one
+of her grim smiles: but she did not speak.
+
+"Some of you do seem happy and peaceful," said Joan (she says I am to
+call her Joan).  "But is it so with all?"
+
+Sister Gaillarde gave her little Amen nod.
+
+"Oh dear, yes!" answered Sister Ada.  "Of course, where the will is not
+perfectly mortified, there is not such unbroken bliss as where it is.
+But when the rule of holy obedience is fully followed out, so that we
+have no will whatever except that of our superiors, you cannot imagine
+what sweet peace flows into the soul.  Now, if Father Benedict were to
+command me any thing, I should be positively delighted to do it, because
+it was a command from my superior.  It would not in the least matter
+what it was.  Nay, the more repugnant it was to my natural inclinations,
+the more it would delight me."
+
+Joan's eyes wandered to two or three other faces, with a look which
+said, "Do you agree to this?"
+
+"Don't look at me!" said Sister Gaillarde.  "I'm no seraph.  It wouldn't
+please me a bit better to have dirty work to do because Father Benedict
+ordered it.  I can't reach those heights of perfection--never understood
+them.  If Sister Ada do, I'm glad to hear it.  She must have learned it
+lately."
+
+"I do not understand it, as Sister Ada puts it," said I, as Joan's eyes
+came to me.  "I understand what it is to give up one's will in any thing
+when it seems to be contrary to the will of God, and to have more real
+pleasure in trying to please Him than in pleasing one's self.  I
+understand, too, that there may be more true peace in bearing a sorrow
+wherein God helps and comforts you, than in having no sorrow and no
+comfort.  But Sister Ada seems to mean something different--as if one
+were to be absolutely without any will about any thing, and yet to
+delight in the crossing of one's will.  Now, if I have not any wall, I
+do not see how it is to be crossed.  And to have none whatever would
+surely make me something different from a woman and a sinner.  I should
+be like a harp that could be played on--not like a living creature at
+all."
+
+Two or three little nods came from Sister Gaillarde.
+
+"People who have no wills are very trying to deal with," said Margaret.
+
+"People who have wills are," said Sister Philippa.
+
+"Nay," said Margaret, "if I am to be governed, let it be by one that has
+a will.  `Do this,' and `Go there,' may be vexatious at times: but far
+worse is it to ask for direction, and hear only, `As you like,' `I don't
+know,' `Don't ask me.'"
+
+"Now that is just what I should like," said Sister Philippa.  "I never
+get it, worse luck!"
+
+"Did you mean me, Sister Margaret?" said Sister Ada, stiffly.
+
+"I cry you mercy, Mother; I was not thinking of you at all," answered
+Margaret.
+
+"It sounded very much as if you were," said Sister Ada, in her iciest
+fashion.  "I think, if you had been anxious for perfection, you would
+not have answered me in that proud manner, but would have come here and
+entreated my pardon in a proper way.  But I am too humble-minded to
+insist on it, seeing I am myself the person affronted.  Had it been any
+one else, I should have required it at once."
+
+"I said--" Margaret got so far, then her brow flushed, and I could see
+there was an inward struggle.  Then she rose from the form, and laying
+down her work, knelt and kissed the ground at Mother Ada's feet.  I
+could hear Sister Roberga whisper to Sister Philippa, "That
+mean-spirited fool!"
+
+Sister Gaillarde said in a softer tone than is her wont,--"_Beati
+pauperes spiritu: quoniam ipsorum est regnum caelorum_."  [Matthew 5,
+verse 3.]
+
+"Thank you, Sister Gaillarde," said Sister Ada, quickly.  "I scarcely
+expected recognition from _you_."
+
+"You got as much as you expected, then," said Sister Gaillarde, drily,
+with a look across at me which almost made me laugh.
+
+"I told you, I got more than I expected," was Sister Ada's answer.
+
+"Did you mean it for her?" asked Joan, in so low a voice that only those
+on each side of her could hear.
+
+"I meant it for whoever deserved it," was Sister Gaillarde's reply.
+
+Just then Mother Joan came in and sat down.
+
+"Sister Ada," she said, "Sister Marian tells me, that my Lady has given
+orders for that rough black rug that nobody likes to be put on your bed
+this week."
+
+"No, has she?" cried Sister Ada, in tones which, if she were delighted,
+very much belied her feelings.  "How exceedingly annoying!  What could
+my Lady be thinking of?  She knows how I detest that rug.  I shall not
+be able to sleep a wink.  Well!  I suppose I must submit; it is my duty.
+But I do feel it hard that _all_ the disagreeable things should come to
+me.  Surely one of the novices might have had that; it would have been
+good for somebody whose will was not properly mortified.  Really, I _do_
+think--Oh, well, I had better not say any more."
+
+Nor did she: but that night, as I was going round the children's
+dormitory, little Damia looked up at me.
+
+"Mother, dear, what's the matter with Mother Ada?"
+
+"What did she say, my child?"
+
+"Oh, she didn't say any thing; but she has looked all day long as if she
+would like to hit somebody."
+
+"Somebody vexed her a little, perhaps," said I.  "Very likely she will
+be all right to-morrow."
+
+"I don't know--she takes a long while to come right when any body has
+put her wrong--ever so much longer than you or Sister Margaret.  The
+lightning comes into Sister Margaret's eyes, and then away it runs, and
+she looks so sorry that she let it come; and you only look sorry without
+any lightning.  But Mother Ada looks I don't know how--as if she'd like
+to pull all the hair off your head, and all your teeth out of your
+mouth, and wouldn't feel any better till she'd done it."
+
+I laughed, and told the child to go to sleep, and not trouble her little
+head about Mother Ada.  But when I came into my cell, I began to wonder
+if Sister Ada's will is perfectly mortified.  It does not look exactly
+like it.
+
+Before I had done more than think of undressing, Sister Gaillarde rapped
+at my door.
+
+"Sister Annora, may I have a little chat with you?"
+
+"Do come in, Sister, and sit down," said I.
+
+"This world's a very queer place!" said Sister Gaillarde, sitting down
+on my bed.  "It would not be a bad place, but for the folks in it: and
+they are as queer as can be.  I thought I'd just give you a hint,
+Sister, that you might feel less taken by surprise--I expect you'll have
+a lecture given you to-morrow."
+
+"What have I done?"  I asked, rather blankly.
+
+Sister Gaillarde laughed till the tears came into her eyes.
+
+"Oh dear, the comicality of folks in this world!" saith she.  "Sister
+Annora, do you know that you are a very carnal person?"
+
+"Indeed, I have always feared so," said I, sorrowfully.
+
+"Rubbish!" said Sister Gaillarde in her most emphatic style.  "Don't,
+for mercy's sake, be taken in by such nonsense.  It is a wonder what
+folks can get into their heads when they have nothing else in them!
+Sister Ada is very much concerned about the low tone of spirituality
+which she sees in you--stupid baggage!  She is miserably afraid you are
+a long way off perfection.  I'm more concerned a deal about her."
+
+"But, Sister Gaillarde, it is true!" said I.  "I am very, very far from
+being perfect, and I fear I never shall be."
+
+"Well!" saith she, "if I had to go into the next world holding on to
+somebody's skirts, I'd a sight rather they were yours than Sister Ada's.
+I do think some folks were born just to be means of grace and nothing
+else.  Maybe it is as well some of them should get into nunneries."
+
+"Some are rather trying, I must admit," said I.  "Sister Roberga--"
+
+"Oh, Sister Roberga! she's just a butterfly and no better.  Brush her
+off--she's good for no more.  But she isn't one that tries me like some
+other folks.  You did not hear what happened yesterday between Sisters
+Ada and Margaret?"
+
+"No.  What was it?"
+
+"Some of the Sisters were talking about hymns in recreation.  Sister
+Margaret said she admired the _Dies Irae_.  Sister Ada wanted to know
+what she admired; she could not see any thing to admire; it was just a
+jingle of words, and nothing else.  The rhymes might be good to remember
+by--that was all.  I saw the look on Sister Margaret's face: of course
+she did not answer the Mother.  But I did.  I told her that I believed
+if any one showed her a beautiful rose, she would call it a red
+vegetable.  `Well,' quoth she, `and what is it else?  I never smell a
+rose or any other flower.  We were put here to mortify our senses.'
+`Sister Ada,' said I, `the Lord took a deal of pains for nothing, so far
+as you were concerned.'  Well, she said that was profane: but I don't
+believe it.  The truth is, she's just one of those dull souls that
+cannot see beauty, nor smell fragrance, nor hear music; and so she
+assumes her dulness as virtue, and tries to make it out that those who
+have their senses are carnal and worldly.  But just touch her pride, and
+doesn't it fly up in arms!  Depend upon it, Sister Annora, men are quite
+as often taken for fools because they can see what other folks can't, as
+because they can't see what other folks can."
+
+"I dare say that is true," said I.  "But--forgive me, Sister Gaillarde--
+ought we to be talking over our Sisters?"
+
+"Sister Annora, you are too good for this world!" she answered, rather
+impatiently.  "If one may not let out a bit, just now and then, what is
+one to do?"
+
+"But," said I, "we were put here to mortify ourselves."
+
+"We were put here to mortify our sins," said she: "and wala wa! some of
+us don't do it.  I dare say old Gaillarde's as bad as any body.  But I
+cannot stand Sister Ada's talk, when she wants to make every creature of
+us into stones and stocks.  She just inveighs against loving one another
+because she loves nobody but Ada Mansell, and never did.  Oh!  I knew
+her well enough when we were young maids in the world.  She was an only
+child, and desperately spoiled: and her father joined in the Lancaster
+insurrection long ago, and it ruined his fortunes, so she came into a
+convent.  That's her story.  Ada Mansell is the pivot of her thoughts
+and actions--always will be."
+
+"Nay," said I; "let us hope God will give her grace to change, if it be
+as you say."
+
+"It'll take a precious deal of grace to change some folks!" said Sister
+Gaillarde, satirically.  "Hope many of them won't want it at once, or
+there'll be such a run upon the treasury there'll be none left for you
+and me.  Well! that's foolish talk.  My tongue runs away with me now and
+then.  Don't get quite out of patience with your silly old Sister
+Gaillarde.  Ah! perhaps I should have been a wiser woman, and a better
+too, if something had not happened to me that curdled the milk of my
+human kindness, and sent me in here, just because I could not bear
+outside any longer--could not bear to see what had been mine given to
+another--well, well!  We are all poor old sinners, we Sisters.  And as
+to perfection--my belief is that any woman may be perfect in any life,
+so far as that means having a true heart towards God, and an honest wish
+to do His will rather than our own--and I don't believe in perfection of
+any other sort.  As to all that rubbish men talk about having no will at
+all, and being delighted to mortify your will, and so forth--my service
+to the lot of it.  Why, what you like to have crossed isn't your will;
+what you delight in can't be mortification.  It is just like playing at
+being good.  Eh, dear me, there are some simpletons in this world!
+Well, good-night, Sister: _pax tibi_!"
+
+Sister Gaillarde's hand was on the latch when she looked back.
+
+"There, now I'm forgetting half of what I had to tell you.  Father
+Hamon's going away."
+
+"Is he?--whither?"
+
+"Can't say.  I hope our next confessor will be a bit more alive."
+
+"Father Benedict is alive, I am sure."
+
+"Father Benedict's a draught of vinegar, and Father Hamon's been a bowl
+of curds.  I should like somebody betwixt."
+
+And Sister Gaillarde left me.
+
+She guessed not ill, for I had my lecture in due course.  Sister Ada
+came into my cell--had she bidden me to hers, I should have had a chance
+to leave, but of course I could not turn her forth--and told me she had
+been for long time deeply concerned at my want of spiritual discernment.
+"Truly, Sister, no more than I am," said I.  "Now, Sister, you reckon
+me unkindly, I cast no doubt," saith she: "but verily I must be faithful
+with you.  You take too much upon you,--you who are but just promoted to
+your office--and are not ready enough to learn of those who have had
+more experience.  In short, Sister Annora, you are very much wanting in
+true humility."
+
+"Indeed, Sister Ada, it is too true," said I.  "I beseech you, Sister,
+to pray that you may have your eyes opened to the discerning of your
+faults," saith she.  "You are much too partial and prejudiced in your
+governance of the Sisters, and likewise with the children.  Some you
+keep not under as you should; and to others you grant too little
+freedom."
+
+"Indeed, Sister, I am afraid it may be so, though I have tried hard to
+avoid it."
+
+"Well, Sister, I hope you will think of these things, and that our Lord
+may give you more of the grace of humility.  You lack it very much, I
+can assure you.  I would you would try to copy such of us as are really
+humble and meek."
+
+"That I earnestly desire, Sister," said I: "but is it not better to copy
+our Lord Himself than any earthly example?  I thank you for your
+reproof, and I will try harder to be humble."
+
+"You know, Sister," said she, as she was going forth, "I have no wish
+but to be faithful.  I cannot bear telling others of their faults.
+Only, I _must_ be faithful."
+
+"I thank you, Sister Ada," said I.
+
+So away she went.  Sister Gaillarde said when she saw me, with one of
+her grim smiles--
+
+"Well! is the lecture over?  Did she bite very hard?"
+
+"She saith I am greatly lacking in meekness and humility, and take too
+much on myself," said I: "and I dare say it is true."
+
+"Humph!" said Sister Gaillarde.  "It would be a mercy if some folks
+weren't.  And if one or two of us had a trifle more self-assertion,
+perhaps some others would have less."
+
+"Have I too much self-assertion, Sister?"  I said, feeling sorry it
+should be thus plain to all my Sisters.  "I will really--"
+
+Sister Gaillarde patted me on the shoulder with her grimmest smile.
+
+"You will really spoil every body you come near!" said she.  "Go your
+ways, Sister Annora, and leave the wasps in the garden a-be."
+
+"Why, I do," said I, "without they sting me."
+
+"Exactly!" said Sister Gaillarde, laughing, and away.  I know not what
+she meant.
+
+Mother Joan is something troubled with her eyes, and the leech thinks it
+best she should no longer be over the illumination-room, but be set to
+some manner of work that will try the sight less.  So I am appointed
+thereto in her stead.  I cannot say I am sorry, for I shall see more of
+Joan, since in this chamber she passes three mornings of a week.  I mean
+my child Joan, for verily she is the child of mine heart.  And my very
+soul yearns over her, for Sister though I be, I cannot help the thought
+that had it not been for Queen Isabel's unjust dealing, I should have
+been her mother.  May the good Lord forgive me, if it be sin!  I know
+now, that those deep grey eyes of hers, with the long black lashes,
+which stirred mine heart so strangely when she first came hither, are
+the eyes of my lost love.  I knew in myself that I had known such eyes
+aforetime, but it seemed to be long, long ago, as though in another
+world.  Much hath Joan told me of him; and all I hear sets him before me
+as man worthy of the best love of a good woman's heart, and whom mine
+heart did no wrong to in its enduring love.  And I am coming to think--
+seeing, as it were, dimly, through a mist--that such love is not sin,
+neither disgrace, even in the heart of a maid devoted unto God.  For He
+knoweth that I put Him first: and take His ordering of my life, as being
+His, not only as just and holy, but as the best lot for me, and that
+which shall be most to His glory and mine own true welfare.  I say not
+this openly, nor unto such as should be likely to misconceive me.  There
+are some to whose pure and devoted souls all things indifferent are
+pure; and they are they that shall see God.  And man saith that in the
+world there are some also, unto whose vile and corrupt hearts all things
+indifferent are impure; and maybe not in the world only, but by times
+even in the cloister.  So I feel that some might misread my meaning, and
+take ill advantage thereof; and I keep my thoughts to myself, and to
+God.  I never ask Joan one question touching him of whom I treasure
+every bye-note that she uttereth.  Yet I know not how it is, but she
+seems to love to tell me of him.  Is it by reason she hath loved, that
+her heart hath eyes to see into mine?
+
+Not much doth Joan say of her mother to me: I think she names her more
+to others.  Methinks I see what she was--a good woman as women go (and
+some of them go ill), with a little surface cleverness, that she
+reckoned to run deeper than it did, and inclined to despise her lord by
+reason his wit lay further down, and came not up in glittering bubbles
+to the top.  I dare reckon she looked well to his bodily comforts and
+such, and was a better wife than he might have had: very likely, a
+better than poor Alianora La Despenser would have made, had God ordered
+it thus.  Methinks, from all I hear, that he hath passed behind the
+jasper walls: and I pray God I may meet him there.  They wed not, nor be
+given in marriage, being equal unto the angels: but surely the angels
+love.
+
+Strange talk it was that Joan held with me yesterday.  I marvel what it
+may portend.  She says, of late years many priests have put forth
+writings, wherein they say that the Church is greatly fallen away from
+the verity of Scripture, and that all through the ages good men have
+said the same (as was the case with the blessed Robert de Grosteste,
+Bishop of Lincoln, over two hundred years gone, and with the holy Thomas
+de Bradwardine, Archbishop of Canterbury, and with Richard Rolle, the
+hermit of Hampole, whose holy meditations on the Psalter are in our
+library, and I have oft read therein): but now is there further stir, as
+though some reforming of the Church should arise, such as Bishop
+Grosteste did earnestly desire.  Joan says her lord is earnest for these
+new opinions, and eager to promote them: and that he saith that both in
+the Church and in matters politic, men sleep and nap for a season,
+during which slow decay goes on apace, and then all at once do they wake
+up, and set to work to mend matters.  During the reign of this present
+King, saith he, the world and the Church have had a long nap; and now
+are they just awake, and looking round to see how matters are all over
+dust and ivy, which lack cleansing away.  Divers, both clerks and
+laymen, are thus bestirring themselves: the foremost of whom is my Lord
+of Lancaster, the King's son [John of Gaunt], among the lay folk, and
+among the clergy, one Father Wycliffe [Note 1], that was head of a
+College at Oxenford, and is now Rector of Lutterworth in Leicestershire.
+He saith (that is, Father Wycliffe) that all things are thus gone to
+corruption by reason of lack of the salt preservative to be found in
+Holy Scripture.  Many years back, did King Alfred our forefather set
+forth much of the said Scriptures in the English tongue; as much,
+indeed, as he had time, for his death hindered it, else had all the holy
+hooks been rendered into our English tongue.  But now, by reason of
+years, the English that was in his day is gone clean out of mind, and
+man cannot understand the same: so there is great need for another
+rendering that man may understand now.  And this Father Wycliffe hopes
+to effect, if God grant him grace.  But truly, some marvellous strange
+notions hath he.  Joan says he would fain do away with all endowing of
+the Church, saying that our Lord and the Apostles had no such provision:
+but was that by reason it was right, or because of the hardness of men's
+hearts?  Surely the holy women that ministered to Him of their substance
+did well, not ill.  Moreover, he would have all monkery done away, yea,
+clean out of the realm, and he hath mighty hard names for monks,
+especially the Mendicant Friars: yet of nuns was he never heard to speak
+an unkindly word.  Strange matter, in good sooth! it nearly takes away
+my breath but to hear tell of it.  But when he saith that the Pope
+should have no right nor power in this realm of England, that is but
+what the Church of England hath alway held: Bishop Grosteste did as
+fervently abhor the Pope's power--"Egyptian bondage" was his word for
+it.  Much has this Father also to say against simony: and he would have
+no private confession to a priest (verily, this would I gladly see
+abolished), nor indulgences, nor letters of fraternity, nor pilgrimages,
+nor guilds: and he sets his face against the new fashion of singing mass
+[intoning, then a new invention], and the use of incense in the
+churches.  But strangest of all is it to hear of his inveighing against
+the doctrine of the Church that the sacred host is God's Body.  It is
+so, saith he, in figure, and Christ's Body is not eaten of men save
+ghostly and morally.  And to eat Christ ghostly is to have mind of Him,
+how kindly He suffered for man, which is ghostly meat to the soul.
+[Arnold's English Works of Wycliffe, Volume 2, pages 93, 112.]
+
+Here is new doctrine!  Yet Father Wycliffe, I hear, saith this is the
+old doctrine of the Apostles themselves, and that the contrary is the
+new, having never (saith he) been heard of before the time of one
+Radbert, who did first set it forth five hundred years ago [in 787]: and
+after that it slumbered--being then condemned of the holy doctors--till
+the year of our Lord God 1215, when the Pope that then was forced it on
+the Church.  Strange matter this!  I know not what to think.
+
+Joan says some of these new doctrine priests go further than Father
+Wycliffe himself, and even cast doubt on Purgatory and the worship [this
+word then merely meant "honour"] of our Lady.  Ah me! if they can prove
+from God's Word that Purgatory is not, I would chant many thanksgivings
+thereon!  All these years, when I knew not if my lost love were dead or
+alive, have I thought with dread of that awful land of darkness and
+sorrow: yet not knowing, I could have no masses sung for him; and had I
+been so able, I could never have told for whom they were, but only have
+asked for them for my father and mother and all Christian souls, and
+have offered mine own communion with intention thereto.  Ay, and many a
+time--dare I confess it?--I have offered the same with that intent, if
+he should be to God commanded [dead]--knowing that God knew, and humbly
+trusting in His mercy if I did ill.  But for the worship of our Lady,
+that is passing strange, specially to me that am religious woman.  For
+we were always taught what a blessing it was that we had a woman to whom
+we might carry our griefs and sorrows, seeing God is a man, and not so
+like to enter into a woman's feelings.  But these priests say--I am
+almost afraid to write it--this is dishonouring Christ who died for us,
+and who therefore must needs be full of tenderness for them for whom He
+died, and cannot need man nor woman--not even His own mother--to stand
+betwixt them and Him.  O my Lord, have I been all these years
+dishonouring Thee, and setting up another, even though it be Thy blessed
+mother, between Thee and me?  Yet surely He regardeth her honour full
+diligently!  Said He not to Saint John, "Behold thy mother?"--and doth
+not that Apostle represent the whole Church, who are thereby commanded
+to regard her, each righteous man, as his own very mother?  [This is the
+teaching of the Church of Rome.]  I remember the blessed Hermit of
+Hampole scarcely makes mention of her: it is all Christ in his book.
+And if it be so--of which Joan ensures me--in the Word of God, whereof
+she hath read books that I have missed--verily, I know not what to
+think.
+
+Lord, Thou wist what is error!  Save me therefrom.  Thou wist what is
+truth: guide me therein!
+
+It would seem that I have erred in offering my communions at all.  For
+if to eat Christ's Body be only to have mind of Him--and this is
+according to His own word, "_Hoc facite in meam commemorationem_"--how
+then can there be at all any offering of sacrifice in the holy mass?
+Joan says that Saint Paul's Epistle to the Hebrews saith that we be
+hallowed by the oblation of the body of Jesus Christ once, and that
+where remission is, there is no more oblation for sin.  Truly we have
+need to pray, Lord, guide us into Thy truth! and yet more, Lord, keep us
+therein!  I must think hereon.  In sooth, this I do, and then up rises
+some great barrier to the new doctrine, which I lay before Joan: and as
+quickly as the sun can break forth and melt a spoonful of snow, does she
+clear all away with some word of Saint Paul.  She has his Epistles right
+at her tongue's end.  For instance, quoth I,--"Christ said He should
+bestow the Holy Spirit, to lead the Church into all truth.  How then can
+the Church err?"
+
+"What Church?" said she, boldly.  "The Church is all righteous men that
+hold Christ's words: not the Pope and Cardinals and such like.  These
+last have no right to hold the first in bondage."
+
+"But," said I, "Father Benedict told me Saint Paul bade the religious to
+obey their superiors: how much more all men to obey the Church?"
+
+"I marvel," saith she, "where Father Benedict found that.  Never a word
+says Paul touching religious persons: there were none in his day."
+
+"No religious in Paul's day!" cried I.
+
+"Never so much as one," saith she: "not a monk, not a nun!  Friar
+Pareshull himself told me so much; he is a great man among us.  Saint
+Peter bids the clergy not to dominate over inferiors; Saint Paul says to
+the Ephesians that out of themselves (he was speaking to the clergy)
+should arise heretics speaking perversely; and Saint John says, `Believe
+not every spirit, but prove the spirits if they be of God.'  Dear Mother
+Annora, we are nowhere bidden in Scripture to obey the Church save only
+once, and that concerns the settling of a dispute betwixt two members of
+it.  Obey the Church! why, we are ourselves the Church.  Has not Father
+Rolle taught you so much?  `Holy Kirk,' quoth he--`that is, ilk
+righteous man's soul.'  Verily, all Churches be empowered of Christ to
+make laws for their own people: but why then must the Church of England
+obey laws made by the Bishop of Rome?"
+
+"Therein," said I, "can I fully hold with thee."
+
+"And for all things," she said earnestly, "let us hold to God's law, and
+take our interpretation of it not from men, but straight from God
+Himself.  Lo! here is the promise of the Holy Ghost assured unto the
+Church--to you, to me, to each one that followeth Christ.  They that
+keep His words and are indwelt of His Spirit--these, dear Mother, are
+the Church of God, and to them is the truth promised."
+
+I said nought, for I knew not what to answer.
+
+"There is yet another thing," saith Joan, dropping her voice low.  "Can
+that be God's Church which contradicts God's Word?  David saith `Over
+all things Thou hast magnified Thy Name' [Note 2]: but I have heard of a
+most wise man, that could read ancient volumes and dead tongues, that
+Saint Hierome set not down the true words, namely, `Over all Thy Name
+Thou hast magnified Thy Word.'  Now, if this be so--if God hath set up
+His Word over all His Name--the very highest part of Himself--how dare
+any assemblage of men to gainsay it?  What then of these indulgences and
+licences to sin, which the Popes set forth? what of their suffering them
+to wed whom God has forbidden, and forbidding it to priests to whom God
+has suffered it?  Surely this is the very thing which God points at,
+`teaching for doctrines the commandments of men.'"
+
+"But, Joan," said I, "my dear heart, did not our Lord say, `Whatsoever
+ye shall bind on earth shall be bound in Heaven?'  Surely that
+authorises the Church to do as she will."
+
+"Contrary unto God's Word?  It may give her leave to do her will within
+the limits of the Word: I trow not contrary thereto.  When the King
+giveth plenipotentiary powers to his Keeper of the Great Seal, his own
+deposing and superseding, I reckon, are not among them.  `All things are
+subject unto Christ,' saith Paul; `doubtless excepting Him which did
+subject all things unto Him.'  So, if God give power of loosing and
+binding to His Church, it cannot be meant that she shall bind Himself
+who thus endowed her, contrary to His own will and law."
+
+I answered nought, again, for a little while.  At last I said, "Joan,
+there is a word that troubles me, and religious folks are always quoting
+it.  `If a man hate not his father and his mother'--and so forth--he
+cannot be our Lord's disciple.  I think I have heard it from one or
+another every week since I came here.  What say these new doctrine folks
+that it means?"
+
+"Ours are old doctrines, Mother dear," saith she; "as old as the
+Apostles of Christ.  What means it?  Why, go forth to the end, and you
+will see what it means: he is to hate his own soul also.  Is he then to
+kill himself, or to go wilfully into perdition?  Nay, what can it mean,
+but only that even these dearest and worthiest loves are to be set below
+the worthier than them all, the love of the glory of God?  That our Lord
+never meant a religious person should neglect his father and mother, is
+plainly to be seen by another word of His, wherein he rebukes the
+priests of His day, because they taught that a man might bestow in
+oblation to God what his father's or his mother's need demanded of him.
+Here again, he reproves them, because they rejected the command of God
+in order to keep their own tradition.  You see, therefore, that when the
+Church doth this, it is not ratified in Heaven."
+
+"Then," said I, after a minute's thought, "I am not bidden to hate
+myself, any more than my relations?"
+
+"Why should we hate one whom God loveth?" she answered.  "To hate our
+selfishness is not to hate ourselves."
+
+I sat a while silent, setting red eyes and golden claws to my green
+wyvern, and Joan ran the white dots along her griffin's tail.  When she
+came to the fork of the tail, she laid down her brush.
+
+"Mother," she saith--the dear grey eyes looking up into my face--"shall
+we read together the holy Scripture, and beseech God to lead us into all
+truth?"
+
+"Dear child, we will do so," said I.  "Joan, didst thou ever read in
+holy Scripture that it was wicked to kiss folks?"
+
+She smiled.  "I have read there of one," saith she, "who stole up behind
+the holiest of all men that ever breathed, and kissed His feet: and the
+rebuke she won from Him was no more than this: `Her many sins are
+forgiven her, and she loved much.'  So, if a full sinful woman might
+kiss Christ without rebuke, methinks, if it please you, Mother dear, you
+might kiss me."
+
+Well, I knew all my life of that woman, but I never thought of it that
+way before, and it is marvellous comforting unto me.
+
+My Lady sent this morning for all the Mothers together.  Mine heart went
+pitter-patter, as it always doth when I am summoned to her chamber.  It
+is only because of her office: for if she were no more than a common
+Sister, I am sorely afraid I should reckon her a selfish, lazy woman:
+but being Lady Prioress, I cannot presume to sit in judgment on my
+superiors thus far.  We found that she had sent for us to introduce us
+to the new confessor, whose name is Father Mortimer, he is tall, and
+good-looking (so far as I, a Sister, can understand what is thought to
+be so in the world), and has dark, flashing eyes, which remind me of
+Margaret's, and I should say also of that priest that once confessed us,
+did I not feel certain that this is the same priest himself.  He will
+begin his duties this evening at compline.
+
+Sister Gaillarde said to me as we came forth from my Lady,--"Had I been
+a heathen Greek, and lived at the right time, methinks I should have wed
+Democritus."
+
+"Democritus! who was he?" said I.
+
+"He was named the Laughing Philosopher," said she, "because he was ever
+laughing at men and things.  And methinks he did well."
+
+"What is there to laugh at, Sister Gaillarde?"
+
+"Nothing you saw, Saint Annora."
+
+"Now you are laughing at me," said I, with a smile.
+
+"My laugh will never hurt you," answered she.  "But truly, betwixt
+Sister Ada and the peacock--They both spread their plumes to be looked
+at.  I wonder which Father Mortimer will admire most."
+
+"You surely never mean," said I, much shocked, "that Sister Ada expects
+Father Mortimer to admire her!"
+
+"Oh, she means nothing ill," said Sister Gaillarde.  "She only admires
+Ada Mansell so thoroughly herself, that she cannot conceive it possible
+that any one can do otherwise.  Let her spread her feathers--it won't
+hurt.  Any way, it will not hurt him.  He isn't that sort of animal."
+
+Indeed, I hope he is not.
+
+When my Lady dismissed us, I went to my work in the illumination-room,
+where Joan, with Sister Annot and Sister Josia, awaited my coming.  I
+bade Sister Josia finish the Holy Family she was painting yesterday for
+a missal which we are preparing for my Lord's Grace of York; I told
+Sister Annot to lay the gold leaf on the Book of Hours writing for my
+Lady of Suffolk; and as Margaret, who commonly works with her, was not
+yet come, I began myself to show Joan how to coil up the tail of a
+griffin--she said, to put a yard of tail into an inch of parchment.  It
+appeared to amuse her very much to see how I twisted and interlaced the
+tracery, so as to fill up every little corner of the parallelogram.
+When the outline was drawn, and she began to fill it with cobalt, as I
+sat by, she said suddenly yet softly--
+
+"Mother Annora, I have been considering whether I should tell you
+something."
+
+"Tell me what, dear child?" quoth I.
+
+"I am afraid," said she, "I shocked you yesterday, making you think I
+was scarcely sound in the faith.  Yet where can lie the verity of the
+faith, if not in Holy Writ?  And I marvelled if it should aggrieve you
+less, if you knew one thing--yet that might give you pain."
+
+"Let me hear it, Joan."
+
+"Did you know," said she, dropping her voice low, "that it was in part
+for heresy that your own father suffered death?"
+
+"My father!" cried I.  "Joan, I know nothing of my father, save only
+that he angered Queen Isabel, and for what cause wis I not."
+
+"For two causes: first, because the King her husband loved him, and she
+was of that fashion that looked on all love borne by him as so much
+robbed from herself.  But the other was that very thing--that she was
+orthodox, and he was--what the priests called an heretic.  There might
+be other causes: some men say he was proud, and covetous, and unpitiful.
+I know not if it be true or no.  But that they writ him down an
+heretic, as also they did his father, and Archdeacon Baldok--so much I
+know."
+
+I felt afraid to ask more, and yet I had great longing to hear it.
+
+"And my mother?" said I.  I think I was like one that passes round and
+round a matter, each time a little nearer than before--wishing, and yet
+fearing, to come to the kernel of it.
+
+"I have heard somewhat of her," said Joan, "from the Lady Julian my
+grandmother.  She was a Leybourne born, and she wedded my grandfather,
+Sir John de Hastings, whose stepmother was the Lady Isabel La Despenser,
+your father's sister.  I think, from what she told me, your mother was a
+little like--Sister Roberga."
+
+I am sorely afraid I ought not to have answered as I did, for it
+was--"The blessed saints forfend!"
+
+"Not altogether," said Joan, with a little laugh.  "I never heard that
+she was ill-tempered.  On the contrary, I imagine, she was somewhat too
+easy; but I meant, a little like what Mother Gaillarde calls a
+butterfly--with no concern for realities--frivolous, and lacking in due
+thought."
+
+"Was your grandmother, the Lady Julian, an admirer of these new
+doctrines?" said I.
+
+"They were scarcely known in her day as they have been since," said
+Joan; "only the first leaves, so to speak, were above the soil: but so
+far as I can judge from what I know, I should say, not so.  She was a
+great stickler for old ways and the authority of the Church."
+
+"And your mother?"  I was coming near delicate ground, I felt, now.
+
+"Oh! she, I should say, would have liked our doctrines better.  Mother
+Annora, is there blue enough here, or shall I put on another coat?"
+
+Joan looked up at me as she spoke.  I said I thought it was deep enough,
+and she might now begin the shading.  Her head went down again to her
+work.
+
+"My mother," said she, "was no bigot, nor did she much love priests; I
+dare venture to say, had Father Wycliffe written then as he has now, she
+would somewhat have supported him so far as lay in her power.  But my
+father, I think, would have loved these doctrines best of all.  I have
+heard say he spoke against the ill lives of the clergy, and the idle
+doings of the Mendicant Friars: and little as I was when he departed to
+God, I can myself remember that he used to tell me stories of our Lord
+and the ancient saints and patriarchs, which I know, now that I can read
+it, to have come out of God's Word.  Ay, methinks, had he lived, he
+would have helped forward this new reformation of doctrine and manners."
+
+"Reformation!" cries Mother Ada, entering the chamber.  "I would we
+could have a reformation in this house.  What my Lady would be at,
+passeth me to conceive.  She must think I have two pairs of eyes and six
+pairs of hands, if no more.  Do but guess, Sister Annora, what she wants
+to have done."
+
+"Nay, that I cannot," said I.  I foresaw some hard work, for my Lady is
+one who leaves things to go as they list for ever so long, and then,
+suddenly waking up, would fain turn the house out o' windows ere one can
+shut one's eyes.
+
+"Why, if she did not send for me an hour after we came out, and said the
+condition of the chapel was shameful; how could we have let it get into
+such a state?  Father Mortimer was completely scandalised at the sight
+of it.  All the holy images were all o'er cobwebs, and all--"
+
+"And all of a baker's dozen of blessed times," said Sister Gaillarde,
+entering behind, "have I been at her for new pails and brushes, never
+speak of soap.  I told her a spider as big as a silver penny had spun a
+line from Saint Peter's key to Saint Katherine's nose; and as to the
+dust--why, you could make soup of it.  I've dusted Saint Katherine many
+a time with my hands, for I had them, if I'd nought else: and trust me,
+the poor Saint looked so forlorn, I fairly wondered she did not speak.
+Had I been the image of a saint, somebody would have heard of it, I
+warrant you, when that spider began scuttering up and down my nose."
+
+"And now she bids us drop every thing, and go and clean out the chapel,
+this very morning--to have done by vesper time!  Did you ever hear such
+a thing?" said Sister Ada, from the bench whereon she had sunk.
+
+"Mother Ada," said Sister Josia, "would you show me--"
+
+"Mercy on us, child, harry not me!" cried Sister Ada.
+
+"But I do not know whether a lily should be in this corner by the
+blessed Mary," said Sister Josia, "or if the ass should stand here."
+
+"The lily, by all means," said Sister Gaillarde.  "Prithee paint not an
+ass: there's too many in this world already."
+
+"I do wish Father Mortimer would attend to his own business!" cried
+Sister Ada, "or that we had old Father Hamon back again.  I do hate
+these new officers: they always find fault with every thing."
+
+"Ay, new brooms be apt to sweep a bit too clean," replied Sister
+Gaillarde.  "Mary love us, but I would we had a new broom!  I don't
+believe there are twenty bristles left of the old one."
+
+Joan looked up from her griffin's tail to laugh.
+
+"Well, what is to be done?"
+
+"Oh, I suppose we must do as we are bid," saith Sister Ada in a mournful
+voice.  "But, dear heart, to think of it!"
+
+"How many pails have you, Sister Ada?"
+
+"There's the large bouget, and the little one.  The middle-sized one is
+broken, but it will hold some water."
+
+"Two and a half, then," answered Sister Gaillarde.  "Well, fetch them,
+Sister, and I will go and see to the mops.  I think we have a mop left.
+Perhaps, now, if we din our needs well into my Lady's ears, we may get
+one or two more.  But, sweet Saint Felicitas! is there any soap?"
+
+"Half a firkin came in last week," responded Sister Ada.  "You forget,
+Sister Gaillarde, the rule forbids us to ask more than once for
+anything."
+
+"The rule should forbid Prioresses to have short memories, then.  Come,
+Sister Annot, leave that minikin fiddle-faddle, and come and help with
+the real work.  If it is to be done by vespers, we want all the hands we
+can get.  I will fetch Sister Margaret to it; she always puts her heart
+into what she has to do.  Well, you look sorely disappointed, child: I
+am sorry for it, but I cannot help it.  I have no fancy for such
+vanities, but I dare say you like better sticking bits of gold leaf upon
+vellum than scrubbing and sweeping."
+
+"Sister Annot, I am ashamed of you!" said Sister Ada.  "Your perfection
+must be very incomplete, if you can look disappointed on receiving an
+order from your superior.  You ought to rejoice at such an opportunity
+of mortifying your will."
+
+"That's more than I've done," said Sister Gaillarde.  "Well, Sister Ada,
+as you don't offer to move, I suppose we had better leave you here till
+you have finished rejoicing over the opportunity.  I hope you'll get
+done in time to take advantage of it.  Come, Sister Annot."
+
+I thought I had better follow.  So, having given Joan a few directions
+to enable her to go on for a time without superintendence, I went to see
+after the water-bougets, which should have been Sister Ada's work.  She
+called after me--"Sister Annora, I'll follow you in a moment.  I have
+not quite finished my rosary."
+
+I left her there, telling her last few beads, and went to fetch the
+bougets, which I carried to the chapel, just as Sister Gaillarde came in
+with her arms full, followed by Margaret and Annot.
+
+"I've found two mops!" she cried.  "Mine was all right, but where Sister
+Ada keeps hers I cannot tell.  Howbeit, Sister Joan has one.  Now,
+Sister Annora, if you will bring yours--And see here, these brushes have
+a few bristles left--this is a poor set-out, though.  It'll do to knock
+off spiders.  Now, Sister Margaret, fetch that long ladder by the garden
+door.  Sister Annot, you had better go up,--you are the lightest of us,
+and I am not altogether clear about that ladder, but it is the only one
+we have.  Well-a-day! if I were Pr--Catch hold of Saint James by the
+head, Sister Annot, to steady yourself.  Puff! faugh! what a dust!"
+
+We were all over dust in a few minutes.  I should think it was months
+since it had been disturbed, for my Lady never would order the chapel to
+be cleaned.  We worked away with a will, and got things in order for
+vespers.  Sister Annot just escaped a bad fall, for a rung of the ladder
+gave way, and if she had not clutched Saint Peter by the arm, down she
+would have come.  Howbeit, Saint Peter held, happily, and she escaped
+with a bruise.
+
+Just as things were getting into order, and we had finished all the
+dirty work, Sister Ada sauntered in.
+
+"Well, really," said Sister Gaillarde, "I did not believe you could
+truly rejoice in the mortification of your will till I saw how long it
+took you!  Thank you, the mortification is done; you will have to wait
+till next time: I only hope you will let this rejoicing count.  There's
+nothing left for you, but to empty the slops and wipe out the pails."
+
+Joan told me afterwards, in a tone of great amusement, that "Mother Ada
+finished her beads very slowly, and then said she would go after you.
+But she stopped to look at Sister Annot's work, and at once discovered
+that if left in that state it would suffer damage before she came back.
+So she sat down and wrought at that for above an hour.  Then she was
+just going again, but she found that an end of the fringe was coming off
+my robe, and she fetched needle and thread of silk, and sewed it on.
+The third time she was just going, when she saw the fire wanted wood.
+So she kept just going all day till about half an hour before vespers,
+and then at last she contrived to go."
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Note 1.  I may here ask pardon for an anachronism in having brought
+Wycliffe forward as a Reformer some years before he really began to be
+so.  The state of men's minds in general was as I have described it; the
+uneasy stir of coming reformation was in the air; the pamphlet which is
+so often (but wrongly) attributed to Wycliffe, The Last Age of the
+Church, had been written some fifteen years before this time: but
+Wycliffe himself, though then a political reformer, did not come forward
+as a religious reformer until about six years later.
+
+Note 2.  Psalm 138 verse 2, Vulgate.  The Authorised Version correctly
+follows the Hebrew--"Thou hast magnified Thy Word above all Thy Name."
+
+
+
+PART THREE, CHAPTER 5.
+
+WAITING.
+
+  "If we could push ajar the gates of life,
+  And stand within, and all God's workings see,
+  We could interpret all this doubt and strife,
+  And for each mystery could find a key.
+
+  "But not to-day.  Then be content, poor heart!
+  God's plans, like lilies pure and white, unfold:
+  We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart;
+  Time will reveal the calyxes of gold.
+
+  "And if through patient toil we reach the land
+  Where tired feet with sandals loose may rest,
+  When we shall clearly see and understand,
+  I think that we shall say--`God knew the best.'"
+
+When we came out from the chapel after vespers, my Lady commanded Sister
+Gaillarde to follow her.  The rest of us went, of course, to the
+work-room, where Sister Gaillarde joined us in about half an hour.  I
+saw that she looked as though she had heard something that greatly
+amused her, but we could know nothing till we reached the
+recreation-room.
+
+The minute our tongues were loosed, Sister Ada attacked Sister Gaillarde
+as to what my Lady wanted with her.  With one of her grim smiles, Sister
+Gaillarde replied--
+
+"My Lady is about to resign her office."
+
+A storm of exclamations greeted the news.
+
+"Why, Sister?  Do tell us why."
+
+"She finds," said Sister Gaillarde, gravely, "the burden of her official
+duties too heavy."
+
+"I marvel what she reckons them to be!" quoth Sister Joan, who, though
+not sarcastic in the style of Sister Gaillarde, can now and then say a
+biting thing.  "So far as I ever made out, her duties are to sit on
+cushions and bid other folks work."
+
+"Exactly: and that is too much labour for her."
+
+"Which of us will be chosen in her stead, I marvel!" said Sister Ada,
+briskly.  "I trust it may be one who will look better to her house than
+the present Lady has done."
+
+"Amen," said Sister Gaillarde, with a mischievous air.  "I hope it will
+be Sister Joan."
+
+"Truly, I hope not," answered the Sister: "for if any such honour came
+my way (which I expect not), I should feel it my duty to decline it on
+account of my failing sight."
+
+"Then you see, my Sisters," quoth Sister Ada, quickly, "to vote for
+Mother Joan would be to no good."
+
+"It would be little good to vote for Mother Ada," I heard a voice
+whisper behind me; and another replied, "She thinks we all shall, I
+warrant."
+
+I feel little doubt that Sister Gaillarde will be the one chosen.  One
+of us four it is most likely to be: and the sub-Prioress is oftener
+chosen than the rest.  Sister Gaillarde, methinks, would make a good
+Prioress.
+
+We had scarcely recovered from our surprise, and had not half finished
+our talk, when the bell rang for compline: and silence fell on all the
+busy tongues.  All the young Sisters, and the postulants, were eager to
+catch a glimpse of Father Mortimer; and I saw a good deal of talk pass
+from eyes to eyes, in the few minutes before the service began.  He
+sings full well, and is most seemly in his ordering of matters.  If he
+be as discreet in the confessional as in his outer ministrations,
+methinks I shall like him well.  Howbeit, he made a deal less impression
+than he would have done before my Lady's intention was announced.  When
+we filed out of the chapel, and assembled again in the recreation-room,
+the tongues were set loose, and I could see that the main stream of talk
+ran on my Lady; only one here and there diverging to Father Mortimer.  I
+sought out Joan, and asked if our new confessor were any kin to her.
+She could not tell me, beyond saying that she has three uncles and
+several cousins in the priesthood; but since, saving her uncle Walter,
+she has never seen any of them, she could not speak certainly without
+asking himself.
+
+I marvel I have not seen Margaret all this even, now I come to think.  I
+was so taken up with the news concerning my Lady that I never thought to
+look for her: and in chapel she sits on the Epistle side, as I do, so
+that I see her not.
+
+This morrow my Lady called us into conclave, and made known her
+resignation, which she has already tendered to the Master: and bade us
+all farewell.  She will not tarry with us, but goes into the daughter
+house at Cambridge; this somewhat surprises me, though I see it does not
+Sister Gaillarde.
+
+"There'll be more stir there," said she.
+
+"Think you my Lady likes stir?" said I.  "I have always reckoned her one
+that loved not to be stirred."
+
+"Soothly," said Sister Gaillarde: "yet she loveth well to sit on her
+cushions, and gaze on the stir as a peep-show."
+
+A few hours later we were all again assembled in conclave, and the
+Master himself with us, for election of a new Prioress.  And after the
+mass of the Holy Ghost we Mothers went round to gather up the votes.  It
+fell as I looked, and Sister Gaillarde is elected.  In all the house
+there were only nine that voted otherwise, and of these four were for
+Sister Joan, two for Sister Ismania, and one each for Sisters Ada,
+Isabel, and myself.  I feel sure that mine was Margaret's: and Joan says
+she is certain Sister Ada's was her own.  I voted, as before, for Sister
+Gaillarde, for truly I think her fittest of all for the place.  Her
+ordination fallows next week.
+
+"Verily," said Sister Ada, the next time we were at recreation, "I do
+marvel at Sister Gaillarde's manner of taking her election.  Not one
+word of humility or obedience, but just took it as if it were her right,
+and she were the most suitable person!"
+
+"Why, that was obedience, was it not?" responded Sister Ismania.
+
+"Obedience it might be, but it was not lowliness!" said Sister Ada,
+tartly.  "If I had been elect--of course I do not mean that I expected
+such a thing, not for a moment--I should have knelt down and kissed the
+chapel floor, and protested my sense of utter unworthiness and
+incapacity for such an office."
+
+Sister Isabel, who sat by me, said in a low voice,--"Maybe some of your
+Sisters would have agreed with you."  And though I felt constrained to
+give her a look of remonstrance, I must say I thought with her.  Sister
+Ada as Prioress would have been a sore infliction.
+
+But now Sister Gaillarde herself came forward.  I do not think Sister
+Ada had known she was there, to judge from her change of colour.
+
+"Sister Ada," said she, "you are one of those surface observers who
+always fancy people do not feel what they do not say.  Let me answer you
+once for all, and any who think with you.  As a sinner before God, I do
+feel mine unworthiness, even to the lowest depth: and I am bound to
+humble myself for all my sins, and not least for the pride which would
+fain think them few and small.  But as for incapacity, I do not feel
+that; and I shall not say what I do not feel.  I think myself quite
+capable of governing this house--I do not say as well as some might do
+it, but as well as most would do; and it would be falsehood and
+affectation to pretend otherwise.  I suppose, in condemning hypocrisy,
+our Lord did not mean that while we must not profess to be better than
+we are, we may make any number of professions, and tell any number of
+falsehoods, in order to appear worse than we are.  That may be your
+notion of holiness; but suffer me to say, it is not my notion of
+honesty.  I mean to try and do my duty; and if any of my Sisters thinks
+I am not doing it, she will confer a favour on me if she will not talk
+it over with the other Sisters, but come straight to my rooms and tell
+me so.  I promise to consider any such rebukes, honestly, as before God;
+and if on meditation and prayer I find that I have been wrong, I will
+confess it to you.  But if I think that it was simply done out of spite
+or impertinence, that Sister will have a penance set her.  I hope, now,
+we understand each other: and I beg the prayers of you all that I may
+rule in the fear of God, showing neither partiality nor want of
+sympathy, but walking in the right way, and keeping this house pure from
+sin."
+
+Sister Ada made no answer whatever.  Sister Ismania said, with much
+feeling--
+
+"Suffer me, Mother, to answer for the younger Sisters, and I trust the
+Mothers will pardon me if I am over ready.  Sure am I that the majority
+of my Sisters will consent to my reply.  We will indeed pray that you
+may have the grace of perseverance in good works, and will strive to
+obey your holy directions in the right path.  I ask every Sister who
+will promise the same to say `_Placet_.'"
+
+There was a storm of _Placets_ in response.  But unless I was mistaken,
+Sister Ada and Sister Roberga were silent.
+
+It was while she was answering "_Placet_" that I caught sight of
+Margaret's face.  What had happened to make her look thus white and wan,
+with the expressive eyes so full of tears behind them, which she could
+not or would not shed?  I sat in pain the whole day until evening, and
+the more because she seemed rather to avoid me.  But at night, when we
+had parted, and all was quiet in the dormitories, a very faint rap came
+at the door of my cell.  I bade the applicant enter in peace: and
+Margaret presented herself.
+
+"Annora!" she said, hesitating timidly.
+
+I knew what that meant.
+
+"Come to me, little Sister," I said.
+
+She came forward at once, closing the door behind her, and knelt down at
+my feet.  Then she buried her face in her hands, and laid face and hands
+upon my knee.
+
+"Let me weep!" she sobbed.  "Oh, let me weep for a few moments in
+silence, and do not speak to me!"
+
+I kept silence, and she wept till her heart was relieved.  When at last
+her sobs grew quiet, she brushed her tears away, and looked up.
+
+"Bless thee, Annora!  That has done me good.  It is something to have
+somebody who will say, `Little Sister,' and give one leave to weep in
+peace.  Dost thou know what troubles me?"
+
+"Not in the least, dear Margaret.  That something was troubling thee I
+had seen, but I cannot guess what it was."
+
+"I shall get over it now," she said.  "It is only the reopening of the
+old wound.  Thou hast not guessed, then, who Father Mortimer is?"
+
+"Margaret!"
+
+"Ay, God has given my Roland back to me--yet has not given him.  It is
+twenty years since we parted, and we are no longer young--nor, I hope,
+foolish.  We can venture now to journey on, on opposite sides of the
+way, without being afraid of loving each other more than God.  There can
+hardly be much of the road left now: and when it is over, the children
+will meet in the safe fellowship of the Father's Home for ever.  Dost
+thou know, Annora dear, I am almost surprised to find myself quite so
+childish?  I thought I should have borne such a meeting as calmly as any
+one else,--as calmly as he did."  There was a little break in her voice.
+"He always had more self-control than I.  Only I dare not confess to
+him, for his own sake.  He would be tempted either to partiality, or to
+too much severity in order to avoid it.  I must content myself with
+Father Benedict: and when I want Roland's teaching--those blessed words
+which none ever gave to me but himself--wilt thou give me leave to tell
+thee, so that thou mayest submit the matter to him in thine own
+confession?"
+
+I willingly agreed to this: but I am sorry for my poor child.  Father
+Benedict is terribly particular and severe.  I think Father Mortimer
+could scarcely be more so, however hard he was trying not to be partial.
+And I cannot help a little doubt whether his love has lasted like hers.
+Sweet Saint Mary! what am I saying?  Do I not know that every sister,
+every priest, in this house would be awfully shocked to know that such a
+thing could be?  It is better it should not.  And yet--my poor child!
+
+This house no longer holds a Sister or Mother Gaillarde.  She is now
+Lady Prioress, having been ordained and enthroned this afternoon.  I
+must say the ceremony of vowing obedience felt to me less, not more,
+than that simple _Placet_ the other day, which seemed to come red-hot
+from the hearts that spake it.
+
+The Sister chosen to succeed her as Mother is Sister Ismania.  I am glad
+of it, for she is certainly fittest for the place.  Mother Joan becomes
+the senior Mother.
+
+Our new Prioress does not let the grass grow under her feet, and is very
+different from her predecessor.  During the first week after her
+appointment, such quantities of household articles began to pour in--
+whereof, in sooth, we stood in grievous need--that we Mothers were at
+our wits' end where to put them.  I thought the steward's man would
+never have done coming to the grating with such announcements as--"Five
+hundredweight of wax, if you please, ladies; a hundred pounds of
+candles, ladies; twenty oaks for firewood, ladies; two sacks of seacoal,
+ladies; ten pieces of nuns' cloth, ladies; a hundred ells of cloth of
+linen, ladies; six firkins of speckled Bristol soap, ladies,"--cloth of
+Sarges [serge], cloth of Blanket [Note 1], cloth of Rennes; mops,
+bougets, knives, beds; cups, jugs, and amphoras; baskets by the dozen;
+quarters of wheat, barley, oats, beans, peas, and lentils; stockfish and
+ling, ginger and almonds, pipes of wine and quarts of oil--nay, I cannot
+tell what there was not.  Sister Ada lost her temper early, and sorely
+bewailed her hard lot in having first to carry and find room for all
+these things, and secondly to use them.  The old ways had suited her
+well enough: she could not think what my Lady wanted with all this
+mopping and scouring.  Even Sister Joan said a little sarcastically that
+she thought my Lady must be preparing for the possibility of our having
+to stand a siege.  My Lady, who heard both behind their backs, smiled
+her grim smile and went on.  She does not keep in her own rooms like the
+last Prioress, but is here, there, and every where.  Those of the
+Sisters who are indolently inclined dislike her rule exceedingly.  For
+myself, I think in truth we have been going along too easily, and am
+glad to see the reins tightened and the horse admonished to be somewhat
+brisker: yet I cannot say that I can always keep pace with my Lady, and
+at times I am aware of a feeling of being driven on faster than I can go
+without being out of breath, and perhaps risking a fall.  A little
+occasional rest would certainly be a relief.  Howbeit, life is our
+working-day: and there will be time to rest in Heaven.
+
+Joan tells me that she has had some talk with Father Mortimer, and finds
+that her mother and he were cousins, he being the only son of her
+grandfather's brother, Sir John de Mortimer, who died young in the
+tilt-yard [Note 2].  It is strange, passing strange, that he and
+Margaret should have been drawn to one another--he the nephew, and she
+the daughter, of men who were deadly enemies.  From what Joan saith, I
+can gather that this grandfather of hers must have been a very evil man
+in many ways.  I love not to hear of evil things and men, and I do
+somewhat check her when she speaks on that head.  Was it not for eating
+of the tree of knowledge of good and evil that our first fathers were
+turned out of Paradise?  Yet the Psalmist speaks of God as "He that
+teacheth man knowledge."  I will ask Father Mortimer to explain it when
+I confess.
+
+The time is not far off now when my child Joan must leave us, and I
+shrink from it as it draws near.  I would either that she were one of
+us, or that I could go back to the world.  Yet neither can be, seeing
+she is wedded wife and mother: and for me, is not this the very carnal
+affection which religious persons are bidden to root out of their
+hearts?  Yet the Apostle Saint John saith we are to love our brethren.
+How can I do both?  Is it lawful to love, only so long as we love not
+one above another?  But our Lord Himself had His beloved disciple: and
+surely one's own mother must ever be more to her daughter than some
+other woman's mother?  This also I will ask Father Mortimer.
+
+Lack-a-day! this world is full of puzzles, or rather it is this life.  I
+would one might see the way a little clearer--might have, as it were, a
+thread put into one's hand to guide one out of the labyrinth, like that
+old Grecian story which we teach the children.  Some folks seem to lose
+their way easier than others; and some scarcely seem to behold any
+labyrinth at all--they walk right through those matters which are walls
+and hedges to others, and look as though they never perceived that any
+such things were there.  Is it because of recklessness of right, or of
+single-heartedness and sincerity?
+
+There are three matters to lay before Father Mortimer.  I shall think
+long till the time come; and I hope he will be patient with me.
+
+So soon as I stepped forth of my cell this morrow, I was aware of a kind
+of soft sobbing at no great distance.  I went towards it, and as I
+turned the corner of the corridor, I came on a young novice, by name
+Denise, who sat on the ground with a pail before her, and a flannel and
+piece of soap on one side of it.
+
+"What is the matter, child?" said I.
+
+"Mother Ismania bade me scrub the boards," said she.
+
+"Well! wherefore no?"
+
+Denise fell a-sobbing yet more.  For a minute or two might I not come at
+the reason: but at the last I did--she was a kinswoman of Sir Michael de
+La Pole, and thought it so degrading to be set to scrub boards!
+
+"Why, dear heart," said I, "we all do work of this fashion."
+
+"Oh yes, common Sisters may," quoth she.
+
+"Well," said I, "we cannot be all uncommon.  I ensure thee, Denise,
+there are here many daughters of better houses than thine.  Mother
+Ismania herself is daughter of an offshoot of the Percys, and Sister
+Isabel is a Neville by her mother.  My Lady is a Fitzhugh of
+Ravenswath."
+
+"Well, Sisters!" came from behind us in my Lady's most sarcastic voice,
+"you choose a nice time for comparing your pedigrees.  Maybe it were as
+well to leave that interesting amusement for recreation-time, and scrub
+the corridor just now."
+
+Sister Denise melted again into tears, and I turned to explain.
+
+"Your pail looks pretty full, Sister," said my Lady grimly: "much more
+water will make it overflow."
+
+"May it please you, Madam," said I, "Sister Denise is thus distressed
+because she, being a De La Pole, is set to scrubbing and such like
+menial work."
+
+"Oh, is she, indeed?" laughed my Lady.  "Sister, do you know what Mother
+Annora is?"
+
+Sister Denise could only shake her head.
+
+"Her mother was grand-daughter to King Edward of Westminster," said my
+Lady.  "If we three were in the world, I should be scantly fit to bear
+her train and you would be little better than her washerwoman.  But I
+never heard her grumble to scour the corridor and she has done it more
+times than ever you thought about it.  Foolish child, to suppose there
+was any degradation in honest work!  Was not our blessed Lord Himself a
+carpenter?  I warrant the holy Virgin kept her boards clean, and did not
+say she was too good to scrub.  No woman alive is too good to do her
+duty."
+
+Sister Denise brake forth into fresh sobs.
+
+"A wa--wa--washerwoman!  To be called a washerwoman!  [Note 3.]  Me,
+kinswoman of Sir Michael de La Pole, and Sir Richard to boot--a
+washerwo--woman!"
+
+"Don't be a goose!" said my Lady.  "De La Pole, indeed! who be these De
+La Poles?  Why, no more than merchants of Lombard Street, selling
+towelling at fivepence the ell, and coverchiefs of Cambray [Note 4] at
+seven shillings the piece.  Truly a goodly pedigree to boast of thus
+loudly!"
+
+"But, Madam!" cries Sister Denise--her tears, methinks, burned up by her
+vexation--"bethink you, Sir Michael my cousin is a knight, and his wife
+the Lady Katherine heiress of Wingfield, and the Lady Katherine his
+mother 'longeth to the knights De Norwich.  And look you, his sister is
+my Lady Scrope, and his cousin wedded the heir of the Lord Cobham of
+Kent."
+
+"Nay, tarry not there," said my Lady; "do go a bit further while thou
+art about it.  Was not my Lady Joan Cobham's mother daughter to my Lady
+of Devon, whose mother was daughter unto King Edward of Westminster--so
+thou art akin to the King himself?  I cry thee mercy, my Lady Princess,
+that I set thee to scrub boards.--Sister Annora, prithee, let this
+princely damsel go to school for a bit--she's short of heraldry.  The
+heiress of Wingfield, _the_ Lady Katherine, forsooth! and the daughter
+of Sir John de Norwich a `Lady' at all!  Why, child, we only call the
+King's kinswomen _the_ Lord and Lady.  As to thy cousin Sir Michael, he
+is a woolmonger and lindraper [linen draper.  The _en_ is a corruption]
+that the King thought fit to advance, because it pleased him, and maybe
+he had parts [talents] of some sort.  Sure thou hast no need to stick up
+thy back o' that count!  To-morrow, Sister Denise, thou wilt please to
+clean the fire-dogs, and carry forth the ashes to the lye-heap.--Come,
+Sister Annora; I lack you elsewhere."
+
+Poor little Denise broke into bitterer tears than ever; but I could not
+stay to comfort her, for I had to follow my Lady.
+
+"I do vow, this world is full of fools!" said she, as we went along the
+corridor.  "We shall have Sister Parnel, next, protesting that she knows
+not how much oats be a bushel, and denying to rub in the salt to a
+bacon, lest it should make her fingers sore.  And 'tis always those who
+have small reason that make fusses like this.  A King's daughter, when
+she takes the veil, looks for no different treatment from the rest; but
+a squire's daughter expects to have a round dozen of her Sisters told
+off to wait upon her.--Sister Egeline, feathers for stuffing are
+three-farthings a pound; prithee strew not all the floors therewith.
+(Sister Egeline had dropped no more than one; but my Lady is lynx-eyed.)
+Truly, it was time some one took this house in hand.  Had my sometime
+Lady ruled it another twelvemonth, there would have been never a bit of
+discipline left.  There's none so much now.  Sister Roberga had better
+look out.  If she gives me many more pert answers, she'll find herself
+barred into the penitential cell on bread and water."
+
+By this time we had reached the kitchen.  Sister Philippa was just
+coming out of it, carrying one hand covered with her veil.  My Lady came
+to a sudden halt.
+
+"What have you there, Sister?"
+
+Sister Philippa looked red and confused.
+
+"I have cut my finger," she said.
+
+My Lady's hand went into her pocket.
+
+"Hold it forth," said she, "and I will bind it up.  I always carry linen
+and emplasture."
+
+Sister Philippa made half a dozen lame excuses, but at last held out her
+left hand, having (if I saw rightly) passed something into the other,
+under cover of her veil.
+
+"Which finger?" said my Lady, who to my surprise took no notice of her
+action.
+
+"This," said Sister Philippa, holding out the first.
+
+My Lady studied it closely.
+
+"It must have healed quick," said she, "for I see never a scratch upon
+it."
+
+"Oh, then it is that," quoth Sister Philippa, holding forth the second
+finder.
+
+"I rather think, Sister, it is the other hand," said my Lady.  "Let me
+look at that."
+
+As my Lady was holding Sister Philippa's left hand, she had no chance to
+pass her hidden treasure into it.  She held forth her right hand--full
+unwillingly, as I saw--and something rustled down her gown and dropped
+with a flop at her feet.
+
+"Pick that up, Sister Annora," said my Lady.
+
+I obeyed, and unfolding a German coverchief, found therein a flampoynt
+and three placentae [a pork pie and three cheesecakes].
+
+"What were you going to do with these?" said my Lady.
+
+"It's always my luck!" cried Sister Philippa.  "Nothing ever prospers if
+I do it.  Saint Elizabeth's loaves turned into roses, but no saint that
+liveth ever wrought a miracle for me."
+
+"It is quite as well, Sister, that evil deeds should not prosper," was
+my Lady's answer.  "Saint Elizabeth was carrying loaves to feed the
+poor.  Was that your object?  If so, you shall be forgiven; but next
+time, ask leave first."
+
+Sister Philippa grew redder.
+
+"Was that your intention?" my Lady persisted.
+
+"I am sure I am as poor as any body!" sobbed the Sister.  "We never get
+any thing good.  All the nice things we make go to the poor, or to
+guests.  I can't see why one might not have a bite one's self."
+
+"Were you going to eat them yourself?"
+
+"One of them, I was: the others were for Sister Roberga."
+
+"Sister Roberga shall answer for herself.  I will have no tale-telling
+in my house.  This evening at supper, Sister, you will stand at the end
+of the refectory, with that placenta in your hand, and say in the
+hearing of all the Sisters--`I stole this placenta from the kitchen, and
+I ask pardon of God and the Saints for that theft.'  Then you may eat
+it, if you choose to do so."
+
+My Lady confiscated the remainder, leaving the placenta in Sister
+Philippa's hand.  She looked for a minute as if she would heartily like
+to throw it down, and stamp on it: but either she feared to bring on
+herself a heavier punishment, or she did not wish to lose the dainty.
+She wrapped it in her coverchief, and went upstairs, sobbing as she
+went.
+
+My Lady despatched Sister Marian at once to fetch Sister Roberga.  She
+came, looking defiant enough, and confessed brazenly that she knew of
+Sister Philippa's theft, and had incited her to it.
+
+"I thought as much," said my Lady sternly, "and therefore I dealt the
+more lightly with your poor dupe, over whom I have suspected your
+influence for evil a long while.  Sister Annora, do you and Sister
+Isabel take this sinner to the penitential cell, and I will take counsel
+how to use her."
+
+We tried to obey: but Sister Roberga proved so unmanageable that we had
+to call in three more Sisters ere we could lodge her in the cell.  At
+long last we did it; but my arms ached for some time after.
+
+Sister Philippa performed her penance, looking very shamefaced: but she
+left the placenta on the table of the refectory, and I liked her all the
+better for doing so.  I think my Lady did the same.
+
+Sister Roberga abode in the penitential cell till evening, when my Lady
+sent for the four Mothers: and we found there the Master himself, Father
+Benedict, and Father Mortimer.  The case was talked over, and it was
+agreed that Sister Roberga should be transferred to Shuldham where, as
+is reported, the Prioress is very strict, and knows how to hold her
+curb.  This is practically a sentence of expulsion.  We four all agreed
+that she was the black sheep in the Abbey, and that several of the
+younger Sisters--in especial Sister Philippa--would conduct themselves
+far better if she were removed.  Sister Ismania was sent to tell her the
+sentence.  She tossed her head and pretended not to care; but I cannot
+believe she will not feel the terrible disgrace.  Oh, why do women enter
+into the cloister who have no vocation? and, ah me! why is it forced
+upon them?
+
+At last I have been to confession to Father Mortimer, and I think I
+understand better what Margaret means, when she speaks of confessing to
+Father Benedict such things as he expects to hear.  I never could see
+why it must be a sin to eat a lettuce without making the holy sign over
+it.  Surely, if one thanks God for all He gives us, He will not be
+angered because one does not repeat the thanksgiving for every little
+separate thing.  Such thoughts of God seem to me to be bringing Him
+down, and making Him seem full of little foolish details like men--and
+like the poorest-minded sort of men too.  I see that people of high
+intellect, while they take much care of details that go to make
+perfection--as every atom of a flower is beautifully finished--take no
+care at all for mere trivialities--what my Lady calls fads--such as is,
+I think, making the sign of the cross over every mouthful one eats.
+Well, I made my confession and was absolved: and I told the priest that
+I much wished to ask his explanation of various matters that perplexed
+me.  He bade me say on freely.
+
+"Father," said I, "I pray you, tell me first, is knowledge good or
+evil?"
+
+"Solomon saith, my daughter, that `a wise man is strong;' and the
+prophet Osee laments that God's people are `destroyed for lack of
+knowledge.'  Our Lord chideth the lawyers of the Jews because they took
+away the key of knowledge: and Paul counted all things but loss for the
+knowledge of Jesu Christ.  Here is wisdom.  Why was Adam forbidden to
+eat of the tree of knowledge, seeing it was knowledge of good no less
+than evil?  Partly, doubtless, to test his obedience: yet partly also, I
+think, because, though the knowledge might be good in itself, it was not
+good for him.  God never satisfies mere curiosity.  He will tell thee
+how to come to Heaven; but what thou wilt find there, that He will not
+tell thee, save that He is there, and sin, suffering, and Sathanas, are
+not there.  He will aid thee to overcome thy sins: but how sin first
+entered into the fair creation which He made so good, thou mayest ask,
+but He gives no answer.  Many things there are, which perhaps we may
+know with safety and profit in Heaven, that would not be good for us to
+know here on earth.  Knowledge of God thou mayest have,--yea, to the
+full, so far as thine earthen vessel can hold it, even here.  Yet
+beware, being but an earthen vessel, that thy knowledge puff thee not
+up.  Then shall it work thee ill instead of good.  Moreover, have nought
+to do with knowledge of evil; for that is ill, altogether."
+
+"Then, how is it, Father," said I, "that some folks see their way so
+much plainer than others, and never become tangled in labyrinths?  They
+seem to see in a moment one thing to be done, and that only: not as
+though they walked along a road which parted in twain, and knew not
+which turn to take."
+
+"There may be many reasons.  Some have more wit than others, and thus
+perceive the best way.  Some are less readily turned aside by minor
+considerations.  Some let their will conflict with God's will: and some
+desire to perceive His only, and to follow it."
+
+"Those last are perfect men," said I.
+
+"Ay," he made answer: "or rather, they are sinners whom Christ first
+loved, and taught to love Him back.  My daughter, love is the great clue
+to lead thee out of labyrinths.  Whom lovest thou--Jesu Christ, or
+Sister Alianora?"
+
+"Now, Father, you land me in my last puzzle.  I have always been taught,
+ever since I came hither, a little child, that love of God and the holy
+saints is the only love allowed to a religious woman.  All other love is
+worldly, carnal, and wicked.  Tell me, is this true?"
+
+"No."  The word came quick and curt.
+
+"Truly," said I, "it would give me great relief to be assured of that.
+The love of our kindred, then, is permitted?"
+
+"`Whoso loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God
+whom he hath not seen?  And this mandate we have from God: that he who
+loveth God, love his brother also.'"
+
+"Father," said I, fairly enchanted to hear such words, "are those words
+of some holy doctor, such as Saint Austin?"
+
+"They are the words," saith he softly, "of the disciple that Jesu loved.
+He seems to have caught a glimmer of his Master."
+
+"But," said I, "doth it mean my mother's son, or only my brother in
+religion?"
+
+"It can scarcely exclude thy mother's son," saith he somewhat drily.
+"Daughter, see thou put God first: and love all other as much as ever
+thou canst."
+
+"_Ha, jolife_!" cried I, "if the Church will but allow it."
+
+"What God commandeth," said he, "can not His Church disallow."
+
+Methought I heard a faint stress on the pronoun.
+
+"Father," said I, "are there more Churches than one?"
+
+"There is one Bride of Christ.  There is also a synagogue of Satan."
+
+"Ah! that, I count, is the Eastern Church, that man saith hath departed
+from the faith."
+
+"They that depart from the faith make that Church.  I fear they may so
+do in the West as well as the East."
+
+"Well, in the most holy universal Church are counted both the holy Roman
+Church, and our own mother, the Church of England," said I.  "I know not
+if it include the Eastern schism or no."
+
+"All these," saith he, "are names of men, and shall perish.  All that is
+of man must come to nought.  The Church Catholic, true and holy, is not
+of man, but of God.  In her is gathered every saved soul, whether he
+come from the east or from the west, from the north or from the south.
+She is not Pauline, nor Petrine, nor Johannine, but Christian.  The
+heavenly Bridegroom cannot have two Brides.  `One is My dove, My perfect
+one,' There are many counties in England; there is but one realm.  So
+there are many so-called Churches: there is but one holy Church."
+
+"But to find her commands," I answered, "we must, I suppose, hearken
+each to his own branch of the Church?"
+
+"Her Lord's commands are hers.  `Hear thou _Him_.'  The day is coming,
+daughter, when the Scriptures of God's Word shall be all rendered into
+English tongue, and, I firmly trust, shall be accessible to every man
+that chooses to know them.  Pray thou heartily for that day; and
+meanwhile, keep thou close following Christ's steps, to the best of thy
+knowledge, and entreat Him for pardon of all unknown sins.  And when the
+light of day is fully come, and the blessed lamp of Holy Writ placed in
+the hands of the people, then come to the light that thou mayest clearly
+see.  For then woe, woe upon him that tarrieth in the shadow!  `If the
+light that is in thee be darkness, what darkness can equal it?'"
+
+"Father," said I, "I thank you, for you have much comforted me.  All
+this while have I been trying not to love folks; and I find it full hard
+to do."
+
+"Battle with thy sins, Daughter, and let thy love alone.  I counsel thee
+to beware of one thing, of which many need no warning to beware: I think
+thou dost.  A thing is not sin because it is comfortable and pleasant;
+it is not good because it is hard or distasteful.  Why mortify thy will
+when it would do good?  It is the will to sin which must be mortified.
+When Christ bade His disciples to `love their enemies,' He did not mean
+them to hate their friends.  True love must needs be true concern for
+the true welfare of the beloved.  How can that be sin?  It is not love
+which will help man to sin! that love cometh of Sathanas, and is
+`earthly, sensual, devilish.'  But the love which would fain keep man
+from sin,--this is God's love to man, and man cannot err in bestowing it
+on his brother."
+
+"But is it sin, Father, to prefer one in love above another?"
+
+"It is sin to love man more than God.  Short of that, love any one, and
+any how, that ever thou wilt.  The day _may_ come--"
+
+He brake off suddenly.  I looked up.
+
+"There were wedded priests in England, not an hundred years ago," [Note
+5] he said in a low voice.  "And there were no monks nor nuns in the
+days of the Apostles.  The time may come--_Fiat voluntas Tua!  Filia,
+pax tibi_."
+
+Thus gently dismissed, I rose up and came back into the
+illuminating-room, where I found Joan gathering together her brushes and
+other gear.
+
+"The last time!" she said, sadly--for she returns to her home to-morrow.
+"Why is it that last times are always something sorrowful?  I am going
+home to my Ralph and the children, and am right glad to do it: and yet I
+feel very mournful at the thought of leaving you, dear Mother Annora.
+Must it ever be so in this life, till we come to that last time of all
+when, setting forth on the voyage to meet Christ our Lord, we yet say
+`farewell' with a pang to them we leave behind?"
+
+"I reckon so, dear heart," said I, sighing a little.  "But Father
+Mortimer hath comforted me by words that he saith are from Holy Writ--to
+wit, that he which loveth God should love his brother likewise.  I
+always wanted to love folks."
+
+"And always did it, dear Mother," said Joan with a laugh, casting her
+arms around my neck, "for all those chains of old rules and dusty
+superstitions which are ever clanking about you.  And I am going to love
+you, whatever rules be to the contrary, and of whomsoever made.  Oh, why
+did ill folks push you into this convent, when you might have come and
+dwelt with Ralph and me, and been such a darling grandmother to my
+little ones?  There, now, I did not mean to make you look sorrowful.  I
+will come and see you every year, if it be only for an hour's talk at
+the grating; and my Lady, who is soft-hearted as she is rough-tongued,
+will never forbid it, I know."
+
+"Never forbid what, thou losenger?"  [Flatterer.]
+
+Joan turned round, laughing.
+
+"Dear my Lady, you are ever where man looketh not for you.  But I am
+sure you heard no ill of yourself.  You will never forbid me to visit my
+dear Mother Annora; you love her, and you love me."
+
+"Truly a pretty tale!" saith my Lady, pretending (as I could see) to
+look angry.
+
+"Now don't try to be angered with me," said Joan, "for I know you
+cannot.  Now I must go and pack my saddle-bags and mails."  [Trunks.]
+
+She went thence with her light foot, and my Lady looked somewhat sadly
+after her.
+
+"I love thee, do I, child?" saith she in another tone.  "Ah, if I do,
+thou owest it less to anything in thee than to the name they wed thee
+in.  Help us, Mother of Mercy!  Time was when I thought I, too, should
+one day have been a Greystoke.  Well, well!  God be merciful to us poor
+dreamers, and poor sinners too!"
+
+Then, with slower step than she is wont, she went after Joan.
+
+My child is gone, and I feel like a bereaved mother.  I shall see her
+again, if it please God, but what a blank she has left!  She says when
+next Lent comes, if God will, she will visit us, and maybe bring with
+her her little Laurentia, that she named after my lost love, because she
+had eyes like his.  God bless her, my child Joan!
+
+Sister Roberga set forth for Shuldham the same day, in company with
+Father Benedict, who desired to travel that road, and in charge of two
+of the brethren and of Sister Willa.  I trust she may some day see her
+errors, and amend her ways: but I cannot felicitate the community at
+Shuldham on receiving her.
+
+So now we shall slip back into our old ways, so far as can be under a
+Prioress who assuredly will let none of us suffer the moss to grow upon
+her, body or soul, so far as she can hinder it.  I hear her voice now
+beneath, in the lower corridor, crying to Sister Sigred, who is in the
+kitchen to-day--
+
+"Did ever man or woman see the like?  Burning seacoal on the
+kitchen-fire!  Dost thou mean to poison us all with that ill smoke?
+[Note 6.]  And wood in the wood-house more than we shall use in half a
+year!  Forty logs came in from the King only yesterday, and ten from my
+Lord of Lisle the week gone.  Sister Sigred, when shall I put any sense
+in you?"
+
+"I don't know, Madam, I'm sure!" was poor Sister Sigred's rather
+hopeless answer.
+
+I have found out at last what the world is.  I am so glad!  I asked
+Father Mortimer, and I told him how puzzled I was about it.
+
+"My daughter," said he, "thou didst renounce three things at thy
+baptism--the world, the flesh, and the Devil.  The works of the flesh
+thou wilt find enumerated in Saint Paul's Epistle to the Galatians
+[Galatians 5, verses 19-21]: and they are _not_ `love, joy, peace,
+long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance.'
+These are the fruits of the Spirit.  What the Devil is, thou knowest.
+Let us then see what is the world.  It lies, saith Saint John, in three
+things: the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of
+life.  What are these?  The lust of the flesh is not love, for that is a
+fruit of the Spirit.  It is self-love: worshipping thyself, comforting
+thyself, advantaging thyself, and regarding all others as either toys or
+slaves for that great idol, thyself.  The lust of the eye is not
+innocent enjoyment of the gifts of God: doth a father give gifts to his
+child in order that she may _not_ use and delight in them?  It lies in
+valuing His gifts above His will; taking the gift and forgetting the
+Giver; robbing the altar of God in order to deck thine idol, and that
+idol thyself.  Covetousness, love of gain, pursuit of profit to
+thyself--these are idolatry, and the lust of the eye.  The pride of
+life--what is this?  Once more, decking thyself with the property of
+God.  Show and grandeur, pomp and vanity, revelling and folly--all to
+show thee, to aggrandise thee, to delight thee.  The danger of abiding
+in the world is lest the world get into thee, and abide in thee.  Beware
+of the thought that there is no such danger in the cloister.  The world
+may be in thee, howsoever thou art out of the world.  A queen may wear
+her velvet robes with a single eye to the glory of God, and a nun may
+wear her habit with a single eye to the glory of self.  Fill thine heart
+with Christ, and there will be no room left for the world.  Fill thine
+heart with the world, and no room will be left for Christ.  They cannot
+abide together; they are contrary the one to the other.  Thou canst not
+saunter along the path of life, arm-in-arm with the world, in pleasant
+intercourse.  Her face is not toward the City of God: if thine be, ye
+must go contrary ways.  `How can two walk together, except they be
+agreed' what direction to pursue?  And remember, thou art one, and the
+world is many.  She is strong enough to pull thee round; thou art not at
+all likely to change her course.  And the peril of such intercourse is
+that the pulling round is so gradually effected that thou wilt never see
+it."
+
+"But how am I to help it, Father?"
+
+"By keeping thine eye fixed on God.  Set the Lord alway before thee.  So
+long as He is at thy right hand, thou shalt not be moved."
+
+Father Mortimer was silent for a moment; and when he spoke again, it was
+rather to himself, or to God, than to me.
+
+"Alas for the Church of God!" he said.  "The time was when her baptismal
+robes were white and spotless; when she came out, and was separate, and
+touched not the unclean thing.  Hath God repealed His command thus to
+do?  In no wise.  Hath the world become holy, harmless, undefiled--no
+longer selfish, frivolous, carnal, earth-bound?  Nay, for it waxeth
+worse and worse as the end draws nearer.  Woe is me! has the Church
+stepped down from her high position as the elect and select company of
+the sons of God, because these daughters of men are so fair and
+bewitching?  Is she slipping back, sliding down, dipping low her once
+high standard of holiness to the Lord, bringing down her aim to the
+level of her practice, because it suits not with her easy selfishness to
+gird up her loins and elevate her practice to what her standard was and
+ought to be?  And she gilds her unfaithfulness, forsooth, with the name
+of divine charity! saying, Peace, peace! when there is no peace.  `What
+peace, so long as the whoredoms of thy mother Jezebel and her
+witchcrafts are so many?'  They cry, `Speak unto us smooth things'--and
+the Lord hath put none such in our lips.  The word that He giveth us,
+that must we speak.  And it is, `Come out of her, My people, that ye be
+not partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues.'  Ye
+cannot remain and not partake the sins; and if ye partake the sins, then
+shall ye receive the plagues.  `What God hath joined together, let not
+man put asunder.'"  [Note 7.]
+
+Thank God for this light upon my path! for coming from His Word, it must
+be light from Heaven.  O my Lord, Thou art Love incarnate, and Thou hast
+bidden us to love each other.  Thou hast set us in families, and chosen
+our relatives, our neighbours, our surroundings.  From Thine hand we
+take them all, and use them, and love them, in Thee, for Thee, to Thee.
+"We are taught of God to love each other."  We only love too much when
+we love ourselves, or when we love others above Thee.  And "the command
+we have of Thee is that he who loveth Thee, love his brother also"--the
+last word we hear from Thee is a promise that Thou wilt come again, and
+take us--together, all--not to separate stars, but to be with Thee for
+ever.  Amen, Lord Jesu Christ, so let it be!
+
+It is several weeks since I have seen Margaret, otherwise than in
+community.  But to-night I heard the timid little rap on my door, and
+the equally timid "Annora?" which came after.  When Margaret says that
+word, in that tone, she wants a chat with me, and she means to inquire
+deprecatingly if she may have it.
+
+"Come in, darling," I said.
+
+Since Father Mortimer gave me leave to love any one, any how, so long as
+I put God first, I thought I might say "darling" to Margaret.  She
+smiled,--I fancied she looked a little surprised--and coming forward,
+she knelt down at my feet, in her favourite attitude, and laid her
+clasped hands in my lap.
+
+"Is there some trouble, Margaret?"
+
+"No, dear Annora.  Only little worries which make one feel tired out:
+nothing to be properly called trouble.  I am working under Mother Ada
+this week, and--well, you know what she is.  I do not wish to speak evil
+of any one: only--sometimes, one feels tired.  So I thought it would
+help me to have a little talk with my sister Annora.  Art thou weary
+too?"
+
+"I think I am rested, dear," said I.  "Father Mortimer has given me a
+word of counsel from Holy Writ, and it hath done me good."
+
+"He hath given me many an one," she saith, with a smile that seemed half
+pleasure and half pain.  "And I am trying to live by the light of the
+last I had--I know not if the words were Holy Writ or no, but I think
+the substance was--`If Christ possess thee, then shalt thou inherit all
+things.'"
+
+She was silent for a moment, with a look of far-away thought: and I was
+thinking that a hundred little worries might be as wearying and wearing
+as one greater trouble.  Suddenly Margaret looked up with a laugh for
+which her eyes apologised.
+
+"I could not help thinking," she said, "that I hope `all things' have a
+limit.  To inherit Mother Ada's temper would scarcely be a boon!"
+
+"All good things," said I.
+
+"Yes, all good things," she answered.  "That must mean, all things that
+our Lord sees good for us--which may not be those that we see good for
+ourselves.  But one thing we know--that if we be His, that must be,
+first of all, Himself--He with us here, we with Him hereafter.  And next
+to that comes the promise that they which are Christ's, with whom we
+have to part here, will be brought home with us when He cometh.  There
+is no restriction on the companying of the Father's children, when they
+are gathered together in the Father's House."
+
+I knew what she saw.  And I saw the dear grey eyes of my child Joan; but
+behind them, other eyes that mine have not beheld for fifty years, and
+that I shall see next--and then for ever--in the light of the Golden
+City.  Softly I said--[Note 8.]
+
+  "`_Hic breve vivitur, hic breve plangitur, hic breve fletur;
+  Non breve vivitur, non breve plangitur, retribuetur_.'"
+
+Margaret's reply sounded like the other half of an antiphon.  [Note 9.]
+
+"`_Plaude, cinis meus! est tua pars Deus; ejus es, et sis_.'"
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Note 1.  The early notices of blanket in the Wardrobe Accounts disprove
+the tradition that blankets were invented by Edward Blanket, buried in
+Saint Stephen's Church, Bristol, the church not having been built until
+1470.
+
+Note 2.  Father Mortimer is a fictitious person, this Sir John having in
+reality died unmarried.
+
+Note 3.  Laundresses were very much looked down on in the Middle Ages,
+and were but too often women of bad character.
+
+Note 4.  Cambric handkerchiefs.  It was then thought very mean to be in
+trade.
+
+Note 5.  Married priests existed in England as late as any where, if not
+later than in other countries.  Walter, Rector of Adlingfleet, married
+Alice niece of Savarie Abbot of York, about the reign of Richard the
+First.  (Register of John of Gaunt, volume 2, folio 148); "Emma, widow
+of Henry, the priest of Forlond," was living in 1284 (Close Roll, 12
+Edward the First); and "Denise, daughter of John de Colchester, the
+chaplain," is mentioned in 1322 (Ibidem, 16 Edward the Second).
+
+Note 6.  Coal smoke was then considered extremely unhealthy, while wood
+smoke was thought to be a prophylactic against consumption.
+
+Note 7.  I would fain add here a word of warning against one of Satan's
+wiliest devices, one of the saddest delusions of our time, for a
+multitude of souls are led astray by it, and in some cases it deceives
+the very elect.  I mean the popular blind terror of "controversy," so
+rife in the present day.  Let us beware that we suffer not indolence and
+cowardice to shelter themselves under the insulted name of charity.  We
+are bidden to "strive together for the truth of the Gospel"--"earnestly
+to contend for the faith" (in both places the Greek word means to
+_wrestle_); words which presuppose an antagonist and a controversy.
+Satan hates controversy; it is the spear of Ithuriel to him.  We are
+often told that controversy is contrary to the Gospel precepts of love
+to enemies--that it hinders more important work--that it injures
+spirituality.  What says the Apostle to whom to live was Christ--on whom
+came daily the care of all the Churches--who tells us that "the greatest
+of these is charity"?  "Though we, or an angel from Heaven, preach any
+other Gospel--let him be accursed!"  "To whom we gave place by
+subjection, no, not for an hour: that the truth of the Gospel might
+continue with you."  Ten minutes of friendly contact with the world will
+do more to injure spirituality than ten years of controversy conducted
+in a Christian spirit--not fighting for victory but for truth, not for
+ourselves but for Christ.  This miserable blunder will be seen in its
+true colours by those who have to eat its bitter fruit.
+
+Note 8.
+
+  "Brief life is here our portion;
+      Brief sorrow, short-lived care:
+  The life that hath no ending,
+      The tearless life, is there."
+
+Note 9.
+
+  "Exult, O dust and ashes!
+      The Lord shall be thy part:
+  His only, His for ever,
+      Thou shalt be, and thou art."
+
+
+
+APPENDIX.
+
+HISTORICAL APPENDIX.
+
+I.  THE ROYAL FAMILY.
+
+King Edward the Second was _born_ at Caernarvon Castle (but not, as
+tradition states, in the Eagle Tower, not then built), April 25, 1284;
+_crowned_ at Westminster Abbey, August 6, 1307, by the Bishop of
+Winchester, acting as substitute for the Archbishop of Canterbury.  The
+gilt spurs were borne by William le Mareschal; "the royal sceptre on
+whose summit is the cross" by the Earl of Hereford (killed in rebellion
+against the King) and "the royal rod on whose summit is the dove" by
+Henry of Lancaster, afterwards Earl: the Earls of Lancaster, Lincoln,
+and Warwick--of whom the first was beheaded for treason, and the third
+deserved to be so--bore the three swords, Curtana having the precedence:
+then a large standard (or coffer) with the royal robes, was carried by
+the Earl of Arundel, Thomas de Vere (son and heir of the Earl of
+Oxford), Hugh Le Despenser, and Roger de Mortimer, the best friend and
+the worst enemy of the hapless Sovereign: the King's Treasurer carried
+"the paten of the chalice of Saint Edward," and the Lord Chancellor the
+chalice itself: "then Peter de Gavaston, Earl of Cornwall, bore the
+crown royal," followed by King Edward himself, who offered a golden
+pound as his oblation.  The coronation oath was administered in French,
+in the following terms.  "Sire, will you grant and keep and confirm by
+oath to the people of England, the laws and customs to them granted by
+the ancient Kings of England, your predecessors, the rights and
+devotions [due] to God, and especially the laws, customs, and franchises
+granted to the clergy and people by the glorious King, Saint Edward,
+your predecessor?"  "I grant and promise them," was the royal answer.
+"Sire, will you preserve, towards God and holy Church, and to the clergy
+and people, peace and concord in God, fully, according to your power?"
+"I will keep them," said the King.  "Sire, will you in all your
+judgments do equal and righteous justice and discretion, in mercy and
+truth, according to your power?"  "I will so do."  "Sire, will you
+grant, to be held and kept, the righteous laws and customs which the
+commonalty of your realm shall choose, and defend them, and enforce them
+to the honour of God and according to your power?"  King Edward's answer
+was, "I grant and promise them."  Twenty years later, chiefly by the
+machinations of his wicked wife, aided by the blinded populace whom she
+had diligently misled, Edward was _deposed_ at Kenilworth, January 20,
+1327; and after being hurried from place to place, he was at last
+_murdered_ in Berkeley Castle, September 21, 1327, and _buried_ in
+Gloucester Cathedral on December 20th.
+
+In the companion volume, _In All Time of our Tribulation_, will be found
+the story, as told by the chroniclers, of his burial by the Abbot and
+monks of Gloucester.  The Wardrobe Accounts, however, are found to throw
+considerable doubt upon this tale.  We find from them, that the Bishop
+of Llandaff, three knights, a priest, and four lesser officials, were
+sent by the young King "to dwell at Gloucester with the corpse of the
+said King his father," which was taken from Berkeley Castle to
+Gloucester Abbey on October 21st.  (_Compotus Hugonis de Glaunvill_,
+Wardrobe Accounts, 1 Edward the Third, 58/4).  For the funeral were
+provided:--Three robes for knights, 2 shillings 8 pence each; 8 tunics
+for ditto, 14 pence each; four great lions of gilt picture-work, with
+shields of the King's arms over them, for wax mortars [square basins
+filled with wax, a wick being in the midst], placed in four parts of the
+hearse; four images of the Evangelists standing on the hearse, 66
+shillings, 8 pence; eight incensing angels with gilt thuribles, and two
+great leopards rampant, otherwise called volant, nobly gilt, standing
+outside the hearse, 66 shillings, 8 pence...  An empty tun, to carry the
+said images to Gloucester, 21 shillings...  Taking the great hearse from
+London to Gloucester, in December, 5 days' journey; for wax, canvas,
+napery, etcetera.  Wages of John Darcy, appointed to superintend the
+funeral, from November 22 to December 21, 19 pounds, 6 shillings, 8
+pence.  New hearse, 40 shillings; making thereof, from November 24 to
+December 11, 32 shillings.  A wooden image after the similitude of the
+Lord King Edward, deceased, 40 shillings.  A crown of copper, gilt, 7
+shillings, 4 pence.  Vestments for the body, in which he was buried, a
+German coverchief, and three-quarters [here a word is illegible,
+probably _linen_]; item, one pillow to put under his head, 4 shillings
+[? the amount is nearly obliterated].  Gilt paint for the hearse, 1
+shilling.  Wages of the painter [a few words illegible] grey colour, 2
+shillings, (Wardrobe Accounts, 1 Edward the Third, 33/2).  The King
+_married_...
+
+Isabelle, _surnamed_ the Fair, only daughter of Philippe the Fourth,
+King of France, and Jeanne Queen regnant of Navarre: _born_ 1282, 1292,
+or 1295 (latest date most probable); _married_ at Boulogne, January 25,
+1308.  All the chroniclers assert that on Edward the Third's discovery
+of his mother's real character, he imprisoned her for life in the Castle
+of Rising.  The evidence of the Rolls and Wardrobe Accounts disproves
+this to a great extent.  It was at Nottingham Castle that Mortimer was
+taken, October 19, 1330.  On the 18th of January following, 36 pounds 6
+shillings 4 pence was paid to Thomas Lord Wake de Lydel, for the expense
+of conducting Isabel Queen of England, by the King's order, from
+Berkhamsted Castle to Windsor Castle, and thence to Odiham Castle.
+(Issue Roll, _Michs._, 5 Edward the Third.)  On the 6th of October,
+1337, she dates a charter from Hertford Castle; and another from Rising
+on the 1st of December following.  She paid a visit to London--the only
+one hitherto traced subsequent to 1330--in 1341, when, on October 27,
+she was present in the hostel of the Bishop of Winchester at Southwark,
+when the King appointed Robert Parving to the office of Lord Chancellor.
+She dates a charter from Hertford Castle, December 1st, 1348.  (Close
+Rolls, 11, 15, and 22 Edward the Third.)  The Household Book for the
+last year of her life is in the British Museum, and it runs from
+September 30th, 1357, to December 4th, 1358 (Cott. Ms., Galba, E. 14).
+We find from this interesting document that she spent her final year
+mainly at Hertford, but that she also made two pilgrimages to
+Canterbury, visiting London on each occasion; that she was at Ledes
+Castle, Chertsey, Shene, Eltham, and Windsor.  The King visits her more
+than once, and several of his children do the same, including the
+Princess Isabel.  There is no mention of any visit from the Queen, but
+she corresponds with her mother-in-law, and they exchange gifts.  The
+most frequent guests are Joan Countess of Surrey, and the Countess of
+Pembroke: there were then three ladies living who bore this title, but
+as letters are sent to her at Denny--her pet convent, where she often
+resided and finally died--it is evident that this was the Countess
+Marie, the "fair Chatillon who (_not_ `on her bridal morn,' but at least
+two years after) mourned her bleeding love."  Both these ladies were of
+French birth, and were very old friends of Isabelle: the Countess of
+Surrey was with her when she died.  Her youngest daughter, Joan Queen of
+Scots--an admirable but unhappy woman, who had to forgive that mother
+for being the cause of all her misery and loveless life--spent much of
+this last year with Isabel.  Her most frequent male guests are the Earl
+of Tankerville and Marshal Daudenham, both of whom were probably her own
+countrymen; and Sir John de Wynewyk, Treasurer of York: the captive King
+of France visits her once, and she sends him two romances, of which one
+at least was from the _Morte Arthur_.  Oblations are as numerous--and
+sometimes more costly--as in her earlier accounts.  She gives 6
+shillings 8 pence to the _head_ of the eleven thousand virgins, and 2
+shillings to minstrels to play "before the image of the blessed Mary in
+the crypt" of Canterbury Cathedral.  Friars who preach before her are
+usually rewarded with 6 shillings 8 pence.  Her Easter robes are of blue
+cloth, her summer ones of red mixed cloth.  Two of Isabelle's ruling
+passions went with her to the grave--her extravagance and her love of
+making gifts.  Her purchases of jewellery are vast and costly during
+this year, up to the very month in which she died: two of the latest
+being a gold chaplet set with precious stones, price 150 pounds (the
+most expensive I ever yet saw in a royal account), and a gold crown set
+with sapphires, Alexandrian rubies, and pearls, 80 pounds, expressly
+stated to be for her own wearing.  Two ruby rings she purchased exactly
+a fortnight before her death.  She was probably ill for some weeks,
+since a messenger was sent in haste to Canterbury to bid Master Lawrence
+the physician repair to Hertford "to see the state of the Queen," and he
+remained there for a month.  Medicines were brought from London.
+Judging from the slight indications as to remedies employed, among which
+were herbal baths, she died of some cutaneous malady.  Her Inquisition
+states that her _death_ took place at Hertford, August 23rd, 1358; but
+the Household Book twice records that it was on the 22nd.  Fourteen poor
+men watched the corpse in the chapel at Hertford for three months, and
+in December the coffin (the entire cost of which was 5 pounds, 9
+shillings, 11 pence) was brought to London, guarded by 40 torches, and
+_buried_ in the Church of the Grey Friars.  It may be stated with
+tolerable certainty that the Queen was not confined for life at Rising
+Castle, though she passed most of her time either at Rising or Hertford;
+that she never became a nun, as asserted by some modern writers, the
+non-seclusion, the coloured robes, and the crown, being totally
+inconsistent with this supposition; that if it be true, as is said, that
+she was seized with madness while Mortimer hung on the gallows, and
+passed most of her subsequent life in this state, probably with lucid
+intervals--a story which various facts tend to confirm--this was quite
+sufficient to account for her retirement from public life, and ordinary
+restriction to a few country residences; yet that the incidents
+chronicled in the Household Book seem to indicate that she was
+generally, if not fully, sane at the time of her death.
+
+_Their children_:--1.  King Edward the Third, _born_ in Windsor Castle,
+November 13, _baptised_ 16th, 1312; _crowned_ Westminster, February 1,
+1327.  The Rolls of the Great Wardrobe for 1327 contain some interesting
+details respecting this ceremony.  The King was attired in a tunic,
+mantle, and cape of purple velvet, price 5 shillings (but this is
+probably the mere cost of making), and a pair of slippers of cloth of
+gold, price 6 shillings 8 pence.  He was anointed in a tunic of
+samitelle (a variety of samite), which cost 2 shillings, and a robe of
+Rennes linen, price 18 pence.  A quarter of an ell of sindon (silk) was
+bought "for the King's head, to place between the head and the crown, on
+account of the largeness of the crown," at a cost of 12 pence.  (_Rot.
+Gard._, 1 Edward the Third, 33/2).  The "great hall" at Westminster was
+hung with six cloths and twelve ells of cloth from Candlewick Street and
+fifteen pieces of cloth were required "to put under his feet, going to
+the Abbey, and thence to the King's chamber after the coronation."  The
+platform erected in the Abbey to sustain the throne, and the throne
+itself, were hung with silk cloth of gold; five camaca cushions were
+placed "under the King and his feet;" and "the King's small chair before
+the altar" was also covered with cloth of gold.  The royal oblation was
+one cloth of gold of diapered silk.  Two similar cloths were laid over
+the tomb of Edward the first.  The Archbishop of Canterbury's seat was
+covered with ray (striped) silk cloth of gold, and that of the Abbot of
+Westminster with cloth of Tars.  The royal seat at the coronation feast
+was draped in "golden silk of Turk," and in order to save this costly
+covering from "the humidity of the walls," 24 ells of canvas were
+provided.  Red and grey sindon hung before the royal table; the King sat
+on samitelle cushions, and two pieces of velvet "to put under the King"
+also appear in the account.  (_Rot. Magnae Gard., pro Coronatione et in
+Palatio_, 1 Edward the Third, 33/5.)  King Edward _died_ at Shene, June
+21, 1377, and was _buried_ in Westminster Abbey.  He _married_--
+Philippine (called in England Philippa), daughter of William the Third,
+Count of Hainault and Holland, and Jeanne of France; _born_ 1312 or a
+little later; _married_ at York, January 24, 1328; crowned in
+Westminster Abbey, February 20, 1328.  The Wardrobe Accounts tell us
+that the Queen rode from the Tower to Westminster, the day before her
+coronation (as was usual) in a dress of green velvet, a cape of the
+_best_ cloth of gold diapered in red, trimmed with miniver, and a
+miniver hood.  She dined in a tunic and mantle of red and grey
+samitelle, and was crowned in a robe of cloth of gold, diapered in
+green.  She changed to a fourth robe for supper, but its materials are
+not on record.  (Wardrobe Accounts, 4-5 Edward the Third, 34/13.)  Red
+and green appear to have been her favourite colours, judging from the
+number of her dresses of these hues compared with others.  On the
+occasion of her churching in 1332 (after the birth of her daughter
+Isabel) she wore a robe of red and purple velvet wrought with pearls,
+the royal infant being attired in Lucca silk and miniver, and the Black
+Prince (aged about 2 and a half years) in a golden costume striped with
+mulberry colour.  Some of these items appear rather warm wear for July.
+(Wardrobe Accounts, Cott. Ms. Galba, E. 3, folio 14 _et seq_).  The
+Queen _died_ of dropsy, at Windsor Castle, August 15, 1369; _buried_ in
+Westminster Abbey.
+
+2.  John, _born_ at Eltham, August 15, 1316; created Earl of Cornwall;
+_died_ at Perth, _unmarried_, September 14, 1336; _buried_ in
+Westminster Abbey.
+
+3.  Alianora, _born_ at Woodstock, 1318; _married_ at Novum Magnum,
+1332, Raynald the Second, Duke of Gueldres; _died_ at Deventer, April
+22, 1355; _buried_ at Deventer.
+
+4.  Joan, _surnamed_ Makepeace, _born_ in the Tower of London, (before
+August 16,) 1321; _married_ at Berwick, July 17, 1328, David the Second,
+King of Scotland; _died_ at Hertford Castle, September 7, 1362 (not
+1358, as sometimes stated); _buried_ in Grey Friars' Church, London.
+
+II.  THE DESPENSERS.
+
+Hugh Le Despenser _the Elder_, son of Hugh Le Despenser, Justiciary of
+England, and Alina Basset: _born_ March 1-8, 1261 (_Inq. Post Mortem
+Alinae La Dispensere_, 9 Edward the First, 9.); sponsor of Edward the
+Third, 1312; created Earl of Winchester, 1322; _beheaded_ at Bristol,
+October 27 (Harl. Ms. 6124), 1326.  [This is not improbably the true
+date: that of Froissart, October 8, is certainly a mistake, as the Queen
+had only reached Wallingford, on her way to Bristol, by the 15th.]  As
+his body was cast to the dogs, he had _no burial_.  _Married_ Isabel,
+daughter of William de Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, and Maud Fitz John;
+_widow_ of Patrick de Chaworth (by whom she was mother of Maud, wife of
+Henry Duke of Lancaster): _married_ 1281-2 (fine 2000 marks); _died_
+before July 22, 1306.  _Issue_:--1.  Hugh, _the Younger_, _born_
+probably about 1283; created Earl of Gloucester in right of wife;
+_hanged_ and afterwards beheaded (but after death) at Hereford, November
+24, 1326; quarters of body sent to Dover, Bristol, York, and Newcastle,
+and head set on London Bridge; finally _buried_ in Tewkesbury Abbey.
+The Abbot and Chapter had granted to Hugh and Alianora, March 24, 1325,
+in consideration of benefits received, that four masses per annum should
+be said for them during life, at the four chief feasts, and 300 per
+annum for either or both after death, for ever; on the anniversary of
+Hugh, the Abbot bound himself to feed the poor with bread, beer,
+pottage, and one mess from the kitchen, for ever.  (_Rot. Pat._, 20
+Edward the Second) In the Appendix to the companion volume, _In All Time
+of our Tribulation_, will be found an account of the petitions of the
+two Despensers, with the curious list of their goods destroyed by the
+partisans of Lancaster.  Hugh the Younger _married_ Alianora, eldest
+daughter of Gilbert de Clare, The Red, Earl of Gloucester, and the
+Princess Joan of Acre, (daughter of Edward the First), _born_ at
+Caerphilly Castle, November, 1292; _married_ May 20, 1306, with a dowry
+of 2000 pounds from the Crown, in part payment of which the custody of
+Philip Paynel was granted to Hugh the Elder, June 3, 1304 (_Rot.
+Claus._, 1 Edward the Second).  Her youngest child was born at
+Northampton, in December, 1326, and she sent William de Culpho with the
+news to the King, who gave him a silver-gilt cup in reward (Wardrobe
+Accounts, 25/1 and 31/19).  On the 19th of April, 1326, and for 49 days
+afterwards, she was in charge of Prince John of Eltham, who was ill at
+Kenilworth in April.  She left that place on May 22, arriving at Shene
+in four days, and in June she was at Rochester and Ledes Castle.  Three
+interesting Wardrobe Accounts are extant, showing her expenses at this
+time (31/17 to 31/19); but the last is almost illegible.  "Divers
+decoctions and recipes" made up at Northampton for the young Prince,
+came to 6 shillings, 9 pence.  "Litter for my Lady's bed" (to put under
+the feather bed in the box-like bedstead) cost 6 pence.  Either her
+Ladyship or her royal charge must have entertained a strong predilection
+for "shrimpis," judging from the frequency with which that entry occurs.
+Four quarters of wheat, we are told, made 1200 loaves.  There is
+evidence of a good deal of company, the principal guests beside Priors
+and Canons being the Lady of Montzone, the Lady of Hastings (Julian,
+mother of Lawrence Earl of Pembroke), Eneas de Bohun (son of Princess
+Elizabeth), Sir John Neville (one of the captors of Mortimer), and John
+de Bentley (probably the ex-gaoler of Elizabeth Queen of Scotland, who
+appears in the companion volume).  Sundry young people seem to have been
+also in Lady La Despenser's care, as companions to the Prince:--Earl
+Lawrence of Pembroke; Margery de Verdon, step-daughter of Alianora's
+sister Elizabeth; and Joan Jeremy, or Jermyn, sister of Alice wife of
+Prince Thomas de Brotherton.  The provision for April 30, the vigil of
+Saint Philip, and therefore a fast-day, is as follows (a few words are
+illegible): _Pantry_:--60 loaves of the King's bread at 5 and 4 to the
+penny, 13 and a half pence.  _Buttery_:--One pitcher of wine from the
+King's stores at Kenilworth; 22 gallons of beer, at 1 and a half pence
+per gallon, 2 shillings 6 pence.  _Wardrobe_: ... lights, a farthing; a
+halfpennyworth of candles of cotton ...  _Kitchen_:--50 herrings, 2 and
+a half pence; 3 codfish, 9 and three-quarter pence; 4 stockfish...
+salmon, 12 pence, 3 tench, 9 pence, 1 pikerel, 12 roach and perch, half
+a gallon of loaches, 13 and a half pence; one large eel...  One and a
+half quarters pimpernel, 7 and a half pence; one piece of sturgeon, 6
+pence.  _Poultry_--100 eggs, 5 pence; cheese and butter, 3 and
+three-quarter pence... milk, one and a quarter pence; drink, 1 penny;
+_Saltry_:--half a quarter; mustard, a halfpenny; half a quarter of
+vinegar, three-quarters pence; ... parsley, a farthing.  For May 1st,
+Saint Philip's and a feast-day: _Pantry_: 100 loaves, 22 and a half
+pence.  _Buttery_: one sextarius, 3 and a half pitchers of wine from the
+King's stores at Kenilworth; 27 gallons of beer, 2 shillings, 8 and a
+half pence, being 17 at 1 penny, and 12 at 1 and a half pence.  One
+quarter of hanaps, 12 pence.  _Wardrobe_:--3 pounds wax, 15 pence;
+lights, 1 halfpenny; half a pound of candles of Paris, 1 penny.
+_Kitchen_:--12 messes of powdered beef, 18 pence; 3 messes of fresh
+beef, 9 pence; one piece of bacon, 12 pence; half a mutton, powdered, 9
+pence; one quarter of fresh mutton, 3 pence; one pestle of pork, 3 and a
+half pence; half a veal, 14 pence.  _Poultry_--One purcel, 4 and a half
+pence; 2 hens, 15 pence; one bird (_oisoux_), 12 pence; 15 ponce, 7 and
+a half pence; 8 pigeons, 9 and a half pence; 100 eggs, 5 pence; 3
+gallons milk, 3 pence...  _Saltry_:--half a quarter of mustard, one
+halfpenny... 1 quarter verjuice, 1 and a half pence; garlic, a farthing;
+parsley, 1 penny.  Wages of Richard Attegrove (keeper of the horses) and
+the laundress, 4 pence; of 18 grooms and two pages, 2 shillings, 5
+pence.  (Wardrobe Accounts, 19 Edward the Second, 31/17).  When King
+Edward left London for the West, on October 2nd, he committed to Lady La
+Despenser the custody of his son, and of the Tower.  On the 16th, the
+citizens captured the Tower, brought out the Prince and the Chatelaine,
+and conveyed them to the Wardrobe.  On November 17th she was brought a
+prisoner to the Tower, with her children and her damsel Joan (Issue
+Roll, _Michs._, 20 Edward the Second; Close Roll, 20 Edward the Second),
+their expenses being calculated at the rate of 10 shillings per day.
+Alianora and her children were delivered from the Tower, with all her
+goods and chattels, on February 25, 1328, and on the 26th of November
+following, her "rights and rents, according to her right and heritage,"
+were ordered to be restored to her.  (_Rot. Claus._, 2 Edward the
+Third.)  She was not, however, granted full liberty, or else she
+forfeited it again very quickly; for on February 5, 1329, William Lord
+Zouche of Haringworth was summoned to Court, and commanded to "bring
+with him quickly our cousin Alianora, who is in his company," with a
+hint that unpleasant consequences would follow neglect of the order.
+(_Rot. Pat._, 3 Edward the Third, Part 1.)  A further entry on December
+30 tells us that Alianora, wife of William La Zouche of Mortimer (so
+that her marriage with her gaoler's cousin had occurred in the interim),
+had been impeached by the Crown concerning certain jewels, florins, and
+other goods of the King, to a large amount, which had been "_esloignez_"
+from the Tower of London: doubtless by the citizens when they seized the
+fortress, and the impeachment was of course, like many other things, an
+outcome of Queen Isabelle's private spite.  "The said William and
+Alianora, for pardon of all hindrances, actions, quarrels, and demands,
+until the present date, have granted, of their will and without
+coercion, for themselves and the heirs of the said Alianora, all
+castles, manors, towns, honours, and other lands and tenements, being of
+her heritage, in the county of Glamorgan and Morgannon, in Wales, the
+manor of Hanley, the town of Worcester, and the manor of Tewkesbury, for
+ever, to the King."  The King, on his part, undertook to restore the
+lands, in the hour that the original owners should pay him 10,000 pounds
+in one day.  The real nature of this non-coercive and voluntary
+agreement was shown in November, 1330, when (one month after the arrest
+of Mortimer) at the petition of Parliament itself, one half of this
+10,000 pounds was remitted.  Alianora _died_ June 30, 1337, and was
+_buried_ in Tewkesbury Abbey.
+
+2.  Philip, _died_ before April 22, 1214.  _Married_ Margaret, daughter
+of Ralph de Goushill; _born_ July 25, 1296; _married_ before 1313;
+_died_ July 29, 1349.  (She _married_, secondly, John de Ros.)
+
+3.  Isabel, _married_ (1) John Lord Hastings (2) about 1319, Ralph de
+Monthermer; _died_ December 4 or 5, 1335.  Left issue by first marriage.
+The daughters of Edward the Second were brought up in her care.
+
+4.  Aveline, _married_ before 1329, Edward Lord Burnel; _died_ in May or
+June, 1363.  No issue.
+
+5.  Elizabeth, _married_ before 1321 Ralph Lord Camoys; living 1370.
+Left issue.
+
+6.  Joan, _married_ Almaric Lord Saint Amand.  [Doubtful if of this
+family.]
+
+7.  Joan, _nun_ at Sempringham before 1337; _dead_, February 15.
+
+8.  Alianora, _nun_ at Sempringham before 1337; living 1351.  _Issue of
+Hugh the younger and Alianora_;--1.  Hugh, _born_ 1308.  He held
+Caerphilly Castle (which belonged to his mother) against Queen Isabelle:
+on January 4 of that year life was granted to all in the Castle except
+himself, probably as a bribe for surrender, which was extended to
+himself on March 20; but Hugh held out till Easter (April 12) when the
+Castle was taken.  He remained a prisoner in the custody of his father's
+great enemy, Roger Earl of March, till December 5, 1328, when March was
+ordered to deliver him to Thomas de Gournay, one of the murderers of
+King Edward, and Constable of Bristol Castle, where he was to be kept
+till further order.  (_Rot. Claus._, 1 and 2 Edward the Third; _Rot.
+Pat._, 1 Edward the Third.)  On July 5, 1331, he was ordered to be set
+at liberty within 15 days after Michaelmas, Ebulo L'Estrange, Ralph
+Basset, John le Ros, Richard Talbot, and others, being sureties for him.
+(_Rot. Claus._, 5 Edward the Third) In 1338 he was dwelling in Scotland
+in the King's service (_Ibidem_, 12 Edward the Third); and in 1342 in
+Gascony, with a suite of one banneret, 14 knights, 44 scutifers, 60
+archers, and 60 men-at-arms.  (_Ibidem_, 16 _ibidem_).  He _died_ S.P.
+February 8, 1349; _buried_ at Tewkesbury.  _Married_ Elizabeth, daughter
+of William de Montacute, first Earl of Salisbury, and Katherine de
+Grandison; (_widow_ of Giles Lord Badlesmere, _remarried_ Guy de Bryan;)
+_married_ 1338-44; _died_ at Astley, June 20, 1359; _buried_ at
+Tewkesbury.
+
+2.  Edward, _died_ 1341.  _Married_ (and left issue), Anne, daughter of
+Henry Lord Ferrers of Groby, and Margaret Segrave (_remarried_ Thomas
+Ferrers): living October 14, 1366.
+
+3.  Gilbert, _died_ April 22, 1382.  _Married_, and left issue; but his
+wife's name and family are unknown.
+
+4.  Joan, _nun_ at Shaftesbury, in or before 1343; _died_ April 26,
+1384.
+
+5.  Elizabeth, _married_ 1338 Maurice Lord Berkeley; _dead_ August 14,
+1389; left issue.  [Doubtful if of this family.]
+
+6.  Isabel, _married_ at Havering, February 9, 1321, Richard Earl of
+Arundel; _divorced_ 1345; _buried_ in Westminster Abbey.  No issue.
+
+7.  Alianora, contracted July 27, 1325, to Lawrence de Hastings, Earl of
+Pembroke: contract broken by Queen Isabelle, who on January 1st, 1327,
+sent a mandate to the Prioress of Sempringham, commanding her to receive
+the child and "veil her immediately, that she may dwell there
+perpetually as a regular nun."  (_Rot. Claus._, 1 Edward the Third.)
+Since it was not usual for a nun to receive the black veil before her
+sixteenth year, this was a complete irregularity.  Nothing further is
+known of her.
+
+8.  Margaret, consigned by Edward the Second to the care of Thomas de
+Houk, with her nurse and a large household; she remained in his charge
+"for three years and more," according to his petition presented to the
+King, May 1st, 1327 (_Rot. Claus._, 1 Edward the Third.)  On the
+previous 1st of January, the Queen had sent to the Prioress of Watton a
+similar mandate to that mentioned above, requiring that Margaret should
+at once be professed a regular nun.  No further record remains of her.
+
+III.  HASTINGS OF PEMBROKE.
+
+John de Hastings, second (but eldest surviving) son of Sir John de
+Hastings and Isabelle de Valence: _born_ 1283, _died_ (before February
+28) 1325.  _Married_ Julian, daughter and heir of Thomas de Leybourne
+and Alice de Tony; _born_ 1298, or 1303; succeeded her grandfather
+William as Baroness de Leybourne, 1309; _married_ before 1321.  By
+charter dated at Canterbury, March 5th, 1362, she gave a grant to the
+Abbey of Saint Augustine in that city, for the following benefits to be
+received: a mass for herself on Saint Anne's Day, with twopence alms to
+each of 100 poor; a solemn choral mass on her anniversary, and 1 penny
+to each of 200 poor; perpetual mass by a secular chaplain at the altar
+of Saint Anne, for Edward the Third, Lawrence Earl of Pembroke, and John
+his son; all monks celebrating at the said altar to have mind of the
+said souls.  On the day of her anniversary the Abbot was to receive 20
+shillings, the Prior 5 shillings, and each monk 2 shillings, 6 pence.
+(_Rot. Claus._, 36 Edward the Third.)  She died November 1st, 1367, and
+was _buried_ in Saint Augustine's Abbey.  (She had _married_, secondly,
+in 1325, Sir Thomas Blount, Seneschal of the Household to Edward the
+Second, who betrayed his royal master; and, thirdly, in 1328, William de
+Clinton, afterwards created Earl of Huntingdon.)
+
+_Their son_:--Lawrence, born at Allesley, near Coventry, March 20, 1321
+(_Prob. Aet._, 15 Edward the Third, 1st Numbers, 48); in 1326 he was in
+the suite of Prince John of Eltham, and in the custody of his intended
+mother-in-law, Alianora La Despenser: he and the young Alianora must
+therefore have been playfellows up to five years of age, at least.
+Three pairs of slippers are bought for him, price 20 pence, (Wardrobe
+Accounts, 20 Edward the Second, 31/18.)  On July 27, 1325, Lawrence was
+contracted to Alianora, daughter of Hugh Le Despenser the younger (_Rot.
+Pat._, 19 Edward the Second): which contract was illegally set aside by
+Queen Isabelle, who granted his custody and marriage in the King's name
+to her son Prince Edward, December 1st, 1326 (_Rot. Pat._, 20 Edward the
+Second).  The marriage was re-granted, February 17, 1327, to Roger Earl
+of March.  We next find the young Earl in the suite of Queen Philippa;
+and he received a robe from the Wardrobe in which to appear at her
+churching in 1332, made of nine ells of striped saffron-coloured cloth
+of Ghent, trimmed with fur, and a fur hood.  In the following year, when
+the Queen joined her husband at Newcastle, she left Lawrence at York,
+desiring "_par tendresce de lui_" that the child should not take so long
+and wearying a journey.  He was therefore sent to his mother the
+Countess Julian, "trusting her (says the King's mandate) to keep him
+better than any other, since he is near to her heart, being her son."
+She was to find all necessaries for him until further order, and the
+King pledged himself to repay her in reason.  (_Rot. Claus._, 7 Edward
+the Third, Part 1.)  Lawrence was created Earl of Pembroke, October 13,
+1339; he _died_ in the first great visitation of the "Black Death,"
+August 30, 1348, and was _buried_ at Abergavenny.  _Married_ Agnes de
+Mortimer, [see next Article] _married_ 1327 (Walsingham); _died_ July
+25, 1368; _buried_ in Abbey of Minories.  (She _remarried_ John de
+Hakelut, and was first Lady in Waiting to Queen Philippa.)
+
+_Their children_:--1.  Joan, _married_ Ralph de Greystoke, after October
+9, 1367.
+
+2.  John, 2nd Earl of Pembroke, _born_ 1347, _died_ at Arras, France,
+April 16, 1375; _buried_ Grey Friars' Church, London.  _Married_ (1.)
+Princess Margaret, daughter of Edward the Third; _born_ at Windsor, July
+20-21, 1346; _married_ in the Queen's Chapel [Reading?], 1359; _died_
+S.P. (after October 1st), 1361; _buried_ in Abingdon Abbey.  (2.)  Anne,
+daughter and heir of Sir Walter de Mauny and Margaret of Norfolk: _born_
+July 24, 1355; _married_ 1363; _died_ April 3, 1384.
+
+IV.  THE MORTIMERS OF WIGMORE.
+
+Edmund De Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore, son of Roger de Mortimer and Maud
+de Braose: _born_ March 25, 1266; _died_ at Wigmore Castle, July 17,
+1304; _buried_ in Wigmore Abbey.  _Married_ Margaret, daughter of Sir
+William de Fienles: _married_ September 8, 1285; sided warmly with her
+son, and gathered various illegal assemblies at Worcester, where she
+lived, and at Radnor.  On December 28, 1325, the King wrote, commanding
+her to retire to the Abbey of Elstow without delay, and there dwell at
+her own cost till further order: "and from the hour of your entering you
+shall not come forth, nor make any assembly of people without our
+special leave."  She was commanded to write and say whether she intended
+to obey!  The Abbess of Elstow was at the same time ordered to give
+convenient lodging to her in the Abbey, but not to suffer her to go
+forth nor make gatherings of persons.  (Close Roll, 19 Edward the
+Second.)  Nothing further is known of her except that she was alive in
+1332, and was _dead_ on May 7, 1334, when the mandate was issued for her
+_Inq. Post Mortem_.  The latter contains no date of death.  Margaret was
+_buried_ at Wigmore.  _Their children_:--1.  Roger, _born_ April 25 or
+May 3, 1287; created Earl of March, 1328; _hanged_ at Tyburn, November
+29, 1330: _buried_ in Friars' Minors Church, Coventry, whence leave was
+granted to his widow and son, in November, 1331, to transport the body
+to Wigmore Abbey.  _Married_ Jeanne de Geneville, daughter and co-heir
+of Peter de Geneville (son of Geoffroi de Vaucouleur, brother of the
+Sieur de Joinville, historian of Saint Louis) and Jeanne de Lusignan:
+_born_ February 2, 1286; _married_ before 1304.  On hearing of her
+husband's escape from the Tower in August 1323, she journeyed to
+Southampton with her elder children, intending to rejoin him in France:
+but before she set sail, on April 6, 1324, the King directed the Sheriff
+of Southampton to capture her without delay, and deliver her to the care
+of John de Rithre, Constable of Skipton Castle.  A damsel, squire,
+laundress, groom, and page, were allowed to her, and her expenses were
+reckoned at 13 shillings 4 pence per day while travelling, and after
+reaching Skipton at 13 shillings 4 pence per week, with ten marks (6
+pounds, 13 shillings 4 pence) per annum for clothing.  (Close Roll, 17
+Edward the Second.)  These details appear afterwards to have been
+slightly altered, since the account of the expenses mentions 37
+shillings 6 pence for the keep of two damsels, one laundress, one
+chamberlain, one cook, and one groom.  Robes were supplied to her at
+Easter and Michaelmas.  She remained a prisoner at Skipton from May 17,
+1324, on which day she seems to have come there, till August 3, 1326.
+(_Rot. de Liberate_, 19 Edward the Second, and 3 Edward the Third.)  By
+mandate of July 22, 1326, she was transferred to Pomfret (Close Roll, 20
+Edward the Second), which she reached in two days, the cost of the
+journey being ten shillings 10 pence, (_Rot. Lib._, 3 Edward the Third.)
+When her husband was seized in October, 1330, the King sent down John
+de Melbourne to superintend the affairs of the Countess, with the ladies
+and children in her company, dwelling at Ludlow Castle, with express
+instructions that their wardrobes, gods, and jewels, were not to be
+touched.  (_Rot. Pat._ and _Claus._, 4 Edward the Third.)  The lands of
+her own inheritance were restored to her in the December and January
+following, with especial mention of Ludlow Castle, (_Rot. Claus.,
+ibidem_).  Edward the Third always speaks of her with great respect.  In
+August, 1347, there were suits against her in the Irish Courts (the
+Mortimers held large estates in Ireland), and it is noted that she was
+not able to plead in person on account of her great age, which made
+travelling perilous to her.  (_Rot. Claus._, 21 Edward the Third.)  She
+was then 63.  On the 19th of October, 1356, she died (_Inq. Post
+Mortem_, 30 Edward the Third 30)--the very day of her husband's capture,
+26 years before--and was _buried_ in the Church of the Friars Minors,
+Shrewsbury.  (Cott. Ms. Cleop., C, 3.)
+
+2.  Edmund, Rector of Hodnet.
+
+3.  Hugh, Rector of Old Radnor.
+
+4.  Walter, Rector of Kingston (Dugdale) Kingsland (Cott. Ms. Cleop. C,
+3).
+
+5.  Maud, _married_ at Wigmore, July 28, 1302, Theobald de Verdon;
+_died_ at Alveton Castle, and _buried_ at Croxden, October 8, 1312.
+Left issue.
+
+6.  Joan, _nun_ at Lyngbroke; living September 17, 1332.
+
+7.  Elizabeth, _nun_ at Lyngbroke.
+
+8.  John, _born_ 1300, _killed_ in tilting, at Worcester, January 3,
+1318, S.P.; _buried_ at Worcester.
+
+_Issue of Roger, first Earl of March, and Jeanne de Geneville_:--1.
+Edmund, _born_ 1304, _died_ at Stanton Lacy, December 28, 1331; _buried_
+at Wigmore.  He is always reckoned as second Earl, but was never
+formally restored to the title, for which he vainly petitioned, and the
+refusal is said to have broken his heart.  He _married_ Elizabeth, third
+daughter, and eventually co-heir, of Bartholomew Lord Badlesmere, and
+Margaret de Clare: _born_ 1313, _married_ in or before 1327;
+(_remarried_ William de Bohun, Earl of Northampton;) _died_ June 17,
+1355.
+
+2.  Roger, _died_ 1357.  _Married_ Joan, daughter of Edmund de Boteler,
+Earl of Carrick, and Joan Fitzgerald; contract of _marriage_ February
+11, 1321.
+
+3.  Geoffrey, Lord of Cowith.  He was one of the King's Bannerets in
+1328 (_Rot. Magne Gard._, 33/10), was taken with his father and his
+brother Edmund in 1330, and was kept prisoner in the Tower till January
+25, 1331 (Issue Roll, _Michs._, 5 Edward the Third).  On the following
+March 16, he obtained leave to travel abroad.  (_Rot. Pat._, 5 Edward
+the Third, Part 1.)  He was living in 1337, but no more is known of him.
+
+4.  John, _killed_ in tilting at Shrewsbury, and _buried_ there in the
+Hospital of Saint John.  He _married_ (and left one son).
+
+Alianora (family unknown), _buried_ with husband.
+
+5.  Margaret, _married_ Thomas Lord Berkeley; _died_ May 5, 1337;
+_buried_ at Bristol.
+
+6.  Joan, _married_ James Lord Audley of Heleigh.
+
+7.  Isabel, _nun_ at Chicksand.  These three girls accompanied their
+mother to Southampton, and were captured with her.  By the King's order
+they were sent to separate convents "to dwell with the nuns there;"
+there is no intimation that they were to be made nuns, and as two of
+them afterwards married, it is evident that this was not intended.
+Margaret was sent to Shuldham, her expenses being reckoned at 3
+shillings per day while travelling, and 15 pence per week after arrival;
+Joan to Sempringham, and Isabel to Chicksand, their expenses being
+charged 2 shillings each per day while travelling, and 12 pence each per
+week in the convent.  One mark per annum was allowed to each for
+clothing.  (_Rot. Claus._, 17 Edward the Second.)  Isabel chose to
+remain at or return to Chicksand, since she is mentioned as being a nun
+there in February 1326.  (Issue Roll, _Michs._, 19 Edward the Second.)
+
+8.  Katherine, _married_ about 1338, Thomas de Beauchamp, Earl of
+Warwick; _died_ August 4, 1369.
+
+9.  Maud, _married_ about 1320 John Lord Charleton of Powys; living July
+5, 1348.
+
+10.  Agnes, _married_ (1) 1327, Lawrence de Hastings, Earl of Pembroke;
+(2) before June 21, 1353, John de Hakelut; _died_ July 25, 1368;
+_buried_ in Abbey of Minories.
+
+II.  Beatrice, _married_ (1) about 1327, Edward son of Prince Thomas de
+Brotherton, Earl of Norfolk; (2) 1334 (?)  Thomas de Braose (_Rot.
+Claus._ 8 E. three.) (who appears to have purchased her for 12,000
+marks--8000 pounds): _died_ October 16, 1383 (_Inq. Post Mortem_, 7
+Richard the Second, 15).
+
+12.  Blanche, _married_, before March 27, 1334, Peter, third Lord de
+Grandison; _dead_ July 24, 1357.  Either she or her husband was _buried_
+at Marcle, Herefordshire.
+
+V.  CHRONOLOGICAL ERRATA.
+
+The accounts given by the early chroniclers, and followed by modern
+historians, with respect to the movements of Edward the Second and his
+Queen, from September, 1326, to the December following, are sadly at
+variance with fact.  The dates of death of the Despensers, as well as
+various minor matters, depend on the accurate fixing of these points.
+
+The popular account, generally accepted, states that the Queen landed at
+Orwell in September--the exact day being disputed--that the King, on
+hearing of it, hastened to the West, and shut himself up in Bristol
+Castle, with his daughters and the younger Despenser; that the Queen
+hanged the elder Despenser and the Earl of Arundel before their eyes, on
+the 8th of October, whereupon the King and the younger Despenser escaped
+by night in a boat: some add that they were overtaken and brought back,
+others that they landed in Wales, and were taken in a wood near
+Llantrissan.  Much of this is pure romance.  The King's Household Roll,
+which names his locality for every day, and is extant up to October
+19th, the Wardrobe Accounts supplying the subsequent facts, distinctly
+shows that he never came nearer Bristol on that occasion than the road
+from Gloucester to Chepstow; that on the 8th of October he was yet at
+Cirencester; that he left Gloucester on the 10th, reaching Chepstow on
+the 16th, whence he departed on the 20th "_versus aquam de Weye_" and
+therefore in the contrary direction from Bristol.  On the 27th and 28th
+he dates mandates from Cardiff; on the 29th and 30th from Caerphilly.
+On November 2nd he left Caerphilly (this we are distinctly told in the
+Wardrobe Accounts), on the 3rd and 4th he was at Margan Abbey, and on
+the 5th he reached Neath, where he remained up to the 10th.  He now
+appears to have paid a short visit to Swansea, whence he returned to
+Neath, where, on the 16th, his cousin Lancaster and his party found him,
+and took him into their custody, with Hugh Le Despenser and Archdeacon
+Baldok.  They took him first to Monmouth, where he was found by the
+Bishop of Hereford (sent to demand the Great Seal), probably about the
+23rd.  Thence he was conveyed to Ledbury, which he reached on or about
+the 30th; and on the 6th of December he was at Kenilworth, where he
+remained for the rest of his reign.
+
+The Queen landed at Orwell in September: Speed says, on the 19th; Robert
+of Avesbury, the 26th; most authorities incline to the 22nd, which seems
+as probable a date as any.  The King, at any rate, had heard of her
+arrival on the 28th, and issued a proclamation offering to all
+volunteers 1 shilling per day for a man-at-arms, and 2 pence for an
+archer, to resist the invading force.  All past offenders were offered
+pardon if they joined his standard, the murderers of Sir Roger de Belers
+alone excepted: and Roger Mortimer, with the King's other enemies, was
+to be arrested and destroyed.  Only three exceptions were made: the
+Queen, her son (his father omits the usual formula of "our dearest and
+firstborn son," and even the title of Earl of Chester), and the Earl of
+Kent, "queux nous volons que soent sauuez si auant come home poet."
+According to Froissart, the Queen's company could not make the port they
+intended, and landed on the sands, whence after four days they marched
+(ignorant of their whereabouts) till they sighted Bury Saint Edmunds,
+where they remained three days.  Miss Strickland tells a rather striking
+tale of the tempestuous night passed by the Queen under a shed of
+driftwood run up hastily by her knights, whence she marched the next
+morning at daybreak.  (This lady rarely gives an authority, and still
+more seldom an exact reference.)  On the 25th, she adds, the Queen
+reached Harwich.  Robert de Avesbury, Polydore Vergil, and Speed, say
+that she landed at Orwell, which the Chronicle of Flanders calls
+Norwell.  If Froissart is to be credited, this certainly was not the
+place; for he says that the tempest prevented the Queen from landing at
+the port where she intended, and that this was a mercy of Providence,
+because there her enemies awaited her.  The port where her enemies
+awaited her (meaning thereby the husband whom she was persecuting) was
+certainly Orwell, for on the second of September the King had ordered
+all ships of thirty tuns weight to assemble there.  Moreover, the Queen
+could not possibly march from Orwell at once to Bury and Harwich, since
+to face the one she must have turned her back on the other.  The
+probability seems to be that she came ashore somewhere in Orwell Haven,
+but whether she first visited Harwich or Bury it is difficult to judge.
+The natural supposition would be that she remained quiet for a time at
+Bury until she was satisfied that her allies would be sufficient to
+effect her object, and then showed herself openly at Harwich were it not
+that Bury is so distant, and Harwich is so near, that the supposition
+seems to be negatived by the facts.  From Harwich or Bury, whichever it
+were, she marched towards London, which according to some writers, she
+reached; but the other account seems to be better authenticated, which
+states that on hearing that the King had left the capital for the West
+she altered her course for Oxford.  She certainly was not in London when
+the Tower was captured by the citizens, October 16th (_Compotus
+Willielmi de Culpho_, Wardrobe Accounts, 20 Edward the Second, 31/8),
+since she dates a mandate from Wallingford on the 15th, unless Bishop
+Orleton falsified the date in quoting it in his Apology.  Thence she
+marched to Cirencester and Gloucester, and at last to Bristol, which she
+entered on or before the 25th.  Since Gloucester was considerably out of
+her way--for we are assured that her aim was to make a straight and
+rapid course to Bristol--why did she go there at all if the King were at
+Bristol?  But we know he was not; he had then set sail for Wales.  Her
+object in going to Bristol was probably twofold: to capture Le Despenser
+and Arundel, and to stop the King's supplies, for Bristol was his
+commissariat-centre.  A cartload of provisions reached that city from
+London for him on the 14th [Note 2.] (_Rot. Magne Gard._, 20 Edward the
+Second, 26/3), and his butler, John Pyrie, went thither for wine, even
+so late as November 1st (_Ibidem_, 26/4).  Is it possible that Pyrie,
+perhaps unconsciously, betrayed to some adherent of the Queen the fact
+that his master was in Wales?  The informer, we are told by the
+chroniclers, was Sir Thomas le Blount, the King's Seneschal of the
+Household.  But that suspicious embassage of the Abbot of Neath and
+several of the King's co-refugees, noted on November 10th in terms
+which, though ostensibly spoken by the King and dated from Neath, are
+unmistakably the Queen's diction and not his, cannot be left out of the
+account in estimating his betrayers.  From October 26, when the
+illegally-assembled Parliament, in the hall of Bristol Castle, went
+through the farce of electing the young Prince to the regency "because
+the King was absent from his kingdom," and October 27th, which is given
+(probably with truth) by Harl. Ms. 6124 as the day of the judicial
+murder of Hugh Le Despenser the Elder, our information concerning the
+Queen's movements is absolutely _nil_ until we find her at Hereford on
+the 20th of November.  She then sent Bishop Orleton of Hereford to the
+King to request the Great Seal, and he, returning, found her at Marcle
+on the 26th.  It was probably on the 24th that the younger Despenser
+suffered.  On the 27th the Queen was at Newent, on the 28th at
+Gloucester, on the 29th at Coberley, and on the 30th at Cirencester.
+She reached Lechlade on December 1st, Witney on the 2nd, Woodstock on
+the 3rd.  Here she remained till the 22nd, when she went to Osney Abbey,
+and forward to Wallingford the next day.  (Wardrobe Accounts, 20 Edward
+the Second and 1 Edward the Third, 26/11.)  She was joined at
+Wallingford by her younger son Prince John of Eltham, who had been
+awaiting her arrival since the 17th, and losing 3 shillings at play by
+way of amusement in the interim (_Ibidem_, 31/18).  By Reading, Windsor,
+Chertsey, and Allerton she reached Westminster on the 4th of January
+(_Ibidem_, 26/11).
+
+I have examined all the Wardrobe Accounts and Rolls likely to cast light
+on this period, but I can find no mention of the whereabouts of the two
+Princesses during this time.  Froissart says that they and Prince John
+were delivered into the Queen's care by the citizens of Bristol; which
+is certainly a mistake so far as concerns the Prince, whose compotus
+just quoted distinctly states that he left the Tower on October 16th
+(which fixes the day of its capture), quitted London on December 21st,
+and reached Wallingford on the 24th.  He, therefore, was no more at
+Bristol than his father, and only rejoined his mother as she returned
+thence.  The position of the royal sisters remains doubtful, as even
+Mrs Everett Green--usually a most faithful and accurate writer--has
+accepted Froissart's narrative, and apparently did not discover its
+complete discrepancy with the Wardrobe Accounts.  If the Princesses were
+the companions of their royal father in his flight, and were delivered
+to their mother when she entered Bristol--which may be the fact--the
+probability is that he sent them there when he left Gloucester, on or
+about the 10th of October.
+
+VI.  THE ORDER OF SEMPRINGHAM.
+
+The Gilbertine Order, also called the Order of Sempringham, was that of
+the reformed Cistercians.  Its founder was Gilbert, son of Sir Josceline
+de Sempringham; he was Rector of Saint Andrew's Church in that village,
+and died in 1189.  The chief peculiarity of this Order was that monks
+and nuns dwelt under the same roof, but their apartments were entered by
+separate doors from without, and had no communication from within.  They
+attended the Priory Church together, but never mixed among each other
+except on the administration of the Sacrament.  The monks followed the
+rule of Saint Austin; the nuns the Cistercian rule, with Saint
+Benedict's emendations, to which some special statutes were added by the
+founder.  The habit was, for monks, a black cassock, white cloak, and
+hood lined with lambskin; for nuns, a white habit, black mantle, and
+black hood lined with white fur.  There was a Master over the entire
+Order, who lived at Sempringham, the mother Abbey also a Prior and a
+Prioress over each community.  The Prior of Sempringham was a Baron of
+Parliament.  The site of the Abbey, three miles south-east from
+Folkingham, Lincolnshire, may still be traced by its moated area.  The
+Abbey Church of Saint Andrew alone now remains entire; it is Norman,
+with an Early English tower, and a fine Norman north door.
+
+But few houses of the Gilbertine Order existed in England, and those
+were mainly in Yorkshire and Lincolnshire.  The principal ones--after
+Sempringham, which was the chief--were Chicksand, Bedfordshire;
+Cambridge; Fordham, near Newmarket; Hitchin, Hertfordshire; Lincoln,
+Alvingham, Bolington, Cateley, Haverholme, Ormesby, Newstead (not the
+Abbey, which was Augustinian), Cotton, Sexley, Stikeswold, Sixhill,
+Lincolnshire; Marmound and Shuldham, Norfolk; Clattercott, Oxfordshire;
+Marlborough, Wiltshire; Malton, Sempringham Minor, Watton, and
+Wilberfosse, Yorkshire.
+
+The Gilbertine Order "for some centuries maintained its sanctity and
+credit; afterwards it departed greatly from both."
+
+VII.  FICTITIOUS PERSONS.
+
+In Part One, these are Cicely's daughters, Alice and Vivien, and her
+damsels, Margaret and Fina; Meliora, the Queen's sub-damsel; Hilda la
+Vileyne, and her relatives.  Of all others, the name and position at
+least are historical facts.
+
+The fictitious persons in Part Two are more numerous, being all the
+household of the Countess of March (except John Inge the Castellan): and
+Nichola, damsel of the Countess Agnes.
+
+The three Despenser nuns, Mother Alianora, and the Sisters Annora and
+Margaret, and Lady Joan de Greystoke, are the only characters in Part
+Three which are not fictitious.
+
+A difference in the diction will be noticed between Part Three and the
+earlier parts, the last portion being more modern than the rest.  Sister
+Alianora must not be supposed to write her narrative, which she could
+not do except by order from her superiors; but rather to be uttering her
+reflections to herself.  Since to her the natural language would be
+French, there was no need to follow the contemporary diction further
+than, by a quaint expression now and then, to remind the reader of the
+period in which the scene is laid.
+
+It may be remarked that the diction of Parts One and Two is not strictly
+correct.  This is true: because to make it perfectly accurate, would be
+to make it also unintelligible to nine out of ten readers, and this not
+so much on account of obsolete words, which might be explained in a
+note, as of the entirely different turn of the phraseology.  An
+imaginary diary of the reign of Elizabeth can be written in pure
+Elizabethan language, and with an occasional explanatory note, it will
+be understood by modern readers: but a narrative prior to 1400 at the
+earliest cannot be so treated.  The remaining possibilities are either
+to use as much of the correct diction of the period as is intelligible,
+employing modern terms where it is not, or else to write in ordinary
+modern English.  Tastes no doubt differ on this point.  I prefer the
+former; since I extremely dislike to read a mediaeval story where modern
+expressions alone are used in the dialogue.  The reader, if himself
+acquainted with the true language, finds it impossible to realise or
+enter into the story, being constantly reminded that he is reading a
+modern fiction.  What I object to read, therefore, I object to write for
+the reading of others.  Where circumstances, as in this case, make
+perfect accuracy impossible, it seems to me the next best thing is to
+come as near it as they will permit.
+
+The biographical details given in this Appendix, with few exceptions,
+have not, I believe, been previously published.  For such information as
+may readily be found in Dugdale's Baronage, extinct peerages, etcetera,
+I refer my readers to those works.
+
+The End.
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Note 1.  This document is mistakenly headed and catalogued as a Compotus
+of Leonor, Queen of Edward the First.  It certainly belongs to Queen
+Philippa.  The internal evidence is abundant and conclusive--_eg_, "the
+Countess of Hainault, the Queen's mother."
+
+Note 2.  The details of this cartload are not uninteresting:--203
+quarters, 12 pounds wax; 774 pounds broken sugar, 11 pence per pound;
+200 almonds; 100 pounds of rice; 78 ells of Paris napery, 10 pence per
+ell; 6 and a half ells of Rouen napery, same price; 18 short towels; 15
+and a half ells of "cloth of Still;" 100 ells of linen, 100 ells of
+canvas; 200 pears, at 4 shillins per 100, bought of Isabel Fruiterer;
+2000 large nuts, at 1 shilling per 1000; four baskets for the fruit, 10
+pence.  The journey from London occupied five days, and the travelling
+expenses were 14 pence per day.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of In Convent Walls, by Emily Sarah Holt
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