Part 23 (1/2)

”They are but lacqueys, and I would dare to ask what was in my mind,” he answered; ”but she is near her wedding-day, and little as I know of brides' ways, I am of the mind that she will not like to be troubled.”

”That I stand in fear of,” she said; ”but, oh! I pray you, ask some one of them-a kindly one.”

The young man looked aside. ”Luck is with you,” he said. ”Here comes one now to air himself in the sun, having naught else to do. Here is a young woman who would speak with her ladys.h.i.+p,” he said to the strapping powdered fellow.

”She had best begone,” the lacquey answered, striding towards the applicant. ”Think you my lady has time to receive traipsing wenches.”

”'Twas only for a moment I asked,” the girl said. ”I come from-I would speak to her of-of Sir John Oxon-whom she knows.”

The man's face changed. It was Jenfry.

”Sir John Oxon,” he said. ”Then I will ask her. Had you said any other name I would not have gone near her to-day.”

Her ladys.h.i.+p was in her new closet with Mistress Anne, and there the lacquey came to her to deliver his errand.

”A country-bred young woman, your ladys.h.i.+p,” he said, ”comes from Sir John Oxon-”

”From Sir John Oxon!” cried Anne, starting in her chair.

My Lady Dunstanwolde made no start, but turned a steady countenance towards the door, looking into the lacquey's face.

”Then he hath returned?” she said.

”Returned!” said Anne.

”After the morning he rode home with me,” my lady answered, ”'twas said he went away. He left his lodgings without warning. It seems he hath come back. What does the woman want?” she ended.

”To speak with your ladys.h.i.+p,” replied the man, ”of Sir John himself, she says.”

”Bring her to me,” her ladys.h.i.+p commanded.

The girl was brought in, overawed and trembling. She was a country-bred young creature, as the lacquey had said, being of the simple rose-and-white freshness of seventeen years perhaps, and having childish blue eyes and fair curling locks.

She was so frightened by the grandeur of her surroundings, and the splendid beauty of the lady who was so soon to be a d.u.c.h.ess, and was already a great earl's widow, that she could only stand within the doorway, curtseying and trembling, with tears welling in her eyes.

”Be not afraid,” said my Lady Dunstanwolde. ”Come hither, child, and tell me what you want.” Indeed, she did not look a hard or shrewish lady; she spoke as gently as woman could, and a mildness so unexpected produced in the young creature such a revulsion of feeling that she made a few steps forward and fell upon her knees, weeping, and with uplifted hands.

”My lady,” she said, ”I know not how I dared to come, but that I am so desperate-and your ladys.h.i.+p being so happy, it seemed-it seemed that you might pity me, who am so helpless and know not what to do.”

Her ladys.h.i.+p leaned forward in her chair, her elbow on her knee, her chin held in her hand, to gaze at her.

”You come from Sir John Oxon?” she said.

Anne, watching, clutched each arm of her chair.

”Not from him, asking your ladys.h.i.+p's pardon,” said the child, ”but-but-from the country to him,” her head falling on her breast, ”and I know not where he is.”

”You came to him,” asked my lady. ”Are you,” and her speech was pitiful and slow-”are you one of those whom he has-ruined?”

The little suppliant looked up with widening orbs.