“Nought but weep and pray!” said Agnes.
“And yet I can bear it better now that you
are here. Your presence refutes the worst accusation,
and removes a heavy weight from my mind.”
“You distrust him too! I cannot love you
if you do.”
“Never, never! I only feared some evil
had befallen you, and grieved to see the use made
of your absence. Your coming should make my
heart light again.”
“Shall I often see you, Cousin Agnes? for there
is none else in this wide Castle that I shall care
for.”
“Oh yes, Arthur, there are full twenty pages
little older than yourself—Lord Thomas
Holland, the Prince’s stepson, brother to the
lady that led you to me; little Piers de Greilly, nephew
to the Captal de Buch; young Lord Henry of Lancaster;
and the little Prince Edward himself. You will
have no lack of merry playmates.”
“Ah, but to whom can I talk of my blessed mother
and of Uncle Eustace, and of Lynwood Keep, and poor
old Blanc Etoile, that I promised Ralph I would bear
in mind?”
“Well, Arthur,” said Agnes, cheerfully,
“it is the pages’ duty to wait on the
ladies in hall and bower, and the ladies’ office
to teach them all courtly manners, and hear them read
and say the Credo and Ave. You shall be my own
especial page and servant. Is it agreed?”
“Oh yes,” said the boy. “I
wonder if the master of the Damoiseaux is as strict
as that lady said, and I wonder when I shall see Uncle
Eustace again.”
If Arthur Lynwood felt desolate when he left his uncle’s
side, it was not otherwise with Sir Eustace as he
lost sight of the child, who had so long been his
charge, and who repaid his anxiety with such confiding
affection. The coveted fame, favour, and distinction
seemed likewise to have deserted him. The Prince’s
coldness hung heavily on him, and as he cast his eyes
along the ranks of familiar faces, not one friendly
look cheered him. His greetings were returned
with coldness, and a grave haughty courtesy was the
sole welcome. Chafed and mortified, he made a
sign to Gaston, and they were soon in the street once
more.
“Coward clown!” burst forth Gaston at
once. “Would that I could send all his
grinning teeth down the false throat of him!”
“Whose? What mean you?”
“Whose but that sulky recreant, Ashton?
He has done well to obtain knighthood, or I would
beat him within an inch of his life with my halbert,
and if he dared challenge me, slay him as I would a
carrion crown! He a Knight! Thanks to
his acres and to Lord Pembroke!”
“Patience, patience, Gaston—I have
not yet heard of what he accuses me.”
“No! he has learnt policy—he saith
it not openly! He would deny it, as did his
Esquire when I taxed him with it! Would that
you could not tell a letter! Sir Eustace, of
your favour let me burn every one of your vile books.”
