"As his wont is--right goodly, and preux [brave] and courteous."

"Ay so!" said Constance tenderly. "And knew he thou shouldst see me?"

"I am not well a.s.sured, but methinks rather ay than nay."

"And what word sent he by thee?"

"None."

"What, not one word?"

"Nay."

Constance's voice sank to a less animated tone.

"And what did he?"

"They were about going in the hall to supper."

"Handed he thee?"

"Nay, my cousin the King's Grace handed me."

"Then who was with my Lord?"

"The Lady Lucy of Milan."

"Lucy of Milan!--is she not rarely beauteous?"

"I wis nought about beauty. If it lie in great staring black eyes, and a soft, deb.o.n.e.re [amiable, pleasant] manner, like a black cat, belike so."

For the first time, Constance fairly noticed Isabel's peculiar smile.

She sat up in her bed, with contracted brow.

"Isabel, there is worser behind."

"There is more behind, Custance," said Isabel coolly.

"Speak, and quickly!"

"Well, mayhap better so. Wit thou then, fair Cousin, that thy wedding with my Lord of Kent is found not good, sith--"

"Not good!" Constance said, or rather shrieked. "G.o.d in Heaven have mercy!--not good!"

"Not good, fair Cousin mine," resumed Isabel's even tones, "seeing that the priest which wedded you was ere that day excommunicate of heresy, nor could lawfully marry any."

Maude's face grew as white as her lady's, though she gave no audible sign of her terrible apprehension that her marriage was invalid also.

Isabel, who seemed to notice nothing, yet saw everything, turned quietly to her. And though the sisters of Saint Clare might be no news-mongers, the royal nun had evidently received full information on that subject.

"There is no cause for your travail [trouble, vexation], Dame Lyngern,"

she said calmly. "The writ bare date but on Sunday, and you were wed the even afore; so you be no wise touched.--Marry, Custance, thou seest that so being, my Lord of Kent--and thou likewise--be left free to wed; wherefore it pleased the King's Grace, of his rare goodness, to commend him unto the Lady Lucy of Milan by way of marriage. They shall be wed this next January."

Isabel spoke as quietly as people generally do who are not personally concerned in the calamity they proclaim. But perhaps she hardly antic.i.p.ated what followed. Her eyes were scarcely ready for the sight of that white livid face, quivering in every nerve with human agony, nor her ears for the fierce cry which broke from the parched bloodless lips.

"Thou liest!"

Isabel shrank back with a look of uneasy apprehension in her round rosy face.

"Nay, burden not me withal, Custance! 'Tis no work of mine. I am but a messenger."

"Poor fool! I shall not harm thee! But whose messenger art?"

"The King's Grace himself bade me to see thee."

"And tell me _that_?"

"He bade me do thee to wit so much."

"'So much'--how much? What I have heard hath killed me. Hast yet ill news left to bury me withal?"

"Only this, Custance," replied her cousin in a deprecating tone, "that sithence, though it were not good by law of holy Church, yet there was some matter of marriage betwixt thee and my Lord of Kent; and men's tongues, thou wist, will roll and rumble unseemlily,--it seemed good unto his Highness that it should be fully exhibit to the world how little true import were therein; and accordingly he would have thee to put thine hand to a paper, wherein thou shalt knowledge that the marriage had betwixt you two was against the law of holy Church, and is therefore null and void. If thou wilt do the same, I am bid to tell thee, thou shalt have free liberty to come forth hence, and all lands of thy dower restored."

"Art at an end?"

"Ay; therewith closeth my commission."

"Then have back at thy leisure, and tell Harry of Bolingbroke from me that I defy him and Satan his master alike. I will set mine hand to no such lie, as there is a Heaven above me, and beneath him an h.e.l.l!"

"Custance!" remonstrated her cousin in a scandalised tone.

But Constance lifted her head, and flung up her hands towards heaven.

"O G.o.d of Paradise!" she cried, "holy and true, just in Thy judgments, look upon us two--this King and me--and betwixt us judge this day! Look upon us, Lady of Pity, Lily of Christendom, and say whether of us two is the sinner! O all ye Angels, all ye Saints in Heaven! that sin not, but plead for us sinners,--plead ye this day with G.o.d that He will render to each of us two his due, as he hath demerited! Before you, before holy Church, before G.o.d in Heaven, I denounce this man Harry of Bolingbroke!

Render unto him, O Lord! render unto him his desert!"

"Custance, thou mayest better take this matter more meekly," observed Isabel with quiet propriety, very different from her cousin's tone and mien of frenzied pa.s.sion. "I have told thee truth, and no lie. What should it serve? The priest is excommunicate, and my Lord of Kent shall wed the Lady Lucy, and the King will have thine hand thereto, ere thou come forth."

"Not if I die here a thousand times!"

"I do thee to wit, Custance, that there is grave doubt cast of thy truth and fealty--"

"To Harry of Bolingbroke?" she asked contemptuously. "When lent I _him_ any?"

"Custance!--Of thy truth and fealty unto holy Church our mother. Nor, maybe, shall she be over ready to lift up out of the mire one whom all the holy doctors do esteem an heretic."

"What, I?"

"Thou."