Foljambe almost slammed the door behind her, and, locking it,
charged Amphillis to listen carefully for the Archbishop's knock, and to
unlock the door the moment she should hear it.

The Archbishop, meanwhile, had seated himself in the only chair in the
room corresponding to that of the Countess. A chair was an object of
consequence in the eyes of a mediaeval gentleman, for none but persons
of high rank might sit on a chair; all others were relegated to a form,
styled a bench when it had a back to it. Stools, however, were allowed
to all. That certain formalities or styles of magnificence should have
been restricted to persons of rank may be reasonable; but it does seem
absurd that no others should have been allowed to be comfortable. "The
good old times" were decidedly inconvenient for such as had no handles
to their names.

"I speak, as I have been told, to the Lady Marguerite, Duchess of
Brittany, and mother to my Lord Duke?" inquired the Archbishop.

"And Countess of Montfort," was the answer. "Pray your Grace, give me
all my names, for nought else is left me to pleasure me withal--saving a
two-three ounces of slea-silk and an ell of gold fringe."

"And what else would you?"

"What else?" The question was asked in passionate tones, and the dark
flashing eyes went longingly across the valley to the Alport heights.
"I would have my life back again," she said. "I have not had a fair
chance. I have done with my life not that I willed, but only that which
others gave leave for me to do. Six and twenty years have I been
tethered, and fretted, and limited, granted only the semblance of power,
the picture of life, and thrust and pulled back whensoever I strained in
the least at the leash wherein I was held. No dog has been more penned
up and chained than I! And now, for eight years have I been cabined in
one chamber, shut up from the very air of heaven whereunto God made all
men free--shut up from every face that I knew and loved, saving one of
mine ancient waiting-maids--verily, if they would use me worser than so,
they shall be hard put to it, save to thrust me into my coffin and
fasten down the lid on me. I want my life back again! I want the
bright harvest of my youth, which these slugs and maggots have devoured,
which I never had. I want the bloom of my dead happiness which men tare
away from me. I want my dead lord, and mine estranged children, and my
lost life! Tell me, has God no treasury whence