am hesitated a moment, murmured a
few words of thanks, and at last came out openly with--"What sayest,
sweetheart?"

"He will do," was Regina's answer. "He is good man. He have clear
eyes, he look you in de face; he pray in de chapel, and not run his eyes
all round; he laugh and chatter-patter not wid other damsels; he is sad,
courteous, and gent. He will do, husband."

Little idea had Amphillis that her future was being thus settled for her
downstairs, as she sat in the Countess's chamber, tending her sick lady.
The Countess was slowly sinking. Father Jordan thought she might live
perhaps for another month; it was only a question of time. Perrote said
that the soul was keeping the body alive. The old fiery flashes of
passion were never seen now; she showed a little occasional irritability
and petulance, but usually her mood was one of listless, languid
weariness, from which nothing aroused her, and in which nothing
interested her. The one burning, crying desire of her heart was to see
her son. She did not know of the fruitless application which had been
already made to him; still less of the renewed appeal, to which no
answer could be returned for some days at least. Her belief was that
Sir Godfrey would not permit any message to be sent, and that if he did,
King Edward would not allow the Duke, who was his vassal, to obey it.
To the least hint that the Duke might or could himself decline, she
refused to listen so decidedly that no one had the heart to repeat it.
More plaintive, day by day, grew the dying mother's yearning moans for
her best-loved child. In vain Perrote tried to assure her that human
love was inadequate to satisfy the cravings of her immortal soul; that
God had made her for Himself, and that only when it reached and touched
Him could the spirit which He had given find rest.

"I cannot hearken to thee, old woman," said the dying prisoner. "My
whole soul is set on my lad, and is bent to see him before I die. Let
God grant me that, and I will listen to Him after--I will love the good
God then. I cannot rest, I cannot rest without my lad!"

The days wore on, and the snows of February passed into the winds of
March. Lady Basset remained at Hazelwood, but her squire had not
returned. The Countess was very weak now.

The Archbishop of York had delayed his departure too. He would answer
for it, he said, both to his superior of Canterbury and to the King. In
his own heart he was not satisf