uncle's
hand as he recognized the Clarenham colours and badge, uttering an
exclamation of dismay. "Never fear, Arthur," said Eustace, "they come
from the way opposite to ours. It is not pursuit. See, it is an
escort--there are ladies among them."

"Four!" said Arthur. "Uncle, that tall dame in black must be the Lady
Muriel. And surely the white veil tied with rose-colour belongs to
kind Cousin Agnes."

"True! These are no Clarenhams to guard against," said Eustace to his
Squire, who looked ready for action. "Lady Muriel, the step-mother of
the Baron and his sister, is my godmother, and, by birth, a Lynwood."

Then stepping forward, he assisted the elder lady to dismount; she
returned his courtesy by a slight inclination, as to a stranger, but
her companion, who had lightly sprung to the ground, no sooner
perceived him than she exclaimed, "Eustace!" then laying her hand on
Lady Muriel's arm, "Mother, it is Sir Eustace Lynwood."

"Ha! my gallant godson!" said the Baroness, greeting him cordially.
"Well met, brave youth! No wonder in that knightly figure I did not
know my kinswoman's little page. How does my gentle niece, Eleanor?"

"Alack! then you have not heard the tidings?" said Eustace.

"We heard long since she was sick with grief," said Lady Muriel, much
alarmed. "What mean you? Is she worse? You weep--surely she still
lives!"

"Ah! honoured dame, we come even now from laying her in her grave. Here
is her orphan boy."

Young Agnes could not restrain a cry of grief and horror, and trying to
repress her weeping till it should be without so many witnesses, Lady
Muriel and her bower-woman led her to their apartments in the inn.
Eustace was greatly affected by her grief. She had often accompanied
her step-mother on visits to Lynwood Keep in the peaceful days of their
childhood; she had loved no sport better than to sit listening to his
romantic discourses of chivalry, and had found in the shy, delicate,
dreamy boy, something congenial to her own quiet nature; and, in short,
when Eustace indulged in a vision, Agnes was ever the lady of it, the
pale slight Agnes, with no beauty save her large soft brown eyes, that
seemed to follow and take in every fancy or thought of his. Agnes was
looked down on,--her father thought she would do him little
honour,--her brother cared not for her; save for her step-mother she
would have met with little fostering attention, and when Eustace saw
her set aside and disr