s of the cloister--but,
alas! I have no right to detain you from a brother's guardianship."

"I dreaded this journey much before," said Agnes; "but now, even my
trust in Fulk is gone; I shall see round me no one in whom to place
confidence. Alas! alas!"

"Nay, fair Agnes," said Eustace, "he will surely be a kind brother to
thee--he cannot be otherwise."

"How love and trust when there is no esteem? Oh, Mother, Mother! this
is loneliness indeed! In that strange, courtly throng, who will
protect and shelter me?"

"There is an Arm--" began the Baroness.

"Yes, noble Lady, there is one arm," eagerly exclaimed Eustace, "that
would only deem itself too much honoured if it could be raised in your
service."

"I spoke of no arm of flesh," said Lady Muriel, reprovingly--and
Eustace hung his head abashed. "I spake of the Guardian who will never
be wanting to the orphan."

There was a silence, first broken by Eustace. "One thing there is,
that I would fain ask of your goodness," said he: "many a false tale,
many a foul slander, will be spoken of me, and many may give heed to
them; but let that be as it will, they shall not render my heart heavy
while I can still believe that you give no ear to them."

"Sir Eustace," said the Lady of Clarenham, "I have known you from
childhood, and it would go hard with me to believe aught dishonourable
of the pupil of Sir Reginald and of Eleanor."

"Yes, Sir Eustace," added Agnes, "it would break my heart to distrust
you; for then I must needs believe that faith, truth, and honour had
left the world."

"And now," said Lady Muriel, who thought the conversation had been
sufficiently tender to fulfil all the requirements of the connection of
families, and of their old companionship, "now, Agnes, we must take
leave of our kind kinsman, since, doubtless, he will desire to renew
his journey early to-morrow."

Eustace took the hint, and bent his knee to kiss the hands which were
extended to him by the two ladies; then left the room, feeling, among
all the clouds which darkened his path, one clear bright ray to warm
and gladden his heart. Agnes trusted his truth, Agnes would be at
Bordeaux,--he might see her, and she would hear of his deeds.

Agnes, while she wept over her kinswoman's death and her brother's
faults, rejoiced in having met her old playfellow, and found him as
noble a Knight as her fancy had often pictured him; and in the
meanwhile, the good old Lady Muriel sighed to h