h a happy light in her eyes.'

Lucy's face grew crimson.

'Yes,' she said. 'I have been happy, though there have been some crooks and
quips to bear from old Mother Crawley. Yet, oh, Mary! when there is one big
heart-joy, everything else seems so small, and poor, and mean.'

'Have you made George Ratcliffe happy, then, with a promise to requite his
love?'

'George Ratcliffe!' Lucy exclaimed. 'Nay, Mary--not for a lap full of
gold.'

'Who, then, is it? for there is someone? Who is it, Lucy? I pray God he is
a noble Christian gentleman.'

'He is the noblest, and best, and highest that ever lived. Hearken, Mary!
and do not scoff at me--nor scorn me. No, you can never do that, I know. My
knight is far above me--so far, it may be, that he will never stoop so low
as to give me more than passing signs of his good-will. But I _have had_
these. He has shone on me with his smile, he has thought of my comfort, he
did not deem the country maiden of no account, when grand ladies were
ogling him, and trying to win his favour, he did not think me beneath
notice when he lifted me on the saddle this very morning, and covered me
with a warm cloth, and bade me "God speed." If nought else comes--well, I
will live on what I have had from him. The crumbs of bread from him are
sweeter and richer than a feast from another. As I have jogged hither
to-day, there has been the thought of him to make me willing to give up
everything to gain his approval--his meed of praise. He bid me come to you,
and I came. Nay, it was my Lady Pembroke who _bid_ me come--it was Humphrey
Ratcliffe who said I _must_ e'en come--but it was my knight who told me I
_did well_ to come. And at these words a new feeling quickened in me about
it.

'You do not understand, Mary, I see you do not understand. You think me
silly, and vain, and selfish--and you are right. I am all three. I have
been all three, and hot-tempered, and saucy, and oh! a hundred other
things, but now I have an aim to be good and act in all things as my knight
would have me. Oh, Mary, could you have seen him as he rode into the
tilt-yard on Whit-Monday, in his blue and gold armour, sitting on his fine
horse, so stately and grand--could you have seen him break lance after
lance, his face shining like the sun, you would know what it is for me to
feel such an one can give a thought to me--even a passing thought.

'Mary! Mary! I cannot help it. I love him--I worship him--and there is an
end of the w