old woman,
far more than the scars of the dire disease which snatched away my beauty
twenty years ago. You were but a little fellow then, but then, as now, wise
beyond your years. It was hard for me to meet your inquiring gaze, and to
hear the smothered sigh as you looked on your mother's changed face. While
little Mary drew back from my offered kiss, and cried out, "It is not my
pretty mother," you put your arms round me, saying to her, "It is our own
dear mother, Mary. Fie then, for shame," as she struggled to get away from
the woman who tried to force her to kiss me.' Then with the swift change of
mood which characterised Lady Sidney she stroked Philip's cheek, and said
laughing,--'How many fair ladies are sighing for your favour, my son? Truly
the hearts of many must be in danger of capture. Wit, wisdom, learning and
beauty such as yours do not often go hand in hand.'

'Nay; now, mother mine, I shall say you have taken lessons in the school of
flattery, for which you were ready to take me to task not long ago. But I
must away to look round the stables, and see to the proper equipment of the
men who will ride with me to the tourney at Whitehall next month.'

* * * * *

Lucy Forrester found her household duties irksome the next morning.

A wrangle with her stepmother had ended in a stormy scene, when Mrs
Forrester gave Lucy a sudden box on the ear for neglecting to replenish the
fire on the open hearth with wood, so that when it was time to hang up the
kettle to boil the meat for the dinner, served at eleven o'clock to the
family, there were only a few smouldering white ashes left.

'As if I cared a groat for you! Box the other ear if you like, and kindle
your own fire, for me.'

'You shall not have bite or sup in this house to-day,' Mrs Forrester
screamed, as Lucy darted out of the kitchen, answering,--

'I don't want your food. I know where I shall be better served.'

With flashing eyes and heightened colour, Lucy found herself face to face,
on the strip of rough ground before the house, with Humphrey Ratcliffe.

'Mistress Lucy,' he exclaimed, 'whether are you rushing like a whirlwind?'

'Anywhere, to get out of hearing of that tongue. Hark, now, it is still
wagging like the clapper of a bell.'

'Where is Mistress Gifford?' Humphrey asked, without taking any notice of
Lucy's reference to the quarrel which he guessed had been raging.

'Oh, it's Mary you want to see, not me,'