hat annihilated all his
designs, and drove him back into his bashful self whenever he came into
contact with her, and felt how unlike the grave serene loftiness of her
presence was to the mere queen of romance, that in her absence her shadow
had become.

Alice Montagu, returning to her side, relieved while disconcerting him.
Sweet little Alice had been in a continual flutter ever since commands
had come from Meaux that she was to come out to meet the father whom she
had not seen since what seemed like half her childish lifetime, and the
betrothed whom she had never seen at all; and Lady Westmoreland had added
to her awe by the lengthened admonition with which she took leave of her.
And on this day, when Esclairmonde herself had arrayed the fair child in
the daintiest of rose-pink boddices edged with swan's-down, the whitest
of kirtles, and softest of rosy veils, the flush of anxiety on the pale
little face made it so fair to look upon, that as the maiden wistfully
asked, 'Think you he will flout me?' it was impossible not to laugh at
the very notion. 'Ah! but I would be glad if he did, for then I might
bide with you.'

When, in the general greeting, Alice had been sought out by a tall, dark-
browed, grizzled warrior, Esclairmonde had, cruelly, as the maiden
thought, kept her station behind the Countess, and never stirred for all
those wistful backward glances, but left her alone to drop on her knee to
seek the blessing of the mighty old soldier.

And now she was holding his great hand, almost as tough as his gauntlets,
and leading him up to her friend, while he louted low, and spoke with a
grand fatherly courtesy:

'Fair demoiselle, this silly wench of mine tells me that you have been
good friend to her, and I thank you for the same with all mine heart.'

'Silly' was a fond term of love then, and had all the affection of a
proud father in it, as the Earl of Salisbury patted the small soft
fingers in his grasp.

'Truly, my lord,' responded Esclairmonde, 'the Lady Alice hath been my
sweetest companion, friend, and sister, for these many months.'

'Nay, child, art worthy to be called friend by such a lady as this? If
so, I shall deem my little Alice grown a woman indeed, as it is time she
were--Diccon Nevil is bent on the wedding before we go to the wars
again.'

Alice coloured like a damask rose, and hid her face behind her friend.

'Hast seen him, sweet?' asked Esclairmonde, when Salisbury had been
called aw