for many a night--ay, that did I. But now that I be come to
years of discretion, I do ensure thee that I am right thankful my said
father was wiser than I. For this Master Pride was slain at Evesham,
when I was of the age of five-and-twenty years, and left behind him not
so much as a mark of silver that should have come to me, his widow. It
was a good twenty-fold better that I should have wedded with thy father,
Sir Gilbert, that hath this good house, and forty acres of land, and
spendeth thirty marks by the year and more. Dost thou not see the
same?"

No. Clarice heard, but she did not see.

"Well-a-day! Now know, that when my good Lord of Gloucester, that wed
with our Lady Maud, was a young lad, being then in wardship unto Sir
Hubert, sometime Earl of Kent (whom God pardon!) he strake up a
love-match with the Lady Margaret, that was my said Lord of Kent his
daughter. And in very deed a good match it should have been, had it
been well liked of them that were above them; but the Lord King that
then was--the father unto King Edward that now is--rarely misliked the
same, and gat them divorced in all hate. It was not meet, as thou
mayest well guess, that such matters should be settled apart from his
royal pleasure. And forthwith, ere further mischief could ensue, he
caused my said Lord of Gloucester to wed with our Lady Maud. But look
thou, so obstinate was he, and so set of having his own way, that he
scarce ever said so much as `Good morrow' to the Lady Maud until he knew
that the said Lady Margaret was commanded to God. Never do thou be
obstinate, Clarice. 'Tis ill enough for a young man, but yet worse for
a maid."

"How long time was that, Dame, an' it like you?"

"Far too long," answered Dame La Theyn, somewhat severely. "Three years
and more."

Three years and more! Clarice's thoughts went off on a long journey.
Three years of disappointed hope and passionate regret, three years of
weary waiting for death, on the part of the Lady Margaret! Naturally
enough her sympathies were with the girl. And three years, to Clarice,
at sixteen, seemed a small lifetime.

"Now, this lady whom thou shalt serve, Clarice," pursued her mother--and
Clarice's mind came back to the subject in hand--"she is first-born
daughter unto the said Sir Richard de Clare, Lord of Gloucester, and our
Lady Maud, of whom I spake. Her name is Margaret, after the damsel that
died--a poor compliment, as methinks, to the said Lady Ma