ere
was half an hour to spare before supper, and the girls were chatting
together in their usual "bower," or boudoir, when, to their surprise,
the Countess entered.

"I have ado but with two of you," she said, as she seated herself.

Naturally, the girls supposed that some penalty was about to befall
those two. How had they offended her? and which of them were the
offenders? To displease the Countess, as they all knew, was so
extremely easy, that not one of them was prepared for the next sentence.

"Two of you are to be wed on Tuesday."

This was a bombshell. And it was the more serious because they were
aware that from this sentence there was no appeal. Troubled eyes, set
in white faces, hurriedly sought each other.

Was it from sheer thoughtlessness, or from absolute malice, or even from
a momentary feeling of compassion towards the two who were to be
sacrificed, that the Countess made a long pause after each sentence?

"Diana Quappelad," she said.

Olympias, Roisia, and Clarice drew a sigh of relief. There were just
half the chances against each that there had been. Diana stood forward,
with a slight flush, but apparently not much concerned.

"Thou art to wed with Master Fulk de Chaucombe, and thy bridegroom will
be knighted on the wedding-day. I shall give thee thy gear and thy
wedding-feast. Mistress Underdone will show thee the gear."

The first momentary expression of Diana's face had been disappointment.
It passed in an instant, and one succeeded which was divided between
pleasurable excitement and amusement. She courtesied very low, and
thanked the Countess, as of course was expected of her.

Roisia stood behind, with blank face and clasped hands. There might be
further pain in store, but pleasure for her there could now be none.
The Countess quite understood the dumb show, but she made no sign.

"Clarice La Theyn."

The girl stood out, listening for the next words as though her life hung
on them.

"I shall also give thee thy gear, and thy squire will be knighted on the
wedding-day."

The Countess was turning away as though she had said all. Clarice had
heard enough to make her feel as if life were not worth having. A
squire who still required knighthood was not Piers Ingham. Did it
matter who else it was? But she found, the next moment, that it might.

"Would my Lady suffer me to let Clarice know whom she is to wed?" gently
suggested Mistress Underdone.

"Oh, did I not mention