nonsense," was Diana's reply.

"Well, but is it nonsense? Didst thou mean that?"

It was rather unusual for Elaine thus to satirise Diana, and looked as
if the two had changed characters, especially when Diana walked away,
muttering something which no one distinctly heard.

Elaine proved herself a tolerably true prophetess. _Fete_ followed
_fete_. Clarice found herself initiated into Court circles, and
discovered that she was enjoying herself very much. But whether the
attraction lay in the pageants, in the dancing, in her own bright array,
or in the companionship, she did not pause to ask herself. Perhaps if
she had paused, and made the inquiry, she might have discovered that
life had changed to her since she came to Westminster. The things
eternal, of which Heliet alone had spoken to her, had faded away into
far distance; they had been left behind at Oakham. The things temporal
were becoming everything.

In a stone balcony overhanging the Thames, at Whitehall, sat Earl Edmund
of Cornwall, in a thoughtful attitude, resting his head upon his hand.
He had been alone for half an hour, but now a tall man in a Dominican
habit, who was not Father Bevis, came round the corner of the balcony,
which ran all along that side of the house. He was the Prior or Rector
of Ashridge, a collegiate community, founded by the Earl himself, of
which we shall hear more anon.

The Friar sat down on the stone bench near the Earl, who took no further
notice of him than by a look, his eyes returning to dreamy contemplation
of the river.

"Of what is my Lord thinking?" asked the Friar, gently.

"Of life," said the Prince.

"Not very hopefully, I imagine."

"The hope comes at the beginning, Father. Look at yonder pleasure-boat,
with the lads and lasses in it, setting forth for a row. There is hope
enough in their faces. But when the journey comes near its end, and the
perilous bridge must be shot, and the night is setting in, what you see
in the faces then will not be hope. It will be weariness; perhaps
disgust and sorrow. And--in some voyages, the hope dies early."

"True--if it has reference only to the day."

"Ah," responded the Prince, with a smile which had more sadness than
mirth in it, "you mean to point me to the hope beyond. But the day is
long Father. The night has not come yet, and the bridge is still to be
shot. Ay, and the wind and rain are cold, as one drops slowly down the
river."

"There is home at th