nother's breast.
Ha'vama'l.

The murmur of the rain that was falling gently on the roses of the Abbey
garden stole in through the open windows of Elfgiva's bower and blended
softly with the music of Candida's lyre. Poring over the dingy scrolls
spread out on the table before her, the Lady of Northampton yawned until
she was moved to throw herself back among her cushions with a gesture of
graceful surrender.

"It seems that the Saints are going to take pity on me and shorten one
of these endless days with a nap. Nurse, have a care for these scrolls.
And if it happen that the King's Marshal comes--Randalin! Where is
Randalin?"

Beyond Leonorine's embroidery frame and the stool where Candida bent
over her lyre, the length of the room away, a figure in iris-blue turned
from the window by which it stood.

"Here, lady. What is your need?"

To place the speaker Elfgiva raised her head slightly, laughing as she
let it sink back. "Watching for him already, and the sun but little past
noon? For shame, moppet! Come here."

"So please you, I was watching the rain on the roses," Randalin excused
herself with a blush as she came forward.

A merry chorus mocked her: "Is it to watch the roses that you have put
on the gown which matches your eyes, you sly one?"... "And the lilies
in your hair, sweet? Is it to shelter them from the rain that you wear
them?"... "Fie, Tata! Can you not fib yet without changing color?"

But Elfgiva raised an impatient hand. "Peace, chatterers!" she
commanded; and drawing the girl to her, she spoke low and earnestly in
her ear.

Randalin looked up in surprise. "You will not see him, lady? Not though
he bring news of the doings in the Palace?"

"Heaven's mercy!" Elfgiva shrugged with a touch of scorn. "What
abundance of news he has found to bring since the day he fell in with
you at even-song!" Then she consented to smile faintly as she settled
her head among the cushions. "I would rather sleep, child. Comfort him
as best you can,--only not so well that you forget that which I enjoined
you. If he fail us, I cannot tell what we shall do,--now that the second
scullion has been so foolish as to get himself killed in some way. Where
bear you the ring?"

The girl touched the spot where the gold chain that encircled her neck
crept into the breast of her gown. The lady shook her head.

"Never would you think of it again. Take it out and wear it on your
finger."

As she obeyed, Randalin