d earnest.

"I began to quake a bit; for mind ye, she can doff freedom and don
dignity quicker than she can slip out of her dressing-gown into kirtle
of state. But I made my voice so soft as honey (wherefore smilest?), and
I said 'Madam, one evening, a matter of five years agone, as ye sat
with your mother, the Countess of Charolois, who is now in heaven, worse
luck, you wi' your lute, and she wi' her tapestry, or the like, do ye
mind there came came into ye a fair youth with a letter from a painter
body, one Margaret Van Eyck?"

"She said she thought she did, 'Was it not a tall youth, exceeding
comely?'

"'Ay, madam,' said I; 'he was my brother.'

"'Your brother?' said she, and did eye me like all over, (What dost
smile at?")

"So I told her all that passed between her and Gerard, and how she was
for giving him a bishopric; but the good countess said, 'Gently, Marie!
he is too young; and with that they did both promise him a living:
'Yet,' said I, 'he hath been a priest a long while, and no living. Hence
my bile.'

"'Alas!' said she, ''tis not by my good will; for all this thou hast said
is sooth, and more. I do remember my dear mother said to me, "See thou
to it if I be not here."' So then she cried out, 'Ay, dear mother, no
word of thine shall ever fall to the ground.'

"I, seeing her so ripe, said quickly, 'Madam, the Vicar of Gouda died
last week.' (For when ye seek favours of the great, behoves ye know the
very thing ye aim at.)

"'Then thy brother is vicar of Gouda,' quo' she, 'so sure as I am
heiress of Burgundy and the Netherlands. Nay, thank me not, good Giles,'
quo' she, 'but my good mother. And I do thank thee for giving of me
somewhat to do for her memory. And doesn't she fall a weeping for her
mother? And doesn't that set me off a-snivelling for my good brother
that I love so dear, and to think that a poor little elf like me could
yet speak in the ear of princes, and make my beautiful brother vicar of
Gouda; eh, lass, it is a bonny place, and a bonny manse, and hawthorn in
every bush at spring-tide, and dog-roses and eglantine in every summer
hedge. I know what the poor fool affects, leave that to me."

The dwarf began his narrative strutting to and fro before Margaret, but
he ended it in her arms; for she could not contain herself, but caught
him, and embraced him warmly. "Oh, Giles," she said, blushing, and
kissing him, "I cannot keep my hands off thee, thy body it is so little,
and thy heart