Earl and his sons were only too glad
to slink away--there is no other word for it, their relief as to the
expected visitor having been exchanged for consternation of another
description.

There was a blazing fire ready, and all the baby comforts of the time
provided, and poor little Lady Arbell was relieved from her swathing
bands, and allowed to stretch her little limbs on her nurse's lap, the
one rest really precious to babes of all periods and conditions--but
the troubles were not yet over, for the grandmother, glancing round,
demanded, "Where is the cradle inlaid with pearl? Why was it not
provided? Bring it here."

Now this cradle, carved in cedar wood and inlaid with mother-of-pearl,
had been a sponsor's gift to poor little George, the first male heir of
the Talbots, and it was regarded as a special treasure by his mother,
who was both wounded and resentful at the demand, and stood pouting and
saying, "It was my son's. It is mine."

"It belongs to the family. You," to two of the servants, "fetch it
here instantly!"

The ladies of Hardwicke race were not guarded in temper or language,
and Mary burst into passionate tears and exclamations that Bess's brat
should not have her lost George's cradle, and flounced away to get
before the servants and lock it up. Lady Shrewsbury would have sprung
after her, and have made no scruple of using her fists and nails even
on her married daughter, but that she was impeded by a heavy table, and
this gave time for Susan to throw herself before her, and entreat her
to pause.

"You, you, Susan Talbot! You should know better than to take the part
of an undutiful, foul-tongued vixen like that. Out of my way, I say!"
and as Susan, still on her knees, held the riding-dress, she received a
stinging box on the ear. But in her maiden days she had known the
weight of my lady's hand, and without relaxing her hold, she only
entreated: "Hear me, hear me for a little space, my lady. Did you but
know how sore her heart is, and how she loved little Master George!"

"That is no reason she should flout and miscall her dead sister, of
whom she was always jealous!"

"O madam, she wept with all her heart for poor Lady Lennox. It is not
any evil, but she sets such store by that cradle in which her child
died--she keeps it by her bed even now, and her woman told me how, for
all she seems gay and blithe by day, she weeps over it at night, as if
her heart would break."

Lady Shrewsbury w