Cow at Wickben, young
John, who was heir and Marquess of Roxholm, had been born; following
each other his two brothers, and later the child Daphne and her sister
Anne; last, the little Lord Cuthbert, who was told as he grew older
that he was to be the hero of his house in memory of Cuthbert de
Mertoun, who had lived centuries ago; and in the five villages 'twas
sworn that each son her Grace bore her husband was a finer creature
than the last, and that her girl children outbloomed their brothers
all.

Among these young human flowers Mistress Anne reigned gentle queen and
saint, but softly faded day by day, having been a fragile creature all
her life, but growing more so as time passed, despite the peace she
lived in and the happiness surrounding her.

In her eyes, too, his Grace had seen a look which held its mystery.
They were such soft eyes and so kind and timid he had always loved
them. In days gone by he had often observed them as they followed her
sister, and had been touched by the faithful tenderness of their look;
but after her marriage they seemed to follow her more tenderly still,
and sometimes with a vague, piteous wonder, as if the fond creature
asked herself in secret a question she knew not how to answer. More and
more devout she had grown, and, above all things, craved to aid her
Grace in the doing of her good deeds. To such work she gave herself
with the devotion of one who would strive to work out a penance.

Her own attendant was one of those whom her sister had aided, and was a
young creature with a piteous little story indeed--a pretty, rosy,
country child of but seventeen when, after her Grace's marriage, she
came to Camylott to serve Mistress Anne.

On her first coming my lord Duke had marked her and the sadness of her
innocent, childish face and blue eyes, and had spoken of her to Anne,
asking if she had met with some misfortune.

"A pretty, curly-headed creature such as she should be a village beauty
and dimpling with smiles," he said, "but the little thing looks
sometimes as if she had wept a year. Who has done her a wrong?"

Mistress Anne gave a little start and bent lower over her embroidery
frame, but her Grace, who was in the apartment, answered for her.

"'Twas Sir John Oxon," she answered, "who has wronged so many."

"What!" Osmonde cried, "wrought he the poor thing's ruin?"

"No," the Duchess replied; "but would have done it, and she, poor
child, all innocent, believing herself