ide and fair
garden, interspersed with thick bosquets and regular alleys, over which
the rich skies of the summer evening, a little before sunset, cast
alternate light and shadow. Towards this prospect the sweet face of the
Lady Anne was turned musingly. The riveted eye, the bended neck, the
arms reclining on the knee, the slender fingers interlaced,--gave to her
whole person the character of revery and repose.

In the same chamber were two other ladies; the one was pacing the floor
with slow but uneven steps, with lips moving from time to time, as if in
self-commune, with the brow contracted slightly: her form and face took
also the character of revery, but not of repose.

The third female (the gentle and lovely mother of the other two) was
seated, towards the centre of the room, before a small table, on which
rested one of those religious manuscripts, full of the moralities and
the marvels of cloister sanctity, which made so large a portion of the
literature of the monkish ages. But her eye rested not on the Gothic
letter and the rich blazon of the holy book. With all a mother's fear
and all a mother's fondness, it glanced from Isabel to Anne, from Anne
to Isabel, till at length in one of those soft voices, so rarely heard,
which makes even a stranger love the speaker, the fair countess said,--

"Come hither, my child Isabel; give me thy hand, and whisper me what
hath chafed thee."

"My mother," replied the duchess, "it would become me ill to have a
secret not known to thee, and yet, methinks, it would become me less to
say aught to provoke thine anger!"

"Anger, Isabel! Who ever knew anger for those they love?"

"Pardon me, my sweet mother," said Isabel, relaxing her haughty brow,
and she approached and kissed her mother's cheek.

The countess drew her gently to a seat by her side.

"And now tell me all,--unless, indeed, thy Clarence hath, in some
lover's hasty mood, vexed thy affection; for of the household secrets
even a mother should not question the true wife."

Isabel paused, and glanced significantly at Anne.

"Nay, see!" said the countess, smiling, though sadly, "she, too, hath
thoughts that she will not tell to me; but they seem not such as should
alarm my fears, as thine do. For the moment ere I spoke to thee, thy
brow frowned, and her lip smiled. She hears us not,--speak on."

"Is it then true, my mother, that Margaret of Anjou is hastening hither?
And can it be possible that King Louis can pers