rine of
Valois, a king's daughter, married the Welsh soldier, Owen Tudor; that
all England teems with brave men born from similar spousailles, where
love has levelled all distinctions, and made a purer hearth, and raised
a bolder offspring, than the lukewarm likings of hearts that beat but
for lands and gold. Wherefore, lady, appeal not to me, a squire of
dames, a believer in the old Parliament of Love; whoever is fair and
chaste, gentle and loving, is, in the eyes of William de Hastings, the
mate and equal of a king!"

Sibyll turned involuntarily as the courtier spoke thus, with animation
in his voice, and fire in his eyes; she turned, and her breath came
quick; she turned, and her look met his, and those words and that look
sank deep into her heart; they called forth brilliant and ambitious
dreams; they rooted the growing love, but they aided to make it holy;
they gave to the delicious fancy what before it had not paused, on its
wing, to sigh for; they gave it that without which all fancy sooner or
later dies; they gave it that which, once received in a noble heart, is
the excuse for untiring faith; they gave it,--HOPE!

"And thou wouldst say," replied the lady of Longueville, with a meaning
smile, still more emphatically--"thou wouldst say that a youth, brave
and well nurtured, ambitious and loving, ought, in the eyes of rank and
pride, to be the mate and equal of--"

"Ah, noble dame," interrupted Hastings, quickly, "I must not prolong
encounter with so sharp a wit. Let me leave that answer to this fair
maiden, for by rights it is a challenge to her sex, not to mine."

"How say you, then, Mistress Warner?" said the dame. "Suppose a young
heiress, of the loftiest birth, of the broadest lands, of the comeliest
form--suppose her wooed by a gentleman poor and stationless, but with
a mighty soul, born to achieve greatness, would she lower herself by
hearkening to his suit?"

"A maiden, methinks," answered Sibyll, with reluctant but charming
hesitation, "cannot love truly if she love unworthily; and if she love
worthily, it is not rank nor wealth she loves."

"But her parents, sweet mistress, may deem differently; and should not
her love refuse submission to their tyranny?" asked Hastings.

"Nay, good my lord, nay," returned Sibyll, shaking her head with
thoughtful demureness. "Surely the wooer, if he love worthily, will not
press her to the curse of a child's disobedience and a parent's wrath!"

"Shrewdly answere