wiser and truer affection of his
daughters. The effects of this interview will be seen in a future
chapter.

CHAPTER XXIII.

There was an expression of both sorrow and care on the fine and winning
features of the Princess Joan, Countess of Gloucester, as she sat busied
in embroidery in an apartment of Carlisle Castle, often pausing to rest
her head upon her hand, and glance out of the broad casement near which
she sat, not in admiration of the placid scene which stretched beyond,
but in the mere forgetfulness of uneasy thought. Long the favorite
daughter of King Edward, perchance because her character more resembled
that of her mother, Queen Eleanor, than did either of her sisters, she
had till lately possessed unbounded influence over him. Not only his
affection but his pride was gratified in her, for he saw much of his own
wisdom, penetration, and high sense of honor reflected upon her, far
more forcibly than in his weak and yielding son. But lately, the change
which had so painfully darkened the character and actions of her father
had extended even to her. Her affection for a long time blinded her to
this painful truth, but by slow degrees it became too evident to be
mistaken, and she had wept many bitter tears, less perhaps for herself
than for her father, whom she had almost idolized. His knightly
qualities, his wisdom, the good he had done his country, all were
treasured up by her and rejoiced in with never-failing delight. His
reputation, his popularity, were dear to her, even as her noble
husband's. She had not only loved, she had reverenced him as some
superior being who had come but to do good, to leave behind him through
succeeding ages an untarnished name, enshrined in such love, England
would be long ere she spoke it without tears. And now, alas! she had
outlived such dreams; her reverence, lingering still, had been impaired
by deeds of blood her pride in him crushed; naught but a daughter's love
remaining, which did but more strongly impress upon her heart the fatal
change. And now the last blow was given; he shunned her, scarcely ever
summoned her to his presence, permitted the wife of a day to tend him in
his sufferings, rather than the daughter of his former love, one
hallowed by the memories of her mother, the beloved and faithful partner
of his youth.

It was not, however, these thoughts which entirely engrossed her now
not undivided sorrows. Her sister Elizabeth, the Countess of Hereford,