that the sound of a
bugle-horn without was likely to cause no great curiosity; nor, as
Custance's drawing-room window opened on a little quiet corner of the
inner court-yard, did she often witness the arrival of guests. So that
three horns rang out on that afternoon without awakening more than a
passing wonder "who it might be;" and when an unusual commotion was
heard in the guard-room, the cause remained unsurmised. But when the
door of the drawing-room was opened, a most unexpected sight dawned on
the eyes of the prisoners. Unannounced and completely unlooked-for, in
the doorway stood Henry of Bolingbroke, the King.

It was no wonder that Maude's work dropped from her hands as she rose
hastily; nor that Custance's eyes passed hurriedly on to see who
composed the suite. But the suite consisted of a solitary individual,
and this was her ubiquitous brother, Edward of York.

"God give you good even, fair Cousin!" said Henry, with a bend of his
stately head. His manners in public, though less really considerate,
were stiffer and more ceremonious than those of his predecessor. "You
scantly looked, as methinks, for a visit of ours this even?"; "Your
Highness' servant!" was all chat Custance said, in a voice the
constrained tone of which had its source rather in coldness than in
reverence.

"Christ save thee, Custance!" said Edward, sauntering in behind his
royal master. "Thou hast here a fine look-out, in very deed."

"Truth, Ned; and time to mark it!" rejoined his sister.

The door opened again, and with a lout [the old English courtesy, now
considered rustic] of the deepest veneration, Isabel made her
appearance.

"I pray you sit, ladies," commanded the King.

The Princesses obeyed, but Maude did not consider herself included. The
King took the isolated chair with which the room was provided.

"An' you be served, our fair Cousins," he remarked, "we will to
business, seeing our tarrying hither shall be but unto Monday; and if
your leisure serve, Lady Le Despenser, we would fain bear you with us
unto London. Our fair cousin Isabel, as methinks, did you to wit of our
pleasure?"

What was the occult power within this man--whom no one liked, yet who
seemed mysteriously to fascinate all who came inside the charmed circle
of his personal influence? Instead of answering defiantly, as she had
done to Isabel, Custance contented herself with the meek response--

"She so did, Sire."

"You told her all?" pursued