ction, which he knew had
cost far more to Constance to administer than to her refractory child to
receive.

"Then, Sir Ademar, you do think He suffereth when He chastiseth us?" she
asked, her voice faltering a little. "I cannot think, Dame, that He
loveth the rod. Only He loveth too well the child to leave him
uncorrected."

"O, Sir Ademar!" she cried suddenly--"I do trust He shall not find need
to try me yet again through these childre! I am so feared I should fail
and fall. Ah me! weak and wretched woman that I am,--I could not bear
to see these two forced from me! God help and pardon me; but me feareth
if it should come to this yet again, I would do anything to keep them!"

"The Lord can heal the waters, Lady, ere He fetch you to drink them."

"He did not this draught aforetime," she said sadly.

"Maybe," replied Ademar, "because He saw that your Ladyship's disorder
needed a bitter medicine."

There was a respite for just one year. But ever after the news of her
brother Richard's death, Constance drooped and pined; and when the fresh
storm broke, it found her an invalid almost confined to her bed. It
began with a strong manifesto from Archbishop Chichele against the
Lollards. Then came a harshly-worded order for all landed proprietors
in the Marches of South Wales to reside on their estates and "keep off
the rebels." One of these was specially directed to Constance Le
Despenser.

But who were the rebels? Owain Glyndwr had died twelve months before.
It could not mean him; and there was only one person whom it could mean.
It meant Lord Cobham, still in hiding, whom Lord Powys was in the field
to capture, and on whose head a rich reward was set. The authorities
were trembling in fear of a second outbreak under his guidance. Bertram
gave the missive to Maude, who carried it to Constance. Disobedience
was to be visited by penalty; and how it was likely to be punished in
her case, Constance knew only too well. She received it with a moan of
anguish.

"My little maids! my little, little maids!"

She said no more: she only grew worse and weaker.

Then Lord Powys, in search for the "rebels," marched up and demanded
aid. He was answered by silence: and he marched on and away, helped by
no hand or voice in Cardiff Castle.

"I must give them up!" Constance whispered to Maude, in accents so
hopelessly mournful that it wrung her tender heart to hear them. "I
cannot give Him up!"

For just then, in