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About Google Book Search Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web at |http: //books .google .com/I HARVARD COLLEGE LIBRARY BYE-WORDS A COLLECTION OF TALES NEW AND OLD BY CHARLOTTE M. YONGE AUTHOR OP *THK HKIR OF REDCLYPFE* ETC .. X jeP « c 2 20 The Boy Bishop, CHAPTER III. Whoever devised the ritual of the Boy Bishop must have been Trying to wind himself too high For sinful men beneath the sky. Beautiful as was the idea, and exquisite as the service was, it could scarce be carried out consistently by any human creatures on earth; and, in the Middle Ages, in a tongue not * understanded of the people,' and left to rude provincial ecclesiastics amid a ruder mob, the ceremony had degenerated into a popular holiday when sacrilegious profanity was in a manner licensed. It was on St. Nicolas' day, the 6th of December, that the election took place, and the little Bishop continued in office till Innocents' day, the 28th. The early part of these three weeks was spent in training and singing, after which, when Mass was over on Christmas Day, the whole band of choristers went from house to house, in miniature ecclesiastical vest- ments, singing hymns and Christmas carols, and the two appointed deacons presenting bags, where alms The Boy Bishop, 2 i were collected to maintain the lads if they continued to be educated for the priesthood. To prevent these customs from degenerating into idle roaming and shouting, the Dean had provided that the troop should be attended by trustworthy men, who kept order, and prevented them from being disturbed. It was fine frosty weather, and the boys went blithely forth, crackling through the ice-bound meadows, or climbing the downs, ever getting fresh views of the majestic spire, then only recently finished, and com- pleting the wondrous grace of the whole building, which, in its freshness and unity yet variety, of peak, roof, and pinnacle, seemed like some magnificent ice- berg rising in the midst of its valley. Little Oswald was very happy that first morning. What he would have liked would have been to have gone to Amesbury, and to have sung before the kind nuns there, who would have rejoiced to see him in such array. The master, however, decided that this would be too far on these short days, and scarcely safe ; for Salisbury Plain was not free from robbers, under the disturbed reign of Henry IV., and they might not even respect a Boy Bishop's bag of alms. However, Oswald was consoled by hearing that notice of his promotion had been sent, and that it was not impossible that his dear Lady Prioress might be present at the Cathedral itself on Childermas Day. 2 2 The Boy Bishop. The only drawback was the surly manner and continual petty taunts and vexations he suffered from Diccon Fletcher. The lad had been, by way of con- solation, made one of the attendant deacons, who had their share both of finery and of money ; but this gave him the opportunity of venting his spite in many a * nip and bob,' sly pushes, threats, and attempts to put him out in his singing, and what Oswald hated far more, introducing idle parodies on the sacred words, which long had been part of the traditional grotes- queness attached to the ceremony in the popular mind. These set the other boys — even Harry — giggling, and disposed Oswald to cry, while their master never was able to detect them, and the whole choir were too much afraid of Diccon to betray him. The master only saw that as the day went on the boys were harder to manage, and that the little Bishop's head drooped under his small mitre, and he was glad to bring them home after they had rested and been r^aled with wassail bread and spiced ale, and presented with a comfit apiece by the kind admiring nuns of the Abbey at Wilton. Their next day's rounds were in the city of Salisbury itself, where they sang in each of the chief houses of the nobles and gentry, who were apt to come into the city for the winter, and likewise in the streets and courts where the shops consisted of open The Boy Bishop. 23 stalls or booths, with the wares arranged in front, or hanging from the beams of the floor above. Thus it was they came to the stall of Denis the Fletcher, father to Diccon, where long yew bows and cloth- yard shafts in quivers, or arranged in a clievaux de frise, were the chief decoration. Friar Piers, a red-faced, bronzed man, about thirty, in a Franciscan's gown and hood, was sitting at his ease in the comer of the stall, and joined the carol in a loud, lusty voice, unblushingly using the worst form of parody. When the song was over, he broke into a loud laugh, and on some remonstrance from the master, answered — 'What, sir clerk, I'm no slave to your Bishop. He can't mar the jolly friar's sport, do what he will to these poor boys. Times are changed since I lifted up my voice in the choir.' 'Aye, aye,' said his father, a big, brawny man, leaning over the window, 'then 'twas worth one's whil^ to be Boy Bishop. Now I wouldn't give a tuft of goose down for it, nor Diccon either — only bedizen- ing and psalm-singing, like mean b^garly Lollards. But come in, my lads, come in, and we'll show you some sport for once.' The master here interfered, and said the Dean's and Precentor's orders were precise that the boys should enter no houses. 24 The Boy Bishop, Friar Piers on this laughed, and said — * They mistook the season, Master. Dost think they are creeping to the cross ? It's merry Christmas, man, not Lent' * There ! there's gospel for it. Hear the reverend brother,' cried Denis. 'Come in, boys— come in, gossips ; there's a brimming cup of hot ale for you this cold day, better than any your Dean e'er gave you.' The master still refused, but half the boys had been already led in by Diccon, and some of the escort were not proof against the good ale and good fellow- ship, and entered after the boys. The master hardly knew what to do, whether to follow them in and try to bring them away, or to take home such as he could detain. While he was still in the gathering twilight, calling and entreating, Oswald suddenly felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. * I don't want to come in,* he tried to say, a good deal frightened ; but he was dragged along, with a hand over his mouth, into a dark entry beside the shop, and heard Denis's rough voice in his ear — * Stand still, thou nuns' mammet, a plague on thee, or it shall be the worse for thee. Hold thy tongue and hearken. Knowest thou what thou deservest for thrusting thyself into the office that belonged of right to my Dick ? * I The Boy Bishop, 2 5 ' Oh, sir, 'twas none of my seeking. Let me go.* * Whisht ! I say, I grudge thee not thy fool's cap and sorry sport, so long as thou makest up for it in weightier matters. Listen ! Sir Edward Fleming, the Canon, is dead. Thou must get thee back to thy Bishop and Dean, stand before them, and speak thus ; " I, Episcopus Puerorum Puerarum, or however the gibberish runs, do appoint the Brother Piers Fletcher, of the Friars* Minorite, to the vacant canonry.** Dost hear ? ' ' Yes, sir ; but, sir,* said Oswald with a trembling voice, ' I am told that the Bishop and my master would not have it so/ ' What of that ? Willy, nilly, if thou sayest it it must be done. None can gainsay the appointments of the Bairn Bishop. Now, mark me. If thou dost this at my bidding, 1*11 overlook the wrong that was done in thy foolish person to my son Richard. If not, thou shalt never live to rue the day ! Not a word to any man, remember, that I have thus spoken. If thou dost, 'tis at thy peril. But if those words, appointing Piers Fletcher to the canonry, be not spoken, ere thy. mummeries to-morrow be over, thou wilt never see another morn. There ! Denis Fletcher is a man of his word ! * Wherewith Oswald, with his mitre knocked over his eyes, was pushed out into the street again, just as 26 The Boy Bishop. the master, with Harry and two or three of the steadier boys and men, came forth through the shop. The schoolmaster, believing that Diccon's family were most likely to vent their jealous spite on the little fellow, and unwilling to involve the choir in a quarrel with the townspeople at such a critical moment, asked no questions, but contented himself with returning to the monastery with the pupils he had been able to bring off, and winked at the dis- orderly manner in which the others straggled in later. No one but Harry saw that the little Boy Bishop looked pale and dazed in the light of the big fire on the hearth of the refectory, and that he scarce touched food, and passed the horn of Christmas ale that was handed round. Moreover, when in the dormitory, Harry had fallen asleep, and wakened again to hear Diccon, who had come in much later, thus threatening the child — < What, mumbling thy prayers still, thou beggars' brat 1 None of that, I say. Bishop or no Bishop, I'm master here. Into bed, I say.' And a sounding box on the ear was heard. On this Harry started out of bed with a yell of wrath, and fell on the tyrant ; but therewith a torch shone on them, and the master was heard calling fie on them for such a brawl, and threatening Diccon and Harry alike with stripes if another sound were heard. Good- The Boy Bishop. 2 7 natured Harry tumbled into bed, and tried to warm and comfort the shivering, sobbing little being who clung to him ; but it was not then possible to speak, and Harry slept, and woke again, with the moonlight streaming through the chinks of the rude wooden shutter of the unglazed window, and the snores of the other boys around. He knew, however, that His bed- fellow was awake, and he ventured a whisper — ' Tell me, Oswald, what is it ? Did that felon misuse thee ? * * Nay,' said Oswald. ' What then ? Did he scare thee out of thy five wits that thou prayedst so long ? ' * Aye,' said Oswald. But he said no more, only as Harry muttered some sharp and angry words the child trembled again, and prayed him to be still, and utter no word to anyone. Harry was very sleepy, and gave the promise, then fell asleep. In aftertimes he greatly longed to have been more alive to the child's distress, and to have guessed what troubled him ; but Oswald was at times dreamy, and always had little power of expressing himself, so that no one could have guessed whether he^understood what Denis required of him, or entered into the threat, or whether he were merely frightened and bewildered. Morning dawned at last The choir boys were; 28 The Boy Bishop. not whipped out of bed like their fellows in the city, but they were arrayed, not in the less costly garb in which they had gone about singing, but in the full vestments made for their use. Oswald was, on first waking, handed over to the brother who had charge of the robes. He was bathed, and his fair hair carefully arranged, after which he was arrayed in a robe of scarlet worked with silver lions and a border of gold birds : over this came the alb starred over with gold, and above a white cope richly bordered with embroidery in red silk and gold. A ring with a large sapphire in it was placed on his finger, and on his head a mitre ' well garnished with pearl and precious stone.' A book — the Pontificate, richly bound, with a blue stone set on its cover, was to be carried in one hand, and a small processional cross, adorned with the figure of St. Nicolas, was to be borne before him by one of the boys. Another carried a banner of St. Nicolas, and all were richly arrayed, the two deacons in scarlet above and blue beneath. Oswald seemed to have slept off" his fright, and to be pleased with his splendid dress, though still somewhat as if in a dream, for he asked — ' Be these like the robes the Innocents wear } Me- thought they had made them white.' The great west door of the Cathedral was thrown open, and up the broad aisle, beneath the graceful The Boy Bishop. 29 pointed arches, beneath the tall-clustered columns, came the goodly procession. The Dean and his chapter going first, in gorgeous array — then the banner of St. Nicolas and a little cross ; then the chorister children in their rich array, two-and-two, each with a lighted taper in his hand ; the little Bishop, a quaint but yet a lovely figure, walking, attended by his two deacons, chanting the words, Centum qiiatuor quadraginta signati stint. They were the familiar words of Revelation vii. * A hundred and forty and four thousand were sealed.' Up the long nave went the procession, beautiful as a miniature ; the clear, sweet voice of little Bishop Oswald beginning each verse. Ex tribu Juda ; ex iribu Reuben ; and the deacons, and the full body of the choristers taking up the chorus, Duodecitn millia signati. The loveliness of the sight and sound was un- speakable, while the gleam of the tapers vied with the wintry sunshine, in the south-east, in casting strange glances from their gold and jewels upon the roof. There was something unearthly in the whole scene, above all when, at the Altar of the Holy Innocents, the chant changed to our actual Innocents*-day epistle, ' I looked,* &c. Three voices then sung Illisunt emti ('These are redeemed from among men, being the firstfruits unto God and unto the Lamb. And in Tfie Boy Bishop. their mouth was found no guile, for they are without fault before the throne of God.') Meantime with a censer in his hand, the Chorister Bishop fumed the Altar, and then said (in Latin), ' Let us be glad/ to which the answer was, 'And let us rejoice.* The little one's face was rapt and beautiful to behold, as he stood swinging his censer, and there- with he knelt and uttered in Latin the collect we know so well for that day, though our translation is slightly altered at the opening, which then was : * Almighty God, Whose fame on this day the innocent martyrs confessed not by speech but by death. Mor- tify and kill all vices in us, and so strengthen us by Thy Grace, that by our tongue we may speak, and by our life we may set forth, the glory of Thy Holy Name, Who with the Father and Holy Ghost art ever wor- shipped and glorified. — Amen. Then the procession entered the Choir, being now joined by the clergy of the Cathedral, the Dean and his canons going first, and taking the places around the Altar ; and then the children's procession coming last, with the little Bishop and his small chapter at the end, so that he was seated in the place of honour on one side of the gate into the choir, and his chief deacon on the opposite side, preparatory to high Mass being celebrated by the real Bishop. The Boy Bishop, 3 1 No one took note when Diccon Fletcher, as they were ranging themselves, grasped Oswald's shoulder, and whispered in his ear — * Remember, now's the time. Speak when thou get to thy seat.* Nor was the surging and shouting of a multitude without^ at first heard through the singing, and the orderly tread of feet. The stalls were reached, and ere Diccon turned into his own, he gave the Bishop another grip, and said — 'Now! out with it — /, Episcopus Puerorum, Speak, or it will be the worse for thee.' Here a minor canon, seeing that there was whis- pering among the boys, summarily showed Diccon into his place, and the Child Bishop took his seat, looking a little pale under his mitre. At that moment the surging sound came nearer. The comparatively well-behaved throng, who had hitherto filled the nave, save where the gangway was kept free for the procession, was pushed hither and thither. The sacristan and his fellows, who had been keeping order, were driven in from the doors, and up the aisles rushed tumultuously a rush of merry- makers, some with cocks' combs, some with caps and bells, fools' coats, birds' beaks, asses' heads, stags* or bullocks' horns, all manner of carnival foolery, making the nave, where the children's chant had so 32 The Boy Bishop, lately resounded, echo to foul and ludicrous songs set to sacred tunes. No one was so near the choir gates as Os- wald on the one side, Diccon on the other. Each started fonvard, the one to close them, the other to prevent him from doing so, and therewith the elder boy caught the younger in a tight clutch, say- ing— * Speak/ At the same moment a black->masked and Jiorned figure sprang forth, and laid a black hand and arm on the child's shoulder. ' Face about,' he said. * Say the words and I let thee go ! * The eyes stared as if fixed, lips quivered, recur- ring as it were to their recent lesson, Laudamini et Gloriaminu Priests and canons rallying from their amazement, were coming to the rescue ; but at that moment the demoniacal form seemed to vanish, while the Boy Bishop, released from his grasp with violence, fell headlong down the step between the nave and choir, and lay motionless at the bottom. There was one shriek from one of the boys. Then came the stillness of horror. Then the master of the choristers was kneeling beside the little prostrate figure, lifting him up. His cross-bearer had rushed to his side, and at the same moment the black-veiled and hooded The Boy Bishop. 33 Prioress broke from her seat in the choir, and Bishop Robert hurried from the Altar. ' Oswald, dear child, look up,' said the Prioress, taking a feeble, nerveless hand in hers, as the master drew off the mitre. At her voice, as regardless of rule in that moment, she threw back her veil, the blue eyes unclosed, the lips seemed to continue their lesson, and the words came forth, ' Non loqnendo sed moriendo' There was an instant's struggle, then the fair head fell back, and Hallam looked, up and, with uplifted hand, said to the people, * Non loquendo sed moriendo. Not by speech, but death, the innocent hath glorified God, by dying in hinder- ing your profane and heedless folly. Go home, you who know not what ye did. Go home, and repent of your folly and madness, if perchance, it may be forgiven.* Then — as the dismayed multitudes, many of the women weeping and sobbing — began to drift away, remembering with dread the heavy anathemas that those incurred who should interfere with the .proces- sion of the children, the Bishop turned again to the Prioress who was weeping soft tears as she knelt beside the dead child. ' Good Mother,' he said, ' thou hast cause to re- joice. Thy nursling hath truly followed the Lamb in life and death. Now will he indeed follow Him D 34 The Boy Bishop. whithersoever He goeth, having gone with the dew of Grace still fresh on his brow.' The Prioress looked up through her natural tears of pity, and soon was comforted, to think of the sweet child who had been her nuns* plaything, being thus delivered from the heavy trials of this rude and troublesome world, but the Bishop took — as he said — grief and repentance to himself for having endeav- oured to carry out an ordinance fit indeed, as Holy Writ showed, only for the very highest and holiest saints in Heaven, among those who could not by any means represent it rightly or without profane imita- tion at the best There was a mark of a blow on the child's temple, but whether given by hand or received in the fall, no one could tell. For three days Oswald lay in state before the Altar of the Holy Innocents, his childish face full of unearthly beauty. Then he was buried amid the tears of all Salisbury, and his effigy in his robes was set up over his tomb, and it is still within the Cathedral, though it has been moved from his actual grave, and now lies between two of the pillars of the nave. There was no attempt to trace who was the masker who had attacked him. He was beyond the reach of the laws of the country, since the child was reckoned as a clerk. Nor indeed did anyone guess The Boy Bishop, 35 that more had been at stake than the protection of the choir from the intrusion of the mob. More than a year after, however, Bishop Hallam was sought out by a miserable, broken-hearted man, Denis the Fletcher. Diccon had run away from home in dis- grace ; Piers had been caught in a drunken brawl, and was under restraint by the Prior of his order ; he himself had lost his trade and had nearly come to beggary, and convinced that all was the effect of the curses his sin had incurred, he came to pour out all to the Bishop. He had not intended murder, but had been driven into blind passion by being thwarted by the passive resistance which to him appeared stupid obstinacy. And what was it.^ Had Oswald really known what he was doing } Had he embraced death rather than promote an unworthy man } Could the young and simple little shepherd have understood the grave issues of the matter t Or had he been merely too timid and awestruck, and too dull to understand what was required of him } Or, what might be more likely, did he faithfully act on a sound instinct that to do the bidding of a man like Denis would be disobedience to those whom he was bound to obey } None could say, not even Harry, who had known the child best, and who was growing up to be a youth D 2 36 The Boy Bishop, of much promise. All that could be known was that Oswald, the Boy Bishop, had gone to join the Inno- cents in the midst of defending the honour of his God whether consciously or unconsciously. Seven years later the Cardinal Bishop, Robert Hallam, lay dying in the chamber of an over-crowded hostel at Constance. He was spent with months of effort to reform the abuses of the Church (among them this very festival of the Boy Bishop), and to make her clergy into real shepherds instead of hirelings, so that profaneness and violence might not so often defile the holiest things. And now he was dying, worn out by the conflict, baffled, and, as some deemed, poisoned by the men who * hated to be refornied, and had cast God's words behind them.' 'Ah, well/ he said, to his sorrowing chaplain, • there are times when all that is left for a man to do, is to die like little Oswald in guarding the sanctuary gates. Non loquendo sed moriendOy said he. I have spoken. Since they will not hear, I can only die, trusting that the Dew of His Grace will never be dried up from His Church.' Darker days did indeed follow on his death, but in the shortly ensuing Council of Basle, the festival of the Boy Bishop was abolished ; and thwarted, and turned aside, as it has often been, the quickening Dew The Boy Bishop, 37 has never been wanting. Even in the darkest, driest ages, some green spots have testified to that refreshing grace ; and ever and anon, vigour and energy improv- ing and shaking off old evil, prove that still that Spirit Who ' maketh all things new ' is poured upon the Church. ONE WILL AND THREE WAYS. Where there's a will there's a way. CHAPTER I. THE THREE MAIDENS. Three maidens were crouching together on one large bed, with a high carved oaken back and canopy, and heavy tapestry curtains. They were linked tightly in one another's arms, as if clinging together lessened their sense of desolation, and when one or other broke into sobs and wailing, the others kissed and cheered, and soothed her as best they might. Their castle, by name the Tower of the Mere, from its situation on a small remote lake in the heart of the Cumberland mountains, had that afternoon received the Earl of Pembroke's pursuivant on his way from Scotland, and through him they had learnt the tidings that their father, Sir Thomas d'Estouteville, com- monly called Stout Tom of the Meres, had been made prisoner in a skirmish with Sir Edward de Bruce. Gilbert Button, the grey-haired pursuivant, scrupled not to declare that a charge of twenty men- at-arms would have saved the knight ; but the King 42 O^ic Will and Three Ways. had forbidden this lest it should bring on a battle, and fiercely had my Lord of Pembroke chafed at him- self for having waited for orders, and still more at the deadly blight which had come over the manhood of England, when the 'Hammer of the Scots' had breathed his last at Burgh-on-the-Sands. The earl, an old friend and patron of Sir Thomas, had sent Dutton to bear the tidings to the Tower, and tell the daughters that their father's ransom had been fixed at 1 5,000 crowns, which they ought to regard as the greatest possible compliment to his valour. The pursuivant was on his way to London, but he would visit the Tower again in returning to Scotland, in case they had any greetings to send Sir Thomas, or an instalment of his ransonu The eldest sister, Ankaret, had thanked him, and inquired the time of his return, with so much compo- sure and dignity, that the younger ones, Blanche and little Gillian, never doubted that she knew where to lay her hands on the sum required. Ankaret was five years older than the next sister, and looked much more. She was pale and worn, and halted a little in her gait, having never quite recovered a bad fall on her way home from the convent at Whitby. Her accident had deferred her wedding with young Nigel Bruce, whose brother was at that time a Cumbrian, as well as a Scottish, noble and an obedient vassal of Edward I. One Will and Three Ways. 43 Before she had quitted her sick bed, the Bruces were at the head of the national party in Scotland, and the next winter, Nigel was taken in Kildrummie Castle, and suffered a traitor's death. From thenceforth, Ankaret had looked on the cloister as her destination and refuge ; but her mother's death threw the whole household care upon her, together with the charge of her little sister Gillian. Her countenance, bearing the tokens of peace won after a great storm of sorrow, her still calm voice and demeanour, and her avowed dedication to a religious life, made her be regarded as a sufficient authority in the family, where she main- tained excellent order and discipline ; while she was devotedly loved by all who came under her influence. Blanche, who was just sixteen, had been brought home a few months previously from a small country priory not far off, to be inspected by a baron, who wanted an Estouteville heiress for his son, but finding her portion less than he had expected, had withdrawn from the contract. However, as the parties had never met, this had not much hurt her spirits. Little Gillian had never left home. Her father could not make up his mind to part with her, and she had climbed the moun- tains, ridden her rough pony, hunted and hawked, and delighted to be called his bonnie lad, trying to forget that she was but a lass. She was eleven years old, and her sister was supposed to teach her all convent 44 One Will and Three Ways. arts of stitchery and confections ; but she was the least amenable of all Ankarefs subjects ; she tore more garments than she sewed, and could gather and eat whortleberries much better than preserve them with honey. However, since her chief playfellow, her father, had been in Scotland, her sisters had made her spin a little, but very ' silly ' was the thread, and often was the spinster missed, and found careering round the court with the dogs, paddling in the mere, or climbing the craig to call home the goats. But now little Gillian's merry eyes were swollen with such tears as she had never shed before, for Ankaret had declared that all the coin in the casket had been spent on arms for the men who had gone to Scotland with Sir Thomas. It was the remnant of the ransom of his last captives. Rents there were none ; dues were paid in kind or by labour ; and ready money was not to be had! What could be done? To pledge the castle and lands to some rich monas- tery, or to the Bishop, had been Ankaret's first thought, and she had held counsel with the chaplain about it ; but he had told her that the worth of the whole of the little mountain nook was not a third of the ransom, and that, moreover, all the Church property had been so much harried of late by the Scots, and so much had been called for by the King's extravagances, that One Will and Three Ways. 45 she must not hope to borrow from prelate, abbot, nor Lombard. The King could never let a brave warrior waste in a dungeon. He would set him free. So said little Gillian ; but her sisters knew too well that King Edward had rather deck Piers Gaveston in gold and jewels than spare a mark to deliver a brave man from captivity ; and they wept again for the good and great King Edward, whose death -bed at Burgh-on-the-Sands their father had attended. At last, little Gillian, worn out with tears, fell asleep in Ankaret's arms ; the others kept still in order not to disturb her, and Blanche soon slumbered too ; but Ankaret, though motionless and dry-eyed, lay long, with a terrible ache at her heart, that the harshness of such an excessive ransom should have come from the Bruces, of all others. Could they not have dealt kindly with her father for Nigel's sake, instead of dooming him to what they must know would be, to a man of his means, endless captivity } She lay, while the moonlight passed from the south loophole to the western, and then was lost in the morning light The other two may have awakened, but none moved till the morning stir began, and then Gillian started to her feet, crying, * I know what I will do. Father shall not be left in prison ! ' 46 Ojie Will and Three Ways, Blanche sat up, and parting back her hair with her hands, looked resolute, and said, ' I have my plan. Father shall not be left in prison ! ' Ankaret crossed their brows with drops from the holy-water stoup, and said — *If it be God's will — Father shall not be left in prison ! * * I shall go to him, and file his fetters through,* cried Gillian, her dark eyes glittering. Her sisters smiled at her confident proposal, and she cried, * Yea, it was the mouse that freed the lion in the barefoot Friar's sermon ! Father is the Hon, and his little Jill is the mouse.' 'Well spoken, mighty mouse,' said Blanche, eager to tell her own scheme. 'Ankaret, I will to the Court, when high festival is holden, and will pray King' Edward to grant me a champion. I will offer myself and all that I have to the good knight and true who shall deliver my father. If there be knight- hood in England, or power in a fair face, he shall be freed ! ' And Blanche swept back her profuse flaxen tresses, showing a face between so white-skinned and rose-tinted, with such lovely features, that her fond elder sister thought no true knight or squire could hold back from such a suppliant's request. ' But how canst thou reach the Court ? ' she asked. * I'll find the way. My noble godfather — my Lord of Pembroke will aid me.' One Will and Three Ways. 47 ' And what wilt thou do for father, sister ? ' said the little one, turning to Ankaret, almost as if it were a game. * I can but aid with my prayers,' said she. ' Add my third of our heritage to thine, Blanche, if that will serve to win thee a champion. Lands may profit thee, and they are not needed by a poor bedes- woman.' 48 One Will and Three Ways. CHAPTER II. THE MOUSE. Spring was making the bonnie north countrie green and beautiful. The mountains rose like purple clouds, with fantastic masses of white in their hollows, the torrents rushed headlong down their clefts, to dance and babble in the clear streams below, the grass grew rich and lush, the trees were white with blossom, the flowers carpeted every bank, the bushes rang with the notes of the blackbird and thrush, the lakes reflected the clear brilliancy of the sky and the rich colouring of the mountains. Young Maurice Dutton thought he had never seen a fairer spot, as his heart leapt within him, and he longed for a gallop on the green sward that bordered lovely Ulswater. He was the pursuivant's grandson a lad of fifteen, making his first outset in the train of his grandsire. The previous day had been spent at the Tower of the Mere, which, according to promise, Gilbert Dutton had visited on his return to carry a message from Pembroke to the Scottish enemy. He One Will and Three Ways, 49 liad received from the young ladies for their father's behoof, a purse, a letter, and a bundle of raiment, and Gillian's coaxing entreaties had also prevailed with him to take with him the knight's favourite hound as ^a solace to his captivity. Maurice had undertaken the charge, but he was beginning to rue the attention he had paid to the little maiden's blandishments, for Lenoir would by no means consent to be dragged away from home, and tugged at the leash so as nearly to pull him off his horse, and the men-at-arms who were riding near advised that the beast should ie let go, while he could still find his way back. Suddenly Lenoir made a bound, which broke the leash, and began with frantic barks to dance round a young boy on a rough pony who was alongside of them. * Hallo, there \ * called Maurice ; * dost know the