Thus, all the evening Lady Whitburn raged, and appealed to the Earl,
whose support she thought cool and unfriendly, while Copeland stood
sullen and silent, but determined.
"My lord," she said, "were you a true friend to York and Raby, you
would deal with this scowling fellow as we should on the Border."
"We are not on the Border, madam," quietly said Salisbury.
"But you are in your own Castle, and can force him to keep faith. No
contract, forsooth! I hate your mincing South Country forms of law."
Then perhaps irritated by a little ironical smile which Salisbury
could not suppress. "Is this your castle, or is it not? Then bring
him and his lad to my poor wench's side, and see their troth
plighted, or lay him by the heels in the lowest cell in your dungeon.
Then will you do good service to the King and the Duke of York, whom
you talk of loving in your shilly-shally fashion."
"Madam," said the Earl, his grave tones coming in contrast to the
shrill notes of the angry woman, "I counsel you, in the south at
least, to have some respect to these same forms of law. I bid you a
fair good-night. The chamberlain will marshal you."
CHAPTER III--THE MIRROR
"Of all the maids, the foulest maid
From Teviot unto Dee.
Ah!" sighing said that lady then,
"Can ne'er young Harden's be."
SCOTT, The Reiver's Wedding.
"They are gone," said Margaret of York, standing half dressed at the
deep-set window of the chamber where Grisell lay in state in her big
bed.
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