The lady rose, the knight
held out his hand to raise the bending figure. He had that power of
recollection and recognition which is so great an element in
popularity. "The Lady Grisell Dacre," he said. "She who met with so
sad a disaster when she was one of my lady mother's household?"
Grisell glowing all over signed acquiescence, and he went on,
"Welcome to my poor house, lady. Let me present you to my wife."
The Countess of Warwick was a pale, somewhat inane lady. She was the
heiress of the Beauchamps and De Spensers in consequence of the
recent death of her brother, "the King of the Isle of Wight"--and
through her inheritance her husband had risen to his great power.
She was delicate and feeble, almost apathetic, and she followed her
husband's lead, and received her guest with fair courtesy; and
Grisell ventured in a trembling voice to explain that she had spent
those years at Wilton, but that the new Abbess's Proctor would not
consent to her remaining there any longer, not even long enough to
send to her parents or to the Countess of Salisbury.
"Poor maiden! Such are the ways of his Holiness where the King is
not man enough to stand in his way," said Warwick. "So, fair maiden,
if you will honour my house for a few days, as my lady's guest, I
will send you north in more fitting guise than with this white-smith
dame."
"She hath been very good to me," Grisell ventured to add to her
thanks.
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