"
"Oh! hush, hush, Bernard," exclaimed Grisell, who was toiling with
aching fingers at the repairs of her father's greasy old buff coat.
"Such things are, as Robin well says, for noble demoiselles with fair
faces and leisure times like the Lady Margaret. And oh, Robin, you
have never told me of the Lady Margaret, my dear mate at Amesbury."
"What should I know of your Lady Margarets and such gear," growled
Robin, whose chivalry had not reached the point of caring for ladies.
"The Lady Margaret Plantagenet, the young Lady Margaret of York,"
Grisell explained.
"Oh! That's what you mean is it? There's a whole troop of wenches
at the high table in hall. They came after us with the Duchess as
soon as we were settled in Trim Castle, but they are kept as demure
and mim as may be in my lady's bower; and there's a pretty sharp eye
kept on them. Some of the young squires who are fools enough to
hanker after a few maids or look at the fairer ones get their noses
wellnigh pinched off by Proud Cis's Mother of the Maids."
"Then it would not avail to send poor Grisell's greetings by you."
"I should like to see myself delivering them! Besides, we shall meet
my lord in camp, with no cumbrance of woman gear."
Lord Whitburn's own castle was somewhat of a perplexity to him, for
though his lady had once been quite sufficient captain for his scanty
garrison, she was in too uncertain health, and what was worse, too
much broken in spirit and courage, to be fit for the charge.
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