"He did his best for them," she said, as if it were her one drop of
hope and comfort.
Ridley very decidedly hoped that Clifford's blow had freed her from
her reluctant husband; and mayhap the marriage would give her claims
on the Copeland property. But Grisell somehow could not join in the
wish. She could only remember the merry boy at Amesbury and the fair
face she had seen sleeping in the hall, and she dwelt on
Featherstone's assurance that no wound had pierced the knight, and
that he would probably be little the worse for his fall against the
parapet of the bridge. Use her as he might, she could not wish him
dead, though it was a worthy death in defence of his old playfellow
and of her own brother.
CHAPTER XVI--A NEW MASTER
In the dark chambere, if the bride was fair,
Ye wis, I could not see.
. . . .
And the bride rose from her knee
And kissed the smile of her mother dead.
E. B. BROWNING, The Romaunt of the Page.
The Lady of Whitburn lingered from day to day, sometimes showing
signs of consciousness, and of knowing her daughter, but never really
reviving. At the end of a fortnight she seemed for one day somewhat
better, but that night she had a fresh attack, and was so evidently
dying that the priest, Sir Lucas, was sent for to bring her the last
Sacrament. The passing bell rang out from the church, and the old
man, with his little server before him, came up the stair, and was
received by Grisell, Thora, and one or two other servants on their
knees.
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