Her bright eyes and undaunted courage fire each man's heart in
her cause till there is nothing he would not do or dare, ay, or give
up for her, and those she loves better than herself, her husband, and
her son."
"You have done so," faltered Grisell.
"Ah! have I not? Mistress, I would that you bore any other name.
You mind me of the bane and grief of my life."
"Verily?" uttered Grisell with some difficulty.
"Yea! Tell me, mistress, have I ever, when my brains were astray,
uttered any name?"
"By times, even so!" she confessed.
"I thought so! I deemed at times that she was here! I have never
told you of the deed that marred my life."
"Nay," she said, letting her bobbins fall though she drooped her
head, not daring to look him in the face.
"I was a mere lad, a page in the Earl of Salisbury's house. A good
man was he, but the jealousies and hatreds of the nobles had begun
long ago, and the good King hoped, as he ever hoped, to compose them.
So he brought about a compact between my father and the Dacre of
Whitburn for a marriage between their children, and caused us both to
be bred up in the Lady of Salisbury's household, meaning, I trow,
that we should enter into solemn contract when we were of less tender
age; but there never was betrothal; and before any fit time for it
had come, I had the mishap to have the maid close to me--she was ever
besetting and running after me--when by some prank, unhappily of
mine, a barrel of gunpowder blew up and wellnigh tore her to pieces.
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