of her slothful blood hastened; her eyes gleamed with impatience for action; her whole being changed, rejuvenated, filled with a new life.  She came also with a full knowledge of all that had taken place in the interim of her absence from Katherine.  She came well prepared for a bout, and blushed not at the subterfuges and mean, paltry artifices, aye, a full battery of chicaneries that awaited her use, as she crossed the maid’s chamber threshold. “‘All is fair in love and war,’” she quoted—­“’Tis an egregious platitude adopted alike by king and fool!”

“I could not sleep without first seeing thee and knowing thy condition.  It must be more than hard for thee to keep thy chamber?” said Constance.

“Nay, thou art wrong; the convent doth inure one to quiet and solitude.”

“Dost think thy ailments will allow thee to go abroad on the morrow?”

“I know not, I am at Janet’s mercy and I cannot leave my seclusion without her permission.  I feel quite well, but Janet says I am ill.”

“Oh! that I had a nurse to so fondle me; indeed, she has kept all looks of illness from thee; thy face is as clear as if thou hadst been fed on wild honey all thy days;—­and such hair!  Dost leave it thus for the night?”

“The tangles would never submit, should I so leave it.”

“’Tis my delight to fuss with hair and thine is so beauteous—­” she arose and went to Katherine and smoothed the amber threads—­“See, when I turn it thus, ’tis like rare bronze, and when I place it to the light, ’tis a glorious amber.  May I plait it for thee,—­I should love so much to do it?”

“If ’twill give thee pleasure thou mayest assuredly plait it,” replied Katherine.  Janet now watched for a whispered word or some sign of intercourse; but her vigilance was of no avail, for Lady Constance deftly placed a tiny paper in Mistress Penwick’s hair and plaited tightly over it.

“’Tis such a pleasure to fuss with hair—­and such fine threads, too; indeed, I have half a mind to become a peruquier,—­there, ’tis finished!”

“How is his Grace, Lady Constance?”

“He bids fair to pass a comfortable night,—­’tis too bad his physicians cannot arrive before the day after the morrow.  They have also sent for Sir Julian Pomphrey—­a favourite of the duke and an intimate and college fellow of Lord Cedric.  Sir Julian is a most wonderful man.  When but nine years of age, he entered Eton school, and having pursued his studies there with great success for one of such light years, he was sent to travel upon the continent, where he studied in Geneva for some time; thence he went to Florence, remaining there many months,—­afterward visiting Rome and Geneva and other continental cities of note.  He returned to England a scholar, a soldier, a gallant, a conqueror of female hearts,—­in brief, he holds all the requirements of a charming cavalier of King Charles’ Court.  He has modish habits that so completely masque his strong will and determination that before one is aware they are caught and wound in the meshes of his duplicity.  He is a literate, poet and musician.”