This fair dame, Grace Gerard, was of gentle blood, a daughter of the Gerards of Ashton Hall, near Lancaster.  At the earnest solicitations of the Hoghton family, she was induced to remain a guest with them during the royal visit.  Of a sweet and excellent temper, her form and face were its very image and counterpart.  The world was to her untried—­fresh, fair, unblemished—­she looked upon it as though she were newly alighted on “some heaven-kissing hill,” from whence the whole round of life’s journey was blent and mingled with the glowing beam that now encompassed her.  Alas! that youth should so soon pluck and eat of the “Tree of Knowledge!” that a nearer approach should dissipate the illusion! that our path, as it winds through those scenes we have looked on from afar in the light of our imagination, should at every step discover the tracks of misery,—­a world of wretchedness and of woe!

Sir John, with all his faults, inseparable it may be from the society into which he had been thrown, was not vicious.  Loving and beloved, he existed but as the object of woman’s regard.  This foible he indulged not farther.  But many a bright eye waxed dim,—­many a fond heart was withered, in the first spring-tide of its affection.

“Now that I have granted you this audience for my cousin’s sake, and given him my reply, it is needful that we return.  Besides, the night is coming on.  The king and the feast demand your presence.”

“Nay, thou cruel tyrant, tell me not of my chain.  The king’s humour I can control, but”——­

“Presume not on the favour of princes; an ancient but wholesome caution,” said the maiden, laughing at Sir John, who, for the first time, seemed to be aware of his duty, and was puzzling his brains for an excuse.

The bell now rang out lustily from the Tower, increasing the knight’s perplexity.  The innocent cause of this delay only laughed at his concern, singing, as though to herself—­

    “’The bell has been rung, and the mass hath been sung,
      And the feast eat merrily,
                        Merrily!’

“and the king’s master of the ceremonies absent.”

The aspect of affairs was now more serious than he had anticipated.  Supper was indeed commencing.  Some scheme or witty device must be hit upon,—­speedily too, or the king’s displeasure might be difficult to assuage.

“But for thy bright eyes and fair speech, my lady Grace, I had not been amissing from my duty.”  He looked thoughtful, and it was the maiden’s turn to rally.

They ascended the hill by a short but steep path.  As they approached the summit, he seemed to awake from a deep reverie.

“Now have you granted me an audience for a lover’s sake—­to-morrow, let me be the ambassador for another.”

“I have no lovers from whom I would care to be honoured with an embassy!”

“None?” said the knight, peering curiously, as if he would penetrate the folds of a real Flanders scarf she had thrown carelessly about her head—­