“To see her come into a poor body’s cottage, so tall and grand a lady, and with such a carriage as she hath,” they said, hobnobbing together in their talk of her, “looking as if a crown of gold should sit on her high black head, and then to hear her gentle speech and see the look in her eyes as if she was but a simple new-married girl, full of her joy, and her heart big with the wish that all other women should be as happy as herself, it is, forsooth, a beauteous sight to see.”

“Ay, and no hovel too poor for her, and no man or woman too sinful,” was said again.

“Heard ye how she found that poor wench of Haylits lying sobbing among the fern in the Tower woods, and stayed and knelt beside her to hear her trouble?  The poor soul has gone to ruin at fourteen, and her father, finding her out, beat her and thrust her from his door, and her Grace coming through the wood at sunset—­it being her way to walk about for mere pleasure as though she had no coach to ride in—­the girl says she came through the golden glow as if she had been one of God’s angels—­and she kneeled and took the poor wench in her arms—­as strong as a man, Betty says, but as soft as a young mother—­and she said to her things surely no mortal lady ever said before—­that she knew naught of a surety of what God’s true will might be, or if His laws were those that have been made by man concerning marriage by priests saying common words, but that she surely knew of a man whose name was Christ, and He had taught love and helpfulness and pity, and for His sake, He having earned our trust in Him, whether He was God or man, because He hung and died in awful torture on the Cross—­for His sake all of us must love and help and pity—­’I you, poor Betty,’ were her very words, ‘and you me.’  And then she went to the girl’s father and mother, and so talked to them that she brought them to weeping, and begging Betty to come home; and also she went to her sweetheart, Tom Beck, and made so tender a story to him of the poor pretty wench whose love for him had brought her to such trouble, that she stirred him up to falling in love again, which is not man’s way at such times, and in a week’s time he and Betty went to church together, her Grace setting them up in a cottage on the estate.”

“I used all my wit and all my tenderest words to make a picture that would fire and touch him, Gerald,” her Grace said, sitting at her husband’s side, in a great window, from which they often watched the sunset in the valley spread below; “and that with which I am so strong sometimes—­I know not what to call it, but ’tis a power people bend to, that I know—­that I used upon him to waken his dull soul and brain.  Whose fault is it that they are dull?  Poor lout, he was born so, as I was born strong and passionate, and as you were born noble and pure and high.  I led his mind back to the past, when he had been made happy by the sight of Betty’s little smiling, blushing face, and when he had kissed her and made love in