Agnes’ tears were gathering fast, and she spoke in a broken voice, as she said, “Eustace, you are the most generous of Knights,” and then, ashamed of having said so much, covered her face with her veil and turned away.  Eustace stood watching her, with his soul in his eyes; but before either had summoned courage to break the silence, the porteress came hurrying in, “Good lack! good lack! if ever my eyes saw the like—­here is the Princess of Wales herself at the gate, and all her train—­where is sister Katherine? where is the mother abbess?  Alas, alas! that nought should be ready to receive her!  Oh, and I have mislaid the key of the great gate!” While the good woman was bustling on in her career, Eustace had time to say, “Yea, Agnes, the Princess is come, in case you hear my suit favourably, to conduct you back to Bordeaux.  Think of a true and devoted heart, think of Fulk ere you decide!” As he spoke, the whole train of black-veiled nuns came sweeping into the parlour, whence Agnes hastily escaped to collect her thoughts during the few instants before she could be summoned to attend the Princess, while Eustace walked into the Convent court, which was by this time filled by the gay party which accompanied the Princess.

Agnes quickly gained her cell, and sank down on her bed to make the most of the minutes that might be her own.  Never, probably, had lady shorter time in which to decide, or did it seem more impossible to come to a resolution; but Agnes had known Eustace all her life, had never met one whom she thought his equal, found him raised a thousand-fold in her estimation by the events of the day, and could not bear to think of disappointing the hopes which had lighted up that bright eye and animated that whole face.

Then, too, why by her act completely ruin her brother?  The thoughts flashed through her mind in rapid succession, and she did not rise with much reluctance when called to meet the Princess, though longing for more time, which after all would but have enabled her to harass herself more.

“Well, my gentle Agnes,” said the Princess, “what say you?  Come you back to the court, where my boys are wearing for their playfellow?  Hasten, then sweet maiden, for I promised little Edward to bring you back, and I know not how to face his wrath if you come not.”

Agnes, still almost dreaming, offered no opposition, but allowed her dress to be arranged, took leave of the abbess and her nuns, and shortly found herself, she scarcely knew how, mounted on her palfrey in the Princess’s train, with Sir Eustace Lynwood at her side.

And old Ralph Penrose was one of the happiest of mankind, when he beheld his pupil return the first Knight in the county—­the honoured of the Prince.

For the next seven years the Clarenham vassals rejoiced in the gentle, noble, and firm rule of their new Lord and Lady; yet it was remarked, with some surprise, that the title of Baron of Clarenham was dropped, and that Sir Eustace and Dame Agnes Lynwood, instead of living at their principal Castle, took up their abode at a small manor which had descended to the lady from her mother, while the Castle was placed under the charge of Gaston d’Aubricour, beneath whose care the fortifications assumed a more modern character, and the garrison learnt the newest fashions of handling their weapons.