arrived only just in time to see the child breathe his last sigh, and to have his mother, wild with tumultuous clamorous grief, put into her hands for such soothing and comforting as might be possible, and the good and tender woman did her best to turn the mother’s thoughts to something higher and better than the bewailing at one moment “her pretty boy,” with a sort of animal sense of bereavement, and the next with lamentations over the honours to which he would have succeeded.  It was of little use to speak to her of the eternal glories of which he was now secure, for Mary Talbot’s sorrow was chiefly selfish, and was connected with the loss of her pre-eminence as parent to the heir-male.

However, the grief of those times was apt to expend itself quickly, and when little George’s coffin, smothered under heraldic devices and funeral escutcheons, had been bestowed in the family vault, Dame Mary soon revived enough to take a warm interest in the lords who were next afterwards sent down to hold conferences with the captive; and her criticism of the fashion of their ruffs and doublets was as animated as ever.  Another grief, however, soon fell upon the family.  Lady Lennox’s ailments proved to be no such trifles as her sisters and sisters-in-law had been pleased to suppose, and before the year was out, she had passed away from all her ambitious hopes, leaving a little daughter.  The Earl took a brief leave of absence to visit his lady in her affliction at Chatsworth, and to stand godfather to the motherless infant.

“She will soon be fatherless, too,” said Richard Talbot on his return to Bridgefield, after attending his lord on this expedition.  “My young Lord Lennox, poor youth, is far gone in the wasting sickness, as well as distraught with grief, and he could scarcely stand to receive my Lord.”

“Our poor lady!” said Susan, “it pities me to think what hopes she had fixed upon that young couple whom she had mated together.”

“I doubt me whether her hopes be ended now,” quoth Richard.  “What think you she hath fixed on as the name of the poor puling babe yonder?  They have called her Arbel or Arabella.”

“Arabella, say you?  I never heard such a name.  It is scarce Christian.  Is it out of a romaunt?”

“Better that it were.  It is out of a pedigree.  They have got the whole genealogy of the house of Lennox blazoned fair, with crowns and coronets and coats of arms hung up in the hall at Chatsworth, going up on the one hand through Sir AEneas of Troy, and on the other hand through Woden to Adam and Eve!  Pass for all before the Stewart line became Kings of Scots!  Well, it seems that these Lennox Stewarts sprang from one Walter, who was son to King Robert ii., and that the mother of this same Walter was called Anhild, or as the Scots here call it Annaple, but the scholars have made it into Arabella, and so my young lady is to be called.  They say it was a special fancy of the young Countess’s.”