‘Married assuredly.  More’s the pity,’ said Sir Francis.

‘And no law of God or man divides us without our own consent.’  There was no denying that the mutual consent of the young pair at their present age was all that was wanting to complete the inviolability of their marriage contract.

Berenger was indeed only eighteen, and Eustacie more than a year younger, but there was nothing in their present age to invalidate their marriage, for persons of their rank were usually wedded quite as young or younger.  Walsingham was only concerned at his old friend’s disappointment, and at the danger of the young man running headlong into a connection probably no more suitable than that with Diane de Ribaumont would have been.  But it was not convenient to argue against the expediency of a man’s loving his own wife; and when Berenger boldly declared he was not talking of love but of justice, it was only possible to insist that he should pause and see where true justice lay.

And thus the much-perplexed Ambassador broke up the conference with his hot and angry young guest.

‘And Mistress Lucy—–?’ sighed Mr. Adderley, in rather an inapropos fashion it must be owned; but then he had been fretted beyond endurance by his pupil striding up and down his room, reviling Diane, and describing Eustacie, while he was trying to write these uncomfortable tidings to Lord Walwyn.

‘Lucy!  What makes you bring her up to me?’ exclaimed Berenger.  ‘Little Dolly would be as much to the purpose!’

’Only, sir, no resident at Hurst Walwyn could fail to know that has been planned and desired.’

‘Pshaw!’ cries Berenger; ’have you not heard that it was a mere figment, and that I could scarce have wedded Lucy safely, even had this matter gone as you wish?  This is the luckiest chance that could have befallen her.’

‘That may be,’ said Mr. Adderley; ’I wish she may think so—­sweet young lady!’

’I tell you, Mr. Adderley, you should know better!  Lucy has more sense.  My aunt, whom she follows more than any other creature, ever silenced the very sport or semblance of love passages between us even as children, by calling them unseemly in one wedded as I am.  Brother and sister we have ever been, and have loved as such—­ ay, and shall!  I know of late some schemes have crossed my mother’s mind—–­’

‘Yea, and that of others.’

’But they have not ruffled Lucy’s quiet nature—­trust me!  And for the rest?  What doth she need me in comparison of this poor child?  She—­like a bit of her own gray lavender in the shadiest nook of the walled garden, tranquil there—­sure not to be taken there, save to company with fine linen in some trim scented coffer, whilst this fresh glowing rosebud has grown up pure and precious in the very midst of the foulest corruption Christendom can show, and if I snatch her not from it, I, the innocence and sweetness, what is to be her fate?  The very pity of a Christian, the honour of a gentleman, would urge me, even if it were not my most urgent duty!’