A Forgotten Hero | Page 3

entirely
correspond with those which her mother was instilling.
"Now look on me, Clarice," pursued Dame La Theyn, earnestly. "When
I was a young maid I had foolish fancies like other maidens. Had I been
left to order mine own life, I warrant thee I should have wed with one
Master Pride, that was page to my good knight my father; and when I
wist that my said father had other thoughts for my disposal, I slept of a
wet pillow for many a night--ay, that did I. But now that I be come to
years of discretion, I do ensure thee that I am right thankful my said
father was wiser than I. For this Master Pride was slain at Evesham,
when I was of the age of five-and-twenty years, and left behind him not
so much as a mark of silver that should have come to me, his widow. It
was a good twenty-fold better that I should have wedded with thy
father, Sir Gilbert, that hath this good house, and forty acres of land,
and spendeth thirty marks by the year and more. Dost thou not see the
same?"
No. Clarice heard, but she did not see.
"Well-a-day! Now know, that when my good Lord of Gloucester, that
wed with our Lady Maud, was a young lad, being then in wardship
unto Sir Hubert, sometime Earl of Kent (whom God pardon!) he strake
up a love-match with the Lady Margaret, that was my said Lord of
Kent his daughter. And in very deed a good match it should have been,
had it been well liked of them that were above them; but the Lord King
that then was--the father unto King Edward that now is--rarely misliked
the same, and gat them divorced in all hate. It was not meet, as thou
mayest well guess, that such matters should be settled apart from his
royal pleasure. And forthwith, ere further mischief could ensue, he
caused my said Lord of Gloucester to wed with our Lady Maud. But

look thou, so obstinate was he, and so set of having his own way, that
he scarce ever said so much as `Good morrow' to the Lady Maud until
he knew that the said Lady Margaret was commanded to God. Never do
thou be obstinate, Clarice. 'Tis ill enough for a young man, but yet
worse for a maid."
"How long time was that, Dame, an' it like you?"
"Far too long," answered Dame La Theyn, somewhat severely. "Three
years and more."
Three years and more! Clarice's thoughts went off on a long journey.
Three years of disappointed hope and passionate regret, three years of
weary waiting for death, on the part of the Lady Margaret! Naturally
enough her sympathies were with the girl. And three years, to Clarice,
at sixteen, seemed a small lifetime.
"Now, this lady whom thou shalt serve, Clarice," pursued her
mother--and Clarice's mind came back to the subject in hand--"she is
first-born daughter unto the said Sir Richard de Clare, Lord of
Gloucester, and our Lady Maud, of whom I spake. Her name is
Margaret, after the damsel that died--a poor compliment, as methinks,
to the said Lady Maud; and had I been she, the maid should have been
called aught else it liked my baron, but not that."
Ah, but had I been he, thought Clarice, it should have been just that!
"And I have heard," said the Dame, biting off her thread, "that there
should of old time be some misliking--what I know not--betwixt the
Lady Margaret and her baron; but whether it were some olden love of
his part or of hers, or what so, I cast no doubt that she hath long ere this
overlived the same, and is now a good and loving lady unto him, as is
meet."
Clarice felt disposed to cast very much doubt on this suggestion. She
held the old-fashioned idea that a true heart could love but once, and
could not forget. Her vivid imagination instantly erected an exquisite
castle in the air, wherein the chief part was played by the Lady

Margaret's youthful lover--a highly imaginary individual, of the most
perfect manners and unparalleled beauty, whom the unfortunate maiden
could never forget, though she was forced by her cruel parents to marry
the Earl of Cornwall. He, of course, was a monster of ugliness in
person, and of everything disagreeable in character, as a man in such
circumstances was bound to be.
Poor Clarice! she had not seen much of the world. Her mental picture
of the lady whom she was to serve depicted her as sweet and sorrowful,
with a low plaintive voice and dark, starry, pathetic eyes, towards
whom the only feelings possible would be loving reverence and
sympathy.
"And now, Clarice, I have another