allowed to do so. She kept him in lazy luxury, childish and ignorant. Feigning to approve of the boy's half-conscious love and admiration for his stepbrother, she never encouraged him to seek Harry's society. When Lord Marlowe was at Swanlea, some excuse was generally found to keep Dick out of his way. Hunting and hawking and all the other manly sports were frowned upon; when the lad, supposed to be delicate and frail, escaped to join in them, less from any love of them than from the wish to gain Harry's good opinion, it was generally at the cost of his mother's displeasure. Men laughed at the weak, gayly-dressed fellow, and called him Popinjay. Even Harry's kindliness was not always proof against a certain scorn for him, though he guessed at better qualities beneath. He had been ready to enter into the plan suggested by my Lady after she received Sir William Roden's first letter, of marrying Dick to the heiress of Ruddiford. Welcoming anything that might make a man of poor Dick, this country girl, thrown by her old grandfather into his mother's arms, seemed the very wife for him. A good Lancastrian connection, too, it would serve to steady my Lady on the right side, Harry thought, having little idea how far his step-mother's Yorkist leanings carried her. That she admired and believed in the Duke of York, he knew; but so did others who yet kept a dutiful loyalty to King Henry.

Lord Marlowe, as we know, had reckoned without the personality of Mistress Margaret Roden. But no news of him or his mission had reached Swanlea since he and his men rode away up the valley northward, a few days before Christmas; and it was now January.

"My Lady Mother," said young Richard, softly, "you pull a long face over this Wakefield battle and the death of the Duke, but is the news

"It may, Richard," said his mother. "But think you what that means,the reign of a man of diseased brain, and the rule of a woman bloody, fierce, and cruel, who will treat all suspected of favoring York as she has treated the Duke himself and my Lord Salisbury and many more. My head and thine, Dick, may fall one day"-she smiled at him, and drew a pointed finger across her throat. "I have enemies enough,there are slanders enough abroad,what do you say?"

I

"I say, we Marlowes wear the Red Rose, and Harry gave me the Prince's silver badge for my cap, Mother. care little for parties; still, why should I lose my head for the color of a flower?"

"You care nothing and know nothing, silly Popinjay," said Isabel. "Tis waste of time to talk to thee"; and again she bent over the papers on her desk.

A cloud of sulky anger darkened the boy's handsome face. He leaped up from his cushion, dashed his lute on the floor so violently as to break it, and stalked across the room to her, while the dogs lifted their heads, and one growled low. Richard turned and looked at him.

"I will have that dog killed; he hates me," he said. "All the rest love me, but that pampered beast of yours-"

"Ah, I have more than one pampered beast in my kennels," said Lady Marlowe. "When they begin to kill each other, the chaos will be too great. Why this flame of fury, Dick? What have you to say to me?"

"Why do you treat me so, Mother? I know more than you think. I am not a child, not even a boy, remember. I am a man. I shall be married soon, and lord of a castle."

"You know so much as that?" she

said thoughtfully. "Yes, 'twas a lucky thought, that marriage for you. That ancient place Ruddiford, with its old master and his traditions of Agincourt, all that may save your head and mine, Dick, in case this battle means real victory for the House of Lancaster. Queen Margaret may hear what she will, but I should be safe, I think,Marlowe on one side, you and your Rodens on the other. Yes,-and in the other case, 'tis a strong position, worth much to either side; in a certain way 'tis the key to the north, though neither side has armed it, for I think the old knight must be well-nigh in his dotage. Something might be done, and if he were out of the way—"

"Are you talking of Ruddiford, my Lady," Richard asked, frowning in impatient bewilderment as he stood before the desk over which she was bending.

She started slightly, and looked up with staring eyes, for he had broken in on a sudden train of thought which was carrying her far. "Go back to your dogs and your music, Dick," she said. "Wait patiently. Your brother will send a messenger to tell us how his suit for you has sped. He has been long on the road, I fancy; he should be here now."

Even as she spoke, there were sounds outside. A servant darted into the room: "A messenger from Sir William Roden."

Lady Marlowe looked up, startled; this was not exactly what she expected, but she was not ill pleased. "Send the man in," she said. "So, Dick,"-when they were alone for a moment-"Ruddiford is at your feet, it seems. Harry has done his work well."

The boy laughed consciously, at once good-humored again. He pushed a white hand through his curls, moved back towards the fire and threw himself into a chair, so that the messenger, coming in, should face both himself and

his mother. This the messenger did, greeting them both with profound bows. They saw at once that Sir William had not sent an ordinary servant to carry his mind to Lady Marlowe. but a person of confidence, a person in whose air there was even something of the gentleman; so much the more complimentary. Richard smiled and

blushed in spite of himself, at this important moment, and then tried hard to look dignified. Lady Marlowe, upright in her chair, met the messenger with a full, keen gaze from dark eyes that were wont to see through men. She was very pale and her lips, slightly parted, showed strong white teeth. He would be a bold man who tried to deceive such a woman. Yet now, if ever, the Lady Isabel met her match, and she instantly felt it. The young man who entered might be a menial by position, though his plain riding-dress bore no sign of this, but he was beautiful and clever beyond the range of ordinary men. The truth was that Sir William, more and more perplexed by the strange turn events had taken, had decided at last on sending his precious Antonio with the letter he had written to tell Lady Marlowe all, and to ask, on his side, for an explanation.

So now Tony found himself on his knees beside her Ladyship. After a moment's delay,-what kind of man was this?-she gave him her white hand to kiss. It seemed, certainly, that he had been brought up as a gentleman, and, one must confess, among all the handsome young men who had ever courted my Lady in her varied experience, he took easily the first place. Nor was she by any means above making him aware of her admiration. In Dick's presence, however, there was no lapse from her Ladyship's dignity.

As the young man stood up and waited for her to speak, she said very courteously, "Favor us with your name, Sir."

"Antonio Ferrari, your Ladyship's humble servant. I am Sir William Roden's secretary."

"An Italian-of noble birth, Sir?" Antonio flushed with pleasure, but answered very meekly: "No, Madam; but I was brought to England by Master John Roden as his page, and it has been my privilege to wait upon Mistress Margaret."

"As her page?"

"Her page, and playfellow, till Sir William took me specially into his service."

"Where, I suppose, you will remain?"

"Surely, Madam, unless my young mistress, when she comes hither as Baroness Marlowe, should command me to follow her."

Antonio spoke with such quiet correctness that Lady Marlowe, occupied for the moment with himself, noticed nothing strange in his words. But young Richard was in a different case. The manner and the looks of Antonio had quite a contrary effect on his mother and on him. He disliked him from the first, thought him a presumptuous ape, and swore to himself that his wife should be attended by no such playfellows. He marvelled at the gentleness of his mother's manner to a foreign secretary fellow of no birth,who, by the way, talked egregious nonsense when he was not telling her his own unnecessary history.

"You lie, fellow," Dick said coolly. "Have a care, Madam. This man does not come from Sir William Roden, or he would know better what he is talking about."

Antonio gave him a quick glance, and went a little white, but did not speak. "Why this discourtesy, Richard?" said Lady Marlowe.

"You did not hear him. He talked of Mistress Margaret Roden coming here as Baroness Marlowe. What did he mean?"

"Ay, what?" said she, and Antonio

saw her eyes harden. "Have you any letter or token from Sir William, Master Secretary?"

Antonio instantly produced the letter he carried. "Madam, pardon me," he said, "but my master desired me to speak with you before handing you this letter, which is indeed the expression of his perplexity."

"What then perplexes him?" said her Ladyship, as with a sharp little knife she cut the cord of the letter. "Let us see, but before I weary my eyes with this long epistle, explain your words, Sir. For you also seem to be perplexed, and ignorant of facts. My son there is not Baron Marlowe, and Swanlea is no house of his, that he should bring his bride here,-except indeed by his brother's hospitality."

"Madam, I very humbly crave your pardon."

Antonio's tone was almost grovelling, but in his heart there was triumph. So! he had read the riddle right. There sat the Popinjay, cheated of his bride. How would they take the news, these two, who were not, he could see, over-burdened with scruples? A moment's fear touched him. Would my Lady punish the bearer of the news? Her unlikeness to Sir William's imaginary portrait was somewhat alarming, and for a moment he wished himself safe back at Ruddiford. However, the thing was begun and must be gone through with, as boldly as one might. "I am miserable enough to have offended you, I do not know how," he said, bowing before her. "My mission is not concerned with your worshipful son, here present, but with my Lord Marlowe's suit to Mistress Margaret Roden, and with the strange manner in which his Lordship left Ruddiford for the north, without even awaiting Sir William's answer."

Isabel lifted her fine brows and gazed at him, consideringly. Richard was beginning to stammer out some

angry exclamation, but she checked him with a wave of her hand.

"Young man," she said, "I counsel you to pray to St. Anthony, your patron, to grant me patience. With what foolish inventions are you filling our ears? If you truly come from Sir William Roden to me, you must know that my Lord Marlowe visited Ruddiford with the purpose of asking Mistress Margaret's hand for his brother, whom you see there. He bore letters from me to Sir William. This letter is surely a reply to them, and I make no doubt at all that Sir William accepts my proposal, and Lord Marlowe's. You are ill instructed, Master Secretary, unless your ignorance be feigned. I cannot tell your object, but I advise you to beware."

Antonio, trembling, went down on one knee. "Madam, have pity, and be just," he said, with eyes that implored. "I can only tell you what happened; your anger is a mystery to me. Lord Marlowe arrived at Ruddiford on Christmas Eve. At once, in my hearing and that of others, he offered himself,-himself, I do solemnly assure you -in marriage to Mistress Margaret. There was no word of marriage with this gentleman," he turned his head towards Richard, who suddenly laughed aloud.

"Is she beautiful, this Mistress Margaret of yours?" he said.

"She is a fair young lady," Antonio answered, with lowered eyes.

"And Sir William? And my letters?" Lady Marlowe asked, with quick fierceness.

Antonio, still kneeling, with natural eloquence told his story. "The whole affair seemed to Sir William passing strange," he said. "He felt that he could do but one thing,-lay it before your ladyship. Therefore, as no letter could fully explain it, he sent me."

His voice faltered a little. Lady Marlowe, leaning on her desk, shading her

eyes with long white fingers loaded with rings, watched him so that the young fellow, bold, cunning, but with little experience, shivered to the marrow of his bones; yet it was not quite with fear, but rather with the fascination of a bird before a snake. He had been fairly sure that in all this strange business it would be wiser to find himself on Lady Marlowe's side. Now he seemed to know that this position might mean more than he had reckoned

on.

"Mother, what shall we do?" young Richard's voice broke in roughly. "Must I lose Ruddiford? Can I now marry this woman whom Harry has left behind?"

"Peace, Dick," said Lady Marlowe. Then she looked again at Antonio. "Go, and rest," she said. "Come back to me in the evening, and you shall hear my will."

Then Richard Marlowe watched his mother as she read Sir William Roden's letter, smiling over it, but not pleasantly. There was something in her look which kept the young man silent till she had done.

"Yes, Dick," she said at last. "And they say that your brother is not mad?”

"Nor is he, Mother. I do not trust that foreign fellow. It may be all a string of lies."

"But with what object? No, he has told the truth,-or part of it. I would put him to the question, but the boy is too pretty," and she laughed.

"His face does not please me; 'tis black and villainous," said Richard. "But, Mother, I counted on being Master of Ruddiford; you had promised. Will Harry come back from the wars and marry this maiden, and take the castle and estates for himself? And all without a word to you and me?"

"I suppose," said Lady Marlowe, "after this Wakefield battle, the Queen and Harry will do as they please. But