“Well, then, to begin. The court will dine with us today—to-morrow we will hunt in our royal forest; our private band—Have we a private band, Mr. Linton?”
“Certainly, your Majesty,—so private as to be almost undiscoverable.”
“Then our private band will perform in the evening; perhaps, too, we shall dance. Remember, my Lords and Ladies, we are a young sovereign who loves pleasure, and that a sad face or a mournful one is treason to our person. Come forward now, and let us name our household.”
While the group gathered around the wild and high-spirited girl, in whose merry mood even the least-disposed were drawn to participate, Linton approached Lady Kilgoff, who had seated herself near a window, and was affecting to arrange a frame of embroidery, on which she rarely bestowed a moment's labor.
CHAPTER II. LADY KILGOFF AT BAY
I'll make her brew the beverage herself,
With her own fingers stir the cap,
And know't is poison as she drinks it.
Harold.
Had Linton been about to renew an acquaintance with one he had scarcely known before, and who might possibly have ceased to remember him, his manner could not have been more studiously diffident and respectful.
“I rejoice to see your Ladyship here,” said he, in a low, deliberate voice, “where, on the last time we spoke together, you seemed uncertain of coming.”
“Very true, Mr. Linton,” said she, not looking up from her work; “my Lord had not fully made up his mind.”