"Then I might not become that I so much wish—a Lady of Honour!"
"That phrase, my Lambkin, is paradoxical—'Lady of Honour.'"
"Janet, thou dost turn all sweets to bitterness!—Then I will mottle my face and wear a hump and be spurned outright. 'Twill ill serve me. 'Twill not accord a safe issue."
"Thou must not forget the King hath a tender heart for distress, and now I think on it, 'tis possible, if thou didst so disfigure thyself, thou wouldst gain his reply the quicker. We will mottle thy face with leprous spots and cover thee with old woman's clothes, placing a hump upon thy shoulder. And no one shall be privy to our scheme but his Grace, and my lord of Buckingham, if they are to attend us." Janet felt satisfied with the turn affairs had taken.
"I think I shall enjoy it hugely. 'Twill be fine sport to so puzzle the King, and when he sees me as I am—" and Mistress Penwick turned proudly to a mirror—"he will be pleased!"
"We will not think of that now, Lambkin. When dost thou expect her ladyship?"
"She did not say, but I think perchance she will come before the Duke of Monmouth returns."
"And he will not come before the morrow, didst thou say?"
"When I demurred at not going straight to his Majesty, he said 'twould be meet for me to remain here until he should first see him; then he should return in a day. Those were his words, Miss Wadham, verbatim,—now thou dost know everything I do, but—the church secret; and if thou wert not insolvent for ways and means, thou wouldst have had that." With a sudden step, the maid flung her arms about Janet, who ever felt hurt when called Miss Wadham.
Katherine sat to her evening meal with many flutterings of pleasure in her young and guileless heart. Her first thought was of Cedric. He was going to live and doubtless would follow her as soon as he was able, and she would again see his handsome features and hear him admonish her with a tenderness she was sure he would show after being so frightened by her absence. It did not come to her that she should be in sackcloth and ashes for causing him such woeful pain and misery. She only tried to remember how he looked, as many a love-sick maiden hath done heretofore. She pictured the rich colouring of his cheeks and how his dark eyes had looked into hers; and she remembered how once he had thus beheld her, his glance sweeping her face, then he had taken her hand and pressed his lips to it passionately. Her face grew rose red and she trembled with ecstasy. She, so perfect in mould and health, was capable of extravagant and overpowering emotion; a rapturous exaltation that filled her and took possession of her whole being. She tried to turn her thoughts to Sir Julian, and wondered vaguely why he had not come to London. He had intended leaving the castle before this; and why had he not found her? He might know she would like to inquire of those at home,—the Duke of Ellswold and the others that were ill. The thought seemed to grow upon her, and she wondered more and more why no one had been sent after her, and how very welcome Sir Julian would be. Could it be that Lord Cedric was too ill for him to leave?