From the child, Earl Edmund looked up into the pleased eyes of the young mother.
“Dame Clarice,” he asked, gently, “are you happier than you were?”
Her eyes grew suddenly grave.
“Thus far,” she said, touching the child. “Otherwise—I try to be content with God’s will, fair Lord. It is hard to bear heart-hunger.”
“Ah!” The Earl’s tone was significant. “Yes, it is hard to bear in any form,” he said, after a pause. “May God send you never to know, Dame, that there is a more terrible form than that wherein you bear it.”
And he left her almost abruptly.
The winter of 1292 dragged slowly along. Filomena declared that her body was as starved as her mind, and she should be frozen to death if she stayed any longer. The next day, to everybody’s astonishment, the Countess issued orders to pack up for travelling. Sir Vivian and Clarice were to go with her—where, she did not say. So were Olympias, Felicia, and Ada. Mistress Underdone, Sir Reginald, Sir Ademar and Heliet, Filomena and Sabina, were left behind at Oakham.
Olympias grumbled extremely at being separated from her husband, and Filomena at being left behind. The Countess would listen to neither.
“When shall we return, under my Lady’s leave?” asked Olympias, disconsolately.
“You can return,” was the curt answer, “when I have done with you. I doubt if Sir Vivian and his dame will return at all. Ada certainly will not.”