In an instant I saw, as by a flash of lightning, that the idea had occurred to others; for the squire had offered the wine upon the knee.
But the Regent! Would he acquiesce meekly in a change which would drive him back to his original insignificance, and restore Guy to his place of supreme honour? Lady Sybil is no child, but a woman of full age. There might (in a man's eyes) be an excuse in putting her aside for her son, but there could be none for her sister or her daughter.
It was not for some hours that I saw the Regent's letter; not till Lady Sybil's bitter wailing had died down to peace, and we were able to turn our eyes from the past to the future. Then Guy showed it me. I was astonished at the quiet matter-of-fact way in which Count Raymond recognised Lady Sybil's right, and deferred to Guy as the person to decide upon every thing. I asked Lady Judith, this morning, what she thought it meant. Was this man better than we had supposed? Had we been unjust to him?
"I cannot tell yet, Helena," she said; "but I think we shall know now very soon. It either bodes great good to Sybil,—or else most serious mischief."
"He says no word about his Lady Countess," I suggested.
"No," said Lady Judith. "I should have liked it better if he had done."
"Then what can we do?" I asked.
"Wait and pray," responded she.
"Wait!" Oh dear me!—it is always waiting. I detest it. Why can't things happen in a lump and get done with themselves?
Count Raymond—for I must give over calling him the Regent,—(and dear me! I must learn to call Lady Sybil the Queen as soon as she is crowned,—however shall I do it?)—Count Raymond says, in the end of his letter, that he will reach the Holy City, if it please the saints, about ten days hence, with the coffin of the young Lord King, that he may be laid with his fathers in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. So, I suppose, for these ten days we shall know nothing. I would scratch them out of the calendar, if I had pumice-stone of the right quality.