The Queen, who was not quite thirty years of age, rode on a white horse, whose scarlet saddle-cloth was embroidered with golden lions and roses, and which was led by Garcia, her Spanish Master of the Horse. She was dressed in green samite, trimmed with ermine. On her left hand rode the Earl of Lincoln, on her right, her eldest surviving son, the little Prince Alphonso, who was only seven years old. He died at the age of eleven. After the Queen rode her two damsels, Aubrey de Caumpeden and Ermetrude; and after them and the officers of the household came a number of lesser people, the mob of sight-seers closing in and following them up the street. (See Note 1.) Her Majesty rode up Steephill to the Castle, where the Countess of Lincoln and her daughter Lady Margaret—a girl of about fifteen—received her just inside the gate. Then the mob cheered, the Queen looked back with a smile and a bow, the Almoner flung a handful of silver pennies among them, the portcullis was hauled down, and the sight was over.
As Emma turned back from the Castle gate, she met her father and her sister Eleanor, who, like her, had been sight-seeing.
“Well!” said Dan, “did thou see her?”
“Oh yes, beautifully!” answered Emma. “Isn’t she handsome, Father?”
“‘Handsome is as handsome does,’” philosophically returned Dan. “Some folks looks mighty handsome as doesn’t do even to it. She was just like a pictur’ when I wed her. Ay, she was, so!—Where art thou going, Emma?”
“I thought of looking in on Aunt Avice, Father. Are you and Eleanor coming, too?”
“I’m not,” said Eleanor. “I’m going to see Laurentia atte Gate. So I’ll wish you good even.”
She kept straight on, while Dan and Emma turned off for Avice’s house. It was not surprising that they found nobody at home but the turnspit dog, who was sufficiently familiar with both to wag a welcome; but somebody sat in the chimney-corner who was not at home, but was a visitor like themselves. When the door was unlatched, Father Thomas closed the book he had been reading and looked up.
“Good even, Father,” said Dan to the priest. “I reckon you’ve come o’ th’ same errand as us.”
“What is that, my son?”