During the journey, Avice carefully avoided any private intercourse with Maude. The latter tried once or twice to renew the interrupted conversation; but it was either dinner-time, or it was prayer-time, or there was some excellent reason why Avice could not listen. And at last Maude resigned the hope. They never met again. But one winter day, eighteen years later, Maude Lyngern heard that Sister Avice, of the Minoresses’ house at Aldgate, had died in the odour of sanctity; and that the sisters were not without hope that the holy Father might pronounce her a saint, or at least “beata.” It was added that she had worn herself to a skeleton by fasting, and for three weeks before her death had refused all sustenance but the sacrament, which she received daily. And that was the last of Cousin Hawise.
We return from this digression to Westminster Palace.
News met them as they stepped over the threshold—news of death. Alianora, Countess of March, sister of Kent, and mother of the Mortimers, had died at Powys Castle.
When Custance reached the chamber allotted to her at Westminster, she found there all the personal property which she had left at Langley twelve months earlier.
“Maude!” she said that night, as she laid her head on the pillow.
“Lady?” was the response.
“To-morrow make thou ready for me my widow’s garb. I shall never wear any other again.”
“Ay, Lady,” said Maude quietly.
“And—hast here any book of Sir John de Wycliffe?”
“The Evangel after Lucas, Lady.”