Strange Tales.
“Oh stay me not, thou holy friar!
Oh stay me not, I pray!
No drizzling rain that falls on me
Can wash my fault away.”—Bishop Percy.
On entering the banquet-hall of Langley Palace, Maude the tire-maiden found herself promoted to a very different position from that which had been filled by Maude the scullion. Her former place had been near the door, and far below that important salt-cellar which was then the table-indicator of rank. She was directed now to take her seat as the lowest of the Countess’s maidens, on a form just opposite the salt-cellar, which was more than half-way up the hall. Maude had hardly sat down when her next neighbour below accosted her in a familiar voice.
“Why, little Maude! I looked for thee in vain at yon board end, and I was but now marvelling what had befallen thee. How earnest up hither?” Maude smiled back at Bertram Lyngern.
“It pleased the Lady’s Grace to make me of her especial following.”
“Long life to the Lady!—Now will I cause thee to wit who be all my friends. This on my left hand is Master Hugh Calverley, Mistress Maude (for thou art now of good degree, and must be spoken unto belike); he is mine especial friend, and a very knight-errant in succour of all unceli (distressed, unhappy) damsels.”
“And who is he that is next unto the Lady Custance?”
“On her right hand, the Lord Edward, and the Lord Richard at her left—her brethren both.”
Lord Richard pleased Maude. He was a winning little fellow of eight years old. But Edward she disliked instinctively:—a tall, handsome boy of twelve, but completely spoiled by the supercilious curl of his lip and the proud carriage of his head.
“And the Lord Earl?” she whispered to Bertram, who pointed out his royal master.