“His lady mother and his lady sisters lived at the castle, and were to live there until my lord should marry, when they would all go to Kedge Hall, the dower-house of the Widows of Enderby. Kedge Hall was no to be compared to Enderby Castle, and so my lady and her daughters were no minded that my lord should take a wife.
“Ah, but they were wicked!
“Handsome jades they were, every one. Black-a-vized, like me lord, but not one of them to hold a candle to my lass, though she were the hen-wife’s child, and her feyther the undergardener.
“Oh, but she were the beauty of the world!
“I ha’e seen the Venus in the castle gallery, but it was no to be compared to my lass’ form. And her features were small and fine and clean-cut, and her skin was like the wild rose leaf. Her eyes were blue as violets, and her hair was yellow and soft and silky as the fringe of the young maize corn.
“Oh, but she was the beauty of the world!
“Everybody was in love with her. Every servant in the castle, from the old bachelor-butler down to the boy in buttons, which they called the page, was half mad for the love of my lass. Every laborer in the grounds, from the widowed gamekeeper down to the youngest stableboy, was half dying for the love of my lass.
“No, bairnie, she did not scorn any of them—not the lowliest. She had a smile and a gentle glance, and a kind word for every one—even for the freckle-faced and red-haired young groom, who always had a cold in his head and a swelled nose, and used to follow her about like a dog, until he lost his place for neglecting his business. She was kind and good to all.
“Oh, but she was the angel of the world, was my lassie. She were sweet and tender to every one, but she would ha’e none o’ them i’ the way o’ marriage. That were too much to ask, she thought.
“So time went on, till my lass was twenty years old, and she had never lo’ed a man. And my lord were thirty, and he had never married a wife.