'What is the date of that letter, Lucy?' Lady Pembroke asked.
'The twenty-first day of September, Madam.'
'And this is the twenty-sixth. More news will sure be here ere long, and another victory assured, if it please God. May He protect my brothers in the fight. But, Lucy, I rejoice to hear of your sister's happiness in the recovery of her child; and now, in due course, I trust my brother's faithful servant and friend, Master Humphrey, will have the reward of his loyalty.'
'Yes, Madam; I hope Mary may, as you say, reward Humphrey.'
'And you, Lucy; sure Master George is worthy that you should grant him his reward also.'
Lucy's bright face clouded as the Countess said this, and a bright crimson flush rose to her cheeks.
'Dear Madam,' she said, 'I shrink from giving a meagre return for such faithful love. Sure ere a woman gives herself to a man till death, she should make certain that he is the one in all the world for her.'
'I will not contradict this, Lucy; but many women misjudge their own hearts, and—'
Lady Pembroke hesitated. Then, after a pause, she said,—