The Lady Elisabeth's room looked on the river, now shaded by willow trees covered with drooping yellow and red leaves, the banks were grown with tall grasses and rushes, and the first pale flowers of spring, beyond the soft fields, faded into the soft sky.
Elisabeth Claypole loved to sit day after day at her deep window gazing on that scene, watching the river that wandered through such pleasant ways through the great city, past the palace, past the Traitor's Gate, out to the wonder and turmoil of the open sea.
It was a beautiful chamber hung with embroidery of her own stitching, and furnished with many curious pieces from the Netherlands and China, carpets of Persia, and two mirrors framed in glass flowers and done by the Venetians.
She put a chair for the Marchioness and herself sank into the window seat, glancing swiftly at her guest. She saw a lady of a medium loveliness, most piteously worn and marred by sorrow, and attired in a tasteful if unusual style, which gave her the appearance of being richly dressed; but Elisabeth's quick eyes saw that the grey silk dress had been turned and scoured, that the ruffles of lace had been darned again and again, and that she wore no jewels. The Protector's daughter felt ashamed of her own velvet gown and the valuable pearls she had in her ears.
"I wished to see your father, madam," said Lady Newcastle, in a voice where fatigue and humiliation struggled with a natural pride.
"Alas!" murmured Elisabeth. "He is so pressed with business—will you tell your errand to me, my Lady Newcastle?"
"I have come to England in company with my brother-in-law to endeavour to obtain some remnant of my husband's estates," was the answer. "And we were returning in despair, when I, unknown to him, thought to make this personal appeal."
The Lady Elisabeth knew at once that the unfortunate gentlewoman had made an utterly hopeless journey, for she was well aware that one of the late King's generals, and a royalist so notable as the Marquess of Newcastle, could never obtain grace from the Commonwealth.
Wishful, as ever, to avoid inflicting pain rudely, she made an evasive answer.
"Will your lord swear fealty to the Government, madam?"