On her right hand rode her husband, clad in a tunic of fine cloth, in colour resembling the habit of his lady, and mounted on a dark, fiery charger, which with difficulty he could rein in to the slow pace of the palfrey. On the left of the lady Isabella was her brother, young Robert de Vere, and though but a boy, one might have read much in the lines of that countenance, of his future destiny. His smooth, dimpled chin, was small and round, and his mouth possessed that habitual smile, that softly beaming expression, which won for him in after years the regard of the superficial Richard; while there shone a fire in the full dark eyes, which betokened the ambitious spirit that was to animate the future lord of Dublin, and sovereign of Ireland.
Sparkling with jewels, and attired in a white satin robe, the Lady De Boteler took her seat for the first time, at the table of her lord, and well was she calculated to grace the board. Her person, tall and well formed, possessed that fullness of proportion which is conveyed by the term majestic; and her movements were exceedingly graceful. She had fine auburn hair, and the thick curls that fell beneath the gemmed fillet encircling her head, seemed alternately a bright gold or a dark brown according to the waving of the tress. Her hair and high white forehead which the parted curls revealed, possessed sufficient beauty to have redeemed even irregular features from the charge of homeliness; but Isabella De Vere's face was altogether as generally faultless as falls to the lot of woman.
The guests were numerous, and the evening passed away in feasting and revelry. The blaze of the lights—the full strains of the minstrels—the glad faces and graceful motions of the dancers, the lustre of the ladies' jewels, and the glitter of the gold embroidery on the dresses of male and female, combined to give to the spacious hall that night, more the appearance of a fairy scene, which might dissolve in a moment into air, than a palpable human festivity. The tenantry had also their feasting and their dancing; but these had to pay for their amusement: each tenant, according to the custom of the manor, on the marriage of their lord, being obliged to bring an offering in proportion to the land which he held.
On the morrow, accordingly, the vassals brought their presents. The lady Isabella, surrounded by visitors and attended by her handmaidens, was seated in the spacious apartment intended for the ceremony, as Edith, supported by Margaret, entered the room. The baroness raised her head and gazed upon the latter, with that complacent feeling which beauty seldom fails to inspire. The delicate hue of Margaret's cheek was, at this moment, deepened by embarrassment; and, as kneeling down, she raised her bright blue eyes, the lady thought she had never seen so lovely a creature.
"What is your pleasure with me, maiden?" asked the baroness, in a condescending tone.
"Lady," replied Margaret modestly; "I am the wife of one of my lord's vassals; and my mother, and myself, humbly beg you will accept this present."
"And is this your present?—What is your name?"
"Margaret Holgrave, lady."
"Look, Lady Anne," said Isabella, displaying a pair of white silk gloves, beautifully wrought with gold. "Do you not think this a fair present for a vassal to bestow?"
"The gloves are very beautiful," replied the lady.