THE ABBESS OF SAINT MARY.

Philip next proceeded to the castle, in the principal court of which he found his arquebusiers drawn up. Long before this, the treasure had been locked up in one of the strongest chambers of the donjon. Not being familiar with a Norman castle, the Prince examined the ancient fortress with much interest, and, ascending to the summit of the keep, enjoyed the magnificent view commanded from it.

His inspection of the castle completed, Philip was conducted to a public place in the centre of the town, which derived its name of Saint Michael’s Place, from a venerable and beautiful church standing in the midst of it. Facing the east end of this reverend pile was the habitation designed for his temporary abode.

In Saint Michael’s Place, as elsewhere, a large crowd had congregated, who cheered the Prince lustily on his appearance, and did not seem inclined to disperse even when he had dismounted and entered his lodgings.

The quaint architecture of the habitation, the bay-windows filled with painted glass, the low-raftered roofs, the walls panelled with oak darkened by age, the numerous small apartments, the stiff cumbrous furniture—all so different from the vast gilded saloons and open courts suited to another clime, with which he was familiar—were far from displeasing to Philip, and when the Earl of Arundel apologised for the scant accommodation of the place, the Prince courteously 91assured him that the house was very much to his taste. “What sufficed for your great monarch, Henry VIII.,” he said, “may well suffice for me.”

Pleading fatigue, he then retired to a private chamber, and was not disturbed until the return of the Count D’Egmont and Osbert Clinton from Winchester, when they were immediately admitted to his presence.

D’Egmont brought a letter from the Queen, which he delivered to the Prince, but, without manifesting any impatience to ascertain its contents, Philip laid it on the table beside which he was seated, and proceeded to question the Count as to his visit.

“Pass by all other matters,” he said, “and come to the point. What did her Majesty think of my nocturnal adventure? Was she satisfied with the explanation offered her?”

“Not entirely, I fear, your Highness,” replied D’Egmont, “though she said little to warrant such a conclusion.”

“You were careful not to alarm her?” said Philip, turning to Osbert.

“She pressed me very shrewdly,” replied the young man, “but I trust I succeeded in allaying her suspicions, which were evidently aroused by the description I was obliged to give of your fair deliverer, Constance Tyrrell. Her Majesty inherits something of the disposition of her august sire, and is inclined to jealousy.”

“That does not augur well for my future comfort. Jealousy in a wife is intolerable,” replied Philip. “Let us see what is said in her letter,” he added, opening it. “There is nothing here but congratulations on my safe arrival, and deep concern at the attack upon my person. Not a word as to my intended visit to Winchester. Apparently, her Majesty does not attach much credence to that part of the story.”

“She is not easily imposed upon,” observed D’Egmont. “It must be admitted that your Highness has given her just cause for suspicion. She will not believe that eagerness to behold her induced you to quit the ship privily at night. Her penetration pointed to a different motive, and all she heard seemed to confirm her doubts. At one moment she had resolved to come over to Southampton, but fortunately 92she relinquished that design. Mischief might else have been made by the opponents to the marriage.”

“Pshaw! I have no fears on that score,” said Philip. “But I am glad she did not come. She might have interfered with my plans.”

At this moment an usher entered, stating that Mistress Constance Tyrrell was without, and besought an audience of the Prince.

“By Saint Iago! this is better than I expected,” cried Philip, overjoyed. “Is she alone?”

“No, your Highness,” replied the usher. “The lady abbess of St. Mary, Winchester, is with her.”

“I would the lady abbess were in her nunnery, or anywhere but here!” exclaimed Philip, in a tone of pique. “Admit them.”

On this the usher withdrew, and the next moment Constance entered the room, accompanied by a religious dame of very stately deportment. The abbess of Saint Mary was attired in a long black gown, the ample folds of which swept the ground. The sleeves of her robe were loose, and over her shoulders was spread a sable mantle, with a hood attached to it. A barbe of plaited linen covered the lower part of her face, and, with the close-drawn hood, effectually concealed her features. On the entrance of the two ladies, D’Egmont and Osbert retired.

Stepping quickly towards Constance, Philip took her hand, preventing her from making the lowly obeisance she contemplated. After greeting her very courteously, he turned to the abbess, and saluting her respectfully, said,—

“Holy mother, to what am I indebted for this visit? Can I serve you in aught?”

“For myself I seek nothing, Prince,” replied the abbess, in a voice that vibrated through Philip’s breast, occasioning him an uneasy feeling. “I am a messenger from the Queen to this young maiden. Her Majesty, having been informed that, under Heaven, the chief instrument of your preservation from a great peril was Mistress Constance Tyrrell, who heroically shielded you from the weapons of assassins, has sent me to bring the damsel to Winchester. This is my mission, which I was enjoined to execute without delay; but I have consented to defer my departure for a short space, 93as Mistress Constance hath a request to prefer to your Highness.”

“I thank you for your consideration, holy mother,” replied Philip. “The fair Constance can ask nothing of me that I will not readily grant.”

“Make no rash promises, Prince,” remarked the abbess. “First hear her request.”

“I pray you speak, then, fair mistress,” said Philip, in an encouraging tone to Constance. “You need not apprehend a refusal.”

“The boon is greater than I ought to ask,” said Constance, trembling. “Yet I must summon courage to make it. In a word, then, your Highness, I would solicit pardon for the miserable wretch who dared to raise his sacrilegious hand against your royal person.”

“Pardon for that miscreant!” exclaimed the abbess. “Impossible!”

“For myself I would willingly grant your request,” replied Philip, in a troubled tone, “but I have not the power. The Queen alone can pardon this offender against her laws. You must appeal to her.”

“But your Highness will second me,” observed Constance. “A word from you, and it will be done.”

“Be not too sure of that,” said the abbess, sternly. “The Queen is compassionate, but just. To pardon a wretch like this would be fraught with evil consequences. It may not be.”

The force and decision with which these words were pronounced struck the Prince, and he looked hard at the abbess. But her features were wholly undistinguishable.

“The lady abbess is right,” he said, after a pause. “I fear the appeal to the Queen ............