"One thing, my noble lord," replied the young knight, a sudden thought striking him--"if you will kindly undertake to be my advocate with one whose good opinion is to me a matter of no light moment. You must know that Sir John Grey--so long an exile in your father's dominions, but now empowered by King Henry to treat, in conjunction with Sir Philip de Morgan, at the Court of Burgundy--has one daughter, plighted to me by long love, by her own promises, and by her father's also; but some scoundrel--the same, I do verily believe, who has made all this mischief--I mean Sir Simeon of Roydon--has brought charges against me to that good knight, which have altered his countenance towards me. Called suddenly away, I have no means of explanation; and I leave my name blighted in his opinion. The accusation, I believe, refers to this poor girl, Ella Brune; but you may tell Sir John, and I pledge you my knightly word you will tell him true, that there is nought between her and me but kindness rendered on my part to a woman in distress, and gratitude on hers to one who has protected her." "I will not fail," replied the young prince, giving him his hand, "nor will I lose any time before I explain all as far as I know it." Thus saying, he walked out with Woodville into the court, where the horses stood prepared; and, in a few minutes, the young wanderer was once more upon his way. CHAPTER XXXII. TRUE LOVE'S DEFENCE. In one of the best houses in the best part of Ghent, and in a chamber hung with splendid tapestry, and ornamented with rich carvings of dark oak, sat a fair lady, with a bright and happy face--the rounded chin, with its small dimple, resting on a hand as white as marble and as soft as satin. The dark brown eyes, full of cheerful light, were raised towards the gilt roses on the ceiling, as if counting them; but the thoughts of Mary Markham, or, as we must henceforth call her, Mary Grey, were full of other things; and if she was counting anything, it was the minutes, till her father should return from the Cours des Princes, and tell her, who had come back to Ghent with the young Count of Charolois. She was, as the reader knows, of a hopeful disposition--that most bright and blessed of all frames of mind--that lightener of the labours of the world--that smoother of the rough ways of life; and Mary had already hoped that, perchance, when the door opened, and her father's form appeared, another, well loved too, might be beside him; for, on her first arrival, Sir John Grey had spoken to her much of Richard of Woodville, had praised him, as she was proud to hear him praised, and had smiled to see the colour come into her cheek, as if he meant to say, "Fear not, you shall be his."