The Earl of Salisbury could not but think that a strictly honourable man would have felt poor Grisell’s disaster inflicted by his son’s hands all the more reason for holding to the former understanding; but the loud clamours and rude language of Lady Whitburn were enough to set any one in opposition to her, and moreover, the words he said in favour of her side of the question appeared to Copeland merely spoken out of the general enmity of the Nevils to the Beauforts and all their following. Thus, all the evening Lady Whitburn raged, and appealed to the Earl, whose support she thought cool and unfriendly, while Copeland stood sullen and silent, but determined. “My lord,” she said, “were you a true friend to York and Raby, you would deal with this scowling fellow as we should on the Border.” “We are not on the Border, madam,” quietly said Salisbury. “But you are in your own Castle, and can force him to keep faith. No contract, forsooth! I hate your mincing South Country forms of law.” Then perhaps irritated by a little ironical smile which Salisbury could not suppress. “Is this your castle, or is it not? Then bring him and his lad to my poor wench’s side, and see their troth plighted, or lay him by the heels in the lowest cell in your dungeon. Then will you do good service to the King and the Duke of York, whom you talk of loving in your shilly-shally fashion.” “Madam,” said the Earl, his grave tones coming in contrast to the shrill notes of the angry woman, “I counsel you, in the south at least, to have some respect to these same forms of law. I bid you a fair good-night. The chamberlain will marshal you.” CHAPTER III THE MIRROR “Of all the maids, the foulest maid From Teviot unto Dee. Ah!” sighing said that lady then, “Can ne’er young Harden’s be.” SCOTT, _The Reiver’s Wedding_. “THEY are gone,” said Margaret of York, standing half dressed at the deep-set window of the chamber where Grisell lay in state in her big bed. “Who are gone?” asked Grisell, turning as well as she could under the great heraldically-embroidered covering. “Leonard Copeland and his father. Did’st not hear the horses’ tramp in the court?” “I thought it was only my lord’s horses going to the water.” “It was the Copelands going off without breaking their fast or taking a stirrup cup, like discourteous rogues as they be,” said Margaret, in no measured language. “And are they gone? And wherefore?” asked Grisell.