When she saw Grisell on finally departing for St. Albans, she was carrying her head a good deal higher on the strength of “my Lord Earl’s grace to her.” She hoped that her sweet Lady Grisell would remain here, as the best hap she could have in the most noble, excellent, and open-handed house in the world! Grisell’s own wishes were not the same, for the great household was very bewildering—a strange change from her quietly-busy convent. The Countess was quiet enough, but dull and sickly, and chiefly occupied by her ailments. She seemed to be always thinking about leeches, wise friars, wonderful nuns, or even wizards and cunning women, and was much concerned that her husband absolutely forbade her consulting the witch of Spitalfields. “Nay, dame,” said he, “an thou didst, the next thing we should hear would be that thou hadst been sticking pins into King Harry’s waxen image and roasting him before the fire, and that nothing but roasting thee in life and limb within a fire would bring him to life and reason.” “They would never dare,” cried the lady. “Who can tell what the Queen would dare if she gets her will!” demanded the Earl. “Wouldst like to do penance with sheet and candle, like Gloucester’s wife?” Such a possibility was enough to silence the Lady of Warwick on the score of witches, and the only time she spoke to Grisell was to ask her about Sister Avice and her cures. She set herself to persuade her husband to let her go down to one of his mother’s Wiltshire houses to consult the nun, but Warwick had business in the north, nor would he allow her to be separated from him, lest she might be detained as a hostage. Dame Gresford continued to be Grisell’s protector, and let the girl sit and spin or embroider beside her, while the other ladies of the house played at ball in the court, or watched the exercises of the pages and squires. The dame’s presence and authority prevented Grisell’s being beset with uncivil remarks, but she knew she was like a toad among the butterflies, as she overheard some saucy youth calling her, while a laugh answered him, and she longed for her convent. CHAPTER VIII OLD PLAYFELLOWS Alone thou goest forth, Thy face unto the north, Moor and pleasance all around thee and beneath thee. E. BARRETT BROWNING, _A Valediction_. ONE great pleasure fell to Grisell’s share, but only too brief. The family of the Duke of York on their way to Baynard’s Castle halted at Warwick House, and the Duchess Cecily, tall, fair, and stately, sailed into the hall, followed by three fair daughters, while Warwick, her nephew, though nearly of the same age, advanced with his wife to meet and receive her.