"My father was angered for that I would not take another mate, and he vowed that he would bring his younger daughter to do his will. But she--my poor Venetia!--had given her heart already out of her keeping. His name was Edward Lucas, a gentleman of good birth and no fortune, who was master of horse in our father's household. When she found that our father would force her to a marriage with one whom she loathed, she did madly, yet I cannot think her all to blame. By stealth she was wedded to Edward Lucas, and with him she left the kingdom." "And did you never see her more?" asked Merrylips. She felt that she must not look upon her godmother's face, so she bent her eyes upon the ring. She had now slipped it upon her own finger. "Nay, sweetheart," said Lady Sybil. "I never saw my sister again in this world. My father forbade me to go unto her, or even to receive her letters. I was ill and broken in those days. 'Twas then that my hair grew gray as thou dost see it. But by secret ways, ofttimes through writings to thy father, who had been a friend to Ned Lucas, I had tidings of my sister. "She went with her husband into the Low Countries, where he served in the army of the States General and proved himself an able soldier. Thence they went into far Germany, where great wars have raged these many weary years. Two children were born unto them, and taken from them, and then at last, in a great fever that swept through the camp, they died in one same week, my sister and her husband. And thou knowest now, sweetheart, the story of her who wore the ring that was mate to the one which thou dost fondle." In the dim light Merrylips crept closer, and laid her cheek against her godmother's hand. "Poor godmother!" she whispered. "I be right sorry." "Dear little heart!" said Lady Sybil, and sat for a moment with her hand on Merrylips' cheek. Then suddenly, as if she returned to herself, she exclaimed aloud:-- "Why, child, thy cheek is fever-hot. I have done ill to vex thee with sad tales, on a day of such alarums and with such a morrow before us. Now in very truth, I shall clap thee straightway into thy bed to rest against our journey." Oddly enough, Merrylips felt no wish to cry out at such an order. So though it was not yet sunset she soon found herself tucked snugly into her own little bed, between sheets that smelled of lavender, and she found her godmother bending over her, to give her a good night kiss. "Why, my Merrylips!" said Lady Sybil, in a voice that seemed to come from a drowsy distance. "If thou hast not here my ring upon thy finger! Let me bestow it safely." But Merrylips, for once, was disobedient. "Let me keep it by me!" she begged, in a fretful voice. "I'll not lose it. Only let me wear it till I come unto Walsover! Prithee, let me, dear godmother!"