“Little one,” said Edward, “thou need’st not shrink from me. I will not take thee away. Thy father hath a treasure, and ’tis his part to strive not to throw it away. Only should either thou or he ever condescend so far as to seek for counsel with this poor cousin of thine, send this token to me, and I will be with thee.” But it was full nine years ere Edward saw that jewel again. Meantime he was not entirely without knowledge of his kinsman. On every great occasion the figure, conspicuous for the scrupulous cleanliness of the dark russet gown, and the careful arrangement of the hair and beard, and the fillet which covered the eyes, as well as for a lordly bearing, that even the stoop of blindness could not disguise, was to be seen dominating over all the other beggars, sitting on the steps of church or palace gates, as if they had been a throne; troubling himself little to beg, but exchanging shrewd remarks with all who addressed him, and raising many a laugh among the bystanders. Leonillo lay contented at his feet; but after just enough time had elapsed to show that he cared not for the King’s remonstrance, he ceased to be accompanied by his little daughter, and was led by a boy in her stead. The King, making inquiries of the Grand Prior, learnt that pretty Bessee was daily deposited at the sisterhood of Poor Clares, where she remained while her father was out on his begging expeditions, and learnt such breeding as convents then gave. “In sooth,” said Sir Robert, “honest Hal believes it is all for good-will and charity and love to the pretty little wench; and so it is in great part: but methought it best to give a hint to the mother prioress that the child came of good blood. She is a discreet lady, and knows how to deal with her; and truly she tells me their house has prospered since the little one came to them. Every feast-day morn have they found their alms-dish weightier with coin than ever she knew it before.” When Edward repeated this intelligence to his queen, she recollected Dame Idonea’s gossiping information—that brave Sir Robert, the flower of the House of Darcy, had only entered the Order of St. John, when fair Alda Braithwayte, in the strong enthusiasm of the Franciscan preaching, had pleaded a vow of virginity against all suitors, and had finally become a Sister of the Poor Clares. And after all his wars and wanderings, the regulations of his Order had ended by bringing the Hospitalier in his old age into the immediate neighbourhood of Prioress Alda; and into that distant business intercourse that the heads of religious houses had from time to time to carry on together.