"That is it which I would know," replied Ademar gravely. "From my little maids!" she repeated in astonishment. "It is written, Madam, in His book, that as one whom his mother comforteth, He comforteth us. Wherefore, seeing that the comfort your Grace looketh for at His hands is to have you afore the reeve for payment of your debts, it setteth me to think that you shall needs use your children likewise." "Never!" cried Constance emphatically. "And so say I, Lady," returned Ademar significantly. "But, Sir Ademar, God doth chastise His children!" "Truly so, Madam, as you yours. But I marvel which is the more sufferer--yourself or the child." He spoke pointedly, for only the day before Isabel had chosen to be very naughty, and had imperatively required correction, which he knew had cost far more to Constance to administer than to her refractory child to receive. "Then, Sir Ademar, you do think He suffereth when He chastiseth us?" she asked, her voice faltering a little. "I cannot think, Dame, that He loveth the rod. Only He loveth too well the child to leave him uncorrected." "O, Sir Ademar!" she cried suddenly--"I do trust He shall not find need to try me yet again through these childre! I am so feared I should fail and fall. Ah me! weak and wretched woman that I am,--I could not bear to see these two forced from me! God help and pardon me; but me feareth if it should come to this yet again, I would do anything to keep them!" "The Lord can heal the waters, Lady, ere He fetch you to drink them." "He did not this draught aforetime," she said sadly. "Maybe," replied Ademar, "because He saw that your Ladyship's disorder needed a bitter medicine." There was a respite for just one year. But ever after the news of her brother Richard's death, Constance drooped and pined; and when the fresh storm broke, it found her an invalid almost confined to her bed. It began with a strong manifesto from Archbishop Chichele against the Lollards. Then came a harshly-worded order for all landed proprietors in the Marches of South Wales to reside on their estates and "keep off the rebels." One of these was specially directed to Constance Le Despenser. But who were the rebels? Owain Glyndwr had died twelve months before. It could not mean him; and there was only one person whom it could mean. It meant Lord Cobham, still in hiding, whom Lord Powys was in the field to capture, and on whose head a rich reward was set. The authorities were trembling in fear of a second outbreak under his guidance. Bertram gave the missive to Maude, who carried it to Constance. Disobedience was to be visited by penalty; and how it was likely to be punished in her case, Constance knew only too well. She received it with a moan of anguish. "My little maids! my little, little maids!" She said no more: she only grew worse and weaker.