The White Rose of Langley: A Story of the Olden TimeHolt, Emily Sarah
History
The White Rose of Langley: A Story of the Olden Time
Holt, Emily Sarah
Great Britain -- History -- Lancaster and York, 1399-1485 -- Fiction
Maude awaited the following evening with two-fold interest. She might
possibly see Hawise, and she should certainly see some one who was like
the angels in Paradise. The evening came, and with it the guests. One
look at the Countess of Buckingham was enough. She certainly did not
resemble the angels, unless they looked very cross and discontented.
Her good qualities were not apparent to Maude, for they consisted of two
coronets and an enormous fortune. Her ladies were much more interesting
to Maude than herself. The first who entered behind her was a stiff
middle-aged woman with dark hair.
"That is Dame Edusa," [A fictitious person] whispered Bertram, "the Lady
Mistress. Here is Mistress Polegna--yonder little damsel with the dark
locks; and the high upright dame is Mistress Sarah. She that cometh
after is the Lady de Say."
Not one of these was the golden-haired Cousin Hawise, whose years barely
numbered twenty. Maude's eyes had come back in disappointment, when
Bertram touched her arm.
"Now, Maude--look now! Look, the beauteous Lady de Narbonne! [A
fictitious person.] Sawest ever maiden meet to be her peer?"
Maude looked, and saw a young girlish figure, splendidly attired,--a
rich red and white complexion, beautiful blue eyes, and a sunny halo of
shining fair hair. But she saw as well, a cold, hard curve of the
delicate lips, a proud cynical expression in the handsome eyes, a bold,
forward manner. Yes, Maude admitted, the Lady de Narbonne was
beautiful; yet she did not care to look at her. Bertram was
disappointed. And so was Maude, for all hope of finding Hawise had
disappeared.
When supper was over, the tables were lifted. The festive board was at
this time literally a board or boards, which were simply set upon
trestles to form a table. At the close of a meal, the tables were
reduced to their primitive elements, and boards and trestles were either
carried away, or heaped in one corner of the hall. The dining-room was
thus virtually transmuted into the drawing-room, ceremony and precedence
being discarded for the rest of the evening--state occasions of course
excepted, and the royal persons present not being addressed unless they
chose to commence a conversation.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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