"Once," said the lady, with a slight quiver of her lower lip,--"long, long ago!" And she suddenly turned her head, which had been for a moment averted from Maude, round towards her. "`When, and how, and where?'" she repeated. "Little maid, some dying is slower than men may tell the hour, and there be graves that are not dug in earth. Thy cousin Hawise is dead and gone. Forget her." "That can I never!" replied Maude tenderly, as the memory of her dead came fresh and warm upon her. The Lady de Narbonne rose abruptly, and walked away, without another word, to the further end of the room. Half an hour later, Maude saw her in the midst of a gay group, laughing and jesting in the cheeriest manner. Of what sort of stuff could the woman be made? The Countess of Buckingham did not leave Langley until after dinner the next day--that is to say, about eleven a.m. A little before dinner, as Maude, not being wanted at the moment, stood alone at the window of the hall, leaning her arms on the wide window-ledge, a voice asked behind her,--"Art yet thinking of Hawise Gerard?" "I was so but this moment, Madam," replied Maude, turning round to meet the eyes of the Lady de Narbonne, now quiet and grave enough. "'Tis little marvel, for I loved her dear." "And love lasteth with thee--how long time?" "Till death, assuredly," said Maude. "What may lie beyond death I wis nothing." "Till what manner of death? The resurrection, men say, shall give back the dead. But what shall give back a dead heart or a lost soul? Can thy love pass such death as this, Maude Gerard?" "Madam, I said never unto your Ladyship that Hawise Gerard was kinswoman of mine. How wit you the same?" A faint, soft smile, very unlike her usual one, so bright and cold, flickered for a moment on the lips of the Lady de Narbonne. "Not too far gone for that, Cousin Maude," she said. "`Cousin'--Madam! You are--" "I am Avice de Narbonne, waiting-dame unto my Lady of Buckingham's Grace. I was Hawise Gerard, David Gerard's daughter." "Hawise! Thou toldest me she was dead!" cried Maude confusedly. "That Hawise Gerard whom thou knewest is dead and gone, long ago. Thou wilt never see her again. Thy mother Eleanor is not more dead than she; but the one may return to thee on the resurrection morrow, and the other never can. Tell me now whether I could arede thee, as thou wouldst have had it, how, or where, or when, thy cousin Hawise died?" "Our dear Lady be thine aid, Hawise! What has changed thee so sore?" asked Maude, the tears running down her cheeks. "Call me Avice, Maude. Hawise is old-fashioned," said the lady coolly. Maude seized her cousin's hands, and looking into her eyes, spoke as girls of her age rarely speak, though they think frequently.