Not worth such love as that, Constance! Not worth one beat of that true heart which was stilled at Bristol, and which now lies, dust to dust, in Tewkesbury Abbey. This man will not love you as he did, to the end. He will only give you what love he can spare from himself, for he is his own most cherished treasure. And it will be--as, a few hours later, you whisper to yourself, pulling the petals from a white daisy--"_un peu_--_beaucoup_--_point du tout_:"--a little yesterday, intense to-day, and none at all to-morrow. Constance and Kent saw a good deal of each other during her visit to Westminster. Her brother of York evidently furthered his suit to the utmost of his power. Maude, who had learned utterly to distrust the Duke of York, set herself to consider what his reason could be. That York rarely did any thing except with some ulterior and selfish object, she was satisfied. But the more she thought about the matter, the further she found herself from arriving at any conclusion. The secret was to be revealed to her before long. The plotting brain of the Prince was busy as usual in the concoction of another conspiracy, and to forward his purposes on this occasion he intended to make a catspaw of his sister. The plot was not yet quite ripe; but when it should be, for Constance to be Kent's wife would make her all the more eligible as a tool. The ceremonies attendant on the royal marriage were over; the King was about to take the field against another insurrection of Glyndwr, and the Earl of Kent had undertaken to guard him to Shrewsbury. Maude, in close attendance on her mistress, heard the parting words between Kent and Constance. "You will render me visit at Cardiff, my Lord?" "Sweet Lady, were it possible I could neglect such bidding?" Constance journeyed in the royal train for a distance, and turned off towards Cardiff, when their ways parted. Her manner when she arrived at home was particularly affectionate, both to the Dowager and her children, of whom little Richard was now eight years old, while Isabel had just reached four. The keen eyes of the old lady--much sharper mentally than physically--soon discerned the presence of some new element in her daughter-in-law's mind. She closely questioned Maude as to what had happened, or was about to happen; and after a minute's hesitation, Maude told her all she knew and feared. For some time after receiving this information, Elizabeth Le Despenser sat gazing uneasily from the lattice, with unwontedly idle hands. "Sister's son unto our adversary!" she murmured to herself at last. "Whither shall this tend? Verily, there is One stronger than Thomas de Arundel. Is He leading us blind by a way that we know not?--for in very sooth _I_ cannot discern the way. If so it be, then--Lord, lead Thou on!"