Roger could not have told whether he returned to Woking through smiling valleys or barren mountains. The family of the Earl of Kent, the elder branches of which had been admitted into the secret, were amused to see how silent and meditative their young ward became after the proclamation of his future brilliant destiny. Roger was growing up fast—faster in mind than in body. Very grave and thoughtful grew the young heir. The radiant crown which hung before him, though in a probably distant future, seemed to have descended upon his head not as an ornament, but as a weight. The Earl of Kent was much surprised at it. The side of Roger’s character which was outwardly exhibited—the lighter and more childish side of it—was the only one which he had yet seen. But the depths were there, and they had been stirred at last. They were stirred in more ways than one. The prospective crown which had struck Roger into gravity, struck the Lady Alianora into a flutter. To her it was merely the most becoming decoration which could rest upon her head. The thought of any duty or responsibility in connection with it was entirely foreign to her mind. But it became desirable to cultivate Roger, and to let him see unmistakably that he was established in her good graces. To lose him now was not to be thought of for a moment. But had the King changed his mind, and transferred his favours to any other person, what the Lady Alianora called her heart would have followed in their wake. The dog-like fidelity which characterised Lawrence Madison, and to which it would have been of no moment whether his master sat upon a throne or a dunghill, was simply inconceivable to her. It was Sunday evening, and the churches were slowly emptying of the worshippers at vespers. Lawrence was making his way out at the western door, when looking up he encountered a pair of bright eyes attentively regarding him. They belonged to a girl of about his own age, who wore a dress of blue camlet, and was evidently in the middle class of life. She was very pretty, but apparently very shy. Her eyes dropped the instant they encountered his, but kept returning to his face as if she found something attractive in it. Behind her came an older woman whom Lawrence felt certain, as soon as he glanced at her, that he had met somewhere before. As soon as they were clear of the sacred edifice, Lawrence saw the girl turn round to the woman behind her, and address her in an earnest whisper. The woman replied aloud. "Nay, child: it were not like, methinks." "But it might be! Will you not ask, Mistress Wenteline?" The name solved Lawrence’s difficulty in a moment. In another instant he had pressed through the crowd, and was by the side of his old friend. "Mistress Wenteline! Come you from Ludlow—from Usk? Know you not Lawrence Madison?"