Lawrence left his friends in charge of Mistress Dayrell, who was well pleased with the prospect of a gossip, and dashed up the stairs, three at a time, in search of his young master. Roger was playing hand-tennis with the other young people—an occupation the suitability of which to Sunday evening it never occurred to him or any one else to doubt. The moment that he heard who was below, he flung down his battledore, and rushed down the stairs as quickly as Lawrence had come up them. Guenllian had not realised the change that years could make until Roger stood before her. She had been unconsciously expecting to see the child of nine, and when the handsome boy of thirteen, who looked older than he was, came into the room and welcomed her, she could scarcely believe his identity. But the warmth and brightness were those of the old Roger, and they comforted Guenllian after all her fears and heart-sinkings lest he should be changed and spoiled at Bermondsey House. "Mine own dear child!" she said lovingly. "Verily, I ask your Lordship’s pardon; but you shall seem always my child to me, even when you be a man grown." Roger had arrived at the age when a boy is rather ashamed of being kissed, and feels it a humiliation. But like a true gentleman as he was in nature as well as name, he put his own feelings aside, and permitted his old nurse to pet him to her heart’s content. "And now, mine heart, give me leave to ask you," inquired Guenllian, in whose diction the new deference was somewhat at variance with the old familiar love, "if you be welsome and happy hereaway?" "Very, very happy," said Roger’s eyes no less than his voice. The Lady Alianora had been unusually complaisant for the past week. "And how did your Lordship like at Arundel Castle?" "Very ill, Wenteline. I am rejoiced to be away thence." Guenllian was privately rejoiced to hear it. "Metrusteth Lawrence continueth a good lad?" "Much better than Roger," said the owner of the latter name, with a bright laugh. "He alway were so." "And your Lordship, as I do hear, is in right high favour with the King?" Roger smiled and blushed slightly. His honours were still fresh upon him. "Aye, Wenteline, I have been denounced[#] heir of England." [#] Announced, proclaimed. "But to think of it!" exclaimed she. "Well, my dear child, God give thee His grace! Thou shalt make but an ill King without it." Guenllian thought that Roger’s eyes responded, but his voice was silent. *CHAPTER VII.* *ROGER HAS HIS WISH.* "Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings." —SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.