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Updated: May 11, 2025
"To speak very truth, Sire," hesitated Isabel, "I did leave one little matter." She seemed reluctant to confess the omission; and Custance's face paled visibly at this prospect of further sorrow in store. "Which was that, fair Cousin?" Henry was a perfect master of the art of expressing displeasure without any use of words to convey it.
And Jhesus seyde to hir, Thi synnes ben forgiuen to thee. But he seide to the womman, Thei feith hath maad thee saaf; go thou in pees." Maude added no words of her own. She closed the book, and relapsed into silence. But Custance's solemn stillness was broken at last. "Nay, dear my Lady," answered Maude, "it were not enough.
Custance's character can bear your satire. She is the sweetest and most kindly woman in the world." "To you she probably is. That sweetness is the music to which you are expected to dance. I accuse her of no evil intention. She is far too prudent to ever repeat her one mistake of falling in love with anyone but herself. You may fall in love with her; she expects you to do that.
Unannounced and completely unlooked-for, in the doorway stood Henry of Bolingbroke, the King. It was no wonder that Maude's work dropped from her hands as she rose hastily; nor that Custance's eyes passed hurriedly on to see who composed the suite. But the suite consisted of a solitary individual, and this was her ubiquitous brother, Edward of York.
There were frequent comers and goers to Kenilworth Castle, so that the sound of a bugle-horn without was likely to cause no great curiosity; nor, as Custance's drawing-room window opened on a little quiet corner of the inner court-yard, did she often witness the arrival of guests.
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