great beauty, named Aveline Calveley, daughter of the crazy Puritan who
threatened the King's life some three or four months ago at Theobalds."

"I mind me of the circumstance," observed Sir Francis.

"This maiden lives in great seclusion with an elderly dame, but I have
found out her retreat. I have said that Sir Jocelyn is enamoured of her,
and she is by no means insensible to his passion. But a bar exists to
their happiness. Almost with his last breath, a promise was extorted
from his daughter by Hugh Calveley, that if her hand should be claimed
within a year by one to whom he had engaged her, but with whose name
even she was wholly unacquainted, she would unhesitatingly give it to
him."

"And will the claim be made?"

"It will."

"And think you she will fulfil her promise?"

"I am sure of it. A dying father's commands are sacred with one like
her."

"Have you seen her, Sir Giles? Is she so very beautiful as represented?"

"I have not yet seen her; but she will be here anon. And you can then
judge for yourself."

"She here!" exclaimed Sir Francis. "By what magic will you bring her
hither?"