"She is a very handsome lady," he said, innocently, "though she has a
strange way. Is she of the Court, and do you know her name?"

"'Tis her Grace the Duchess of Cleveland," answered Mr. Fox, gravely,
as they walked away.

He was seven years old at this time, and 'twas during this visit to
town that he heard a conversation which made a great impression upon
him, opening up as it did new vistas of childish thinking. Having
known but one phase of existence, he was not aware that he had lived
the life of a young prince in a fairy tale, and that there were other
children whose surroundings were as gloomy as his were fair and bright.

He was one day comfortably ensconced in the deep embrasure of a window,
a book upon his knee, when Mistress Halsell and one of the upper
servants came into the room upon which his study opened, and presently
his ear was attracted by a thing they were speaking of with some
feeling.

"As sweetly pretty a young lady as ever one beheld," he heard. "Never
saw I a fairer skin or eyes more hyacinth-blue--and her hair trailing
to the ground like a mantle, and as soft and fine as silk."

'Twas this which made him stop in his reading. The description seeming
so like that of a beauty in a story of chivalry in which knights fought
for such loveliness.

"And now," the voice went on, "after but a few years of marriage all
her beauty lost so that none would know her! Four poor, weak girl