drink before the King and his court?"

"We must have some wine of Bordeaux. With that and the mottled
cow's calf and the fowls and a goose, we can set forth a
sufficient repast if he stays only for the one night. How many
will be with him?"

"A dozen, at the least."

The old dame wrung her hands in despair. "Nay, take it not to
heart, dear lady!" said Nigel. "We have but to say the word and
the King would stop at Waverley, where he and his court would find
all that they could wish."

"Never!" cried the Lady Ermyntrude. "It would be shame and
disgrace to us forever if the King were to pass our door when he
has graciously said that he was fain to enter in. Nay, I will do
it. Never did I think that I would be forced to this, but I know
that he would wish it, and I will do it."

She went to the old iron coffer, and taking a small key from her
girdle she unlocked it. The rusty hinges, screaming shrilly as
she threw back the lid, proclaimed how seldom it was that she had
penetrated into the sacred recesses of her treasure-chest. At the
top were some relics of old finery: a silken cloak spangled with
golden stars, a coif of silver filigree, a roll of Venetian lace.
Beneath were little packets tied in silk which the old lady
handled with tender care: a man's hunting-glove, a child's shoe, a
love-knot done in faded green ribbon, some letters in rude rough
script, and a vernicle of Saint Thomas. Then from the very bottom