"There is an Arm--" began the Baroness.

"Yes, noble Lady, there is one arm," eagerly exclaimed Eustace, "that
would only deem itself too much honoured if it could be raised in your
service."

"I spoke of no arm of flesh," said Lady Muriel, reprovingly--and
Eustace hung his head abashed. "I spake of the Guardian who will
never be wanting to the orphan."

There was a silence, first broken by Eustace. "One thing there is,
that I would fain ask of your goodness," said he: "many a false tale,
many a foul slander, will be spoken of me, and many may give heed to
them; but let that be as it will, they shall not render my heart
heavy while I can still believe that you give no ear to them."

"Sir Eustace," said the Lady of Clarenham, "I have known you from
childhood, and it would go hard with me to believe aught dishonourable
of the pupil of Sir Reginald and of Eleanor."

"Yes, Sir Eustace," added Agnes, "it would break my heart to distrust
you; for then I must needs believe that faith, truth, and honour had
left the world."

"And now," said Lady Muriel, who thought the conversation had been
sufficiently tender to fulfil all the requirements of the connection
of families, and of their old companionship, "now, Agnes, we must
take leave of our kind kinsman, since, doubtless, he will desire to
renew his journey early to-morrow."