the blush that so came and went, so went and came, that it stirred the
heart with a sort of delighted pity for one so evidently susceptible
to every emotion of pleasure and of pain. Life seemed too rough a
thing for so soft a nature, and gazing on her, one sighed to guess her
future.

"And what brings ye hither, young truants?" said the earl, as Anne,
leaving her sister, clung lovingly to his side (for it was ever her
habit to cling to some one), while Isabel kissed her mother's hand,
and then stood before her parents, colouring deeply, and with downcast
eyes. "What brings ye hither, whom I left so lately deep engaged in
the loom, upon the helmet of Goliath, with my burgonet before you as a
sample? Wife, you are to blame,--our rooms of state will be arrasless
for the next three generations, if these rosy fingers are suffered
thus to play the idlers."

"My father," whispered Anne, "guests are on their way hither,--a noble
cavalcade; you note them not from this part of the battlements, but
from our turret it was fair to see how their plumes and banners shone
in the setting sun."

"Guests!" echoed the earl; "well, is that so rare an honour that your
hearts should beat like village girls at a holiday? Ah, Isabel! look
at her blushes. Is it George of Clarence at last? Is it?"

"We see the Duke of Gloucester's cognizance," whispered Anne, "and our
own Nevile Bull. Perchance our cousin George, also, may--"

Here she was interrupted by the sound of the warder's horn, followed a
moment after by the roar of one of the bombards on the keep.