"Children! ye were infants!" exclaimed Isabel, whose wonder seemed
increased by this simple tale.

"Infant though I was, I felt as if my heart would break when I left
him; and then the wars ensued; and do you not remember how ill I was,
and like to die, when our House triumphed, and the prince and heir of
Lancaster was driven into friendless exile? From that hour my fate
was fixed. Smile if you please at such infant folly, but children
often feel more deeply than later years can weet of."

"My sister, this is indeed a wilful invention of sorrow for thine own
scourge. Why, ere this, believe me, the boy-prince hath forgotten thy
very name."

"Not so, Isabel," said Anne, colouring, and quickly, "and perchance,
did all rest here, I might have outgrown my weakness. But last year,
when we were at Rouen with my father--"

"Well?"

"One evening on entering my chamber, I found a packet,--how left I
know not, but the French king and his suite, thou rememberest, made
our house almost their home,--and in this packet was a picture, and on
its back these words, Forget not the exile who remembers thee!"

"And that picture was Prince Edward's?"

Anne blushed, and her bosom heaved beneath the slender and high-laced
gorget. After a pause, looking round her, she drew forth a small
miniature, which lay on the heart that beat thus sadly, and placed it