stand--"And tell him, please, Augustina--make it very plain--that I shall
never come in to prayers."




CHAPTER III

The sun was shining into Laura's room when she awoke. She lay still for a
little while, looking about her.

Her room--which formed part of an eighteenth-century addition to the
Tudor house--was rudely panelled with stained deal, save on the fireplace
wall, where, on either side of the hearth, the plaster had been covered
with tapestry. The subject of the tapestry was Diana hunting. Diana,
white and tall, with her bow and quiver, came, queenly, through a green
forest. Two greyhounds ranged beside her, and in the dim distance of the
wood her maidens followed. On the right an old castle, with pillars like
a Greek temple, rose stately but a little crooked on the edge of a blue
sea; the sea much faded, with the wooden handle of a cupboard thrust
rudely through it. Two long-limbed ladies, with pulled patched faces,
stood on the castle steps. In front was a ship, with a waiting warrior
and a swelling sail; and under him, a blue wave worn very threadbare,
shamed indeed by that intruding handle, but still blue enough, still
windy enough for thoughts of love and flight.

Laura, half asleep still, with her hands under her cheek, lay staring in
a vague pleasure at the castle and the forest. "Enchanted
casements"--"perilous seas"--"in fairy lands forlorn." The lines ran
sleepily, a little jumbled, in her memory.