Eager and lively, fair and handsome, sat the Baronne de Ribaumont,

or rather, since the higher title had been laid aside, Dame Annora

Thistlewood. The health of M. de Ribaumont had been shattered at

St. Quentin, and an inclement night of crossing the Channel had

brought on an attack on the lungs, from which he only rallied

enough to amaze his English friends at finding the gay dissipated

young Frenchman they remembered, infinitely more strict and rigid

than themselves. He was never able to leave the house again after

his first arrival at Hurst Walwyn, and sank under the cold winds of

the next spring, rejoicing to leave his wife and son, not indeed

among such strict Puritans as he preferred, but at least where the

pure faith could be openly avowed without danger.

Sir Marmaduke Thistlewood, the husband to whom Annora Walwyn had

been destined before M. de Ribaumont had crossed her path, was

about the same time left a widower with one son and daughter, and

as soon as a suitable interval had passed, she became a far happier

wife than she had been in either the Baron's gay or grave days.

Her son had continued under the roof of his grandfather, to whose

charge his father had specially committed him, and thus had been

scarcely separated from his mother, since Combe Manor was not above

three miles across the downs from Hurst Walwyn, and there was

almost daily intercourse between the families. Lucy Thistlewood

had been brought to Hurst Walwyn to be something between a maid of

honour and a pupil to the ladies there, and her brother Philip, so

soon as he was old enough, daily rode thither to share with

Berenger the instructions of the chaplain, Mr. Adderley, who on the

present occasion formed one of the conclave, sitting a little apart

as not quite familiar, though highly esteemed.

With an elbow on the table, and one hand toying with his long

riding-whip, sat, booted and spurred, the jovial figure of Sir

Marmaduke, who called out, in his hearty voice, 'A good riddance of

an outlandish Papist, say I! Read the letter, Berenger lad. No,

no, no! English it! I know nothing of your mincing French! 'Tis

the worst fault I know in you, boy, to be half a Frenchman, and

have a French name'--a fault that good Sir Marmaduke did his best

to remedy by always terming his step-son Berenger or Berry

Ribmount, and we will so far follow his example as henceforth to

give the youth the English form of his Christian name. He was by

this time a tall lad of eighteen, with straight features, honest

deep blue eyes, very fair hair cut short and brushed up to a crest

upon the middle of his head, a complexion of red and white that all

the air of the downs and the sea failed to embrown, and that

peculiar openness and candour of expression which seems so much an

English birthright, that the only trace of his French origin was,

that he betrayed no unbecoming awkwardness in the somewhat

embarrassing position in which he was placed, literally standing,

according to the respectful discipline of the time, as the subject

of discussion, before the circle of his elders. His colour was

indeed, deepened, but his attitude was easy and graceful, and he

used no stiff rigidity nor restless movements to mask his anxiety.

At Sir Marmaduke's desire, he could not but redden a good deal

more, but with a clear, unhesitating voice, he translated, the

letter that he had received from the Chevalier de Ribaumont, who,

by the Count's death, had become Eustacie's guardian. It was a

request in the name of Eustacie and her deceased father, that

Monsieur le Baron de Ribaumont--who, it was understood, had

embraced the English heresy--would concur with his spouse in

demanding from his Holiness the Pope a decree annulling the

childish marriage, which could easily be declared void, both on

account of the consanguinity of the parties and the discrepancy of

their faith; and which would leave each of them free to marry

again.




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