"And the bracelet, dear lady?"
"You will not laugh, Nigel?"
"Nay, why should I laugh?"
"The bracelet was the prize for the Queen of Beauty which was given to me before all the high-born ladies of England by Sir Nele Loring a month before our marriage--the Queen of Beauty, Nigel--I, old and twisted, as you see me. Five strong men went down before his lance ere he won that trinket for me. And now in my last years--"
"Nay, dear and honored lady, we will not part with it."
"Yes, Nigel, he would have it so. I can hear his whisper in my ear. Honor to him was everything--the rest nothing. Take it from me, Nigel, ere my heart weakens. To-morrow you will ride with it to Guildford; you will see Thorold the goldsmith; and you will raise enough money to pay for all that we shall need for the King's coming." She turned her face away to hide the quivering of her wrinkled features, and the crash of the iron lid covered the sob which burst from her overwrought soul.