The house of the wizard
growing every day in beauty of a strong and striking type, and carrying her head like a queen rather than a penniless maid living in dependence at her uncle’s house. Her form, though slender, gave the promise of a richer outline, and as she grew happier in her new home, a color came into her cheeks, a sparkle to her eyes that made her lovely in the sight of many who marvelled that so plain a child should grow so beautiful. Lady Carew fretted much, however, at the will that Mistress Betty showed, which brooked no crossing, and the tongue that could, in anger, cut like a whip, for this beauty was no saint. There was, however, that in her lordly nature which scorned all meanness and baseness, a nobility that shone through the imperfections of her temper like a star, and looked out through the windows of her great eyes,—eyes that were clear brown, heavily fringed with black lashes, and set beneath two straight,[17] black brows. Her mouth closed, perhaps, a trifle too firmly for so young a woman, and her chin was clear cut as a man’s, but her voice was sweet and low, and there was witchery in her smile.

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CHAPTER II A MESSENGER FROM MY LORD PRIVY SEAL

Michaelmas had come and gone, and it was past the middle of October when a messenger came down post-haste from London. It was after supper, and there was revelry among the retainers and visitors at Mohun’s Ottery. In the great hall, however, there were but few; Sir William had only his favored guest, Master Raleigh, and besides these two were Lady Carew, her daughter, Mistress Cicely, and her niece. There were three sons, but none were home. Peter, who ran away to France, was even then with Sir John Wallop; that same Sir Peter who made the barns of Crediton smoke for the Lord Protector in after years. That evening the little company sat about the fire, the women working with their needles in a group at the left, and at the right sat Raleigh watching his host brew a posset. It was a matter of grave import to Carew, and he let no other hand mix the rare composition, but stood over it; a noble figure, a man in middle life, having a fine head and grizzled hair, with the[19] keen, bright eye and strong jaw of a resourceful and stubborn nature. His rich dress of Flemish velvet, dark as the dregs of wine, his great lace ruff and heavy chain of gold, set off his person and made it the more striking in contrast to the darker, plainer garb of Raleigh. The guest watched his friend stir the beverage and smiled at his ardor.

Michaelmas


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