"
The morning of the eventful day arrived. Mistress Penwick was already
gowned in a sombre old woman's dress. A hump was fastened to her
shoulder; her face was darkened skillfully and leprous blotches
painted thereon. She stepped like a Queen, for all that, and 'twas
feared her falseness would become evident to the King's eye.
Lady Constance was to remain at the inn, a prisoner, until Sir Julian
saw fit to release her. With curious eyes she watched for Katherine,
whom she conceived would be decked in irresistible finery. She even
pictured her beauty, clad in that soft brocade of peach and green that
so became her figure and enhanced the richness of her youthful bloom.
"Ah! ah!" she cried under her breath, as she saw the maiden's masque,
and fairly bit her lips in rage at the clever ruse about to be played
upon the King. Back she flew from the window and pranced up and down
her chamber in rage, her brain on fire. She sought in its hot depths
some way--some way. "It must be done. The King must know.
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