broideries in fine linen, all of which shall be fit wearing for the Countess of Lincoln.

Her hand was sought by many of her own rank, when Lacy’s absence left the field clear to suitors. Her father pressed a little some of these suits, fearing wisely that Lord Lacy’s fancy may be brief. But Margaret’s heart rested in perfect faith in her lover; and she has no ear for any other suit.

One day, walking near the wood, she beheld a page, wearing the green livery of Lincoln, posting hastily to her father’s cottage. Margaret hastened to meet him in the path, and craved to know what news he bore from Lacy.

“If you are the fair maid of Fresingfield,” answered the youth, “I have a letter for thee, and a purse beside.”

Margaret seized the letter, and breaking the seal, read these words which stained the fair paper:—