Still she persevered. Day
in, day out, sullenly, she worked hard to be a great lady. But skill
came not to her, and hope dwindled; only the dull effort remained. One
accomplishment she did master--to wit, the vapours: they became for
her a dreadful reality. She lost her appetite for the fine hot dishes.
All night long she lay awake, restless, tearful, under the fine silk
canopy, till dawn stared her into slumber. She seldom scolded Betty.
She who had been so lusty and so blooming saw in her mirror that she
was pale and thin now; and the fine young gentlemen, seeing it too,
paid more heed now to their wine and their dice than to her. And
always, when she met him, the Duke smiled the same mocking smile.
Duchess Meg was pining slowly and surely away . . . One morning, in
Spring-time, she altogether vanished. Betty, bringing the cup of
chocolate to the bedside, found the bed empty. She raised the alarm
among her fellows. They searched high and low. Nowhere was their
mistress. The news was broken to their master, who, without comment,
rose, bade his man dress him, and presently walked out to the place
where he knew he would find her. And there, to be sure, she was,
churning, churning for dear life.
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