“Care is heavy, therefore sleep you,
You are care, and care must keep you;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby;
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.”
While the young Duchess sang the last notes of her song, Furio appeared on the threshold. Some remorse for what he was to do, made the water for an instant dim his eyes, as he watched the group. But he had sworn to do his lord’s bidding, and he only hesitated for a moment. Looking up, Griselda saw, him, and greeted him with a smile.
“Enter, good Furio,” she said. “See, they are both asleep. When he sleeps, my boy is most like his father; but awake, my girl’s dark eyes recall him most. Have you any message from my lord, Furio?”
“My lady,” answered the old man, hesitatingly, “I have a message. It is somewhat hard to deliver, but the Duke must have his own will. My lord fears you are too much with the babes; that you are not quite a fitting nurse for them. Not that he fears your low birth will taint the manners of his children, but he fears the people might fancy it was so, and he must consult the wishes of his people.”
“If my lord thinks so,” answered Griselda, “he may find nurses for his babes. It seems as if no love could be so dear as mine: But per-
