reted for the
doctor, dressed the wounds, cheered the down-hearted men, and at last
persuaded them that Englishmen were not cannibals, and that it was not
certain they would all be hung immediately.

There was one person at Enville Court who would have given much to be a
fourth in the band of helpers. Clare was strongly disposed to envy her
friend Lysken, and to chafe against the bonds of conventionalism which
bound her own actions. She longed to be of some use in the world; to
till some corner of the vineyard marked out specially for her; to find
some one for whom, or something for which she was really wanted. Of
course, making and mending, carding and spinning, distilling and
preserving, were all of use: somebody must do them. But somebody, in
this case, meant anybody. It was not Clare who was necessary. And
Lysken, thought Clare, had deeper and higher work. She had to deal with
human hearts, while Clare dealt only with woollen and linen. Was there
no possibility that some other person could see to the woollen and
linen, and that Clare might be permitted to work with Lysken, and help
the human hearts as well?

But Clare forgot one essential point--that a special training is needed
for work of this kind. Cut a piece of cambric wrongly, and after all
you do but lose the cambric: but deal wrongly with a human heart, and
terrible mischief may ensue. And this special training Lysken had
received, and Clare had never had. Early privation and sorrow had been
Lysken's lesson-book.

Clare found no sympathy in her aspirations. She had once timidly
ventured a few words, and discovered quickly that she would meet with no
help at home. Lady Enville was shocked at such notions; they were both
unmaidenly and communistic: had Clare no sense of what was becoming in a
knight's step-daughter? Of course Lysken Barnevelt was nobody; it did
not matter what she did. Rachel bade her be thankful that she was so
well guarded from this evil world, which was full of men, and that was
another term for wild beasts and venomous serpents. Margaret could not
imagine what Clare wanted; was there not enough to do at home? Lucrece
was demurely thankful to Providence that she was content with her
station and circumstances. Blanche was half amused, and half disgusted,
at the idea of having anything to do with those dirty stupid people.

So Clare quietly locked up her little day-dream in her own heart, and
wished vainly that she had b