me now, my lass; I must think all this gear
over. My poor darling!"

Lucrece glided away as softly as the serpent which she resembled in her
heart.

In half-an-hour Sir Thomas came back into the house, and sent Jennet to
tell his sister that he wished to speak with her in the library. It was
characteristic, not of himself, but of his wife, that in his sorrows and
perplexities he turned instinctively to Rachel, not to her. When
Lucrece's intelligence was laid before Rachel, though perhaps she
grieved less, she was even more shocked than her brother. That Blanche
should think of quitting the happy and honourable estate of maidenhood,
for the slavery of marriage, was in itself a misdemeanour of the first
magnitude: but that she should have made her own choice, have received
secret gifts, and held clandestine interviews--this was an awful
instance of what human depravity could reach.

"Now, what is to be done?" asked Sir Thomas wearily. "First with Don
John, and next with Blanche."

"Him?--the viper! Pack him out of the house, bag and baggage!" cried
the wrathful spinster. "The crocodile, to conspire against the peace of
the house which hath received him in his need! Yet what better might
you look for in a man and a Papist?"

"Nay, Rachel; I cannot pack him out: he is my prisoner, think thou. I
am set in charge of him until released by the Queen's Majesty's mandate.
All the greater need is there to keep him and Blanche apart. In good
sooth, I wis not what to do for the best--with Blanche, most of all."

"Blanche hath had too much leisure time allowed her, and too much of her
own way," said Rachel oracularly. "Hand her o'er to me--I will set her
a-work. She shall not have an idle hour. 'Tis the only means to keep
silly heads in order."

"Maybe, Rachel,--maybe," said Sir Thomas with a sigh. "Yet I fear
sorely that we must have Blanche hence. It were constant temptation,
were she and Don John left in the same house; and though she might not
break charge--would not, I trust--yet he might. I can rest no faith on
him well! I must first speak to Blanche, methinks, and then--"

"Speak to her!--whip her well! By my troth, but I would mark her!"
cried Rachel, in a passion.

"Nay, Rachel, that wouldst thou not," answered her brother, smiling
sadly. "Did the child but whimper, thy fingers would leave go the rod.
Thy bark is right fearful, good Sister; but some men's sweet words be no
softer than thy bite."