"There is charity in all things, of course," said Rachel, cooling down.

"There is a deal in thee," returned Sir Thomas, "for them that know
where to seek it. Well, come with me to Orige; she must be told, I
reckon: and then we will send for Blanche."

Rachel opened her lips, but suddenly shut them without speaking, and
kept them drawn close. Perhaps, had she not thought better of it, what
might have been spoken was not altogether complimentary to Lady Enville.

That very comfortable dame sat in her cushioned chair in the boudoir--
there were no easy-chairs then, except as rendered so by cushions; and
plenty of soft thick cushions were a very necessary part of the
furniture of a good house. Her Ladyship was dressed in the pink of the
fashion, so far as it had reached her tailor at Kirkham; and she was
turning over the leaves of a new play, entitled "The Comedie of
Errour"--one of the earliest productions of the young Warwickshire
actor, William Shakspere by name. She put her book down with a yawn
when her husband and his sister came in.

"How much colder 'tis grown this last hour or twain!" said she.
"Prithee, Sir Thomas, call for more wood."

Sir Thomas shouted as desired--the quickest way of settling matters--and
when Jennet had come and gone with the fuel, he glanced into the little
chamber to see if it were vacant. Finding no one there, he drew the
bolt and sat down.

"Gramercy, Sir Thomas! be we all prisoners?" demanded his wife with a
little laugh.

"Orige," replied Sir Thomas, "Rachel and I have a thing to show thee."

"I thought you looked both mighty sad," remarked the lady calmly.

"Dost know where is Blanche?"

"Good lack, no! I never wis where Blanche is."

"Orige, wouldst like to have Blanche wed?"

"Blanche!--to whom?"

"To Don John de Las Rojas."

"Gramercy! Sir Thomas, you never mean it?"

"He and Blanche mean it, whate'er I may."

"Good lack, how fortunate! Why, he will be a Marquis one day--and hath
great store of goods and money. I never looked for such luck. Have you
struck hands with him, Sir Thomas?"

Sir Thomas pressed his lips together, and glanced at his sister with an
air of helpless vexation. Had it just occurred to him that the pretty
doll whom he had chosen to be the partner of his life was a little
wanting in the departments of head and heart?

"What, Orige--an enemy?" he said.

"Don John is not an enemy," returned Lady Enville, with a musical little
l