answered Clare, whose eyes bespoke both
sympathy and readiness for service.

"I think thou wilt, my good lass. Go to, then:--choose thou, out of
thine own and Blanche's gear, such matter as ye may need for a month or
so. Have Barbara to aid thee. I would fain ye were hence ere
supper-time, so haste all thou canst. I will go and speak with Master
Tremayne, but I am well assured he shall receive you."

A month at the parsonage! How delightful!--thought Clare. Yet
something by no means delightful had evidently led to it.

"Clare!" her mother called to her as she was leaving the room,--"Clare!
have a care thou put up Blanche's blue kersey. I would not have her in
rags, even yonder; and that brown woolsey shall not be well for another
month. And,--Blanche, child, go thou with Clare; see thou have ruffs
enow; and take thy pearl chain withal."

Blanche was relieved by being told to accompany her sister. She had
been afraid that she was about to be put in the dark closet like a
naughty child, with no permission to exercise her own will about
anything. And just now, the parsonage looked to her a dark closet
indeed.

But Sir Thomas turned quickly on hearing this, with--"Orige, I desire
Blanche to abide here. If there be aught she would have withal, she can
tell Clare of it."

And, closing the door, he left the three together.

"Oh!--very well," said Lady Enville, rather crossly. Blanche sat down
again.

"What shall I put for thee, Blanche?" asked Clare gently.

"What thou wilt," muttered Blanche sulkily.

"I will lay out what I think shall like thee best," was her sister's
kind reply.

"I would like my green sleeves, [Note 1] and my tawny kirtle," said
Blanche in a slightly mollified tone.

"Very well," replied Clare, and hastened away to execute her commission,
calling Barbara as she went.

"What ado doth Sir Thomas make of this matter!" said Lady Enville,
applying again to the pomander. "If he would have been ruled by me--
Blanche, child, hast any other edge of pearl?" [Note 2.]

"Ay, Mother," said Blanche absently.

"Metrusteth 'tis not so narrow as that thou wearest. It becometh thee
not. And the guarding of that gown is ill done--who set it on?"

Blanche did not remember--and, just then, she did not care.

"Whoso it were, she hath need be ashamed thereof. Come hither, child."

Blanche obeyed, and while her mother gave a pull here, and smoothed down
a fold there, she stood patiently eno