kiss.
Foolish as she thought Blanche, she looked upon her as being almost as
much a victim of others' folly as a sufferer for her own: and Thekla
Tremayne knew well that the knowledge that we have ourselves to thank
for our suffering does not lessen the pain, but increases it.

The kindness with which Blanche was received--rather as an honoured
guest than as a naughty child sent to Coventry--was soothing to her
ruffled feelings. Still she had a great deal to, bear. She was deeply
grieved to be suddenly and completely parted from Don Juan; and she
imagined that he would be as much distressed as herself. But the idea
of rebelling against her father's decree never entered her head; neither
did the least suspicion of Lucrece's share in the matter.

Blanche was rather curious to ascertain how much Clare knew of her
proceedings, and what she thought of them. Now it so happened that in
the haste of the departure, Clare had been told next to nothing. The
reason of this hasty flight to the parsonage was all darkness to her,
except for the impression which she gathered from various items that the
step thus taken had reference not to herself, but to Blanche. What her
sister had done, was doing, or was expected to do, which required such
summary stoppage, Clare could not even guess. Barbara was quite as
ignorant. The interviews between Blanche and Don Juan had been so
secret, and so little suspected, that the idea of connecting him with
the affair did not occur to either.

One precious relic Blanche had brought with her--the lock of hair
received from Don Juan on that afternoon which was so short a time back,
and felt so terribly long--past and gone, part of another epoch
altogether. Indeed, she had not had any opportunity of parting with it,
except by yielding it to her father; and for this she saw no necessity,
since he had laid no orders on her concerning Don Juan's gifts. While
Clare knelt at her prayers, and Barbara was out of the room, Blanche
took the opportunity to indulge in another look at her treasure. It was
silky black, smooth and glossy; tied with a fragment of blue ribbon,
which Don Juan had assured her was the colour of truth.

"Is he looking at the ringlet of fair hair which I gave him?" thought
she fondly. "He will be true to me. Whate'er betide, I know he will be
true!"

Poor little Blanche!

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Note 1. Sleeves were then