"Marry, and if so, some folks' voices should sound mighty discordant,"
retorted Barbara.

Blanche was soon asleep; but there was little sleep for Clare that
night. Nor was there much for Rachel. Since Margaret's marriage,
Lucrece had shared her aunt's chamber; for it would have been thought
preposterous in the Elizabethan era to give a young girl a bedroom to
herself. Rachel watched her niece narrowly; but Lucrece neither said
nor did anything from which the least information could be gleaned. She
was neither elated nor depressed, but just as usual,--demure, slippery,
and unaccountable.

Rachel kept her eye also, like an amateur detective, upon Arthur. He
came frequently, and generally managed to get a walk with Lucrece in the
garden. On two occasions the detective, seated at her own window, which
overlooked the garden, saw that Arthur was entreating or urging
something, to which Lucrece would not consent.

The month of Sir Piers Feversham's stay was drawing to a close, and
still Rachel had not spoken to her brother about Lucrece. She felt
considerably puzzled as to what it would be either right or wise to do.
Lucrece was no foolish, romantic, inexperienced child like Blanche, but
a woman of considerable worldly wisdom and strong self-reliance. It was
no treachery to interfere with her, in her aunt's eyes, since Lucrece
herself had been the traitor; and for Clare's sake Rachel longed to
rescue Arthur, whom she considered infatuated and misled.

Before Rachel had been able to make up her mind on this point, one
Saturday afternoon Sir Thomas sought her, and asked her to come to the
library.

"Rachel," he said, "I would fain have thy counsel. Sir Piers
Feversham--much to mine amazing--hath made me offer of service
[courtship] for Lucrece. What thinkest thereon?"

"Brother, leave her go!"

"He is by three years elder than I, Rachel."

"Ne'er mind thou."

"Methinks he should make the maid a good husband?" remarked Sir Thomas
interrogatively.

"Better than she shall make him a wife," said Rachel grimly.

"Rachel!"

"Brother, I have ne'er said this to thee aforetime; but my true
conviction is that Lucrece is a mischief-maker, and until she be hence,
there is like to be little peace for any. I saw not all things at the
first; but I can tell thee now that she hath won Arthur Tremayne into
her toils, and methinks she tried hard to compass Don Juan. If she will
wed with Sir Piers (and he dare venture on