young--
certainly under thirty; but rather stiff and prim, very upright, and not
free from angularity. She gave the impression that she must have been
born just as she was, in her black satin skirt, dark blue serge kirtle,
unbending buckram cap, whitest and most unruffled of starched frills,--
and have been kept ever since under a glass case.

"You are Barbara Polwhele?" she said.

Barbara dropped a courtesy, and replied affirmatively.

"Sister!" said Mistress Rachel, appealing to the sleeper.

No greater difference between two young women could well be imagined,
than that which existed in this instance. Lady Enville--for she was the
taker of the siesta--was as free from any appearance of angularity or
primness as possible. Everything about her was soft, delicate, and
graceful. She was fair in complexion, and very pretty. She had been
engaged in fancy-work, and it lay upon her lap, held lightly by one
hand, just as it had dropped when she fell asleep.

"Sister!" said Rachel again.

Lady Enville stirred, sighed, and half opened her eyes.

"Here is thy little maid, Sister."

Lady Enville opened her blue eyes fully, dropped her work on the floor,
and springing up, caught Clare to her bosom with the most exalted
expressions of delight.

"Fragrance of my heart! My rose of spring! My gem of beauty! Art thou
come to me at last, my soul's darling?"

Barbara looked on with a grim smile. Clare sat in perfect silence on
her mother's knee, suffering her caresses, but making no response.

"She is not like thee, Sister," observed Rachel.

"No, she is like her father," replied Lady Enville, stroking the child's
hair, and kissing her again. "Medoubteth if she will ever be as
lovesome as I. I was much better favoured at her years.--Art thou
aweary, sweeting?"

At last Clare spoke; but only in an affirmative monosyllable. Clare's
thoughts were mixed ones. It was rather nice to sit on that soft velvet
lap, and be petted: but "Bab didn't like her." And why did not Bab like
her?

"Thou hast not called me Mother, my floweret."

Clare was too shy for that. The suggestion distressed her. To move the
house seemed as near possibility as to frame her lips to say that short
word. Fortunately for her, Lady Enville's mind never dwelt on a subject
for many seconds at once. She turned to Barbara.

"And how goes it with thee, Barbara?"

"Well, and I thank you, Mistress--my Lady, I would say."

"Ah!" said Lady En