e me ill, Janet?"

"I am afraid of it, 'twill be glorious if thou art not; for 'tis a
wonderful thing to see the rise and fall of sun and moon, and witness
storms that seldom fail to lend their fearfulness to the voyagers of
so long a journey."

"Wilt thou be afraid, Janet?"

"Nay, not I; 'twill be the elixir of ambrosia to breathe salt air
again, and the stronger and more mist-laden the better to knock out
foul exhalations sucked in these nine years from musty walls. 'Twill
be sweet to have the wind rap from us the various fungi that comes
from sunless chambers. Ah, a stiff breeze will rejuvenate thy fifteen
years one month to a lusty, crowing infant and my forty all-seasons to
a simpering wench."

"How splendid, Janet!" Katherine threw out her arms and drew a long,
deep breath. "'Twill be glorious to breathe pure, free air!"

"Aye, my Lambkin, and thy chest will broaden and be larger by two good
inches ere we see chalk cliffs and English waters. Thou wilt open
like a rose to the sunshine of the outer world. But, we are
anticipating--let us speak of the present. To-night we go to vespers
for the last time, and thou must bid thy friends adieu before I tuck
thee in thy cot as we arise and are off before day-dawn. Let thy
farewells be briefly spoken as if thou wert to be gone but a day.
'Twas thy father's wish thou shouldst not grieve at parting with thy
companions, or the Sisters or Mother. 'Tis best to leave them the
remembrance of a face happy, rather than one steeped in sorrow. Say
to them what thy heart dictates, but with a quick tongue and bright
countenance; 'twill tend to suppress tears and numb the pain at thy
heart. When thou art thus engaged I will prepare us for journeying.
Wilt thou wear thy Sunday gown?"

"'Tis none too good! couldst put on a ribbon to relieve its greyness?"

"Ah, Lambkin, thou hast begun already with thy fine lady's notions!
thou wilt be crying for high-heeled boots and built-up hair and stays,
stays, Mistress, stays wilt be thy first cry--oh, Lambkin, thou art
heavy-hearted and I am turning myself into a fool to physic thy
risibles;--I wish we were upon the sea at this moment; if it were
possible I should have taken thee while thou wert in sleep; but nay,
I could not; for thou art a maiden grown and art plump and heavy with
all. If I had taken thee so, thou wouldst have wept anyway, perhaps;
for 'tis thy nature to have thy own way. 'Twould be a cross to thy
father could he see the