two ladies before.

The village people began to be reconciled presently to their lady, who
was generous and kind, though fantastic and haughty, in her ways; and
whose praises Dr. Tusher, the Vicar, sounded loudly amongst his flock.
As for my lord, he gave no great trouble, being considered scarce more
than an appendage to my lady, who, as daughter of the old lords of
Castlewood, and possessor of vast wealth, as the country folks said
(though indeed nine-tenths of it existed but in rumor), was looked upon
as the real queen of the Castle, and mistress of all it contained.

CHAPTER III.

WHITHER IN THE TIME OF THOMAS, THIRD VISCOUNT, I HAD PRECEDED HIM AS
PAGE TO ISABELLA.

Coming up to London again some short time after this retreat, the Lord
Castlewood despatched a retainer of his to a little Cottage in the
village of Ealing, near to London, where for some time had dwelt an
old French refugee, by name Mr. Pastoureau, one of those whom the
persecution of the Huguenots by the French king had brought over to this
country. With this old man lived a little lad, who went by the name of
Henry Thomas. He remembered to have lived in another place a short time
before, near to London too, amongst looms and spinning-wheels, and a
great deal of psalm-singing and church-going, and a whole colony of
Frenchmen.

There he had a dear, dear friend, who died, and whom he called Aunt. She
used to visit him in his dreams sometimes; and her face, though it was
homely, was a thousand times dearer to him than that of Mrs. Pastoureau,
Bon Papa Pastoureau's new wife, who came to live with him after aunt
went away. And there, at Spittlefields, as it used to be called, lived
Uncle George, who was a weaver too, but used to tell Harry that he was
a little gentleman, and that his father was a captain, and his mother an
angel.

When he said so, Bon Papa used to look up from the loom, where he was
embroidering beautiful silk flowers, and say, "Angel! she belongs to the
Babylonish scarlet woman." Bon Papa was always talking of the scarlet
woman. He had a little room where he always used to preach and
sing hymns out of his great old nose. Little Harry did not like the
preaching; he liked better the fine stories which aunt used to tell him.
Bon Papa's wife never told him pretty stories; she quarrelled with Uncle
George, and he went away.

After this, Harry's Bon Papa and his wife and two children of her own
that she brought with her, came