hoebe suddenly awoke, and was for a moment
startled, half rising, asking if anything were the matter.

'No, my dear; only I did not think you would have been in bed so quickly.
I came to wish you good night, and found you asleep.' And with the
strong tender impulse of a gentle wounded spirit, Honor hung over the
maiden, recomposing the clothes, and fondling her, with a murmured
blessing.

'Dear Miss Charlecote,' whispered Phoebe, 'how nice it is! I have so
often wondered what it would be like, if any one came in to pet us at
night, as they do in books; and oh! it is so nice! Say _that_ again,
please.'

_That_ was the blessing which would have made Lucilla in angry reserve
hide her head in the clothes!

CHAPTER VII

But, ah me! she's a heart of stone,
Which Cupid uses for a hone,
I verily believe;
And on it sharpens those eye-darts,
With which he wounds the simple hearts
He bribes her to deceive.--_A Coquette_, by X.

Breakfast was late, and lengthened out by the greater lateness of many of
the guests, and the superlative tardiness of the lady of the house, who
had repudiated the cares of the hostess, and left the tea-equipage to her
sister-in-law. Lucilla had been down-stairs among the first, and hurried
away again after a rapid meal, forbidding any one to follow her, because
she had so much to do, and on entering the drawing-room, she was found
with a wilderness of flowers around her, filling vases and making last
arrangements.

Honora and Phoebe were glad to be occupied, and Phoebe almost hoped to
escape from Rashe. Speaking to Lucilla was not possible, for Eloisa had
been placed by Rashe in a low chair, with a saucer before her, which she
was directed to fill with verbenas, while the other four ladies, with
Owen, whom his cousin had called to their aid, were putting last touches
to wreaths, and giving the final festal air to the rooms.

Presently Robert made his appearance as the bearer of Mr. Prendergast's
flowers, and setting his back against a shutter, in his favourite
attitude, stood looking as if he wanted to help, but knew not how.
Phoebe, at least, was vividly conscious of his presence, but she was
supporting a long festoon with which Owen was adorning a pier-glass, and
could hardly even turn her head to watch him.

'Oh, horrid!' cried Lucilla, retreating backwards to look at Ratia's
performance; 'for love or money a bit of clematis!'

'Where shall I find