pection was finished, sat down on the
velvet settle. Margaret drew a footstool to her aunt's side, and took
up her position there, resting her head caressingly on Marjory's knee.

"Three whole years, Aunt Marjory, that you have not been near us! What
could make you stay away so long?"

"There were reasons, Magot."

The two Princesses exchanged smiles again, but there was some amusement
in that of the Countess, while the expression of her sister was rather
sad.

Margaret looked from one to the other, as if she would have liked to
understand what they meant.

"Don't trouble that little head," said her mother, with a laugh. "Thy
time will come soon enough. Thou art too short to be told state
secrets."

"I shall be as tall as you some day, Lady," responded Margaret archly.

"And then," said Marjory, stroking the girl's hair, "thou wilt wish
thyself back again, little Magot."

"Nay!--under your good leave, fair Aunt, never!"

"Ah, we know better, don't we, Madge?" asked the Countess, laughing.
"Well, I will leave you two maidens together. There is the month's wash
to be seen to, and if I am not there, that Alditha is as likely to put
the linen in the chests without a sprig of rosemary, as she is to look
in the mirror every time she passes it. We shall meet at supper.
Adieu!"

And the Countess departed, on housekeeping thoughts intent. For a few
minutes the two girls--for the aunt was only about twelve years the
senior--sat silent, Margaret having drawn her aunt's hand down and
rested her cheek upon it. They were very fond of one another: and being
so near in age, they had been brought up so much like sisters, that
except in one or two items they treated each other as such, and did not
assume the respective authority and reverence usual between such
relations at that time. Beyond the employment of the deferential _you_
by Margaret, and the familiar _thou_ by Marjory, they chatted to each
other as any other girls might have done. But just then, for a few
minutes, neither spoke.

"Well, Magot!" said Marjory, breaking the silence at last, "have we
nought to say to each other? Thou art forgetting, I think, that I want
a full account of all these three years since I came to see thee before.
They have not been empty of events, I know."

Margaret's answer was a groan.

"Empty!" she said. "Fair Aunt, I would they had been, rather than full
of such events as they were. Father Nicholas saith that the old