to me."

"I shall--I shall be your servant and worship you, sister," cried the
poor soul, and she drew near and kissed again the white hand which had
bestowed with such royal bounty all this joy. It would not have occurred
to her that a cast-off robe and riband were but small largesse.

It was not a minute after this grateful caress that Clorinda made a sharp
movement--a movement which was so sharp that it seemed to be one of
dismay. At first, as if involuntarily, she had raised her hand to her
tucker, and after doing so she started--though 'twas but for a second's
space, after which her face was as it had been before.

"What is it?" exclaimed Anne. "Have you lost anything?"

"No," quoth Mistress Clorinda quite carelessly, as she once more turned
to the contents of the oaken wardrobe; "but I thought I missed a trinket
I was wearing for a wager, and I would not lose it before the bet is
won."

"Sister," ventured Anne before she left her and went away to her own dull
world in the west wing, "there is a thing I can do if you will allow me.
I can mend your tapestry hangings which have holes in them. I am quick
at my needle, and should love to serve you in such poor ways as I can;
and it is not seemly that they should be so worn. All things about you
should be beautiful and well kept."

"Can you make these broken things beautiful?" said Clorinda. "Then
indeed you shall. You may come here to mend them when you will."

"They are very fine hangings, though so old and ill cared for," said
Anne, looking up at them; "and I shall be only too happy sitting here
thinking of all you are doing while I am at my work."

"Thinking of all I am doing?" laughed Mistress Clorinda. "That would
give you such wondrous things to dream of, Anne, that you would have no
time for your needle, and my hangings would stay as they are."

"I can think and darn also," said Mistress Anne, "so I will come."

CHAPTER VII--'Twas the face of Sir John Oxon the moon shone upon

From that time henceforward into the young woman's dull life there came a
little change. It did not seem a little change to her, but a great one,
though to others it would have seemed slight indeed. She was an
affectionate, house-wifely creature, who would have made the best of
wives and mothers if it had been so ordained by Fortune, and something of
her natural instincts found outlet in the furtive service she paid her
sister, who became the empress of her sou