ost in the dusk. Through
the windows Nick could see nothing but a world of chimney-pots.

"Is London town all smoke-pipes?" he asked confusedly.

"Nay," replied the little maid; "there are people."

Pushing a chair up to the table, she bade him sit down. Then pulling a
tall, curiously-made stool to the other side of the board, she perched
herself upon it like a fairy upon a blade of grass. "Greg!" she called
imperiously, "Greg! What, how! Gregory Goole, I say!"

"Yes, ma'm'selle," replied a hoarse voice without; and through a door at
the further end of the room came the bandy-legged man with the bow of
crimson ribbon in his ear.

Nick turned a little pale; and when the fellow saw him sitting there, he
came up hastily, with a look like a crock of sour milk. "Tut, tut!
ma'm'selle," said he; "Master Carew will not like this."

She turned upon him with an air of dainty scorn. "Since when hath father
left his wits to thee, Gregory Goole? I know his likes as well as
thou--and it likes him not to let this poor boy starve, I'll warrant.
Go, fetch the pasty and the cake that are in the buttery, with a glass
of cordial,--the Certosa cordial,--and that in the shaking of a black
sheep's tail, or I will tell my father what thou wottest of." And she
looked the very picture of diminutive severity.

"Very good, ma'm'selle; just as ye say," said Gregory, fawning, with
very poor grace, however. "But, knave," he snarled, as he turned away,
with a black scowl at Nick, "if thou dost venture on any of thy scurvy
pranks while I be gone, I'll break thy pate."

Cicely Carew knitted her brows. "That is a saucy rogue," said she; "but
he hath served my father well. And, what is much in London town, he is
an honest man withal, though I have caught him at the Spanish wine
behind my father's back; so he doth butter his tongue with smooth words
when he hath speech with me, for I am the lady of the house." She held
up her head with a very pretty pride. "My mother--"

Nick caught his breath, and his eyes filled.

"Nay, boy," said she, gently; "'tis I should weep, not thou; for _my_
mother is dead. I do not think I ever saw her that I know," she went on
musingly; "but she was a Frenchwoman who served a murdered queen, and
she was the loveliest woman that ever lived." Cicely clasped her hands
and moved her lips. Nick saw that she was praying, and bent his head.

"Thou art a good boy," she said softly; "my father will like that"; and
then went