f these, the first which she
corrected was addressing Elizabeth as "Mrs. Tudor."

In twenty-four hours the shrewd and resourceful New England woman was
able to learn many things, and she rapidly found her bearings among the
strange people and stranger institutions by which she was surrounded.

Seated in her own "presence chamber," as she called it, surrounded by
her civil and assiduous attendants, she discovered a charm in being
constantly taken care of which was heightened by the contrast which it
presented with her usually independent habits of life. The pleasing
effect of novelty had never more strongly impressed her.

Her anxiety in Phoebe's behalf had been dispelled when she learned
that Isaac Burton was expected at the palace, and was to bring his
family with him. With diplomatic shrewdness, she resolved to improve
every opportunity to win the Queen's favor, in order that when the time
came she might have the benefit of her authority in removing her younger
sister from her pretended relatives.

It was about five in the afternoon of the day succeeding her adventure
on the Thames, and Rebecca sat near a window overlooking the entrance
court. She was completing the knitting upon which she had been engaged
when Droop made his first memorable call on her in Peltonville.

On either side of Rebecca, but on stools set somewhat lower than her
chair, were her two favorites, the Lady Clarissa Bray, daughter of
Walter Bray, Lord Hunsforth, and the Honorable Lady Margaret Welsh,
daughter of the Earl of March.

Clarissa was employed in embroidering a stomacher whose green, gold, and
russet set off her dark curls very agreeably. The Lady Margaret was
playing a soft Italian air upon the cithern, which she managed with
excellent taste, to the entertainment of her temporary mistress and her
half dozen attendants.

Rebecca's needles moved in time with the graceful measure of the music,
while her head nodded in unison, and she smiled now and then.

As the air was concluded she let her hands sink for a moment into her
lap, turning to bend an approving look upon the fair young musician.

"There, now!" she said. "I declare, Miss Margaret, that's real sweet
music. I'm much obliged to ye, I'm sure."

Margaret arose and courtesied, blushing.

"Would your Highness that I play again?" she asked.

"No, thank ye," said Rebecca, resuming her knitting. "The's no sort o'
use in drivin' folks to death as are kind to ye. Sit right down