tire, uncharred amongst the ashes. Ah my mistress! if once you saw
such a sight as that, you could never forget it, your whole life
thereafter."

"It must have been dreadful, Rebecca!" said Lettice.

"Well, it was, in one way," she answered: "and yet, in another, it was
right strengthening. I never felt so strong in the faith as that hour,
and for some while after. It was like as if Heaven had been opened to
me, and I had a glimpse of the pearly portals, and the golden street,
and the white waving wings of the angels as he went in."

"Saw you the Bishops burned, Rebecca--Dr Ridley and Dr Latimer?"

"I did not, Mrs Lettice; yet have I seen them both, prisoners, led
through Oxford streets. Dr Ridley was a man with a look so grave that
it was well-nigh severe: but Dr Latimer could break a jest with any
man, and did, yea, with his very judges."

"Were you ever in any danger, Rebecca?--or Mrs Morrell?"

"I never was, Mrs Lettice; but my good mistress was once well-nigh
taken of the catchpoll [constable]. You ask her to tell you the story,
how she came at him with the red-hot poker. And after that full quickly
she packed her male, and away to Selwick to Sir Aubrey and her Ladyship,
where she tarried hid until Queen Elizabeth came in."

"Think you there shall ever be such doings in England again?"

"The Lord knoweth," and old Rebecca shook her white head. "There's not
a bit of trust to be put in them snakes of priests and Jesuits and such
like: not a bit! Let them get the upper hand again, and we shall have
the like times. Good Lord, deliver us from them all!"

Lettice went down, intending to ask Aunt Joyce to tell her the story of
the red-hot poker; but she never thought of it again, so absorbed was
she with what the two old ladies were saying as she came in. They did
not hear her enter: and the first word she heard made her so desirous of
more, that she crept as softly as she could to a seat. Curiosity was
her besetting sin.

"She used not to be thus," said Lady Louvaine. "Truly, I know not what
hath thus sorrowfully changed the poor child; but I would some means
might be found to undo the same. Even for some years after Ned's death,
I mind not this change; it came on right slowly and by degrees."

Lettice felt pretty sure that "she" was Aunt Faith.

"'Tis weakness, I suppose," said Lady Louvaine, in a questioning tone.

"Ay, we are all weak some whither," replied Aunt Joyce; "and Faith's
weakness