ure which often takes place in dreams, was also Richard Pynson.
From this dream, about ten minutes after she fell asleep, as it appeared
to her, Margery suddenly sprang up to the conviction that broad daylight
was streaming in at the window. She rose and dressed herself hurriedly,
and, running down into the kitchen, was surprised to find nobody there
but Joan, the drudge of the household, who moreover was rubbing her
eyes, and apparently only half awake.

"Why, Mistress Margery!" said the girl, in astonishment, "your good
mistress-ship is early, considering our late hours. The Dame is not yet
risen."

"In good sooth?" inquired Margery, looking at the clock, when she found
to her surprise that it was barely five o'clock; and receiving from Joan
the information that Dame Lovell had told Cicely overnight that she did
not intend to appear until six, she returned to her own room, and,
drawing the book from its hiding-place, commenced her task of copying.
Margery worked quickly, and had copied nearly a page in the hour. So
absorbed was she in her task, that she never heard the door open, and
started like a guilty thing when the well-known voice of her mother
sounded close by her.

"Eh, Madge! Up and at work? Thou wilt work thy fingers to the bone,
child! Is that thy mass-book? Nay, it is paper, I see, and that, I
wis, is on vellum. What art doing, damsel?"

Pale and red, red and pale, went Margery by turns at this string of
questions.

"Why, lass, what hast?" asked Dame Lovell, in surprise.

"I cry you mercy, good mother!" said Margery, descending to
equivocation, and blushing more than ever; "I heard you not open my
door, and your voice started me."

"Poor Madge! did I fright thee?" said Dame Lovell, kindly. "But what is
this, child? Another Breviary? Dost want two?"

"Poor Madge" she was indeed at this moment. Terrified beyond measure
lest Dame Lovell should inform Sir Geoffrey, whose learned eyes would
perceive in a moment what the book was--and seeing more danger in his
discovering its real character than in letting him suppose it to be
another Breviary, Margery, generally so truth-telling, was frightened
into a lie.

"Ay, good mother," she stammered out, "'tis a Breviary."

All that day Margery sat upon thorns; but Dame Lovell made no mention of
the incident, and she accordingly hoped it was forgotten.

Day after day passed on, and Margery worked harder than ever at copying
the book. She finish