, whose names were Emelina, Thomasia, Joan, and
Margery, and little Blaise the page. They were my world. But into this
world, every now and then, came a sweet, fair presence--a vision of a
gracious lady in velvet robes, whose hand I knelt to kiss, and who used
to lay it on my head and bless me: and at times she would take up one of
us in her arms, and sit down with the babe on her velvet lap, and a look
would come into her eyes which I never saw in Dame Hilda's; and she
would bend her fair head and kiss the babe as if she loved her very
much. But that was mostly while we were babies. I cannot recollect her
doing that to me--it was chiefly to Blanche and Beatrice. Until one
day, and then--

Nay, I have not come to that yet. And then, at times, we should hear a
voice below--a stern, deep voice, or a peal of loud laughter--and in an
instant the light and the joy would die out of the tender eyes of that
gracious vision, and instead would come a frightened look like that of a
hunted hare, and commonly she would rise suddenly, and put down the
babe, and hasten away, as if she had been indulging in some forbidden
pleasure, and was afraid of being caught. I can remember wishing that
the loud laugh and the stern angry voice would go away, and never come
back, but that the gracious vision would stay always with us, and not
only pay us a rare visit. Ay, and I can remember wishing that she would
take _me_ on that velvet lap, and let me nestle into her soft arms, and
dare to lay my little head on her warm bosom. I think she would have
done it, if she had known! I used to feel in those days like a little
chicken hardly feathered, and longed to be under the soft brooding wings
of the hen. The memory of it hath caused me to pet my Jack and Joan a
deal more than I should without it.

Then, sometimes, we had a visit from a very different sort of guest.
That was an old lady--about a hundred and fifty, I used to fancy her--
dressed in velvet full as costly, but how differently she wore it! She
never took us on her lap--not she, indeed! We used to have to kneel and
kiss her hand--and Roger whispered to me once that if he dared, he would
bite it. This horrid old thing (who called herself our grandmother)
used to be like a storm blowing through the house. She never was two
minutes in the room before she began to scold somebody; and if she could
not find reasonable fault with any body, that seemed to vex her more
than anything