ther, still calmly
spinning. "I trust to ask his counsel touching Robin."

Figuratively speaking, for more than a century was yet to elapse ere
George Fox founded the Society of Friends, it might be said that
Custance [Note 2] Tremayne was born a Quakeress. It had hitherto proved
impossible, through all the annals of the family experience, to offend
or anger her. She was an affectionate wife and mother, but nothing
roused in her any outward exhibition of anxiety or annoyance. The tenor
of her way was very even indeed.

Before Arbel had done much more than resume her seat and her needle, the
room was entered by two men and a lad of sixteen years. The master of
the house, Mr Anthony Tremayne, [Note 3] who came in first, was a man of
more demonstrative manners than his quiet partner. He who entered
second was shorter and stronger-built, and had evidently seen a longer
term of life. His hair, plentifully streaked with grey, was thinned to
slight baldness on the summit of the head; his features, otherwise
rather strong and harsh, wore an expression of benevolence which
redeemed them; his eyes, dark grey, were sharp and piercing. When he
took off his hat, he carefully drew forth and put on a black skull-cap,
which gave him a semi-priestly appearance. The lad, who entered with a
slow and almost languid step, though in face resembling his father, was
evidently not without an element of his mother in his mental
composition. His hair was dark, and his eyes brown: but the same calm
placidity of expression rested on his features as on hers, and his
motions were quiet and deliberate.

"Good morrow, Dr Thorpe," [Note 4] said Mistress Tremayne, rising from
her work.

"The like to you, my mistress," was the response. "Well, how fare you
all? Be any of you sick? or can you do without me for a se'nnight?"

"Whither go you, Doctor?" gently asked Custance.

The Doctor's brow grew graver. "On a sorrowful errand, friend," he
replied. "Our noble friends at Crowe are in sore trouble, for their
little maid is grievous sick."

"What, little Honor?" cried Arbel, pityingly.

"Ay, methinks the Master is come, and hath called for her. We might
thank God, if we could see things as He seeth. The sorrows of her House
shall never trouble her."

"Poor child!" said Custance in her quiet voice. "Why, good Doctor, we
be none of us truly sick, I thank God; but in sooth I did desire you
should step in hither, touching Robin."

"T