umbled at the trouble for 'a pack of
womenfolk'--and supposed they were to make a meal of dried peas and red
herrings, like their last on Lammermuir.

It was a surprise to be conducted, not to the refectory, where all the
nuns took their meal together, but to a small room opening into the
cloister on one side, and with a window embowered in vines on the other,
looking into the garden. It was by no means bare, like the typical cells
of strict convents. The Mother, Margaret Stafford, was a great lady, and
the Benedictines of the old foundation of St. Helen's in the midst of
the capital were indeed respectable and respected, but very far from
strict observers of their rule--and St. Helen's was so much influenced
by the wealth and display of the city that the nuns, many of whom were
these great merchants' daughters, would have been surprised to be told
that they had departed from Benedictine simplicity. So the Prioress's
chamber was tapestried above with St. Helena's life, and below was
enclosed with drapery panels. It was strewed with sweet fresh rushes,
and had three cross-legged chairs, besides several stools; the table, as
usual upon trestles, was provided with delicate napery, and there was a
dainty perfume about the whole; a beautiful crucifix of ivory and ebony,
with images of Our Lady and St. John on either side, and another figure
of St. Helena, cross in hand, presiding over the holy water stoup, were
the most ecclesiastical things in the garniture, except the exquisitely
illuminated breviary that lay open upon a desk.

Mother Margaret rose to receive her guests with as much dignity as
Jean herself could have shown, and made them welcome to her poor house,
hoping that they would there find things to their mind.

Something restrained Jean from bursting out with her petulant complaint,
and it was Eleanor who replied with warm thanks. 'My Lord Cardinal
would come to visit them on the morn,' the Prioress said; 'and in the
meantime, she hoped,' looking at Jean, 'they would condescend to the
hospitality of the poor daughters of St. Helen.'

The hospitality, as brought in by two plump, well-fed lay-sisters,
consisted of 'chickens in cretyne,' stewed in milk, seasoned with sugar,
coloured with saffron, of potage of oysters, butter of almond-milk,
and other delicate meats, such as had certainly never been tasted at
Stirling or Dunbar. Lady Drummond's birth entitled her and Annis to
sit at table with the Princesses and th