o Mistress Satchell, who had barely time
to compose her ruffled countenance when Brilliana came through the
yew arch and paused on the edge of the pleasaunce surveying the
belligerents with an amused smile.

"What are you two brawling about?" she asked, as she moved slowly
towards the marble seat. Tiffany thrust in the first word.

"Goody Satchell will vex me with praise of the Parliament man."

By this time Brilliana had seated herself, observing her vehement
shes with amusement. She turned a face of assumed gravity upon the
elder.

"So, so, Mistress Satchell, have you turned Roundhead all of a
sudden?"

Mrs. Satchell shook her head at Brilliana and her fist at Tiffany.

"Tiffany is a minx, but I am an honest woman; and as I am an honest
woman, there are honest qualities in this honest Puritan."

Brilliana knew as much herself and fretted at the knowledge. It cut
against the grain of her heart to admit that a rebel could have any
redemption by gifts. But she still questioned Mistress Satchell
smoothly, thinking the while of a man intrenched behind a table, one
man against six.

"What are these marvels?" she asked.

Mistress Satchell was voluble of collected encomiums.

"Why, Thomas Coachman swears he is a master of horse-manage, and he
has taught Luke Gardener a new method of grafting roses, and Simon
Warrener swears he knows as much of hawking as any man in Oxford or
Warwick."

She paused, out of breath. Brilliana, leaning forward with an air of
infinite gravity, commented:

"It were more to your point, surely, if the gentleman had skill in
cook-craft."

Mistress Satchell was not to be outdone; she clapped her hands
together noisily and shrilled her triumph.

"There, too, he meets you. After breakfast this morning, when I asked
him how he fared, he overpraised my table, and he gave me a recipe
for grilling capons in the Spanish manner--well, you shall know, if
you do but live long enough."

The ruddy dame nodded significantly as she closed thus cryptically
her tables of praises. Brilliana uplifted her hands in a pretty air
of wonder.

"The phoenix," she sighed, "the paragon, the nonpareil of the
buttery." Instantly her smiling face grew grave.

"Well, it is not for us to praise him or blame him while he is on our
hands. See that you give him good meals, Mistress Satchell."

Dame Satchell stared at her mistress in some amazement.

"Will he not dine in hall, my lady?"

Brilliana frowned now i