t of me," said Elizabeth, quietly, but firmly.

"Highty-tighty! and who art thou, my lady?"

"I am your servant, mistress, and will do your bidding in everything
that toucheth not my duty to God Almighty. But this I cannot."

"I'll tell thee what, hussy! it was never good world since folks set up
to think for themselves what was right and wrong, instead of hearkening
to the priest, and doing as they were bid, Thou'rt too proud, Bess
Foulkes, that's where it is, with thy pretty face and thy dainty ways.
Go thou up and get thee abed--it's on the stroke of nine: and I'll come
and lock thee in. Dear heart, to see the masterfulness of these maids!"

"Mistress," said Elizabeth, pausing, "I pray you reckon me not
disobedient, for in very deed I have ever obeyed you, and yet will,
touching all concerns of yours: but under your good leave, this matter
concerns you not, and I have no freedom to speak thereof."

"In very deed, my lady," said Mistress Clere, dropping a mock courtesy,
"I desire not to meddle with your ladyship's high matters of state, and
do intreat you of pardon that I took upon me so weighty a matter. Go
get thee abed, hussy, and hold thine idle tongue!"

Elizabeth turned and went upstairs in silence. Words were of no use.
Mistress Clere followed her. In the bedroom where they both slept,
which was a loft with a skylight, was Amy, half undressed, and employed
in her customary but very unnecessary luxury of admiring herself in the
glass.

"Amy, I'm going to turn the key. Here's an ill maid that I've had to
take the strap to: see thou fall not in her ways. I'll let you out in
the morning."

So saying, Mistress Clere locked the door, and left the two girls
together.

Like most idle folks. Amy Clere was gifted with her full share of
curiosity. The people who do the world's work, or who go about doing
good, are not usually the people who want you to tell them how much Miss
Smith gave for her new bonnet, or whom Mr Robinson had yesterday to
dinner. They are a great deal too busy, and generally too happy, to
give themselves the least trouble about the bonnet, or to feel the
slightest interest in the dinner-party. But idle people--poor pitiable
things!--who do not know what to do with themselves, are often very
ready to discuss anything of that sort which considerately puts itself
in their way. To have something to talk about is both a surprise and a
delight to them.

No sooner had Mrs Clere shut t