it odd to my damsel? Does she know what her question sounded like,
to me?"

"Tell me."

"`Would she not like better to be a villein scullion-maid, than to be
the daughter of my noble Lord of Kent?'"

"But Jews are not noble!" cried Margaret, gazing in bewilderment from
Belasez to Doucebelle, as if she expected one of them to help her out of
the puzzle.

"Not in the world's estimate," answered Belasez. "There is One above
the world."

Before Margaret could reply, the deep bass "Ding-dong!" of the great
dinner-bell rang through the Castle, and Levina made her appearance at
the door.

"My Lady has given me charge concerning thee, Belasez," she said, rather
coldly addressing the Jewess. "Thou wilt come with me."

With a graceful reverence to Margaret, Belasez turned, and followed
Levina.

At that date, no titles except those of nobility or office were usual in
England. Any woman below a peer's daughter, was addressed by her
Christian name or by that of her husband. That is to say, the unmarried
woman was simply "Joan;" the married one was "John's Wife."

Belasez was gifted by nature with a large amount of that kind of
intuition which has been defined as feeling the pressure of other
people's atmosphere. It may be a gift which augurs delicacy and
refinement, but it always brings discomfort to its possessor. She knew
instinctively, and in a moment, that Levina was likely to be her enemy.

It was true. Levina was a prey to that green-eyed monster which sports
itself with the miseries of humanity. She had been the best broideress
in the Castle until that day. And now she felt herself suddenly
supplanted by a young thing of barely more than half her age and
experience, who was called in, forsooth, to do something which it was
imagined that Levina could not do. What business had the Countess to
suppose there was any thing she could not do?--or, to want something out
of her power to provide? Was there the slightest likelihood, thought
Levina, flaring up, that this scrap of a creature could work better than
herself?--a mere chit of a child (Levina was past thirty), with a
complexion like the fire-bricks (Levina's resembled putty), and hair the
colour of nasty sloes (Levina's was nearer that of a tiger-lily), and
great staring eyes like horn lanterns! The Countess was the most
unreasonable, and Levina the most cruelly-outraged, of all the women
that had ever held a needle since those useful instruments were