"How late thou art, Clare!" said Lady Enville, looking up from Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia, which she was lazily reading. "Sir Piers may come now at any minute. Hast made an end in the hall?" "Ay, Madam." "Hast one posy left o'er? Set it here, by my chair, child. Dost know where is Blanche?" "No, Madam." "And Lucrece?" "No, Madam." Clare's conscience smote her as soon as she had given this answer. Certainly she did not know where Lucrece was; but she could very well guess. "I would thou wert not fully thus bashful, Clare; hast nought but `Ay' and `No'?--I would fain have thee seek Lucrece: I desire speech of her." Clare did not reply at all this time. She had disposed of her flowers, and she left the room. Seek Lucrece! Clare had never had a harder task. If the same burden had been laid on them, Lucrece would have left the commission unfulfilled, and Blanche would have sent somebody else. But such alternatives did not even suggest themselves to Clare's conscientious mind. She went through the hall towards the garden door in search of Lucrece. "Child, what aileth thee?" asked a voice suddenly, as Clare was opening the garden door. "I?" said Clare absently. "Lucrece--my mother would have me seek her." "Sit thee down, and I will send her to thy mother," said Rachel. Away she went; and Clare sat down by the fire, feeling just then as if she could do little else. Lucrece glided through the hall with her smooth, silent step, but did not appear to see Clare; and Rachel followed in a minute. "I have sent Lucrece to thy mother," she said. "Now, child, what aileth thee?" "Oh--nothing, Aunt Rachel." "When I was a small maid, Clare, my mother told me that 'twas not well to lie." "I did not--Aunt Rachel, I cry you mercy--I meant not--" "Thou meantest not to tell me what ailed thee. I know that. But I mean to hear it, Clare." "'Tis nought, in very deed, Aunt--of any moment." "Nought of any moment to thee?" "Nay, to--Oh, pray you, ask me not, Aunt Rachel! It makes no matter." "Ha! When a maid saith that,--a maid of thy years, Clare,--I know metely well what she signifieth. Thou art a good child. Get thee up-stairs and pin on thy carnation knots." Clare went up the wide hall staircase with a slow, tired step, and without making any answer beyond a faint attempt at a smile.