"I'll have beef, Aunt!" put in unseasonable Jack. "Wilt thou have manners?" severely returned Rachel. "Where shall I find them, Aunt?" coolly inquired Jack, letting his eyes rove about among the dishes. "May I help you likewise?" "Behave thyself, Jack!" said his father, laughing. The rebuke was neutralised by the laughter. Rachel went on carving in dignified silence. "Would you think it?" resumed Sir Thomas, when everybody was helped, and conversation free to flow. "Master Tremayne doth conceive that we Christian folk be meant to learn somewhat from those ancient Jews that did wander about with Moses in the wilderness. Ne'er heard I no such a fantasy. To conceive that we can win knowledge from the rotten old observances of those Jew rascals! Verily, this passeth!" "Beats the Dutch, Sir!" said incorrigible Jack. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. All members of the Enville family and household are fictitious persons. CHAPTER THREE. BREAKERS AHEAD. "Our treasures moth and rust corrupt: Or thieves break through and steal; or they Make themselves wings and fly away. One man made merry as he supped, Nor guessed how, when that night grew dim, His soul should be required of him." _Ellen Alleyn_. Eleven years had passed away since the events of the previous chapters, and in the room where we first saw her, Rachel Enville sat with the four girls around her. Little girls no longer,--young ladies now; for the youngest, Blanche, was not far from her fifteenth birthday. Margaret-- now a young woman of four-and-twenty, and only not married because her betrothed was serving with the army of occupation in the Netherlands-- was very busily spinning; Lucrece--a graceful maiden of twenty-two, not strictly handsome, but possessed of an indescribable fascination which charmed all who saw her--sat with her eyes bent down on her embroidery; Clare--seventeen, gentle, and unobtrusive--was engaged in plain sewing; and Blanche,--well, what was Blanche doing? She sat in the deep window-seat, her lap full of spring flowers, idly taking up now one, and now another,--weaving a few together as if she meant to make a wreath,-- then suddenly abandoning the idea and gathering them into a nosegay,-- then throwing that aside and dreamily plunging both hands into the fragrant mass. Blanche had developed into a very pretty picture,-- lovelier than Lady Enville, whom she resembled in feature. "Blanche!" said her aunt suddenly. Blanche looked up as if startled. Rachel had changed little. Time had stiffened, not softened, both her grogram and her prejudices. "What dost thou?" she demanded. "Oh! I--well--I know not what I did, Aunt Rachel. I was thinking, I reckon." "And where were thy thoughts?" was the next searching query. Blanche smelt at her flowers, coloured, laughed, and ended by saying lightly, "I scantly know, Aunt."