Blanche was rather curious to ascertain how much Clare knew of her proceedings, and what she thought of them. Now it so happened that in the haste of the departure, Clare had been told next to nothing. The reason of this hasty flight to the parsonage was all darkness to her, except for the impression which she gathered from various items that the step thus taken had reference not to herself, but to Blanche. What her sister had done, was doing, or was expected to do, which required such summary stoppage, Clare could not even guess. Barbara was quite as ignorant. The interviews between Blanche and Don Juan had been so secret, and so little suspected, that the idea of connecting him with the affair did not occur to either. One precious relic Blanche had brought with her--the lock of hair received from Don Juan on that afternoon which was so short a time back, and felt so terribly long--past and gone, part of another epoch altogether. Indeed, she had not had any opportunity of parting with it, except by yielding it to her father; and for this she saw no necessity, since he had laid no orders on her concerning Don Juan's gifts. While Clare knelt at her prayers, and Barbara was out of the room, Blanche took the opportunity to indulge in another look at her treasure. It was silky black, smooth and glossy; tied with a fragment of blue ribbon, which Don Juan had assured her was the colour of truth. "Is he looking at the ringlet of fair hair which I gave him?" thought she fondly. "He will be true to me. Whate'er betide, I know he will be true!" Poor little Blanche! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. Sleeves were then separate from the dress, and were fastened into it when put on, according to the fancy of the wearer. Note 2. Apparently the plaited border worn under the French cap. CHAPTER EIGHT. THEKLA COMES TO THE RESCUE. "It were a well-spent journey, Though seven deaths lay between." _A.R. Cousins_. "Lysken, didst thou ever love any one very much?" Blanche spoke dreamily, as she stood leaning against the side of the window in the parsonage parlour, and with busy idleness tied knots in her gold chain, which at once untied themselves by their own weight. "Most truly," said Lysken, looking up with an expression of surprise. "I love all here--very much." "Ah! but--not here?" "Certes. I loved Mayken Floriszoon, who died at Leyden, the day after help came. And I loved Aunt Jacobine; and Vrouw Van Vliet, who took care of me before I came hither. And I loved--O Blanche, how dearly!-- my father and my mother." Blanche's ideas were running in one grove, and Lysken's in quite a different one. "Ay, but I mean, Lysken--another sort of love." "Another sort!" said Lysken, looking up again from the stocking which she was darning. "Is there any sort but one?" "Oh ay!" responded Blanche, feeling her experience immeasurably past that of Lysken.