"And thou earnest tripping lightly down the stairs, clad of a russet gown, and leddest me up to see Anstace. `Do I remember it!' Ah, Joyce, my sister, there be sore changes since that day!" "Be there so?" said Joyce, and smiled brightly enough. "A good number of miles nearer Home, Lettice, and a good number of treasures laid up for both of us, where neither moth nor rust shall hurt them. My treasures are all there which are not likewise thine. And now let me see the new gems in thy jewel-box. Who art thou, my maid?" "I am Lettice Murthwaite, Madam, if you please." "My dear heart, I do not please to be called Madam. I am thine Aunt Joyce. Come here and kiss me, if thou wilt." Lettice knelt down by the couch, and kissed the old lady. "There is not much of Nell here, Lettice," said Joyce to Lady Louvaine. "'Tis her father the child is like. Now then, which of these two lads is Aubrey--he with the thinking brow, or he with the restless eyes?" Lady Louvaine called Aubrey, and he came up. "Why, thou art like nobody," said Aunt Joyce. "Neither Ned nor Faith, nor any of Ned's elders. Lettice, where is Faith? hast not brought her withal?" Faith was in the hall, listening to a lecture from Temperance, embellished by such elegancies as "Stuff and nonsense!" and "Listen to reason!" which ended up at last with "Lancaster and Derby!" and Faith came slowly in, with her everlasting handkerchief at her eyes. "Nay, Faith, sweet heart, no tears!" cried the old lady. "Sure there's nought to weep for this even, without thou art so dog-weary that thou canst not keep them back." "Mistress Morrell, I wish you good even," said Temperance, coming in after her sister. "If you'll but learn Faith to keep that handkerchief of hers in her pocket, you'll have done the best work ever you did since we saw you last in Derwent-dale. She's for ever and the day after a-fretting and a-petting, for why she'd better tell you, for I'm a Dutchman if I can make out." Aunt Joyce looked from one to the other. "So unfeeling!" came Faith's set form, from behind the handkerchief. "And me a poor widow!" The old lady's face went very grave, and all the cheeriness passed out of it. "Faith, you are not the only widow in the chamber," she said gently. "Temperance, my dear, she is weary, maybe." "She hasn't got a bit of call," rejoined Temperance. "Sat all day long in my Lord Dilston's smart caroche, lolling back in the corner, just like a feather-bed. Mistress Joyce, 'tis half ill-temper and half folly--that's what it is." "Well, well, my dear, we need not judge our neighbours.--Edith, my child, thou knowest the house as well as I; wilt thou carry thy friends above? Rebecca hath made ready My Lady's Chamber for my Lady,"--with a smile at her old friend--"and the Fetterlock Chamber for Faith and Temperance. The Old Wardrobe is for thee and Lettice, and the lads shall lie in the Nursery."