"I was not faulting thee, lad," said Temperance. "We have already laden thee with books; and it were too much to look for thee to do thine own duty and other folks' too. It's this lazy lad I want. I dare be bound he loveth better to crack jests with his cousins than to be dutiful to his old mother and aunts." "Temperance, I am only thirty-nine," said Faith in an injured voice. "I am the youngest of us three." "Oh deary me! I ask your pardon," cried Temperance, with a queer set of her lips. "Yes, Madam, you are; Edith is an old woman of forty, and I a decrepit creature of forty-five; but you are a giddy young thing of thirty-nine. I'll try to mind it, at least till your next birthday." Lettice laughed, and Aunt Temperance did not look angry, though she pulled a face at her. Edith smiled, and said pleasantly-- "Come, Aubrey, hand thy mother on my side; I will walk with Lettice and Hans." "Aunt Edith," said Lettice, "pray you, why be those candlesticks on the holy table, with never a candle in them?" "I cannot tell, Lettice," replied she; "I fear, if the parson dared, there would be candles in them, and belike will, ere long." "Think you Aunt Joyce is right in what she said last night?" "I fear so, Lettice," she answered very gravely. "We have not yet seen the last, I doubt, of Satan and his Roman legion." The same afternoon, Lettice had a talk with old Rebecca, which almost frightened her. She went up to the gallery for another look at the two pictures, and Rebecca passing by, Lettice begged that if she were not very busy, she would tell her something about them. In reply she heard a long story, which increased her reverential love for the dead grandfather, and made her think that "Cousin Anstace" must have been an angel indeed. Rebecca had lived in the Hill House for sixty years, and she well remembered her mistress's sister. "Mind you Queen Mary's days, Rebecca?" asked Lettice. "Eh, sweet heart!" said the old servant. "They could ne'er be forgot by any that lived in them." "Saw you any of the dreadful burnings?" "Ay, did I, Mrs Lettice," said she,--"even the head and chief of them all, of my Lord's Grace of Canterbury. I saw him hold forth his right hand in the flame, that had signed his recantation: and after all was over, and the fire out, I drew nigh with the crowd, and beheld his heart entire, uncharred amongst the ashes. Ah my mistress! if once you saw such a sight as that, you could never forget it, your whole life thereafter." "It must have been dreadful, Rebecca!" said Lettice. "Well, it was, in one way," she answered: "and yet, in another, it was right strengthening. I never felt so strong in the faith as that hour, and for some while after. It was like as if Heaven had been opened to me, and I had a glimpse of the pearly portals, and the golden street, and the white waving wings of the angels as he went in." "Saw you the Bishops burned, Rebecca--Dr Ridley and Dr Latimer?"