This morrow come o'er _Robin Lewthwaite_, with a couple of rare fowl and his mother's loving commendations for _Mother_. He saith nothing is yet at all heard of their _Blanche_, and he shook his head right sorrowfully when I asked at him if he thought aught should be. It seemed so strange a thing to see _Robin_ sorrowful. SELWICK HALL, DECEMBER YE XVI. This morrow, my Lady _Stafford_, Aunt _Joyce_, and I, were sat at our work alone in the great chamber. _Milly_ was gone with _Mother_ a-visiting poor folk, and Sir _Robert_ and Mistress _Martin_, with _Helen_ for guide, were away towards _Thirlmere_,--my Lady _Stafford_ denying to go withal, by reason she had an ill rheum catched yesterday amongst the snowy lanes. All at once, up looks my Lady, and she saith-- "_Joyce_, what is this I heard yestereven of old _Mall Crewdson_, touching one _Everett_, or _Tregarvon_--she wist not rightly which his name were--that hath done a deal of mischief in these parts of late? What manner of mischief?--for old _Mary_ was very mysterious. May-be I do not well to ask afore _Edith_?" "Ay, _Dulcie_, well enough," saith Aunt _Joyce_, sadly, "for _Edith_ knows the worst she can already. And if you knew the worst you could--" "Why, what is it?" quoth she. "_Leonard_," saith Aunt _Joyce_, curtly. "_Leonard_!" Every drop of blood seemed gone out of my Lady's face. "I thought he was dead, years gone." "So did not I," Aunt _Joyce_ made low answer. "No, I wis thou never didst," saith my Lady, tenderly. "So thy love is still alive, _Joyce_? Poor heart!" "My heart is," she saith. "As for love, it is poor stuff if it can die." "There is a deal of poor stuff abroad, then," quoth her Ladyship. "In very deed, so it is. So he is yet at his old work?" Aunt _Joyce_ only bent her head. "Well, it were not possible to wish he had kept to the new," pursueth she. "I do fear there were some brent in _Smithfield_, that had been alive at this day but for him. But ever since Queen _Mary_ died hath he kept him so quiet, that in very deed I never now reckoned him amongst the living. Where is he now?" "God wot," saith Aunt _Joyce_, huskily. My Lady was silent awhile: and then she saith-- "Well, may-be better so. But _Joyce_, doth _Lettice_ know?" "That _Tregarvon_ were he? Not without _Aubrey_ hath told her these last ten days: and her face saith not so." "No, it doth not," my Lady makes answer. "But Sir _Aubrey_ wist, then? His face is not wont to talk unless he will." "In no wise," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Ay, _Dulcibel_; I had to tell him." "Thou?" saith my Lady, pityingly. "None knew him but me," made she answer, and her voice grew very troubled. "Not even _Aubrey_, nor _Lettice_. _Bess_ guessed at him after awhile, but not till she had seen him divers times. But for me one glimpse was enough." Aunt _Joyce's_ work was still now. "Hadst thou surmised aforetime that it were he?" Aunt _Joyce_ shook her head.