"My father hath need of me for a few days," she said in response to Inez’ exclamation of astonishment. "We start this morning for Brussels." "For which the Lord be praised," ejaculated Inez piously, "for of all the dull, miserable, uncomfortable houses that I ever was in in my life..." "Hold your tongue, woman," broke in Lenora sharply, "and see to your work. You will never be done, if you talk so much." And Inez--more than ever astonished at this display of temper on the part of a young mistress who had always been kind and gentle--had perforce to continue her mutterings and her grumblings under her breath. Whilst the old woman laid out carefully upon the bed all the pretty things which she had stowed away in the presses only twenty-four hours ago, Lenora busied herself with yet another task which she had set herself, but which she had been too tired to accomplish in the night. She wrote a short letter to Laurence. "My DEVOTED FRIEND," she wrote, "You promifed Me a very little while ago that if ever I wanted You to do fomething for Me, I was only to fend You this ring and You would do whatever I afked. Now, in the name of Our Lady, I adjure You to leave Ghent at once taking Your Mother with You. A grave danger threatens You both. I know that You have relatives in Haarlem. I entreat You--nay! I afk it of You as a fulfilment of Your promife to go to them at once with Your Mother. Your Father is in no danger, and Mark will be efcorting Me to Brufsels, and I fhall try and keep Him there until all danger is paft...." Having written thus far, she paused a moment, pen in hand, a frown of deep puzzlement and of indecision upon her brow. Then she continued in a firm hand: "It is Your Mother’s and Your own complicity in the plot which is being hatched in Ghent again ft the Duke of Alva which has brought Your lives in danger." She strewed the sand over her writing, then read the letter carefully through. After which she took a ring from off her finger, enclosed it in the letter and sealed the latter down. "Inez!" she said. "Yes, my saint." "I shall be starting for Brussels within the hour." "Holy Virgin!" exclaimed the old woman. "I shall not be ready with the packing. Why this hurry, my angel?" "Your not being ready, Inez, is of no consequence. I shall start with Messire van Rycke. You will follow on in the wagon." "But, my saint..." "Now do not talk so much, Inez," broke in Lenora impatiently; "if you add to my anxieties by being quarrelsome and disobedient I shall surely fall sick and die." Evidently the young girl knew exactly how to work on her faithful old servant’s temperament. Inez reduced to abject contrition by the thought that she was rendering her darling anxious and sick, swore by every saint in the calendar that she would bite off her tongue, toil like a slave and be as obedient as a cur, if only her darling angel would keep well and cheerful and tell her what to do.