Philippa instantly laid the volume on the table. "I will not take it if you are so dreadfully afraid of it," said she. "I did not guess I was asking such a favor. But that is always the way. One would think that I did nothing else but spoil things. I don't want the book if you are afraid of my spoiling it by only looking at it." I suppose she thought I was going to urge it upon her, but she was mistaken. My own temper was up by that time, and I quietly turned from her, took the book and laid it away, and bidding her a short good-night, I shut the door. I sat a few minutes by the open casement to cool my face and also my spirit, and then I said my prayers and went to bed. It was all saying prayers at that time. The words never went deeper than my lips, or at most I thought of them as a sort of charm, the repeating whereof might propitiate some unknown power and save us from some unknown danger. I don't say this is the case with all Roman Catholics by any means, but I know it is with a great many. They gabble over their rosary with no more devotion than a village child goes over the criss-cross row *, or the pence table and from much the same motive, because they expect to be beaten if they do not know their lesson. * The criss-cross row is the alphabet, always preceded in the old primers and horn books by a cross. Few people who use the word are aware of its origin. [Illustration] CHAPTER VIII. HER GRACE'S GENTLEWOMAN. I STAID with Master Davis two months or more, always hoping to hear from my uncle and always disappointed. Every one was kind to me. Master and Mistress Davis treated me like a daughter in every respect, and I strove to behave like a dutiful child to them. Mistress Davis found me plenty to do, knowing, dear soul that she ever was, that to make me useful was the way to make me feel at home. I have learned a good many precious recipes for distilling and preserving, and I liked nothing better than putting them in practice. Then Mistress Andrew Davis fell in love with my playing, and must needs have me give her lessons on the clarichord. She had a fair talent for music, and a sweet, bird-like voice, and I shall never forget her pretty, child-like joy when she was able to surprise her grave husband with a song and a lesson on the instrument he had given her. I pursued my Latin and French, and persuaded Mistress Davis to let me begin to teach the little Helen to read. She proved an apt scholar, and we had pleasant times over our books.