To Winifred all seemed more like a happy dream than like any possible reality; and she almost feared to wake and find herself again scouring trenchers or washing casements under the supervision of Dame Margery. Not that even now she was perfectly happy. She could not but regret the terms on which she had parted with her aunt, though her own reason told her she was not in fault. And she was conscious of a sharp pang of pain and regret whenever anything was said about Arthur Carew. Lady Peckham seldom mentioned her brother, though Winifred believed that she often heard from him. She only knew that he was in Holland, and, openly or covertly, in the service of the Prince of Orange, and that if the now much talked of expedition of the prince should take place, Arthur Carew would doubtless accompany him. But suppose she should ever see him again, what good would that do her? Was it at all likely that after so long a time he would remember the little country girl to whom he had given the locket and said those words under the great pear-tree? Had those words ever been anything more than the empty compliments of a courtier? Or, if he had been sincere at the time, would not Lord Carew be a very different person from the wounded and half-starved adventurer whom she had guided to Dame Sprat's cottage on that memorable midnight? And what would my lady say to such a match? But with all these questionings and a hundred more, Winifred's faith did not fail. She knew that her fate was in better hands than those of any earthly friend, however kind and wise, and that all would be ordered for the best. So she took up her cross bravely, and bore it silently, as many a woman has done both before and since, never allowing her thoughts to dwell upon her trouble more than she could help, and thankful that she had at least one Friend to whom she could pour out her heart, and whom she could ask for blessings upon all those dearest to her. Meantime she gave her whole mind and attention to the studies she was pursuing with Paulina, under Lady Peckham's direction, went to prayers at the grand old cathedral on Sundays and holidays, worked for the poor, and was introduced to Lady Peckham's visitors as "Mrs. Evans, a young kinswoman whom I have taken to bring up." Thus the little household in the fine old house at Exeter pursued its quiet way amid all the disturbances of the time, seeing little company and hearing little news. Though Winifred shrewdly suspected that her lady knew more of what went on in the great world outside than she always saw fit to communicate.