"I could not sleep without first seeing thee and knowing thy condition. It must be more than hard for thee to keep thy chamber?" said Constance.
"Nay, thou art wrong; the convent doth inure one to quiet and solitude."
"Dost think thy ailments will allow thee to go abroad on the morrow?"
"I know not, I am at Janet's mercy and I cannot leave my seclusion without her permission. I feel quite well, but Janet says I am ill."
"Oh! that I had a nurse to so fondle me; indeed, she has kept all looks of illness from thee; thy face is as clear as if thou hadst been fed on wild honey all thy days;—and such hair! Dost leave it thus for the night?"
"The tangles would never submit, should I so leave it."
"'Tis my delight to fuss with hair and thine is so beauteous—" she arose and went to Katherine and smoothed the amber threads—"See, when I turn it thus, 'tis like rare bronze, and when I place it to the light, 'tis a glorious amber. May I plait it for thee,—I should love so much to do it?"
"If 'twill give thee pleasure thou mayest assuredly plait it," replied Katherine. Janet now watched for a whispered word or some sign of intercourse; but her vigilance was of no avail, for Lady Constance deftly placed a tiny paper in Mistress Penwick's hair and plaited tightly over it.
"'Tis such a pleasure to fuss with hair—and such fine threads, too; indeed, I have half a mind to become a peruquier,—there, 'tis finished!"
"How is his Grace, Lady Constance?"