There being now no traitor—unless perchance Constance might be termed one—in the house, and no danger of Mistress Pen wick being left without the close surveillance of Janet, she was no longer kept prisoner. And, while she was greatly wrought upon by the sad havoc of the previous night, her youth and gay spirits and Janet's exhortations upon the age, giving license to all sorts of uprisings and display of temper and unwarranted vengeance, somewhat quieted her, and she arose as sprightly as ever, all the more determined to free herself from Lord Cedric. If she had stopped for self-analysis, she would have found that she was bent on gaining her independence at no matter what cost; regardless of consequences. That her desire was more of adventure than ambition. And she also would have found that she cared naught for Cantemir and a very great deal for Lord Cedric. She had never given thought to a separation from her beloved Janet; while even classing her as antagonistic to her desires, she never ceased to love her; for this woman had made herself a mother in every respect, aye, even more watchful and exacting. While acting in a servant's capacity, doing the most menial of service, she developed in the maid those seemingly trifling motives of mind and soul which in the end make up the character of a life; and very few mothers ever have the tact to so understand these very minute details that so develop a child's passion. Janet had ever developed in her charge an inclination for all beauty; not failing, however, to show wherein weakness crept; where grace of countenance oft screened defect of character. Indeed this maid was one of Janet's own creation, save in flesh and blood, and no one knew any better than she, herself, the vanity to rout the faults and frailties inherited. She strove the harder to overthrow such imperfections by perfecting and cultivating the maid's receptive mood. She was ever fencing with her in words, working out in detail exchange of thought wherein Katherine might, if 'twere in her, make a clever reply. At times Mistress Penwick would pick up such threads of Janet's teaching as would bring her to a semblance of conscience of present environment, and she would see in a vague way the right and wrong of things. For the moment she would read all in Cantemir's handsome face that it masqued and would turn from it only to become lost in contemplation of what life would be if she were free from Cedric's guardianship, never thinking of the greater bondage of espousing a knave. Ever and anon her eyes sought the young lord of the castle, forgetting she was his ward—and there would come to her such a feeling of overwhelming conviction she was for the moment submerged in ecstasy, and with the hot blush still upon her face she would flee from him as if he were an evil tempter. He brought her near to that great unknown, upon whose threshold she stood trembling and expectant, eager to know what was before her. And so, not understanding her own mind, and being of such tender years, drifted along with the tide that was carrying her to destruction. Her mind was set upon her own way, and sheer perversity deigned not to let her see the hands stretched toward her.
The afternoon sun fell aslant the black oak parquetry where sat her Grace of Ellswold, Lady Constance and Mistress Penwick, engaged with limning and embroidery. Lord Cedric and Sir Julian entered, attired in the most modish foppery of the time. The latter was saying, as he soundly rapped his pouncet-box,—
"His demeanour is too provincial, too provincial—ah!"—and he bent low with grave formality to Mistress Penwick as Cedric presented him; then turning to the duchess continued,—"I was saying, your Grace, that Dryden is provincial in his demeanour, when compared to his Grace of Buckingham."
"Indeed, Julian, thou dost speak lightly of such gigantic genius; beside, 'twould not be fair to compare sun and moon; and how could we do without either the one or the other?"
"To which dost thou comparison his Grace?"
"The moon, of course!" said the Duchess.
"And to what planet is my lord a satellite?"
"Nay, I know not; thou dost question of one who knows little of astronomy; but I think perhaps Mars, as the planet doth resemble earth more closely than any other."
"Bravo, 'tis a rare simile; and I take it thou didst speak in derogation;—no matter how true the inuendo, it is ever the material we most appreciate and enjoy, and the sun being nearly ninety-three million miles from the earth, 'tis too remote to be interesting."
"Indeed, Julian, Dryden in five minutes' converse will stir one to seriousness by his fancy, to tears by his pathos, and to thoughts of deity by his sublimity."