“I?” said Clare absently. “Lucrece—my mother would have me seek her.”
“Sit thee down, and I will send her to thy mother,” said Rachel.
Away she went; and Clare sat down by the fire, feeling just then as if she could do little else. Lucrece glided through the hall with her smooth, silent step, but did not appear to see Clare; and Rachel followed in a minute.
“I have sent Lucrece to thy mother,” she said. “Now, child, what aileth thee?”
“Oh—nothing, Aunt Rachel.”
“When I was a small maid, Clare, my mother told me that ’twas not well to lie.”
“I did not—Aunt Rachel, I cry you mercy—I meant not—”
“Thou meantest not to tell me what ailed thee. I know that. But I mean to hear it, Clare.”
“’Tis nought, in very deed, Aunt—of any moment.”
“Nought of any moment to thee?”