“Aunt Edith,” said Lettice, “pray you, why be those candlesticks on the holy table, with never a candle in them?”
“I cannot tell, Lettice,” replied she; “I fear, if the parson dared, there would be candles in them, and belike will, ere long.”
“Think you Aunt Joyce is right in what she said last night?”
“I fear so, Lettice,” she answered very gravely. “We have not yet seen the last, I doubt, of Satan and his Roman legion.”
The same afternoon, Lettice had a talk with old Rebecca, which almost frightened her. She went up to the gallery for another look at the two pictures, and Rebecca passing by, Lettice begged that if she were not very busy, she would tell her something about them. In reply she heard a long story, which increased her reverential love for the dead grandfather, and made her think that “Cousin Anstace” must have been an angel indeed. Rebecca had lived in the Hill House for sixty years, and she well remembered her mistress’s sister.
“Mind you Queen Mary’s days, Rebecca?” asked Lettice.
“Eh, sweet heart!” said the old servant. “They could ne’er be forgot by any that lived in them.”
“Saw you any of the dreadful burnings?”
“Ay, did I, Mrs Lettice,” said she,—“even the head and chief of them all, of my Lord’s Grace of Canterbury. I saw him hold forth his right hand in the flame, that had signed his recantation: and after all was over, and the fire out, I drew nigh with the crowd, and beheld his heart entire, uncharred amongst the ashes. Ah my mistress! if once you saw such a sight as that, you could never forget it, your whole life thereafter.”
“It must have been dreadful, Rebecca!” said Lettice.