“They are brave, indeed,” said Edith, in her quiet voice. “I would fain hope it is as fair within as without, my boy.”
She looked up in his face as she spoke with yearning love in her eyes; and as Aubrey bent his head to kiss her, he said, in the softest tone which he had yet employed since his entrance, “I am afraid not, Aunt Edith.”
And Edith answered, in that low, tender voice—
“‘Thy beauty was perfect through My comeliness which I had put upon thee.’ Dear Aubrey, let us seek that.”
Aubrey made no answer beyond a smile, and quickly turned the conversation, on his mother asking if he brought any news.
“But little,” said he. “There be new laws against witchcraft, which is grown greater and more used than of old, and the King is mightily set against it—folks say he is afraid of it. None should think, I ensure you, how easily frightened is his Majesty, and of matters that should never fright any save a child.”
“But that is not news, Aubrey,” said his mother plaintively. “I want to hear something new.”
“There isn’t an artichoke in the market this morrow,” suddenly remarked her sister.
“Temperance, what do you mean?”
“Why, that’s news, isn’t it? I am sure you did not know it, till I told you.”