“Amphillis!” came faintly up the stairs and along the gallery. “Am-phil-lis!”
“Go, child,” said Perrote, replying to a look from Amphillis. “’Tis Agatha calling thee. What would the foolish maid?”
Amphillis left her work upon the bench and ran down.
“Well, it is merry matter to catch hold of thee!” said Agatha, who was waiting at the foot of the stairs, and who never could recollect, unless Lady Foljambe were present, that Amphillis was to be addressed with more reverence than before. “Here be friends of thine come to visit thee.”
“Friends!—of mine!” exclaimed Amphillis, in surprise. “Why, I haven’t any friends.”
“Well, enemies, then,” said Agatha, with a giggle. “Come, go into hall and see who they be, and then tell me.”
Amphillis obeyed, and to her still greater surprise, found herself in the presence of Mr Altham and Regina.
“Ah, here she cometh!” was her uncle’s greeting. “Well, my maid, I am fain to see thee so well-looking, I warrant thee. Can’st love a new aunt, thinkest?”
“That am I secure,” replied Amphillis, smiling, and kissing the goldsmith’s daughter.
“And an old uncle belike?” pursued Mr Altham, kissing her in his turn.