Her aunt put on her spectacles to examine the work.
“Wait!” she exclaimed. “I’ll call my sister.”
The other aunt was in the doorway, however, and joined her in examining the work.
“I see a missed stitch here!” she commented.
“Ah, yes, and a loose end there!” added the other. “It is growing dark. No knowing how many flaws we would find by daylight. To-morrow you will do better, I hope.”
“I will try,” promised the niece.
And so the maiden grew. By the time she was eighteen, she could not only embroider tapestries, and play a dozen airs on her guitar and harp, but could write a short note, with not more than ten misspelled words, and could sign her own full name without missing a letter.
These accomplishments, in that day, were considered quite a finished education for a young lady.
On her eighteenth birthday the castle was in bustling excitement because there was to be an affair of utmost importance. And this affair was none other than a great family gathering to receive the intended bridegroom of the maiden.
Her father had promised her in marriage to the son of an old nobleman, a friend of his who lived in a distant province.