Then the maid stirred and opened her eyes.  Her whole body thrilled with the awakening.

“Ah, ’twas like the bursting of a bud!  How dost feel now, Mistress?”

“I am not ill at all.  I am a martyr to thy imagination.  Dost remember the time, Janet, I drowsed in the chapel and thou didst make me drink bitterwort for a fortnight?” and the girl’s voice rung out in soft laughter.

“Aye, I have not forgotten, nor why thou wert drowsy either, Mistress Penwick.”

“Nay, thou didst not know.”

“I did so.  Thou hadst a book of tales and read nights with the candle shaded by thy mother’s landskip fan, and I gave thee aloes for thy folly.”

“Thou dost always find me out, Janet; I shall be glad when I become a woman as big as thou.”

“Thou art a woman to-day, and thou wilt never be as big as I; so, having age and not a hulking servant’s body, be content.  I have a letter from my master, and in it is much that concerns thee—­”

“Isn’t there always much that concerns me?”

“But not such important concernings.  He has gone on a long journey and proposes one for thee, my lambkin.”  Katherine raised herself in bed.  “Nay, thou must not stir or I hush my tale!  Thy father has provided thee with a guardian and ’tis to him I take thee.  We go to England by the first boat,—­nay, lay back, calm thyself or I take my wagging tongue away; if thou dost so much as stir again, I leave thee.  Thou art to go to a great house over there and see grand folks with fine airs and modish dress.  Wilt be glad to see outside of convent walls?  ’Tis nine years since I brought thee here a babe of six, and have nursed thee well to this hour, and thy strength and health and beauty show the care given thee.”  She suddenly arose and went to the window to hide if possible her agitation; but when she looked forth on the snow-covered city and on beyond at the long range of forest that lay low and black against the arctic sky, she turned from the gloomy scene and went again to the couch, quickly suppressing all thoughts save those that were purely selfish:  she would be glad to bid adieu to this great, still northern world and leave behind forever old Quebec, even though she must divide her treasure.

“I have been a mother to thee, child, and now I must divide my rule with a cantankerous Scot—­”

“Nay, a Scot and lives in England?”

“He lives in England and thy father speaks of bending somewhat thy quick temper to the mould of self-control as a safer parry to Scotch thrust; so I conclude the gentleman must be a Scot.”

“Janet, ’tis these awful men that wear skirts like women.  I remember many years ago when I was in Sister Agnes’ room, of seeing some of those dreadful pictures of skirts and bandy-legs.  They are unseemly things for men to wear; it is as though one were uncivilised.  I hate him already for it!”