“Thou hast powerful breath, Janet, and ’twas an immense bitterwort bush thou were beating about.  I am sorry I forgot my prayers.  I will say them twenty times to-day, to make up.”

“And it’s the heathen that repeateth a prayer oft; thou hadst better say ‘God, have mercy upon my untowardness!’ once, from thy heart, than to say thy rosary from now until doom with thy mind upon a bumptious Russian.”

“What is the day, Janet?”

“’Tis as bleak and stormy as one could wish.”

“What is the hour?”

“Eleven.”

“Eleven? and I was to meet Count Adrian at this very hour.  He is to teach me battledore and shuttlecock.”

“’Tis a fussy game, played more with the heart than hand; canst give it up; let me rub thee to sleep again?”

“Nay, for I would not disappoint him or—­myself.”

An hour later she stood opposite the count in the great library, swinging the battledore with grace.  There was much soft laughter and gay repartee; and Adrian followed the movements of Katherine’s lithe form, clad in the soft, clinging grey of the convent.  She became remiss; for Adrian’s glances were confusing, and intentional laches were made by him, that he might come near her, almost touching her hair in bending to recover the ball.  She was flushed and eager, triumphant of a fine return, when the door flew open and in came a number of gallants, among whom was Lord Cedric.  His face flushed a warm red and he shot a glance of jealousy at Adrian as he bent low over Katherine’s hand.  After a few commonplace remarks, they passed on up the stairway to the broad landing, on which was an arched door that led to the passage opening into the organ loft of the chapel.  In a few moments there came the sound of the organ.  Katherine swung low her battledore and breathed forth: 

“Let us listen; ’tis sweet, who plays, dost know?”

“’Tis St. Mar, a fine fellow; a soldier, duelist and gallant.”

“’Thou dost flank duelist by two words that should scorn being so separated!’”

“’Twas a happy wording; for if thou shouldst meet him, thou wilt fall but two-thirds in love, whereas, if otherwise worded ’twould be altogether.”

“Thou art giving my heart an evil reputation; for after all ’tis not so easy won.”

“’Tis true, as I know, more than any one else, for my heart misgave me from the moment I first set eyes on thy beauteous countenance; and since I have been in wild despair, not knowing if thou hast a heart for any save thy nurse and my Lord Cedric; for ’tis to them thy heart seems bent.”  There was neither shadow nor movement of fair expression on Mistress Penwick’s face, as she answered calmly,—­

“Thou sayest well.  I love my nurse—­she has been mother too, and I honour Lord Cedric as a good man should be honoured, and one whom my father chose to be his daughter’s guardian and holder in trust of her estates.”

“Estates”—­’twas a grand word and went straight to Cantemir’s heart; for ’twas something to espouse so beautiful a maiden that had demesne as well.