on of the bows and decorative paraphernalia
of the dress, had a singular countenance—
cold, repellant, and stone-grey. The blackness
of her eyebrows, which met and were
depressed over her eyes, gave her a furtive,
stealthy expression, and her narrow scarlet
lips, while they indicated a sensual disposition,
showed also one of cruelty and
vindictivenes. She was older than most of the
girls, but still quite young, and had pretensions
to beauty which she was more ready to
assert than others were to allow. Everybody,
however, Rose included, treated her with a
certain respect, for she was waiting-woman
to my lady the wife of Sir Roger Bedinfield,
at Hambledon Hall. Her name was Mistress
Gilbert, and she was reputed to possess
philters and love-charms, which in those good
old times were held in high repute, not only
amongst, silly maidens but even amongst wise
and discreet matrons. One charm, however,
Mistress Gilbert did not possess—that charm
which would have charmed Richard Nicholl's
heart out of his bosom. Her disappointed
hopes had been a sly theme of talk many a
time in the village, and even Rose herself had
shared in it. Possibly that was the reason
why, when Mistress Gilbert's chilly hands
glided so stealthily about her person, a slight
shiver kept running over her flesh.

"You are cold, Rose," said the waiting-
woman; "shut the window, some of you.
You shudder all over when you are touched."

"It can't be that her enemy is walking
over the place where her grave is to be,"
remarked a careless young body who looked
straight at Mistress Gilbert, and then turned
red under the cold scrutiny that she received
from her cruel eyes.

"Rose is too good to have an enemy.
Everyone loves her," said the waiting-woman
slowly: directly she had spoken she
approached her lips to the white polished
shoulder, and blew softly at a tiny brown
mark, and then brushed it with her hand
carelessly.

"You will have to blow a long time before
you blow away that little mole, Mistress
Gilbert," laughed Rose: "I was born with it."

"I am short-sighted this morning—I
mistook it for a fly:" and the waiting-woman
began to arrange the starched ruff.

Rose would have been glad to dispense
with the honour of Mistress Gilbert's
company at her marriage; because Richard Nicholl
did not like her, and also because the waiting-
woman's aspirations after the handsome
young smith, offended her feminine
prejudices; but Mistress Gilbert invited herself
for the purpose of dressing the bride, and
even lent her taste and skill in composing
the attire to be worn on the occasion, so there
was no evading her cold, uncomfortable
presence. When the ceremony was over in the
chamber, and Rose's beauty was eclipsed as
far as it could be by her stiff clothing, she
was ushered into the living-room; where were
her father, Richard as fine as herself, and the
male friends of the family.

Richard received her with a fine honest
blush, which was more softly reflected on her
own face; and, after a short interval, the whole
company fell into order, two and two, to walk
across the green to church, where Parson
Phillips was waiting to marry the young
pair. My Lady Bedinfield and two of her
daughters had thought right to honour the
ceremony by coming to look on from the
elevation of the family pew, and afterwards
to praise the rustic grace of the White Rose
of Hambledon. Mistress Lucy Bedinfield
and her sister Elizabeth would have given
half their rich clothing for a tint out of her
cheeks: they were but sickly young gentlewomen
on whose complexions Mistress
Gilbert's various washes had no effect at all,
unless it were to make them deader and duller
than even Nature—who coloured them in one
of her penurious, pallid moods—had ever
intended.

When Rose walked out of church, her
pretty blue eyes downcast, and holding
Richard's arm, the folks inside blessed her
softly as became the place, and those outside
gave them a cheer, after which the bells rang
out a famous wedding peal. Mistress
Gilbert's clayey visage looked colder and more
clayey than ever as they disappeared. Nobody
heeded her, and she did not choose to follow
the returning party to Master Simon's house;
but when my Lady Bedinfield, the rabble
being dispersed, issued stately from the family
pew with her daughters behind her, she was
graciously told that she might walk with
them to the Hall. Perhaps my lady loved
a little gossip as much as if she were a mere
common person; and, if so, her waiting-woman
was just the person to gratify her, not being
in the least scrupulous that her intelligence
should be fact rather than fiction.

"They are a pretty pair of lovers, I'm
sure, and Rose's dress was uncommon gay;"
said Lady Bedinfield, who had a mother's
heart.

"Her cheek could not have looked fresher
if it had been painted. Gilbert, your new
wash for the face is quite useless;" querulously
observed Mistress Elizabeth: "I am sure it
dries the skin."

"Natural roses have the finest bloom,"
replied Lady Bedinfield, who had been a beauty
herself, and was still a handsome woman.
She sometimes had a little spite against her
daughters for being so unmanageably plain.

"Rose Nicholl's bloom looks natural," said
Mistress Gilbert with an air of sarcastic
respect; "it looks even brighter than nature."

"You are jealous, Gilbert; we know all
about the young suitor's indifference to black
eyes when blue ones are willing to shine on
him," returned Lady Bedinfield with a jolly
laugh—she was above caring for her waiting-
woman's feelings, and, besides, she had just
been touched and pleased by the pretty scene