in the church. A marriage always refreshed
her, and made her think of her own youth.

Mistress Gilbert's face blushed lividly.
That taunt was not needed to increase the
deadly hatred she had conceived for Richard
and his young wife. She dropped behind and
would not answer when spoken to. Lady
Bedinfield called to her just as they were
entering the house, and said in the same tone
of mockery: "If Rose's beauty is all paint,
why don't you put it on too, Gilbert?"

"I did not say it was all paint, my lady. I
wish it were. It would be the less harm,"
replied the waiting-woman.

"If it is neither Nature nor paint, what is
it?" asked Lady Bedinfield.

"It is devil's beauty. I saw his mark
on her neck to-day," said Mistress Gilbert.

Lady Bedinfield laughed again, but this
time in a less loud and assured manner.
Scarcely any one in these very good old times
was altogether free from the black plague-
spot of superstition, and she was neither
better nor wiser than her age. She entered
her house in silence, and Mistress Gilbert,
pacing her room that night vehemently, as a
caged wild beast newly caught, rejoiced to
think that she had dropped on her rival's
fair fame the first deadly drop of that corrosive
poison which she hoped ere long to see
blacken and blast it utterly.

II.

THE apartments of the two sisters at
Bedinfield Hall adjoined, and Mistress Gilbert
passed from one to the other attending on
the young ladies. There was company that
day; especially, there was one young gallant
named Sir Henry Cavendish, whom either
of the girls would have been proud to
captivate; for, not only was he handsome, brave,
and accomplished, but he was also wealthy.
Mistress Lucy stood before her mirror, fully
dressed; but there was dissatisfaction on
her countenance,—she had small, delicate
features, but her skin was cloudy, her eyes
were lacking in brilliance. Mistress Elizabeth
was even worse favoured; for her
visage was long and lean as well as colourless,
and her eyes were not so perfectly set as
they might have been. The waiting-woman
had suffered something from their tongues
that morning, as her chafed and hurried
manner betrayed.

"You will soon be of no more use to us
than a mole, Gilbert. Can you not see how
thick my complexion is to-day?" said Mistress
Lucy, pointing at her own reflection in the
glass; she always laid the blame of Nature's
defects on her abigail.

"Yes, Mistress Lucy, I see—" she
hesitated a minute, opened the door to look into
the passage, and then whispered, hurriedly,
"I have a powder that I got from Mistress
Turner in London; but if I let you have
some, my lady must never know."

"Ah, good Gilbert, I will not tell her;—
speak low that Elizabeth may not hear. How
does this powder affect one?"

"It preserves youth, makes the skin
smooth, and gives it a bloom like a little
child's; but it is highly dangerous."

"How dangerous? Is it a poison?"

Mistress Elizabeth, overhearing the
mysterious whispering, crept stealthily behind
her door, watched through a chink, and
listened. The arrival of Sir Henry Cavendish
had sown jealousy between the sisters.

"It is a mineral poison; but with care
and in very small quantities, it is safe.
In a week you would be as fair as Rose
Nicholl? Will you try it? or do you fear the
risk?"

"O! I will try it. I would try anything
to have a face like the young smith's wife;
but promise me not to let Elizabeth have
any."

Mistress Gilbert gave the required pledge,
and then stole away to her own chamber to
fetch the powder. The watcher waited for
her return impatiently. When Gilbert re-
entered the room, she brought in her hand a
small box of ebony, which she opened with a
key attached to a chain hidden under her ruff.
Elizabeth listened breathlessly; but she
could not quite catch all that was said. But
she saw a small packet given to her sister, and
by her, after a portion of its contents had been
extracted for immediate use, deposited in her
jewel box. How that taken out was used, she
could not see; for Mistress Gilbert carried it
to where stood the ewer and basin, and
thither Mistress Lucy went to apply it; but
she heard the waiting-woman say, ''It will
sink—mingle it well with the water;" so
she conjectured that it was something to be
swallowed, and determined that she herself
would soon have a face as fair as Rose, the
smith's wife, if it only depended on taking
the powder hidden in the jewel-box.

The application of the powder made no
perceptible improvement in Mistress Lucy's
face that day, and Sir Henry Cavendish was
by no means charmed out of his senses; but,
in the course of the week, there was certainly
a change for the better, and Mistress Elizabeth
—who had not yet found an opportunity
to lay her hands upon any of the powder—
became more and more eager to profit by its
beautifying effects. One evening Mistress
Lucy left her chain with the jewel-box key
fastened to it on her table, and her sister,
who had never ceased to watch, availed
herself of this chance to possess herself of a
good portion of what remained of the powder.
She immediately mixed a little of it with
water, and drank it.

Very soon she was seized with pain, nausea,
and sickness; but not so severely as to enforce
greater caution in using the powder, for she
repeated the dose daily. She suffered, but
her skin acquired a clearness which it had
never worn before, and this would have
reconciled her to anything short of martyrdom.