But such it is: and though we may be taught
To have in childhood life, ere love we know,
Yet life is useless till by reason taught,
And love and reason up together grow.
SIR W. DAVENANT
"And, indeed, my grave Lady Constance plays with the poor fish in a very
sportsmanlike manner; only, methinks, a little too shy, and a trifle too
sensitive! Marry, girl! what a most yielding, docile, and affectionate
wife you would make!--like one of the heroines in the ancient Spanish
romances; or such a one as--Judith!--no--for you would never venture to
chop off a man's head--Stay--did she so?--or--Barbara! you are well read
in Scripture history; and, though you ply your needle so industriously,
that will not prevent your calling to mind some of the holy women in the
Bible, to whom your mistress may be compared."
Barbara Iverk, who had no other duty at Cecil Place than to wait upon
the young heiress or assist in her embroidery, was considered and
treated more as a humble companion than a menial; and Lady Frances
Cromwell talked just as freely to Mistress Cecil in her presence as if
they were perfectly alone. Nor was such confidence ever abused by the
gentle girl. She moved within her small circle like an attendant
satellite upon a brilliant star--silent and submissive--yet ever in her
place, ever smiling, innocent, and happy,-"A maid whom there were few to praise,
And very few to love."
Simple and single-minded, her soul had never been contaminated by the
idea, much less the utterance, of falsehood. Even to Constantia, the
fulness of her worth and fidelity was unknown; although the bare
contemplation of Barbara's ever parting from her was one of actual
pain.
She replied to the lively question of the Lady Frances in her usual
straightforward and unpresuming manner: a manner that afforded
considerable amusement to the merry trifler, by whom the little Puritan
was commonly spoken of, while absent, as "the fresh primrose."
"Indeed, my lady, I do not like mixing up profane and holy things
together."
"Fie, Barbara! to call your mistress profane. Constance, do put down
those heavy poems of Giles Fletcher, and listen to your bower-maiden,
describing you as one of the profane."
Constance looked up and smiled; while poor Barbara endeavoured to free
herself from the charge with earnestness and humility.
"My Lady Frances, I ask your pardon; but I can hardly, I fear, make you
understand what I mean. I know that Mistress Cecil is always aiming at
the excellence to which the holy women of Scripture attained--but----"