Then darting into the chamber, she bore away from a stage
where lay the articles of the toilette, a little silver-backed and
handled Venetian mirror, with beautiful tracery in silvered glass
diminishing the very small oval left for personal reflection and
inspection. That, however, was quite enough and too much for poor
Grisell when Lady Margaret had thrown it to her on her bed, and
rushed down the stair so as to come in the rear of the household just
in time.
A glance at the mirror disclosed, not the fair rosy face, set in
light yellow curls, that Grisell had now and then peeped at in a
bucket of water or a polished breast-plate, but a piteous sight. One
half, as she expected, was hidden by bandages, but the other was
fiery red, except that from the corner of the eye to the ear there
was a purple scar; the upper lip was distorted, the hair, eyebrows,
and lashes were all gone! The poor child was found in an agony of
sobbing when, after the service, the old woman who acted as her nurse
came stumping up in her wooden clogs to set the chamber and bed in
order for Lady Whitburn's visit.
The dame was in hot haste to get home. Rumours were rife as to
Scottish invasions, and her tower was not too far south not to need
to be on its guard. Her plan was to pack Grisell on a small litter
slung to a sumpter mule, and she snorted a kind of defiant contempt
when the Countess, backed by the household barber-surgeon, declared
the proceeding barbarous and impossible.
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