CHAPTER TEN.
IN DEEP PLACES.
"So I go on, not knowing-- I would not, if I might. I would rather walk in the dark with God Than go alone in the light: I would rather walk with Him by faith Than go alone by sight."
Philip Bliss.
(_In Edith's handwriting_.)
SELWICK HALL, MARCH THE XVII.Helen's birthday. She is this morrow of the age of seven-and-twentyyears, being eldest of all us save _Anstace_. _Alice Lewthwaite_ countsit mighty late to tarry unwed, but I do misdoubt of mine own mind if_Helen_ ever shall wed with any.
From _Father_ she had gift of a new prayer-book, with a chain to hang ather girdle: and from _Mother_ a comely fan of ostrich feathers, with amirror therein set; likewise with a silver chain to hang from thegirdle. Aunt _Joyce_ shut into her hand, in greeting of her, five gold_Spanish_ ducats,--a handsome gift, by my troth! But 'tis ever Aunt_Joyce's_ way to make goodly gifts. My Lady _Stafford_ did give a pairof blue sleeves, [Note 1] broidered in silver, whereon I have seen herworking these weeks past. Mistress _Martin_, a pair of lovesome whitesilk stockings [Note 2]. Sir _Robert_, a silver pouncet-box [a kind ofvinaigrette] filled with scent. _Anstace_, a broidered girdle of blacksilk; and _Hal_, a comfit-box with a little gilt spoon. _Milisent_, twodozen of silver buttons; and I, a book of the _Psalms_, the which I wist_Helen_ desired to have (cost me sixteen pence). _Ned_ diverted us allby making her present of a popinjay [parrot], the which he brought withhim, and did set in care of _Faith Murthwaite_ till _Nell's_ birthdaycame. And either _Faith_ or _Ned_ had well trained the same, for nosooner came the green cover off his cage than up goeth his foot to hishead, with--
"Good morrow, Mistress _Nell_, and much happiness to you!"
All we were mighty taken [amused] with this creature, and I count _Ned_had no cause to doubt if _Helen_ were pleased or no. Last came_Walter_, which bare in his hand a right pretty box of walnut-wood,lined of red taffeta, and all manner of cunning divisions therein.Saith he--
"_Helen_, dear heart, I would fain have had a better gift to offer thee,but being in the conditions I am, I thought it not right for me to spendone penny even on a gift. Howbeit, I have not spared labour northought, and I trust thou wilt accept mine offering, valueless though itbe, for in very deed it cometh with no lesser love than the rest."
"Why, _Wat_, dear heart!" crieth _Nell_, her cheeks all flushing, "dostthink that which cost money, should be to me so much as half the valueof thine handiwork, that had cost thee thought and toil! Nay, verily!thou couldst have given me nought, hadst thou spent forty pound, thatshould have been more pleasant unto me. Trust me, thy box shall be oneof my best treasures so long as I do live, and I give thee hearty thankstherefor."
_Walter_ looked right pleased, and saith he, "Well, in very deed Ifeared thou shouldst count it worth nought, for even the piece oftaffeta to line the same I asked of _Mother_."
"Nay, verily, not so!" saith she, and kissed him.
To say _Wat_ were last, howbeit, I writ not well, for I forgat_Mynheer_, and Cousin _Bess_, the which I should not.
Cousin _Bess_ marcheth up to _Nell_ with--"Well, my maid, thou hast thismorrow many goodlier gifts than mine, yet not one more useful. 'Tisplain and solid, like me." And forth she holdeth a parcel which, beingoped, did disclose a right warm thick hood of black serge, lined withflannel and dowlas, mighty comfortable-looking. _Mynheer_ cometh upwith a courtesy and a scrape that should have beseemed a noble of therealm, and saith he--
"Mistress _Helena Van Louvaine_--for that is your true name, as I amassured of certainty--I, a _Dutchman_, have the great honour andpleasure to offer unto you, a _Dutch_ vrouw, a most precious relic ofyour country, being a stool for your feet, made of willow-wood thatgroweth by the great dyke which keepeth off from _Holland_ the waters ofthe sea. 'Tis true, you be of the _Nether-Land_, and this cometh of the_Hollow-Land_--for such do the names mean. Howbeit, do me the favour,_Domina mea_, to accept this token at the hands of your obeissant_paedagogus_, that should have had much pleasure in learning you the_Latin_ tongue, had it been the pleasure of your excellent elders.Alack that it were not so! for I am assured your scholarship should havebeen rare, and your attention thereto of the closest."
_Nell_ kept her countenance (which was more than _Ned_ or _Milly_ coulddo), and thanked _Mynheer_ right well, ensuring him that she shouldessay to make herself worthy of the great honour of coming of _Dutch_parentage.
Saith _Father_ drily, "There is time yet, _Mynheer_."
"For what?" saith he. "To learn Mistress _Helena_ the _Latin_?Excellent Sir, you rejoice me. When shall we begin, Mistress_Helena_?--this morrow?"
_Helen_ laughed now, and quoth she,--"I thank you much, _Mynheer_,though I am 'feared you reckon mine understanding higher than itdemerit: yet I fear there shall scantly be opportunity this morrow. Ihave divers dishes to cook that shall be cold for this even, and a dealof flannel-work to do."
"Ah, the dishes and the flannel, they are mine abhorrence!" saith_Mynheer_. "They stand alway in the road of the learning."
"Nay, mine old _paedagogus_!" crieth _Ned_. "I reckon the dishes arelittle your abhorrence at supper-time, nor the flannel of a cold night,when it taketh the form of blankets. 'Tis right well to uphold thelearning, yet without _Nell's_ cates and flannel, your _Latin_ shouldcome ill off."
"The body is ever in the way of the soul!" saith _Mynheer_. "Were wesouls without bodies, what need had we of the puddings and theflannels?"
"Or the _Latin_," sticketh in _Ned_, mischievously.
_Mynheer_ wagged his head at _Ned_.
"_Edward Van Louvaine_, thou wist better."
"Few folks but know better than they do, _Mynheer_," saith _Ned_. "Yetthink you there shall be lexicons needed to talk with King _David_ orthe Apostle _Paul_ hereafter?"
"I trow not," saith _Father_.
"Dear heart, Master _Stuyvesant_," cries Cousin _Bess_, "but sure thecurse of _Babel_ was an ill thing all o'er! You would seem to count ithad a silver side to it."
"It had a golden side, my mistress," made he answer. "Had all men everspoken but one tongue, the _paedagogus_ should scarce be needed, andhalf the delights of learning had disappeared from the earth."
"Eh, lack-a-day!--but how different can folks look at matters!" saithCousin _Bess_. "Why, I have alway thought it should be a rare jollything when all strange tongues were done away (as I reckon they shallhereafter), and all folks spake but plain _English_."
"Art so sure it should be _English_, _Bess_?" saith _Father_, smiling."What an' it were _Italian_ or _Greek_?"
"Good lack, that could never be!" crieth she. "Why, do but think thetrouble all men should have."
"Somebody must have it," quoth he. "I take it, what so were the tongue,all nations but one should have to learn it."
"I'll not credit it, Sir _Aubrey_," crieth _Bess_, as she trotteth offto the kitchen. "It is like to be _English_ that shall become thecommon tongue of the earth: it can't be no elsewise!"
_Mynheer_ seemed wonderful taken with this fantasy of Cousin _Bess_.
"How strange a thought that!" saith Aunt _Joyce_.
"_Bess_ is in good company," answereth _Father_. "'Tis right thereasoning of Saint _Cyril_, when he maketh argument that the Temple ofGod, wherein the Man of Sin shall sit (as _Paul_ saith), cannot signifythe _Christian_ Church. But wherefore, good Sir? say you. Oh, saithhe, because `God forbid it should be this temple wherein we now are!'"
"Well, it is a marvel to me," quoth Aunt _Joyce_, "that some folks seemto have no brains!"
"Is it so great a marvel?" saith _Father_.
"But they have no wit!" saith she. "Why, here yestereven was _Caitlin_,telling me the sun had put the fire out--she'd let it go out, the lazytyke as she is!--Then said I, `But how so, _Caitlin_, when there hathbeen no sun?' (You wist how hard it rained all day.) `Ha!' saith she--and gazed into the black grate, as though it should have helped her toan other excus
e. Which to all appearance it did, for in a minute quothmy wiseacre,--`Then an' it like you, Mistress, it was the light.'"
"A lack of power to perceive the relation betwixt cause and effect,"saith _Father_, drily, "A lack of common sense!" saith Aunt _Joyce_.
"The uncommonest thing that is," quoth _Father_.
"But wherefore should the sun put the fire out?" saith Sir _Robert_.
"Nay, I'll let alone the whys and the wherefores," quoth she. "It doth,and that is enough for me."
_Father_ seemed something diverted in himself, but he said nought more.
All the morrow were we busy in the kitchen, and the afternoon a-work:but in the even come all the young folks to keep _Nell's_ birthday--towit, the _Lewthwaites_, the _Armstrongs_, the _Murthwaites_, the_Parks_, and so forth. Of course _Robin_ had no eyes nor ears for aughtbut _Milisent_. And for all Master _Ned_ may say of his being so rareheart-free, I did think he might have talked lesser with _FaithMurthwaite_ had it liked him so to do. I said so unto him at after, butall I gat of my noble admiral was "Avast there!" the which I took tomean that he did desire me to hold my peace. _Wat_ was rare courtlyamongst all us, and had much praise of all the maidens. Me-wondered if_Gillian Armstrong_ meant not to set her cap at him. But I do misdoubtmine own self if any such rustical maids as be here shall be like toserve _Walter's_ turn. I would fain hear more of this daughter of myLord of _Sheffield_, that was his _Excellency_, but I am not wellassured if I did well to ask at him or no.
SELWICK HALL, MARCH YE XX.'Tis agreed that Aunt _Joyce_, in the stead of making an end of hervisit when the six months shall close, shall tarry with us until Sir_Robert_ and his gentlewomen shall travel southward, the which shall bein an other three weeks' time thereafter. They look therefore to setforth in company as about the twentieth of _April_. I am rare glad (andso methinks be we all) to keep Aunt _Joyce_ a trifle longer. She islike a fresh breeze blowing through the house, and when she is away, as_Ned_ saith, we are becalmed. Indeed, I would by my good will have herhere alway.
"Now, _Aunt_," said I, "you shall have time to write your thoughts inthe Chronicle, the which shall end with this month, as 'twas agreed."
"Time!" quoth she. "And how many pages, my sweet scrivener?"
"Trust me, but I'll leave you plenty," said I. "Your part shall be adeal better worth the reading."
"Go to, Mistress _Edith_!" saith she. "`All the proof of a pudding isin the eating.'"
"I am sure of that pudding," saith _Milisent_.
"These rash young women!" maketh answer Aunt _Joyce_. "When thou hastlived fifty or sixty years in this world, my good maid, thou wilt be atrifle less sure of most things. None be so sure that a box is white ofall sides as they that have seen but one. When thou comest to thesecond, and findest it painted grey, thou wilt not be so ready to swearthat the third may not be red."
"But we can be sure of some things, at any years, _Aunt_," saith_Milly_.
"Canst thou so?" saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Ah, child, thou hast not yet beendown into many deep places. So long as a goat pulls not at his tether,he may think the whole world lieth afore him when he hath buthalf-a-dozen yards. Let him come to pull, and he will find how short itis. There be places, _Milly_, where a man may get to, that he can besure of nothing in all the universe save God. And thou shalt not travelfar, neither, to come to the end of that cord."
"O Aunt _Joyce_, I do never love to hear such talk as that!" saith_Milly_. "It causeth one feel so poor and mean."
"Then it causeth thee feel what thou art," saith she. "'Tis good for aman to find, at times, how little he can do."
"It may be good, but 'tis mighty displeasant," quoth _Milisent_.
"'Tis very well when it be no worse than displeasant," Aunt _Joyce_makes answer. "I thought of places, _Milly_, which were notdispleasant, but awful--where the human soul feels nigh to being shut upin the blackness of darkness for ever. Thou wist little of such thingsyet. But most souls which be permitted to soar high aloft be madelikewise to descend deep down. _David_ went deep enough--may-be deeperthan any other save _Christ_. Look you, he was appointed to write the_Psalter_. Throughout all the ages coming, of his words was the Churchto serve her when she should come into deep places. There must besomewhat therein for every _Christian_ soul, and every _Jewish_ belike,ere _Christ_ came. And to do that, I reckon _David_ had need to go verydeep down. He that shall help a man to climb forth of a well must knowwhereto the water reacheth, and on which side the steps be. Listhim--`Out of the depths have I cried unto Thee, O Lord!' `I am comeinto deep places, where the floods overflow me.'"
"But, _Aunt_," said I, yet was I something feared to say it, "was notthat hard on _David_? It scarce seems just that he should have to gothrough all those cruel troubles for our good."
"Ah, _Edith_," saith she, "the Lord payeth His bills in gold of _Ophir_.I warrant you _David_ felt his deep places sore trying. But ask thouat him, when ye meet, if he would have missed them. He shall seeclearer then when he shall wake up after His likeness, and shall besatisfied with it."
"What sort of deep places mean you, _Aunt_?" saith _Helen_, looking onher somewhat earnestly.
"Thou dost well to ask, _Nell_," quoth she, "for there be divers sortsof depths. There be mind depths, the which are at times, as _Milly_saith, displeasant: at other times not displeasant. But there be souldepths for the which displeasant is no word. When the Lord seems toshut every door in thy face and to leave thee shut up in a well, wherethou canst not breathe, and when thou seest no escape, and when thoucriest and shoutest, He shutteth out thy prayer: when thine heaven abovethee is as brass, and thine earth below thee iron: when it seems as ifno God were, either to hear thee or to do for thee--that is a deep pitto get in, _Helen_, and not a pleasant one."
"Aunt _Joyce_! can such a feeling be--at the least to one that fearethGod?"
"Ay, it can, _Nelly_!" saith Aunt _Joyce_, solemnly, yet with muchtenderness. "And when thou comest into such a slough as that, may Godhave mercy upon thee!"
And methought, looking in Aunt _Joyce's_ eyes, that at some past time ofher life she had been in right such an one.
"It sounds awful!" saith _Milisent_, under her breath.
"It may be," saith Aunt _Joyce_, looking from the window, and after afashion as though she spake to herself rather than to us, "that there besome souls whom the Lord suffers not to pass through such quagmires.May-be He only leads the strongest souls into the deepest places. I saynot that there be not deeps beyond any I know. Yet I know of sloughswherein I had been lost and smothered, had He not held mine hand tight,and watched that the dark waters washed not over mine head too far forlife. That word, `the fellowship of His passions,' hath a long tether.For He went down to Hell."
"But, _Aunt_, would you say that meant the place of lost souls?" saith_Helen_.
"I am wholesomely 'feared of laying down the law, _Nell_," saith Aunt_Joyce_, "touching such matters as I can but see through a glass darkly.What He means, He knoweth. But the place of departed spirits can itscarce fail to be."
"Aunt _Joyce_," saith _Helen_, laying down her work, "I trust it is notill in me to say thus, but in very deed I do alway feel 'feared of whatshall be after death. If we might but know where we shall be, and withwhom, and what we shall have to do--it all looks so dark!"
"Had it been good for us, we should have known," saith Aunt _Joyce_."And two points we do know. `With _Christ_,' and `far better.' Is thatnot enough for those that are His friends?"
"`If it were not so, I would have told you,'" saith my Lady _Stafford_.
"But not _how_, Madam, an' it please you?" asks _Helen_.
"If there were not room; if there were not happiness."
"I take it," saith Aunt _Joyce_, "if there were not all that for whichmy nature doth crave. But, mark you, my renewed nature."
"Then surely we must know our friends again?" saith _Helen_.
"He was a queer fellow that first questione
d that," saith Aunt _Joyce_."If I be not to know _Anstace Morrell_, I am well assured I shall notknow her sister _Joyce_!"
"But thereby hangeth a dreadful question, _Joyce_!" answereth my Lady_Stafford_. "If we must needs know the souls that be found, how aboutthem that be missed?"
Aunt _Joyce_ was silent for a moment. Then saith she--
"The goat doth but hurt himself, _Dulcie_, to pull too hard at thetether. Neither thou nor I can turn over the pages of the Book of Life.It may be that we shall both find souls whom we thought to miss.May-be, in the very last moment of life, the Lord may save souls thathave been greatly prayed for, though they that be left behind never witit till they join the company above. We poor blindlings must leave thatin His hands unto whom all hearts be open, and who willeth not the deathof any sinner. `As His majesty is, so is His mercy.' Of this one thingam I sure, that no soul shall be found in Hell which should have ratherchosen Heaven. They shall go `to their own place:' the place they arefit for, and the place they choose."
"But how can we forget them?" she replieth.
"If we are to forget them," saith Aunt _Joyce_, "the Lord will know howto compass it. I have reached the end of my tether, _Dulcie_; and topull thereat doth alway hurt me. I will step back, by thy leave."
As I listed the two voices, both something touched, methought it shouldbe one soul in especial of whom both were thinking, and I guessed thatwere Mr _Leonard Norris_.
"And yet," saith my Lady _Stafford_, "that thought hath its perilousside, _Joyce_. 'Tis so easy for a man to think he shall be saved at thelast minute, howsoe'er he live."
"Be there any thoughts that have not a perilous side?" saith Aunt_Joyce_. "As for that, _Dulcie_, my rule is, to be as easy as ever Ican in my charitable hopes for other folk; and as hard as ever I can onthis old woman _Joyce_, that I do find such rare hard work to pull ofthe right road. I cannot help other folks' lives: but I can see to itthat I make mine own calling sure. That is the safe side, I reckon."
"The safe side, ay: but men mostly love to walk on the smooth side."
"Why, so do I," quoth Aunt _Joyce_: "but I would be on the side thatshall come forth smooth at the end."
"Ah, if all would but think of that!" saith my Lady, and she fetched asigh.
"We should all soon be in Heaven," Aunt _Joyce_ made answer. "But thouart right, _Dulcie_. He that shall leave to look to his chart till thelast hour of his journey is like to reach home very weary and worn, ifhe come at all. He that will go straight on, and reckoneth to get homeafter some fashion, is not like to knock at the gate ere it be shut up.The easiest matter in all the world is to miss Heaven."
SELWICK HALL, MARCH YE XXV.This morrow, _Milisent_ was avised to ask at _Walter_, in a tonesomewhat satirical, if he wist how his _Excellency_ did.
"Nay, _Milly_, mind me not of my follies, prithee," quoth he, flushing.
"Never cast a man's past ill-deeds in his face, _Milly_," softly saith_Mother_. "His conscience (if it be awake) shall mind him of them oftenough."
"I reckon she shall have forgotten by now how to spell his name," saith_Father_. "There be many such at Court."
"Yet they have hearts in the Court, trow?" saith Aunt _Joyce_.
"A few," quoth _Father_. "But they mostly come forth thereof. For onelike my Lady of _Surrey_--(_Lettice_ will conceive me)--there is many aLady of _Richmond_."
"Oh, surely not, _Aubrey_!" crieth _Mother_, earnestly.
"True, dear heart," answereth he. "Let but a woman enter the Court--anyCourt--and verily it should seem to change her heart to stone."
"Now, son of _Adam_!" saith Aunt _Joyce_.
"Well, daughter of _Eva_?" _Father_ makes answer.
"Casting the blame on the women," saith she. "Right so did _Adam_, andall his sons have trod of his steps."
"I thought she deserved it," saith _Father_.
"She deserved it a deal less than he!" quoth Aunt _Joyce_, in an heat."He sinned with his eyes open, and she was deceived of the serpent."
"Look you, she blamed the serpent, belike," saith Sir _Robert_,laughing.
"I take it, she was an epitome in little of all future women, as _Adam_of all men to come," saith _Father_. "But, _Joyce_, methinks _Paul_scarce beareth thee out."
"I have heard folks to say _Paul_ was not a woman's friend," saith Sir_Robert_.
"That's not true," quoth Aunt _Joyce_.
"Why, how so, my mistress?" Sir _Robert_ makes merry answer. "He badethem keep silence in the churches, and be subject to the men, and not toteach: was that over courteous, think you?"
"Call me a _Frenchman_, if I stand that!" crieth Aunt _Joyce_. "Sir_Robert Stafford_, be so good as listen to me."
"So I do, with both mine ears, I do ensure you," saith he, laughing.
"Now shall we meet with our demerits!" saith _Father_. "I pity thee noto'er much, _Robin_, for thou hast pulled it on thine own head."
"My head will stand it," quoth Sir _Robert_. "Now then, Mistress_Joyce_, prithee go to."
Then quoth she, standing afore him--"I know well you can find me placesdiverse where _Paul_ did bid wives that they should obey their husbands;and therein hold I with _Paul_. But I do defy you in this company tofind me so much as one place wherein he biddeth women to obey men. Andas for teaching, in his Epistle unto _Titus_, he plainly commandeth thatthe aged women shall teach the young ones. Moreover, I pray you, hadnot _Philip_ the evangelist four virgin daughters, which did prophesy--to wit, preach? And did not _Priscilla_, no whit less than _Aquila_,instruct _Apollos_?"
"Mistress _Joyce_, the Queen's Bench lost an eloquent advocate in you."
"That's a man all over!" quoth Aunt _Joyce_, with a little stamp of herfoot. "When he cannot answer a woman's reasoning, trust him to pay hera compliment, and reckon that shall serve her turn, poor fool, a dealbetter than the other."
Sir _Robert_ laughed as though he were rarely diverted.
"_Dulcie_ may do your bidding an' she list," saith Aunt _Joyce_, "buttrust me, so shall not I."
"Mistress _Joyce_, therein will I trust you as fully as may be," saithhe, yet laughing. "Yet, I pray you, satisfy my curious fantasy, andtell me wherein you count _Paul_ a friend to the women?"
"By reason that he told them plainly they were happier unwed," saithAunt _Joyce_: "and find me an other man that so reckoneth. Mark you, hesaith not better, nor holier, nor wiser; but happier. That is it whichmost men will deny."
"Doth it not in any wise depend on the woman?" saith Sir _Robert_, witha comical set of his lips. "It depends on the man, a sight more," saithshe.
"But, my mistress, bethink you of the saw--`A man is what a woman makeshim.'"
"Oh, is he so?" crieth Aunt _Joyce_, in scorn. "She's a deal more whathe makes her. `A good _Jack_, a good _Gill_!' Saws cut two ways, Sir_Robert_."
"Six of one, and half-a-dozen of the other," saith _Father_.
"_Lettice_, come thou and aid me," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Here be two menset on one poor woman."
"Nay, I am under obedience, _Joyce_," saith _Mother_, laughing.
"Forsooth, so thou art!" quoth she. "_Bess_, give me thine help."
"I am beholden to you, Mistress _Joyce_," saith Cousin _Bess_, "but Ilove not to meddle in no frays of other folk. I were alway learned thatwomen were the meaner sort o' th' twain."
"Go thy ways, thou renegade!" saith Aunt _Joyce_.
"Come, _Joyce_, shall I aid thee?" quoth _Father_.
"Nay, thou hypocrite, I'll not have thee," saith she. "Thou shouldstserve me as the wooden horse did the Trojans." And she added some_Latin_ words, the which I wist not. [Note 3.]
"`_Femme qui parle Latin Ne vient jamais a bonne fin_.'"
saith Sir _Robert_ under his voice.
"That is because you like to have it all to yourselves," saith Aunt_Joyce_, turning upon him. "There be _few_ men would not fainer have awoman foolish than learned. Tell me wherefore?"
"I dispute the major,"
quoth he, and shaked his head.
"Then I'll tell you," pursueth she. "Because--to give you _French_ foryour _French_--`_Parmi les aveugles, les borgnes sont rois_.' You loveto keep atop of us; and it standeth to reason that the lower down we arethe less toil shall you have in climbing."
"`Endless genealogies, which breed doubts more than godly edifying,'"saith _Father_. "Are we not landed in somewhat like them?"
"Well, Sir _Robert_, I'll forgive you!" saith Aunt _Joyce_, and heldforth her hand. "But mark you, I am right and you are wrong, for allthat."
Sir _Robert_ lifted Aunt _Joyce's_ hand to his lips, with ever so muchfun in his eyes, though his mouth were as grave as a whole bench ofjudges.
"My mistress," said he, "I have been wed long enough to have learnednever to gainsay a gentlewoman."
"Nay, _Dulcie_ never learned you that!" saith Aunt _Joyce_. "I know herbetter. Your daughters may have done, belike."
Sir _Robert_ did but laugh, and so ended the matter.
SELWICK HALL, MARCH THE XXX.So here I am come to the last day of our Chronicle--to-morrow being_Sunday_, when methinks it unseemly to write therein, without it weresome godly meditations that should come more meeter from an elder penthan mine. To-morrow even I shall give the book into the hands of Aunt_Joyce_, that she may read the same, and write her own thoughts thereon:and thereafter shall _Father_ and _Mother_ and _Anstace_ read it. Therebe yet fifteen leaves left of the book, and metrusteth Aunt _Joyce_shall fill them every one: for it standeth with reason that her thoughtsshould be better worth than of young maids like us.
I wis not well if I have been wise on the last page or no, as _Fatherdid_ seem diverted to hear me to say I would fain be. I am somethingafeared that I come nearer _Milisent_ her reckoning, and have been wiseon none. But I dare say that _Helen_ hath fulfilled her hope, and beenwise on all. Leastwise, Aunt _Joyce_ her wisdom, as I cast no doubt,shall make up for our shortcomings.
I cannot but feel a little sorry to lay down my pen, and as though Iwould fain keep adding another line, not to have done. Wherefore is it,I marvel, that all last things (without they be somewhat displeasant) beso sorrowful? Though it be a thing that you scarce care aught for, yetto think that you be doing it for the very last time of all, shall causeyou feel right melancholical.
Well! last times must come, I count. So farewell, my good red book: andwhen the Queen's Majesty come to read thee (as _Milly_ would have it)may Her Majesty be greatly diverted therewith; and when _Father_ and_Mother_, may they pardon (as I reckon they shall) all faults andfailings thereof, and in particular, should they find such, anydispleasance done to themselves, more especially of that their lovingand duteous daughter, that writes her name _Editha Louvaine_.
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Note 1. At this time separate articles from the dress, and fastened inwhen worn, according to taste.
Note 2. Silk stockings. New and costly things, being about two guineasthe pair.
Note 3. "_Timeo Danaos, ac dona ferentes_."