"Tonbert and Will are now at Swaffham; they will keep a watch on de Wick if you wish it."
"I suppose I have left de Wick forever; and I could weep, if I had tears left, for the ill fortune that has come to the old place. You remember Anthony Lynn, the tanner and carrier, Jane?"
"Yes."
"He has bought de Wick from the so-called Parliament. He was very kind to me, and he knew his place; but on my faith! I nearly lost my senses when I saw him sitting in my father's chair. Well, then, I am now in London, and all roads lead from London. I shall not longer spoil my eyes for the Fen country, and
"'De Wick, God knows,
Where no corn grows,
Nothing but a little hay,
And the water comes
And takes all away.'
You remember the old rhyme; we threw it at one another often when we were children. But oh, Jane, the melancholy Ouse country! The black, melancholy Ouse, with its sullen water and muddy banks. No wonder men turned traitors in it."
And Jane only leaned close, and closer to the sad, sick girl. She understood that Matilda must complain a little, and she was not unwilling to let the dreary meadows of the Ouse bear the burden. So the short afternoon wore away to Jane's tender ministrations without one cross word. Early in her visit she had yielded to Matilda's entreaties, had sent home her carriage, and promised to remain all night. And when they had eaten together, and talked of many things and many people, Matilda was weary; and Jane dismissed Delia, and herself undressed her friend as tenderly as a mother could have done; and when the tired head was laid on the pillow, she put her arms under it and kissed and drew the happy, grateful girl to her heart.
"Sweet little Jane!" sighed Matilda; "how I love you! Now read me a prayer from the evening service, and the prayer for those at sea—you won't mind doing that, eh, Jane?"
And after a moment's hesitation Jane lifted the interdicted book, and taking Matilda's hand in hers, she knelt by her side and read the forbidden supplications; and then Matilda slept, and Jane put out the candles and sat silently by the fire, pondering the things that had befallen her friends and acquaintances. The strangeness of the house, the sleeping girl, the booming of the city's clocks and bells, and the other unusual sounds of her position filled her heart with a vague dream-like sense of something far off and unreal. And mingling with all sounds and sights, not to be put away from thought or presence, was that strange powerful picture in the salon—the terrible force of Cromwell's face and attitude as he seemed to stride forward from the group; and the unearthly passion and enthusiasm of the unknown, just a step behind him, would not be forgotten. She saw them in the flickering flame and in the shadowy corners, and they were a haunting presence she tried in vain to deliver herself from.
So she was glad when she turned around to find Matilda awake, and she went to her side, and said some of those sweet, foolish words which alas! too often become a forgotten tongue. Matilda answered them in the same tender, broken patois—"Dear heart! Sweetheart! Darling Jane! Go to the little drawer in my toilet table and bring me a picture you will find there. It is in an ivory box, Jane, and here is the key." And Jane went and found the miniature she had once got a glimpse of, and she laid it in Matilda's hand. And the girl kissed it and said, "Look here, Jane, and tell me who it is."