"Will you try?" sayd Roger. "Will you but let me try? Will you let me write to him?"
I had a Mind to say "Yes."—Insteade, I answered "No."
"Then there's an End," cried he sharplie. "Had you made but one fayre Triall, whether successfulle or noe, I coulde have been satisfied—no, not satisfied, but I woulde have esteemed you, coulde have taken your Part. As it is, the less I say just now, perhaps, the better. Forgive me for having spoken at alle."
——Afterwards, I hearde him say to Rose of me, "I verilie believe there is Nothing in her on which to make a permanent Impression. I verilie think she loves everie one of those long Curls of hers more than she loves Mr. Milton."
(Note:—I will cut them two Inches shorter tonight. And they will grow all the faster.)
. . . Oh, my sad Heart, Roger Agnew hath pierced you at last!
I was moved, more than he thought, by what he had sayd in the Morning; and, in writing down the Heads of his Speech, to kill Time, a kind of Resentment at myselfe came over me, unlike to what I had ever felt before; in spite of my Folly about my Curls. Seeking for some Trifle in a Bag that had not been shaken out since I brought it from London, out tumbled a Key with curious Wards—I knew it at once for one that belonged to a certayn Algum-wood Casket Mr. Milton had Recourse to dailie, because he kept small Change in it; and I knew not I had brought it away! 'Twas worked in Grotesque, the Casket, by Benvenuto, for Clement the Seventh, who for some Reason woulde not have it; and soe it came somehow to Clementillo, who gave it to Mr. Milton. Thought I, how uncomfortable the Loss of this Key must have made him! he must have needed it a hundred Times! even if he hath bought a new Casket, I will for it he habituallie goes agayn and agayn to the old one, and then he remembers that he lost the Key the same Day that he lost his Wife. I heartilie wish he had it back. Ah, but he feels not the one Loss as he feels the other. Nay, but it is as well that one of them, tho' the Lesser, should be repaired. 'Twill shew Signe of Grace, my thinking of him, and may open the Way, if God wills, to some Interchange of Kindnesse, however fleeting.
Soe I soughte out Mr. Agnew, tapping at his Studdy Doore. He sayd, "Come in," drylie enoughe; and there were he and Rose reading a Letter. I sayd, "I want you to write for me to Mr. Milton." He gave a sour Look, as much as to say he disliked the Office; which threw me back, as 'twere; he having soe lately proposed it himself. Rose's Eyes, however, dilated with sweete Pleasure, as she lookt from one to the other of us.
"Well,—I fear 'tis too late," sayd he at length reluctantlie, I mighte almost say grufflie,—"what am I to write?"
"To tell him I have this Key," I made Answer faltering.