After breakfast the following morning, while Sir Richard and I were sipping our morning draught in the dingy little library, he brought up the subject of the night before.
"As you justly observed, Baron Ned," my uncle began, restraining his emotion as best he could, "sooner or later my daughters will have to face the world alone. I am of no help to them now, and perhaps shall be no loss when I am gone, but it is like taking the heart out of me to send my beautiful girl to this unholy king; the wickedest man in the vilest court on earth. But it must be done. God help me and save her!"
"I will not go!" cried Frances, running into the room from the hallway, and kneeling by her father's chair.
"I fear you must, Frances," answered Sir Richard. "There, there, we'll say it is settled and let it rest a few days, so that we may grow used to the thought before making our plans in detail."
* * * * *
After dinner I missed Frances, and when I asked Sarah where she had gone,
I received answer in one word: "Walking."
"Alone?" I asked. Sarah smiled.
In a moment I said, "I think I, too, shall go walking."
"The Bourne Path is pretty," suggested Sarah.
"Will you come with me?" I asked.