“Well, I never heard no such a thing!” crieth she. “To send a letter to London from Cumberland, and have back an answer in nine days!”
“’Tis uncommon rapid, surely,” saith Father. “Well, Walter, my boy—for thine eyes ask the question, though thy tongue be still—my Lord of Oxenford hath loosed thee from thine obligations, yet he speaks very kindlily of thee, as of a servant (Note 3) whom he is right sorry to lose.”
“You told him, Father,”—and Wat brake off short.
“I told him, my lad,” saith Father, laying of his hand upon Walter’s shoulder, “that I did desire to have thee to dwell at home a season: and moreover that I heard divers matters touching the Court ways, which little liked me.”
“Was that all, Aubrey?” asks Aunt Joyce.
“Touching the cause thereof? Ay.”
Then Walter breaks forth, with that sudden, eager way he hath, which Aunt Joyce saith is from Mother.
“Father, I have not deserved such kindness from you! But I do desire to say one thing—that I can see now it is better I were thence, though it was sore trouble to me at the first: and (God helping me) I will endeavour myself to deserve better in the future than I have done in the past.”
Father held forth his hand, and Wat put his in it.
“God helping thee, my son,” saith he gravely. “I do in very deed trust the same. Yet not without it, Walter!”