“Written this second of March, from the gate of the Urbs Beata.”
Chapter Twelve.
Eastward Ho!
“Whether he go to East or West,
With Christ he always is at home.”
Newton.
For a few minutes after Richard finished reading the letter, there was silence, unbroken save by the sound of weeping, in the old hall. Friar Andrew cried like a child. Dame Lovell, too, wept profusely, especially at the passage in which Margery begged her forgiveness, and sobbed forth that she had nothing to forgive her. Richard had hard work to read. He heard her voice in every line, and when he came to the one sentence addressed to himself, he very nearly broke down altogether. After that long pause, Richard, who had been sitting with his head buried in his hands, looked up and spoke.
“Mistress, you mind that I did promise you not to go hence save with your good will?”
“Well, Richard?”
“May I have the same, good mistress, for a season?”