"I would I were your little Nan again," she said. "We were happy then, my Lord—at least I was."
"I never was," was the sad answer. "I only came near enough to see that I could have been. If it had been God's will!"
"It will be, my Lord," replied Anne, brightly. "'Satiabor cum apparuerit gloria tua.[#]'"
[#] Psalm xvii. 15.
"Dost know, little Nan, that thou didst learn that Psalm at mine instance? But when will it be, my darling?—when? It is such a long dark night without thee."
Yet as he said the words, the thought smote him to the heart,—Not long, not long for one of them!
"When God's will is," she responded simply. "We must wait, my Lord. Oh, this awful war! had it never begun!"
She did not realise that they were parted by any but political reasons—mournful necessities, which might come to an end some time. It was better she should not.
"Little Nan," said the Duke, "I love not 'my Lord' from thy lips. Call me Father."
The request was an unusual one. But she looked up and responded as he wished, with tears glistening in the violet eyes.