Another letter came from Mr Rose in July, bringing good news of his welfare; and in August Annis Holland was married to Don Juan de Alameda.
Writing on the 21st of August, in her diary, Isoult said—
“Not one word more touching Robin. There be times when I feel as though I could bear it no longer, though what I could do to end it, soothly I cannot tell. I conceive well what David signified, when he saith he did roar through the very disquietness of his heart. I dare not tell this to Marguerite, for she is too nearly of the same complexion to give me any comfort; and to say a word to Esther is no good, for she silenceth me at once with some passage of Holy Writ as ‘Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?’ And what can I say to that but Amen? Jack is always loving and tender, but he can (I well perceive) see little comfort herein himself; and to do so much as name the thing to Thekla were wanton cruelty, though I do fancy she should be the best comforter. So I must wait on, and cry unto God. It may be that is the very thing He would have of me.”
Bad news came by Austin, early in 1557—the death of the Earl of Sussex (Note 4), Mr Rose’s chief friend in high places. Poor Marguerite was much downcast, saying they had now lost their best friend.
“No, Mother dear,” answered Thekla, “not our best Friend. He is in an higher place; and He dieth no more.”
Another Easter came and passed; and King Philip returned to England.
Every now and then Austin visited the Lamb; but he brought no news of Robin. Isoult thought she had never realised how dearly she loved the lad till now. It was hard to thank God for such a blank in the home as this; and yet deep in the inmost heart she knew, as every Christian knows, that the Father was doing all things well, and that “there was no must be without a needs be.” To wait on the Lord is no easy task to flesh and blood; but there is one thing yet harder, and that is to rest in the Lord while waiting.
And meanwhile Thekla drooped and faded, day by day. She never spoke now of Robin; but it was easy to see that she had not forgotten him. Slower and more languid grew her step, and her face whiter and graver, with an expression of sorrowful patience, which did not quit its hold upon the lips even when they smiled.
“She is worn to a shadow,” said Marguerite, bitterly. “Why cannot we go home to God? What profit is it to Him that we do suffer?”
And Isoult was silent; but she remembered Robin’s words about “believers in the dark.”