“The Minories, Saint Stephen.
“‘God knoweth best when His corn is ripe.’
“I have been told this to-day, and I need remember it this even. Otherwise, methinks a shower of tears should blot out my writing. I thought that sheaf could be no riper, years ago. The storms had beaten on it, but had not hurt it, and it was very fair; and now it lacked but a season of sunshine, and to that I looked forward in hope. How little did I know that the sunshine was but making it ready for the harvest, meet for Heaven, nearer God!
“O my love, my own darling Frances! shall I say it is hard to think of you in Heaven? Shall I say it is hard that, in the stead of your coming to me, I must now go to you? Shall I grieve in the first hour of my hope and England’s, that God saw it best to take you gently to Himself, ere that hope could do more than to throw the beam of his rising on your dying pillow?
“You have seen your beloved father, my dear master. And I do not think he told you that the Lord dealt ungently with him.”
Four hours earlier, as I was sewing in my chamber, Barbara came to me.
“Mistress,” said she, “below is Mrs Basset, and with her two ladies in doole.”
Methought these might perhaps be the Lady Elizabeth Jobson and Mr James Basset’s widow, whom she had brought with her; and down went I to greet Philippa. But I found the two ladies were strangers; at the least I knew not their faces. I greeted Philippa, and sat down, when I had louted to the others; but to mine amaze one of the ladies saith—
“Mrs Avery, have you forgot Kate Ashley?”
I rose in astonishment, and begged my Lady Ashley’s pardon, for of a surety I had not known her. So I took her by the hand and kissed her; and was about to sit down again, when, with a smile that I could scarce fail to know, the other stranger saith—