“And what think you,” she asked, “of the chances touching Robin?”
“Mrs Avery,” said he, “there are no chances in God’s government. And this is a matter wherein we cannot so much as guess what may have been His will. Yet if you would know what I think most likely in mere human reasoning, I confess I have little hope of his life.”
Isoult’s heart sank like lead: she felt now how much hope she had nursed, though she thought it so little. But her faith in Mr Rose’s forecast was great. And Lady Ashley’s words came back to her—“God knoweth best when His corn is ripe.” Ah! how afraid she was that that sheaf was ripe, and had been carried into the garner! Yet could she tell God that He had judged ill, or that He should have left His fair sheaf to the spoiling, for her pleasure?
When John came home one evening, he told them that he had met with Mr Underhill, who held by the hand his little Guilford. And coming through Cornhill, at the shop-door of a bowyer were bows and quivers of shafts; and Guilford, pulling his father’s hand, cried, “Father, Father, do buy me a bow and arrows!”—“Buy thee a bow and arrows, quotha!” answered Mr Underhill, “a shred and snip like thee!”
“What wouldst thou do an’ thou hadst a bow and arrows, Guilford?” said John. “Shoot all the Papists,” replied the child. “Thou bloodthirsty little ruffian!” cried Mr Underhill, yet laughing. “Nay,” said John to him, “blame not the child: he doth but take mightily after a certain father of his, that I know.” Whereat (said John) Mr Underhill laughed till the tears ran from his eyes.
Mr Rose preached his first sermon since coming home, in the pulpit of Bow Church, on the 8th of January. It was a glad day to the Gospellers. His text was, “When the Lord turned again the captivity of Zion, we were like them that dream.” He spoke highly of the Queen, saying that “she had suffered for the Gospel, and should know how to be compatient (sympathising) with other that had suffered.” Of himself he said little; but of Christ much.
And when he came out of the church, dozens and dozens of hands were held forth to welcome him, till the tears came into his eyes at such a greeting. One old Gospeller woman cried out, “Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace!”
“Nay, good Joan,” answered Mr Rose. “The reason wherefore the Lord hath kept us alive is, that we have not yet done all our work. At least so I take it. ’Tis somewhat too early to be singing the harvest-home afore all the corn be gathered in. Let us hasten to finish the reaping, and then we may sing.”
Then came Mr Underhill with great strides, and held out his hand. (John said aside to his wife, “I would Ned Underhill could learn, without any telling him, that a man’s hand, and yet more a woman’s, is not made of mill-stones. He hath given me some cruel gripes ere now: ’tis a painful form of love.”)
“Welcome home the second time!” cried Mr Underhill, cheerily. “Mrs Rose, your servant. But I say, man! do you not know you are divorced by process of law?”