Lady Frances and Mr Monke were married when the summer came. John Avery and Isoult were invited to the wedding; and Philippa sent a special message requesting that their little Kate might be included; for, said she, “Arthur shall be a peck of trouble, and an’ he had one that he might play withal he should be the less.”
“List thee, sweet heart! thou art bidden to a wedding!” said Jennifer to Kate.
“What is a wedding?” inquired four-year-old Kate, in her gravest manner. “Is it a syllabub?”
“Ay, sweet heart; ’tis a great syllabub, full of sugar,” answered Jennifer, laughing.
“That is as it may be, Mrs Jennifer,” observed Dr Thorpe, who was present. “I have known that syllabub full of vinegar. That is, methinks, a true proverb,—‘If Christ be not asked at the match, He will never make one at the marriage-feast.’ And ’tis a sorry feast where He sitteth not at the table.”
“I think He shall not be absent from this,” said Isoult, softly.
So Kate went to Crowe with her parents; but her baby brother Walter, a year old, was left behind in charge of Jennifer.
The evening after their arrival, the bride took Isoult apart, and, rather to her surprise, asked her if she thought that the dead knew what was passing in this world. To such a question there was but one answer. Isoult could not tell.
“Isoult,” she said, her eyes filling with tears, “I would not have him know of this, if it be so. And can that be right and good which I would not he should know?”
Isoult needed not to ask her who “he” was.