Little Roger's grief was according to his character—intense, but not abiding. Novelty had for him the charm which it has for all children; and he soon began to look forward to the coming journey to England, and the meeting with his grandmother, and with his brother and sisters, who had been left in her care. But before the journey could be taken, the royal assent and formal licence were an absolute necessity. By the death of the Earl, the viceroyalty devolved on his successor in the earldom until a fresh appointment was made; and the Viceroy must not leave his post except under leave of the Sovereign. Master Richard Byterre, squire of the late Earl, was sent to England to tell the news, and obtain the necessary authorisation, and until his return the household at Carrickfergus was occupied in quietly preparing for the change which was about to come upon it.
But before the return of Byterre, Reginald de Pyrpount arrived from England with the heaviest news of all.
The coffin of the Earl had been taken by sea direct from Cork to Milford Haven, and thence to Wigmore. Perhaps too suddenly, the tidings of the death of her last child were broken to the widowed mother. She came down into the hall of the Castle, whither the Coffin had been carried: the lid was lifted, and she gazed long and earnestly on the face of her dead: but through it all she never shed a tear. When she had regained her own rooms, her squire asked if it were her pleasure that the funeral should be proceeded with on the next day.
"Nay, not all so soon," was the answer. "Wait but a little, and ye shall bear my coffin too."
Despite all the efforts of her anxious suite, the Countess Philippa refused to be comforted. She would go down, into the grave unto her son, mourning. She took to her bed on the second day. Her confessor came to reason with her.
"This is not well, Lady," said he. "You are a rebellious subject unto your heavenly King—a child that will not kiss the Father's rod. Submit you to Him, and be at peace."
"Not a rebel, Father," answered the low pathetic voice. "Only a child too tired to work any more. Let me go to Him that calleth me."
"But there is much for you to live for, Lady——" resumed the confessor, but she interrupted him.
"I know. And I would have lived if I could. I would have lived for my little Roger. But I cannot, Father. Heart and brain and life are tired out. God must have a care of my little child. I am too weary to tend him. Let me go!"
They had to let her go. On the evening of the third day, with one deep sigh as of relief in the ending of the struggle, she laid down the weary weight of life, and went to Him who had called her.