"I fear so," answered my mother, sighing, "and also many another. 'Tis a part of the cross that these days of shaking and separation lay upon us, that we must ofttimes seem to desert those who are nearest and dearest to us. It is a woeful necessity."
And here the conversation ended. My father is to send letters to Mother Superior, to acquaint her with the matter, and I have also written. My heart is sore grieved, but what can I do?
[CHAPTER XXX.]
June 30.
MASTER HAWKINS, Harry's captain, hath been to see us. He's a rough sea dog, as my father says, but yet kind and good, as it seems to me, and with a clear, honest face that I felt disposed to trust. Harry took to him greatly, and is more than ever confirmed in his resolution of sailing. Master Hawkins says Harry is like a young bear, with all his troubles to come; but he adds very sensibly that troubles come everywhere, and reminded my mother of her young cousin whose father would not let him go to sea because he was the only son, and who was drowned in a pond in his father's orchard. The ships do not sail till the last of August, so we shall have Harry for two good months yet.
Something happened this morning which has vexed me more than I believe it is worth. I was down at Freshwater, to carry some baby clothes and a bottle of sack to Meg Yeo, who is not getting up well from her lying-in. I noticed that two or three people stared at me curiously, and methought there was something odd in Meg's own manner, which, however, melted away under the influence of the baby linen. While I was there, Dame Lee, Meg's mother, came in.
"So, Mistress Rosamond, you are looking fine and stout again," said she, and then to her daughter: "Did I not tell you, Meg, they were but idle tales yonder woman told? Does our young lady look like one haunted by spectres, or hunted by a cruel step-dame?"
Her words were spoken aside, but not so low as that I did not hear them.