[CHAPTER XXI.]
Corby End, April 20, 1530.
I LITTLE thought, a year ago, that another April would see me quietly at home in my father's house, and with such a companion—still less that I could be quite content in such a companionship. If any one had told me so, I should have laughed or been angry, I hardly know which, and yet I am quite ready to confess that 'tis all for the best.
My father, my Lady and Harry are all gone to make a visit at Fulton Manor, where is now much company to celebrate the wedding of Sir Thomas' eldest daughter. I was to have gone with them, but when the day came the weather was damp and cold; and as I am only just beginning to be strong again, my Lady and I both thought I should be better at home. Father and Harry were much disappointed, and I saw Harry was a little disposed to lay the blame on my Lady, but a little quiet reasoning and some coaxing finally made him own that all was for the best. So here I am, in sole possession of the house, and for the first time I have got out my book of chronicles.
I have read it all over, and pasted in the loose leaves where they belong, as even should I return to the convent I shall not take it with me. I am minded to continue it, especially as I can now write freely and without concealment. My stepmother never interferes in my private matters. Even Mrs. Prue, who began by attributing to her almost every fault of which woman is capable, now grudgingly admits that my Lady minds her own business, and is passing good-natured. In fact, only for that one mortal sin of marrying my father, I think the old woman would allow her new lady to be a mistress of good conditions.
I suppose I had better begin just where I left off.
The night before Amice died, she begged that I alone might sit with her, saying that Mother Gertrude needed unbroken rest, which was true. Amice was so manifestly near her end that Mother Superior did not like to refuse her anything, and Mother Gertrude somewhat unwillingly gave way. The dear Mother would have spent the whole night in prayer for her niece at the shrine of St. Ethelburga, had not Mother Superior laid her commands on her to go to bed and rest all night.
"Sit close by me, dear Rosamond," said Amice, "you know I cannot speak loud now, and I have much to say."
"You must not tire yourself by talking," said I.