"More than once did he send overtures for a reconciliation, but I—miserable sinner that I was—would not even read his letters. Meantime he, riding home from market, was set upon by robbers and miserably murdered. A brother of the kinsman who left him the estate started up with a claim which was made good, by the help of some great man his patron. My sister died from the effects of grief, and this poor child was thrown upon the world without a protector, and but for the kindness of my Lady Peckham, whose husband was her kinsman, she might have grown up a wretched, forlorn beggar."
"I humbly thank my dearest Lord," and here he raised his cap, "who hath both granted me conviction of sin and His forgiveness for the same; but He, like earthly parents, sometimes leaves the offender to smart for his fault, even though he is forgiven. I, who would give my hand, could it avail, to call my brother's daughter my own and bring her up as such, have forfeited that right by my cruel and unfeeling conduct. My Lady Peckham has the right to dispose of Loveday, and it is her will that she should go to be brought up at the convent of Gray Nuns not far from Dartford."
So there was no help for it. I had much ado to restrain my sobs, and I saw the gray eyes of the twins fill with tears.
"But, uncle," I faltered and then stopped.
"Loveday does not like the thought of being a nun!" said my aunt Joyce, finishing the sentence for me.
"She is not to become one just now!" said my uncle. "It seems my lady has promised her husband, Sir Edward, that she shall not be professed till she is twenty-one, nor then, unless by her own choice."
"Heaven help her, what choice will she have by that time?" said my aunt.
"A good many things may happen in twelve years!" answered my uncle, dryly. "These are days of change and shaking, you know, aunt. But as Loveday is not to go to this same convent till she is sent for, we will enjoy her company while she is here. 'Each day's trouble is sufficient for the same selfe day,' as we have just read. But, my children, if your father has humbled himself before you, let not the lesson be lost upon you. Remember, never to let the seed of anger and malice take root in your hearts—no, not for an hour. Sure you may see in my case what evil and bitter fruit it may—nay, must bring forth—yea, even after the sin hath been confessed and done away by Christ His own blood and sacrifice."
Young as I was, these words of my uncle made an impression on my mind which was never wholly defaced, though covered by the teachings of later years. My lady's contrivance for evading her promise to her husband was certainly ingenious. In these days we should call it Jesuitical, but we had not then begun to hear very much about the Jesuits, though there has been coil enough since.
"It is a pleasant evening, and the air is fresh and cool after the warm day," said my uncle, after a little pause. "Get your hoods, my children, and we will walk out to the Minories, and then visit the old people at the almshouse."