“It is, indeed, miss,” said the man; “the water is five seconds in falling.”
“Five seconds!” cried Agnes; “why, that is only the twelfth part of a minute; surely it must have been much longer than that!”
“Time,” said Mrs. Merton, “often appears to us much longer or shorter than it really is, according to the circumstances in which we are placed. Thus, as we are accustomed to hear a splash of water thrown into other water, the very moment we see it fall, the time that elapsed between your seeing this water fall and hearing it splash, appeared to you much longer than it really was.” The man then let down a lighted lamp; and Agnes, who watched its descent, was astonished to see how it dwindled away, till at last it appeared like a little star, and she saw its reflection on the water.
They had now seen all that was interesting in the “Well House;” and having left it, they were about to cross to the chapel on the opposite side of the court, when they met the old gentleman who had been their fellow-traveller in the railway carriage and in the steam-boat. He seemed very glad to see them again, and was much amused with Agnes’s account of all the wonders that she had seen in the “Well House.”
“And no doubt,” said he, “you have also seen the window through which Charles attempted to escape; but are you aware that two of his children were confined here after their father was beheaded?”
They replied that they had seen the tomb of the Princess Elizabeth at Newport.
“Ay,” said the old gentleman; “she was said to be poisoned, but I believe the poor thing died of grief. She was called Miss Elizabeth Stuart, and her brother Master Harry; and it is said that the poor things almost broke their hearts when they found nobody knelt to them, or kissed their hands. It was said that the Parliament intended to apprentice Elizabeth to a mantua-maker; but she died, and disappointed them, and two years afterwards Cromwell sent the little Duke of Gloucester to the Continent.”
“We were going to the chapel,” said Mrs. Merton; “will you walk in with us?”
“This chapel,” said he, pointing to that to which they were bending their steps, “is dedicated to St. Nicholas, the patron Saint of children, students, sailors, and parish clerks.”
“What an odd mixture!” said Mrs. Merton, smiling.