And with that Mistress Ellen ran out of the room, for she was well nigh breaking down herself, in spite of her brave words.
But I turned my face to the wall and lay weeping a long while.
CHAPTER XXVII
CONCLUSION
Home Again
Mistress Ellen was a wise woman; she had brought me out of the Tower that I might recover, away from the scenes which were full of memories of our dear lady; and now, when I was slowly regaining my health in the poor lodgings, which were all we could afford, knowing that the best thing for me would be some useful occupation, she urged that I should begin at once upon the task which my dear lady had left to me.
I therefore sat down before a quantity of clean blank writing paper, a pot of ink and a stock of new quill pens. There were the materials for the framework of my book, and I had the will to do it, yes, and the ability, for I could write a pretty hand and string sentences together, as my lady knew, and my brain was teeming with the facts I had to tell; but there was something lacking, because now I could not write a word. Whenever I lifted up my pen to try and set one down a shadow came between me and the paper, so that I could see nothing except the dear face of my lover as I saw it last when he raised his hand to hide his eyes, and a voice said in my heart, 'He is not dead yet, though he is condemned. He is languishing in the Tower prisons, condemned to death, yes, but not dead yet, and while there is life there is hope.'
Yet I had been told there was none for those who entered the Tower by the Traitors' Gate.
I was sitting one day as usual before my writing materials, unable to set down a word, and thinking over all this again and again, when there was a loud knocking at the house door, and presently our landlady came up to us ushering a visitor into the room.
It was Jack Fish, and the sight of his broad face and burly figure brought to my mind most vividly the times when, with Sir Hubert, I had met with him before. Almost I saw again the half-filled cart in the old shed in Sussex, and, through the dim light, my dear knight's handsome face emerging from the heap of straw in the corner at the sound of this good man's cheery voice, assuring us that he would send our enemies away. Also I seemed to hear again the rolling of the coach and trampling of horses' feet upon the queen's highway, later on, as Master Fish's voice pointed out our danger and particularly mine in the coach, suggesting that I should leave it and escape on horseback, which advice, being carried out, saved me from again falling into my enemy's hands; and, most of all, the sight of Master Jack Fish brought to my mind vividly my dear imprisoned knight.
'Poor child!' said my visitor, forgetting everything except my youth and sorrow of heart. 'Poor child! Thou hast had a hot place in the battle! Thy loving heart again put thee in the position of the greatest danger!' and he turned his head aside, for big tears were rolling down his honest cheeks.