"And you were happy before you came here," said the vicar, smiling. "I thought you looked the happiest child I had ever seen when I first saw you. You will always find some joy in life, Agnes; it is in your nature. Come, cheer up!"
The vicar's power over Agnes had always been unquestioned. She stood up, wiped her eyes, and a poor little smile crept over her pretty face.
"There, that's all right," said the vicar, patting her on the shoulder. "Now, Mistress Patience, let me see your letter."
"Well," he said, laying it down, "much honour awaits you, Agnes, and you must try and do us all credit, and prove yourself worthy to be the representative of so good and so old a family as the De Lisles. You are your father's daughter, remember. You never knew him, but your Aunt Patience did, and she will tell you that he was a man of high honour and a good Christian soldier. He served God, he honoured his king, and he loved your mother. Is it not so, Patience?"
"Ah, it is indeed!" she said; "he worshipped his young wife. She was so young and fragile, it was something more than ordinary love which he bore her, and she could not live without him, that is why she died, Agnes. I see her now standing at his stirrup as he bade her farewell. She was brave as long as she saw him, but she fainted in my arms when he was out of sight. I tried hard to make her live for love of you, but she shook her head. 'I cannot', she said, and so she died."
Tears filled even the vicar's eyes as Patience told this story of true love.
Fortunately Martha broke in upon them.
"Peter Kemp says he must be off, that he must be at Skipton before nightfall. The queen was urgent that he should not tarry on the road. He waits your answer."
"He shall have it," said Patience, and going to an ancient cabinet she opened it, drew forth paper and pens, sat down and indited her letter, folded and sealed it, and then went herself into the kitchen and gave it to the man.
She knew him well, even as Rolfe, whom Martha had fetched, did. The men had been comrades together.