It was a very lonely little maiden who walked on the terrace of Somerset House, a beautiful dove-coloured greyhound, which the queen had given her, her only companion. The animal kept close to its little mistress, thrusting its long muzzle into her hand as if to console her, its speaking brown eyes looking up at her as if to say, "Never mind. We are both young; we shall see them again"; and so she paced up and down the terrace, then, bidding Duke lie down and wait for her, she entered the chapel--a lovely piece of architecture, the work of Inigo Jones--the doors of which were always kept open, though, now the queen was gone, they would be closed.
It required considerable tact in those difficult religious times to bring up a child born of English parents in the midst of the French court. But Patience was a wise woman, broad-minded, and with what was then an almost unknown quality, a vast toleration. She held an anomalous position in the queen's household, even as Agnes herself did; but the marked deference the queen-mother showed her, made it evident that she was a person of high station. The education both of Agnes and the Princess Henrietta was left, to a very great extent, in her hands; it was the same with the religious teaching, the princess had the court chaplain, but Agnes knelt with Patience and learnt the great truths of religion from her lips; she guarded her soul as she guarded her body, she would allow of no religious discussions in her presence. To the grand services of the Church of Rome she did not take her. "You are too young, you would not understand," she said; but morning and evening she would go with her into one of the many beautiful churches in Paris, and in silence and devotion watch and pray. So the child learnt all reverence and the great gospel truths. The Bible was a familiar book to her, read in their quiet chamber. "When you are older you will learn many other things," she told her; and since they had come to England Agnes had awakened to the knowledge that the Christian Church was divided against itself. Sometimes the thought troubled her. Her soul was growing, she was striving to see and understand. Instinctively now, in this her first sorrow, she sought comfort where alone she knew it could be found, and so she entered the beautiful chapel and knelt and prayed that her friends might be given back to her. Then she crossed her arms on the back of the prie-Dieu, and her tears flowed fast and little sobs escaped her. Suddenly she felt a hand laid on her shoulder, and looking up she saw Patience. They both gazed into each other's eyes and smiled.
"Be comforted, sweetheart," whispered Patience; and the beauty of her face, the saintliness of it, struck Agnes as it had never done before.
In truth, Patience, even in appearance, was by no means an ordinary woman. She had a marked personality, was tall and slight, holding herself very erect, always dressed in black, plainly but not inelegantly. She had a certain distinction about her. In age she could not have been more than forty, and she did not look that even. Under her white coif her brown hair waved softly; there were no wrinkles or marks of age upon her face; her hazel eyes were clear, but with an ineffable sadness in them--indeed, sadness was the note which Patience struck. She was seldom seen to smile; even when Agnes was a little child she played with her sadly; but she loved her so intensely that the child did not feel this sadness. She would sooner be with Patience than with anyone; Patience meant home to her. She seldom openly caressed her, but then her whole life toward Agnes was one caress, and instinctively the child felt this.
Now she rose quickly from her knees, and threw her arms round her neck, murmuring:
"At least I have you, my own dear Patience; you have not forsaken me."
"Did you think that possible, my darling?" And taking her by the hand, she led her out into the open. With a short bark of joy and a prolonged whine, Duke sprang upon them.
"I was looking for you," said Patience, "and could not find you. Duke saw me coming along the terrace, and bounded whining to me. 'Where is Agnes?' I asked him. He turned, leapt towards the chapel, looking round to see that I followed him."
"Ah, he is a dear dog!" said Agnes, laying her hand on his head. "Why were you looking for me, Patience? You knew I should not be far."
"Because you forget you are alone now," was the quiet answer, "and you must not wander away; it is not safe for a young girl like you to be alone. You know how seldom I left you and the princess, and then you had an attendant."