Judith glanced at the handwriting again, and said, with an affectation of carelessness:
"There be those who have plenty of time, surely, for showing the wonders of their skill. Look at the twisting and turning and lattice-work of it—truly he is a most notable clerk; I would he spent the daylight to better purpose. Read it for me, sweet Prue."
She would have handed the letter—with much studied indifference of look and manner—to her friend, but that Prudence gently refused it.
"'Tis you must undo the string; you know not what may be inside."
So Judith herself opened the letter, which contained merely a sprig of rosemary, along with some lines written in a most ornate calligraphy.
"What does he say?" she asked, but without any apparent interest, as she gave the open letter to her companion.
Prudence took the letter and read aloud;
"Rosemary is for remembrance
Between us day and night;
Wishing that I might always have
You present in my sight.
This from your true well-wisher, and one that would be your loving servant unto death.
T. Q."