“I should deeply regret it, if you did otherwise,” returned Cholmondcley. “Would I had like permission to attend on Lord Guilford. But that is denied me.”
At the mention of her husband’s name, a shade passed over Jane’s countenance—but she instantly checked the emotion.
“My blessing upon your union!” she cried, extending her hands over the pair, “and may it be happy—happier than mine.”
“Amen!” cried Bradford. “Before I take my leave, madam, I trust I shall not transgress the confessor’s commands, if I request you to write your name in this book of prayers. It will stimulate me in my devotions, and may perchance cheer me in a trial like your own.”
Jane readily complied, and taking the book, wrote a short prayer in the blank leaf, and subscribed it with her name.
“This is but a slight return for your compliance with my request, Master Bradford,” she said, as she returned the book, “but it is all I have to offer.”
“I shall prize it more than the richest gift,” replied the preacher. “Farewell, madam, and doubt not I shall pray constantly for you.”
“I thank you heartily, sir,” she rejoined. “You must go with him, Cholmondeley,” she continued, perceiving that the esquire lingered—“We must now part for ever.”
“Farewell, madam,” cried Cholmondeley, again prostrating himself before her, and pressing her hand to his lips.
“Nay, Angela, you must lead him forth,” observed Jane, kindly, though a tear started to her eye. And she withdrew into an embrasure, while Cholmondeley, utterly unable to control his distress, rushed forth, and was followed by Bradford.