"Ah, but he is like my grandfather in that he is wise; only he is wise like a philosopher, and looks at the matters of this world as if he were sitting away high up with Greeks, and Romans, and saints, in the clouds. Grandad used to say father cared more for the laws of Plato's Republic than he did for English Acts of Parliament, and that some day he would be asking if Queen Bess sat still on the throne! While my grandfather was wise for everything, for the constables, and the soldiers, and the poor folks, and the Parliament; so when he died it was as though the sky had fallen, and no one knew which way to turn." But there was little time to spare, even for such a chatterbox as Audrey to discourse in. She was soon flying round the house, searching and planning, emptying cupboards, and tying up bundles, and Richard found work enough to drive away all thoughts, save how best to defend bedding from salt water, and whether it were possible to carry the great brass warming-pan over seas. Not till evening drew on and the chests and bundles were piled ready in the entry, did the thoughts that had laid in ambush all day spring out and possess him again. The pleasant occupation, the novelty of the girl's bright society and ready sympathy, had charmed them to sleep for a while, but the sickness that lay at his heart was part of himself; it was only the more real that he could turn from it for a while, and come back and find it unchanged. "Prithee, good brother," cried Audrey, crossing to the chimney corner, where he sat in sudden gloom, "why so sad? Are you already repenting of having chosen a hard task-mistress as a travelling companion?" He started from his study. "No, truly," he answered; "'tis the pleasantest day I have spent since the troubles came upon us. I reckon I have laughed more this day than I have for a twelve-month past. But, sweet sister, is there not enough to make a man sad nowadays?" "Yes," she answered gently; "but you must not grieve overmuch for General Harrison. Surely, though the way thereto was hard, now he hath attained to rest from his labours." "Ay," answered Richard, bitterly, rising and pacing up and down the kitchen, "but do his works follow him? Indeed I grieve no longer for him of whom this land is not worthy. How may I dare to grieve, having witnessed his triumph over a death of agony? But what of the liberties of England for which he gave his life? If our cause had been of God would it not have gone forward? But He hath not owned us, and our labour was spent in vain."