The day before I went my father informed me about those to whom I was going. It seemed the Duke of Northumberland, knowing my father, Sir Henry Brown, with whom he had been in battles in their younger days, had sent for me to come and be one of the gentlewomen of his daughter-in-law, the young Lady Jane Grey, newly married to his fourth son, Lord Guildford Dudley, in London City. My father said that it was a great distinction for me to be selected out of scores of other country maidens for the work, and that if ever I had speech with the noble duke I was to thank him heartily for his favour towards us--this I promised readily, not knowing what manner of man that was whose doings were afterwards an enormous factor in working dire woe to those I loved. And then my father went on to say that business of importance would prevent his going with me on this my entrance into the big world--oh, father! I saw through that, for was it not from you I inherited the nature which loved home and freedom better than the life among great people of exalted rank?--but he said he would send me with old and trusty servants, who would take me safely in a horse-litter from our town of Brighthelmstone[1] on the south coast, all the long way to Sion House, in Isleworth, near London City, where my Lady Grey was residing at that time. [1] Now called Brighton.--ED. And the next day, after a troubled leave-taking from all I loved so dearly, I suffered him to bestow on me his blessing, which he did with many words of touching kindness, and put me in the litter. I must confess that I did not perceive very much of the road we went over during the first part of my journey, owing to a weakness which came on in my eyes and a sickness and dejection of spirit such as I had never previously known, and my good maid Betsy proved to be very annoying for talking over much, which was indeed her wont when excited, and making doleful laments about the dangers of the way and the roughness of the roads that, without doubt, somewhat impeded our progress. But afterwards, after a long while, I felt better and could think less miserably of my father's tender blessing and of the sudden breakdown and loud crying of poor Jack and the afflicting disappearance of Hal, who I knew had hidden himself in order that he might get over the parting in secret, and the crying of the woman servants we left behind, and solemn faces of the men and the waving of Master Montgomery's old hat as we passed the parsonage, so that by the time we neared a neighbouring castle I could even look admiringly upon it. We stayed that night at Horsham, in a queer little inn kept by a monstrously fat innkeeper and his exceedingly thin wife, who at another time would have amused me greatly by her fussiness and servility.