Sir _Robert_ lifted Aunt _Joyce's_ hand to his lips, with ever so much fun in his eyes, though his mouth were as grave as a whole bench of judges. "My mistress," said he, "I have been wed long enough to have learned never to gainsay a gentlewoman." "Nay, _Dulcie_ never learned you that!" saith Aunt _Joyce_. "I know her better. Your daughters may have done, belike." Sir _Robert_ did but laugh, and so ended the matter. SELWICK HALL, MARCH THE XXX. So here I am come to the last day of our Chronicle--to-morrow being _Sunday_, when methinks it unseemly to write therein, without it were some godly meditations that should come more meeter from an elder pen than mine. To-morrow even I shall give the book into the hands of Aunt _Joyce_, that she may read the same, and write her own thoughts thereon: and thereafter shall _Father_ and _Mother_ and _Anstace_ read it. There be yet fifteen leaves left of the book, and metrusteth Aunt _Joyce_ shall fill them every one: for it standeth with reason that her thoughts should be better worth than of young maids like us. I wis not well if I have been wise on the last page or no, as _Father did_ seem diverted to hear me to say I would fain be. I am something afeared that I come nearer _Milisent_ her reckoning, and have been wise on none. But I dare say that _Helen_ hath fulfilled her hope, and been wise on all. Leastwise, Aunt _Joyce_ her wisdom, as I cast no doubt, shall make up for our shortcomings. I cannot but feel a little sorry to lay down my pen, and as though I would fain keep adding another line, not to have done. Wherefore is it, I marvel, that all last things (without they be somewhat displeasant) be so sorrowful? Though it be a thing that you scarce care aught for, yet to think that you be doing it for the very last time of all, shall cause you feel right melancholical. Well! last times must come, I count. So farewell, my good red book: and when the Queen's Majesty come to read thee (as _Milly_ would have it) may Her Majesty be greatly diverted therewith; and when _Father_ and _Mother_, may they pardon (as I reckon they shall) all faults and failings thereof, and in particular, should they find such, any displeasance done to themselves, more especially of that their loving and duteous daughter, that writes her name _Editha Louvaine_. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. At this time separate articles from the dress, and fastened in when worn, according to taste. Note 2. Silk stockings. New and costly things, being about two guineas the pair. Note 3. "_Timeo Danaos, ac dona ferentes_." CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE JOY OF HARVEST. "Now that Thy mercies on my head The oil of joy for mourning pour, Not as I will my steps be led, But as Thou wilt for evermore." Anna L. Waring. (_In Joyce Morrell's handwriting_.)