We reached Ascalon a week ago, making three short days’ journey of it, so as not to over-fatigue the little ones. Those of us who have come are Guy and Lady Sybil, myself, Amaury and Eschine, and the little girls, Agnes and Héloïse. I brought Marguerite and Bertrade only to wait on me. Lady Isabel prefers to stay at Hebron, which is only one day’s journey from the Holy City. She and Messire Homfroy quarrelled violently about it, for he wished to go to Acre, and wanted her to accompany him; but in the end, as usual, she had her own way, and he will go to Acre, and she to Hebron. The night before we set forth, as I was passing Lady Judith’s door, her low voice said— "Helena, my child, wilt thou come in here? I want a word with thee." So I went into her cell, which is perfectly plain, having no hangings of any sort, either to the walls or the bed, only a bénitier[#] of red pottery, and a bare wooden cross, affixed to the wall. She invited me to sit on her bed, and then she said— [#] Holy water vessel. "Helena, unless thou seest some very strong reason, do not speak to the Count touching the Count of Tripoli until we meet again." "Well, I thought I should not," said I. "But, holy Mother, will you tell me why?" "We may be mistaken," she answered. "And, if not, I am very doubtful whether it would not do more harm than good. After all, dear maiden, the shortest cut is round by Heaven. Whenever I feel doubtful how far it is wise to speak, I like to lay the matter before the Lord, and ask Him to speak for me, if He sees good. He will make no mistake, as I might: and He can tell secrets without doing harm, as probably I should. It is the safest way, Helena, and the surest." "I should be afraid!" said I. "But of course, holy Mother, for you"—— "Yes," she said, answering my half-expressed thought. "It is a hard matter to ask a favour of a stranger, especially if he be a king. But where he is thy father——Dost thou understand me, maiden?" Ay, only too well. Well enough to make me feel sick at heart, as if the gulf between grew wider than ever. Should I never find the bridge across? We lead such a quiet, peaceful life here! Some time ago, I should have called it dull; but I am tired of pageants, and skirmishes, and quarrels, and so it is rather a relief—for a little while. Lady Sybil, I can see, enjoys it: she likes quiet. Amaury fumes and frets. I believe Eschine likes it, but won’t say so, because she knows Amaury does not. I never saw the equal of Eschine for calm contentedness. "All right"—"never mind it"—"it does not signify"—are the style of her stock phrases when any thing goes wrong. And "Won’t it be all the same a hundred years hence?" That is a favourite reflection with her. "Oh dear, Eschine!" I could not help saying one day, "I do hate that pet phrase of thine. A hundred years hence! That will be the year of our Lord 1285. Why, thou and I will be nowhere then."