As I have said, breakfast was not at that time the serious matter it has since become. I had been bidden to repair to the small dining-room for mine, and did so. There, to my great joy, I found Walter, eating his bread and milk, with a book open by his basin, as he used to do at the hall. It may be guessed that we found plenty to say to each other. He told me that the hall was shut up and empty, save for the old servants who staid to look after it. Sir John Lambert, with whom he had studied, had gone abroad to save his life, being accused of heresy and he, himself, had had a narrow escape from the clutches of Father Barnaby. "I know not how he let me go, only that he could not find in his heart to burn so good a Latinist," said he, smiling. "When my kind friend went abroad, I betook myself to my parish of Coombe Ashton, and there I have lived till now. But I have left my cure in good hands, and am come up to London, for a time, to study the Greek and Hebrew to more advantage. The Duke of Suffolk hath kindly given me a place in his household, where I hope to serve well both my earthly and Heavenly Master. But now tell me of yourself. Where have you been, all these years?" "'Tis a long tale," said I. "I can only give you the outlines thereof," which I did, only saying naught of the cause which sent me from London to Dartford. "But, Walter," I added ('twas a wonder to see how easily we went back to the old names), "how does it happen that you have not heard all this before? Did you not care enough for your old playmate to ask your mother about her?" Walter's face clouded, and I saw that I had touched on a tender chord. "My mother and myself have seen very little of each other of late," said he, sadly. "You know she was somewhat arbitrary in her disposition," (I thought I did, indeed), "and she was greatly displeased with me for taking up with the new learning, and, as she said, abetting Sir John in the destroying of souls. She made the price of her blessing the abandonment of my most dear and inward convictions of truth, and as I could not comply, she even cast me off and disinherited me, so far as it was in her power to do so. Think you, I was wrong not to give way?" "Whoso loveth his father or mother more than Me is not worthy of Me," said I. His face brightened in a moment, and he said, in a low tone: "Then you, too, are a reader of the Evangel. Where did you learn that?" I told him, adding, "I do wish you knew the Davis family. They are the best people in the world." "I know Master Hall and his wife, at least to speak to," said he. "She seems, indeed, like a most generous woman, such as the wise man calls a crown to her husband." "But did your mother then disinherit you?" I asked.