"He seems to have thought of the adventure as a mere frolic," said mine uncle. "I do not think the idea of any personal risk ever crossed his mind." "If it had, it would have made no difference," said I. "Men who know him well, say he is an utter stranger to fear. I would he were not, for he adventures his life needlessly in hunting and hawking, and he ought to be careful, if only for his family's sake." The old lady I had seen the night before, now entered the room followed by a woman bearing a cloth and trenchers, who proceeded to set the board. I spoke to her, but she only shook her head. "She is deaf as an adder!" said Mrs. Joan. "But she is a good creature, and having dwelt together so long, we understand each other very well. I sometimes marvel what will become of the other when one of us is taken away; but that is no business of mine." By this time the servant, whom Dame Joan called Martha, had a goodly dish of young pigeons and bacon smoking upon the board, with sweet brown bread and whatever else was needed, and we sat down to dinner, while old Martha waited on us with wonderful deftness considering her infirmity. After the meal was over, my uncle betook himself to walking up and down the garden path, for there was a small garden behind the house where grew many neatly tended beds for potage and physic, and not a few hardy flowers. I, who had had enough of exercise the night before to last me for some time, sought my room to look for my knitting, which I had brought away with me. I found Mrs. Joan arranging my bed, which I would by no means suffer, but took the matter out of her hands. I did never like to be waited upon by an old person. She smiled and acquiesced. "It is long since I have seen a young face!" said she, sighing, methought, as she spoke. "If my own Loveday had lived, I believe she would have been like you. But the dear babe hath long been in a better place." "I often think there is, if not a bright, yet a peaceful side to the death of little children," I ventured to say. "One feels so safe about them. The most promising child who lives to grow up may change for the worse. But once in the Saviour's arms, there is no room for sin or falling. All is well forevermore." "That is true, but yet the mother's arms are not less sadly empty, and none but God knows the hunger of her heart!" said she sighing. "But now tell me of your life at Dartford. Were you happy there after you were professed?" "I was never professed," said I, rather surprised, for I could not remember speaking of the place. "By Sir Edward's will, my dowry was forfeit if I took the veil before I was twenty-one at the least, and I lacked some years of that when the convent was broken up. I dare say I should have been professed at last, for I had learned to look upon the house as home, and was well enough content on the whole, though I do not think I had any special vocation. But were you ever at Dartford, madam?"