Garrett and Avice had gone down to visit Katherine, and the maids had seized on the chance for a perfect carnival or orgy of brushing and scrubbing, though the house was always as clean as hands could make it. However, Gatty had brought me that morning a very small spider web, tenanted by a very little spider, as a triumphant justification of her proceedings. So I had nothing to say, and, indeed, I always carefully abstained from meddling in the housekeeping. I was tired and discouraged—I suppose such times come to every one—feeling that my burden had been carried long enough, and that I could not bear it any longer. I was not very well either, having been troubled of late with one of those irregular agues which are the plague of that country. I had heard a rumor that morning that a new pastor was coming to the English congregation, but I did not know his name, and felt, just then, no great interest in the matter, beyond hoping that he would not interfere with my little school. I was glad to find, on arriving at home, that the maids had so far finished their operations that the house was once more habitable. I looked into my aunt's room, and seeing her comfortably dozing in her chair, I went to my own, and indulged in a fit of weeping, which was an unusual thing with me. I was just washing my face and making myself presentable when I heard my uncle's voice calling me. I hurried my preparations, knowing his impatience at being kept waiting, but was not quite ready when I heard him coming up two steps at a time. "Come, come, girl, what needs all this prinking?" he asked, as I opened the door. "Here is a messenger from our good protector and friend, his Grace of Suffolk." I was not long in following him down stairs, and into the parlor. The queer feeling of knowing all about it came over me as I entered the room, and was not one bit surprised to see Walter Corbet, thin and worn, and dressed like a common sailor, talking with my Aunt Holland. Our greeting was quiet and natural enough, but our eyes told their tale to each other, and I fancy also to my aunt and uncle, for I saw a smiling glance pass between them. "This is the Duke's messenger, and also our new English pastor, albeit he looks not very reverend in his present attire!" said mine uncle. "But ''tis not the cassock that makes the priest,' is an old and pithy proverb. Kinsman, you are most welcome. And how left you the Duke and Duchess?" "Well in health, but in deep affliction," answered Walter. "They have lost their two promising young sons." "Alas, the sweet babes, are they gone?" I said. "What ailed them?" "The sweating sickness. My Lady Frances also had it, but recovered, thanks to her mother's nursing. 'Twas most sweet to see how her Grace put aside her own grief to attend on her step-daughter, and comfort her husband. But the blow hath been a terrible one for his Grace. I doubt he will hardly recover it."