Meantime, Mistress Curtis and I had pulled off our cloaks and made the best couch we could for our suffering lady, who, while her voice was sharpened by the mortal anguish of a woman's supreme trial, still spoke words of cheer and comfort. And there, on that dark November night, in the cold church porch, was born, he who is now one of the queen's bravest and best soldiers and servants, Peregrine, Lord Willowby. All was over, and the babe wrapped in my flannel petticoat, roaring for dear life, when Mr. Batie came back with a man in a pastor's dress, and two others, bearing a litter of some sort. As the light he held flashed on the pastor's face, I knew I had seen him before, but where I could not tell. In a little time, my mistress was put to bed in a comfortable, clean room. A kind, pleasant, and motherly woman was bustling about, providing us with dry clothes and hot soup; and her pretty married daughter was dressing the babe in some of her own child's clothes, for the bundle of baby linen Mistress Curtis brought, had been somehow lost on the way. "You take too much trouble for us, dear madam," said I, as the good, kind woman brought in some new delicacy to tempt us. "Nay, my dear, that I can never do," said she, showing her beautiful teeth in a smile. "My husband was once saved from death by starvation in the streets of London, by some kind English ladies. Oh, I would do any thing for the English!" "Now I know," I exclaimed; "your husband is that same Walloon pastor whom my mistress saved from the hands of the boatmen on the river. I thought I had seen him before." If the good people had been hospitable before, judge what they were now. The best of every thing was not good enough for us. The pastor recognized me at once, and told his family how I had been the first to understand him, and taken his part, and how my mistress had helped him, not only with food and money, but with kind words and true sympathy. At last, Mr. Batie begged that there might be no more talking, and we finally settled for the night. [Illustration] CHAPTER XVIII. THE LAST. MY mistress was certainly a wonderful woman. After all she had gone through, she awoke as fresh as a daisy, and I believe would have even got up, if Mistress Curtis would have allowed such a thing. I do think the dear old woman was almost vexed with her for being so well, after all she had gone through. As for the babe, he was a famous fellow, as well as a little pig, and squalled so lustily when he was christened, that our hostess prophesied great things for his future. 'Tis accounted almost a fatal sign there if a babe, and specially a boy, does not cry at his baptism. My lady called him Peregrine in remembrance of our midnight wanderings, and I was his godmother—a great honor for me. I can not, however, claim much of the credit of his education.