"We could not well take him with us, and my uncle thought you would like to have him," said my aunt. "But let us look at you, child. How well you look, and how you have grown. You are happy here, are you not?" "Yes, aunt!" said I, indifferently. "If I cannot be with you and my cousins, I might as well be here. They are all kind. But oh, aunt, why does my uncle go away so far—and to a strange country, too?" "I cannot tell you, dear child. He has good reasons, or he would never do so. You may guess it is hard, in my old age, to be transplanted to a foreign soil, and have to learn new ways and new tongues; but God knows best. His will be done." "There are a great many English in Antwerp, my father says!" observed Katherine. "Yes, that is true, and some that we know—at least, that your father knows." "And my father says his house is a fine one—even finer than ours in London," said Avice; "but I know I shall never like it as well." "But tell me all about it!" said I. "Is Sambo going?" "Yes, and Anne the launder, and Joseph Saunders, but no one else. Master Davis, the silk mercer, hath hired our house, and he loves flowers as well as my father, so the garden will be cared for." "I should not think Joseph would go—he is so old!" "He hath been there with my nephew and knows the ways and the language; so he will be a help in getting settled!" said Aunt Joyce, who seemed to feel the change far more than the girls, as was indeed natural. "But, after all, life is short, and Paradise is as near to Antwerp as to London. That is the great comfort. But Loveday, now that we are alone together, I must give you your uncle's charge and his letter." The letter was short, but earnest. My uncle bade me make myself contented so far as I could, but he charged me to remember that I was not to be professed till I was twenty-one. "Should any thing happen to make you need a home—as is not impossible, if I read the signs of the times aright," so the letter proceeded, "do you go to my old friend, Master Davis, the silk mercer, who will always know where I am, and how to send to me. His wife is a good woman, and they will gladly give you a home." My uncle concluded by once more asking my forgiveness for his hasty action, and most solemnly gave me his blessing. My aunt bade me give her back the letter, and I did so, however reluctantly, knowing that it would not be well to have it found with me. In a convent, nothing is one's own, and one is all the time watched. When we had seen the garden and orchard, the church and such other parts of the domain as it was proper to show to strangers, we were called into the refectory where an elegant little repast was provided, of which I was allowed to partake with them. The time for parting came all too soon, for the ride to town was not a short one, and though the days were now at the longest, the party could not more than reach home before dark.