And here, too, was Merrylips' own maid, Mawkin, who was waiting upon the gentlewomen. She hugged Merrylips harder than any, and blubbered aloud with joy that she had come safe home at last. Hardly had the women begun exclaiming over Merrylips, when in came more company. Her brother, Longkin, came in his lieutenant's dress. He was grown such a fine young gallant that Merrylips found it hard to believe that he had ever done such an undignified thing as to romp with his brothers on the terrace. After Longkin, Flip came running. He was all legs and arms, and he squeezed Merrylips as if she were a bear or another boy. "And oh! Flip," she heard her own voice saying, "I ha' been to the wars, for all I am but a wench! I ha' been in a siege, and fired upon a many times, and chased by the enemy, and a prisoner among the Roundheads. And thou, what battles hast thou been fighting, Flip?" "I'm a gentleman volunteer!" cried Flip, very red and angry. "If father would let me ride into battle, I'd speedily show thee what mettle I am made of." Now that she had begun squabbling with Flip, Merrylips felt that she had indeed come home. So it seemed quite a matter of course, when presently she found herself seated by the fire, with her hand in Lady Sybil's hand, and telling all her strange adventures. While she was speaking, Sir Thomas Venner remembered the courtesy that he owed Lord Caversham's envoy. He went from the room, and Longkin, too, when he heard that the envoy was his old college mate, Dick Fowell, hurried out to speak with him. Merrylips wondered if this were the hour when her father would hear Rupert's story. While she wondered, she rambled in her talk and grew silent. Then her godmother vowed that she must be weary and sleepy and were best in bed. "All the rest thou shalt tell us on the morrow, heart's dearest," she said. So Lady Sybil led Merrylips to her own chamber and helped her to her own bed. In the pale candlelight, when they two were alone, they said many things that they would not say downstairs. And Merrylips told how often she had thought about her godmother, and had tried to do what would please her, both as a girl and as a little boy. They were talking thus together, while Merrylips sat up in bed, with her head on Lady Sybil's shoulder, just as she had sat in twilight talks at Larkland, when there came a tap at the door. "Oh, your Ladyship!" cried Mawkin's voice. "Sir Thomas doth pray you, of your courtesy, come unto his study." Then Merrylips guessed that Lady Sybil was to hear the great news about Rupert, and she cried:-- "Oh, godmother, prithee go quickly! 'Tis such rare news!" But as she saw Lady Sybil rise from beside her bed, she felt a sharp little stab of fear, and perhaps of jealousy. She caught at her godmother's gown with one hand. "But pray you, kiss me first," she said. "For it may be, presently, you will not have so much love to give unto me."