All gathered round him with joyful greeting, but Isoult. She never stayed to think, but she found herself at the head of the stairs before she had time to consider. Thekla was just closing the door of the chamber to come down. "Thekla!" cried Isoult, seizing her by the arm. "Who is come?" asked she. "I heard something." "Tell thy mother, darling," said Isoult--"but canst thou bear glad news thyself?" "I see them in your eyes," she answered. "They are too glad but for one of two things. Is it my father?" Ah! it was only one. Thekla prepared her mother, in the gentle way she knew, and then running below, was clasped in her father's arms. She took him up-stairs, and no more was seen of any of them; for, anticipating that they would prefer to be alone, Isoult sent Esther above with a dish from the supper-table. It was four years to a day since Mr Rose was taken. In his case, God had been very gracious to them. The four years were the same for Robin; but how should the end be? And--a thought at once joyous and yet terrible--the end could not be far-off now. Isoult saw that Mr Rose had aged in those four years, when she had time to study his countenance. If such a thing were possible, she thought him even gentler and kinder than he used to be; yet even more grave and quiet. She asked him what he thought of Thekla, and was slightly comforted to hear him say that he found her better than he dared to hope. "She hath suffered much, poor child!" said Isoult. "Poor child!" he echoed. "It was not in her nature to do other." "And what think you," she asked, "of the chances touching Robin?" "Mrs Avery," said he, "there are no chances in God's government. And this is a matter wherein we cannot so much as guess what may have been His will. Yet if you would know what I think most likely in mere human reasoning, I confess I have little hope of his life." Isoult's heart sank like lead: she felt now how much hope she had nursed, though she thought it so little. But her faith in Mr Rose's forecast was great. And Lady Ashley's words came back to her--"God knoweth best when His corn is ripe." Ah! how afraid she was that that sheaf was ripe, and had been carried into the garner! Yet could she tell God that He had judged ill, or that He should have left His fair sheaf to the spoiling, for her pleasure? When John came home one evening, he told them that he had met with Mr Underhill, who held by the hand his little Guilford. And coming through Cornhill, at the shop-door of a bowyer were bows and quivers of shafts; and Guilford, pulling his father's hand, cried, "Father, Father, do buy me a bow and arrows!"--"Buy thee a bow and arrows, quotha!" answered Mr Underhill, "a shred and snip like thee!"