"What mean you, Jack Avery?" said Mr Underhill. "I know well what he meaneth," answered Mr Rose. "It was the worst blot on my Lord of Somerset's life. I trust he did repent thereof ere God called him." "I was thinking," said John, in a low voice, "of one Katherine Folliott, an humble violet plucked from her mossy bed, and after, flung withering away to reach a peony." "A black-thorn rather, if you would picture her complexion," suggested Dr Thorpe. "What, the Duke's first wife?" answered Mr Underhill. "Why, man! the whole world hath forgot her!" "So did himself," responded John. "I see," said Mr Underhill. "You think, all, that my Lord did wickedly in divorcing of her, in order to wed the great heir of the Stanhopes. Well, it may be so: but, my word for it! he had leisure for repentance. I would not lightly have been my Lady Duchess her lackey, much less her lord." "Well!" answered John, "I meant not to speak ill of the dead; surely not of one whom I do hope and believe that God hath pardoned and taken to Himself. I did but signify the very thing I did ask--to wit, which of the Edwards had been create Earl of Herts." "The son of the Lady Anne Stanhope, of course!" said Mr Underhill. "It might have been more just and righteous," pursued John, "had it been the son of Katherine Folliott. It may be that his last thought in this world, just ere the axe slid down, was of that woeful wrong he never could right more. Alas for men's hearts in this wicked world! and yet rather, alas for men's consciences! Well, God forgive us all!"