By noon we had reached my father's house. I did not come in at the lodge gate, but entered by an unfrequented way. It was by a wicket gate which led through a shrubbery and up to a postern door, a door which was seldom opened in the old days when I lived at home. My heart seemed ready to burst as I came in sight of the house, for it was now nearly two years since I had seen it; and after all, there is no spot on earth which affects a man as much as the place where he was born and reared. "I trust my father is at home," I said to Constance. "Ay, he is, and here to greet thee, Roland!" I turned and saw my father standing by my side. "I have been expecting thee, Roland." I looked at him in astonishment. "Ay, I knew what thou would'st do. Art thou not my own son? That is why I have been waiting and watching these last twenty-four hours. But come in," and he opened the postern door. "Fasten the horses here," he said. "I will give orders concerning them." He led the way into the room, where I had had the interview with Katharine Harcomb two years before, while I watched his face closely, wondering what he would think of Constance. "Remove your hats and cloaks, will you?" he said. This we did, and I saw him looking at my love all the time. Presently, after gazing at her steadily for some moments, his lips moved. "I do not wonder," he said. "He could not help it. How could he help it? Had I been the lad, I should have done just the same." Neither of us spoke, for I do not think either of us knew what was in his mind. "Dost thou love this boy--my boy Roland?" he asked of Constance presently. Her face became rosy red, and her eyes gleamed brightly. "Ay, I do," she said. "Then wilt thou kiss me, my child?" Had it been any other man on earth I should have been jealous, but my heart rejoiced as I saw him kiss my love, for I knew what he thought of her. After that he asked us many questions, and when we had answered them he said sadly, "I have made all provisions." "What provisions?" I asked. "Even for thy wedding, and for thy departure," he said sadly. "To-morrow morn thou shalt go to the old church and be wedded, and then thou must e'en ride to Gravesend and take passage in the vessel there. Perchance, when another king cometh, thou canst return again, but not until then." Neither of us asked him what he meant, for we knew. It grieved us that we should have to leave my old home, but it had to be, and yet were our hearts filled with a joy that passeth understanding. The next night, as we sailed down the river past the Kentish coast, we stood side by side and hand in hand. We were man and wife. "Are you sad, Constance?" "Nay, Roland. The morning will come. Nay, morning is in my heart now, but morning will also come for our country. For myself I desire nought--nought, I have everything." In truth so had I, and yet I longed to bring my wife back to the home of my boyhood.