"'He made me promise to tell you he had little pain and no fear,' Roger said, in a low voice. 'And he gave me this for you, and said, "Tell my mother these words of hers have often helped me to believe, through all these evil days, that God is living and commanding still. But, more than all words, tell her my faith in God has been kept unquenched by the thought of _herself_."' "She took the packet from him. It was a little book, with Scriptures and prayers written in it by her own hand, given to Harry when he was a boy. On the crimson silk cover she had embroidered for it, was one stain of a deeper crimson. As she opened it, a little well-worn leaf dropped out, with a child's prayer on it she had written for him when first he went to school. "When she saw it, the thought of the hero dying on the battle-field for the good cause vanished, and in its place came the memory of the little hands clasped on her knees in prayer. "And withdrawing her hand from Roger, a sudden quiver passed through all her frame, and throwing her arms around me, she sobbed,-- "'My boy, my boy! O Lettice, it is Harry we have lost! It is our Harry!' "When I looked up again Roger was at the door. It seemed to me, from the glance he gave he was waiting to say something more. And I resolved, cost what it might, to hear it. We led my Mother into the nearest chamber, and then leaving her with the maidens, I went back to the Hall. "Roger was still waiting in the porch. "He came forward when he saw me. "'Did he say anything more?' I asked. "He hesitated an instant. "He said, 'The Draytons and the Davenants might have to combat one another in these evil times, but that we should never distrust each other, and that he never had distrusted one of us.' "He said so to me, the last thing before he left us. I said; 'And that was all?' "'The battle swept on; I had to mount again,' he said, 'and I could not leave my men.' "'You saw him no more,' I said. 'You could not even stay to watch his last breath!' "The moment I had uttered them I felt there was something like reproach in my words, and I would have recalled them if I could. "'I saw him no more until the fighting was over,' he said. 'Then I came back and found him; and we brought him home. It was all we could do,' he added; 'and it was little indeed.' "'I am sure you did all you could, Roger,' I said; for I feared I had wounded him. 'I should always be sure you would do all you could for any of us.' "'Should you, indeed!' he said. 'God knows I would.' "And there was a tremor and a depth of pleased surprise in his tones that startled me, and I could not look up. "'Would to God I could do anything to comfort Lady Lucy or you,' he said. "'No one can comfort her, Roger,' I said; and the tears I had been trying to put back choked my voice, 'Harry was everything to her. He was everything to us all. No one will ever comfort her more.'