I went, therefore, to summon Aunt Dorothy as head of the household. She had so many preparations to make, that Dr. Antony's hand was on the great house-bell long before she was ready. Nothing so slow she said as hurry, besides its being a proof of the impatience of the flesh. She would even fold up scrupulously the clothes she took off, faithful to her maxim, that we should always leave everything as if we might never return to it. The bell rang again. I went to see if Aunt Gretel was more capable of being hastened. She, dear soul, was sympathizing, excited, and agitated beyond my utmost desires, for she could lay her hands on nothing she wanted. So that I had to return to Aunt Dorothy, who, by that time, was ready; and feeling how cold and trembling my hand was as she took it to lead me downstairs, she laid her other on it with an unwonted demonstration of tenderness, and said,-- "Child, we can neither hasten the Lord's steps nor make them linger. But He will do right." There was strength in her words, but almost as much to me in the tones, which were tremulous, and in the cold touch of her hand, which showed that the blood at her heart stood as still as mine. We went down together in time to meet Dr. Antony just as he entered the Hall. My Father was wounded, not dangerously, only so as to render him incapable of further service in the field, at least at present. His right arm was broken. Roger was coming home with him. I wondered that Dr. Antony seemed so heavy at heart, to bring tidings which made my heart leap with thankfulness. What could be better than that Roger was unhurt, and that my Father had received a slight wound just sufficient to keep him at home with us? Then it flashed on me in what direction I had seen him coming. "Dr. Antony!" I said, "there is sorrow for the Davenants!" And then he told us how Harry Davenant had fallen. We had little time for bewailing him, for the household had to be roused, and refreshment and a bed prepared for my Father. I had scarce ever seen Roger so cast down as he was about Harry Davenant's death. One of the noblest gentlemen the king had on his side, he thought so pure, and true, and brave. If all had been like him there had been no war, and no need for it. "And," said Roger, "I always looked for the day to come when Harry Davenant would understand us. For we were fighting for the same thing, though on opposite sides--for England and her old laws and liberties; for a righteous kingdom. And I always thought one day he would see where it could be found, and where it could _not_." Roger could not stay with us long. But before he went, Harry Davenant was buried, very quietly in the old vault of the Davenants in Netherby church.