There! I have told you all I know," she said, "whether I ought or not. But don't tell Roger. For I tried to comfort him by saying how he had been provoked. But it did not comfort him in the least. He looked quite fierce at rue--at me!" said little Lettice, the tears overflowing, "when he was always so kind! And he said there was no excuse for murder. He was wild with trouble," she continued, sobbing, "not a bit like himself, Olive; and since that I cannot tell what to say to him. Your ways and ours are not exactly the same, you know. So I have been with my Mother in her oratory. It is so hard to understand anybody. But I hope God understands us all. I do hope He does. My Mother could not find one of the church prayers that quite fitted. But she joined two or three together, in the Collects, and the Visitation of the Sick, and the Litany, which seemed to say all she wanted wonderfully. I never knew how much they meant before. And it does seem as if God must hear; and Roger always so good. He may say what he likes, always so good, to me and to every one!" Lettice's tears opened the sluices of mine, and were a great comfort; and it was a comfort, too, to think of those dear kind voices joining in Lady Lucy's oratory. When we reached home, the great table was spread in the hall, and the serving-men and maidens were standing round it. My Father moved to the head and asked the blessing on the meal, then he said,-- "Friends, the hand of God is heavy on me to-day, and you will not look that I should eat bread while a life is in peril through deed of one who is to me as my own soul. I might brave it out, and put on a cheerful countenance. But I would have you know I am humbled. The blows of an enemy we may face as men. Beneath the rod of the Lord we must bow like smitten children. And I would have you know I do. Yet I cannot refrain from telling you also that it was for bitter words against good men that the blow was struck. So much I must say for the boy, though God forbid I should hide the sin." He left the hall, and every eye was moist as it followed him. The general judgment was anything but harsh against Roger, as was easy to see from the few low broken words which interrupted the silence of that sorrowful meal, and from the response of Tib, to whom I secretly ventured to tell how sorely Roger had been provoked. "No need to tell me, Mistress Olive!" said she. "That Sir Launcelot is enough to rouse a saint, his groom told my Margery's Dickon. And they may say what they like, but I wouldn't give a farthing for any saint that can't be roused."