At these words Jane stopped. "Do I not know," she asked herself, "how Matilda will have flung away my letter before this? And if not, with what scorn she will treat ’the light of Whitehall’?" And these reflections so chilled her memories, that she hasted to sign her name and close the letter. Abel Dewey was ready for it; and as she watched him ride away, her thoughts turned to de Wick, and she wondered in what mood Matilda might be, and how she would receive the information sent her. Would it be a surprise? "Not it," answered Mrs. Swaffham. "Matilda knows all about the plot; that is most certain; but its discovery may be news to her, and if so, she will not thank you for it, Jane. Why will she burn herself with fire not on her hearthstone?" "Prince Rupert is her lover. She will do anything he desires her to do." "If he truly loved her, he would not permit her to be put in danger." "We do not know all, mother." "That is the truth, Jane. We know very little about ourselves, let alone our friends. Doctor Verity would say to us, ’Judge not; every man’s shoes must be made on his own last.’" Then Jane smiled, and the smile filled the silence like a spell. Mrs. Swaffham went out of the room, and soon afterwards Doctor Verity came in, asking cheerily as he entered, "How is it with you to-day, Jane?" "I live as best I can, Doctor. I watch from the morning to the midnight for a footstep that does not come." "There is a desire that fulfils itself by its own energy, but this desire is born of unfailing Hope, and of that unfaltering Faith that can move mountains. Have you got it, Jane?" "I am so weak, Doctor John. Pray for me." "Pray for yourself. Why should any one pray for you? Pray for yourself, though it be only to say, with the old Acadians, ’_Hold Thou my hands!_’ When you were a baby, and were fretful and restless, then your mother held your hands. That steadied you. You were not used to the whirling earth, or you had that sense of falling into the void all babies have, and you trembled and cried out in your fear, and then your mother instinctively held your little hands in hers, and you felt their clasp strong as the everlasting hills, and went peacefully to sleep. Go to God in the same way, Jane; you are only a little babe in His sight; a little babe crying in the vast void and darkness, and trying to catch hold of something to which you may cling. Say to the Father of your spirit, ’_Hold my hands!_’" And she rose and kissed him for his sweet counsel, and that night, and many a night afterwards, she fell asleep whispering, "_Hold Thou my hands_." *CHAPTER XIII* *CHANGES AT DE WICK* "Friendship, of itself a holy tie, Is made more sacred by adversity." "A form of senseless clay—the leavings of a soul."