"That I credit to Cymlin," she answered. "He would not let me mope—you know how masterful he is"—and Matilda laughed and put her hands over her ears; "he _made_ me go riding and walking, _made_ me plant and gather, _made_ me fish and hawk, _made_ me sing and play and read aloud to him. And I have taught him a galliard and a minuet, and we have had a very happy summer—on the whole. Happiness breeds beauty." "Poor Cymlin!" "There is no need to say ’poor Cymlin,’ Jane Swaffham. I am not going to abuse poor Cymlin. He is to be my neighbour, and I hope my catechism has taught me what my duty to my neighbour is. Is it true that Will and Tonbert have thrown their lives and fortunes into the Massachusetts Colony?" "Yes," answered Jane; "and if my parents were willing, I would like to join them. The letters they send make you dream of Paradise. They have bought a dukedom of land, father says, hills and valleys and streams, and the great sea running up to their garden wall." "Garden?" "Yes, they have begun to build and to plant. There is no whisper of their return, for they are as content as if they had found the Fortunate Islands. Father is much impressed with their experience, and I can see he ponders it like one who might perhaps share it. I am sure he would leave England, if the Protector died." "Or the King came back?" "Yes. He would never live under a Stuart." "The poor luckless Stuarts! They are all luckless, Jane. I have felt it. I have drunk of their cup of disappointments, and really the happiest time of my life has been the past summer, when I put them out of my memory—king and prince, and all that followed them. Had it not been for your kind note of warning, Stephen also had been a sacrifice to their evil fate. It has to be propitiated with a life now and then, just like some old dragon or devil." "There was a queer story about Stephen robbing the mail, and tearing up the three warrants for the arrest of Blythe and Mason and himself," said Jane. "Did you believe that, Jane?" "The mail was robbed. The warrants were never found. Stephen has a daredevil temper at times. I think, too, he would risk much to save his friends. When did you hear from him?" "I hear very often now, Jane, for it is the old, old story—money, money, money. The King is hungry and thirsty; he has no clothes; he cannot pay his washing bill; he has no shoes to go out in, and his ’dear brother,’ King Louis of France, is quite oblivious. In fact he has made, or is going; to make, an alliance with Cromwell; and the Stuarts, bag and baggage, are to leave French territory. But for all that, I am not going to strip de Wick a second time for them;" then drawing Jane close to her, and taking her hand she said with an impulsive tenderness— "Jane, dear Jane, I do not wish to open a wound afresh, but I am sorry for you, I am indeed! How can you bear it?"