"I know now that it was a false report, but at the time I believed it true. My father was lying waiting for burial, so was Father Sacy, and Lord Hillier’s chaplain came over to read the service. It was read at midnight in the old chapel at de Wick. We did not wish any trouble at the last, and we had been told the service would be forbidden; so we had the funeral when our enemies were asleep. You know the old chapel, Jane, where all the de Wicks are buried?" "Yes, dear; a mournful, desolate place." "A place of graves, but it felt as if it was crowded that midnight. I’ll swear that there were more present than we had knowledge of. The lanterns made a dim light round the crumbling altar, and I could just see the two open graves before it. Father Olney wept as he read the service; we all wept, as the bodies were laid in their graves; and then our old lawyer, William Studley, put into Father Olney’s hands the de Wick coat of arms, and he broke it in pieces and cast the fragments on my father’s coffin; for we all believed that the last male de Wick was dead. And when I heard the broken arms fall on the coffin, I heard no more. I fell senseless, and they carried me to my own room, and I was out of my mind for many days. My aunt and Delia were very kind to me, but I longed for you, Jane, I did indeed. I am nearly well now, and I have left my heartache somewhere in that awful land of Silence where I lay between life and death so long. I shall weep no more. I will think now of vengeance. I am only a woman, but women have done some mischief before this day, and may do it again." "Tonbert and Will are now at Swaffham; they will keep a watch on de Wick if you wish it." "I suppose I have left de Wick forever; and I could weep, if I had tears left, for the ill fortune that has come to the old place. You remember Anthony Lynn, the tanner and carrier, Jane?" "Yes." "He has bought de Wick from the so-called Parliament. He was very kind to me, and he knew his place; but on my faith! I nearly lost my senses when I saw him sitting in my father’s chair. Well, then, I am now in London, and all roads lead from London. I shall not longer spoil my eyes for the Fen country, and "’De Wick, God knows, Where no corn grows, Nothing but a little hay, And the water comes And takes all away.’ You remember the old rhyme; we threw it at one another often when we were children. But oh, Jane, the melancholy Ouse country! The black, melancholy Ouse, with its sullen water and muddy banks. No wonder men turned traitors in it."