"I have a letter for her," answered the messenger, opening a satchel which was flung over his shoulder, and drawing forth a somewhat large packet. "I was to deliver this into her own hands," he continued. "Will you call her? And then will you bid your serving wench give me some food? I have ridden hard since dawn without breaking my fast, and I am both hungry and thirsty--more thirsty than hungry," he added, with a meaning look. "Come this way," said Agnes, and though she was clad in simple homespun, with a white kerchief folded across her bosom and an apron tied over her skirt, and though she wore thick high-heeled shoes--on which, however, were silver buckles--there was about her a something which spoke of gentle birth. She walked so erect, so easily, with such an unspeakably graceful swing. The man watched her curiously. He was accustomed to court dames, queens, and princesses. "If you will come this way," she said, "Martha will give you food and drink, and I will take your letter." He followed her to the back premises, and, opening a side door which led into the kitchen, she called out: "Here is a king’s messenger, Martha, asking for Aunt Patience. He has travelled from London, and is hungry and thirsty. Will you see to him?" "Lack-a-day!" said Martha, coming forward, "I guess he’ll bring us no good." "That’s a hard speech, Mistress Martha," said the man. "Why should I bring you ought but good from her gracious majesty, Queen Henrietta, whose servant I am?" She stood before him and looked at him. "Why," she cried, "you’re Peter Kemp!" "And you be Martha," he said. "Well, the place has agreed with you, Martha; you look ten years younger." And he caught hold of her two hands and shook them. "Supposing you give me my aunt’s letter," broke in Agnes with a stately air, "you can greet each other after." "I beg your humble pardon," said the man, and fumbling once more in the satchel, he drew out the packet, and without any further trouble gave it to her. [Illustration: "HE DREW OUT THE PACKETS"] She turned to go, but remembering, looked back and said somewhat haughtily: "You can feed him now, Martha." She was hardly outside the door when she heard them talking, fifty to the dozen. She paused, and looked doubtfully at the packet in her hand. "Is it for good or evil?" she murmured; then she added quickly: "Why should I fear? Surely what God sends must be good." She was no longer a child but a girl, verging upon womanhood, tall, not over slight of figure, but, as we have said before, graceful and perfectly built. The face was the same child’s face; the tendrils of golden hair still clustered round her head and lay on her white neck; the brown eyes had the same luminous, laughing look in them; her colouring was rich and perfect, a little sunburnt, like a ripe peach, and the lips were ripe too.