He had now recovered his health in all senses except that physical strength was still lacking. Even a short walk, or a slight exertion, fatigued him considerably. How the coming journey was to be borne he hardly knew. But he said to himself that he would go through with it: and in very many cases, where a man _will_ do a thing, he finds that he can. It was the evening before the journey, and in Lawrence’s chamber he and Mr. Robesart sat in the oriel window enjoying the quiet of the summer evening. The preceding events had drawn very closely together these two friends, who alone of all the male members of the household had much in common with each other. "Lawrence," said Mr. Robesart—he had attempted to address the new knight by his title, and had been instantly entreated never to do so again—"Lawrence, what think you to make of your life, now that it lieth in your own hands to make or mar it as you will?" "If it lay in mine hands, Father, it should surely be to mar," said Lawrence with much feeling. "I am thankful it is in God’s hands, to whom I have given it, and He shall make thereof whatsoever He will." "But you must needs have desires and wishes thereunto, my son." "Aye, I have so," and a slight sigh accompanied the words. "Whether they shall ever behold their fulfilment I think greatly to doubt." "Think you to abide with my Lady Countess?" "Not so, if our Lord be served[#] otherwise." [#] If it be His will. "Then what mean you? To enter other service, or to go to the wars, or what so?" "So far as mine own liking goeth, methinks, neither." "I have alway counted you a man of peace, Lawrence," said Mr. Robesart, with a smile which betrayed rather more amusement than was indicated by his words. "Aye so, to mine own pleasure," was the reply. "But they which best love peace be not alway suffered to pursue it." "And I had thought that, by your good-will, some quiet home far away from strife, amid the green fields and the calm old hills, should have been that which should have served you, my son." "Ah, if it had been possible!" And another sigh followed the wish. "There be times, howbeit, when man may mistake his vocation," said Mr. Robesart in a musing tone. "I am something feared that is thus with one friend of ours—I fear it much." "Whom point you at?" asked Lawrence, but not in any tone of particular interest. "Our friend Beatrice, that hath been speaking with me of her desire to enter the cloister." The "Beatrice!" which answered the communication, was in a very different tone from the last, and ended in a gasp.