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"Murder of the King, you would or you should have said, Mistress Patience: I have heard how much he was opposed to that foul deed, and I honour him for it."
"How kind, how truly kind you are to say so!" said Patience, the tears starting in her eyes, "what pleasure to hear my father's conduct praised by you!"
"Why, of course, Mistress Patience, all of my way of thinking must praise him. Your father is in London, I hear?"
"Yes, he is; and that reminds me that you must want some refreshment after your walk. I will call Phœbe." So saying, Patience left the room.
The fact was, Mistress Patience was reminded that she had been sitting with a young man some time, and alone with him—which was not quite proper in those times; and when Phœbe appeared with the cold viands, she retreated out of hearing but remained in the room.
Edward partook of the meal offered him in silence, Patience occupying herself with her work, and keeping her eyes fixed on it, unless when she gave a slight glance at the table to see if anything was required. When the meal was over, Phœbe removed the tray, and then Edward rose to take his leave.
"Nay, do not go yet—I have much to say first; let me again ask you how we can serve you."
"I never can take any office under the present rulers of the nation, so that question is at rest."
"I was afraid you would answer so," replied Patience, gravely: "do not think I blame you; for many are there already who would gladly retrace their steps if it were possible. They little thought, when they opposed the King, that affairs would have ended as they have done. Where do you live, Sir?"
"At the opposite side of the Forest, in a house belonging to me now, but which was inherited by my grandfather."
"Do you live alone—surely not?"
