THE LAST.
MY mistress was certainly a wonderful woman. After all she had gone
through, she awoke as fresh as a daisy, and I believe would have even
got up, if Mistress Curtis would have allowed such a thing. I do think
the dear old woman was almost vexed with her for being so well, after
all she had gone through.
As for the babe, he was a famous fellow, as well as a little pig, and
squalled so lustily when he was christened, that our hostess prophesied
great things for his future. 'Tis accounted almost a fatal sign there
if a babe, and specially a boy, does not cry at his baptism. My lady
called him Peregrine in remembrance of our midnight wanderings, and I
was his godmother—a great honor for me. I can not, however, claim much
of the credit of his education.
"Are there any English here now?" asked Mr. Batie, as we sat at dinner
next day. He would have us all sit down together, saying that it was
no time for worldly forms, as indeed it was not. "We heard the English
congregation was wholly broken up."
"It hath been so!" answered Monsieur Claude. "But the pastor resides
here still. His name is Winter!"
"Winter!" I exclaimed. "Not Arthur Winter from Middleburg."
"The same, madam!"
"Do you know him?" asked Mr. Batie.
"Know him!" said I. "He married my own cousin, and his daughter is our
dear adopted child. How stupid of me not to remember that it was to
Wesel they came. It was Arthur Winter that married me."
And I had much ado not to burst out weeping. Mr. Batie poured me out
a glass of wine, which I drank, and restrained myself with a great
effort. Madam Claude stepped out of the room and presently returned
with a smelling bottle which she had been some time in finding. I
suppose it may seem strange to some, but I dreaded to see Arthur and
Katherine. It seemed like a tearing open of the unhealed wound, and I
felt in the perverseness of grief, as if I could bear any thing better
than their sympathy. There was no use in giving way to such feelings,
however, and I was nerving myself to ask Madam Claude for a guide to
their house, when the door opened, and I found myself in Katherine's
arms—the very same Katherine I had left in Middleburg so many years
before—a little older, but serene and fair as ever. Naturally her first
question was for her child.
"Katherine is well and in good hands!" said I, and I told her how I had
left her. "She will be safe there if any where! My lord is king on his
own domain, and any one coming to molest him would go to feed the crabs
and codlings within two hours afterward."
My lady would have me go home to spend the day with my cousin, and as
she really did not need me, I was glad to do so, finding after the
first was over, great comfort in her gentle familiar English ways.
She told me my uncle was well, as also our other friends in Rotterdam
and Amsterdam, and that the prospects of the Reformed religion grew
more and more gloomy. New restraints and vexations were laid upon
the Protestants every day, and it was believed they would finally be
wholly forbidden the exercise of their religion. Garrett had given
up business, and they talked of removing to Leyden, but nothing was
settled when Katherine last heard.
"And what will you do?" she asked, looking at me with her sweet eyes
full of pity and kindness.
"Whatever my hand shall find!" I answered. "I have no earthly duty now
but to my dear mistress, and whither she goes I will go, were it to the
ends of the earth."
And, indeed, I did travel many a rough and weary mile with her ere we
saw England again.
My mistress was about again, and we were once more established in a
neat little house which Mr. Batie had hired.
The Christmas holidays were close at hand, and I dreaded them so much,
I would have liked to sleep over them. Indeed, holidays become sad
things as one grows older. In case of those which the church has always
held sacred, one can, indeed, find comfort in looking at the great
truths they commemorate. Mr. Batie had gently pointed this out to me,
and had bidden me take refuge from my sad thoughts in meditations on
the wonderful mystery of God manifest in the Babe at Bethlehem. I tried
to do so, and did in some sort succeed, though the sad remembrance of
our last happy Christmas at Coombe Ashton would at times sweep all
before it in a flood of tears.
I was determined, however, that I would not be a kill-joy, and I
threw myself with zeal into all the preparations in which these good
folks delight. I was helping my lady to dress some fine dolls like
English ladies for the granddaughters of our first host, Monsieur
Claude, when there was a knock at the street door, and presently Mrs.
Curtis beckoned my lady out of the room. I was surprised, for Mistress
Curtis would have stood on ceremony in the dungeon of the Inquisition.
Presently my lady came back to her own chamber where we were sitting.
"Katherine is below, sweet!" said she.
I rose to go, but she detained me.
"She hath brought a guest with her—an Englishman who has come over with
great news."
Somehow—I know not how—I saw it all in an instant. I burst from her
detaining grasp, flew down the stairs, and the next minute was in my
husband's arms.
Yes, it was Walter himself—thin, gray-headed, worn, but yet mine own
true love. I would have known him any where changed as he was. I asked
no questions. I was not oven surprised to see him. There he was and
that was enough for me.
When we had come to ourselves a little, he told us his story. He had
been left for dead in the crisis of the fever, and the turnkey's wife
really believed she was telling the truth. When she returned to the
prison, however, and sought the body to do for it some last decent
offices, she found that Walter still lived, though the life was hardly
perceptible. She had never forgotten what I had done for their child,
and taking counsel with my husband, they procured a rough coffin, and
removing Walter in it as if for burial, they took him to a secret nook,
where the woman nursed him, pretending he was a brother of her own, who
had taken the fever while waiting on the prisoners.
Walter lay long in extreme weakness, and longer still before his
guardians judged it safe for him to try to escape. At last, however,
he adventured it, and got away in a French vessel, whose master was a
Huguenot. He had learned of our whereabouts by means of that secret
intelligence, which, as I have said, exists among the reformed all over
Europe, and after many wanderings and trials, he had made his way to
Wesel.
And now it is time for me to bring this story to a close. We lived in
Wesel some two years. Then, Mr. Batie, unwisely as we thought, made
another move to the dominions of the Palsgrave. However, we went with
them, for Mistress Curtis had died in the meantime, and my mistress
depended much upon me. Here we lived a while longer, poor enough, for
all the money and jewels we had brought from home were exhausted. Mr.
Batie, with all his learning, could find little to do, and, indeed, we
were hungry more than once. In this strait, it was my privilege to help
the lady who had done so much for me. I had always kept up my music,
and I was fortunate in obtaining pupils on the lute and in singing,
enough at least to find us bread, and buy clothes for my godson.
At the end of another year, a great piece of good fortune befell us.
Mr. Batie found an old schoolmate in a Polish nobleman who was high
in the favor of Julius, King of Poland. He interested the king in his
friend's behalf, and by and by we heard that the king had assigned Mr.
Batie quite a princely domain. We had a hard journey thither, and a
harder time still, or so I thought, in cleaning the old rookery of a
castle, and making it decent for Christians to live in. I would like to
tell you of our life in that far-away land, but this book of mine hath
run too long already. Be it enough to say, that we lived in great peace
and comfort till the accession of our present gracious queen brought us
back to England once more.
When I had seen my dear lady settled in her own house, we went down to
Coombe Ashton, taking with us one I never thought to see again—Father
Austin, whom we found absolutely starving in the streets of London.
The dear old man hath lived with us ever since. He will not say out
and out that he hath abandoned his old religion, but he reads all the
Scriptures, and goes to hear my husband preach. Mr. Batie exerted
himself to procure the arrears of Father Austin's small pension, which
is now paid regularly. He is as happy as possible, his only trouble
arising from the performances of the Jesuits, as the new order is
called.
Katherine and her husband still live at Wesel. Her oldest girl—my
adopted daughter—is well married, and lives near us, and I have two
boys and a girl of mine own. My uncle died full of years, just in time
to escape the storm of persecution and war which Philip of Spain hath
let loose on the Netherlands. We have heard nothing of Avice and her
husband for years.
And now this hand of mine, feeble and wrinkled, lays down the pen. I
have seen many changes in my time, and passed through many sorrows. It
is some times hard for me to feel that this is the same England, where,
when I was young, a man who read the Bible in his family, took his life
in his hand. Truly the Lord hath been bountiful to us beyond all our
deserts. May we never be so unmindful of His favor as to draw down His
judgments once more upon us.
THE END OF LOVEDAY'S HISTORY.