he wound
which caused our loss.

'For myself, I write these scanty and imperfect details for my own comfort,
in knowing that they will be, in a sad sort, a comfort to you, dear sister,
and, I might humbly hope, to your lady also.

'My uncle, praying by Sir Philip's side, after he had addressed his
farewell to his brother, seeing him lie back on the pillow as if
unconscious, said, "Sir, if you hear what I say, let us by some means know
if you have inward joy and consolation of God."

'Immediately his hand, which had been thought powerless, was raised, and a
clear token given to those who stood by that his understanding had not
failed him.

'Once more, when asked the same question, he raised his hands with joined
palms and fingers pointing upwards as in prayer--and so departed.

* * * * *

'I wrote so far, and now I have been with my boy watching the removal of
all that is mortal of this great and noble one from Arnhem to Flushing,
convoyed to the water's edge by twelve hundred English soldiers, trailing
their swords and muskets in the dust, while solemn music played.

'The surgeons have embalmed the poor, worn body, and the Earl of Leicester
has commanded that it be taken to England for burial.

'"Mother," my boy said, as he clasped my hand tightly in his, as the barge
which bore the coffin away vanished in the mist hanging over the river,
"mother, why doth God take hence a brave and noble knight, and leave so
many who are evil and do evil instead of good?"

'How can I answer questions like to this? I could only say to my son,
"There is no answer. Now we only see as in a mirror darkly; at length we
shall see clearer in the Light of God, and His ways are ever just."

'Dear sister, it is strange to have the hunger of my heart satisfied by
God's gift to me of my boy from the very gates of death, and yet to have
that same heart oppressed with sorrow for those who are left to mourn for
the brave and noble one who is passed out of our sight. Yet is that same
heart full of thankfulness that I have recovered my child. It is not all
satisfaction with him. Every day I have to pray that much that he has
learned in the Jesuit school should be unlearned. Yet, God forbid I should
be slow to acknowledge that in some things Ambrose has been trained
well--in obedience, and the putting aside of self, and the mortification of
appetite. Yes, I feel that in this discipline he may have reaped a benefit