that I go to meet him, wherever my dust may lie. I am
well-nigh fourscore years old this day; and if the Lord say, `Go not
over this Jordan,' let Him do as seemeth Him good. Methinks the glory
of the blessed City burst no less effulgent on the vision of Moses,
because he had seen the earthly Canaan but far off. And what I love the
best is not here, but there."

Temperance and Edith accompanied Lady Oxford to her coach. She paused a
moment before stepping in.

"Mrs Edith," she said, "methinks your good mother would fain see Mr
Louvaine ere he depart. If so, she shall not be balked thereof. I have
made inquiry touching Mr Marshall's house, and I find there is a little
gate from the garden thereof into Saint Andrew's churchyard. I will
call for her as to-morrow in my coach, and carry her to take the air.
An ancient servant of mine, that is wedded to the clerk of Saint
Andrew's, dwelleth by the churchyard, and I will stay me there as though
to speak with her, sending away the coach upon another errand that I can
devise. Then from her house my Lady may safely win to Mr Marshall's
lodging, and be back again ere the coach return."

"Your Ladyship is most good unto us," responded Edith, thankfully. "I
am assured it should greatly comfort my dear mother."

Lady Oxford turned with a smile to Temperance.

"It seems to me, Mrs Temperance, that your words be something sharp."

"Well, Madam, to tell truth, folks do put me out now and again more than
a little. Many's the time I long to give Faith a good shaking; and I
could have laid a stick on Aubrey's back middling often,--I'll not say I
couldn't: but if the lad sees his blunders and is sorry for 'em, I'll
put my stick in the corner."

"I think I would leave it tarry there for the present," said Lady
Oxford, with a soft little laugh. "God grant you a good even!"

The coach had only just rolled away, and four youthful Abbotts, whom it
had glued to the window, were still flattening their noses against the
diamond panes, when a clear, strong, sweet voice rang out on the evening
air in the back road which led by the palings of Saint James's Park.
Both Edith and Temperance knew well whose voice it was. They heard it
every night, lifted up in one of the Psalms of David, as Hans Floriszoon
came home from his work with the mercer. Hans was no longer an
apprentice. Mr Leigh had taken such a fancy to him, and entertained so
complete a trust both in his skill and honesty