t, looking round.

"You see, there is nothing to see," he observed.

"Nothing to see!" she made answer. "There are the fires to see, and the
martyrs, and the angels around, and the devils, and the men well-nigh as
ill as devils. There is the land to see that they saved, and the Church
that their blood watered, and the greatness of England that they
preserved. Ay, and there is the Day of Judgment, when martyrs and
persecutors will have their reward--and you and I, Mr Desborough, shall
meet with ours. My word, but there is enough to see for them that have
eyes to see it!"

"Oh!--ah!" said my Uncle Charles.

My Aunt Kezia said no more, except a few words which I heard her whisper
softly to herself,--"`They shall reign for ever and ever.' `The noble
army of martyrs praise Thee.'" Then, as she turned back to the coach,
she added, "I thank you, Sir. It was worth coming to London to look at
that. It makes one feel as if one got nearer to them."

And I thought, but did not say, that I should never be nearer to them
than I had been that winter night, when Colonel Keith helped me to carry
the basket into the gates of that grim, black pile beyond. He was there
yet. If I had been a bird, to have flown in and sung to him!--or,
better, a giant, to tear away locks and bars, and let him out! And I
could do _nothing_.

But here I am running ever so far from Grandmamma's Tuesday, and the
news Ephraim brought.

Annas has seen the Princess Caroline. She liked her, and thought her
very gentle and good. But she held out no hope at all, and did not seem
to think that anything which she could say would influence her father.
She would lay the matter before him, but she could promise no more.
However, she appointed another day, about a month hence, when Annas may
go to her again, and hear the final answer. So Annas must wait for
that.

Ephraim and Annas seem to be great friends. Is it not shockingly
selfish of me to wish it otherwise? I do not quite know why I wish it.
But sometimes I wonder--no, I won't wonder. It will be all right, of
course, however it be arranged. Why should I always want people to care
for me, and think of me, and put me first? Cary Courtenay, you are
growing horribly vain and selfish! I wonder at you!

It is settled now that we go home the week after Easter Day. We, means
my Aunt Kezia, and Flora, and Hatty, and me. I do not know how four
women are to travel without a gentleman, or even a s