“Indeed, indeed I have not promised.  I know it can never, never be—­ and that I am not fit for him.  Do not speak of it, Lucy?  He spoke of it once as we rode together—­”

“And you could not be so false as to tell him you did not love him?  No, you could not?” and Lucy kissed her again.

“No,” faltered Anne; “but I would not do as he wished.  I have given him no troth-plight.  I told him it would never be permitted.  And he said no more, but he put this ring on my finger in the boat without a word.  I ought not to wear it; I shall not.”

“Oh yes, you shall.  Indeed you shall.  No one need understand it but myself, and it makes us sisters.  Yes, Anne, Charley was right.  My father will not consent now, but he will in due time, if he does not hear of it till he wearies to see Charles again.  Trust it to me, my sweet sister that is to be.”

“It is a great comfort that you know,” said Anne, almost moved to tell her the greater and more perilous secret that lay in the background, but withheld by receiving Lucy’s own confidence that she herself was at present tormented by her cousin Sedley’s courtship.  He was still, more’s the pity, she said, in garrison at Portsmouth, but there were hopes of his regiment being ere long sent to the Low Countries, since it was believed to be more than half inclined to King James.  In the meantime he certainly had designs on Lucy’s portion, and as her father never believed half the stories of his debaucheries that were rife, and had a kindness for his only brother’s orphan, she did not feel secure against his yielding so as to provide for Sedley without continuance in the Dutch service.

“I could almost follow the example of running away!” said Lucy.

“I suppose,” Anne ventured to say, faltering, “that nothing has been heard of poor Mr. Oakshott.”

“Nothing at all.  His uncle’s people, who have come home from Muscovy, know nothing of him, and it is thought he may have gone off to the plantations.  The talk is that Mistress Martha is to be handed on to the third brother, but that she is not willing.”  It was clear that there could have been no spectres here, and Lucy went on, “But you have told me nothing yet of yourself and your doings, my Anne.  How well you look, and more than ever the Court lady, even in your old travelling habit.  Is that the watch the King gave you?”

In private and in public there was quite enough to tell on that evening for intimate friends who had not met for a year, and one of whom had gone through so many vicissitudes.  Nor were the other two guests by any means left out of the welcome, and the evening was a very happy one.

Mr. Fellowes intimated his intention of going himself to Walwyn with the news of Miss Darpent’s arrival, and Naomi accepted the invitation to remain at Portchester till she could be sent for from home.

It was not till the next morning that Anne Woodford could be alone with her uncle.  As she came downstairs in the morning she saw him waiting for her; he held out his hands, and drew her out with him into the walled garden that lay behind the house.