e, "and I neede not say it is Mr. _Milton_, of
whome I know little more than you doe, and that is not enough. On the
other Hand, _Roger Agnew_ sayth that he is one of whome we can never
know too much, and there is somewhat about him which inclines me to
believe it." "What will _Mother_ say?" interrupted I. Thereat
_Father's_ Countenance changed; and he hastilie answered, "Whatever she
likes: I have an Answer for her, and a Question too;" and abruptlie
left me, bidding me keepe myselfe quiet.

But can I? Oh, no! _Father_ hath sett a Stone rolling, unwitting of
its Course. It hath prostrated me in the first Instance, and will, I
misdoubt, hurt my _Mother_. _Father_ is bold enow in her Absence, but
when she comes back will leave me to face her Anger alone; or else,
make such a Stir to shew that he is not governed by a Woman, as wille
make Things worse. Meanwhile, how woulde I have them? Am I most
pleased or payned? dismayed or flattered? Indeed, I know not.

. . . I am soe sorry to have swooned. Needed I have done it, merelie
to heare there was one who soughte my Favour? Aye, but one soe wise!
so thoughtfulle! so unlike me!

Bedtime: same Daye.

. . . Who knoweth what a Daye will bring forth? After writing the
above, I sate like one stupid, ruminating on I know not what, except on
the Unlikelihood that one soe wise woulde trouble himselfe to _seeke_
for aught and yet fail to _win_. After abiding a long Space in mine
owne Chamber, alle below seeming still, I began to wonder shoulde we
dine alone or not, and to have a hundred hot and cold Fitts of Hope and
Feare. Thought I, if Mr. _Milton_ comes, assuredlie I cannot goe down;
but yet I must; but yet I will not; but yet the best will be to conduct
myselfe as though nothing had happened; and, as he seems to have left
the House long ago, maybe he hath returned to _Sheepscote_, or even to
_London_. Oh that _London_! Shall I indeede ever see it? and the rare
Shops, and the Play-houses, and _Paul's_, and the _Towre_? But what
and if that ever comes to pass? Must I leave Home? dear _Forest Hill_?
and _Father_ and _Mother_, and the Boys? more especiallie _Robin_? Ah!
but _Father_ will give me a long Time to think of it. He will, and
must.

Then Dinner-time came; and, with Dinner-time, Uncle _Hewlett_ and
_Ralph_, Squire _Paice_ and Mr. _Milton_. We had a huge Sirloin, soe
no Feare of short Commons. I was not ill pleased to see soe manie: it
gave me a