is is a strange request for me to make, that have
been fonder of your letters than my Lady Protector is of her new honour,
and, in earnest, would be so still but there are a thousand
inconveniences in't that I could tell you. Tell me what you can do; in
the meantime think of some employment for yourself this summer. Who
knows what a year may produce? If nothing, we are but where we were, and
nothing can hinder us from being, at least, perfect friends. Adieu.
There's nothing so terrible in my other letter but you may venture to
read it. Have not you forgot my Lady's book?

CHAPTER V

THE LAST OF CHICKSANDS. FEBRUARY AND MARCH 1654

The quarrel is over, happily over, and Dorothy and Temple are more than
reconciled again. Temple has been down to Chicksands to see her, and
some more definite arrangement has been come to between them. Dorothy
has urged Temple to go to Ireland and join his father, who has once
again taken possession of his office of Master of the Rolls. As soon as
an appointment can be found for Temple they are to be married--that is,
as far as one can gather, the state of affairs between them; but it
would seem as if nothing of this was as yet to be known to the outer
world, not even to Dorothy's brother.

_Letter 48._

SIR,--'Tis but an hour since you went, and I am writing to you already;
is not this kind? How do you after your journey; are you not weary; do
you not repent that you took it to so little purpose? Well, God forgive
me, and you too, you made me tell a great lie. I was fain to say you
came only to take your leave before you went abroad; and all this not
only to keep quiet, but to keep him from playing the madman; for when he
has the least suspicion, he carries it so strangely that all the world
takes notice on't, and so often guess at the reason, or else he tells
it. Now, do but you judge whether if by mischance he should discover the
truth, whether he would not rail most sweetly at me (and with some
reason) for abusing him. Yet you helped to do it; a sadness that he
discovered at your going away inclined him to believe you were ill
satisfied, and made him credit what I said. He is kind now in extremity,
and I would be glad to keep him so till a discovery is absolutely
necessary. Your going abroad will confirm him much in his belief, and I
shall have nothing to torment me in this place but my own doubts and
fears. Here I shall find all the repose I am capable of, and nothing
w