never loved me, and is happy in the
love of a better than I. Be it so: I am content. I had no
love-story,--only a memory that is known to none but me, though it will
never give mine heart leave to open his gates to any love again. Enough
of that. It is all the better for our dear _Father_ and _Mother_ that
they have one daughter left to them.

At the time we writ this Chronicle, when I were scarce seventeen years
of age, I mind I had a fantasy running through my brain that I was born
for greatness. Methinks it came in part of a certain eager restless
spirit that did long to be a-doing, and such little matters as do
commonly fall to women's lot seemed mean and worthless in mine eyes.
But in part (if I must needs confess my folly) I do believe it sprang of
a tale I had heard of _Mother_, touching Queen _Katherine_, the last
wife to King _Harry_ that was, of whom some _Egyptian_ [gypsy] had
prophesied, in her cradle, that she was born for a crown: and ever after
she heard the same, the child (as she then were) was used to scorn
common works, and when bidden to her task, was wont to say,--"My hands
were made to touch crowns and sceptres, not spindles and neelds,"
[needles]. Well, this tale (that _Mother_ told us for our diversion
when we were little maids--for she, being _Kendal_ born, did hear much
touching the Lady _Maud Parr_ and her childre, that dwelt in _Kendal_
Castle) this tale, I say, catched great hold of my fantasy. Mistress
_Kate Parr_ came to be a queen, according to her previsions of
greatness: and wherefore should not _Editha Louvaine_? Truly, there was
but little reason in the fantasy, seeing no _Egyptian_ had ever
prophesied of me (should that be of any account, which _Father_ will
ne'er allow), nor could the Queen's Majesty make me a queen by wedding
of me: but methinks pride and fantasy stick not much at logic. So I
clung in my silly heart to the thought that I was born to be great, and
was capable to do great things, would they but come in my way.

And now I have reached the age of seven and twenty, and they have not
come in my way, nor seem like to do. The only conquest I am like to
achieve is that over mine own spirit, which _Scripture_ reckoneth better
than taking of a city: and the sole entrance into majesty and glory that
ever I can look for, is to be presented faultless before the presence of
God with exceeding joy. Ah, _Editha Louvaine_! hast thou any cause for
being downcast at the e