A solid oaken table stood in the midst, laden with books and
papers, and in a corner, near the open hearth, a carved desk,
bearing on one slope the largest copy of the 'Bishops' Bible'; on
the other, one of the Prayer-book. The ornaments of the oaken
mantelpiece culminated in a shield bearing a cross _boutonnee_,
i.e. with trefoil terminations. It was supported between a merman
with a whelk shell and a mermaid with a comb, and another like
Siren curled her tail on the top of the gaping baronial helmet
above the shield, while two more upheld the main weight of the
chimney-piece on either side of the glowing wood-fire.

In the seat of honour was an old gentleman, white-haired, and
feeble of limb, but with noble features and a keen, acute eye.
This was Sir William, Baron of Hurst Walwyn, a valiant knight at
Guingate and Boulogne, a statesman of whom Wolsey had been jealous,
and a ripe scholar who had shared the friendship of More and
Erasmus. The lady who sat opposite to him was several years
younger, still upright, brisk and active, though her hair was milk-
white; but her eyes were of undimmed azure, and her complexion
still retained a beauteous pink and white. She was highly
educated, and had been the friend of Margaret Roper and her
sisters, often sharing their walks in the bright Chelsea garden.
Indeed, the musk-rose in her own favourite nook at Hurst Walwyn was
cherished as the gift of Sir Thomas himself.

Near her sat sister, Cecily St. John, a professed nun at Romsey
till her twenty-eight year, when, in the dispersion of convents,
her sister's home had received her. There had she continued, never
exposed to tests of opinion, but pursuing her quiet course