deere son's heart to leve that merciless company that was the deth of his father, for now I think of it with horror, before with sorrow. So, deere sone. … Our Lord bless you. Your loveing Mother."
Neither are the brave letters of Brilliana, Lady Harley, less conspicuous. In the absence of husband and son she managed the estates, harbouring her Puritan neighbours in the Castle. At the end of a six weeks' siege she died at her post. But during that six weeks we have glimpses of her making pies and cakes to send to her husband, knitting socks, and sending shirts and handkerchers to the deere son Ned she loved so well, and to whom she pens her last letter: "My deere Ned, I thank God, I am not afraid; it is the Lord's cause that we have stood for."
Not only as defenders of their homes, but as sick nurses, too, women shone in these three stern years of civil war. One "with excellent balsams and plasters" dressed many dangerous gun-shot wounds with such success "that they were all well cured in convenient time." Standing at her door one day, she saw three sorely-wounded prisoners carried past her bleeding: she ordered them to be brought to her, and, although they
