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 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE 
 
Rupert Saluting the Old Woman. 
 
Prince Rupert's Namesake 
 
 (■ft ■ 
 
 OR 
 
 AFTER THE RESTORATION 
 
 BY 
 
 EMILY WEAVER 
 
 '"'"''"- "^ "''' ''^''y ^^"r "The Ral,l>rs Sou.;' etc. 
 
 EDINBURGH & LONDON 
 OLIPHANT ANDERSON & FERRIER 
 
 1894 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. Madge and Rupert '^^^ 
 
 11. The Coach and Six . * * ' * ' * * I 
 
 in. The Abbey Hall . . . '. 
 
 IV. Lost on the Moss ^^ 
 
 V. Making of Poetry ^ 
 
 VI. The Prince ...'.'.' ^ 
 
 VII. Navarre . . ^4 
 
 VIII. The Old Shoemaker .' '°^ 
 
 IX. The ABBOT'S Treasure Chest' ' ' ' ' HI 
 
 X. Henry VIPs -Angels". • • 146 
 
 XI. The Service IN THE Wood* ' " ' * « 
 XII. His Majesty . """••.. 180 
 
 XIII. Court Gallants '^6 
 
 XIV. Shut Up ...."' ' ^13 
 
 XV. The Sting of Death ^^^ 
 
 XVI. Talk of Treason . ^^7 
 
 XVII. In Newgate ^^' 
 
 ^vfv* J«^ Humpbacked Peddler' .' .' ' ' ' l^t 
 Aix. A Difficult Problem • ' - 3^3 
 
 Jl^* !? ^"^ ^^^" ^^ ™ Fire .* .' ' ' ' ^^^ 
 
 AAl. Madge at Court ' • • 35° 
 
 XXII. Last Words • • • 368 
 
 381 
 
PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE 
 
 OR 
 
 AFTER THE RESTORATION 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MADGE AND RUPERT. 
 
 I CANNOT but think, Rupert, that his majesty 
 is to be blamed. How can he let his friends 
 starve ? How can he thus forget us after all our 
 house hath done for him and his.' We used to 
 promise ourselves that all would be well when the 
 king had his own again. Methinks he gives all to 
 his new favorites." 
 
 The girl spoke eagerly and impatiently. Her 
 companion made no answer for a moment ; at last 
 he said doubtfully : " Mayhap the fault rests with 
 grandfather himself. The king is reputed gener- 
 ous enough, and if he did but know of our needs, 
 I make no doubt he would repay somewhat of all 
 that hath been expended and lost in his cause." 
 
 Madge shook her head. "Father had as lief 
 starve as play the beggar. That trade becomes 
 not one of condition." 
 
PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 ** Surely there is no disgrace in pressing for pay- 
 ment of so just debts ! We cannot sit still, Madge, 
 while all goes to rack; something must be at- 
 tempted. If it were not that grandfather needs 
 me to get in the wood and go a-hunting, I would 
 strive to make interest to get a ship. Perhaps the 
 prince would help me to it." 
 
 Madge once more shook her head, saying with 
 a smile, " They would never make a boy like you 
 captain, Rupert ; but I doubt not times will mend 
 with us." 
 
 " Not if we do naught to mend them. I am 
 nigh on sixteen ; if I mistake not, there are cap- 
 tains in his majesty's navy little older." 
 
 "But you are no seaman, Ru." 
 
 "And they are not either, Madge. The mas- 
 ter orders the working of the ship ; the captain 
 needs but to rule and lead his men. I could 
 desire nothing better than to follow the prince to 
 battle, either by land or water. Nay, there are 
 times when I could find it in my heart to grieve 
 that peace had come whiles I was still too young 
 to lift the sword in defense of our noble king." 
 
 " The war has wrought us misery enough," said 
 Madge. "For mine own particular I wish that 
 his majesty's father, of blessed memory, had seen 
 fit to accommodate matters with the Parliament 
 men at the first beginning of the troubles. It 
 would have spared both himself and his friends 
 grief and loss." 
 
MADGE AND RUPERT, 
 
 ''Nay, but, Madge, it was impossible. How 
 could the king stoop to submit to the commands 
 of his own subjects? and it was no less the Round- 
 heads demanded of him. They would have had 
 him for their slave. He would have been un- 
 worthy of his crown had he tamely borne with so 
 great dishonor." 
 
 "Ah, well, I blame him not. Mother says he 
 was a most gallant and noble gentleman, every 
 inch a king ; and when I hear her tell of his royal 
 bearing and saintly patience in the hands of his 
 wicked enemies, I feel that I too could have given 
 everything to save him. It is only when one sees 
 those who have been rebels from the first set up 
 in power and wealth over our heads because, for- 
 sooth, they gave their voice at the eleventh hour 
 for bringing home the king — it ' - only at such 
 times I feel that we are wronged and shamed 
 unjustly." 
 
 " It is hard, Madge, I admit, to see a rebel in 
 possession of our lands ; but, trust me, there are 
 better times in store. It shall go hard if I do 
 not win back our rights in some fashion or other, 
 ere all is done." 
 
 " Have you heard, Rupert, that Sir John has writ 
 word to his family to expect him home to-day } " 
 
 " Ay, Madge ; and I have heard more than that. 
 He brings with him a new wife, and she they say 
 is the daughter of as true-hearted a Cavalier as 
 ever drew breath." 
 
s 
 
 PRINCE RV PERIL'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 ** Shame on her, then," cried Madge, " for a dis- 
 loyal rebel and traitress ! " 
 
 " Nay, Madge, the king himself was present at 
 her wedding. Sir John Elmer is a very consider- 
 able person at court." 
 
 " Mayhap, then, that is why we can come by 
 no better justice. Let us rest here a while, Ru. 
 Those clouds look like foul weather, and I am both 
 hot and weary." 
 
 So saying, Madge threw herself down on the 
 grass by the wayside. Overhead the leaves of 
 the trees hung motionless in the heavy air ; and 
 not a chirp or twitter broke the silence. A dull 
 red light fell on the gloomy wood that bordered 
 the road on either side, for the sultry autumn day 
 was drawing to its close, and dark, low-hanging 
 clouds gave promise of a coming storm. 
 
 Rupert stood looking down the road with the 
 grave, earnest gaze of one whose thoughts are far 
 away from the scene before him. He was tall for 
 his years, and though his figure was still slender 
 and boyish, an outdoor life had developed his 
 muscles and rendered him both strong and active. 
 Dark hair falling in curls on his shoulders, accord- 
 ing to the manner of the time, framed a face of 
 remarkable beauty, to which a pair of well-arched 
 eyebrows and merry brown eyes lent the chief 
 charm, while the healthy hue of his complexion 
 and the firmness of mouth and chin redeemed 
 it from the charge of overdelicacy and girlish- 
 
MADGE AND RUPERT, 
 
 ness which otherwise might have been brought 
 against it. 
 
 The slight likeness which existed between the 
 boy and his companion might have suggested that 
 they were brother and sister ; but the relationship 
 between them, though they were nearly of the 
 same age, was that of nephew and aunt. 
 
 Madge was also tall, graceful, and well-formed, 
 but her face, though not unpleasing, was by no 
 means regularly beautiful. Like Rupert's, it was 
 oval in outline, with a low, broad forehead, and the 
 nose was straight and clear-cut ; but slightly pro- 
 jecting upper teeth detracted from the beauty of 
 an otherwise well-formed mouth and chin. Her 
 complexion was dark and brown, her gray eyes 
 were somewhat restless in expression, and her 
 black hair, though neither wavy nor curly, was of 
 such rough and obstinate texture that it could not 
 be reduced to a decent submission to the brush, 
 but always exhibited a tendency to stand out ram- 
 pantly round the head of its owner like a shadowy 
 aureole. 
 
 The attire of both was rather shabby and thread- 
 bare, but it was carefully and neatly arranged. 
 To an observant eye it told plainly and pathet- 
 ically enough the story of a painful struggle 
 against poverty ; for, though their garments were 
 old-fashioned and faded, they were of finer ma- 
 terial than those usually worn by the peasantry. 
 
 Rupert was still gazing abstractedly down 
 
lO 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 the road when Madge rose to her feet, ex- 
 claiming, — 
 
 " Look, Ru ! who is that coming up behind 
 there ? Can it be Sir John ? " 
 
 "Scarcely; perhaps one of his servants, sent 
 on before to prepare for his coming. He would 
 not be afoot." 
 
 " Whoever it be, the man hath an odd appear- 
 ance. Look how he stands still to glance before 
 and behind, and then comes on apace." 
 
 " Mayhap he is a highwayman escaping from 
 the constables," suggested Rupert, watching him 
 with interest, for in their lonely, secluded life the 
 appearance of a stranger was an event. 
 
 " If so, the less we have to say about the poor 
 wretch the better. I would not for a fortune be 
 the means of giving him up to punishment ! " 
 
 " Nor L By the way, Margery, if I cannot get 
 a ship, perchance I had best take to the road," re- 
 marked Rupert, smiling. 
 
 "For shame, Rupert!" cried Madge quickly. 
 "Talk not of such wickedness and folly. The 
 heir of our house should leave such jests to them 
 of mean sort." 
 
 "But, Aunt Margery, seriously, I have heard 
 of gentlemen taking to the road. Nowadays little 
 other chance of redeeming our fortune is left to 
 us poor gentlemen." 
 
 Margery deigned no answer to this speech. 
 Two things in it displeased her. First of all. 
 
MADGE AND RUPERT. 
 
 II 
 
 Rupert never called her Aunt Margery except 
 when he wished to tease her. Secondly, he had 
 but stated a painful truth with regard to the high- 
 waymen. More than one gentleman by birth was 
 actually engaged in that wicked and disreputable 
 course ; and so much of the glamour of romance 
 was cast over their wild exploits that their mode 
 of life was popularly regarded with more admira- 
 tion than abhorrence. Madge did not really fear 
 that Rupert had any grain of serious meaning in 
 his professed intention of taking this means to 
 redeem their broken fortunes, but it was a sub- 
 ject upon which even jesting was distasteful. The 
 spot on which they stood had been the scene 
 of daring crimes more than once within the 
 last ten years. 
 
 Rupert did not pursue the subject, for the 
 stranger had advanced to within earshot. His 
 appearance was no less suspicious on a nearer 
 view than it had been in the distance. When he 
 caught sight of them he pulled his large hat 
 lower over his forehead and muffled the cloak he 
 wore about his face in spite of the heat, as if he 
 feared to be seen. 
 
 "Methinks yonder comes the prince of high- 
 waymen," murmured Rupert. " What shall we do, 
 Madge, if he pulls out a brace of pistols and bids 
 us stand and deliver } " 
 
 * Hush ! " said Madge. " He is going to speak 
 to us, I do believe." 
 
12 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 The stranger made an awkward bow, but did 
 not remove his hat, and, advancing toward them, 
 begged to know the way to Denham. 
 
 "Right on, good sir," said Rupert, "through 
 the wood and across the common. Beware of 
 leaving the road, for in places the marsh is 
 treacherous and dangerous to one who knows 
 not the country; and you, I take it, from your 
 speech and dress, are strange in these parts." 
 
 "Ay, sir; strange enough. Mayhap you will 
 have the further goodness to direct me to the 
 dwelling of one Dr. Blackwell." 
 
 "Dr. Blackwell!" exclaimed Rupert. "He 
 died ten years ago, my man." 
 
 " Ah ! I have been long in foreign parts. I 
 had a letter to deliver to him, that is all," said 
 the stranger, turning as if to go, then hesitating 
 and coming back. " May I trespass on your pa- 
 tience, young sir, so far as to crave information 
 where I may get lodging for a night or two, till 
 I am refreshed and rested sufficiently to continue 
 my journey } " 
 
 "Widow Martin might give you lodging," 
 Rupert was beginning, when Madge whispered 
 something in his ear and he stopped abruptly 
 with a reddening face. 
 
 " What road must I take to find this good 
 woman's house "i " asked the man after a length- 
 ened pause, during which both parties to the con- 
 versation had been diligently employing their eyes. 
 
" Dr. Blackwell ! " exclaimed Rupert. " He died ten years 
 ago, my man." 
 
MADGE AND RUPERT. 
 
 n 
 
 " It were easy to direct you, sir, but mayhap 
 Widow Martin would not be best pleased were 
 we to send her a guest of whom we know no 
 more thav» that he is a stranger in these parts," 
 said Madge severely. 
 
 " Your remark is just, madam ; and yet were I 
 to tell you my name you would still be none the 
 wiser concerning me. Nevertheless, if it please 
 you, I will tell you this much : I am called Giles 
 Hartley, and I have spent many years in America 
 and more at sea. Now, as confidence deserves 
 confidence, do me the honor to inform me by 
 what name you are known." 
 
 "This is Mistress Margery Staynor, daughter 
 of Squire Staynor, some time of Denham Abbey, 
 and I am his grandson Rupert," said the lad 
 impulsively, though Margery frowned and shook 
 her head. 
 
 "I heard of Squire Staynor years ago as a 
 noble Cavalier," said the man slowly. " Doth he 
 not still live in the old towers on the hill ? " 
 
 " Yea and nay ! The old towers are gone, all 
 but the least considerable of them — shattered 
 to the very ground by the rebels* cannon; but 
 in that one Squire Staynor still finds shelter for 
 his gray head." 
 
 " Rupert," said Madge reprovingly, " the storm 
 seems gathering apace. It is time we hastened 
 home. As for you, sir, your best plan would 
 be to cross the marsh ere daylight fails and seek 
 
r 
 
 14 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 shelter at The Crown and Scepter. It will not 
 be denied you there, if you have money to pay 
 the charges, at least." 
 
 The man bowed once more and went slowly on 
 his way. 
 
 " Rupert," said Madge, looking after his retreat- 
 ing figure, •' why did you talk so openly to that 
 sorry fellow } What boots it to him that our tow- 
 ers are shattered and that we are fain to take 
 refuge in a corner of the abbey.?" 
 
 Rupert laughed. "That the fact is grievous 
 enough, I pretend not to deny, Madge; but that 
 speaking of it makes it any the worse I do not 
 see." 
 
 " But why speak of it to him, Ru } " 
 
 " Listen, Madge ! don't you hear carriage 
 wheels.? It must be Sir John Elmer. I wish 
 we could see them pass." 
 
 " Nay, Ru, we cannot stay here like gaping 
 country folk to see the great folk go by. By 
 mine own consent I would never afford this up- 
 start Sir John that triumph ! " 
 
 " Ay ! but Madge, now confess, if you could see 
 vithout being seen, would you not like a glance 
 at the man and his fair wife } They say she has 
 wondrous wit and beauty. For mine own part, 
 it would like me mightily to see the great coach 
 and horses which he is bringing up from London." 
 
 "Do you remember the oak tree over yonder 
 where we used to sit when we were children ? " 
 
MADGE AND RUPERT. 
 
 15 
 
 said Madge suddenly. She was as anxious as 
 Rupert to see the show, if only she could con- 
 trive it without compromising her dignity. 
 
 " The very thing ! " cried Rupert. " I '11 help 
 you up. An oak may surely serve us in this 
 strait as well as it served the king." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE COACH AND SIX. 
 
 THE oak toward which Madge and Rupert 
 bent their steps was a gnarled and vener- 
 able tree that had weathered the storms of more 
 than a century. Twelve or fifteen feet from the 
 ground a great arm was thrust out almost across 
 the road, whilst higher up a succession of smaller 
 boughs formed a leafy arbor admirably adapted 
 for purposes of concealment. The only difficulty 
 was to attain this charming bower ; but as Madge 
 was inclined to be what is now called a tomboy, 
 she was not without experience in the science of 
 tree-climbing, though latterly, in deference to her 
 mother's wishes, she had not indulged in the ex- 
 ercise as frequently as she would have liked. On 
 this occasion, however, she felt that the end jus- 
 tified the means, and, dexterously availing herself 
 of every point of vantage offert by the knots 
 and twists of the rugged trunk, she was soon 
 comfortably ensconced in her place of observa- 
 tion, while Rupert perched on one of the boughs 
 above her head. 
 
 For a moment after gaining their position, they 
 were silent, listening intently to the nearing rat- 
 tle and lumbering of some heavy vehicle. 
 
 10 
 
THE COACH AND SIX. 
 
 17 
 
 "Suppose it should only be old Farmer Ben- 
 nett with his flour sacks?" suggested Rupert, 
 jumping up and down on his branch to pass the 
 time. 
 
 " For pity's sake, Ru, do be still. Think how 
 cheap and ridiculous we shall feel if you make a 
 plunge into the carriage amongst Lady Elmer's 
 finery." 
 
 Rupert laughed. 
 
 " No fear, Madge, for my lady's braveries. The 
 coach roof will hold, I doubt not, at the worst. 
 They are slow travelers, surely." 
 
 " Hist ! I think I hear their voices," cried 
 Madge wamingly. " What was that } lightning } " 
 
 " It is they. I can see the coach, gilded from 
 top to bottom. Stir not, Madge; here comes a 
 servant. It would be rare sport if they took us 
 for highwaymen !" 
 
 " Ay, Ru ; and if so, like enough they '11 take 
 a shot at us." 
 
 The top-heavy, windowless coach came on 
 slowly, though it was drawn by no less than six 
 fine horses ; but to the disappointment of the 
 conspirators they found they could see little or 
 nothing of its inmates, for they were almost di- 
 rectly above it. They had, however, an excellent 
 view of the gorgeously painted though mud be- 
 spattered carriage, with the handsome horses and 
 richly liveried servants. 
 
 As it chanced, chey had chosen their position 
 
i8 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 just above an execrable bit of road, where the 
 mud was so deep that it might almost have sug- 
 gested Bunyan's Slough of Despond. By way 
 of improvement huge logs and stones had been 
 flung into the quagmire, which, being far from 
 sufficient to hll it up, played the part of hidden 
 rocks at sea, and were perhaps responsible for the 
 wreckage of many vehicles that might have es- 
 caped the mud. 
 
 The mounted servant got over this place with- 
 out any serious mishap, but it was another thing 
 to pilot over the heavy coach. Before the driver 
 had taken in the situation the leaders were plung- 
 ing up to their girths. He tried to cheer them on 
 with voice and whip, but only succeeded in excit- 
 ing the spirited animals. In another moment the 
 great carriage was fast in the mud, with its six 
 horses wildly jumping and struggling in inextri- 
 cable confusion, while the servants ran hither and 
 thither shouting and exclaiming, cracking their 
 whips, and catching at the bridles, without any 
 definite idea of the object to be gained by these 
 proceedings. 
 
 Just as the excitement was at its height, a sud- 
 den shout was raised of " Murder ! murder I the 
 highwaymen are upon us ! " and two of the serv- 
 ants fled in opposite directions, still shrieking 
 "Murder!" as they went. The coach door was 
 flung open and, regardless of the mud. Lady 
 Elmer threw herself out, and clinging to her 
 
THE COACH AND SIX. 
 
 19 
 
 husband's arm besought him to take heed to run 
 into no danger. Sir John, who from the first had 
 been doing his utmost to restore order, tried to 
 reassure her, and drawing out a pair of pistols 
 declared himself ready for any number of rob- 
 bers. No one knew how the alarm had arisen, 
 for the two brave servants were now at least a 
 quarter of a mile away. 
 
 By this time the gloom was so intense that the 
 pair in the tree could only see the dim outlines of 
 those on the road below. Suddenly a vivid flash 
 of lightning revealed the whole scene, and min- 
 gling with the thunder that followed instanta- 
 neously, a wild scream rang through the air. It 
 was from the lips of Lady Elmer's maid. 
 
 "Look to the oak, Sir John !" she gasped out, 
 " the oak ! there are men in it. Oh, we shall all 
 be murdered ! " 
 
 Sir John glanced upward and saw the dark out- 
 line of a human figure in the tree ; but even while 
 he looked there was a scramble and a slip and 
 the figure lay on the ground before him. Quick 
 as thought he drew his sword, but Rupert, quicker 
 still, at once regained his feet and his dignity. 
 Advancing with a bow which would have done 
 credit to a courtier, he said gravely: — 
 
 "I imagine, sir, that I have the honor of ad- 
 dressing Sir John Elmer." 
 
 The young man smiled, returned the courtly 
 salute, and said : — 
 
20 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 " You are right, fair sir ; though I know not to 
 whom I have the pleasure of speaking." 
 
 " Rupert Staynor, at your service, sir ; and if I 
 can be of any use to you in your present distress, 
 pray command me." 
 
 " Thank you, young sir. Know you then where 
 I can send for assistance in getting out my coach 
 and horses ? " 
 
 " I fear there is little hope of aid nearer than 
 Denham, a mile and a half away. Our own 
 house is hard by, but my grandfather makes shift 
 to do without servants. Nevertheless, perhaps 
 your lady and her maid will be pleased to accept 
 shelter under our poor roof until you are ready 
 to proceed on your journey." 
 
 " What fiay you, Edith ? will you and Williams 
 and Harold take advantage of this kind offer .? " 
 
 Lady Elmer, whose face was concealed by a 
 kind of mask called a vizard, just then beginning 
 to be fashionable, thanked Rupert very cour- 
 teously for his civility, but declined his invitation, 
 and the lad went to help Sir John and his serv- 
 ants in the discouraging task of getting the coach 
 out of the mud hole. All this time Rupert was 
 very uncomfortable at the thought of poor Madge 
 perched in the tree, but he did not know how to 
 extricate without betraying her. 
 
 The storm had begun now in earnest ; the light- 
 ning was flashing every instant, while continuous 
 peals of thunder roared overhead. At last rain 
 
 1 1 
 
THE COACH AND SIX. 
 
 21 
 
 began to pour down in torrents, and Rupert, un- 
 able to bear it longer, threw down the rail with 
 which he was working, went to the foot of the 
 oak tree and shouted : — 
 
 " Madge, Madge, come down ! The tree may 
 be struck ! " 
 
 A hand was laid on his mouth, and Madge said 
 in his ear : — 
 
 "Be quiet, Rupert ; I am down." 
 
 " How did you contrive it ? " asked the lad. 
 " I never saw you ! " 
 
 "Because you were not looking, Ru. I got 
 down as you did, by a combination of scrambling 
 and falling, tliough I did not make a graceful 
 bow at the end, because ihere was no one to see. 
 But, Ru, we ought to go home. Wuat will mother 
 think.?" 
 
 " I know not ; we will tell her all. But, Madge, 
 I must to work. This coach will never be out till 
 midnight. Look ! they are all ready to start lift- 
 ing again." 
 
 " Stay one moment," cried Sir John, going to 
 the coach door. " Harold, I will help you out. 
 It is not safe to stay within. The coach may be 
 overturned any moment." 
 
 "Very well, sir; I will do as you please," was 
 the reply ; and a tall slight boy alighted. He 
 seemed to walk with difficulty, and Sir John sup- 
 ported him carefully to where Lady Elmer and her 
 maid waited beside the road. Madge had crossed 
 
1 
 
 22 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 ;i 
 
 to them, and was begging them to take shelter in 
 her father's house ; but the lady still courteously 
 refused their hospitality. 
 
 The coach had been emptied of all it contained, 
 and trunks and boxes lay scattered on the grass ; 
 but by this time the horses were so discouraged 
 by their repeated failures to move it that first one 
 and then another refused to draw. At last, after 
 an indescribable amount of plunging and strug- 
 gling, they were started all together; but, alas! 
 the coach had scarcely moved a yard when one 
 of the hind wheels came off. 
 
 " This last mishap do finish our chance of get- 
 ting on to-night. Sir John," cried the old coach- 
 man. "You and the lady had best take this 
 young gentleman's offer, and Jim and me and 
 the rest will take the horses on to the village 
 yonder." 
 
 Thus it was settled at last, much to Sir John's 
 distaste. 
 
 Margery, not always the madcap she had 
 seemed on this occasion, hurried across the fields 
 through the storm to make what preparation 
 was possible for their unexpected guests, and to 
 tell her father and mother the story of their 
 adventure. 
 
 Twenty years earlier Denham Abbey had been 
 one of the most magnificent country houses in the 
 county of Cheshire. It was built on a low hill, 
 commanding a wide and beautiful view of rich 
 
THE COACH AND SIX. 
 
 23 
 
 woods and fertile pastures, watered by a small 
 river that flowed through the park. It had been a 
 great quadrangular structure of gray stone, with 
 many towers and imposing battlements. During 
 the war it had been strongly fortified and Mrs. 
 Staynor had held it for weeks against the army 
 of Fairfax, during the absence of her husband, who 
 had been in attendance on the king. Strong as it 
 was, however, the cannon of the Roundheads had 
 effected a breach in the walls, and in punishment 
 for its long resistance the whole building had been 
 reduced to ruins, with the exception of two or 
 three small rooms and one tower. 
 
 Misfortune had followed misfortune. Squire 
 Staynor had fallen into the hands of the enemy 
 at Marston Moor and had suffered a long impris- 
 onment. Three of his four sons had followed 
 him to the war and now slept in bloody graves ; of 
 the other neither Mr. nor Mrs. Staynor ever spoke. 
 Whether he were living or dead they did not know, 
 for long years had passed since he had parted from 
 them to join the ranks of the rebels. This grief 
 had fallen more heavily upon his mother than the 
 deaths of all her other sons, for with her loyalty 
 was a matter of religion, and shame and indigna- 
 tion mingled with her sorrow. Geoffrey alone of 
 all her sons had shown marked inclination for 
 study. She had dreamed of a brilliant future for 
 him as a scholar or a politician, which should add 
 new luster to his ancient name. Alas ! instead of 
 
24 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 fame and honor, he had brought disgrace upon 
 them all — a disgrace so black and indelible that 
 nothing remained but to cast him off forever, 
 though the sacrifice involved the bitterest anguish 
 that human heart can bear. From the day that 
 Geoffrey Staynor fled to the Parliament in London 
 he had been with one consent regarded as dead ; 
 and yet the outraged love of his mother lived on 
 against her will. Who can say what sleepless 
 hours were nightly passed in thought and prayer 
 for him } Who can tell with what vain effort her 
 imagination strove to follow her lost boy in his 
 wanderings.^ Yet it was she, rather than her 
 husband, who was utterly relentless and implaca- 
 ble. It was she who had forbidden him to return 
 till he had humbly confessed his treachery to the 
 king. It was she whose reproaches had been 
 most bitter and passionate. 
 
 Of her own children one only, her daughter 
 Margery, remained to console her in the poverty 
 and misfortune that had overshadowed these latter 
 years. Affectionate mother as she was, she loved 
 her son's child with an even more passionate de- 
 votion. Rupert was born at The Hague, in the 
 year and month of King Charles' " martyrdom." 
 Prince Rupert, then at Helvoetsluys, employed 
 in making preparations for a somewhat piratical 
 naval expedition for the benefit of the royal cause, 
 " stood godfather," to the child and gave him his 
 own name. The prince had no more enthusiastic 
 
 _Ji2 
 
THE COACH AND SIX. 
 
 25 
 
 admirer than Edward Staynor ; but a sudden fever 
 prevented his following Rupert to sea. He re- 
 covered, but his young wife died, and putting his 
 child under the care of his mother he attended 
 his royal master to Scotland, and fell at Worcester 
 in that fight which Oliver was wont to call his 
 "crowning mercy." 
 
 Before leaving England, Squire Staynor had 
 been obliged to sell by far the larger part of his 
 estates, at a price much below their real value, 
 and upon the money thus realized the family con- 
 trived to subsist, sometimes in exile, sometimes 
 in concealment, till the course of events brought 
 about the restoration of the king to his hereditary 
 throne. The remainder of Richard Staynor's 
 lands had been confiscated by the Parliament, and 
 upon the reestablishment of the old form of gov- 
 ernment his claim to this portion of his estate 
 was admitted, but he received no compensation 
 for his overwhelming losses. Burdened with 
 debts contracted in the king's service, and in 
 receipt of barely a tithe of his former income, the 
 squire and his household were almost in want of 
 the necessaries of life. The residue of his estate 
 was so heavily mortgaged that it seemed utterly 
 unlikely that Rupert would ever inherit one of the 
 broad acres that had belonged to his ancestors. 
 In the meanwhile the almost destitute family 
 found a refuge amongst the ruins of their old 
 home, and lived, like the cottagers about them, on 
 
26 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 the least costly food that would serve to keep 
 them alive. 
 
 Yet in this extremity Squire Staynor found 
 life by no means unenjoyable. When his credit- 
 ors were not too clamorous, he possessed the 
 fortunate ability of dismissing them entirely from 
 his thoughts. He had followed his king to battle 
 when he conceived that duty called him thither, 
 but his was not a warlike temperament. He dis- 
 liked the bustle and excitement of war nearly as 
 much as he hated its cruelties and bloodshed. His 
 grief for his sons was tempered by a holy resig- 
 nation to *he will of God, and now in the evening 
 of his days (so deplorably wretched as to outward 
 appearance) he was happy and contented. He 
 had one great resource that many a time stood 
 him in good stead by drawing away his mind from 
 his losses. This was his earnest devotion to 
 scie.ice. In the topmost room of the turret he 
 spent many peaceful hours each day amongst the 
 retorts and crucibles of a small laboratory which 
 he had fitted up in the earliest days of his return, 
 when he still had hope of compensation from the 
 king. He was engaged in writing a book on 
 metals, which involved many curious and in- 
 teresting experiments, and this occupied his time 
 both pleasantly and profitably ; for in the course 
 of his investigations he made one or two discov- 
 eries which earned him a high reputation among 
 the philosophers of the Royal Society. 
 
THE COACH AND SIX. 
 
 27 
 
 Richard Staynor was at this time about seventy 
 years of age. In person he was slight, spare, and 
 scarcely above the middle height. Thin locks of 
 snowy hair and a beard of venerable length and 
 whiteness set off by contrast the healthy hues of 
 his complexion. A broad, high forehead, thin 
 cheeks, and blue-gray eyes complete the picture. 
 
 His wife was fifteen years younger and had 
 been a great beauty in her earlier days. Her still 
 abundant hair was streaked with gray, but her 
 black eyes flashed and sparkled with the fire 
 of a passionate nature but half subdued. Her 
 height and the cast of her features gave her a 
 proud and imperial air which was not lessened 
 by the stately grace of her slightest motions. 
 
 Madge rapidly threaded her way through the 
 ruins, which were illuminated now and then by 
 vivid flashes of lightning, to a door in the angle 
 of the tower. Lifting the heavy latch, she en- 
 tered a room lighted at the farther end by a 
 wood fire on the hearth of a wide chimney, and 
 crossing to where her mother sat beside it she 
 threw herself down on her knees and began to 
 tell her tale, but so eagerly and incoherently that 
 her listeners found it no easy matter to under- 
 stand the cause of the delay. All they under- 
 stood was that some one had come to grief in the 
 mud and that Rupert was bringing the travelers 
 home. 
 
 Mrs. Staynor reproved her daughter gently for 
 
28 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 climbing the tree, but the squire only patted the 
 girl on the head and smilingly bade her not to 
 lead Rupert into mischief. Then Madge lit a 
 candle and set it on a wooden table in the center 
 of the room ; but the dancing firelight seemed 
 still to have it all its own way, flickering here on 
 faded hangings and there on bare stone walls 
 which there had not been tapestry enough to 
 cover. A battered suit of armor hung between two 
 windows with pointed arches and diamond-shaped 
 panes, whilst above the chimney-piece hung an- 
 cient swords, daggers, and firearms artistically 
 arranged. An old picture of a crusading ances- 
 tor hung above the door, and in a little recess 
 containing a polished table and a richly cushioned 
 chair hung a portrait of Mrs. Staynor as she had 
 been in the days of her youth and beauty, before 
 misfortune came upon her. The recess might 
 have been a shrine dedicated to the memory of 
 other days, for it contained almost all the relics 
 of past splendor that the Staynors now possessed. 
 One or two small ornaments and a massive silver 
 tankard were on the table, and a worn Persian 
 rug lay on the floor, while an old-fashioned guitar 
 rested against the wall in one corner. 
 
 The dark oak floor in the rest of the room was 
 destitute of mat or carpet, and the chairs were of 
 plain wood and clumsy manufacture. 
 
 Madge moved about briskly, setting on the 
 table such fare as the house afforded and arrang- 
 
 'A 
 
THE COACH AND SIX. 
 
 29 
 
 ing the common earthenware and pewter dishes 
 to as much advantage as possible. When all 
 was done she regarded the feast doubtfully. A 
 pitcher of milk, another of ale, a little butter, 
 the remains of a pair of wild ducks which had 
 served for dinner, and a loaf of dark rye bread 
 made but a poor appearance, and the girl felt 
 annoyed to be obliged thus to show their poverty 
 to the Roundhead baronet and his lady. 
 
 " Mother," she exclaimed, " will you not change 
 your gown } Lady Elmer is most nobly clad." 
 
 The name caught Mrs. Staynor's attention. 
 " Lady Elmer^ my daughter ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes, mother; did I not tell you.? our neigh- 
 bor Sir John Elmer's wife. I wonder much that 
 they have not already come. I think the gentle- 
 man at least was by nc means willing to accept 
 of our hospitality. Doubtless his conscience 
 troubled him in remembering of how his good 
 had been our ill fortune." 
 
 "What sort of person is he, Margery.?" in- 
 quired the squire placidly. 
 
 " So far as I was able to observe him in the 
 darkness, he is most tall and comely. I should 
 scarcely have guessed him to be a rebel and a 
 Roundhead ! " 
 
 " Madge, my child, he hath received the king's 
 pardon ; it is not for us to use ill words concern- 
 ing him," said the old man gently. 
 
Jl 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE ABBEY HALL. 
 
 LADY ELMER'S brother, Harold Clive, was 
 the heir of an untitled gentleman of great 
 wealth. More fortunate than most of the Cava- 
 liers, his possessions had been little impaired by 
 the civil war, and his guardians were so careless 
 and liberal that though he was not yet of age his 
 estates were practically under his own control. 
 His only sister, Edith, three years older than him- 
 self, had had so handsome a portion and was so 
 fair of face that all the needy gallants about the 
 court aspired to her hand. To their utter disgust 
 she bestowed her favor on Sir John Elmer, whose 
 family had distinguished itself by zealous support 
 of the Protector, until his death had threatened to 
 throw the country into utter confusion, and all 
 order-loving citizens, in fear of the despqtism of 
 Oliver's terrible army, had combined to call back 
 the king. Charles had approved her choice, for 
 though he no longer claimed the right of the 
 absolute disposal of such orphaned heiresses in 
 marriage, he felt that Sir John would regard his 
 countenance of his suit as an ample reward for 
 the part taken by his family in bringing about 
 the king's restoration. 
 
 30 
 
THE ABBEY HALL, 
 
 3X 
 
 Harold, who for the last five years had suffered 
 from continuous ill health, intended to make his 
 home for the present at his sister's house, for 
 Edith was his only near relative, and he dreaded 
 the loneliness of his own Kentish mansion after 
 she had gone to her far-distant home. 
 
 The journey had already occupied the best part 
 of a week, and was a much more formidable un- 
 dertaking than crossing the Atlantic now is, for 
 the badness of the roads and the number of 
 highwaymen who infested the country rendered 
 a perfect cavalcade of servants and horses an 
 absolute necessity. 
 
 From the spot where the coach stuck fast to 
 the ruins of the abbey was barely a quarter of a 
 mile ; but the narrow path through the woods was 
 so little trodden and the darkness was so great 
 that even Rupert, familiar as he was with 
 every tree and stone, found some little diffi- 
 culty in guiding the party, which was obliged 
 to proceed slowly on account of Clive. It was 
 therefore quite twenty minutes after Madge's 
 breathless entrance when the door was flung 
 open a second time, and Rupert's voice called out 
 cheerfully : — 
 
 " Here we are, grandmother ; and wellnigh 
 drowned. *T is the heaviest rain I ever saw." 
 
 Mr. Staynor advanced cordially to welcome his 
 guests, but his wife arose from her ohair and 
 made the strangers a dignified courtesy, such as 
 

 Ill 
 
 32 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 had been fashionable at court in her youth. Lady 
 Elmer's garments were as wet as if she had been 
 in the river, but she returned the courtesy with 
 such a pretty air of deference and friendliness 
 that her hostess came forward and began with 
 her own hands to unfasten her dripping hood and 
 cloak. As she was thus engaged, her attention 
 was caught by Clive's white face and exhausted 
 air, so bidding Madge take the lady to her cham- 
 ber and find dry apparel for her, she herself led 
 Harold into Rupert's tiny room and administered 
 a cordial to him. 
 
 Her very kindness seemed to have a reviving 
 effect on the boy. Before she left him his face had 
 lost its deathlike pallor, and he begged her, with 
 animation enough, not to give herself so much 
 trouble for his sake. There was a look in his great 
 dark eyes that seemed familiar to her. Really two 
 or three years older than Rupert, he looked younger. 
 His transparent skin, small hands, and even the 
 shape of his face and the delicacy of his beautiful 
 features gave to him an air of extreme youthful- 
 ness, which was one of the minor trials of his life. 
 
 Now he looked so young and so helpless that 
 Mrs. Staynor involuntarily laid her hand caress- 
 ingly on the soft hair that fell about his face. 
 
 The boy did not resent the action, though he 
 was usually sensitive about such exhibitions of 
 pity for his weakness, but taking her hand gently 
 in his own he lifted it to his lips, saying, — 
 
THE ABBEY HALL. 
 
 33 
 
 "Dear lady, you put me in mind of my mother." 
 
 " Is she dead ? " asked the lady softly, thinking 
 of her lost boys. 
 
 "Yes; she hath been dead for eight years 
 come Christmas. My father died at Edgehill." 
 
 "Fighting under General Fairfax?" asked Mrs. 
 Staynor with a darkening face. 
 
 "No; for our king. None of our house was 
 ever amongst the rebels, madam," said the lad, 
 with a flash of martial spirit lighting up his pale 
 face. 
 
 " Then you are not an Elmer ? I thought you 
 were Sir John's brother." 
 
 " No, madam ; I am Harold Clive of Brent- 
 worth." 
 
 " The son of Lady Isabelle Clive } " 
 
 "The same, madam. Lady Elmer is my sister." 
 
 "Yet she hath wedded one who hath been 
 in arms against his king } " 
 
 " Yes, madam. At first the connection liked 
 me ill enough ; but since I have come to know 
 John Elmer better, I am fain to allow that I am 
 well contented with the match. He is a very 
 noble and worthy person." 
 
 At this moment Rupert came to say that 
 Madge was seeking Mrs. Staynor. 
 
 " What is to be done, mother } " she exclaimed. 
 " My Lady Elmer's gown is drenched with rain, 
 and mine are all too small and not fit to be 
 offered to so modish a lady." 
 
34 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 i 
 
 Mrs. Staynor hesitated, then said : — 
 
 " I will find somewhat that she can make shift 
 to wear. Fetch me the little key from the drawer 
 in the press in my chamber, Margery." 
 
 A few minutes later she brought into Madge's 
 bedroom a long trained gown of white satin, curi- 
 ously embroidered with gold, and richly trimmed 
 with the finest lace. 
 
 " My daughter tells me, Lady Elmer, that her 
 garments are too small for you. I shall be pleased 
 if you will do me the honor to put on this old 
 gown of mine." 
 
 " O Mrs. Staynor, you are too good ! " protested 
 the young lady. " Pray lend me something sim- 
 pler than that handsome gown." 
 
 " Do wear it," said Madge enthusiastically. " It 
 was mother's wedding gown. It would like me 
 well to see you in it. I am sure you would 
 become it mightily. Let me be your waiting 
 maid." 
 
 As she saw that they both really wished it, 
 Edith put on the dress without more objection. 
 It seemed to her very quaint and old-fashioned, 
 for it had been made nearly forty years before ; 
 but to us it would not look more strange than the 
 traveling dress which she had just taken off. 
 
 The skirt was a little long, for Lady Elmer was 
 not much over middle height ; but the shimmering 
 satin and filmy lace set off the soft r^rk and white 
 of her complexion. When Mrs. Staynor had last 
 
 ■rr 
 
 i 
 
THE ABBEY HALL. 
 
 35 
 
 worn the dress her neck and arms had sparkled 
 with jewels ; but Edith had no adornment save 
 the golden-brown ringlets that clustered on 
 her neck. 
 
 The old lady looked at the dress with eyes that 
 had tears in them, for the long-laid-aside finery 
 brought back painfully the memory of the days 
 when she had worn it, a happy bride, and she 
 turned away with a suppressed sigh. 
 
 Edith heard it ; her soft brown eyes filled with 
 tears, and holding out both hands to her hostess 
 she said impulsively, " Dear Mrs. Staynor, let me 
 put on my own gown again." 
 
 "No, no, my dear ! *t is nothing," said Mrs. Stay- 
 nor, kissing the sweet upturned face. "It is a 
 wondrous pleasure to me to have my old gown 
 used by my dear friend's daughter." 
 Then you knew my mother.?" 
 Yes ; I knew and loved her well when we were 
 girls." 
 
 "Then I shall love you too, and I trust you 
 will try to love me a little for my mother's 
 sake," said Edith. "I am glad we are so near 
 neighbors." 
 
 " So am I," cried Madge ; " but now, if your 
 ladyship is ready, be pleased to come to supper." 
 Catching up the end of the long train, Madge 
 followed her guest ; so Lady Elmer made her 
 entry into the quaint old hall in state. Her hus- 
 band looked as if he scarcely recognized her ; but 
 
 « ' 
 
 (( 
 
 i 
 
n 
 
 1^ 
 
 1 
 f'' 
 
 
 36 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 Clive, quite at his ease by this time, made her 
 a low and courtly bow. 
 
 Every one was quite ready for Margery's hastily 
 prepared supper, and to her satisfaction the trav- 
 elers all did ample justice to it. They seemed to 
 enjoy both the cold duck and the rye bread so 
 much that she almost forgot the pewter and earth- 
 enware in which the rneal was served. Sir John, 
 like so many gentlemen of his time, took a keen 
 interest in natural science, and as soon as supper 
 was over Mr. Stayi.or took him to his turret, 
 where they discoun-eu " chemicals and metals for 
 two good hours. 
 
 In his late visit to London, Sir John had seen 
 a good deal of the philosopher^ of the metropolis, 
 and though he was at most times shy and quiet 
 Mr. Staynor's strong interest in all he had to tell 
 drew him on to talk much more than was usual 
 with him. 
 
 In the meantime the party gathered round the 
 fire in the room below was very merry. The old 
 guitar was brought out, an^' Mnige and Rupert 
 sang several duets. Their /cfcj's were sweet and 
 true, and their audience appkuJed them heartily. 
 Lady Elmer also sang, but not so well as she 
 talked; and by and by the guitar was put away 
 while she told story after story of her continental 
 adventures, or repeated the legends associated 
 with many an old castle in France and Germany. 
 With graceful tact she av(« cd all allusions to the 
 
THE ABBEY HALL. 
 
 37 
 
 war; but by degrees the talk took a dark and 
 tragic turn. 
 
 Till now Clive had been a silent though an ap- 
 preciative listener to both songs and stories ; but 
 something in the conversation recalled to his mind 
 a weird tale which he had heard in an old French 
 inn. He told it well, with animated tones and 
 expressive gestures. It was as follows : — 
 
 Hundreds of years ago, when Charlemagne was 
 emperor, there lived a miser in the town of Verville. 
 His house had walls full seven feet thick, and win- 
 dows so narrow that they scarce let in the light, 
 for within silver and gold lay in great heaps upon 
 the floor. So fearful was he of being robbed that 
 every night, after he had barred his doors, he drew 
 his wealth together and slept upon the summit of 
 the pile. Thus years went by and he grew thin 
 and haggard and ancient. Nightly he lay upon 
 his treasure, but slept little, always dreading lest 
 it should be wrested from him. At length, for 
 three nights in succession came a vision to disturb 
 him. An old, grim, ghastly man, with eyes like 
 burning fire, bent over him and laid a hand like 
 ice upon his brow. " What wantest thou ? " cried 
 the trembling miser. 
 
 "Thy services," said the specter through its 
 teeth. "I too hoarded up precious treasure all 
 my earthly life ; but it is lost to me, and now I 
 beg thee to go forth and claim it for thyself." 
 
38 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 *' But," said the shivering miser, " I should thus 
 risk all in leaving the fruit of my many years' 
 labor unguarded." 
 
 "I will guard it for thee," cried the ghost. 
 "Think ye that any man is bold enough to look a 
 second time upon me when I have frowned upon 
 him ? " and he made a grimace so horrid that the 
 miser pressed his hands upon his eyes. 
 
 "Thou shalt go on mine errand," continued the 
 dread being sternly. " Even in life ill fai ed the 
 monk who crossed my will, and thinkest thou I 
 will brook contradiction now.? If thou go not 
 whither I bid thee, I will sup with thee at thy 
 table; I will lie with thee on thy hard bed of 
 gold ; I will pursue thee waking and haunt thee 
 sleeping. Oh, we will be right merry together, 
 the miser and I ! " and the demon laughed till the 
 sound shook the stone walls to their foundations. 
 
 " Fair sir," said the trembling mortal, " I will 
 trust my treasure to thy care. Whither must I 
 wend my way.?" 
 
 " Get you to the convent of Saint Etienne by 
 the Rhone (once I was prior there), and beg ad- 
 mittance for the sake of charity. They will take 
 you in, little guessing who sent you ; " and again 
 the demon's laugh rang long and loud to the 
 echoing roof. "They drove me forth with bell 
 and candle and book, because, forsooth, I guarded 
 my hid treasure from all prying eyes ; but thou 
 canst enter." 
 
THE ABBEY HALL. 
 
 39 
 
 "Craving your pardon, reverend sir," muttered 
 the miser, " wherefore have you thus honored me ? 
 Methinks some young and valiant gallant were 
 fitter to send on such a quest." 
 
 "Nay, not so! thou of all mortals lovest gold 
 the best. I have known thee long for one who 
 would give all for an ounce of the shining metal ; 
 therefore get thee gone, and say thou hast vowed 
 to pass the night in humiliation and prayer be- 
 fore Saint Etienne's shrine. Ere daylight fades, 
 mark well the saint's great tomb ; it is of sculp- 
 tured marble in the center of the church ; then at 
 the hour of midnight go stand beside it. At the 
 first stroke of twelve utter these three words I 
 shall whisper in thine ear. Hearest thou } " 
 
 "Yea, fair sir." 
 
 "Then guard well thy tongue. Spoken above 
 thy breath they would shatter the stone about our 
 ears, and turn thy gold to dust. Beware, I say 
 again, how and when you speak them. Uttered 
 at midnight beside yon tomb, they will crack open 
 the marble from east to west. The church will 
 rock about thee, but heed not. Within that tomb 
 lie gold and gems to which this heap of thine is 
 worthless dust. Gather them in haste, for the 
 marble will close again at the last stroke of the 
 clock, and woe betide thee an thou art still 
 within ! Keep up a firm, brave heart and thou 
 wilt be the richest man in Christendom." 
 
 The miser smiled, and adjuring his awful guest 
 
40 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 .1 
 
 II ! 
 
 I'll! 
 
 to guard his wealth as he had promised, he set 
 forth upon his way. 
 
 Ere darkness fell he reached the convent, and 
 through the still cold hours of the night he lay 
 before Saint Etienne's shrine. Shaking and fear- 
 ful, he at length drew near the tomb, and as the 
 bell clanged forth the first stroke of twelve he 
 uttered aloud the fateful words. A thunderous 
 crash, a blinding light, and the marble parted wide 
 from east to west ! He stooped in breathless 
 haste to gather the dazzling treasures from the 
 tomb, while overhead rocked and trembled the 
 great church as if it would every instant fall. Be- 
 fore half his task was done the eleventh stroke 
 warned him that in a moment more the grinding 
 marble would again crash together; he gained 
 the pavement just in time. Again the thunder 
 sounded ; and thick darkness fell o'er church 
 and tomb and glittering gems. The horror of 
 his adventure turned his hair to snow, and 
 when he gained his gloomy dwelling and found 
 that hideous demon gloating over his gold, his 
 reeling brain gave way, and in a frenzy of wild 
 despair he shouted aloud the terrific words that 
 had torn the tomb in twain. The shrieking 
 specter fled, roof and walls crashed down, and 
 the miser and his hard-won gold alike were 
 dust ! 
 
 " What a horrid tale ! " cried Lady Elmer mer- 
 
THE ABBEY HALL. 
 
 41 
 
 rily when Harold's voice ceased. " Where ever did 
 you hear it ? " 
 
 " An abbot haunts the ruins of our chapel yon- 
 der," said Madge. " He is always seen in the habit 
 of a monk and is reputed to be the guardian of a 
 rich treasure." 
 
 " Have you ever seen him, Mistress Margery.? " 
 asked Clive. 
 
 " No ; because I have never invaded his domains 
 at the times when he walks." 
 
 "Dame Goodyear, mother, hath told me posi- 
 tively that she hath seen him many a time." 
 
 " Dame Goodyear is a prating old woman, who 
 believes any foolery that is taught her," said Ru- 
 pert contemptuously. " Methinks the abbot would 
 have better wit than to play so simple tricks, either 
 dead or alive, as scaring of country folk for no 
 imaginable purpose." 
 
 "Then," said Harold, "you do not believe that 
 the spirits of the dead ever return to the world } " 
 
 " Nay, I say not that. I have heard some rela- 
 tions of ghosts and spirits, which very discreet 
 and worthy persons pledged themselves to have 
 seen with their own eyes. 'T is only that I think 
 there are many idle tales passed for truths on 
 ignorant and unlearned folk." 
 
 "I," said Lady Elmer, "am thankful at the 
 least that I have never seen such a being." 
 
 "I wonder how we should feel," said Madge, 
 "if the abbot walked in here amongst us now. 
 
Mil! 
 
 n 
 
 m 
 
 42 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 By the way, Molly Goodyear says he hath been 
 seen here ere now." 
 
 "Jest not, daughter," said Mrs. Staynor in a 
 low tone, casting as she spoke a quick look over 
 her shoulder into the dancing shadows of the re- 
 cess. " / have seen him'' 
 
 Mrs. Staynor was imaginative and excitable, and 
 she believed that she had seen the ghost, though 
 her husband always assured her that the phantom 
 had been created by her own fancy. 
 
 Lady Elmer involuntarily caught her brother's 
 hand ; that young gentleman himself turned pale ; 
 Madge's smile died away, and Rupert, taking up a 
 great poker, began to stir the logs upon the hearth 
 into a brighter blaze. 
 
 " I saw him once," Mrs. Staynor continued. 
 " He came into my chamber the very night before 
 the chapel was thrown down. He looked at me 
 with sorrow and reproach, and then faded out of 
 sight." 
 
 A dead silence followed ; and if they had spoken 
 their thoughts aloud, more than one of the com- 
 pany would have declared that they heard foot- 
 steps coming from the chapel, which was but a few 
 yards away. Fortunately, just at that moment an 
 unmistakable sound of footsteps was heard over- 
 head, and a second later the squire and Sir John 
 joined them. 
 
 Soon after, they separated for the night. Ru- 
 pert was to have given up his room to Harold and 
 
THE ABBEY HALL, 
 
 43 
 
 to have slept on a rug in the hall, but Clive pro- 
 tested so earnestly against this plan that at last 
 they agreed to share the same bed. Rupert made 
 the less objection, as he saw that their guest was 
 still obviously discomforted by the conversation of 
 the evening. Moreover, there was an old iron- 
 studded door in the room, leading into the very 
 ruined chapel which the abbot was said to haunt. 
 It was always locked, but bolts and bars are a 
 proverbially insufficient protection against such 
 supernatural visitants. 
 
 The lads passed a restless night, though no 
 one disturbed them. Rupert arose at the first 
 faint streak of dawn, anxious to supplement their 
 meager fare with a dish of fresh fish for break- 
 fast; but Harold slept on till late. 
 
 Long before noon the travelers had set forth 
 again on their journey, for the servants brought 
 with them additional men and horses from Den- 
 ham, with whose help the coach was soon drawn 
 to firm ground and the wheel mended. 
 
 The parting betv\reen the Staynors and their 
 unexpected guests was most friendly, and Lady 
 Elmer pressed them all cordially to pay her a 
 speedy visit at Cressley Castle, as their handsome 
 modern mansion had been named. 
 
I 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 LOST ON THE MOSS. 
 
 MADGE," said Rupert one stormy November 
 day, "does it not seem strange how angry 
 we felt at Sir John Elmer's coming before we 
 knew him and his lady ? and how sorry we shall 
 be whenever they go up to London again ! " 
 
 "Yes; we had few and poor divertisements 
 before they came. Did Hal speak of their going 
 to London when he was last here } " 
 
 "No. I think they are all not a little con- 
 tented with their home here ; but surely they will 
 go some time soon." 
 
 " At times I wish we could go too. I am weary 
 of this continuous round of sweeping and scrub- 
 bing and cooking, though oftentimes I am fain to 
 admit that that latter task might be heavier with 
 advantage to us all. Now, to-day, there is little 
 for dinner, and nought at all for supper, save a 
 loaf of this rye bread, which my mother likes so 
 ill. There is not even butter ; we ate the last at 
 breakfast." 
 
 "You should have shown me this sooner, 
 Madge; but, mayhap, even now, if I have good 
 fortune, I may bring home somewhat tasty for 
 
 44 
 
 'i ' 
 
LOST ON THE MOSS. 
 
 45 
 
 supper," said Rupert, rising and taking down his 
 gun. 
 
 "Do not go, Rupert. There is a snowstorm 
 brewing, I am sure." 
 
 "What if there be, Madge } it will not hurt mc. 
 But do not worry if I am not home in some hours. 
 I may have a long tramp to find any game." 
 
 "What easy lives some folk have! I wonder 
 much whether Sir John and Lady Elmer ever 
 trouble themselves concerning our sad condition. 
 Doth it not seem hard to you to go to Cressley 
 Castle and see the very servants better lodged, 
 better clad, and better fed than we, who ought to 
 own a great part of Sir John's estate } " 
 
 " I don't know that, Madge. After all, when 
 grandfather sold the land of his own free will, 
 methinks it is less than fair to blame the pur- 
 chaser, as if he had taken it by violence." 
 
 "You may be right, Ru; but the change in 
 your opinion is something of the sharpest." 
 
 Rupert might have retorted that her opinion of 
 the Elmers had changed as rapidly as his own, 
 but he let her words pass in silence. He was 
 busy with his powderflask and shot, and Madge 
 suddenly slipped a vay without another word. As 
 he left the ruins the girl came running after him, 
 with her hair flying wildly in the wind. 
 
 " Rupert," she called, " Rupert, wait ! " 
 
 The lad turned and went back to meet her, and 
 she pushed into his hands a large share of the 
 
 Lfl 
 
 
 r 
 
II 
 
 46 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAju^SAKE. 
 
 I 
 
 rye loaf she had mentioned and a small slice of 
 salt beef. 
 
 "Now, Margery dear," he said, "I could have 
 made shift to do without it. I am fearful you 
 have brought me more than mine own portion. 
 Take back the half, Madge." 
 
 " Not a crumb ! " cried Madge. " I will not 
 carry it home again, so there ! There is plenty 
 for dinner, and I mean to trust you for supper ; 
 so good-by." 
 
 She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and 
 he returned her salute with a pat on her head, 
 saying : — 
 
 "You are the best Mttle aunt in the world, 
 Margery. Now run ir you *11 catch a great 
 
 cold for your pains, and where should we be 
 then ? " 
 
 " You saucy boy ! " she answered, laughing ; 
 "you ought to know better than to mock thus 
 at your venerable relatives. Get you gone to 
 your hunting, and beware not to tarry late." 
 
 Rupert waved his hand and walked briskly off 
 through the woods, with his gun on his shoulder. 
 There was nothing unusual in this expedition, 
 though it rarely happened that it had to be de- 
 termined on quite so suddenly. Madge had been 
 housekeeper ever since their return to Denham 
 Abbey, for Mrs. Staynor could not bring herself 
 to accept thoroughly the altered conditions of her 
 life, and her health was much impaired by the 
 
 ^ 
 
 \ 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
LOST ON THE MOSS, 
 
 47 
 
 sufferings which she had undergone. She could 
 not bear to make even the occasional visits to the 
 village which the supply of the family's necessi- 
 ties demanded ; consequently Margery had taken 
 upon herself the task of doing their little mar- 
 keting, as well as most of the housework and 
 cooking. 
 
 The whole family regarded Mrs. Staynor with 
 the most earnest devotion. Her comfort and con- 
 venience were always the first consideration; 
 indeed the great object of their lives was to 
 soften the hardships of her lot. 
 
 Strange to say, Margery received more assist- 
 ance in her household tasks from her father than 
 her mother. Mr. Staynor was not so absorbed in 
 his scientific experiments as to see nothing of 
 what went on in the house, and many a time 
 when Margery came home in haste from a ramble 
 in the woods with Rupert, she found the cloth 
 laid for supper and the meat or eggs frizzling on 
 the fire. On washing days he carried the water 
 for her from the river, and in times of extra work 
 had even been known to sweep the floor or polish 
 the furniture. In the summer time he did a little 
 gardening, while Rupert, with a borrowed team, 
 plowed up their narrow fields and sowed the oats 
 and wheat which formed a scanty supply for the 
 winter. 
 
 In November the more prosperous farmers near 
 by were busy killing and salting their winter beef. 
 
48 
 
 PRINCE RUPERTS NAMESAKE. 
 
 [ 
 
 I 
 
 but the Staynors possessed only one single cow 
 and were obliged to trust to Rupert's gun for 
 meat during the greatest part of the year. 
 
 On this particular morning the lad walked sev- 
 eral miles through the woods without seeing any- 
 thing but a small partridge, which he shot as it 
 rose from the ground. Unfortunately the bird 
 fell into the underbrush, and he lost some time in 
 finding it. He was disappointed at his ill success, 
 and began to fear that the prospects for supper 
 were poor. 
 
 The day was dark and cloudy and soon after 
 noon a white mist began to rise. He sat down 
 on a fallen tree by the edge of a field to eat his 
 lunch, which after the morning's hard walking 
 seemed a slender meal enough. He had scarcely 
 finished when he saw a hare at a little distance. 
 Rising cautiously, he took a shot and killed the 
 creature. With this addition to his bag of game 
 he decided to be satisfied and to turn his steps 
 toward home. As nearly as he could reckon, he 
 had come about six miles. The greater part of 
 the way was through dense woods and he had not 
 met a soul after leaving the village of Den ham 
 behind. To return by the road would add at least 
 a couple of miles to the journey, so he deter- 
 mined to take a short cut through the woods and 
 across a marshy tract of land where he hoped to 
 come upon some wild ducks or snipe. 
 
 By the time he reached the common the mist 
 
LOST ON THE MOSS. 
 
 49 
 
 : mist 
 
 had thickened to a fog; he could scarcely see a 
 yard before him. He gave up all hope of shoot- 
 ing any wild fowl, and slinging his gun from his 
 shoulders he cut a stout pole from an ash near by 
 and began to pick his way across the morass. He 
 had not gone very far when he began to think 
 that it would have been more prudent to return 
 by the road, for the darkness increased every 
 moment. Still he thought it scarcely worth while 
 to return. By the aid of his pole he leaped from 
 tuft to tuft, in constant peril of alighting in the 
 black pools between. Here and there he came 
 on a short piece of comparatively firm turf ; then 
 again the ground trembled beneath his feet. It 
 seemed an interminable distance across the moss, 
 and he feared that he had lost his way. Stories 
 of men who had wandered round and round in 
 such places recurred to his memory. Yet more 
 fearful tales soon began to haunt him of unfortu- 
 nate wretches lost like him, who had made a false 
 step in the darkness and had sunk to a horrid 
 death in the black ooze. Trembling at the ap- 
 palling thought, he tried to keep his courage up 
 by singing the songs he used to sing with Mar- 
 gery ; bit there seemed something incongruous be- 
 tween ihese light ditties and his terrible situation. 
 He still pressed forward, but he was very weary 
 and the misty veil hid all but the next step from 
 his view. Sometimes even that was hidden too ; 
 and, afraid to move, but even more afraid to stand 
 
50 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 Still, he was forced to leap in horrible uncertainty 
 whether the next moment might not find him 
 smothering and choking in some slimy pool. 
 
 Once he stood upon a mossy stone seeing 
 nothing all around but cold mist and long reeds 
 growing out of depths of shining water. Whither 
 to turn next he knew not ; but while he hesitated 
 he felt his resting place giving way beneath his 
 feet. Ere it sank he had jumped and had lighted 
 knee-deep in water; but in fear and horror he 
 struggled forward and gained at last a firmer 
 foothold. An awful sense of loneliness was over- 
 coming him. How long he had been by himself 
 in that gray mist he could not tell. He rested 
 a moment to gain strength and breath, and then 
 once more pressed on. Scarcely knowing what 
 he did, he began to sing the Twenty-third Psalm. 
 
 To his surprise, the tune was taken up by an 
 answering voice close at hand, and in an ecstasy 
 of joy he stopped singing and cried out, " Halloo, 
 good master! where are you.? I am bewildered 
 in this bog and can scarce find standing ground, 
 much less discover a way out of it ! " 
 
 " Here am I, close beside thee, as I judge by 
 the sound of thy voice," was the reply. " Have 
 patience, friend, and I will m ,. z a light to guide 
 thee." 
 
 " It needs not," cried Rupert. " Methinks I 
 shall make shift to reach you, if you will but 
 halloo to me once and again." 
 
LOST ON THE MOSS, 
 
 51 
 
 Without more ado the man began to sing again 
 so loudly and heartily that Rupert could not mis- 
 take the direction of the sound. With this help 
 he soon scrambled through the mire to the road 
 that skirted the morass on this side. His new 
 friend offered him his hand and said, "Thank 
 God, young man, that he hath led thee safe out 
 of the horrible pit and out of the miry clay!" 
 
 Rupert bowed his head in silence, for he did 
 indeed feel thankful for his escape from so horri- 
 ble a death. 
 
 His companion evidently assumed that their 
 roads lay in the same direction, for he walked 
 on briskly, saying, " It is nigh on six of the clock, 
 my friend; we have little time to spare, and I 
 would not, for many a pound, be late to-night." 
 
 "Good sir, is this the way to Denham .?" 
 
 " Ay ; but Denham is ten good miles away ! " 
 
 *' Then I am all astray, and I fear Madge will 
 have to do without my partridge for supper," said 
 Rupert half to himself ; but his companion stood 
 still. 
 
 "I am under some mistake, friend," said he. 
 " What is thy name and degree "i " 
 
 " My name is Rupert Stay nor, fair sir, and from 
 that you may perchance be able to guess my 
 degree." 
 
 "And I mistook thee for one of the faithful," 
 muttered his companion. "Thou art son doubt- 
 less of the malignant Staynor, whose wife pre- 
 
52 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 I 
 
 sumecl to imagine she could hold her house 
 against the general of the armies of the Lord." 
 
 " I am his grandson, sir ; therefore I beg that 
 you will do him no dishonor in mine hearing." 
 
 "And thou art named after the German rob- 
 ber, art thou ? Rupert, thou saidst, I think ? " 
 
 " I am called after a most loyal and valiant 
 gentleman, and I trust to bring no disgrace on 
 the high name I bear." 
 
 " Ay, ay ; it is ever the way with those of thy 
 sort to glory in their shame." 
 
 " Sir," said Rupert, " will you have the good- 
 ness to put me in the way to Denham ? I must 
 not linger here." 
 
 " Young man, I meant not to hurt thee. Thou 
 art not to blame for the folly of those who named 
 thee. Thou art too weary to travel this night to 
 Denham. Come now, do as I bid thee ; but first 
 give me thy word that thou wilt not use what I 
 shall show thee to my hurt or to the hurt of any 
 other." 
 
 ** I will swear " — 
 
 "Nay, * swear not at all ; neither by heaven ; for 
 it is God's throne : neither by the earth ; for it is 
 his footstool.* Give me thy simple word, friend, 
 and I will trust thee." 
 
 " On my word, then, I pledge myself to abuse 
 no confidence which you shall think fit to repose 
 in me." 
 
 " Then, young man, without further parley, I 
 
 
LOST ON THE MOSS. 
 
 53 
 
 t:| 
 
 am on my way to a small assembly of God's 
 persecuted servants. If thou durst, thou mayest 
 come with me, and I will give thee a bed after- 
 wards ; or, if it like thee better, I will put thee in 
 the way of meeting one who will guide thee on 
 thy road at the earliest dawn." 
 
 "Thanks, good sir. I will gladly accept your 
 offer." 
 
 " But knowest thou that by so doing thou wilt 
 risk the suffering of shame and imprisonment 
 with the saints.?" 
 
 " Yes ; I know the penalty exacted for attend- 
 ing of such an assembly." 
 
 " Then let us make haste ; we have still a good 
 mile to travel." 
 
 They walked on in silence for some minutes, 
 and then the Puritan inquired : " How camest 
 thou, young man, to fall a-singing of one of the 
 songL of Zion in thy distress.?" 
 
 Rupert laughed : — 
 
 " Do you take me for a heathen, sir "i I learnt 
 that psalm at my mother's knee, and in my dis- 
 tress it gave me right good comfort." 
 
 His companion made no rejoinder, and Ru- 
 pert said : — 
 
 " Sir, I have given you my name ; pray tell me 
 yours." 
 
 "Thou art something too curious, young 
 man ; yet, lest thou shouldest think I have 
 aught to conceal, I am Obadiah Kenrick, shoe- 
 
 Ill 
 
f 
 
 54 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 ' ' ' 
 
 maker by trade, dwelling in the godly village 
 of Horton, and sometime captain in the pre- 
 cious Colonel Cromwell's regiment, ere God raised 
 him up to rule over these poor distraught 
 kingdoms." 
 
 " Then you knew that usur — pardon me, I 
 would say, the Lord Protector?" exclaimed Rupert 
 with interest ; for though he had heard much of 
 the remarkable man in question, he had never 
 before chanced to meet with one of his admirers. 
 
 "Ay; I had that glorious privilege. He was 
 one amongst a thousand. Had God been pleased 
 to spare him, Charles Stuart would never have 
 dared to again set foot in this poor realm, with 
 his crew of drunkards and blasphemers ; but it 
 hath happened according to the true proverb : 
 * The sow that was washed hath turned again to 
 her wallowing in the mire.' Truly it is a right- 
 eous judgment upon us for our instability and our 
 dissensions, when the hand of the Lord lay heavy 
 upon us. Had we been at one amongst ourselves, 
 the malignant would never have lifted up his 
 head ; but God sent strife amongst us ; yea, he 
 hath permitted his own to be smitten and trodden 
 under foot of their enemies." 
 
 The earnestness and energy with which these 
 words were spoken overawed Rupert, and not till 
 the time for protestation was past did he remem- 
 ber that he had listened in silence to treasonable 
 words against his king. Before he could frame a 
 
 ■i 
 
LOST ON THE MOSS. 
 
 55 
 
 suitable rebuke, his companion said in a different 
 tone : — 
 
 " Here we are, at our journey's end. Follow 
 me closely, friend." 
 
 The rugged path through the woods led down 
 into a deep valley, at the bottom of which flowed 
 a little brook. Here the trees were few and far 
 between. On the opposite slope was a small 
 old wooden barn. Beside it, some few paces 
 distant, were the ruins of a cottage demolished 
 during the war. Rupert was first made aware of 
 these by stumbling over the stones which had 
 formed the chimney ; for, though the fog had 
 lifted a little, the night was exceedingly dark. 
 
 A black figure stood at the door of the barn, 
 but Obadiah Kenrick whispered a few words in 
 his ear and Rupert was admitted without question. 
 
 Flaming torches fastened against the walls 
 threw a wild light on the scene. Rude benches 
 had been improvised by placing planks upon bricks 
 and stones from the ruins near by, while a three- 
 legged stool was set for the preacher, who had not 
 yet arrived. 
 
 Rupert looked around with curiosity; but the 
 darkness prevented his distinguishing much at 
 first. He was surprised at the number of wor- 
 shipers who had gathered in this lonely and in- 
 accessible place. Amongst them were several 
 women, whose cloaks and hoods bore unmistak- 
 able traces of a long pilgrimage through damp 
 
 I 
 
 3;' 
 
 M 
 

 1 
 
 
 56 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 fields and woods. He could not see the faces of 
 many of the assembly, for Kenrick had chosen a 
 position at the back ; but there was something in 
 their very attitudes that suggested earnestness 
 of character and solemnity of purpose. No one 
 spoke above a whisper, and not a few seemed 
 to be engaged in silent prayer or meditation. 
 
 His guide drew from his pocket a small well- 
 worn book, bound in black leather, and, standing 
 up so that the light from a torch above might fall 
 upon the page, put on a pair of heavy-rimmed 
 spectacles and began to read. While he was thus 
 employed, Rupert looked at him more closely 
 than he had hitherto found an opportunity of 
 doing. 
 
 The shoemaker was a broad-shouldered> heavily 
 built man of about middle height. His grizzled 
 hair was not longer than men usually wear it now- 
 adays. The square, broad forehead marked with 
 deep upright lines, and the peculiarly small mouth, 
 unconcealed by beard or moustache, with its thin 
 lips and downward-tending corners, seemed to 
 suggest sharpness of temper, while the square- 
 ness and • heaviness of the jaws added the im- 
 pression of intense obstinacy. Shaggy eyebrows 
 and rather cold gray eyes did little to redeem 
 the plainness of a face which to the young 
 Cavalier seemed far from prepossessing; some- 
 thing in its rugged fierceness indeed was so repul- 
 sive that he shrank away involuntarily, inwardly 
 
LOST ON THE MOSS. 
 
 57 
 
 resolving not to accept his hospitality for the 
 night, if there were any means of avoiding it. 
 
 Presently there was a slight stir in the congre- 
 gation as the minister entered with a companion 
 whom he briefly introduced as a brother from 
 America, who would presently address them. 
 Then the service began with the singing of a 
 psalm to a grand solemn old tune; and Rupert, 
 who had never before heard so many persons join 
 their voices in praise to God, felt carried away by 
 the fervor and heartiness of the music. He too 
 sang, all unconscious that the clear notes of his 
 fresh young voice were drawing upon him the 
 attention of his neighbors. 
 
 As the hymn ended, a man cloaked and muf- 
 fled almost up to the eyes was admitted by the 
 sentinel at the door ; and Rupert fancied there 
 was something familiar in his figure or gait. 
 
 Through the prayers, impressive as they were, 
 the lad could not keep his eyes off the new- 
 comer ; ycv*: in spite of this he listened as he was 
 not wont to listen to the old curate in the little 
 church at Denham. The strange accident that 
 had led to his presence there, and the knowl- 
 edge that all the worshipers were running the 
 risk of imprisonment, gave to every word intense 
 solemnity. 
 
 As the minister's companion rose to address the 
 assembly, Rupert received another surprise. He 
 was no other than the stranger who had spoken 
 
 ■ t'l 
 
m 
 
 I 
 
 Siii 
 
 III ! 
 
 58 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 to Madge and himself on the adventurous day 
 when they made the acquaintance of the Elmers. 
 Seen without the shabby cloak and slouched hat 
 that had made them fancy him a highwayman, he 
 had something noble and graceful in his appear- 
 ance, though he was not exactly a handsome man. 
 His features were too worn and sharp for beauty, 
 his dark bright eyes were sunken, and his long 
 hands were thin and transparent. His hair and 
 beard (both closely trimmed), had once been black, 
 but now were gray, and Rupert fancied that his 
 age must lie between fifty and sixty. 
 
 He opened his Bible and read the last few 
 verses of the eighth chapter of Romans. In 
 deep, low tones he repeated : "I am persuaded, 
 that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor prin- 
 cipalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor 
 things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any 
 other creature, shall be able to separate us from 
 the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our 
 Lord." " Friends," he went on, " I am persuaded 
 of this. Whatsoevei God doeth, he doeth of in- 
 finite love. In love he giveth us sweet friends, 
 joyous homes, and all good gifts of light and 
 music and gladness. In love he sends privation 
 and persecution upon us. In love he makes us 
 scorned of the wicked and contemned of the 
 proud. Nay, even in love he allows us to fall 
 into divers temptations for the trying of our faith, 
 which is more precious than silver. Friends arid 
 
LOST ON THE MOSS. 
 
 59 
 
 brethren, persecuted, afflicted, tormented, your 
 Lord allows you to partake of the fellowship of 
 his sufferings, but 't is all in love, that you may 
 grow up to the measure of the stature of the full- 
 ness of Christ. Therefore be not grieved at your 
 sorrows. The sufferings of this present time are 
 not worthy to be compared with the glory that 
 shall be revealed in you. Only be ye stedfast. 
 The Evil One walketh about seeking whom he 
 may devour, and if we keep not close beside our 
 Shepherd, we shall surely fall a prey unto that 
 roaring lion. Yea, he will rend and tear them 
 that loiter behind, looking back to the pleasures 
 of sin from which they once have fled. Yet I 
 would not drive you to walk uprightly; I had 
 rather persuade you by the sweetness and gra- 
 ciousness of the Lord, by his cross and passion, 
 by his undying love — to walk worthy of his 
 name." 
 
 He spoke rapidly, with intense earnestness and 
 eager gestures, in which grace was lost in over- 
 mastering passion. His energy rose to a painful 
 intensity at times. "If there be any here," he 
 cried, " who have not yet tasted that the Lord is 
 gracious, oh, delay no longer ! Now is the ac- 
 cepted time, now is the day of salvation. If there 
 be any here, still in arms against the Lord who 
 bought them, oh, turn and repent before it is too 
 late ! Seek forgiveness now ; to-morrow your sun 
 may have set in endless night ; oh, go not down 
 
60 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 into the grave at enmity with the Almighty! 
 provoke not his wrath upon you I " 
 
 Rupert listened trembling, for the agonized 
 earnestness of the man affected him far more 
 than anything in the words. He had not heard 
 anything that he had not heard before, but never 
 in his life hitherto had he thought, or cared to 
 think, of his soul. His mother had taught him 
 many a beautiful psalm and prayer, but she had 
 never taught him to look for grace and life to the 
 Saviour. 
 
 " Perhaps," continued the preacher, " ye think 
 not that ye need a Saviour. You have no great 
 crimes to answer for before the white throne 
 of God, and you forget how rr ;ny small spots 
 blacken your soul in the sight of the Most Holy. 
 Bethink yourself but a moment of the times 
 without number when you have spoken bitter, 
 impatient words, when you have given back blow 
 for blow or returned railing for railing, when you 
 have slurred over the truth or acted a lie, when 
 you have been vain or selfish or timeserving. If 
 you have done any of these things, you have 
 broken the law and stand in danger of the judg- 
 ment. Repent ye and come to the Saviour, who 
 hath given himself for you ; come, wash in the 
 fountain opened for sin and uncleanness, put on 
 the fair robe of Christ's righteousness, and enter 
 into the inheritance prepared for the saints — 
 glory and dominion forever I " 
 
LOST ON THE MOSS. 
 
 6l 
 
 At last the preacher sat down, overpowered by 
 his own earnestness, and after another psalm 
 several of those present prayed aloud. Rupert 
 hardly noticed what was said, so wrapped up was 
 he in his own thoughts, till in a rather slow and 
 hesitating voice the man shrouded in the cloak 
 began to pray. He said only a few words, asking 
 for faith and courage to be sent down upon them 
 all, but the voice was that of the shy, diffident Sir 
 John Elmer! As if to do his own part towards 
 possessing the blessing he desired, he now per- 
 mitted his cloak to drop, and sat boldly upright 
 with his face uncovered. 
 
 Rupert had hardly time to wonder at seeing 
 him in such a place, before Obadiah Kenrick 
 began an earnest petition "for all the spiritual 
 blessings we do so sorely need." His prayer 
 was peculiarly comprehensive and beautiful, and 
 Rupert was beginning to feel that he had wronged 
 the man, when suddenly he was annoyed to hear 
 that the old Puritan was praying for him. " Es- 
 pecially, dear Lord," he cried, " send down thy 
 mercy on one who hath been this day in fearful 
 peril. Snatch him, Lord, from the yet more fear- 
 ful danger which surrounds him. Let him be 
 plucked as a brand from the burning. Forbid it, 
 O Saviour, that he should sink in the foul slough 
 of sin and worldliness. Thou, O Father, who 
 hast thus strangely guided him to-night into this 
 little company of thy chosen servants, lead him 
 5 
 
 r' 
 
62 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 !!| 
 
 into thy kingdom. Thou knowest, O Lord, that 
 the devil hath beset his path with many a snare, 
 and hath blinded his eyes with the folly of youth, 
 and the love of the world, but save him, we pray 
 thee, good Master, for thine own sake and for the 
 glory of thy great name." 
 
 A deep murmur of "Amen, Amen," echoed 
 through the building, but Rupert felt very angry. 
 " What right hath this canting hypocrite to make 
 such a fool of me } " he asked himself ; and when 
 the meeting was dismissed he lingered to say to 
 Obadiah, " Sir, how dare you thus entrap me 
 to listen to your prating folly.?" 
 
 "Dost thou mean how durst I pray for thee?" 
 asked the old man calmly. "It is written that 
 we are to pray for all men ; wherefore shouldest 
 thou be shut out } " 
 
 " But in this crowd ! It likes me not, good sir, 
 to have my case made so public." 
 
 "A time cometh, when the books shall be 
 opened, and each man shall be judged by that 
 which is written therein. Thy case will be public 
 enough then, unless thou canst hide thyself in 
 the Saviour. I charge thee to mortify this false 
 pride of thine, and entreat the prayers of the 
 faithful here present. Ay, for some, I tell thee, 
 like holy Jacob, are princes with God." 
 
 At this moment the minister came forward, and 
 offering him his hand said cordially, " I hope, my 
 young friend, that you will join us again at our 
 
 !!ll 
 
i'i 
 
 LOST ON THE MOSS. 
 
 63 
 
 meeting. Master Kenrick will give you all in- 
 formation concerning the times and places of our 
 services." 
 
 Rupert muttered something inaudible, but could 
 not refuse to take the good man's offered hand, 
 lest he should be taken for a spy. The next mo- 
 ment Sir John recognized him and came to speak 
 to him. 
 
 " How came you hither, Rupert .? " he whispered. 
 
 "'Tis a long story, Sir John. I was hunting, 
 and missing of my way, chanced here by a most 
 strange accident." 
 
 *' Will you then come home with me .-• " 
 
 "Gladly, Sir John, if my doing so would not 
 prove inconvenient to you." 
 
 " Nay ; I can well arrange it. Stay here for 
 me till I return." 
 
 "I suppose that, having found a friend, thou 
 wilt go hence with him," said Obadiah. 
 
 " Yes, good sir ; though I thank you most sin- 
 cerely for your kindness." 
 
 " If thou shouldest ever happen into the village 
 of Horton, young man, thou wilt have a most 
 cordial welcome, if thou wilt take bite or sup 
 with me." 
 
 " Thank you, sir ; I rarely go so far from home, 
 but if I do pass, I will surely call at your house." 
 
 Sir John had been attended by a servant, who 
 like himself was a secret adherent of the Inde- 
 pendents, and he was very willing to spend the 
 
 i^l 
 
64 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 3 
 
 night with one of his friends belonging to the 
 congregation, so that Rupert could ride his horse. 
 
 It was nearly midnight when they reached 
 Cressley Castle, and most of the household were 
 in bed ; but Lady Elmer had had supper prepared 
 and was waiting for her husband in her own pri- 
 vate parlor, a room filled with liwh dainty furni- 
 ture and precious ornaments. Surprised as she 
 was to see Rupert, she gave him the warmest of 
 welcomes ; but he was painfully conscious of his 
 shabby, mud-stained clothes and heavy boots, and 
 for some minutes could do nothing but look at the 
 richly dressed lady in shy wonder and admiration. 
 Her full skirts of pale blue satin swept the 
 ground, her short, low, pointed bodice was em- 
 broidered with pearls and laced up the front with 
 gold ; her puffed sleeves reached but to the elbow 
 and were finished with ruffles of soft lace; jewels 
 sparkled on her neck and arms, and ropes of glis- 
 tening pearls were twisted in her curling hair. 
 
 Her husband's dress, though good and hand- 
 some, was very plain, and something in his grave 
 face made Rupert fancy that his fair young wife's 
 magnificence did not please him ; but he answered 
 her gay questions smilingly, and joined with her 
 in kind attentions to their guest. 
 
 The tired and hungry boy was soon established 
 at the table in a great elbow-chair while Lady 
 Elmer poured for them steaming cups of a " new 
 China drink called tee," and drew from Rupert 
 
LOST ON THE MOSS. 
 
 6s 
 
 the story of his day's adventures. Her cheeks 
 grew pale when she heard of his terrible peril in 
 the marsh, and she murmured, " O Rupert, thank 
 God you are spared from so horrid danger." 
 
 Harold, who had just entered the room, asked 
 what she was speaking of and she repeated the 
 story so graphically that Rupert felt himself again 
 trembling with horror at the remembrance, 
 
 " It would be a pretty subject for a poem," 
 cried Clive. "The mist, the gloom, the terror, 
 the lost lonely wanderer, growing every moment 
 more bewildered, and then the sweet answering 
 echo to the holy psalm — safety, deliverance, and 
 gladness ! " 
 
 Rupert laughed ; he could not help it. The 
 incongruity between Clive's " sweet answering 
 echo," and the gruff and rather nasal tones of 
 the shoemaker was irresistibly comic. 
 
 " Methinks there is naught in the suggestion 
 to move you to so great mirth," said the would- 
 be poet rather stiffly. 
 
 " Nay, Hal," interposed Lady Elmer ; " if Ru- 
 pert can laugh over an adventure so horrid, sure 
 we need not grudge him his divertisement." 
 
 "I crave your pardon, Harold," said Rupert. 
 " Doubtless any sound that showed the neigh- 
 borhood of solid earth would then have been 
 sweet to me ; but the good shoemaker hath little 
 knowledge of tune or time, and a voice of the 
 roughest, and methought that if you had chanced 
 
66 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 
 to hear his strange music, it might have spoilt 
 your poem." 
 
 " Few incidents," remarked Harold senten- 
 tiously, "are ready to the poet's hand. He ever 
 needs to soften down incongruities and to add to 
 them features suited to his art, to make a fair and 
 striking poem." 
 
 "Well, young gentlemen," said Sir John, "it 
 is after twelve of the clock, and with your good 
 leave I will retire to rest." 
 
 " Rupert," said Lady Elmer, " take another cup 
 of tea before you go. I drink it not often, but 
 find it an excellent remedy when overwrought 
 and wearied." 
 
 m 
 
 I 
 
 Mlh 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 MAKING OF POETRY. 
 
 WHETHER it was owing to the tea which 
 he had drunk or to the excitement of the 
 day, Rupert could not sleep. As he lay in his 
 soft, luxurious bed, the horrible peril of those 
 hours in the moss came back to him. As often 
 as he began to lose consciousness, he fancied 
 himself slipping down through the black ooze 
 to death, and he woke in affright. By and by 
 another thought rose to appall him. Supposing 
 the mud had closed over him, was it true that his 
 soul would also have been lost } Was he indeed 
 in such fearful danger now } They had bado him 
 come to the Saviour for pardon and peace; but 
 how might that be done.? He fiercely tried to 
 shake off his disquietude. He tried to turn his 
 mind from the thoughts of death and sin and 
 judgment, but his will seemed powerless. 
 
 He felt himself alone, unsheltered, beneath the 
 eye of the all-seeing God to whom his whole life 
 had been an offense and a provocation. He could 
 not utter one cry for mercy, for the God whom 
 they had called loving seemed to him to be a 
 stern and wrathful Lord of vengeance. 
 
 The long agony of that dark night far exceeded 
 
 67 
 
 f ■ 
 
 
 i 
 
68 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 the terrors of the preceding day ; but worn out at 
 last he fell, toward morning, into a quiet sleep and 
 when he awoke the memory of his wretchedness 
 was like a dream. 
 
 The sun rose gayly, changing the somber world 
 of yesterday into a region of soft light and 
 beauty. The last brown leaves were fluttering 
 gently down to join the rustling heaps upon the 
 turf, while the frost-touched bracken covered the 
 sweeping slopes of the hillsides with a bright 
 cloak of golden brown, and the dark firs looked 
 greener in contrast with the gray woods behind. 
 
 As Rupert threaded his way through the forest, 
 he began to sing cheerily to himself, for his de- 
 pression had passed away with the darkness. 
 The game bag on his shoulder was well filled, for 
 Lady Elmer had added to its contents a supply 
 of dainties which would keep the frugal household 
 at the abbey in luxury for a week. The gifts 
 were so prettily offered that Rupert could not 
 well refuse them ; but as he plodded on he won- 
 dered with some anxiety how they might be 
 received. 
 
 He was barely in sight of the ruins when 
 Madge came rushing to meet him. 
 
 *' Well, Ru," she called, when she caught sight 
 of the burden on his shoulder ; *' you have had 
 good sport, I see. Where is my supper that you 
 promised me.? I am raging with hunger; while 
 as for father, if he has not eaten up all his old 
 
MAKING OF POETRY. 
 
 69 
 
 metals, it will not be because he is not famished. 
 No suppef, no breakfast, and I was beginning to 
 be frighted lest it should be no dinner either! 
 Wherefore did you tarry so late, Ru?" 
 
 " Because, Madge, I had very ill sport." 
 
 " 111 sport, Ru } Your bag looks heavy." 
 
 "Ay; yet I took but one partridge and a 
 hare. However, I chanced to meet with a lady 
 who professed herself so mighty fond of hares 
 that for mine she was ready to give this great 
 store of beef and mutton, sweetmeats and 
 cakes, fair wheaten bread, and I know not what 
 besides." 
 
 " Then," said Madge, looking only half pleased, 
 "you must have fallen in with Lady Elmer." 
 
 " Yes, Madge ; and if I were you, I would not 
 show too nicely the terms of the exchange, to 
 grandmother at least. Methinks she will enjoy 
 our gallant fare all the better if she knows not 
 whence it comes." 
 
 " But, Rupert, how came you to go to Cressley 
 when you knew how anxiously we were expecting 
 of you } I thought nothing less than that some 
 great ill had befallen you." 
 
 " Believe me, Margery dear, it was not mine own 
 fault. I will give you xhe whole history of mine 
 adventures (which were like to have proved some- 
 thing tragic) ; but first tell me truly, how fared 
 you for supper } " 
 
 "In truth, we did well enough. A crust of 
 
 ! . 
 
 nr 
 
 1 :■ ! 
 
 \ % 
 
70 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT* S NAMESAKE. 
 
 bread was left from dinner, and I had good store 
 of milk and meal ; so we both supped and break- 
 fasted on gruel. Now to your tale." 
 
 " It will not take long to tell, though the play 
 was overlengthy in the acting. In brief, 't is this : 
 I wandered far, finding little, and the mist coming 
 on, I essayed to cross Horton Moss for a short 
 cut, and found too late that it was not to be safely 
 attempted in a thick fog." 
 
 " O Rupert, how could you be so foolish ! How 
 durst you try to cross that horrid place when the 
 mists were rising.? I feared some evil had be- 
 fallen you." 
 
 " I wandered there two hours or more, frighted 
 each moment lest I should step into mud that 
 would prove my death ; but I never went in more 
 than knee-deep. At last, to keep up mine heart, 
 I began to sing (shouting had been vain waste of 
 breath before) and my song was taken up by one 
 upon the road, not many paces from me, though 
 invisible. Now comes the strangest part of all 
 my tale; but, Madge, before I tell it, promise 
 never to repeat it to living soul." 
 
 "Wherefore, Rupert, must I make so strange 
 a vow } " 
 
 "You will soon see, Margery. I dare not tell 
 you unless you give me your word to keep 
 silence." 
 
 "Well, I promise, Rupert. Make haste, for I 
 must go to prepare our dinner." 
 
MAfCING OF POETRY. 
 
 71 
 
 " By my chancing to sing a psalm, the man who 
 replied to me fancied me a Roundhead" — 
 
 " A Roundhead, Ru ! Sure, his eyes must have 
 been something of the blindest." 
 
 "You forget, Madge, neither of us could see 
 the other for the mist and darkness. Well, he 
 was on his way to a secret assembly of the Dis- 
 senters and he invited me to go with him. It was 
 held in an old barn far from the road " — 
 
 " Then you did go ! " 
 
 " Yes ; I did go, and a most strange, curious 
 scene it was. How so great number could get 
 there in that foul weather was a thing to be 
 admired. These Puritans are a mightily solemn, 
 sober people ; but who do you think made the 
 sermon, Madge.?" 
 
 " How can I guess, Ru } — the shoemaker ' " 
 
 " No ; that man who asked us concerning Dr. 
 Blackwell the day we waited for Sir John's coach 
 — him whom we took for a highwayman ; and a 
 good, able discourse it was, too." 
 
 "Well," said Madge thoughtfully, "I suppose 
 that was how he came to favor a highwayman. 
 They say the Nonconformist clergy have full as 
 much need to fear the law as ever had common 
 thief. But, Rupert, was it not foolhardiness on 
 your part to adventure yourself amongst such a 
 crew } Had any accident befallen, you might 
 have been taken even for one of themselves." 
 
 " I knew it. The good shoemaker gave me 
 
 I 
 
 
72 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 
 I 
 
 fair warning of the peril into which I ran. How- 
 ever, as it happened, no disturbance occurred. 
 Besides the preacher, I saw there one whom I 
 knew." 
 
 "Not Sir John Elmer.?" cried Madge. 
 
 " Ay ; even he. Methought he cared little to 
 be seen. I think he was frighted lest there 
 should be a spy in their midst, and I wonder not 
 at it. Three months* imprisonment in the com- 
 mon jail would be no light punishment to one of 
 his quality. I cannot but think it was something 
 rash of Master Kenrick to carry me thither on 
 my bare word that I would do them no ill." 
 
 "He knew that you were a gentleman," said 
 Madge, proudly, "and that therefore your word 
 might be trusted." 
 
 " His manners are of the freest. I doubt 
 whether he hath more respect for men of birth 
 and condition than for common folk. Ere we 
 separated," he continued with a little hesitation, 
 " he prayed aloud for me in public, that I might 
 come to see my sins and errors and ask for 
 Christ's forgiveness. I thought it uncalled for 
 and impertinent from one like him, but when I 
 taxed him with it he smiled with as great conde- 
 scension as would become the king himself, and 
 said he was bidden to pray for all — why should 
 I be shut out } " 
 
 "The prating fool!" exclaimed Madge hastily. 
 
 " Nay, Madge ; I do believe he meant it in all 
 
MAKING OF POETRY. 
 
 73 
 
 kindness, and that he is right; sure, the nrayers 
 of no good man can do one hurt." 
 
 "They have made you half a Roundhead al- 
 ready," said the girl contemptuously. " I trust 
 you will not betake yourself to their canting, 
 psalm-singing ways. Naught to my mind is more 
 detestable than a hypocrite ! " 
 
 " Nor to mine, Margery ; but give me leave to 
 say it becomes you not to go so far and so fast. 
 What have I done that you should use so vile a 
 word to me.^" 
 
 " Nay, Rupert," she replied, laughing ; " where- 
 fore mount so high a horse for such slight occa- 
 sion } If I had been a man, I suppose you would 
 have bidden me draw and defend myself ! " 
 
 "You are excessively provoking at times, 
 Madge." 
 
 "I like to provoke you, Rupert. Jt is full as 
 good as a play to see you angered. But jesting 
 aside, last night I lay awake till dawn thinking 
 first of you and next of the woeful condition of 
 our affairs. You had hardly set out yesterday 
 when a letter came by special messenger from 
 Lawyer Cloudsby pressing for instant payment of 
 that great debt that hath so long plagued and 
 harassed us. Father put him off till the rent 
 should be due from George Sanson, and gave him 
 a writing promising to pay in full the forty 
 pounds from him directly it was received. How 
 we shall contrive I know not. That money is our 
 
 III 
 
74 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 
 entire living for more than half the year, and yet 
 it will scarcely satisfy a fifth of Cloiidsby's claim. 
 I see naught before us but starvation, Ru. Oh, 
 it is hard ! " 
 
 " How did grandmother take it ? " 
 
 " She wept a little ; but father comforted her, 
 speaking so cheerily that she soon believed all 
 would be well, or at the least professed to 
 think so. Father says God will take care of us, 
 because he loves us ; but, O Ru ! to me God 
 seems so far away that it is vain to ask his 
 help. He hath allowed so great evil to befall us 
 already that I cannot think it really troubles 
 him, as father says, to see us in want of bare 
 necessities." 
 
 "Once, years ago, I said some such thing to 
 grandfather, Madge, and for answer he told the 
 story of the three children in the furnace. Do 
 you remember it.? How, though God permitted 
 them to be cast in a furnace heated seven times 
 above its wont, he walked there with them him- 
 self, cheering their hearts with sweet discourse 
 and permitting no hurt to come upon them. It 
 seems to me that grandfather himself passes thus 
 through all afflictions, untouched in the midst 
 of so horrid calamities as rarely fall to the lot of 
 one man." 
 
 "Father is as true a saint as any out of 
 heaven," murmured Madge ; " but it grieveth me 
 the more for that to see him trodden down and 
 
MAKING OF POETRY, 
 
 75 
 
 despised in his old age. He, at least, doth not 
 deserve the evil that hath overtaken us." 
 
 *' The preacher la^it night, Madge, said God 
 sends all in love, and zo says grandfather." 
 
 " Ah, well, I pretend not to understand it ; 
 such things are too hard and difficult for me. 
 'Tis all I can do just to live through them as I 
 may ; but, Ru, if something cannot be procured, 
 I doubt but father will spend his Christmas in 
 the jail." 
 
 Impatiently dashing away the tears from her 
 eyes, Madge hurried away and was soon singing 
 at her work as if she were the gayest of the gay. 
 
 Strange to say, the whole party were in pecul- 
 iarly good spirits at dinner time, when they met 
 at the table supplied by Lady Elmer's bounty. 
 Squire Staynor was cheerful because he had been 
 able to make some kind of settlement with Law- 
 yer Cloudsby, though it was one that only put off 
 the evil day; Mrs. Staynor felt better in health 
 than usual, and was glad to see the others happy ; 
 while Madge and Rupert were rejoicing in a pro- 
 ject to restore the ruined fortunes of the family 
 which they had hatched while dinner was getting 
 ready. 
 
 It was a very nice dinner, too, and when people 
 are accustomed to live chiefly on porridge and 
 rye bread, sweet, white bread and a tender roast 
 of beef are not things to be despised. To crown 
 the feast, Madge had made a small pot of coffee, 
 
 rS\ 
 
 M % 
 
 iHi 
 
76 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 !ll 
 
 and as they sat sipping it round the fire no one 
 would have guessed from their faces that they had 
 just received a severe blow. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Staynor and Rupert were still 
 sitting by the fire cracking hazelnuts, and Madge 
 was busy putting away the dinner things, when 
 the clatter of hoofs sounded on the paving stones 
 of the old courtyard, and Harold Clive, mounted 
 on a handsome and spirited black horse, rode up 
 to the door. He tied the animal to a ring in the 
 wall and made his way without ceremony into 
 the kitchen, where Madge was washing her dishes. 
 Perching himself on the top of a meal cask, he 
 asked : — 
 
 " Is Rupert at home, Mistress Margery } " 
 
 ** Yes ; he is in the sitting room, Mr. Clive. 
 Mother and father are there too." 
 
 " Then do be so good as to beg him to come out 
 here. I have something to ask him that I cannot 
 talk of before Mr. and Mrs. Staynor." 
 
 "Some mischief," asked Madge, "that you want 
 Rupert to help in .?" 
 
 "I give you my word, no. Mistress Madge," 
 said Harold good-humoredly. " You should lis- 
 ten to every word of it, only I like not to be 
 laughed at ! " 
 
 " I am sadly in need of a little divertisement," 
 sighed Madge. " Why should you mind my laugh- 
 ing } I have always heard it does one so much 
 good ! " 
 
MAKING OF POETRY. 
 
 77 
 
 " Then I must be a godsend to you. You are 
 ever laughing at me, though I am fain to confess 
 that I cannot always see what you find so divert- 
 ing, Mistress Madge." 
 
 Mistress Madge's bright eyes were dancing with 
 fun and mischief even now ; but making an effort 
 to control herself, she went to call Rupert. " I 
 cannot think what he wants, Ru ; he is so impor- 
 tant and mysterious." 
 
 " Now, Mr. Clive," she said, when she returned 
 to the kitchen, "do you really mean to tell me 
 that my presence here distastes you } " 
 
 Clive made a low bow, and declared that Mis- 
 tress Margery's presence could never be aught but 
 acceptable to him. 
 
 Margery responded with a sweeping courtesy, 
 exclaiming, " Now, Mr. Clive, in plain English, 
 without compliment or vanity, must I go or stay .'' " 
 
 " Stay, if you please. Mistress Madge. The fact 
 is, Rupert, I have begun to write the poem I told 
 you of, but I find your relation might have been 
 fuller with advantage, mine own experience of 
 such adventures being truly limited." 
 
 "Oh, do read it to us ! " said Madge ; " I love 
 poetry. Rupert, your name is in the way to be- 
 come immortal ! " 
 
 "Now, Mistress Madge, you promised not to 
 laugh." 
 
 " I am most grave and serious, fair sir. The 
 honor done to our family will" — 
 
 
 \ ■ 
 
 
 i\ 
 
 i 
 
78 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 : 
 
 ! 
 
 "A truce to your fooleries, Madge!" said Ru- 
 pert, seeing that the young poet began to look 
 offended. 'Now, Harold, we are ready to listen." 
 
 "But, Rupert, the poem is not ready to read. 
 I have barely written scraps of it. I was not 
 sure from your description whether the mist 
 came on before or after you set forth across the 
 marsh." 
 
 " To say truth it was thick enough when I 
 started, but it grew darker afterwards, so that I 
 could not see a yard around me." 
 
 "Then, also, how large are the pools you spoke 
 of, and do you sink fast or slowly through the 
 mud.?" 
 
 "Most of the pools are sm'^^l and as for the 
 sinking, I stayed not to try. I . . vu heard, though, 
 that it is a slow death and most agonizing ; but, 
 Harold, you could get a better notion of all these 
 things on the very spot. If it like you, I will 
 guide you thither in daylight, and show you how 
 and where I crossed as far as maybe." 
 
 " Nay, Rupert ; I could not ask you to take that 
 danger a second time." 
 
 "There is little danger, in a fair light, to one 
 who knows the country," said Rupert. "Come; 
 the walk would do you gfX)d ! " 
 
 " Perhaps," suggested Madge, narrowly watch- 
 ing Clive's face, " Mr. Harold cares not to adven- 
 ture himself into such peril. I am sure I blame 
 him not ! You are too foolhardy, Rupert." 
 
i 
 
 MAKING OF POETRY. 
 
 79 
 
 It was true enough, but the young man's cheek 
 flushed painfully, for Madge's words sounded like 
 a taunt, and in that age courage was regarded by 
 many people as the chief of the virtues. 
 
 Rupert, by way of covering the awkwardness 
 of Margery's remarks, begged Clive to read what 
 he had written, and after some hesitation he com- 
 plied. The opening lines contained a description 
 of the mist " lying low o'er all the treacherous 
 moss," and were really very pretty. The rest of 
 the poem was so fragmentary that little could be 
 made of it, but Madge, anxious to make amends 
 for her careless speeches, praised it all warmly. 
 
 Clive was much pleased and talked eagerly of 
 the great men he had seen in London, and of 
 his hopes of " doing something worth, by and by." 
 
 "Harold," said Rupert suddenly, "do you re- 
 iember the story you told us of the miser and 
 the ghost } Why not write that in verse } " 
 
 " It is too old. I want something fresh from 
 life, not books." 
 
 "How would it like you, Mr. Clive, to play a 
 part in such a drama .-* " asked Madge with a mis- 
 chievous glance. " Shall we tell him, Rupert } " 
 
 " It will be his turn to laugh if we do ! " 
 
 " Then by all means tell me," exclaimed Harold. 
 " Trust me to keep a secret." 
 
 " It is a secret," said Madge. "Well, you must 
 know there is a story in this very house of a 
 haunting spirit, guarding of hidden treasure. We 
 
 
 I 
 
 
 'if 
 
 i 
 
8o 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMES A ICE. 
 
 know the spot, marked by tradition as a grave, 
 where is rich store of gold and gems. Oh, if only 
 it might prove true ! " 
 
 " What do you intend to do ? " asked Clive, sink- 
 ing his voice to a whisper. 
 
 "We mean to seek for the treasure, and try 
 to mend the ill fortunes of our house, which are 
 sunk to that ebb we scarcely know how we are to 
 live through the winter." 
 
 " But dare you brave the wrath of the guardian 
 of the treasure } " asked Clive. 
 
 " I believe I dare," said Rupert ; while Margery 
 exclaimed, " I do not promise not to be frighted if 
 the ghost appears, but at least I '11 endeavor not to 
 run away. 'T is one comfort, I never heard of a 
 ghost really doing any one serious hurt, after all." 
 
 ** Do you believe in ghosts at all, Mistress 
 Margery.?" 
 
 " I know not whether to believe or no. My 
 mother, as you have heard, says she has seen the 
 abbot, but father would have told us it was only 
 an hallucination, caused by an overwrought brain ; 
 and I have heard that many of the wisest and 
 most learned men say the same." 
 
 "Whether that be so or not, the money is ours 
 of right," remarked Rupert. " The abbot was so 
 notorious an evildoer that the whole neighborhood 
 rang with his crimes, and this very money hidden 
 away so carefully was obtained by fraud from an 
 ancestor of ours. If we can find it, 't is ours; 
 
MAKING OF POETRY, 
 
 8i 
 
 therefore we shall be but doing of our duty, and 
 no ill can come upon us save God sends it." 
 
 "When shall you endeavor it?" asked Clive. 
 
 " Towards midnight, next Thursday or Friday. 
 The moon will then be at the full, and grandfather 
 will go earlier to bed ; for the most part of moon- 
 less nights he passes in watching of the stars 
 from the turret above. Moreover we should need 
 light to work by." 
 
 "Will you take me for a partner in your en 
 terprise } " said Clive earnestly. " I could help a 
 little at least." 
 
 Madge said nothing, but Rupert answered 
 quickly, " Surely, we would be glad of your assist- 
 ance, if you care to give it." 
 
 "Then you can make some more handsome 
 poetry concerning the adventure," said Madge, 
 " especially if we should chance to see the ghost." 
 
 " Hush ! it is ill jesting where we know so lit- 
 tle. Mistress Margery ! " said Clive with a quick 
 glance towards the gloomy stone passage that led 
 to the chapel. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Harold, you are the first person I 
 ever saw who was frighted at the mention of a 
 ghost in broad daylight ! " 
 
 At that instant Mrs. Staynor's voice was heard 
 calling " Margery ! " and the girl hurried off to 
 see what was wanted. 
 
 "Rupert!" said Clive mysteriously, "I had 
 another purpose in coming hither besides the 
 
 
 if H^ 
 m 
 
 i' a 
 
 a It. J- ' - 
 
 life i 
 
82 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 
 li 
 
 
 
 : 
 
 If i'l: 
 
 poem. It is to give you a warning. John sent 
 me to say that they have found that the barn is 
 being watched and it was only the badness of the 
 night that saved you last night ; so go not thither 
 again. Samuel brought the news this morning." 
 
 " Thank you, Harold. I will take heed. Here 
 comes Madge again." 
 
 " Mr. Clive, mother says, Will you come into the 
 parlor ? " 
 
 " I must not stay many minutes, then, for it is 
 time I was going home ! " 
 
 Before his departure, Clive contrived to ask 
 Squire Staynor's opinion upon the question of su- 
 pernatural appearances, and was relieved to hear 
 that he was quite disinclined to believe in the 
 many marvelous tales which then passed from 
 mouth to mouth. His scientific studies had 
 shown him that many appearances, terrifying to 
 the superstitious and ill-educated, might be traced 
 to natural causes, whilst an immense proportion 
 of such stories was either entirely fictitious or 
 was founded on facts, distorted by the imagina- 
 tion of the narrator. Indeed, Mr. Staynor's views 
 did not differ widely from those held by the edu- 
 cated classes in our own day. 
 
 Harold, being of a nervous and imaginative 
 temperament, had passed many intensely uncom- 
 fortable hours during his life from dread of the 
 supernatural. His education had been of a some- 
 what superficial character, better suited to make 
 
MAKING OF POETRY. 
 
 83 
 
 him an accomplished gentleman than to develop 
 his reasoning powers or to strengthen his mind. 
 If he could, he would gladly have broken free from 
 the superstition that tortured and shamed him. 
 But he needed far stronger aid than was to be 
 obtained from Mr. Staynor's calm assurances of 
 the absence of proofs of supernatural appearances, 
 though the squire made a great effort to show him 
 the falseness of his position, and Clive himself 
 really thought at first that he had succeeded. He 
 was no sooner on his way home through the dusky 
 woods, however, than his nerves were quivering as 
 usual with almost equal dread of highway robbers 
 and specters. It really seemed as if he were 
 hardly the best person to undertake the task of 
 assisting to rob a ghost-guarded grave. 
 
 M'' 
 

 ipll 
 III 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE PRINCE. 
 
 RUPERT," said Madge, two or three days 
 later, " I think Harold Clive is something 
 of a coward. He quakes whenever the abbot's 
 grave is mentioned." 
 
 " Why do you keep speaking of it, then ? " 
 
 "To say truth, I do not much mind if I do 
 disgust him about it. I think we should do better 
 without him. His sudden starts and the way he 
 has of looking as if he sees something awful in 
 the distance upset my courage horribly. If he 
 shrieks or faints, I will not answer for it that I 
 shall not run away, Ru, and leave you to meet 
 the abbot alone." 
 
 " I wish you would cease jesting on the subject, 
 Madge. Leave poor Clive alone. Grandfather 
 says it is his want of bodily strength that makes 
 him so easily frighted. It is cruel to lead him 
 such a life for what he cannot help." 
 
 " Well, Ru, I am glad you are of a different 
 mold. I hate such a weak craven spirit in either 
 man or woman. I do think there is good hope 
 that you may live up to your noble name." 
 
 Rupert smiled, but said gently, " I am so strong, 
 
THE PRINCE, 
 
 85 
 
 Margery. It is very different which poor Harold. 
 Nevertheless, I deny not that there is nothing 
 would give me more signal satisfaction than to 
 win the respect of the world for bravery, like my 
 glorious namesake. But, O Madge, it is beyond 
 all expectation. I shall never have the chance of 
 proving whether I be brave or not." 
 
 " Strange that Prince Rupert in all his battles 
 hath received no serious hurt," said Madge. ** I 
 should have thought that one like him, so noble 
 and so heroic, would be in a double danger in 
 every fight; for surely the Roundheads would 
 gladly have slain our dreaded prince if they 
 could." 
 
 "Ay; they used to say that he had protection 
 from the evil one, so little can they understand 
 his high courage and noble contempt of danger." 
 
 "Mayhap it was to excuse themselves, when 
 they fell a-pieces before his fiery onslaught." 
 
 "Very likely; but it seems to me, Madge, it 
 would need even stronger courage to stand firm 
 and wait the onset of a foe like Prince Rupert 
 than to follow him in his headlong charge. I 
 wonder if Master Kenrick ever met him thus.? 
 I should like to hear him tell of it, though I 
 doubt he would use ill words enough concerning 
 our valiant leaders. My very name was the text 
 for a discourse that savored of treason." 
 
 "Rupert, how could you find patience to talk 
 with him ? I thought nothing would induce you 
 
 n 
 
 \A !! C». 
 
 I 
 
86 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 
 I 
 
 to listen to spiteful and malicious words against 
 your godfather. Sure he honored you enough 
 in giving you his own name to make you ever 
 more his faithful servant." 
 
 " It would please me above measure to see the 
 prince," said Rupert. "I wonder if we ever shall." 
 
 " Mother says he is most noble and comely in 
 person, and of a tallness far above common men. 
 I would rather see him than his majesty himself." 
 
 Rupert had been busy for a great part of the 
 week, preparing for the task which they proposed 
 to undertake on Thursday night. Under pretext 
 of needing the stones to improve the shelter for 
 the cow, he had removed a large quantity of the 
 broken fragments of the wall from the corner of 
 the chapel where the treasure was traditionally 
 stated to have been deposited, and he at last 
 uncovered a huge flat stone. 
 
 He called Madge out, saying, " Look here ! I 
 have come to the grave at last, and happily the 
 stone is so cr jked and broken that I am sure we 
 can move it readily enough when the time comes. 
 It looks as if there had been a fire on it." 
 
 "Doubtless it was the sacrilegious Roundheads," 
 said Margery. "Don't you remember how they 
 burnt all the furniture and broke up the holy 
 table } " 
 
 " Well, I am sure I can move it now, even if I 
 have them to thank for it," remarked Rupert. 
 " Has Harold come yet ? " 
 
I"; 
 
 THE PRINCE. 
 
 87 
 
 "No ; nor I scarcely expect him either," replied 
 Margery. 
 
 " Hark ! there is the sound of his horsehoofs 
 even now." 
 
 With one impulse they ran out into the court- 
 yard to meet the advancing horseman ; but after a 
 single glance the girl fled in uncomfortable con- 
 sciousness of her coarse dress and huge apron, 
 both liberally adorned with white patches, for, ex- 
 cellent cook as she was, Margery never seemed 
 to get full control of her flour. 
 
 If it had been Clive, she would have stood her 
 ground to receive his laughing and somewhat 
 satirical compliments on her beautifully wintry 
 appearance, and to tease him in return about his 
 last new idea for a poem ; but Madge did not care 
 to be seen by a stranger in her old dress ; so while 
 Rupert went forward to see who or what was 
 wanted she harried back to the kitchen. 
 
 There from a loophole in the thick wall she 
 watched the pair outside with the interest natural 
 to one who lives a secluded life. Her curiosity 
 was all the greater because from the beauty of 
 the stranger's horse and from the handsome- 
 ness of his dress and appointments she judged 
 him to be a man of wealth and consequence. 
 He wore a suit of dark blue cloth, large riding- 
 boots reaching far above the knee, and a short 
 cloak richly lined with velvet. A black beaver 
 hat, adorned with several dark plumes, a broad 
 
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 (716)872-4503 
 
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88 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 lace collar, and a handsome sword completed his 
 attire. 
 
 Rupert stood talking to the gentleman with his 
 cap in his hand. Anxious to get a nearer view 
 of him, Madge ran into the chapel, and, peeping 
 through the broken arch of one of its windows, 
 was near enough to see well, if only the stranger 
 would turn round ; but, alas ! he kept the back of 
 his long curled periwig towards her. Presently he 
 dismounted, and then Madge saw him perfectly. 
 
 A figure of remarkable height but well propor- 
 tioned, deeply bronzed skin, dark eyes, well-arched, 
 strongly marked eyebrows, a resolute mouth, and 
 a firm chin gave to the traveler a rather stern 
 and forbidding air. Yet as he spoke to Rupert he 
 smiled kindly enough, and i dimple came and went 
 on his cheek. 
 
 Presently they began to walk towards the house, 
 and Madge, thinking that Mrs. Staynor might not 
 like to be surprised by this courtly gentleman in 
 her humble morning attire, hurried in to give her 
 warning. 
 
 "Madge, child! what hath happened.?" ex- 
 claimed the lady as her daughter appeared at the 
 parlor door with red cheeks and hair absolutely 
 standing on end with being exposed to the rough- 
 ness of the December breeze. 
 
 " It is only,' gasped Madge breathlessly, '" that 
 a gentleman hath ridden up, and Ru is bringing 
 him in, and I thought that mayhap you would like 
 
THE PRINCE. 
 
 89 
 
 b- 
 
 me to help you to change your gown ; he may be 
 a messenger from his majesty — oh, wouldn't it 
 be joyful ? I have never seen a richer habit. Do 
 come, mother ! " 
 
 " Have paiience, daughter. I should think this 
 dress" — 
 
 "O mother, do make haste! I would not 
 have so fine a gentleman see you in this old 
 stuff gown for the world. I hear them at the 
 door. Put on the lovely robe you lent to my 
 Lady Elmer." 
 
 " That gown, Margery, is as little suited to the 
 occasion as to my age. The gentleman, if he be 
 indeed courtly and well-bred, would be fain to 
 smile at my folly and vanity in so bedizening of 
 myself." 
 
 "Well, mother, what can you do.? Your old 
 black gown will look dingy beside this gentleman's 
 cloth and velvet ! " 
 
 " Child, we have little cause to be ashamed of 
 our poverty. Fetch me the black gown to my 
 chamber, and then change your own, if you think 
 fit. I need not your aid" 
 
 Nevertheless Madge stayed to dress her mother's 
 hair and fasten her gown before she smoothed her 
 own hair and dressed herself in a skirt and bodice 
 of flowered silk trimmed with gold lace that had 
 been given her by Lady Elmer. It was very 
 handsome, and its yellow shade set off her dark 
 hair and complexion; but Madge felt uncomfort' 
 
 
90 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 
 ably conspicuous in it, she was so unused to wear- 
 ing anything new or pretty. 
 
 Rupert knocked at her door just as she finished 
 dressing. " That is right, Madge ! " he exclaimed, 
 "you have done well to put on your braveries. 
 Turn round and let me see you!" 
 
 "Who is it, Ru.? Quick! Is it a messenger 
 from the king.?" 
 
 " Not exactly," said the boy ; " but you might 
 have made a worse guess, mine aunt." 
 
 " Rupert, tell me ! or I shall go right into the 
 room and hear for myself!" 
 
 " Well, then, Madge, it is Prince Rupert ! " 
 
 " O Ru ! what made you keep me waiting so 
 long? Prince Rupert ! I had rather see him than 
 the king himself, I do believe ! But are you sure 
 he hath no message from his majesty } " 
 
 " No ; for he came hither straight from Chester. 
 He chanced to hear there that grandfather had 
 come back to live here, and he hath turned ten 
 miles out of his way to visit us." 
 
 " Father hath done more than that to serve him 
 and his ! " said Margery dryly. 
 
 "Nay, Madge, blame not the prince for what 
 he hath no power to prevent. Both grandfather 
 and he fought for the king's sake only. Prince 
 Rupert hath gained little but slander and reproach 
 by all that he hath done." 
 
 " Doth he not seem to you older and graver, 
 Rupert, than you thought he would be ? " 
 
THE PRINCE. 
 
 91 
 
 It 
 
 :h 
 
 "I know not, Madge. He is most noble and 
 courteous, in spite of his stern looks. Come and 
 see him. He said he had not time to tarry long." 
 
 Strange to say, when Madge made her courtesy 
 to the hero of her childhood, her courage entirely 
 left her, and it was not till she was seated in a 
 distant corner of the room that she could either 
 look at or listen to him. His royal blood and the 
 stories she had heard of his impetuous courage 
 so impressed her imagination that she felt quite 
 overcome with the honor done to them all by this 
 friendly visit. When she recovered her compo- 
 sure, the prince was talking to Mrs. Staynor of 
 her memorable defense of the house against 
 Fairfax. 
 
 "It grieved me sorely, madam," he said, "to 
 see the sad condition of your noble house. I had 
 no idea that those rascally Roundheads had done 
 it so much hurt. I am almost fain to wish that 
 you had condescended to make terms for surren- 
 der in the first place, though if every stronghold 
 had been held as boldly and faithfully for his late 
 majesty, he would never have come to such an 
 evil fate." 
 
 "Your highness is most kind to say so," said 
 Mrs. Staynor, a bright flush coloring her pale 
 cheeks. " God forbid that I should have let any 
 selfish considerations of our own ease or wealth 
 stand in the way of our duty to the king ! If it 
 were to be done again, I trust I should be as ready 
 
 ! 
 
 
92 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 to hold the place to the last, despite of knowing 
 to the full the malice and cruelty of our enemies." 
 
 " Madam, if I could serve you with the king, I 
 would most gladly do so ; but mine interest with 
 him is small; yet — pardon my intruding of ad- 
 vice upon you unasked — it may be that did his 
 majesty know how ill-requited your signal loyalty 
 hath been, he would endeavor to see that you had 
 justice." 
 
 "Hitherto," said the calm voice of the old 
 squire, "little hath come of mine addresses to 
 the king. Probably they have never reached his 
 majesty's eyes ; but I have no means of bringing 
 them before him. I deny not that at this moment 
 my debts are of so great magnitude that I daily 
 fear that I shall be arrested by one creditor or 
 another ! " 
 
 "It is a crying shame, good sir. Write out 
 for me a memorial of your case, setting forth as 
 plainly as may be the condition of your affairs. 
 For mine own particular, I promise to deliver it 
 into the king's own hands, and to add to it such 
 persuasions to have justice done as I can. It is, 
 perchance, worth attempting, but I would remind 
 you once again that the king hath other advisers 
 than I, and more like than not it may come to 
 naught." 
 
 The prince spoke a little impatiently, as if his 
 monarch's ways were not always to his mind. 
 
 Mrs. Staynor would have kissed his highness' 
 
THE PRINCE, 
 
 93 
 
 lis 
 
 ss' 
 
 hand in her gratitude, had he permitted her, 
 while the squire could scarcely find words to ex- 
 press his thanks. Rupert and Madge, forgetting 
 their awe, pressed forward and added their eager 
 thanks in such an incoherent style that the prince 
 laughed good-hum oredly, and patted their heads 
 in a fashion that, as Madge said afterward, "made 
 them feel about two years old." 
 
 '• Good friends," said the prince, when the ex- 
 citement had subsided sufficiently to give him a 
 chance to speak, " I fear you hope too much from 
 what I have said. I will do all I can, but I must 
 warn you once more that that is very little. 1 
 am no court gallant, and my desires have small 
 weight with his majesty." 
 
 " About preparing of this memorial, your high- 
 ness," said Squire Staynor ; " I fear it is a mat- 
 ter scarcely to be accomplished in a moment, and 
 if your highness does not presently intend to 
 leave these parts, perchance we had better write 
 it at greater leisure, and send it on to you, wher- 
 ever you shall be pleased to appoint." 
 
 "To-night, good sir, I lie at my Lord Manton's 
 house, and to-morrow at Altrincham, at The 
 Royal Oak. Can you make shift to send to either 
 place ? I shall set forth from Altrincham betimes 
 in the morning, all being well, the ways are now 
 so bad and darkness cometh on so early. If my 
 godson here is to bear your errand, let him come 
 and inquire for me at the inn, to-morrow evening, 
 7 
 
 1 
 
 \ 
 
94 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 if possible. Then he can rest there for the night 
 and return by daylight." 
 
 "I thank your highness. It shall be done as 
 you direct. But now will you condescend to visit 
 my poor elaboratory, little as I have to show you ? 
 I know how great interest your highness takes in 
 all scientific experiments, and I would fain learn 
 somewhat of you concerning the properties of 
 certain minerals of which I possess samples, if 
 your highness will stoop to play the teacher for 
 my benefit." 
 
 "You do me too much honor, learned sir. I 
 cannot hope to teach so curious and ingenious a 
 gentleman aught that it imports him to know, but 
 will gladly sit at his feet to learn what I may." 
 
 So saying. Prince Rupert rose and followed his 
 old host up the winding turret stair to the little 
 circular chamber where the squire spent so much 
 of his time. 
 
 " I hope your highness will be pleased to excuse 
 the sad condition of the place," said the old man, 
 as he threw back the shutter from a narrow win- 
 dow to the south, and let in a stream of sunlight 
 upon a rickety table loaded with heaps of ore, 
 strange-shaped jars, and dusty books. A small 
 forge stood in one corner, and a pair of bellows 
 lay on the floor among a litter of chips and shav- 
 ings ; tools of all sorts hung in a rack on the wall, 
 which was further adorned with three or four 
 shelves containing the skulls and bones of various 
 
 
 
THE PRINCE. 
 
 95 
 
 tour 
 ious 
 
 small animals ; and stuffed birds, dried snake-skins, 
 and preserved frogs and toads filled every avail- 
 able space. 
 
 "My daughter Margery hath more than once of- 
 fered to reduce my sanctum to order," continued 
 the old philosopher, with a smile, " but I feared 
 that it might be an experiment more fatal in its 
 results than anything I have hitherto attempted." 
 
 "I can well believe it, sir," replied the prince. 
 "The too-adventurous hand of one unskilled in 
 science may destroy the work of years. Mine 
 own elaboratory is, I fear, in little better order, 
 but I have forbid the maids to bring mop or 
 broom within it." 
 
 By this time the squire had cleared an old arm- 
 chair and begged the prince to be seated, himself 
 remaining standing in respect to his royal guest, 
 until Rupert desired him to sit down. An hour 
 of conversation ensued, in which Richard Staynor 
 entirely forgot the prince in the votary of sci- 
 ence, for, strange to say, the man whose name is 
 best known for his dashing courage and brilliant 
 charges had spent long hours in the patient toil 
 of the inventor. Led on by his host's eager curi- 
 osity, he talked with the frankness of a soldier of 
 his improved gunlocks and gunpowder, and of the 
 hydraulic machines upon which he was then at 
 work, but he listened with equal interest when the 
 old man began to detail the results of some of his 
 own painstaking experiments. 
 
I"r 
 
 96 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 "I have heard that your highness is even as 
 great a draughtsman as a soldier and an inventor/' 
 said the squire ; '' and a friend of mine, one Mr. 
 Archer, wrote me word how you had condescended 
 to explain to him your invention of mezzotinto. 
 I have ever had great interest in such arts, though 
 I cannot draw a straight line myself, and should 
 be much honored if your highness would be good 
 enough to make plain to me one or two small 
 points on which the letter was not clear." 
 
 By the time that the prince had made the re- 
 quired explanations it was long past noon, and he 
 rose to depart ; but when they went downstairs, 
 they found that dinner had been prepared, and 
 his highness, who was in truth hungry enough, 
 readily consented to remain. 
 
 Madge and Rupert prepared to wait on their 
 noble guest, but he would have all sit down to- 
 gether. Happily Rupert's hunting had been un- 
 usually Fuccessf ul on the previous day, so that " the 
 fare was handsomer than the dishes it was served 
 in," as Mrs. Staynor had remarked. Even the 
 obnoxious rye bread was replaced by a wheaten 
 loaf, which Rupert had walked two miles to pro- 
 cure while his grandmother and Madge were 
 broiling the fish and roasting the fowls. 
 
 To the unqualified satisfaction of his entertain- 
 ers, the prince's appetite was by no means de- 
 stroyed by the fact that his plate was pewter. He 
 made an excellent meal, talking easily and pleas- 
 
tain- 
 de- 
 He 
 
 lleas- 
 
 THE PRINCE. 
 
 97 
 
 antly of his many strange adventures by land and 
 sea. As he listened, Rupert's admiration for his 
 godfather increased, and he became more deter- 
 mined than ever to seek wealth and glory on 
 the sea. 
 
 The short wintry afternoon was drawing to its 
 close when the prince at last bade his hospitable 
 entertainers farewell and rode away through the 
 woods towards Denham, where he had commanded 
 his servants to meet him. Then Rupert built up 
 a great fire, Madge brought in a candle, and Mr. 
 Staynor sat down to prepare his memorial to the 
 king. 
 
 The room was very silent, for they were all 
 painfully impressed with the solemnity of the 
 occasion. Not a word had been uttered for an 
 hour, when a sudden rap at the door broke the 
 stillness. Rupert went to open it, and Harold's 
 voice sounded in the distance, so Madge slipped 
 out into the kitchen to join them. 
 
 Clive had already taken his seat upon his favor- 
 ite flour barrel, but Rupert was employed in draw- 
 ing together the dying embers on the hearth and 
 trying to coax them into a flame with tempting 
 splinters of pine. Madge was perched on a log 
 within the wide chimney, and began : — 
 
 " Well, Mr. Clive, have you come to help us dig 
 out the abbot to-night } " 
 
 "Yes," said Clive boldly; "I have put my 
 horse in the stable and I am ready. I could not 
 
 i 
 
 
98 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 get away sooner. My sister had company and 
 they have only just set out for home. I came 
 to thv*; crossroads with them." 
 
 " I wondered if you had come alone/' remarked 
 Madge. " Did you see anything of the abbot as 
 you came through the chapel ? " 
 
 "Clive," said Rupert, '*we have had no less 
 a visitor than the prince to-day. I know not 
 whether that will not upset our plans for this 
 night." 
 
 " The prince >. What prince ? " 
 
 " Prince Rupert. Oh, he is a most valiant and 
 gallant gentleman, and strangely curious and 
 learned withal. He seems to know more of 
 metals than my father, and can ply a black lead 
 pen as nobly and handsomely as a sword." 
 
 "I met him once in London, Rupert, on the 
 Mall. They say he is the best tennis p'ayer in 
 all England, but he careth little for the court 
 gayeties and fooleries, and liveth much apart and 
 secluded." 
 
 "I think the better of him for it," cried Ru- 
 pert, whose experience on the matter in question 
 was singularly small. "A round of feasting 
 and dancing and merrymaking is no life for a 
 soldier." 
 
 " So John says now and again ; but Edith and 
 I think no harm of taking what divertisements 
 we can out of life. It is a sad and sorry business 
 at the best." 
 
m 
 
 I or 
 
 id 
 Lts 
 
 iss 
 
 THE PRINCE. 
 
 99 
 
 "You should save that for your poetry, Mr. 
 Clive." 
 
 "Nay, -Mistress Margery; I care not to write 
 down my wretchedness ! " 
 
 "Why not? I believe it would do you good. 
 They say that there is nothing like hard work for 
 driving away sorrow, and sure nothing can be 
 much harder, to my thinking, than finding and 
 fitting together a score of rhymes." 
 
 Clive gave her a glance that spoke volumes of 
 contempt for such ignoble ideas about the beauti- 
 ful art of poetry, but he did not deign to answer 
 her in words. 
 
 "Shall you rjive up your project altogether, 
 Rupert.^" he said, after a pause. 
 
 "No; but to-morrow I shall have to walk to 
 Altrincham to carry a paper from my grandfather 
 to the prince." 
 
 " To Altrincham, Rupert } That must be five- 
 and-twenty miles." 
 
 " Yes ; so I must be on my way by daybreak." 
 
 " Nonsense, Rupert ! I will walk home and you 
 shall ride Navarre. I have been out so little 
 lately the poor beast is just longing for a good 
 stretch across country." 
 
 Rupert's eyes sparkled and he exclaimed : — 
 
 " O Harold, how kind you are ! Are you cer- 
 tain you will not need Navarre.^ I am not to 
 return till Saturday." 
 
 " Rupert, you will break your neck or Navarre's 
 
 1 
 
 v 
 
 V' 
 
 111 
 
 :^j 
 
 !A 
 
 i 
 
 i 111 
 
lOO 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 legs ! " said Margery. " I don't believe you know 
 how to manage a horse any more than a ship! 
 He '11 run away, Mr. Clive, and you '11 never see 
 either him or Ru again ! " 
 
 "I am not frighted for Rupert, Mistress 
 Margery." 
 
 "I am ; but nothing will curn him when his 
 mind is once made up." 
 
 " Now, Madge dear, do not you go and worry 
 grandmother with your fooleries," said Rupert, 
 half coaxingly and half impatiently. " You know 
 you would not have said No yourself, if Harold 
 had offered to lend the horse to you." 
 
 Margery laughed, and sitting down before the 
 fire began to toast the bread for supper. 
 
 "Well, good night. Mistress Margery," said 
 Clive; "there will be no moon to-night, so I 
 must not linger." 
 
 "But you are not going home now? You 
 promised to stay to meet the abbot, you know. 
 Besides, you really cannot walk all that distance ; 
 can he, Ru } " 
 
 "No, no, Clive; I never meant that. Stay 
 here to-night and ride home in the morning, and 
 I will take Navarre from Cressley." 
 
 " I feel sure I could walk. I am much stronger 
 
 now. 
 
 »> 
 
 "I shall tell mother, if you say any more 
 about it, Mr. Clive," said Margery ; " and she will 
 keep you fast prisoner till Lady Elmer sends for 
 
THE PRINCE. 
 
 lOI 
 
 ! 
 
 ' » 
 
 ^y 
 
 kd 
 
 you! I did tell her that you would stay here 
 to-night." 
 
 "But I come so often," protested Clive; "and 
 it would like me well to see you through your 
 treasure adventure." 
 
 " Of course you must. I shall depend on you 
 to scare off the ghost. I wonder if he is expect- 
 ing of us to-night," said Madge. "He must 
 wonder what Rupert has been doing unearthing 
 of his old gravestone." 
 
 "Your bread is scorching. Mistress Margery," 
 said Clive, trying not to start and listen for 
 footsteps. 
 
 "I wonder whether father means us to wait 
 for supper until he has done setting forth all our 
 wrongs to the king. If he doth it in full, as 
 the prince advised, methinks we shall go hungry 
 till midnight." 
 
 " They say Prince Rupert hath little influence 
 at court," said Clive. "I trust it may not be 
 true; but his own signal loyalty hath received 
 poor and small reward enough. The king hath 
 done nothing worth for him." 
 
 "He said as much," replied Madge, sighing. 
 " I doubt little good will come of this memorial ; 
 and yet father looks as if all our troubles were 
 already ended." 
 
 j;: ! 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 NAVARRE. 
 
 MADGE was up long before the late winter 
 dawn, trying to freshen Rupert's worn 
 clothes with knots of bright yellow ribbon taken 
 from her own best gown. The arrangement of 
 some scarlet ribbons on Harold's dove-colored suit 
 had suggested the idea, so she had been obliged 
 to rise early to carry it out. Rupert's best, or 
 rather only, lace collar also needed attention, for 
 the delicate meshes were broken in a place or 
 two, and it required washing and ironing. Lastly, 
 the elaborate hilt of her father's old rapier, which 
 the lad always wore on state occasions, might be 
 improved with polishing. 
 
 When Rupert came into the room she was so 
 busy with the sword that she did not hear his 
 footsteps. 
 
 "What are you doing, Madge .>" he asked. 
 "You should have left all that to me." 
 
 " Nay, Rupert ; you will have enough to do of 
 your own work. Are your boots cleaned ? " 
 
 " I will brush them up now, before I go out." 
 
 " Then I think your clothes will be as neat and 
 handsome as we can make them ; but I am fain to 
 wish you could have a new suit." 
 
 102 
 
NAVARRE. 
 
 103 
 
 "Your ribbons make it appear well-nigh as 
 good as new, Madge. Methinks I shall speak to 
 the prince about getting a ship by and by. I see 
 no other chance unless we make our fortunes with 
 the abbot's hoards." 
 
 "I should miss you mightily, Ru; but if you 
 needs must go, I trust the prince will help you." 
 
 Two hours later Rupert had changed his 
 dress and was ready to start. Madge surveyed 
 his garments with anxious interest in the kitchen 
 before she let him go into the courtyard where 
 Clive was holding Navarre by the bridle. 
 
 "You would look beautiful, Rupert," she ex- 
 claimed, " if you only had a new hat. I did think 
 of trying to lower the crown, but I was frighted 
 lest I should spoil it altogether instead of making 
 of it more modish. The prince's hat was lower 
 in the crown and broader in the brim." 
 
 " Where did you find these plumes, Madge } " 
 asked the lad, looking curiously at the yellow 
 feathers that surrounded the high steeple-shaped 
 crown of his velvet hat. 
 
 "I took them from the fan my Lady Elmer 
 gave me to use with my new gown." 
 
 " Well, Madge, you must take off both plumes 
 and ribbons when I return ; and till then I will 
 take the utmost care of them." 
 
 " If you do, it will be something fresh. I never 
 heard of a lad taking care of his clothes, saving 
 Mr. Clive. Have you remembered your shoes? 
 
 'ill 
 
 \\ ! 
 
 1 I 
 
 ill;! 
 ! !i 
 
 'I M 
 
 'I 
 
I04 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 It would never do to wait on the prince in heavy 
 and, perchance, miry boots." 
 
 " Yes ; they are in the saddlebag, Madge." 
 
 Rupert's dress had been the subject of so much 
 anxious thought that it really merits some de- 
 scription. 
 
 It consisted of a jacket of brown cloth, open 
 up the front, and so short that it displayed at the 
 waist a blouse-like shirt of fine Holland, which 
 had full sleeves terminating in lace bands at the 
 wrists. The sleeves of the jacket itself were 
 scarcely worthy of the name, for they were open 
 to the shoulder and were so short that they barely 
 reached the elbow, where they were tied with 
 knots of ribbon. Full trousers, gathered to a 
 band just below the knie and decorated with a 
 frill of silk, brown stockings, and low shoes tied 
 with ribbon completed the costume for the house. 
 Now, however, the splendors of Rupert's attire 
 were much obscured by the above-mentioned rid- 
 ing boots and by a short cloak he had donned *f or 
 the journey. 
 
 A peddler had fortunately happened to call at 
 the abbey in the early morning, and by him 
 Harold had sent a note to his sister, begging her 
 to send another horse so that Rupert could set 
 forth on his journey without going round by the 
 castle. 
 
 They all assembled in the courtyard to see him 
 off, and when at last he was mounted on Clive's 
 
NAVARRE. 
 
 105 
 
 Ir 
 It 
 
 beautiful restive horse Madge clapped her hands 
 with delight ; but Mrs. Staynor's eyes grew dim, 
 for Rupert looked as gay and gallant a cavalier as 
 her youngest boy, poor Dick, when he waved his 
 last farewell to her before the fatal field of Mars- 
 ton Moor. 
 
 "Now, Rupert," cried Clive, "are you ready? 
 Navarre is all impatience. Keep a steady hand 
 on the rein, but do not bear too hard, for the 
 beast hath a temper, and shows it if he thinks 
 you mean to cross him." 
 
 " All right, Hal ; let go," replied Rupert ; and 
 as the mettlesome creature sprang forward he 
 turned and waved his hat to those upon the steps 
 as fearlessly as if he were perfectly at home on 
 the back of the flying animal. 
 
 Madge replied with a flourish of her white 
 apron, and all joined in the shout of good-by. 
 
 " You are very good, Mr. Clive," said Margery 
 gratefully as they reentered the house. "Poor 
 Ru! it is so great pleasure to him to look for 
 once like a gentleman ! " 
 
 Clive smiled. 
 
 "Methinks he never looks like anything else, 
 Mistress Margery. ' 
 
 Madge made a courtesy and said : — 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Clive. I am fain to think 
 you are right; but indeed this life is hard for 
 Ru." 
 
 " Is it not hard for you also, Mistress Madge } " 
 
 mm 
 
 i ■"■■ 
 
 
io6 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 "Have you not heard me bewail my lot full 
 often, Mr. Clive ? Yes ; it is hard for all." 
 
 " Easier times must come, at least for Rupert 
 and you, Mistress Madge. If right were done, 
 Mr. Stay nor would now be a baron or an earl." 
 
 Madge laughed. 
 
 "Ay, Mr. Clive, that would truly be a noble con- 
 solation. Perchance my lord baron would eat his 
 dry bread with a better appetite, and wear a 
 patched cloak with a nobler dignity than plain 
 Mr. Stay nor can." 
 
 "Mistress Madge, I shall hold you for little 
 better than a republican if you scoff thus at 
 rank and title." 
 
 " It was at the thought of such threadbare no- 
 bility ; but mother hath before now reproved me, 
 Mr. Clive, for using so great plainness and open- 
 ness toward you. I am sensible it must be shock- 
 ing to your notion of what is fitting." 
 
 "Nay; believe me, fair Mistress Madge, it is 
 but shocking to my sense of right that such 
 things can be under our own lawful king. I do 
 hope Rupert's errand will have so good results as 
 your father seems to expect." 
 
 " I trust so ; and that Ru will come back sound 
 and whole. It liked me ill enough, Mr. Clive, to 
 hear of Navarre's temper." 
 
 "I wished but to warn Rupert. There is no 
 occasion to be frighted for him, when he hath so 
 little fear for himself." 
 
NAVARRE. 
 
 107 
 
 10 
 30 
 
 "It is just that that worries me. He loves 
 danger too well and hath neither prudence nor 
 caution. He hath only been on horseback three 
 or four times in his life." 
 
 By this time Rupert had got some miles on his 
 journey. He did not share Madge's distrust of 
 his powers of managing Navarre, let him show 
 what temper he might. At first all went well. 
 He crossed the common at a gallop, then drawing 
 rein a little trotted briskly down the long strag- 
 gling street of Denham village, enjoying the ad- 
 miring glances of the good dames and the out- 
 spoken comments of the youngsters, and honoring 
 his acquaintances with low and courtly bows. He 
 prided himself rather upon the ease with which 
 he could accomplish these salutations on horse- 
 back, and taking for his model Prince Rupert's 
 parting bow to his grandmother, he practiced this 
 new feat upon the village maids and matrons, re- 
 ceiving in return most respectful courtesies, for 
 they all regarded him as the wronged but rightful 
 heir of all that had once belonged to his grand- 
 father. 
 
 Now Navarre was as nervous as his master, and 
 by no means approved of the train of shouting 
 boys who were following Rupert's majestic pro- 
 gress through the village in a triumphal proces- 
 sion. He pricked up his ears, shook his head, 
 and shied halfway across the road at the sight of 
 an old woman in a red cloak bobbing up and 
 
 ' \ 
 
io8 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 down in a succession of quick courtesies, while 
 she loudly blessed the young squire and told him 
 that both he and his horse were "mighty pretty." 
 Rupert, thinking the horse was trying to take 
 advantage of his ignorance, brought down his riding 
 whip rather smartly on the creature's neck, and, 
 more insulted than hurt, Navarre gave a jump that 
 nearly shook his rider from his back, and then 
 sprang forward with the bit between his teeth. 
 
 In the first moment of that breathless race 
 Rupert felt as if he were flying, and rather en- 
 joyed it. The wind whistled past his ears ; the 
 shouts of the children grew fainter in the dis- 
 tance ; Denham was left far behind ; and still 
 up hill and down dale, through wood and hollow, 
 Navarre kept the same wild pace. The road soon 
 seemed less familiar, and Rupert, afraid of going 
 out of his way, began to drag heavily at the bridle, 
 thinking, even in that moment of great danger, 
 how odd it seemed that Clive could manage the 
 animal so easily. 
 
 " Stop ! " he shouted, tugging at the bit. " Stop, 
 Navarre ! softly, now, softly ! " 
 
 But Navarre's temper had been tried to the 
 utmost, and now he meant to have his own way. 
 It was many a day since he had enjoyed such a 
 gallop. Rupert's hat flew off, but he did not heed 
 his loss, for the matter was getting serious. The 
 more he tugged and shouted the harder Navarre 
 galloped in the blind, wild fury that possesses 
 
NAVARRE. 
 
 109 
 
 runaways. Rupert feared that the brute would 
 injure himself in his madness, and that thought 
 gave him more anxiety than his own danger. 
 
 Hitherto a clear course had been before him, 
 but now a turn in the road showed a cart heavily 
 laden with rolls of leather. Fearing a collision in 
 the narrow road, Rupert shouted to the man to 
 clear the way, and drew hard upon the left rein. 
 The horse turned suddenly across the unfenced 
 country in his headlong race. It was rough rid- 
 ing at that speed ; Rupert lost both stirrups, but 
 still held on, till straight across their course a 
 pebbly brook came into view. The steep banks 
 had hidden it till too late. Without a pause Na- 
 varre endeavored to leap, but, exhausted by his 
 long gallop and impeded by Rupert's efforts to 
 check his speed, he fell short, and horse and rider 
 came down together, half on the bank and half in 
 the water. 
 
 For a few moments Navarre lay gasping where 
 he fell; then finding the water cold to his hind 
 quarters, he shook himself and slowly rose, trem- 
 bling from head to foot. A deep draught of the 
 pure water partially calmed his nerves, and scram- 
 bling up the bank he began to wander beside the 
 stream, smelling at the grass, which was still 
 green in patches. But his past excitement and 
 ill-temper and his present aches and pains had 
 spoiled his appetite, and he ate none of it. 
 
 Meanwhile his rider lay with his feet in the 
 8 
 
 
 I J} 
 
I 
 
 no 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 stream and his white face turned up toward the 
 sky, cold and unconscious as if death had claimed 
 him. The blood oozed slowly from a deep cut in 
 his forehead, and the chilly water washed over his 
 boots and played with the knots of gay ribbon 
 that Madge had sewn on so proudly. 
 
 At length he recovered from his swoon, but 
 it was a long time after he opened his eyes be- 
 fore he made any effort to move. When he did 
 so he was so numbed and stiff and sore that he 
 could scarcely drag himself out of the water. 
 Putting up his hand to clear away the long hair 
 that had blown across his eyes, he was surprised 
 to find blood upon it. Gradually his memory re- 
 turned ; he knew where he was and how he had 
 come there. 
 
 He thought of his errand, of Clive's loan to 
 him, and even of poor Madge's bedraggled rib- 
 bons, before it occurred to him that he must 
 make an attempt to struggle up the bank to 
 where there would be some chance of his being 
 seen and helped. Dipping his handkerchief in 
 the brook he washed the blood from his face and 
 tried to rise, but could not. Next he tried to 
 draw himself up by means of the weeds and 
 stones, but they gave way and he slipped down to 
 the water's edge again. His left arm was quite 
 useless, he could not even lift it, and his feet 
 ached with cold till he could scarcely bear the 
 pain. After resting a minute or two he once 
 
 ij 
 
NAVARRE, 
 
 III 
 
 i| 
 
 .1(1 
 
 more scrambled out of the water; but the bank 
 was so sloping that he feared that he might 
 again lose consciousness, slip back into it, and 
 be drowned; or days might pass before any 
 one chanced to cross the brook and see him, 
 and death by starvation would be even more 
 horrible. 
 
 He tried to call for help, but his voice sounded 
 unnaturally weak, and he was hopeless of being 
 heard. Despair seized him ; for to one of his dis- 
 position the idea of having to lie there waiting 
 for death without the power to make any effort 
 to save himself was far more terrible than the 
 possibility of being smothered in the marsh had 
 been, while he was still strong and able to seek 
 for a path through it. He was hiunted too with 
 dreadful fears for the fate of the soul for which 
 he had cared so little ; but he was too weak and 
 worn out even to think connectedly. His senses 
 were leaving him again when the clink of iron 
 against a stone roused him. 
 
 He looked up only to see Navarre's head bent 
 down toward him in sc ming curiosity. He tried 
 to touch the soft nose with his hand, but could 
 not reach, and his movement frightened the beast 
 away. A sudden thought struck him, and draw- 
 ing out his sword with great difficulty he stuck 
 his white handkerchief upon it, pushing it close 
 down to the hilt, and then half rising he flung it 
 into the air with all the force he could muster, 
 
 a 'fi 
 
 
112 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 hoping that it would stick into the bank, and so 
 draw attention to the spot where he was lying. 
 Alas ! it fell with a splash into the water at his 
 feet, and Rupert sank back in another fainting fit. 
 
 Some hours later he awoke in a low, dimly 
 lighted chamber, and found himself lying in a 
 hard but very clean bed, around which curtains 
 were drawn to exclude the light. He tried to turn 
 round, but was so weak that it was easier to lie 
 still. His left arm was bound tightly to his body, 
 and the cut on his forehead was plastered and 
 bandaged so that he could scarcely open his eyes. 
 Where he was he neither knew nor greatly cared, 
 till the sight of a half-familiar figure at the foot 
 of the bed awakened his curiosity. He could not 
 remember where he had seen that burly form and 
 plain, expressive face before. 
 
 " Where am I } " he was beginning. 
 
 " Drink this, my son, and ask no questions for 
 thy health's sake," said the man, raising him 
 gently enough with one hand and putting a cup 
 to his lips with the other. The boy obeyed, and 
 was laid down again like an nfant by his strange 
 nurse, who then seated hii -elf by the bedside, 
 just out of sight behind th( curtain. 
 
 Rupert lay thinking lazil for some minutes, 
 and then said: — 
 
 " Fair sir, mine head is strangely confused. I 
 should know you, but " — 
 
 res 
 tha 
 Ruj 
 
 StOf 
 
NA VARRE. 
 
 U3 
 
 for 
 him 
 cup 
 and 
 inge 
 Iside, 
 
 utes. 
 
 " Did I not bid thee be silent ? The physician 
 saith perfect quiet is thine only hope." 
 
 This grim reply turned Rupert's meditations 
 into another channel, but he still felt so weak 
 that his thoughts were of the vaguest possible 
 character. 
 
 Meanwhile Obadiah Kenrick (for it was in his 
 house that Rupert was lying) sat watching beside 
 him in intense anxiety. What he ought to do he 
 knew not. The physician had said that any ex- 
 citement might throw the boy into a fever which 
 would very likely prove fatal ; therefore the shoe- 
 maker could not reconcile it wlch his conscience 
 even to speak to him about his soul ; neither could 
 he feel satisfied to let him lie there in danger 
 without trying to teach him of the Saviour. All 
 night long he watched, sometimes by the bed and 
 sometimes for a few minutes at a time in the little 
 kitchen below, where his great Bible lay open on 
 the table with a candle beside it. 
 
 Rupert was certainly in danger, for the physi- 
 cian, though a clever man in his way, had followed 
 the usual practice of the time and had commenced 
 his treatment with a severe bleeding, though the 
 boy was so weak that he could not raise himself 
 in bed. Toward midnight he began to get very 
 restless and the shoemaker was more perplexed 
 than ever. He talked fast and loud of Prince 
 Rupert and the king, then cried to Navarre to 
 stop, or called over and over again for Margery. 
 
 ! A 
 
n\ ) 
 
 m 
 
 '11 
 
 la; .'1"- 
 
 114 
 
 PRINCE RVPERT*S NAMESAKE. 
 
 Then came a pause, followed by such dreary lam- 
 entations that Kenrick's rough cheeks were wet 
 with tears. He could understand him now. The 
 dread and horror of one face to face with death 
 was upon him ; his sins hid from him the merciful 
 face of God, and in the awful agony of his despair 
 he thought that he had already joined the ranks 
 of the lost souls in their misery. 
 
 " My son," so spake the deep voice at his side, 
 "Christ Jesus came to seek and save the lost^ 
 
 "Nay; we are past ?U hope," shrieked Rupert, 
 turning his wild eyes toward him for a moment. 
 
 " God forbid ! " was the reply. " None is past 
 hope till the Lord almighty wills it, and he says, 
 'Whosoever will, let him take of the water of 
 life freely.' " 
 
 But Rupert's wandering thoughts would not 
 hold to one point so long. " I am drowning," he 
 wailed. " Help ! help ! oh ! the water is so cold ! " 
 Clutching wildly at the curtains he tried to 
 draw himself out of the water into which he fan- 
 cied he was sinking. 
 
 But the strong arm about him soothed him, and 
 he sank back on the pillows in a state of exhaus- 
 tion, while Obadiah knelt down beside the bed. 
 
 "O God," he said, "for Christ's sake spare the 
 life of this dear lad. Jesus loved him, Lord, and 
 died for him. Show thy mercy upon him, for the 
 sake of thine own dear Son, and give him life 
 everlasting." 
 
 
, and 
 haus- 
 d. 
 ■e the 
 , and 
 r the 
 Hfe 
 
 NA VARRE. 
 
 115 
 
 Slowly the long night went by and towards 
 morning Rupert sank into a deep sleep and woke 
 refreshed. Seeing that he was sleeping calmly, 
 the shoemaker had gone down to do his housework 
 (for his wife was dead and he lived alone) and to 
 put his little shop in order for the day ; but many 
 a time during his performance of these duties he 
 had crept in on tiptoe to look at his patient. 
 
 " Good sir," said Rupert as he put his head in 
 at the door for the third time, " how long have I 
 been lying here ? " 
 
 " Since yesterday at even ; but remember thou 
 wast told to be silent for the sake of thine own 
 safety ! " 
 
 "Yes, sir; but I must speak, now I can, or it 
 will worry me the more. First, I would thank you 
 for your kind care of me " — 
 
 "Nay, if that is all, thou hadst best keep 
 silence." 
 
 " Nay, sir ; I have more to say. Did you find a 
 sealed packet addressed to Prince Rupert at the 
 Royal Oak Tavern, Altrincham, anywhere about 
 me .? " 
 
 "Samuel Halberd, who was with me when I 
 found thee in thine extremity, said something of 
 such a packet, and, being on his way to Altrincham, 
 and judging that it was of importance, he engaged 
 to deliver it to the malignant himself, though for 
 mine own particular my mind misgave me at the 
 thought of any dealings with that bloodthirsty 
 
 
 
 m 
 
 '■ tf 
 
Ii6 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 Ii 
 
 tyrant and robber. However, the matter resteth 
 with Samuel's own conscience, and if he alloweth 
 it, far be it from me to condemn him therein." 
 
 Rupert felt too weak to take up the cudgels 
 in defense of his hero ; moreover his host's great 
 kindness made it the more disagreeable to have to 
 contradict him ; so he only said, " They will expect 
 me at home this evening, good Master Kenrick, 
 but I fear I cannot walk " — 
 
 " Walk ! " repeated Obadiah with a short laugh ; 
 " see first if thou canst sit up." 
 
 "What can I do.?" said Rupert. "I cannot 
 consent to be a burden upon you, worthy sir! " 
 
 "Trouble not thyself on that score, my son. 
 The Lord hath sent thee to me, and what I do for 
 thee is for his sake." 
 
 " But, sir, it is right that you should know that 
 it may be many a long day before I can repay even 
 what you expend on me." 
 
 " The Lord will repay me. Thou art his guest 
 here, and therefore right welcome to the best of 
 all I have." 
 
 " Then, good Master Kenrick, could you add to 
 all your kindnesses that of sending a messenger 
 for me to Denham Abbey, the ruined house upon 
 the hill beyond the village } Let him ask for Mis- 
 tress Margery, and she will reward him for his 
 services." 
 
 Is thy mother living, my son.?" 
 
 No; she died before I can remember. My 
 
 « 
 
 u 
 
~ ■' 
 
 1 J 
 
 NA VARRE, 
 
 117 
 
 to 
 
 fger 
 )on 
 [is- 
 his 
 
 My 
 
 grandfather and grandn^iOther have stood to me in 
 the place of parents ; it is to them I would send 
 to assure them of my safety." 
 
 "Art thou thyself assured of that, my son?" 
 said the old man solemnly. " Last night I thought 
 that God Almighty had willed to take thee hence 
 ere the sun rose. He hath added another day of 
 grace to the years of thy life, and now I bid thee 
 turn to Jesus by faith, and ask him to wash thy 
 sins away." 
 
 " Think you, sir, that I am in present danger ? " 
 said Rupert slowly. 
 
 " The strongest of us cannot certainly count on 
 living even for an hour," was the grave reply; 
 " and doth it not seem idle to ask of danger when 
 thou art wounded and bruised and weak as a babe } 
 Most men are ready enough to perceive their peril 
 at such times as this." 
 
 " Then, good sir, haste your messenger, and beg 
 one of them, grandfather or Margery, to come to 
 me. There is much I must say, but grandmother 
 could never bear to see me thus. Is the horse I 
 rode much injured } " 
 
 " Nay ; stiff and sore enough, I warrant, but it 
 hath no bones broken. I will send one on thine 
 errand ; but now I charge thee to think no more of 
 this world and its toys, but turn thy mind to thy 
 Redeemer. Alas ! I know that thou hast as yet 
 no sure and certain hope whereon to stand, for 
 last night I heard thee claim thy place amongst 
 
 ^ 
 
 m 
 
 
 /.ft 
 
 .'i-' 
 
 IB 
 
Ii8 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 the lost. Hearken : I will give thee a noble text 
 whereon to rest thy soul : * This is a faithful say- 
 ing, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus 
 came into the world to save sinners ' ; and again, 
 *If thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord 
 Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God 
 hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. 
 For with the heart man believeth unto righteous- 
 ness ; and with the mouth confession is made unto 
 salvation.' " 
 
 Repeating these words a second time in his 
 slow, emphatic tones, the shoemaker closed the 
 door and left Rupert to his own reflections. 
 
 " Christ Jesus came into the world to save sin- 
 ners," he murmured over and over with a sense of 
 peace and rest. He was not ignorant of the story 
 of the great love of God's holy Son, but till re- 
 cently he had never thought that it was any con- 
 cern of his. Now, in this moment of his utter 
 weakness, he longed for some strength to lean 
 upon. If he were really going down into the 
 Valley of the Shadow of Death, he shrank from 
 the thought of making the journey alone. Ken- 
 rick's rough but well-meant words had set him 
 sternly face to face with the king of terrors. 
 He knew that he must bow before him now or a 
 few years later; but before the horror of thick 
 darkness fell upon him Kenrick's texts brought 
 back to his mind the thought of the deep, all- 
 surpassing love of God. The fear of death faded 
 
NA VARRE. 
 
 119 
 
 away, and, perhaps all the more readily because of * 
 his utter weakness, he gave himself up thankfully 
 and entirely to his trust in the eternal Love and 
 Goodness. Miserable and sinful as he was, he 
 knew that he was safe, for life or death, in the ten- 
 der care of the Saviour of all mankind. 
 
 The next time Obadiah came upstairs Rupert 
 was asleep again with a calm quiet smile on his 
 face. The shoemaker went down and began to 
 sing, or rather to hum, the tune the lad had sung 
 in the marsh. 
 
 Presently a little girl came in with a small pair 
 of badly worn boots in her hands. " Please, Mas- 
 ter Kenrick, mother do want to know how much 
 't would be for mending of these } " 
 
 " I doubt, little maid, whether I can make shift 
 to patch *em at all," said the shoemaker, looking 
 at them over his great spectacles without lifting 
 his head. " Be they the best thou hast } " 
 
 " Yes, sir," she replied with a rueful glance at 
 the poor little boots. 
 
 " Well, I *11 mend *em for thee, Molly, and thou 
 mayst tell thy good mother that they sha'n't cost 
 her more than a penny. Is Ned at home to- 
 day.?" 
 
 " Ay, Master Kenrick." 
 
 " Then run you, Molly, and tell him that I 've 
 a job for him." 
 
 The little girl needed no second bidding, and in 
 less than ten minutes her brother was at Master 
 
I20 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 Kenrick's side. *' What dost want, master ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Dost thou know where Denham Abbey is ? " 
 
 " An old ruined place, with a tower ? It 's full 
 twelve miles away ! " 
 
 " Canst go there before dark and carry a mes- 
 sage without forgetting of a word of it?" Oba- 
 diah spoke abruptly and sternly, as his manner was 
 with boys, for he regarded them as needing con- 
 stant and severe repression to keep them out of 
 mischief. 
 
 " Try me. Master Kenrick, and see," said the lad. 
 
 "Well, then, go to Denham Abbey,. ask there 
 for Mistress Margery, and tell her that Mr. Ru- 
 pert Staynor hath met with accident, and is lying 
 sick at my house here. Make her understand 
 well where I live and how she may come here, 
 and tell her the young man desireth to see her 
 or his grandfather with as little delay as may be." 
 
 "If she asketh whether he is very sick, what 
 be I to say ? " 
 
 " Say that he hath a broken arm and is bruised, 
 and somewhat inclined to fever. The truth is 
 ever best. Tell her that Samuel Halberd, who 
 drives the carrier's cart between Denham and 
 Weston, was traveling slowly hither when he did 
 hear a furious galloping behind him. He turned 
 to SCO, and the young man cried to him to let him 
 by. out struck off acx jss the fields before he 
 readied him. Samuel went on his way, till, when 
 
NA VARRE. 
 
 121 
 
 he came to the hill above Horton, he looked back 
 and, his sight being something of the longest, he 
 spied a horse without a rider walking slowly be- 
 side the brook. Being now so near mine house, 
 he judged it most prudent to come on and take 
 counsel with me. Thinking the young gallant 
 might but laugh at us for our pains, we tarried to 
 eat a morsel of meat and bait the horse ; and then 
 having unloaded the cart, we turned back to seek 
 for him. A little past the hill, we saw the horse 
 again, and leaving the cart in the way we set 
 forth on foot to catch it. This done Samuel went 
 up the brook, and I toward the woods, but he 
 presently uttered a loud shout, and I ran to him. 
 'The man is dead,' says he, standing looking down 
 into the water. * Nay, not so,' says I. * Go thou, 
 Master Samuel, and bring up thy cart.' With 
 that he left me, and with much ado I got the 
 young man upon the top of the bank, and feeling 
 of his heart I was persuaded that his life was in 
 him. With no small difficulty we carried him 
 home in the cart, and Master Samuel, going on his 
 way, left word at Dr. Seymour's to come hither 
 and see what was amiss. Now, canst thou remem- 
 ber all this to tell to Mistress Margery of whom 
 he speaks } But if she be not within, ask then 
 for Mr. Stavnor. If thou dost mine errand well, 
 thou shalt have a silver sixpence for thy pains ! " 
 Ned nodded with sparkling eyes, and set out on 
 his long walk with a determined countenance. 
 
 ! i 
 
 VS 
 
 ^^1 
 
 
 !! 
 
 i 
 
 »■ ill 
 
 ^;| -Ml 
 
r 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE OLD SHOEMAKER. 
 
 '1 
 
 QUPPER was on the table and Madge was 
 »^ flattening her face against the frosty dia- 
 mond shaped panes of the window in the recess 
 which commanded a distant view of the Denham 
 road. Mrs. Staynor was at the table, and Mr. 
 Staynor had just entered, saying, " Come, Madge, 
 my girl, Rupert will not be hastened by looking 
 for him." 
 
 Madge sat down, but still looked wistfully at 
 the gathering gloom without. "Listen ! " she said, 
 rising suddenly ; " I hear some one." 
 
 A distant rapping was heard, and Madge, in 
 an unusual state of nervous anxiety, hurried 
 out to discover the cause. It was not any one at 
 the kitchen door ; but following the noise she at 
 last made her way to an old iron-studded door in 
 one of the half-ruined walls. 
 
 " Stay ! " she called ; " this door is nailed up. I 
 will come round to you." 
 
 Outside the door she found a shivering, ill-clad 
 boy, and leading him into the kitchen she gave 
 him a seat in front of the hearth. 
 
 " I was to ask for Mistress Margery," he said. 
 
 122 
 
-II 
 
 
 THE OLD SHOEMAKE'\ 
 
 123 
 
 "I am Mistress Margery Staynor. Who sent 
 you ? a young gentleman on horseback ? " 
 
 "Nay, ma'am. Master Kenrick, at the shoe- 
 shop, sent me." 
 
 "Come, make haste!" cried Margery impa- 
 tiently. "What hath happened.?" 
 
 "Mr. Rupert Staynor — I think that was the 
 name he said — leastways" — 
 
 " What of him, boy } " said Margery sharply. 
 " Is he hurt ? " 
 
 "Yes, mistress. He is very sick. His arm's 
 broke and he has a fever. Dame Brown, that 's 
 next-door neighbor to Master Kenrick, she said 
 he talked idle all night long. She says the poor 
 young gentleman will die, certain, and " — 
 
 "Father," said Margery, going to the parlor 
 door, " there 's a lad here I wish you would 
 speak to." 
 
 Mr. Staynor saw her white face, and shutting 
 the door followed her into the passage. 
 
 "It's about Rupert, father. There is a boy 
 here come to say he's hurt — dying, I think. Oh, 
 what shall we do .•* " 
 
 " I will speak to him," said the squire, going to 
 the kitchen. " When was Mr. Rupert hurt } " 
 
 "Yesterday morning — no, last night I think; 
 I mean Master Kenrick said" — 
 
 " Make haste, boy ! There is no time to lose," 
 Margery interrupted. 
 
 The boy stared at her in blank bewilderment, 
 
 i = 
 
 !S^: 
 
 
 f.F, 
 
 I 
 I 
 
 A 
 
 
 ;i 
 
 
 'i : 
 
124 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 w 
 
 and Mr. Staynor said gently, " My child, you con- 
 fuse the lad ; let him take his time ; it will really 
 save in the end." 
 
 Without another word Madge sat down on a 
 stool by the fire and left it to her father to ex- 
 tract all the boy could tell them. It was slow 
 torture to her, but she endured it. Then Mr. 
 Staynor went in to break the news to his wife, 
 while Margery gave the lad a great bowl of hot 
 bread and milk, determining all the time to go 
 back with him that night. But when she returned 
 to the parlor her father said quietly, " Margery, 
 your mother and I have been talking this over, 
 and I will go back with the boy. I am exceed- 
 ingly thankful he is in such good hands, and I 
 trust I may find that the ill news has been made 
 the most of." 
 
 " O father, I was thinking I could go ! " ex- 
 claimed Madge in bitter disappointment. "You 
 could not walk so far." 
 
 " Darling, you could not go to-night, alone with 
 that boy ; but to-morrow you shall go, if Rupert 
 needs you." 
 
 Madge rubbed away a few tears ; then bravely 
 kissed her father, tied a thick woolen comforter 
 about his neck, and brought him his hat and stick. 
 
 As soon as he was gone Mrs. Staynor had a 
 terrible fit of hysterics, and declared that the 
 abbot was in the room. At last Madge got her 
 to bed and to sleep, and after watching her for 
 half an hour she crept into bed beside her. 
 
THE OLD SHOEMAKER. 
 
 125 
 
 Very early in the morning the girl rose and 
 brought some hot gruel to her mother's bedside. 
 " Mother," she said, " do not get up yet ; it is 
 quite early. I will send up Kate Morrison to 
 stay with you." 
 
 " Where are you going, daughter } " 
 
 " I want to speak to Lady Elmer. I will not be 
 long away." 
 
 Kate Morrison was an old woman who had been 
 a servant at the abbey before her marriage, and 
 now in the days of her widowhood she liked 
 nothing better than to come up to spend an hour 
 or two talking over old times with Mrs. Staynor. 
 
 Fortunately she was at home, so Margery hur- 
 ried on to see Lady Elmer without delay. She 
 had a vague idea that in some way Edith might 
 help her, and she thought Harold ought to know 
 about his horse ; but she was too miserable to 
 think clearly. 
 
 Before she had got up the wide flight of steps 
 to the door, it flew open and Lady Elmer ran out 
 to meet her, looking as fresh as a rose even in the 
 gray morning light. " You poor little maid ! " she 
 cried, kissing Margery on both cheeks. " Come 
 in and warm yourself. What hath happened } " 
 
 " It is Rupert," murmured Madge, trying hard 
 to keep back her tears. 
 
 " What, dearest } Hath that wild brute hurt 
 him } " 
 
 Margery nodded ; she could not speak. 
 9 
 
 ' 
 
 i ^ 
 
 i 
 
 
126 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 " O Madge, dear ! Is he dangerously hurt ? " 
 
 "The boy said so. Father went last night. 
 He is at Horton." 
 
 " Come to the fire, Madge. It may not be so 
 bad as they thought. John dear, wheel up that 
 chair to the hearth. Margery, drink this, and 
 don't try to talk for a moment." 
 
 " I thought Mr. Clive might like to see about 
 the horse," said Margery after a pause. "I do 
 not think he hath suffered much hurt, but I 
 almost forgot him last night." 
 
 " Of course," said Clive ; " trouble not yourself 
 about him. Mistress Margery. He deserves to 
 be hurt, the brute ! I wish I had n't been so 
 great a fool as to press Rupert to take him." 
 
 "Poor Ru did not need much pressing," said 
 Madge. 
 
 "John," said Lady Elmer, "I want you, if you 
 can make shift to spare a moment." 
 
 The consultation was a short one, and after 
 breakfast Edith ordered her coach and went to 
 fetch Mrs. Staynor to pay her a visit, leaving 
 poor tired-out Margery asleep on a lounge. 
 
 Fortunately the frost had improved the roads, 
 for the horses had by no means completed their 
 labors for that day when they returned to the 
 castle. After an early dinner Lady Elmer or- 
 dered the carriage out again, saying, "Now, 
 Margery, if you are ready, we will go to see 
 Rupert." 
 
THE OLD S'iOEMAK'ER. 
 
 127 
 
 A quaint little inn stood in the center of Hor- 
 ton, overlooking the village green. It was not 
 much larger than the thatch-covered cottages 
 about it, for Horton was not in the direct line of 
 road between any great towns, and few travelers 
 found their way thither. A magnificently colored 
 painting of an immense red flower rising out of 
 the middle of a very yellow diadem marked it 
 even to the eyes of those who could not read the 
 legend inscribed on the lower part of the sign as 
 the Rose and Crown. Inside, the house was 
 poor and plain enough, though the uncarpeted 
 floors were well scrubbed, the hard beds scrupu- 
 lously clean, and everything that could be made 
 to shine shone its brightest. Rows of pewter 
 pots glistened like silver in the firelight of the 
 great kitchen, and from the unplastered beams of 
 the roof hung sides of bacon and huge mahogany- 
 colored hams as a visible token of the plenty that 
 reigned beneath the rule of the smiling, rosy- 
 cheeked landlady. 
 
 To this place Lady Elmer drove; and as a 
 coach and four was by no means a common sight 
 in Horton, all the inhabitants of the village 
 turned out to feast their eyes upon it. As it 
 drew up before the inn the mistress and her two 
 daughters and the hostler all came out to take the 
 commands of the illustrious arrivals ; but Lady 
 Elmer did not alight. She requested them to 
 prepare beds and supper and to light a good fire 
 
 i\ 
 
 if- 
 
 ■M 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
128 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 Ill 'I 
 
 in the parlor, and then begged to be directed to 
 the shop of Master Obadiah Kenrick the shoe- 
 maker. 
 
 It was so near by, however, that after a brief 
 consultation they all got out of the vehicle and 
 walked to the old Puritan's shop. He was sitting 
 at work with his leather apron on, mending 
 Molly's little shoes, when they knocked at the 
 door. 
 
 " Good day to you, sir," said Edith. '* This is 
 Mistress Margery Staynor. We understand that 
 you have had the goodness to take in a dear friend 
 of ours when sick and in trouble, and we should 
 esteem it a great kindness if you would permit 
 Mistress Margery at least to see him." 
 
 The old man looked keenly from one to an- 
 other, and his hard face softened as he glanced at 
 Margery. The self-control expressed in her white 
 face pleased him as well as the simplicity of her 
 attire. " Be not sorrowful overmuch," he said, 
 addressing her ; " the lad is like to live, I think. 
 The fever hath somewhat abated." 
 
 " O sir ! " cried Margery, grasping his arm with 
 both hands and looking up into his face as if her 
 destiny hung on his will, " O sir ! do please let 
 me see him ! " 
 
 " Softly, softly, my maid ; his grandfather is 
 with him, and the doctor hath forbid much talk- 
 ing. Sit ye down, friends, while I go to inquire 
 concerning him." 
 
IS 
 
 [alk- 
 iuire 
 
 THE OLD SHOEMAKER. 
 
 129 
 
 Five minutes later the squire descended the 
 creaking stair, saying, — 
 
 " Rupert is better. There is good hope of his 
 recovery now. He sends his love to you all and 
 thanks you for making this journey to see him. 
 He wanted to have had you into his chamber, but 
 Dr. Seymour hath said * Nay,* and indeed I think 
 he is right ; the lad can scarce lift up his hand 
 even now." 
 
 "O father!" exclaimed Margery, "I must see 
 him ! I will be quiet. I *11 only look at him. 
 Just let me have five minutes ; sure that would 
 not hurt him." 
 
 The squire looked irresolutely at Lady Elmer, 
 and Edith said gently : " Poor Margery ! let her 
 see him, if you dare, sir. I know she will be 
 quiet." 
 
 " I will ! I will ! " said Madge ; and waiting for 
 no further permission she made her way upstairs. 
 The door of Rupert's room was unlatched, and 
 entering softly she stood for a moment at the 
 bedside, looking down on the '"ace which these 
 few hours of pain had altered almost beyond 
 recognition. 
 
 The shoemaker touched her arm and said in 
 a whisper : " He is asleep. Look at him, my 
 maid, and com*^ down." So saying he left the 
 room ; but the sound of his heavy footsteps, 
 which no amount of care could render noiseless 
 on those creaking stairs, disturbed Rupert. He 
 
 ■!l 
 
 
 1 
 
 fi 1 1 
 
I30 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 opened his eyes and said : "I am not asleep, 
 Madge." 
 
 The girl bent and kissed his cheek, saying, — 
 " Dear Ru, don't try to talk or stir. I promised 
 to be quiet." 
 
 " Madge darling," he said, and the sound of his 
 voice reassured her, it was so much more natural 
 than his looks, "I feel sure I shall get better 
 now. My head is clear to-day. I ought not to 
 have had so great folly as to think I could ride 
 a spirited beast like Navarre without ever being 
 taught. The letter went to the prince all right. 
 Master Kenrick" — 
 
 " Hush, Ru ! you must tell me all by and by. 
 Mother bade me to give you her dear love and say 
 how sad she was not to come to visit you; but 
 indeed, Ru, it was better not." 
 
 " Yes ; poor grandmother ! She must not see me 
 yet awhile. I suppose I look something ghastly." 
 
 " *T is the fault of that bandage, Ru. Is your 
 head hurt > " 
 
 " Cut a little on a stone ; that is all." 
 
 " Rupert, would it worry you if I could bring 
 them to let me tarry here to nurse you ? Mother 
 is at the castle." 
 
 " No, Madge ; it would like me well. Hath 
 Harold seen Navarre ? " 
 
 " No. He says if he hath received hurt, it only 
 serves him right for the ill he hath done you. 
 Now, good-by." 
 
THE OLD SHOEMAKER. 
 
 131 
 
 Meanwhile Lady Elmer had begged the squire 
 to walk with her to the inn, leaving Clive to wait 
 for Margery. She had a plan to propose, but was 
 afraid of offending the old gentleman by seeming 
 to offer him charity. "How soon may Rupert be 
 moved } " she asked. 
 
 "Not till to-morrow sennight, at the least," 
 said Mr. Staynor. "I do not know how to con- 
 trive. Master Kenrick hath behaved with ex- 
 coeJ'nof great kindness, but I cannot suffer him 
 ta bci chis burden longer than may be avoided ; 
 neiiher doth it like me to leave the lad alone with 
 him, either for his own sake or the good man's." 
 
 " Could you not take lodging at the Rose and 
 Crown } " said Edith. " Leave it to me and I 
 will contrive it all for you. It would break 
 Madge's heart to carry her home now." 
 
 " It would be a sore grief to her, I know ; but, 
 fair lady, I scarce know how to accomplish " — 
 
 " Speak not of that, good sir. I shall esteem 
 it as a signed fu or if you will leave me to arrange 
 this matttr. ' 
 
 The squir«=^ hes'tated a little, but in the end 
 Lady Elmer took her own way, as she usually did. 
 She and Harold stayed one night at the little 
 inn and saw Rupert in the morning. After their 
 departure Margery and her father settled down to 
 a strange Ufe, taking their meals and sleeping at 
 the Ro£:c :Kid Crown, but passing almost all their 
 waking huui 3 at the old Puritan's. 
 
132 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 t 
 
 Rupert steadily gained strength, and by the 
 end of the week was able to sit up for a few hours 
 at a time. Greatly to Margery's surprise the lad 
 seemed happy and contented in spite of his aches 
 and pains and the wearisome confinement in one 
 dingy room. " How can you bear it so bravely, 
 Ru ? " she asked one day. 
 
 " Because I must, I suppose," he said with a 
 quiet smile. 
 
 " Do you know you are gettiii:^ almost provok- 
 ingly like father } " said the girl. " Nothing ever 
 puts him in a temper. I believe he would go into 
 prison without saying a word, if any one wanted 
 to send him — as they may soon enough." 
 
 " Margery ! " said Rupert after a long pause, 
 " I have something to tell you. Sit down, dear." 
 
 Margery dropped in a heap beside the bed. 
 " Now, Rupert, I am waiting. I hope it is some- 
 thing diverting ! " 
 
 " No, Madge ; it is not. It is that the day I 
 believed I was dying I began to understand, quite 
 suddenly, how much the Lord Jesus loves us." 
 
 "And I, Rupert, when I thought you dying, 
 could scarce even say * Our Father * for thinking 
 what heav^ and grievous things God had laid on 
 us through no fault of our own." 
 
 " Ay ; but, Margery, we should never doubt his 
 love. That horrid night after my fall, I seemed 
 to hang for hours above the pit itself ; and then, 
 O Margery, I thought I had wakened amongst 
 
THE OLD SHOEMAKER. 
 
 133 
 
 m 
 
 lis 
 id 
 In, 
 
 St 
 
 the lost. I cried out in my horror, but Master 
 Kenrick said that Jesus came to save the lost^ and 
 held me in his strong arms ; and in the morning 
 when my head grew clear he gave' me, as he said, 
 a text whereon to rest. As I lay thinking of it, 
 all became plain and I knew that the Lord Jesus 
 loved us. Grandfather hath told me the same 
 many a time, but I think, as it says in the Bible, 
 mine ears have been stoppt-l. Now, please God, 
 I mean to be Christ's true servant all my days ; 
 and, Madge dear, I wish you would serve him too." 
 
 Rupert spoke slowly, but his eyes were bright 
 and his cheeks flushed as if the fever had not 
 quite left him. It was very difficult for him to 
 speak thus, especially to Madge ; but the second 
 of Obadiah's texts haunted him, and he had re- 
 solved in the quiet of his long hours of sickness 
 to begin to follow his Master openly and boldly. 
 
 Margery looked at him with an earnest, troubled 
 gaze ; then said, " Rupert, you are talking too 
 much. Drink this and lie down ; I will be back 
 in about an hour." 
 
 She did not make any reply to what he had 
 told her, and Rr.pert felt pained and disappointed. 
 
 She meant to take a walk by the river ; but as 
 she came downstairs the shoemaker exclaimed, 
 "Well, young mistress, art come to have a chat 
 with me.?" and the girl sat down on the three- 
 legged stool opposite him, dreamily rubbing one 
 of his bits of smooth leather against her cheek. 
 
134 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 The old man looked at her sharply over his 
 spectacles and said slowly, " Mistress Margery, it 
 hath been borne in upon my mind to ask thee to- 
 day the question that concerneth thee more than 
 aught else in life. Art thou washed in the blood 
 of the Lamb who died for sinners ? " 
 
 Margery was silent, still turning about that 
 worthless bit of leather. 
 
 " Art thou serving of the Lord or the devil } " 
 asked the grim voice again. 
 
 " You would say the devil, sir ! " said Margery 
 impatiently. "What right have you to question 
 me thus.?" 
 
 "The right of one whose highest honor is to 
 do his Master's behests. Think well, my maid ; 
 this is no fit subject for thy mirth. If the devil 
 is thy lord, thou shalt have a part in his fearful 
 portion at the judgment of the Great Day. God 
 'vill bid you depart from him into the unquench- 
 able burning of the lake of fire. Canst thou 
 stedfastly set thy face to travel onwards to such 
 a doom ? " 
 
 "Master Kenrick, how can I help myself.? 
 The Lord saves whom he will, and leaves the rest 
 to perish." Margery spoke bitterly. 
 
 " Nay, Mistress Margery, charge not thy Maker 
 with injustice. Durst thou say he cannot or will 
 not save thee.? Why, child, he waiteth to be 
 gracious ! * Come now, and let us reason together,' 
 saith the Lord : * though your sins be as scarlet, 
 
THE OLD SHOEMAKER. 
 
 135 
 
 ? 
 
 St 
 
 Jt, 
 
 they shall be as white as snow ; though they be 
 red like crimson, they shall be as wool.* " 
 
 " It is useless talking, Master Kenrick ; I can- 
 not go to God." 
 
 " Child, child ! pray that God may take away 
 the stony heart out of thy flesh and give thee a 
 heart of flesh. Thou hast owned that thy life is 
 spent in the service of the devil ; therefore thou 
 canst not plead ignorance as an excuse. Kneel 
 and beg the Lord to bruise and break thy wicked 
 heart to powder, rather than suffer thee to cling 
 still to thy sin." 
 
 Laying his strong hand on her shoulder, the 
 shoemaker drew her into the little kitchen, and 
 almost forced her to her knees, saying, "Pray, 
 my maid, pray while there is time." 
 
 But Margery knelt there in defiant silence, 
 angry with "this common man's impertinence." 
 There was a long pause, then in tones that chilled 
 and frightened her the shoemaker began : " O 
 God Almighty, give strength to this poor weak 
 wretched maid to ask for thy forgiveness, and to 
 put her trust in thee. Thou knowest. Lord, how 
 vile and abominable she is in thy holy sight; 
 thou seest the full blackness of her guilt, thou 
 countest the innumerable multitude of her trans- 
 gressions, but thou hast loved her and died for 
 her. Draw her from the devil's service ; let him 
 not have dominion over her. Save her from her 
 own wicked miserable self, and make her pure 
 
 
 \' \ 
 
136 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 and clean and sweet before thee. O Father, in 
 mercy send down thy judgments upon her if thy 
 love will not suffice to draw her to thee. Visit 
 her, God Almighty, in this thy day of grace. Cut 
 her not off in her sins " — 
 
 Margery had listened so far in sheer astonish- 
 ment, but now she pressed her hands to her ears 
 that she might hear no more. The prayer went 
 on, but the girl, though still on her knees, threw 
 back her head defiantly and looked angrily at the 
 old man who with eyes and hands uplifted was 
 entreating a blessing for her. When at last he 
 rose and returned to his work, Madge went up- 
 stairs again with her cheeks flushed and her eyes 
 flashing. 
 
 " Rupert," she said, " I cannot come here any 
 longer. I must go home." 
 
 "What hath happened } " he asked in alarm. 
 
 "This old shoemaker hath insulted me. He 
 hath forgotten his base condition entirely, Ru. 
 Doubtless he thinks because he hath been able to 
 do you some service that he is our equal." 
 
 " Have patience with him, Madge darling, for 
 my sake." 
 
 "Even for your sake, Ru, I can never see him 
 again. How do I know that his shop was not 
 full of people, watching of how I was made a fool 
 of.? I tell you, Ru, I think he is nought but a 
 cheat and a hypocrite with his religion. He is 
 just like those Pharisees who used to stand up in 
 
THE OLD SHOEMAKER. 
 
 137 
 
 the marketplace to pray. Oh, I hope you '11 never 
 be so carried away, Rupert." 
 
 " Again, Margery, what is it he hath done } " 
 
 " Done ! Well, if you needs must have it, he 
 began asking of impertinent questions, then he 
 dragged me into the kitchen, and prayed at me, 
 calling me vile and I know not what ! ** 
 
 Just at that instant there was a knock at the 
 door, and on Madge's crying " Come in," Clive 
 entered. "I rode over, Mistress Madge, to ask 
 how Rupert is, and whether he will be ready to 
 come home to-morrow, if the coach is sent for 
 him," he said. 
 
 " It is the first I have heard of it, Mr. Clive," 
 said Margery, vexed that she had not been con- 
 sulted. 
 
 " Grandfather promised to tell you," said Ru- 
 pert. " I suppose he must have forgotten." 
 
 " Well, I shall be glad to get away from here," 
 remarked Margery petulantly. " I never want to 
 see the place again." 
 
 " I thought you were on excellent terms with 
 the good folk here. I should have been up half 
 an hour ago, but that I saw you were enjoying 
 of a conversation with Rupert's old friend, and I 
 feared to intrude upon you ! " said Clive, amused 
 at Margery's dark looks, for he had not heard 
 enough of the conversation to guess their cause. 
 
 Margery wished Rupert good-night and fol- 
 lowed Clive downstairs, making her coolest and 
 
 ! -a 
 
 ..' 
 
138 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 most distant courtesy to the old shoemaker as 
 she passed. 
 
 " Farewell, my maid," he said calmly. " I pray 
 the Lord that he will never permit thee to forget 
 my words till they have done their work. Till 
 then I care little for thy high looks. The servant 
 is not above his Master, and can well afford to be 
 contemned while doing of his work." 
 
 Early the following morning the coach drew up 
 before the shoemaker's door. Margery was not 
 within it, having preferred to stay at the Rose 
 and Crown till Rupert was ready ; but the old 
 squire had come to give his last warm thanks to 
 Kenrick for his generous kindness. Then he 
 waited in the shop while Odadiah went to fetch 
 Rupert down. 
 
 " Sure, lad, I shall miss thee," he said, looking 
 round the dingy room with a sigh. 
 
 *' I have been a world of trouble to you, good 
 sir," the boy answered, with his arm caressingly 
 around the old man's neck. " I can never thank 
 you for your goodness to me." 
 
 "I shall be right well repaid if thou standest 
 firm to thy profession. O lad, thou mayest do a 
 noble work for the Lord ; only beware lest thou 
 fall from thy first love. My soul hath yearned for 
 thee with an exceeding mighty longing since the 
 day I heard thee singing the Lord's songs in 
 the marsh. God bless and prosper thee, my son! 
 Now, fare thee well." 
 
THE OLD SHOEMAKER. 
 
 139 
 
 " Farewell, Master Kenrick. I shall come 
 hither often to see you when I get strong again." 
 
 " Ay, do, Rupert ; the place will seem mighty 
 lonely to me when thou art gone. *T is weak to 
 lament when the Lord sees fit to take away the 
 earthly props and stays he hath lent for a little 
 season ; but I will not deny that at times my lot 
 seems sad and dreary. If I lived more fully in 
 the light of his good Spirit, I should never be 
 thus faint-hearted ; but alas ! after all my strug- 
 gling and striving, I am vile and blind and sinful 
 still. Pray for me, lad, that my faith fail not in 
 the hour of temptation." 
 
 Thus speaking Obadiah wrapped a huge blanket 
 about the boy and carried him down the narrow 
 stairs, answering his protestations with "Tush, 
 lad ! thou art but a feather weight to many I have 
 carried. In my young days I had good strong 
 arms, I promise thee ! " 
 
 Propped up among the cushions of Sir John's 
 luxurious coach, Rupert made the journey to 
 Cressley without any ill effects, and Edith de- 
 tained him there for another fortnight, though 
 Madge and her parents would not be persuaded 
 to stay away from home any longer. 
 
 Margery felt ill at ease and hoped that the re- 
 turn to her ordinary duties would be a relief to 
 her. She was dissatisfied and unhappy, though 
 she scarcely knew why, beyond a vague feeling 
 that Rupert had deserted her. 
 
 A 
 
 ; t 
 
 I I 
 
 lin 
 
 
 : s 
 
 ■ 9 
 
 %■-. ! 
 
140 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 I 
 
 On the first evening of their return home Mrs. 
 Staynor went to bed very early, and Madge and 
 her father were left alone. The light from the 
 glancing flames flickered all over the room and 
 lit up brightly and tenderly the figure of the old 
 man as he sat with his head resting on his hand, 
 enjoying the genial warmth of the great logs that 
 blazed on the hearth. His kindly face wore a 
 half smile, as if he were indulging in some pleas- 
 ant or amusing fancy ; but the firelight that shone 
 on Madge showed little but her dark hair, for her 
 face was in the shadow. 
 
 " Father ! " she exclaimed at last, " do you like 
 that shoemaker who hath cared for Rupert ? " 
 
 " Yes," returned the squire, glancing at her for 
 a moment, then turning back to renewed con- 
 templation of the fire. " Wherefore do you ask, 
 my daughter } " 
 
 " Because I hate him, and I fear he will infect 
 Rupert with his rude, hypocritical ways. He 
 knoweth not when to speak and when to keep 
 silence." 
 
 " When I was a lad, Madge, I thought even as 
 you. I judged all to be folly and hypocrisy to 
 which I was not used. Now I know that, though 
 strait is the gate and narrow the way that lead- 
 eth unto life for each soul that God hath made, 
 yet men travel toward the light by many a various 
 path. Kenrick hath walked on one road ; my 
 dear old friend Dr. Blackwell went by another; 
 
THE OLD SHOEMAKER, 
 
 141 
 
 'h 
 
 but I trust to meet both where all shall be one in 
 Christ Jesus." 
 
 " Father, if the way be narrow, how can men of 
 so great differences alike be in it ? " 
 
 "Methinks, my child, God requires that each 
 of his servants shall walk faithful to the light 
 he bestoweth on him, and not on another. If a 
 light be set upon a hill, there may be many paths 
 to reach it, all narrow and hard to tread. One 
 may travel through treacherous marsh and bog, 
 another must needs come by wood and field, 
 while yet a third hath to clamber over rough 
 crag*; and ford dashing torrents, if he would gain 
 the ights." 
 
 *>ut for this Kenrick, father — do not his 
 ways mislike you } " 
 
 "You forget, my child, he hath had few ad- 
 vantages of education. It is but natural that at 
 times he should do and say what seemeth to us 
 ill bred or ill advised. You should make allow- 
 ances and strive to see his true nobility of life. 
 Whatever be his faults, I am assured his one aim 
 and endeavor is to follow after Christ. Doubtless 
 our manner of speech and of life distastes him 
 fully as much as his do us." 
 
 Madge shrugged her shoulders. " It is a bitter 
 fate," she said, " to be beholden to a mean, rude 
 fellow such as he for so great obligations." 
 
 "My child, you are ungrateful to speak thus. 
 Surely you mean not that you think it so hard to 
 
 10 
 
 ill I 
 
 1'' 'f 
 
 ;•! i 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 ■'1 ' 
 
 'I 
 
142 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 :l 
 
 have to thank a shoemaker for kindness that you 
 would rather have had Rupert left " — 
 
 "No, father, no! My tongue is overhasty. 
 For his goodness to Rupert I will thank Master 
 Kenrick while I live." 
 
 " Margery dear, I have thought sometimes that 
 as a Christian you should be readier to bear with 
 the lot God hath sent you. The servant of Him 
 who was born in a manger should not take pride 
 in gentle birth and look down on the common 
 folk. If we would be like Christ, we must strive 
 after his meekness and humility." 
 
 Margery looked up quickly, but her father was 
 still gazing into the glowing embers, and she 
 checked her sudden impulse to deny to him, as 
 she had already denied to Obadiah, that she was 
 the servant of the meek and lowly Jesus. She 
 could not lightly give her father pain, and so she 
 was silent. 
 
 The glow from the fire became redd'^r and 
 steadier as the logs fell to hot coals on the hearth, 
 but Margery did not put on any more wood. 
 More than once she glanced at her father's face, 
 almost resolving to ask him for help in her misery ; 
 but she could not talk to him of the horrid doubts 
 that tormented her. She felt too defiant toward 
 God and too angry with Kenrick to wish for 
 assurances of Christ's tender love and compas- 
 sion. She fancied herself ill-used and aggrieved, 
 and, while declaring that she was driven into sin 
 
THE OLD SHOEMAKER, 
 
 H3 
 
 by the difficulties that surrounded her, she was 
 determined that she would have her own way, 
 whatever it cost. 
 
 "Margery," said Mr. Staynor, after a long 
 pause, " hath your mother ever spoken to you of 
 Geoffrey.?" 
 
 " No, father ; never ! " 
 
 " I fear, Madge, that she thinks still, with you, 
 that there is no salvation for those who differ 
 from us." 
 
 " Father, hath that aught to do with Geoffrey } " 
 
 " Yes, Madge ; the war had scarce begun when 
 he judged it right to change sides." 
 
 " Do you mean that he was a rebely father } " 
 
 " He was ever eager in the defense of the rights 
 of the weak and the poor. He thought the king 
 outstepped the bounds of his authority. Thus 
 thinking, I do not blame him that he would not 
 draw his sword in his defense; but, Madge, so 
 passive a course did not satisfy him. Fight he 
 needs must, and against his father, his brethren, 
 and his king. He left our house " — 
 
 "The traitor!" interrupted Madge under her 
 breath. 
 
 " And from that day was lost to us. We for- 
 bade him to see our faces until he returned to his 
 obedience. Now and then we heard news of him, 
 as having been seen in this battle or that. Once 
 Edward and he met in combat, but, thank God! 
 neither was so lost to his old love as to plunge 
 
 i 
 
 u 
 

 144 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 
 his sword into his brother's heart. They parted 
 without a word, and for well-nigh twenty years 
 we have not known whether Geoffrey is dead or 
 living. Latterly, Madge, it hath grieved me sore 
 to think how harsh we were to the boy. If he 
 truly thought his late majesty in the wrong, I can 
 see now that it was noble in him to give all for 
 the sake of conscience ; but I thought it prating 
 folly then, and it angered me that he should so 
 wound and grieve his mother. To this day, I 
 believe, the loss of him grieves her less than the 
 thought that she had cherished a traitor to his 
 king ; but she hath never been the same woman 
 since he departed." 
 
 " O father, I wonder more than ever that you 
 can abide the sight of a Roundhead ! " 
 
 "Nay, Margery, I would give all I once had, 
 were it in my power to bring back the son that 
 God had given us. How do I know but what our 
 cruelty hath driven him into crime and iniquity } 
 Of all the sins and follies of my long life — and 
 God knoweth they have been not few — the cast- 
 ing off of Geoffrey hath been the blackest." 
 
 The old man spoke with an intense earnestness 
 that startled Margery. She had never seen his 
 calmness so shaken before. 
 
 " Father," she said, " do not grieve so for him. 
 It was his own fault after all." 
 
 "Nay, Margery; we did him a cruel wrong. 
 May God forgive us, and out of our evil bring his 
 
THE OLD SHOEMAKER. 
 
 H5 
 
 good ! " So saying, he kissed the girl's forehead, 
 and went up to regain calmness and self-control 
 in his lonely tower watching the peaceful stars ; 
 while Margery went to bed, to dream of Rupert's 
 becoming a Puritan and going to live with Oba- 
 diah Kenrick in his cottage. 
 
 i 
 
 .1 
 
 ■li 
 
 m 
 
 ' Hir 
 
 I 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE ABBOT S TREASURE CHEST. 
 
 
 RUPERT," said Margery, three months later, 
 " when shall we open the abbot's grave ? I 
 spent our last shilling this morning and mother is 
 talking of endeavoring to sell her wedding gown." 
 
 Rupert threw down the wood he was carrying 
 with a loud clatter. " What say you to to-night, 
 Madge? — that is, if Harold comes. We must 
 wait for him." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! we should never make shift to do ii 
 without Harold. For mine own particular I think 
 this night would do as well as another ; and with- 
 out doubt something must be done and that pres- 
 ently. 'T is strange we do not hear from Prince 
 Rupert." 
 
 " I fear the letter hath never reached him. It 
 makes me feel cheap whenever I think of that 
 unlucky ride." 
 
 " Ah, well, I can forgive Navarre now that you 
 are well again." 
 
 Rupert smiled and stroked her wild hair. He 
 had fully regained his strength at last, though his 
 recovery had been slow ; and he had once more 
 fallen into his old life of hunting and outdoor 
 
 146 
 
THE ABBOT'S TREASURE CHEST. 
 
 H7 
 
 work. His inability for so long a time to provide 
 the household with either fish or game had much 
 increased the difficulties of housekeeping, and 
 Madge never remembered a time when their sup- 
 ply of food had been so unpalatable and preca- 
 rious, in spite of Lady Elmer's frequent presents. 
 
 The raid on the abbot's hidden treasures had 
 been put off and indeed half forgotten during 
 Rupert's illness, for neither he nor Margery had 
 much real hope of finding anything of importance. 
 But the increasing pressure of poverty had re- 
 minded them of their intended search, and they 
 were both in that mood of despondency when 
 it is a relief to try to do something, no matter 
 what. 
 
 On this occasion fortune seemed to favor their 
 enterprise. Early in the afternoon Sir John's 
 coach drove up to the door, and Clive alighted. 
 
 "You have come in state ! " exclaimed Margery. 
 " Ha,vejfou disabled Navarre now ? " 
 
 " No ; the brute is all right. Edith wanted to 
 send a message to Mrs. Staynor, and I volun- 
 teered to bring it; that is all. Lord and Lady 
 Brackenridge have honored us with an unex- 
 pected visit, and Edith is very anxious that Mr. 
 and Mrs. Staynor should come to meet them. My 
 Lady Brackenridge says she knew your mother 
 well before the troubles, and my lord is a great 
 virtuoso, so he will just suit your father. Do 
 persuade them to come, Mistress Margery. You 
 
 i 
 
 ■! f 
 
 i' 3 
 
r 
 
 148 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 know what John is. He hath one of his silent 
 fits on, and poor Edith hath to be polite for both." 
 
 " Nothing would like me better," said Margery. 
 *' We were thinking that to-night we would begin 
 our search for the treasure, and it would be an 
 excellent opportunity if father and mother were 
 clear away. But perhaps you must needs go 
 home ! " 
 
 " No ; to say truth, I would gladly be excused 
 my Lord Brackenridge's long dissertations on 
 coins and stars and ancient buildings. He is a 
 most learned and ingenious gentleman, I doubt 
 not, but is heavy company for those whose minds 
 are bent on other matters." 
 
 "Such as rhymes and meters, Mr. Clive? 
 Well, I will speak to mother, and if she can be 
 persuaded, father can!" 
 
 Clive wrote a short note to his sister, hinting 
 darkly at secret and mysterious business which 
 had prevented his return ; and Mr. and Mrs. Stay- 
 nor, after nearly exhausting Margery's powers of 
 persuasion, at last consented to comply with Lady 
 Elmer's request. 
 
 Madge began to get supper as soon as she had 
 seen her mother off, and it was just getting dusk 
 when the three conspirators sat down to the meal. 
 They did not light a candle, but Rupert put a 
 great pine log on the fire that crackled and blazed 
 till the room was as bright as day. It was rather 
 a cold, dismal evening, and they made no haste, 
 
THE ABBOT'S TREASURE CHEST. 
 
 149 
 
 for they bad all night before them to do their 
 work in peace. 
 
 "I have been wondering," said Harold sud- 
 denly, ** wherefore this business should be done 
 in darkness." 
 
 " Whoever heard of digging up treasure by day- 
 light.?" remarked Margery. "Mr. Clive, I am 
 surprised that you should suggest so unpoetical 
 a notion." 
 
 "Grandfather would think it folly," observed 
 Rupert. " He laughs alike at the ghost and his 
 treasure." 
 
 " I know," said Clive. " I would I could be 
 convinced that he is right ! " 
 
 " Do you mean to say, Mr. Clive, that you are 
 really frighted — Halloo, Ru, look ! What is that 
 at the window } " 
 
 " What, Mistress Margery .? " cried Clive with a 
 start. " I see nothing." 
 
 " Madge ! Madge ! " exclaimed Rupert reprov- 
 ingly. "If you begin in that fashion, we had in- 
 deed best leave the enterprise till daylight ! " 
 
 " But indeed, Ru, I saw a face staring in at the 
 window. It is no foolery. Hark ! there is some- 
 one stumbling over the ruins." 
 
 " I don't hear anything," said Rupert ; " and if 
 you are thinking of the abbot " — 
 
 " But I was nott Ru ! I was thinking of be- 
 nighted travelers or country folk or highwaymen. 
 Whatever I saw was human, that I am sure." 
 
 'it 1- 
 
I50 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 Margery's positive tone ought to have been 
 soothing to the most nervous, but did not seem 
 to offer much consolation to Clive. 
 
 " Shall you take a lantern ? " he asked after a 
 pause, trying not to speak in a whisper. 
 
 " Shall we, Ru ? " said Madge in an exact imi- 
 tation of his breathless tones. 
 
 " I do not see why we should not," answered 
 Rupert. "We should work all the faster, and 
 the coast is clear. If you are ready, I '11 fetch 
 the* picks and shovels, Madge, while you get the 
 light ! " 
 
 For about ten minutes Clive was left alone to 
 his own reflections. Then Madge appeared with 
 a small shawl tied over her hair and a smoky 
 lantern in her hand. 
 
 "This way, please, Mr. Clive," she said. " It is 
 a miserably cold night. If it were not for father's 
 being so comfortably out of the way, I should 
 advise leaving the ab — I mean putting off our 
 search for a night or two." 
 
 "It is cold," agreed Clive, with a shudder, as 
 they shut the door and began to grope their way 
 to the chapel. 
 
 " Hold the lantern steady, Madge," cried Rupert 
 as a sharp gust nearly put the light out. "It 
 will seem lighter when our eyes get used to it. 
 Here, Hal, give me your hand. I know every foot 
 of these ruins by night as well as by day. You are 
 sure you would not rather we left it for to-night } " 
 
THE ABBOT'S TREASURE CHEST. 
 
 151 
 
 Madge turned with a laugh to say, " Do go back, 
 Mr. Clive, if you wish ! It is a horrid night." 
 
 That laugh settled the matter. "No," said 
 Clive firmly, " I would not go back for anything, 
 if Rupert will come on ; but it certainly is not 
 suitable work for a lady. I should advise you to 
 go back. Mistress Margery." 
 
 "Yes, and have the abbot paying of a visit 
 to me in the parlor all by myself! Doubtless 
 he '11 wander all over the place to-night, when he 
 is disturbed! No, thank you, Mr. Clive. I can 
 stand anything in good company, but alone I am 
 not so sure." 
 
 " Here we are," said Rupert ; and throwing 
 down his tools, and taking the lantern from Mar- 
 gery, he hung it on the projecting point of an old 
 carved archway that had once been a door but 
 had been bricked up years before the siege of the 
 house. 
 
 The old horn lantern threw an uncertain glim- 
 mer on the cracked tombstone immediately below 
 it, but in the rest of the chapel seemed but to 
 render "darkness visible." Even Margery was 
 silent while Rupert forced a huge crowbar under 
 one corner of the stone ; and afterwards the hard- 
 ness of their task left little breath for talking. 
 Their united strength was barely sufficient to up- 
 heave the broken stone from its position. The 
 first piece was the hardest to move, as the others 
 wedged it tight. When it was out they sat down 
 
 :il 
 
 ! \ 
 
 111 
 
152 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 to rest for a moment before going on with their 
 work. The grave seemed to be lined all round 
 with masonry and filled up with earth. 
 
 " Are you ready to try again } " said Rupert at 
 last, and his voice made both his companions 
 start. " I am afraid of our taking cold sitting 
 here." 
 
 They rose in silence. The sharp sound of the 
 iron tools as they clinked against the stonework 
 was most unpleasantly loud and distinct in the 
 darkness ; and Margery began to wish that they 
 had not been so careful to choose a time for their 
 work when they were probably the only human 
 beings within a circuit of a mile. 
 
 It cost nearly an hour's hard work to remove 
 enough of the stone from the top of the grave to 
 allow them to work with the shovels, but they 
 fancied that their task had taken at least double 
 that time. Scarcely a foot below the surface of 
 the loose earth Clive's spade struck something 
 hard and hollow-sounding. 
 
 " Rupert," he said, " come here ! Listen ! " 
 
 " Perhaps it *s a coffin," suggested Margery. 
 
 Rupert did not say a word, but began to dig 
 fiercely. Presently the corner of what looked like 
 a great old box strongly bound with iron became 
 visible; and Madge, getting out of the grave, 
 relieved her feelings by executing a kind of war 
 dance among the stones beside it. 
 
 " Whatever it may be, it is not a coffin, Mistress 
 
THE ABBOT'S TREASURE CHEST. 
 
 153 
 
 Madge," remarked Harold as a second comer 
 came to view. Two minutes later the whole top 
 was uncovered. 
 
 "'Tis great enough to contain treasure suffi- 
 cient to rebuild the abbey from top to bottom," 
 exclaimed Madge. " Could we not get it out with- 
 out more digging?" 
 
 "No," said Rupert; "I cannot even shake it. 
 Hand me that bar, Madge, please ! " 
 
 "I cannot understand it," he exclaimed after 
 some minutes had elapsed. "It seems to be 
 mighty deep. I cannot find the bottom to get 
 the bar under it. 
 
 " Let us try to open it where it stands," sug- 
 gested Madge. 
 
 " Look at the lock," said Clive. " It is strong 
 enough for a dungeon." 
 
 " It is a good three centuries since the abbot 
 died," replied Madge. "The iron must be some- 
 thing rusty. Mayhap we can force it open. 
 Could we not knock off the hinges.?" 
 
 Madge was right; the iron was indeed rusty 
 and the wood rotten, and a few good blows forced 
 off the first hinge. 
 
 "Margery, will you hold the lantern?" said 
 Rupert. " I cannot see where to strike ! " 
 
 The second hinge was obstinate, but at length 
 it gave way with a crack. Rupert wrenched back 
 the great lid, and the light of Margery's lantern 
 fell on nothing but black emptiness ! 
 
154 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 \h 
 
 The three looked at one another in dismay, and 
 then again into the depths of the abbot's strange 
 chest. Margery knelt down beside it and leaning 
 over held the lantern at the full extent of her 
 arm; but it showed nothing but emptiness and 
 darkness still. Clive caught her other hand, for 
 in her eagerness to fathom the mystery she 
 was almost overbalancing herself. " Beware, Mar- 
 gery!" he cried, "'tis bottomless, I doubt. Who 
 knoweth what may lie down there .^" 
 
 A damp and musty smell was rising from the 
 opening, and Clive said slowly, " Had we not bet- 
 ter go within, and leave further search till day- 
 break .? " 
 
 "Stay one moment, Mr. Clive! Who hath a 
 piece of cord.-*" 
 
 "There is a rope in the cow shed," said Rupert. 
 " Give me the lantern, Madge ; " and in an instant 
 he was off, leaving them in total darkness beside 
 that horrid place. 
 
 "Where are you, Mr. Clive.?" said Margery in 
 a subdued tone, after a pause. "Do not move; 
 you might fall over those hateful stones ! It was 
 something unkind of Rupert to leave us thus." 
 
 " Here I am. Mistress Madge," replied Clive in 
 a voice that trembled with cold or for some other 
 reason. "Take my hand, if you feel frighted." 
 
 Margery took it, both for his sake and her own ; 
 but it was so cold and trembling that she would 
 have felt more courageous without it. 
 
THE ABBOT'S TREASURE CHEST. 
 
 155 
 
 Fortunately Rupert returned before tiieir cour- 
 age had quite ebbed away, with a long rope tied 
 to the handle of the lantern, and a ladder on his 
 shoulder. " Sure now," he said, " we shall make 
 shift to find the bottom." 
 
 " If there be one!" remarked Clive. 
 
 As the lantern swung over the hole, its dull 
 beams fell on rough stonework, and Madge said 
 in a disappointed tone, " I am frighted, Ru, lest it 
 should be an old well, and not the abbot's chest 
 after all." 
 
 " Nay ! " replied Rupert, "the lantern is safe on 
 the bottom now. It must be ten or twelve feet 
 deep. Now for my ladder. Clive, draw the light 
 up a little, so *hat I may see what I am about ! " 
 
 Margery helped him to let his ladder down, but 
 just as they got it into position a curious noise 
 sounded from below. There was no mistake 
 about it ; they all heard it. 
 
 " Listen, Ru ! " cried Madge. " Go not down ; 
 you will be buried alive!" 
 
 "It was only something falling," replied Rupert. 
 
 " What > Methinks it must be the abbot ! " fal- 
 tered Clive. 
 
 "Look!" said Rupert; "at times the light 
 gleams on something small and square down yon- 
 der. Let me once get that, and we will leave the 
 rest till morning." 
 
 Rupert climbed down the ladder, but as he 
 reached the bottom he uttered a startled exclama- 
 
 1 
 
156 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 tion, and a second later there was a heavy rattle 
 as if part of the wall had given way. 
 
 "What hath happened, Ru?" cried Madge. 
 " Oh, do come up at once ! " 
 
 " I am coming. Hold the light steady, Clive ! 
 Hurrah! here's the abbot's store at last." 
 
 Madge was on her knees, leaning over the edge 
 of the hole trying to see what Rupert had found, 
 when Clive caught her arm in an almost con- 
 vulsive grasp, and in a breathless whisper said 
 the one word, "Look!'* 
 
 The girl did look, and her blood ran cold. 
 Opposite her, in shadowy outline against the 
 chapel wall, stood a tall figure wrapped in a dark 
 robe. Its head, covered with the semblance of a 
 cowl, was bowed upon its breast ; its white bony 
 hands were crossed in the attitude of penitence, 
 and involuntarily Margery exclaimed, "The abbot!" 
 
 The specter, if specter it were, seemed to be 
 disturbed by these low-uttered words. It raised 
 its head, pointed one long arm towards them and 
 one towards the dark pit, and came full two paces 
 nearer. Madge shrieked, and Clive sprang back- 
 wards, still clinging to the rope that held the 
 light. In his haste he fell over a heap of stones 
 and let the lantern go with a crash that dashed it 
 to pieces at Rupert's feet. 
 
 " What is it } " he cried in horror ; but Harold 
 made no answer and Margery only continued to 
 titter most appalling shrieks as she fled towards 
 
THE ABBOT'S TREASURE CHEST. 
 
 157 
 
 the house. She reached the door, but shame 
 for her cowardice overcame her. She, who had 
 laughed at Clive's fears, had basely left both him 
 and Rupert to their fate. 
 
 She turned back, only to lose her way among 
 the ruins in her horrible fear of meeting the 
 abbot, and when at last she reached the scene of 
 the disaster Rupert had contrived to escape from 
 his dark prison and was bending anxiously over 
 Clive, who lay senseless where he had fallen. 
 
 " Help me to carry him in ! " said Rupert 
 briefly. "God grant he be not dead!" 
 
 Margery obeyed, but could not help looking 
 anxiously over her shoulder as she walked, so that 
 more than once she ran against the wall or stum- 
 bled over a stone. 
 
 They laid Clive gently on the floor with a 
 cushion under his head, shut the shutters, and 
 lighted three or four candles, and by the time that 
 Rupert had found a bottle of wine Harold had 
 opened his eyes. 
 
 " Have you received any hurt } " said Rupert. 
 
 "No, no ! " replied Clive a little wildly. " Where 
 is Margery } Is she safe } " 
 
 "Yes, Harold ; I am here. Drink some of this; 
 it will do you good ! I am going to make some 
 hot bread and milk ; mother says something hot 
 often prevents one catching cold." 
 
 "Do, Margery; I will fetch the milk and the 
 
 kettle in here, as the kitchen fire is nearly out," 
 II 
 
 : 
 
 I'd 
 
 1i* 
 
158 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 said Rupert. "It is well-nigh midnight, and I 
 am hungry." 
 
 " Margery, did he see it ? " asked Clive. 
 
 " I don't know. Don't talk of it, Harold. Let 
 us forget it." 
 
 " I shall think of it, if I do not speak of it. Oh, 
 the touch of his cold, damp hand will haunt me to 
 my dying day ! " 
 
 " The touch, Harold ! " exclaimed Margery, 
 thinking the lad was confused in his mind by his 
 fright. 
 
 " Yes, Madge. Did you not see him bend over 
 me and lay his hand on me .? " 
 
 " When, Harold } " said Margery with a shiver. 
 
 " I don't know — before I swooned. I was try- 
 ing to rise, and the ab — it touched me, and I fell 
 back again ! " 
 
 "Oh, Harold, how horrible!" 
 
 "Now, Margery," said Rupert, coming in at 
 that moment, " let us talk of something different. 
 It is useless to keep thinking of that old tale — 
 we shall never sleep this night." 
 
 " I promise you I shall not try, Ru. I should 
 only dream of it," said Margery. 
 
 " Rupert, did you not see it .^ " asked Clive, 
 under his breath. 
 
 " No, Harold ; I saw nothing ; and you know if 
 the abbot had really come, he would certainly 
 have come to me, down in his grave ! " 
 
 " But, Rupert, Madge saw it too. Did you not 
 hear her shrieking } " 
 
" ■i'es ; I heard that T a 
 at Denham; but I dW J'^'T^ '^'^ ^^'^ her 
 think, for mine own pan th^7 ^''^"""^- ^ do 
 abbot because you had exitf Z"" '^° ^^* 'he 
 
 "O Ru," crfed Mad<^5''''^ '° ««« him!" 
 
 did expe , to see hfm ^r '"^T"^' "^ "ever 
 
 tease. Well. I reallv do L^^ '"^^^^ °^ him to 
 
 because you'werfK aK7"^' "-'^' 
 
 ought to have got you intn^h ' '' ""^ "«^er 
 
 "Rupert, I saw hta 2h 1 '"'""P^" 
 his hand touched me ™saTd ri ' T" ^^^«' and 
 
 am bound to belTeve that .' '""'^' "'" ^ 
 him." "^"^ 'hat I have indeed seen 
 
 Rupert still imprudentiv tr;»^ . 
 ™atter; but, as he miX L '° ^'^"^ the 
 
 Madge nor Harold wfs to h' "'P'"^"' "«'her 
 answered all his suggestion! =,n!, '""^'"'"•^d. Both 
 "Rupert, we sau, hi^ Z? ^P^="'atio„s with 
 alter that." ^° ^"ount of talking will 
 
 -i^toTst;:: fnJoS j? -^^ -devoted hin,. 
 of bread and milk,'aL ^n suon?""""^' '«"^' 
 he brought out his fcth^S "mTm """' ^"''^^'^ 
 •chapter. ThenthevknX^ '''^ ^"d read a 
 
 fed for a blessJn? ::'l^Tt,'°''y """^ "« 
 Soon afterwards Madge te!^. 'f:°"Sh '"^ "'Sht. 
 
 room, though she declarer! I , ' °"'" "ttle 
 
 and Rupert and Chvela! V '°'"'' "^^^^ «'«?, 
 fire within call of Lr fTr nor °" """^^ ""''^'^ 'h^ 
 duced Harold to spend th^'"^.*""''^ ^^""^ in- 
 haunted chapel '^ ""^ "'«■" n«t to the 
 
 
 n 
 
 i 
 
 i m 
 
i6o 
 
 PRINCE RUFERrS NAMESAKE. 
 
 
 Madge rose as soon as the first faint glimmer of 
 light shone in the east, and found Rupert already 
 awake. He followed her to the kitchen, and said, 
 "Don't let u?. talk of our adventure before Harold 
 just yet, Margery ; we never ought to have allowed 
 him to come. But I have something to say to 
 you." 
 
 " What, Ru } Did you find anything worth ? " 
 
 " I trust so. It was a little chest well bound up 
 and heavy ; but I deny not that I was something 
 startled by your shrieks and the fall of the lantern, 
 and I let it drop. I was frighted lest some ill had 
 befallen you, but in mine haste I groped round 
 and round yon dark hole before I could find my 
 ladder." 
 
 "O Ru, it was a shame to desert you. I am 
 truly grieved at my cowardice ! " 
 
 " When I reached the top I could see nothing, 
 but I had not gone two yards ere I stumbled oyer 
 poor Hal. Methought at first he was dead ! " 
 
 " What do you mean to do now, Ru } " 
 
 " I am going to see whether my find be worth 
 the trouble of bringing home or no. We were 
 fools not to do our work by daylight." 
 
 " Shall you tell father } " 
 
 " I know not what we had best do. Harold is 
 fast asleep. Will you come with me .? " 
 
 " What a long way it seemed in the dark last 
 night ! " said Margery. ** I doubt we shall have to 
 tell father whether we wish or not, for he will be 
 sure to see what we have been doing.' 
 
 »» 
 
THE ABBOT'S TREASURE CHEST. 
 
 i6i 
 
 IS 
 
 " I know not. Even if we tell him, I shall strive 
 to hide the traces of our search, or we shall have 
 all the rude fellows for miles around coming 
 a-treasure-seeking. " 
 
 The cold gray light of the winter morning was 
 scarcely less dreary than the black darkness of the 
 previous night, and Madge looked into the hole 
 with an uncomfortable suspicion that the abbot 
 might be at the bottom of it. " Rupert," she 
 said, " it likes me ill to have you go down there. 
 I fear some hurt will overtake you." 
 
 " I am frighted of nothing but the walls giving 
 way, Madge, and I will take good heed not to 
 press against them." 
 
 So saying he descended the ladder and was 
 almost lost to sight in the shadows that hid the 
 bottom of the pit. For a second or two there 
 was silence and Margery waited in painful sus- 
 pense. Suddenly Rupert uttered a joyous shout : 
 "Margery! Margery! run for a candle, my dear. 
 Broad pieces are scattered on the floor as thick as 
 daisies in spring, but I have not light to gather 
 them up." 
 
 Madge forgot the abbot now, and ran for the 
 candle and a tinder box in great excitement. She 
 was even bold enough to descend into the grave 
 herself, but Rupert, hearing her hasty footsteps on 
 the ladder, begged her to come no lower. " If you 
 hold the light there, Madge, I can see nobly," he 
 said ; so she sat on a rung of the ladder halfway 
 
 I; i' 
 
 
 Ml 
 
l62 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 down, holding the candle, while Rupert gathered 
 gold and silver pieces from the floor and put them 
 into her apron, for the little chest had smashed to 
 pieces in its fall. 
 
 "Did you make that great dinge in the wall 
 yonder ? " asked Margery. 
 
 ** Yes ; the stones there are mighty loosely set. 
 Well, methinks I have got all that is worth bring- 
 ing away. Give me the candle, Madge, in case you 
 should drop any of the treasure in going up. 
 Shall I bring up this broken chest?" 
 
 " Mayhap father would like to see it." 
 
 They had very little idea of the value of their 
 find, but as neither of them had ever seen so much 
 money together at one time before, they felt 
 amazingly rich. Clive was awake when they went 
 in, and was much interested in all they told him, 
 but evidently had an objection to touching the 
 pieces. 
 
 "Why, Harold, sure these are solid enough," 
 said Rupert, ringing one on the table as he spoke. 
 " There is nothing ghostly about them." 
 
 "Nevertheless I would rather go poor all my 
 days than use that money," he said. 
 
 " Ah, but that is because you know not what it 
 is to be poor," exclaimed Madge quickly. " I deny 
 not that I was something frighted by the abbot, 
 but I dread still more that father should have to 
 spend the rest of his days in jail. Oh, I hope 
 this will save him ! " 
 
THE ABBOT'S TREASURE CHEST. 
 
 163 
 
 By the time that Sir John's coach returned with 
 Mr. and Mrs. Staynor, Rupert had managed to 
 reduce the abbot's grave to its old appearance. 
 He had nailed down some rough boards in place 
 of the trapdoor, had filled in the earth again, and 
 had arranged the broken stone on the top as much 
 as possible in its former position ; but it had proved 
 to be like a puzzle, and had been much easier to 
 break up than it was to put together again. To 
 hide all deficiencies he had heaped over it a quan- 
 tity of broken stones ; but by the time his labors 
 were finished he was so stiff and tired he could 
 scarcely move. 
 
 Happily Clive did not seem to be seriously the 
 worse for his fright ; but his melancholy and de- 
 jected appearance acted as a continual reproach 
 to his fellow conspirators, and neither of them 
 was sorry when he rolled away in the great coach 
 with its liveried servants and handsome horses. 
 "It had been folly," they both agreed, "to ask 
 one like him to join in the adventure." 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 HENRY VIIS ANGELS. 
 
 I 
 
 IT was supper time on the following day. The 
 table was set, and Mr. and Mrs. Staynor 
 were waiting beside it ; but Margery and Rupert 
 had disappeared. A subdued sound of laughter 
 was heard in the distance, to which the old man 
 listened with a smile. 
 
 "It is full sweet to be young, my Catherine," 
 he said. " Hearken ! those children can scarce 
 contain themselves for gladness, though they know 
 that we can barely make shift to live from hand 
 to mouth." 
 
 Mrs. Staynor listened with a frowning brow 
 and a bright light in her dark eyes. " Richard, if 
 they had their rights, they would have reason to 
 be merry. Oh, it is bitter to be cast aside like a 
 rusty and broken blade the instant our king needs 
 not our services — after our great sacrifices too. 
 At times methinks it had been better to have 
 taken thought for our own and to have let the 
 king stand or fall as it pleased heaven." 
 
 " Kate, my poor love, what hath happened } It 
 is the first time I ever heard you grieve tHat you 
 had given all to the king." 
 
 164 
 
HEN/ty VII'S ANGELS. 
 
 165 
 
 She did not answer. At that moment the door 
 flew open and Madge entered, bearing on a tray, 
 decently covered with a white cloth, the gold and 
 silver pieces they had found. They had spent 
 much time and thought in arranging them in a 
 "noble and curious design," and Madge, making 
 a sweeping courtesy as she advanced, went down 
 on her knees to present them to her father. Alas ! 
 by one of those sad accidents to which she was 
 peculiarly liable, she caught the edge of the tray 
 on the corner of the table ; and instead of the 
 graceful presentation which was on the program 
 the coins flew wildly into the air and descended 
 in a gold and silver shower on the old man's 
 white head. All thoughts of grace dismissed for 
 the present, Margery dropped the empty tray with 
 a clatter, and crawling under the table began to 
 collect the scattered treasure, whilst her father 
 and mother looked on in bewilderment. 
 
 At last the squire found his voice. " Rupert, 
 my boy, what is this ^ " he inquired mildly, for 
 Madge was out of sight under her mother's chair, 
 whither she had pursued a refractory " angel." 
 
 " It is some treasure we sought and found," re- 
 plied Rupert with modest pride. 
 
 " Treasure, my lad } Mine eyes tell me thus 
 much ; but how have you come by it } " 
 
 "Sir," said Rupert, who was busily counting 
 the pieces, " be pleased to tarry for mine answer 
 until we discover the last gold piece. I have been 
 
 F 
 
 m 
 
i66 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 telling of them, and there is one missing; then 
 you shall have the relation in full." So saying, 
 he joined his aunt under the table, and for the 
 next five minutes their elders looked on in silent 
 wonderment. 
 
 "I have it, Madge!" cried the lad at last. 
 "Now tell grandfather all." 
 
 Nothing loath, the girl rose to her feet, her 
 brown face flushed and her hair wilder than ever, 
 and began : " You must know, father, that 
 thoughts of the ghostly abbot and his hoard have 
 haunted Ru and me for months. Before his sick- 
 ness we had resolved to dig in the grave, but just 
 as we had concluded to adventure on it Prince 
 Rupert came hither and Ru went on that luckless 
 errand. At last we could tarry no longer, and 
 happily my Lady Elmer chanced to send her 
 coach that very day to carry you to see Lord 
 Brackenridge, so when night fell " — 
 
 "What!" cried Mr. Staynor good-humoredly, 
 " when the cat *s away the mice will play — eh, 
 my dutiful daughter } " 
 
 "Yes, father," said Madge saucily. "We were 
 frighted lest you should forbid the enterprise, or 
 think us a pair of sad fools for our pains." 
 
 " So the long and the short of the matter is 
 that you disturbed the poor old abbot's bones and 
 possessed yourselves of his hoards t " said the 
 squire, " and no doubt saw his ghost "i " 
 
 "Yes, father; we did indeed," said Margery. 
 
HENRY VirS ANGELS. 
 
 167 
 
 the color fading suddenly from her cheeks. " His 
 head was bowed down on his breast and his hands 
 crossed as the legend saith." 
 
 "I saw nothing," said Rupert; "neither the 
 abbot nor yet his bones, and methinks that which 
 they call his tomb is no true burial place. In the 
 center under the stone is a wide round hole, much 
 like a well that hath dried up. It was there we 
 discovered the treasure in a small, iron-bound 
 chest ; but it fell and broke, so we gathered the 
 coins into Madge's apron yesterday morning." 
 
 " Let me see them again, Rupert," said Mr. 
 Staynor; and holding one of the coins near the 
 light he examined it narrowly. "Methinks it is 
 an angel of the time of Henry VII. It is strange 
 why they should have been hidden in such a place. 
 Perhaps it was during the disturbances and trou- 
 bles of Mary's reign." 
 
 " Can it have been when the abbey was in the 
 hands of mad Sir James } " suggested Rupert. 
 
 " Doubtless you are right, my boy," said the 
 squire slowly. "I remember hearing wild tales 
 of him in my boy's time from my grandfather, 
 whose father had taken the property after him. 
 In his youth Sir James was a most curious and 
 understanding person (for his day) in all antiqui- 
 ties, and a great traveler moreover. He visited 
 Italy and the Holy Land ; nay, it was even said 
 that he reached China itself ; but whatever truth 
 there was in that tale, he came home in a sad con- 
 
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 K^k 
 
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 i68 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 dition. Some said his brain was bewildered by 
 the heat of the sun ; others that he had drunk of 
 some strange poison and was mazed thereby ; for 
 ever after^•.ard he was subject to fits of horrid 
 melancholy. At these times a niggard spirit en- 
 tered into him, and he would set himself to hide 
 all his goods on which he could lay hands. At 
 his death his cousin, my great-grandfather, found 
 bags of gold up the great chimneys and under 
 the floors; but doubtless he never thought to 
 search the abbot's grave." 
 
 "I am right glad of it," said Madge. "If he 
 had had a mind to hide away ten times so great a 
 store, I would not have blamed him ; but, father, 
 what is the worth of our treasure } " 
 
 "Some three hundred pounds, perhaps, more 
 or less. I cannot say." 
 
 " Well," said Margery with a deep-drawn sigh, 
 "it is better than nothing." 
 
 " Certainly, my daughter ; what will you do 
 with it ? 'T is many a year since this poor house 
 hath been tempting to robbers, but it is scarce 
 prudent to leave this so openly on the table." 
 
 " Lock it up, grandfather, in your strong box," 
 said Rupert, "and do with it as you will." 
 
 Both he and Margery felt amply rewarded for 
 their toils and their alarms when they saw what a 
 load this unexpected supply had lifted from the 
 squire's shoulders. He told old stories, begged 
 for old songs, and was the gayest of the party; 
 
HENRY VirS ANGELS. 
 
 169 
 
 but before they went to rest that night he did not 
 forget to thank the God of all grace for this most 
 strangely vouchsafed mercy. 
 
 " I wish we had kept Mr. Clive," said Margery, 
 lingering after prayers for a moment with her arm 
 about her father's neck. "You know he helped 
 us to dig up the chest ; but he was so distressed 
 and amazed when he catched sight of the abbot 
 that he fainted, and Ru and I had to carry 
 him in." 
 
 " Methinks, Aunt Margery," said Rupert quietly, 
 " I could have found it in mine heart to wish that 
 you also had fainted in your dismay rather than 
 have uttered so horrid shrieks. I thought nothing 
 less than that some ill-disposed wretch was en- 
 deavoring to murder you." 
 
 "Ah, it is easy for those to talk who have 
 seen nothing," said Margery, blushing a little 
 nevertheless. " I know I contemned and de- 
 spised Mr. Clive for his fears, but I am now sensi- 
 ble of my folly, as Rupert himself may be ere- 
 long." 
 
 " Poor little Margery ! " said the squire, gently 
 patting the girl's head ; " it is vain, I know full 
 well, to argue with one in your case. Some day, 
 I trust, you will learn enough of the workings of 
 the mind and imagination to understand how that 
 may appear to the eyes that hath no existence in 
 fact. Till then, my love, try to rest yourself on 
 the deep love and all-embracing power of God, 
 
 RUT 
 
 , 
 
 pip 
 
 'I 
 
 i\ 
 
 i 
 
 
170 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 and remember that all the spirits, whether good 
 or evil, are subject unto him." 
 
 " But, sir," said Rupert, " it seems to me im- 
 probable that the abbot would rather appear to 
 them than to me, for it was I who had invaded 
 his treasure-house." 
 
 " Vvj, Rupert," said Mr. Staynor, smiling ; 
 " granting that the abbot walketh the earth nowa- 
 days, I must profess myself unable to account for 
 his tastes and the manner of his rendering of him- 
 self visible. Was Harold much frighted } " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; he fainted. Th'i engaging of him 
 in the business was rank folly." 
 
 " It was, indeed, Rupert," said the squire gravely. 
 " He hath not strength to endure so great a shock. 
 I have known men hurt for life by less." 
 
 " I was most to blame, father. I would tease 
 him about his faint-heartedness till he was ashamed 
 to stay away," said Margery penitently. 
 
 "Ay, Margery, I have been grieved to see it. 
 It is an ill thing when a woman useth her wit to 
 drive her friends into folly ; and I trust that my 
 little maid will never again be so carried away 
 of lightness and vanity." 
 
 " Father, I meant no harm," said Margery, 
 hanging her head to hide her hot cheeks. 
 
 " My child, I know that full well, and I should 
 be truly proud of my Margery were she some- 
 thing less thoughtless in her mirth ; " and the 
 squire ended his little lecture with a kiss. 
 
HENRY VirS ANGELS. 
 
 171 
 
 Sir James* treasure, as they now called it, paid 
 more than one of the squire's most pressing debts, 
 for it proved to be worth very nearly four hundred 
 pounds. For a short season unwonted prosperity 
 reigned in the ruined abbey, and Mr. Staynor was 
 free to devote his attention to the metals and 
 the stars, undistracted by the clamors of impatient 
 creditors. 
 
 "Doth it not seem strange," said Margery one 
 breezy March morning, three weeks after the 
 great discovery, "that Harold's ghost story put 
 us upon the finding of that long-hidden treasure } 
 How oddly things came about ! Mayhap many an 
 one since the gold was buried would have been 
 happy enough to bring it to the light ; but me- 
 thinks scarce any can have needed it more griev- 
 ously than we i " 
 
 "No," said Rupert ; " God knew and God cared 
 for our distress, and he laid it up for us against 
 the time when it should b'.; most needed." 
 
 "Father seems as light-hearted as a boy since 
 this hath chanced. Oh, I would that there were 
 some way of our helping him continuously ! " 
 
 " Let us trust in God, Margery. He will show 
 us what to do." 
 
 " If Sir James was used thus to hide away his 
 gold," suggested Margery after a pause, "it is 
 likely that there are other hoards of his yet un- 
 discovered." 
 
 " Perhaps there may be," answered Rupert 
 
 'f'if 
 
 -' i&\ 
 
172 
 
 PRINCE RUPEP.T'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 I 
 
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 1 
 
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 1 
 
 
 
 thoughtfully. "Methinks it might be worth 
 searching under the floor of the great hall, or in 
 the walls of some of the chambers." 
 
 Margery agreed, and for the next few days they 
 spent all the time they could spare from their 
 usual tasks in digging trenches in various likely 
 and unlikely places ; but if Sir James had buried 
 any more of his wealth, they were unfortunate in 
 not finding the right spot. Next, growing weary 
 of so much labor with picks and shovels, they 
 took to a mason's hammer, tapping the old walls 
 from top to bottom, to the great peril of their 
 necks, and breaking holes wherever the stonework 
 sounded hollow. Alas ! they gained nothing from 
 all their toil but blistered hands and aching backs. 
 
 When Sunday came after a week of this severe 
 labor they were glad to lay by their tools, though 
 Ihey were not too tired to go to church as usual ; 
 for even Mrs. Staynor, in spite of her ill health, 
 could manage to walk so far whenever the weather 
 was fine. A large old-fashioned square pew was 
 still appropriated to their use, and was almost the 
 only remaining mark of the dignified position they 
 had once held in the neighborhood ; for now that 
 they came to worship on foot, in threadbare and 
 faded garments, the bows and courtesies of their 
 sometime dependents were more familiar and less 
 deep than they had been in the days when Mrs. 
 Staynor first came to dwell among them in the 
 pride of her wealth and beauty. It was only her 
 
HENRY VirS ANGELS. 
 
 ^11 
 
 \\ 
 
 sense of duty, and the rigidity of the laws, that 
 brought her there Sunday after Sunday ; for it was 
 a weekly humiliation to her to thus exhibit her 
 poverty to all the world, and the service gave her 
 little comfort. She joined indeed in the beauti- 
 ful old prayers with her lips ; but her heart was 
 filled with unavailing regrets for the past, and, 
 though she never acknowledged it even to herself, 
 a bitter feeling that God had acted harshly toward 
 her and those she loved shut out the sense of his 
 love. 
 
 With her husband it was different. When he 
 entercc! the little dimly lighted church, it was as if 
 he w "" passing into the presence of the Highest. 
 His earthly sorrows and perplexities fr'^ out of 
 sight, and for the sacred hour of service he com- 
 muned with God, like Moses of old, and rarely 
 failed to come out into the sunshine strengthened 
 and refreshed for his toilsome journey towards 
 the Holy City. For him the gray old curate, long 
 past the strength and passion of life, always had 
 a message from the Master. To Margery his slow 
 monotonous utterances were as severe a trial of 
 patience as the unceasing clatter of the cowbells 
 on the common ; and even to Rupert, though since 
 his illness he had listened with reverent attention, 
 the sermon seemed often cold and meaningless; 
 but to the squire God spake through his dull old 
 servant's lips wondrous lessons of patience and 
 comfort and charity. 
 If 
 
 dm 
 
 i U' 
 
 1^ TO 
 
174 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 i 
 
 Mr. Staynor always left the church immediately 
 after the benediction with his wife leaning on 
 his arm ; but the young folk often lingered in the 
 porch to speak to Lady Elmer. 
 
 On this Sunday she and her brother were alone, 
 but that was nothing new, for Sir John had not 
 attended church for several months. Clive looked 
 pale and tired, and Madge asked after his health 
 rather anxiously, for it was the first time she had 
 seen him since their treasure-digging exploits. 
 
 " I am quite well. Mistress Margery," he replied. 
 "May I have the pleasure of walking with you 
 some portion of your way } Edith hath a message 
 from John to Rupert, so the coach must needs 
 wait, and I have somewhat to say to you of great 
 importance. Stay ! I will tell Edith that we 
 are going on, and ask her to bid the man drive 
 after us." 
 
 The congregation was gathered in knots in 
 the graveyard, some discussing the sermon, and 
 others a bull-baiting that was to take place on the 
 green in the afternoon. 
 
 "How they talk!" said Clive with disgust as 
 he moved slowly down the narrow walk with 
 Margery on his arm, scarcely deigning to acknowl- 
 edge the villagers' humble salutations. "Of all 
 rude and nasty pleasures, methinks bull-baiting is 
 the worst. Really at times one is fain to think 
 mankind not so far higher than the beasts that 
 perish as the parsons would make us believe." 
 
HENRY VirS ANGELS. 
 
 175 
 
 " You are the last person I should have expected 
 to claim kindred with the beasts," said Margery, 
 laughing. " Sure you poets see life in a mighty 
 strange light ! " 
 
 " Nay, Mistress Madge, a truce to your mirth ! 
 Now we may speak without being overheard. Hath 
 Rupert told you that he goes at times to the for- 
 bidden meetings of the Nonconformists ? " 
 
 " Yes ; he hath been twice or thrice, that is all." 
 
 "Well, John hath sent him a message to-day 
 to go with him on Wednesday to a conventicle in 
 the woods south of Horton. A great preacher, 
 one Master Day, a tailor by trade " (Harold spoke 
 of him with the utmost contempt) "is to hold 
 forth, as they call it, and will no doubt give them 
 *a most sweet and moving discourse.' John is 
 crazy over him — I can call it nothing less — and 
 besought Edith so earnestly to deliver his message 
 to Rupert that she at length consented. For mine 
 own part I declined openly to do his errand." 
 
 "Wherefore, Mr. Clive.?" 
 
 " Nay, fair Mistress Margery, call me Harold as 
 you did the other night. I would not do John's 
 bidding because I hold 't is playing no friendly 
 part to Rupert to lead him into danger. These 
 secret meetings are straitly forbidden — more 's 
 the pity if any one careth to go to them ! — and 
 sooner or later they who attend them will suifer 
 for their folly. There are hundreds in prison 
 even now for like offenses." 
 
 
 i:,(l 
 
 ■ i 'i 
 
 w 
 
t 
 
 176 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 can 
 
 I do? 
 to go 
 
 Rupert was begging me 
 with him to hear their 
 
 "What 
 this morning 
 preachers." 
 
 " For the sake of your father and mother, Madge, 
 do no such thing. It is more than likely that the 
 government will endeavor to make an end of this 
 nest of schismatics when this man Day cometh 
 amongst them. I tell you, they are known and 
 watched. I know it of a certainty. John is not 
 to be moved by entreaties or persuasions. Even 
 Edith can do nothing with him now ; but that is 
 no reason mat Rupert should be undone also. 
 Beg him to abide at home on Wednesday, Mar- 
 gery, and if that do not avail, desire your father 
 to command him to stay.'* 
 
 " I fear he will have promised my Lady Elmer 
 even now to go," said Madge. 
 
 "John should be ashamed of himself! " said the 
 young man impatiently. " I have been cruelly put 
 out with him. I spoke with some heat to him last 
 night on the baseness of leading a boy like Rupert 
 into so great folly ; but all he would say was, * I 
 dare not tempt Rupert to choose carnal comfort 
 and security rather than the weal of his immortal 
 soul ! * It is vain to waste words on John when 
 he hath made up his mind." 
 
 " Suppose he chanceth to be right } " said Mar- 
 gery meditatively. 
 
 " Margery, three months ago John himself was 
 mighty tender of his own carnal security. It is 
 
 by 
 
 th< 
 
HENRY VirS ANGELS. 
 
 177 
 
 all the fault of that arch-fanatic Kenrick. I 
 would to heaven that he were safely clapped up in 
 jail out of the way ! " 
 
 " Methinks it would like me well to go to one 
 of these meetings just to see so strange a sight 
 as it must be ! " 
 
 "It is not at all pleasing, Margery. I went 
 once at John's desire, and wished myself well 
 home, I can tell you. Of singing of long psalms 
 and making of longer prayers there was no end, 
 but the preaching was infinitely worse. I never 
 heard so mean a sermon. The fellow mispro- 
 nounced every third word, yet John well-nigh 
 wept to hear him ; and coming away he must 
 needs fall a-preaching at me, while all the rest 
 stood round to hear. I never suffered such im- 
 pudence before ; but John was angered that I 
 took it ill." 
 
 "These folk have no respect for people of con- 
 dition," said Madge. " That shoemaker Kenrick 
 foil to admonishing and reproving of me. It is 
 not to be borne with. I am frighted lest Rupert 
 betake himself to their distasteful ways." 
 
 " Well, Margery, lot him not go on Wednesday, 
 and mayhap we shall have the comfort of hearing 
 that good Master Kenrick and the rest are laid 
 by the heels." 
 
 " It shall not be my fault if he doth. Look ! 
 the coach is close at hand." 
 
 A moment later it drew up beside them. 
 
 I 
 
 I i,:i. 
 
 
178 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 \ 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 i I 
 
 Rupert alighted, and Clivei after kissing Mar- 
 gery's hand, took his place beside his sister. 
 
 "Edith," he asked anxiously, "is Rupert 
 going?" 
 
 "He says so, Harold." 
 
 " Why doth not John leave him in peace ? 
 Surely that family hath enough to endure without 
 our adding to its troubles." 
 
 " Indeed, Harold, I am grieved for them ; but I 
 know not whether John be not right. Rupert is 
 much improved of late. To-day he talked to me 
 as gravely and sweetly of God's good mercy as I 
 have rot often heard the like." 
 
 " Of course you think John right, Edith ; but if 
 Rupert runs obstinately into this danger, I say he 
 will be wronging of those who depend on him 
 for daily food. His grandfather is a right noble 
 Christian gentleman, but /le doth not think it 
 needful to go after strange doctrines." 
 
 "Well, Harold, it would content me better if 
 neither John nor Rupert ran into this danger ; 
 but they must judge for themselves." 
 
 " Edith," said her brother after a long pause, 
 " it hath but now occurred to me — might not we 
 do somewhat to help the Staynors ? I wonder 
 if my guardians could be persuaded to let me 
 lend Mr. Staynor the money } or would not John 
 doit.?" 
 
 " I know not whether John could, and I doubt 
 that my Lord Enderby would not permit you to 
 
 ' I 
 
HENRY VirS ANGELS. 
 
 179 
 
 risk your money with such slender prospect of 
 repayment as I fear there is." 
 
 " I shall be of age soon ; sure he could not 
 refuse a request so reasonable. Hitherto he hath 
 rightly permitted me to use mine own as I chose." 
 
 " Yes ; but Mr. Staynor's debts are so great. I 
 fear, from what Rupert hath said, it would take 
 many hundreds of pounds to clear him ; but we 
 must talk to John. Nothing would make me 
 happier than to see them established in comfort 
 again. I am persuaded that we have done them 
 no wrong, but it likes me ill to be in possession of 
 what once was theirs, while they suffer so great 
 privations." 
 
 " Whatever we do must needs be done in haste, 
 for Rupert says that his grandfather lives In con- 
 stant apprehension of arrest." 
 
 ;5 
 
 .81 
 
 
 • fi 
 
CIIAITICK XI. 
 
 Tllli SEKVICK IN THK WOOD. 
 
 FATIIICR," oxclainiod Maii^cry, following him 
 up to his favorite room in the tower on the 
 Wednesday morning, "Rupert is determined to 
 go to-night to a meeting in the woods with Sir 
 John Klmcr. I have been talking with him for 
 an hour, but I can make neither sense nor reason 
 of him. He persists that he must go." 
 
 "Well, my ehild, he hath been before and 
 returned safely." 
 
 "But, father, Harold Clive declares that the 
 fanatics are being watched, and that he certainly 
 expects many will be taken to-night." 
 
 "Wherefore, Margery, doth he particularly ex- 
 pect ill to-night } Hath he received information 
 of danger .'* " 
 
 "He did not tell mc, father, how he knew; he 
 only bade me by all means prevent Ru's going if 
 I coukl. Father, will not you command him to 
 stay within to-night ? " 
 
 " IMy daughter, Rupert hath so long done a 
 man's part in toil and thought for our welfare, I 
 like not to lay strait commands on him as if he 
 
 180 
 
77//i sicKvw/': IN riih: wood. 
 
 iKi 
 
 were a chilli. Have you not shown him what 
 Harold told you? " 
 
 "Yes, father ; and he says Harold is ever 
 frif^hted of dangers that are not." 
 
 " Well, I will talk to him and bid him be eare- 
 ful. Hut methinks he is right ; young Clive lacks 
 courage, and fancies danger in everything." 
 
 Margery went to her work in bitter disappoint- 
 ment, for something in Clive's manner had im- 
 pressed her strongly, and she feared that Rupert 
 would suffer for his rashness. Mr. Staynor spoke 
 to him and bade him be careful, but left him free 
 to go or stay, as he judged best ; and soon after 
 dusk he kis'sed his grandmother, bade Margery 
 good-by, and set out on his long, dark walk to 
 the secret meeting place. 
 
 On this occasion the worshipers met in the open 
 air, in a sheltered wood a mile from the village of 
 Horton. The time appointed for beginning was 
 later than usual, for they took care to change the 
 hour of service as often as the place. The gather- 
 ing was smaller and the impression of impending 
 danger seemed to be on all. Special precautions 
 were taken to prevent surprise, and to Rupert's 
 disappointment it fell to his lot to watch the path 
 through the wood near where it joined the high- 
 way. He was chosen as sentinel at the instance 
 of his friend Gbadiah, who declared that his 
 quickness of sight and hearing rendered him es- 
 pecially suitable for the post. Of course it was 
 
 < ti ■: 
 
 t * 
 
 g 
 

 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 11.25 
 
 I^|2j8 |25 
 
 no ^^" JJiJ^H 
 
 12.2 
 
 mm 
 
 WUi. 
 
 - 6" 
 
 / 
 
 
 Photographic 
 
 Sciences 
 
 Corporation 
 
 33 WIST MAIN STRUT 
 
 WMSTM.N.Y. 14SI0 
 
 (716) •72-4503 
 
 
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1 82 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 gratifying that he should so soon have gained 
 the good opinion of his fellow worshipers; but 
 his long watch was dreary enough, and he felt it 
 hard that he who had come so many weary miles 
 on foot to join in the service should be shut out 
 from its privileges. 
 
 Now and then the words of a psalm floated to 
 him on the chill air of the dark April evening, 
 but neither prayer nor preaching reached him. 
 The distant murmurs made him feel all the more 
 lonely in his solitary watch as he paced backward 
 and forward on the narrow path, for he durst not 
 try to listen to them, lest he should not hear the 
 sounds of approaching danger. 
 
 An hour had gone by and Rupert's overstrained 
 faculties had begun to grow dull and heavy, when 
 suddenly something rlartled him, and, fully awake 
 once more, he drew cautiously out of the glim- 
 mering moonlight into the dark shadow of a tree. 
 A stealthy tread sounded on the path, and an in- 
 stant later a tall slight figure crossed a faint beam 
 of light. Rupert sprang forward, and in the wild 
 impulse of the moment flung himself upon the 
 newcomer, grappled with and threw him to the 
 ground, and then asked, last of all, the question 
 he should have asked at first : — 
 
 " Who are you ? " 
 
 The gasping lad, whom he was holding down 
 beneath the weight of his knees, found no breath 
 to answer, and Rupert, contrite and ashamed, 
 
Win 
 
 THE SERVICE IN THE WOOD, 
 
 183 
 
 began to fear that he had " set upon " one of the 
 faithful who had been prevented attending the 
 service more punctually. Under this new impres- 
 sion, he assisted him to rise with the same sud- 
 denness with which he had overthrown him, and, 
 brushing the dust off his clothes, repeated more 
 civilly : " Fair sir, who are you ? " 
 
 " You are Rupert ? " was the unexpected reply, 
 made in a strangely familiar tone. " You * pro- 
 fessors ' are something hasty at times, methinks ; 
 but let that pass. If I had recognized you before, 
 I would have come openly to you. It is you I 
 am seeking." 
 
 "Harold Clive!" cried Rupert in surprise. 
 "What brings you hither.?" 
 
 "I learned by chance of pressing danger (to- 
 morrow I'll tell you how), and being at the 
 Rose and Crown when you passed through the 
 village, I guessed that you had been deaf to 
 Margery's warnings. The constables are on the 
 road hither even now. Save yourself, Rupert. 
 Take the road toward Altrincham ; you cannot 
 go through Horton now. Make haste ; but where 
 is John.? Edith will never forgive me if he is 
 taken." 
 
 "Nay, Clive; let me go! there is no time to 
 sp^re. Where were the constables "i " 
 
 " I left them drinking at the inn ; but there is 
 not a minute to spare. Methinks I hear their 
 voices even now. I will give the warning, Rupert." 
 
1 84 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT* S NAMESAKE, 
 
 " No, Harold ; they trusted me. I would not 
 for the world even seem to betray them. Besides, 
 it is not safe for you." 
 
 "Rupert," said Harold, clinging to his arm, 
 " I am in no danger ; but you are. What would 
 they do if you were taken } Go, and let me warn 
 John and the others ! " 
 
 " I dare not, Harold," replied Rupert, shaking 
 off his hand somewhat roughly. " I do thank 
 you, Harold, truly, but I dare not wait. Shall I 
 tell Sir John to make toward Altrincham } " 
 
 " Ay ; if you will. Hark ! I hear horse-hoofs 
 on the road ! I am grieved I wasted my pains on 
 you, if you are determined to be catched. Good- 
 night!" 
 
 Harold disappeared, and Rupert rushed through 
 the wood to give the alarm, blaming himself that 
 he had delayed so long. Mr. Day had not reached 
 the end of his discourse, but in less than five 
 minutes the congregation had dispersed, some 
 hiding in the woods and some hastening along 
 the roads toward their homes. The noisy shout- 
 ing and swearing of the constables and their 
 assistants gave warning of their approach long 
 before they reached the meeting place, for they 
 had stayed drinking in Horton till most of them 
 were far from sober. 
 
 Rupert and Obadiah, who had escaped together, 
 lay concealed in a ditch behind a hedge while the 
 whole cavalcade passed by. They were so close 
 
THE SERVICE IN THE WOOD. 
 
 185 
 
 that they could see their faces in the moonlight, 
 and in the young leader of the band Rupert rec- 
 ognized with a start the features of a friend of 
 Clive's. A painful suspicion crossed his mind, 
 but he put it away from him with horror. 
 
 "Satan divided against himself cannot stand," 
 muttered Kenrick with a grim smile. "Truly the 
 devil hath overreached himself in making his 
 ministers drunk with wine. They will be cruelly 
 troubled to keep their feet among the trees, and 
 are doubtless something blind and deaf as well. 
 None of the faithful will be taken this night. 
 Come, let us go our ways ; we may safely adven- 
 ture ourselves now on the highroad." 
 
 Kenrick was so convinced of the ineffectiveness 
 of the officers sent against them that he made 
 little haste. "They were fools to put such a 
 prating coxcomb as that young Lilley in charge ! " 
 he remarked after a while. "He hath neither wit 
 nor prudence, and thinketh of naught but how 
 he may deck out his poor, vile, dying body with 
 gauds and frippery. By the way, is he not well 
 acquainted with thy friend, Harold Clive } " 
 
 "He hath some acquaintance with him," ad- 
 mitted Rupert reluctantly. 
 
 "I thought as much. Mr. Clive and he were 
 drinking together in the window of that haunt of 
 iniquity, the Rose and Crown tavern, this very 
 evening. I saw them from my window ere I set 
 forth." 
 
 
 "A 
 
i86 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 " Harold Clive was never the worse for strong 
 drink in his life," said Rupert indignantly. " He 
 saith it is a brutal habit, unworthy of a gentle- 
 man." 
 
 " Nevertheless, my son, he was pledging Lilley 
 deep enough to-night. Had it not been for hav- 
 ing this business of godly Mr. Day in hand, I 
 would have gone in to them, and warned them of 
 their sin and folly. Doubtless it is to him, and 
 no other, we owe to-night's disturbance, and if I 
 were thee, Rupert, I would never more call myself 
 his friend. His professed affection for thee will 
 prove but like the kiss of Judas, for his heart is 
 filled with hate and treachery." 
 
 "Master Kenrick, you do him sore wrong. 
 He is of a most true and noble spirit." 
 
 " I saw him to-night, Rupert, riding off towards 
 Horton as the constables came up. It is he and 
 no other who hath betrayed us. Surely if I had 
 had a pistol at hand, I should have judged it right 
 to send a shot through him ; but he will not es- 
 cape, for the Lord hath sworn to be avenged upon 
 his enemies." 
 
 " Nay, you know not Clive. He came to warn 
 me to escape." 
 
 " Ay ; perchance the love he witnesseth for you 
 may not be wholly feigned; but did he not at 
 the same tim'e bid thee to make off silently and 
 secretly, and leave the poor oppressed people of 
 God to their fate ? " 
 
 '!i 
 
THE SERVICE IN THE WOOD. 
 
 187 
 
 " No," said Rupert triumphantly ; " he said not 
 a word of secrecy. He bade me make haste, and 
 offered to warn the rest himself." 
 
 "Well, that showeth nothing and is neither 
 here nor there. Some one hath betrayed us, and 
 who so likely as he, who hath discovered so bitter 
 a hatred to the ways of truth and holiness, and 
 hath so ready means of learning of our intended 
 meeting places.?" 
 
 " What do you mean } " 
 
 "Doth not Sir John Elmer hear of our plans.? 
 and doubtless he telleth his wife, the malignant's 
 daughter, and she telleth her brother. Were it 
 not that Sir John showeth so earnest desires to 
 throw off the galling yoke of the flesh, and to cast 
 in his lot with the true Israel, it would have been 
 but the part of prudence to hide from him our 
 gathering places ; but God forbid that we should 
 put a stumblingblock before the feet of one of 
 the babes in Christ ! Nevertheless, henceforth we 
 will require it of him to show our secret to nc 
 one, not even to the wife of his bosom, unless she 
 giveth signal proof of being convicted of her sins 
 and desiring to seek unto the Lord." 
 
 " But, Master Kenrick, you do not suppose that 
 Mr. Clive would play the informer for the sake of 
 the proffered reward } He hath so great wealth 
 at his command that those few poor pounds would 
 be nothing worth in his eyes, even were he ready 
 to do so vile a thing." 
 
 . 1! , 
 
 I 
 
 f 
 
 %mx 
 
 ^M 
 

 1 88 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 «' 
 
 That is as it niay be. They who have most 
 of this world's goods are ofttimes so greedy to 
 add to them that they are ready to sell their very 
 souls for aug!it the devil will pay, be the price 
 never so mean. But granted that young Clive be 
 not tempted by the gold, thinkest thou, my son, 
 that Satan' J wit could devise no other trap ? The 
 lust of revenge is full as fierce a passion as the 
 lust of gold." 
 
 '' Master Kenrick, once again I must answer 
 that I know Harold well, and a gentler and 
 sweeter soul never dwelt in human frame. At 
 times indeed it hath seemed to me that he is of 
 too tender and delicate a mold to do a man's 
 work in this rough world. It had been better for 
 him had he been born a maid, for talk of war and 
 bloodshed turns him faint, and though he knoweth 
 all tricks of fence that may be learned of the 
 court gallants in France as well as England, he 
 loveth the pen far better than the sword." 
 
 " Ay, my son ; and *t is just such an one who is 
 readiest to play the traitor. A bold man will 
 strive to slay his enemy in fair fight ; but such a 
 feeble, sickly lad as this Clive of thine must 
 needs turn to cunning to be avenged on his foes." 
 
 " Indeed, you wrong him ; besides, who amongst 
 us hath offended him ? " 
 
 " Thou wast not with us in the old barn two 
 days after Christmas then.?" 
 
 " No ; my broken arm still kept me to the house." 
 
THE SERVICE IN THE WOOD, 
 
 189 
 
 "Sir John brought the young fellow in his 
 company, and ere we parted, that saint in Israel, 
 Mr. Joshua Fenchurch, addressed to him a few 
 words of brotherly admonition. He had come to 
 the assembly tricked out in lace and satin and 
 shining trinkets of gold and gems, a very shame 
 to be seen ; but many an one of our foolish dam- 
 sels eyed his light vanities with fond admiration. 
 Mine own heart was burning to show him the 
 things profitable to his eternal peace ; but while I 
 waited the spirit of prophecy came on our beloved 
 brother Joshua, and with godly zeal he discovered 
 to him the folly of thus bedizening what shall soon 
 be food for worms, while grievously neglecting of 
 his soul. He read to him the apostle Peter's holy 
 admonitions to the gracious women of old, con- 
 cerning their outward adornment, — of wearing of 
 gold and putting on of apparel, — and entreated 
 him even with tears to strive rather for the pearl 
 of great price. But the young man turned a deaf 
 ear to his exhortations and heaped on him re- 
 proaches without measure, calling of him evil 
 names, such as * fool ' and * prating hypocrite * ! 
 I was convinced he would not rest till he had 
 done us some foul wrong, and this evening's work 
 hath justified my fears. None of our own com- 
 pany could have played the traitor." 
 
 "Till I have certain proof, Master Kenrick, I will 
 
 never believe that Clive hath committed so great 
 
 wickedness. He came for to give us warning! 
 n 
 
 ?r 1 
 
 ,f j; 1.1 
 
 !?•! 
 
 f 
 
IQO 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 Now good-night to you. I will strike home across 
 the fields." 
 
 " Nay, my son ; tarry at my poor house till day- 
 break ; then I will send thee away in peace." 
 
 " Thank you, Master Kenrick ; I cannot. They 
 will be troubled for my safety if I do not reach 
 home ere midnight." 
 
 The following morning was dull and cloudy, but 
 Madge had just set on the gruel and was stirring 
 it over the fire when she saw Clive ride past the 
 window and dismount in the yard. Hardly stop- 
 ping to knock he opened the door and came in. 
 " Is Rupert safe ? " he asked breathlessly. 
 
 " Yes, he is ; thanks to you ! It was truly noble 
 of you to take such care for them when they 
 would not heed your warnings. I trust that now 
 Ru will see the error of his ways." 
 
 " I much doubt it, Margery ; but as I lay awake 
 last night a brave plan occurred to me for carrying 
 of him away from these foolish fanatics for a sea- 
 son. I know not whether I have yet told you, 
 but I needs must go up to London shortly ; now 
 wherefore should not Rupert bear me company ? " 
 
 " Alas I it is a glorious scheme, but the expenses 
 would be too great." 
 
 "Nay, but, Madge, I would gladly bear the 
 charges for both, and I trust to you to set forth 
 the matter to your father in such fashion that he 
 will not refuse his consent." 
 
 " Indeed it would be the making of Ru. Who 
 
THE SERVICE IN THE WOOD, 
 
 191 
 
 knows but that he might get some officer's place 
 in the fleet?" 
 
 ** Yes, Margery ; this war time is the very chance 
 for him. Surely if he can but come at Prince 
 Rupert I doubt not but he will make him lieuten- 
 ant at the least, or mayhap captain, if he have 
 good luck." 
 
 "If he went, could you contrive it, Harold, 
 that he should have speech of the king?" 
 
 " Ay, Margery ; that would take small contriv- 
 ing. I have already kissed the king's hand, but I 
 would strive to have Rupert presented to him by 
 some great lord. That once accomplished, he is 
 free of Whitehall, and may see his majesty dance, 
 drink, dine, or have his wig curled, as it pleaseth 
 him. Methinks if Rupert have but common luck, 
 he will have some place at court or be appointed 
 to a ship ere the year be out." 
 
 " Indeed, Harold, I know not how we are to 
 thank you for your wondrous kindness" — 
 
 " Never mind thanks, Madge ; only get Rupert 
 to come with me. I desire it full as much for 
 mine own sake as his ; and go I must whether I 
 will or no — upon a mighty distasteful errand too." 
 
 " Hath your early ride given you hunger enough 
 to relish a dish of milk and gruel, Harold ? " asked 
 Madge as she lifted her pot from the fire. 
 
 " I never enjoy aught I get at Cressley so well 
 as your gruel, Madge," replied the young man 
 with a bow. 
 
 \ 
 
 It 
 
 ■l il 
 
 K % 
 
 ■n 
 
I 
 
 192 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 
 " Ah, I perceive that you are practicing of your 
 courtly compliments on me, that you may have a 
 rich supply of fine speeches for the great ladies." 
 
 " I care naught for any court dame of them all, 
 compared to you, Madge." 
 
 "Truly, Mr. Clive? but, surj, could you not 
 put your pretty vanities into verse? Methinks 
 they would appear excellently well in print, and 
 they are but wasted on a simple country maid 
 like me." 
 
 "Margery, when I come back you shall not 
 thus laugh at me." 
 
 "Nay; I think not of laughing at you. Per- 
 chance you will rival great Mr. Dryden himself, 
 and then all the world will know what sweet 
 poetry you can write ! " 
 
 "Methinks, Margery, your gruel is a-cooling 
 while we linger here. Shall I carry it in.?" 
 
 "Thank you; I will bring the milk and open 
 the door for you." 
 
 They were hardly seated at breakfast when 
 Clive propounded his scheme and eagerly asked 
 Mr. Staynor's consent to it. 
 
 " Nay ; indeed it would not be fair to put you 
 to so heavy charges." 
 
 "O grandfather," began Rupert eagerly, "in- 
 deed if Harold will lend the money to me, I will 
 repay it as soon as I can save it." 
 
 " Ay, that he can," cried Clive. " Now, sir, say 
 yes to my scheme. Mrs. Staynor, entreat him 
 
THB SERVICE IN THE WOOD, 
 
 »93 
 
 for us. Indeed, 't would be a kindness to me. I 
 am so lonesome, — for John is something elderly 
 and grave to be a brother to me, — and methinks 
 it might be the making of Rupert." 
 
 " Give us time to consider of it, young sir. We 
 all thank you for your generosity, but we must 
 not be overhasty. Are you sure that your own 
 business requires your journey, or is it solely to 
 do us service?" 
 
 "Indeed, sir, my guardian hath commanded 
 mine attendance on him," replied Clive ; but he 
 blushed so deeply that Madge, who had risen to 
 give him a second supply of gruel, said soft*!/, as 
 she set his plate, " Call you not that poet's license, 
 fair sir?" 
 
 "Can you not tarry to dine with us ?" said the 
 squire; "and you shall have our answer then. 
 Doth Sir John know of your intended journey ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; and he greatly approveth of my 
 asking Rupert to give me his company." 
 
 After breakfast Mr. Staynor called Rupert into 
 his own room, and Clive with another blush said 
 hastily, looking at Mrs. Staynor, " Methinks, 
 madam, there is no reason wherefore I should not 
 tell you of the cause for my Lord Enderby's per- 
 emptory commands to me to go up to London. It 
 is simply a precious scheme of his and John's for 
 wedding of me to the sole daughter and heiress of 
 Earl Shirley." 
 
 " Ah, my Lady Elmer spoke once to me as if 
 
 i 
 
 f'iii 
 
 'i* 
 
 ^ i 
 
 1 % 
 
 Hi 
 
194 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 you were soon to wed," said Mrs. Staynor. "I 
 wish you all joy and happiness, and trust that 
 your bride may be as good and fair as you 
 deserve." 
 
 "Nay, dear lady, you are something too soon 
 with your congratulations," replied Clive, half 
 smiling but evidently rather annoyed. " My Lady 
 Lilias is a pretty little maid enough, fair-haired 
 and blue-eyed, but she is barely nine years old. I 
 went to see her once to please my Lord Enderby 
 and mighty frighted she was of me ; perchance 
 they had told her that they designed to marry her 
 to me. I was but a boy then, and, little thinking 
 how great a matter they were thus settling for 
 me off-hand, I was content to do their will and 
 to wed without delay. Happily the little lady's 
 father was hard to please in the matter of the 
 settlements, and we were not even affianced. 
 Then I fell sick ; but now my lord hath written 
 me word that the matter is revived, and that my 
 Lord Shirley showeth more readiness than for- 
 merly to settle all as he desires. Nought will 
 serve but I must go to town to woo the bride 
 whom he hath chosen for me." 
 
 " Sure she cometh of a great and noble family, 
 and, if my memory serve me, they have ever been 
 true and loyal," remarked Mrs. Staynor. 
 
 "Ay; my Lord Shirley swears that the king can 
 do no wrong, and shuts his eyes to all the ill ways 
 the court hath brought from abroad, because he 
 
THE SERVICE IN THE WOOD. 
 
 195 
 
 cannot allow that aught is sinful or hateful but 
 rebellion. Between him and my Lord Enderby 
 I shall have a right pleasant visit ; but one thing 
 I know, they shall not force nor persuade nor 
 weary me into marrying of the little lady, for 
 when I wed it shall be to a bride of mine own 
 choice and with her own free will." 
 
 "A noble resolve, Mr. Clive," said Margery, 
 laughing. " 'T is high time to protest against the 
 tyranny of your guardian." 
 
 " Methinks, Margery, Mr. Clive will scarce care 
 for your opinion on this matter," said her mother 
 reprovingly. " Go, carry away those things from 
 the table." 
 
 Madge obeyed ; but long before dinner time 
 the lads sought her in the kitchen to tell her that 
 the squire had consented to Rupert's going, and 
 for the rest of the day they did little but discuss 
 the proposed journey in all its bearings, and make 
 wonderful plans for impressing the king with a 
 proper sense of Mr. Staynor's long-disregarded 
 services. 
 
 f 
 
 '^ I 
 
 \ 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HIS MAJESTY. 
 
 HALLOO, Rupert ! are you also buying of 
 books ? " 
 
 " Nay ; I saw you within, and have been wait- 
 ing here for full half an hour. Methought you 
 would never have done turning over those dusty 
 volumes." 
 
 " Where have you been, Ru } " 
 
 " Down to the victualing ships in the river 
 with Mr. Poyser. He saith he will see that my 
 letter to the prince miscarries not. Are you 
 ready .? Give me your books. It likes me better 
 to have something to carry." 
 
 " Nay ! you shall not be burdened with them. 
 I love this place ; yon old church looks down so 
 grim and peaceful on all the hurry and bustle 
 around it. Look ! Paternoster Row is something 
 more crowded than usual, despite this talk of the 
 plague upon us. Perchance the ladies are laying 
 in great store of silks and laces against their 
 flight." 
 
 "Methinks they have already begun to fly, 
 Harold. The streets are well-nigh choked with 
 
 196 
 
HIS MAJESTY, 
 
 197 
 
 coaches and wagons and servants. Are you tired ? 
 Shall I call a chair for you ? " 
 
 With an air of disgust and weariness, Clive was 
 picking his way slowly among the heaps of ashes 
 and refuse that defiled the rough pavement, while 
 loaded wagons and coaches rattled by, sometimes 
 barely leaving room to pass, for there was no 
 raised path for foot passengers then. He walked 
 as little in London as he could help, preferring 
 to travel either by coach or in a sedan chair, 
 though the latter mode of progression had much 
 amused Rupert. 
 
 "Indeed, Rupert, it is too hot to walk," he 
 replied. "Some chairs would not come amiss, 
 methinks; but I know not where we could get 
 them at this end of the town." 
 
 " I had rather travel afoot any day, Hal, than be 
 shut in one of those little boxes and be borne 
 along like an infant in arms. You know I made 
 trial of it the other night to please you ; but if 
 you choose to get one, I will walk alongside, for I 
 am not weary." 
 
 "Look ! there is an empty coach," said Clive as 
 they turned into Fleet Street. " I trust you will 
 condescend to bear me company in that." 
 
 There were no windows to the vehicle, but air 
 and light were adipitted in bad weather through 
 spaces closed by panels, and the lads, who were 
 never weary of the strange sights and sounds of 
 the city, leaned out to watch the passing crowds. 
 
 i ! 
 
 I I 
 
198 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 The scene that met their eyes was as unlike 
 modern London as that is unlike Jerusalem or Can- 
 ton. Tall, irregularly built, many-gabled houses 
 of wood and plaster with projecting bulkheads 
 darkened the ill-paved street, while overhead 
 hung a strange profusion of signs, some mere 
 pictures, and others rude and gaudily painted im- 
 ages of birds, animals, and fabulous monsters. 
 Angels and dragons, bears and lions, crows and 
 cranes, oak trees and palms, painted red, blue, and 
 green, or liberally gilded, creaked and swung from 
 projecting poles over the roofs of the open stalls 
 where the shopkeepers displayed their various 
 wares. The diamond-paned windows of the upper 
 stories were placed at random in any position 
 which had suited the fancy or convenience of 
 the builder, without regard to any principle of 
 outward uniformity. 
 
 Picturesque as it was. Fleet Street would seem 
 mean and dismal in modern eyes; but it was 
 nothing to some of the alleys that opened into it, 
 for not a few of the overhanging upper stories 
 nearly met across the streets, and God's good air 
 and sunshine were alike shut out from the stifling 
 courts below. 
 
 The coach shook and rattled over the pavement 
 till it seemed in danger of falling to pieces, yet 
 the crowd of vehicles pouring out of the town 
 forced them to move slowly. More than once 
 they passed a group of children collected at the 
 
HIS MAJESTY. 
 
 199 
 
 mouth of some grim alley about a man with a 
 dancing bear or a box of puppets, and several 
 times their way was absolutely stopped by dense 
 crowds of men and women gathered round some 
 quack doctor crying his wares. 
 
 As they approached the quaint wooden gateway 
 of Temple Bar, their carriage was stopped by one 
 of these blockades, for a peculiarly daring mounte- 
 bank had contrived by some means to scramble on 
 to the sloping roof above the archways and was 
 boldly haranguing the people from this point of 
 vantage on the virtues of " the only true plague- 
 water," which he declared to be an absolute pre- 
 ventive of infection. 
 
 " Where are the watchmen .? " cried Clive. 
 "Why doth not some one give him in charge? 
 Look! he is scaring the senses out of those 
 mad brutes in front. I am frighted every mo- 
 ment lest they should back yon great chariot 
 upon us." 
 
 It would indeed have been a serious matter, for 
 the great gilded coach in question was a tremen- 
 dously heavy unwieldy structure. Its slightly 
 rounded ^'>of was of great width and height, and, 
 though its sides curved inwards towards the bot- 
 tom, it was large enough to seat six or eight per- 
 sons besides the coachman. Its four well-fed 
 spirited horses pranced and plunged and reared 
 and backed, to the peril of the crowd which 
 choked the narrow archways, but overhead the 
 
 ! :Ji 
 
200 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 
 quack still shrieked out the virtues of his " infal- 
 lible remedy." 
 
 "Methinks," said Rupert, "I would as soon 
 poison myself at once as swallow the strange 
 waters and medicines recommended by such idle 
 vagrants as yon shouting fellow. If I have seen 
 one this day, I have seen a dozen, each with a 
 great press of poor deluded fools around him in 
 mighty horror of the plague, and ready to give 
 their last penny to be secured from the infection." 
 
 "I wonder if it be really so much to be 
 dreaded," said Clive thoughtfully. "At court this 
 morning, even in his majesty's dressing room, 
 there was no talk of aught but the distemper, 
 and of the means by which one may hope to 
 escape." 
 
 " It is far worse Westminster way than in the 
 city. When I first set out this morning I saw 
 several houses shut up, not far from the court 
 either. Methinks, Harold, we had better travel 
 home betimes, as soon as we can conclude our 
 business here, lest we should be stayed by some 
 accident." 
 
 " 'T is strange, Rupert, by what mischances you 
 have been prevented getting speech of the king. 
 Now had you gone to Whitehall this morning, as 
 I desired, you could have told him all." 
 
 " I am grieved, Harold, that I followed not your 
 advice ; but I hoped to have seen the prince. 
 However, to-morrow I will go with you to the tennis 
 
HIS MAJESTY, 
 
 20I 
 
 court. Ah, now we are moving on again ; but 
 look ! the crowd beyond the gate is nothing less." 
 
 Indeed the farther they went west the more 
 crowded were the streets with wagons heaped 
 high with Lousehold goods, immense coaches, and 
 horses loaded with huge packs ; and as they drew 
 near the great houses in the Strand, they saw that 
 many of their inhabitants were also preparing for 
 flight, for trunks and boxes were being loaded on 
 carts or carried by porters towards the river. 
 
 "Look at yon bills on the wall, Harold," said 
 Rupert. "Even from here I can read in great 
 capitals, * Royal Antidote,' * Never-failing Cordial,* 
 and * Plague,* * Infection,* and what not. Methinks 
 the town is running stark mad in its terror.'* 
 
 " It turns me well-nigh sick. Pah ! Rupert, can 
 you not talk of aught else.? I always take any 
 disease that is in the air." 
 
 "Then, Harold, let us leave town to-morrow." 
 
 " Nay ; not to-morrow. I have promised my 
 Lord Enderby to tarry here for him till Thursday. 
 Had he not fallen sick he would have come hither 
 a month ago, and this wearisome business of my 
 marrying might have been brought to an end." 
 
 "I met my Lady Shirley yesterday, Harold, and 
 she told me they were leaving town to-day. She 
 bade me warn you also to be gone." 
 
 " Was my Lady Lilias with her } " 
 
 " Ay ; at least there was a pretty, fair-haired 
 little maid leaning back in the coach whom I took 
 
 ii; 
 
202 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 for her. The countess is a noble and stately lady, 
 and seemeth to take a wondrous interest in you." 
 Clive shrugged his shoulders and Rupert contin- 
 ued with some hesitation : " She gave me an- 
 other message to you, but I scarce know how to 
 deliver it." 
 
 " Nay ; out with it, man ! I daresay it will not 
 hurt me." 
 
 " It was that it grieved her sore to hear of you 
 so often in the company of Sir William Wayne 
 and my Lord Redwood and " — 
 
 " My Lady Shirley is something presumptuous 
 to strive as yet to direct mine actions." 
 
 " Ay, but, Clive, indeed she is right ! " cried 
 Rupert eagerly. " It is little more than an hour 
 ago since I saw Sir William playing the fool at 
 the Angel Inn on Thames Street, in the midst of 
 a crew of lads as grievously drunken as himself. 
 I would that you would break with them, Harold, 
 for they will surely lead you into wrong." 
 
 " No man need drink and play against his will, 
 Rupert. Indeed, it pleaseth me ill enough to see 
 them make fools of themselves ; but at most times 
 I have a most joyous, merry time with them, Tor 
 they are wondrous witty and amusing. It is not 
 as if I were unable to withstand the temptation 
 to such excesses ; methinks indeed to indulge in 
 too much wine is little temptation to me." 
 
 Rupert looked uncomfortable, but said slowly : 
 "Surely, Harold, I used to think so; but three 
 
 ; : 
 
HIS MAJESTY, 
 
 203 
 
 nights out of the last seven you have talked 
 something idle on your return, and last night your 
 fellow and I were fain to carry you upstairs. Me- 
 thinks you would scarce have cared for my Lady 
 Elmer to have seen you so." 
 
 Clive bit his lip and turned away ; but, having 
 broken the ice, Rupert was determined to finish 
 what he had to say : — 
 
 "The doctors think, Harold, that the drunken 
 and intemperate will be visited by this sickness, 
 whoever escapes. Oh, I wish you would promise 
 me to have no more dealings with my Lord 
 Redwood." 
 
 " They laugh at you, Rupert, for a faint heart 
 and a craven — forgive me for saying so. Here 
 we are in Bow Street, and that is Will's Coffee- 
 house at the comer with the sign of the cow. 
 Will you come up with me.^" 
 
 "Thank you," said Rupert; "it would like 
 me much." 
 
 Ordering his coachman to wait, Clive led 
 his friend upstairs, for the ground floor of the 
 building was occupied by a haberdasher, whose 
 gay displays of millinery and ribbons attracted 
 many a fine lady and fashionable young gentle- 
 man to the neighborhood of the famous coffee- 
 house. 
 
 When Clive opened the door Rupert found 
 himself in a thick cloud of tobacco smoke, for 
 every one who was not absolutely talking had a 
 
 ;<??' 
 
 1*! 
 
 :l: 
 
 1\\ 'a 
 

 i 
 
 204 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 pipe in his mouth, and the sound of many voices 
 was almost as confusing to the ears as the smoke 
 was to the eyes. He had never before been in a 
 room in which there was such a great variety in 
 the dresses and seemingly in the social position 
 of the occupants. Clergymen in neat and sober 
 black sat chatting with gallants in all the colors 
 of the rainbow. In the center of the room a 
 nobleman with a star on his breast was earnestly 
 discussing the deplorable state of the fleet with a 
 group of enthusiastic politicians, while in the cor- 
 ner a poor scholar whose ragged garments would 
 hardly hang together was enjoying a steaming 
 cup of coffee and sharply criticizing a young 
 Templar's Latin verses. 
 
 "Mr. Forsyth," said Clive, stepping up to a 
 table where a young man was reading a long, 
 closely written manuscript, with a rather quiz- 
 zical expression, "hath Mr. Dryden come hither 
 to-day ? " 
 
 Thrusting his papers into the pocket of his 
 vest, Forsyth rose and, holding out his hand, said : 
 " No ; his great chair yonder is empty. Have 
 you never seen him, Mr. Clive } " 
 
 " I have never spoken with him. This is the 
 friend of whom I have told you, Mr. Forsyth. 
 He had some curiosity concerning this place." 
 
 "Are you too a poet, sir.?" asked Forsyth, 
 turning to Rupert with a bow. 
 
 " No, no, sir. I had rather be soldier, sailor — 
 
th. 
 
 HIS MAJESTY^ 
 
 205 
 
 anything — than poet. I leave all such things 
 to Harold Clive here." 
 
 Clive colored as Forsyth smiled and said : " I 
 thought so. Few care to come hither twice save 
 those who are ambitious of becoming wits and 
 poets themselves." 
 
 *• I know not whether I shall ever be a poet or 
 no," Harold said frankly ; " but of this I am as- 
 sured, that to be aught else would not like me half 
 so well. Think you," he added, "that Mr. Dryden 
 would condescend to glance over a few short 
 verses and give me his opinion of them "i " 
 
 " I know not, fair sir. There would be no 
 harm in asking it of him ; he could but refuse 
 at the worst, and I doubt not that many another 
 poet might be eager for the honor." 
 
 " Have you any acquaintance with one Mr. 
 Westerley ? He hath craved permission to dedi- 
 cate a volume of his poems to me." 
 
 " Ah ! then he would doubtless be happy to 
 read your poem." 
 
 " But hath he good judgment } " 
 
 "Good judgment.? Nay; I presume not to 
 pronounce an; opinion on so delicate a matter. 
 Methinks, fair sirs, we should find it cooler in 
 the balcony." 
 
 They were hardly seated there when Forsyth 
 said : " Look, Mr. CHve : is not that your old 
 friend } Methinks he is seeking you.' 
 
 " I will speak to him," said Harold. 
 14 
 
 >> 
 
 . 'i'l 
 if 
 
 I 
 
 Mil 
 
 m 
 
206 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 1 
 
 ! 
 
 11 
 
 As he crossed the room Forsyth watched him 
 gravely, then turned to find Rupert studying him. 
 His face was pleasant in spite of its plainness, 
 and a very merry smile sometimes lit up his 
 deep-set brown eyes. His sallow complexion, high 
 cheekbones, rather wide mouth, and long nose 
 slightly turned up at the point, all contributed to 
 give an oddity to his appearance, which was in- 
 creased by the length of his limbs and the ex- 
 treme narrowness of his shoulders. His head, 
 with its closely cropped dark hair, looked ridic- 
 ulously small to eyes used to the enormous 
 periwig, while the severe plainness of his brown 
 suit of clothes added to his appearance of being 
 ''length without breadth." 
 
 " Good sir, are you also among the poets ^ " 
 asked Rupert hastily, to cover his own confusion. 
 
 " No ; I aspire not so high. My work, though 
 done with pen and ink, is that of the very hum- 
 blest servant of the muses. In truth I am by 
 profession a surgeon, but having neither practice 
 nor money to purchase interest in one, my bread 
 is chiefly earned by making of translations of 
 Greek and Latin authors for the booksellers, and 
 of indexes for the lean ed gentlemen of the Royal 
 Society. Having live* long about the town, and 
 having thus excellent oportunities for the hear- 
 ing of all kinds of rumi s and tidings, I also write 
 news-letters for several oble gentlemen in various 
 parts of the kingdom." 
 
1 1 
 
 HIS MAJESTY, 
 
 207 
 
 " Is it not a hard life, or are you well able thus 
 to gain a sufficiency ? Perchance, though, I should 
 beg your pardon for thus» prying into your private 
 business?" 
 
 " Nay ; the life likes me well enough. It hath 
 its pleasant sides, and erelong I shall, I trust, be 
 able to live solely for my profession. My mother 
 was left a widow before I entered my second year, 
 and having been a laundry maid before she was 
 wedded she returned to her old trade and kept us 
 both in food and clothing : for my father, a poor 
 country parson, had left us nothing but a few 
 old Latin books. But perhaps these details weary 
 you, sir ? " 
 
 '' Nay ; indeed I am singularly interested. Pray 
 continue." 
 
 " When I was old enough to be put to school, 
 my friends made interest to have me educated 
 free, and afterwarcs I went to Oxford as a servi- 
 tor. I profess to you my life here seems easy and 
 honorable enough after that. But what matters 
 it? I gained my degree and some considerable 
 knowledge of the learned tongues. Next I set 
 myself to study medicine, teaching Greek and 
 Latin the while for my bread, and for the past 
 two years my mother and I have dwelt in Maiden 
 Lane, and a few poor folk have come to me for 
 physic. Methinks in these coming weeks I shall 
 have enough to do, however, for I have to-day 
 
 1 ,1 
 
 iifli 
 
 i \ 
 
 u 
 
 
208 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 i:i 
 
 received the appointment of surgeon to the pest- 
 house in Westminster." 
 
 " Sure it will be very dangerous ! " 
 
 " There is some danger, but I may live through 
 it ; and if I die, 't will be in the path at once of 
 mine own choosing and of God's sending. All 
 that grieveth me is the thought of my mother, 
 for she would be entirely alone." 
 
 At that moment Clive and the old poet came 
 from the private room where they had been read- 
 ing the elabon '5 and extravagant dedication. 
 Forsyth watched the young man attentively and 
 said to his companion, " I like not that old fellow ; 
 I fear much that he is trying to make a fool ol 
 your friend. Look how he stands cap in hand, 
 bowing and- scraping with every word he utters, 
 as if to humble himself to the very earth." 
 
 Harold hardly seemed to know how to dismiss 
 his complimentary old friend. Rupert had never 
 seen him look so embarrassed and uncomfortable 
 before ; but at last Mr. Westerley made his con- 
 cluding obeisarce and departed, and Clive came 
 out on the balcony. 
 
 " Mr. Westerley is an excellent man at a 
 dedication," remarked Forsyth dryly. " He gives 
 better measure and more handsome compliments 
 than any other man I knov/ ; but if my question 
 be not impertinent, what will it please you to pay 
 for all that .? " 
 
 To pay } What mean you, sir ? " 
 
 ((' 
 
HIS MAJESTY, 
 
 209 
 
 a' 
 
 The least he will expect is a purse of gold." 
 
 " Then he shall have it, on condition that he 
 presumes not to print his dedication. I thought 
 — I thought — well none other man shall address 
 such foolery to me," said Harold, beginning to 
 think that after all his flattery was empty non- 
 sense. 
 
 " Be not so hasty, sir. I have heard that the 
 king himself thinks such handsome eulogies worth 
 a good round sum at times. Besides 'twill be 
 your own, honestly bought and paid for." 
 
 "It is sickening ! " cried Harold. " I should not 
 have thought he could be so insincere " — he 
 began, but stopped, remembering that when the 
 old man had praised him for the beauty of Apollo 
 and the wisdom of Solomon he could hardly ex- 
 pect that any one in his sober senses would 
 understand him literally. 
 
 " Mr. Westerley doubtless meant to please you, 
 and methought at first he had succeeded." 
 
 Ciive frowned. "Do you take me for a fool, 
 sir.?" 
 
 Forsyth did uot venture on a direct answer, but 
 said, " These poets are ever in pressing need of 
 money, sir, and when a young rich gentleman, 
 and an admirer of letters like yourself, comes 
 amongst them, it will go hard with them if they 
 do not share his wealth. If I were you, I would 
 shun all writers like the plague." 
 
 Harold was not pleased at this plain speaking. 
 
 ;<P 
 
 
2IO 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 I r 
 
 i 
 
 but it was too true. The poets of *that age were, 
 as a rule, both poor and improvident, and writing 
 fulsome dedications to the rich patrons of litera- 
 ture was a recognized method of increasing their 
 scanty incomes. 
 
 Harold declared that his business at the coffee- 
 house was concluded and asked Rupert to ac- 
 company him home, bidding Forsyth farewell with 
 rather less cordiality than he had shown at first. 
 
 They dismissed the coach at Charing Cross, for 
 their lodgings were close at hand, and Harold 
 proposed that they should go into the park and 
 endeavor to speak to the king, if he happened to 
 be at his favorite pastime of pell-mell. 
 
 The hot afternoon sun poured down on the 
 white floor of powdered cockleshells on which 
 the game was played, but several gentlemen of 
 the court, having thrown off coats and waistcoats, 
 were hard at work with mallet and ball, and Ru- 
 pert lingered to watch them. 
 
 " It seems a noble game," he said at last. 
 
 "Ay; but it is too hard exercise for a June 
 day," replied Clive. "To me it seemeth useless 
 to put so much force into mere sport." 
 
 "Well, every man to his own humor," said a 
 voice behind them ; " for mine own particular the 
 game likes me well." 
 
 Rupert turned and looked the stranger full in 
 the face, astonished at his taking the liberty of 
 thus joining in their conversation. The man was 
 
ili, 
 
 mS MAJESTY. 
 
 211 
 
 ipi 
 
 a 
 be 
 
 well dressed, and an elaborately curled periwig 
 fell on his shoulders, from beneath a broad hat 
 richly decorated with dark plumes. Rupert had 
 only had time for one glance in which he gained a 
 confused impression of soft dark eyes, black brows, 
 a long straight nose, and a peculiarly heavy under 
 lip, when Clive's unusual behavior claimed his 
 attention. Instead of resenting the stranger's 
 words as an intrusion, he made his deepest rev- 
 erence, and then stood bareheaded, as if humbly 
 awaiting his commands. So far from following 
 his example, Rupert glanced from one to the 
 other in such evident surprise that the stranger 
 laughed outright, saying, " Mr. Clive, wherefore 
 do you not present your friend to me.?" 
 
 "His name, may it please your majesty, is 
 Rupert Staynor," said Clive, who had been mak- 
 ing agonized signs to Rupert to take off his hat 
 from the moment of the king's appearance. Now 
 to his great relief his friend removed it with haste, 
 and making even a deeper bow than his own, rev- 
 erently kissed the hand which Charles extended 
 to him. 
 
 " You are then a son of mine old friend, Richard 
 Staynor.?" 
 
 "His grandson, may it please your majesty." 
 
 " Is he well, and his heroic lady } Ah, her 
 noble defense of th'e abbey might put many an 
 old soldier to the blush ! If the same bold spirit 
 had animated all our gentlemen, methinks we 
 
 ■ 
 
 
212 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 should never have come to so grievous a pass. 
 Shall you tarry long here, young sir?" 
 
 " I am come up, your majesty, to see whether 
 there be any chance for me in the navy." 
 
 " There is ever room for bold active young fel- 
 lows in that service," said the king. "Ah, well 
 played, my lord! " 
 
 " May it please your majesty," began Rupert, 
 stammering painfully, "our house — and our for- 
 tunes were alike ruined in the troubles, and — 
 my grandfather is in present danger of — of the 
 debtor's prison. He lost much" — 
 
 "I know it, Mr. Staynor, none better," said 
 Charles, beginning to move away. "Your busi- 
 ness shall be looked into immediately, and I doubt 
 not that something can be done for you. Good- 
 day, fair sirs." 
 
 Rupert was disappointed. He had hoped so 
 much from an interview with the king. "What 
 grieveth me," he said to Clive, "is that I could 
 find no words to say to him what I meant." 
 
 "Let us go to the gardens," said Clive. "I 
 promised my Lord Redwood to meet him by the 
 dial at five of the clock. Methinks, Rupert, you 
 have little cause to be grieved. The king denied 
 not that he was greatly beholden to you, and pro- 
 fessed his desire to serve you." 
 
 Rupert shook his head, saying, "Would you 
 mind, Harold, if I returned home } " 
 
 "Nay; do a? you please." 
 
 :,kj 
 

 V'« 
 
 II 
 
 Rui>b:rt's Interview with the King. 
 
 \i 
 
 if 
 
 u 
 
 •K 
 
! 
 
 I 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 COURT GALLANTS. 
 
 CLIVE wandered by the rivulet that ran 
 through the Privy Gardens for nearly ten 
 minutes, then began a careful examination of the 
 bronze and marble statues that adorned the stiff 
 walks and square terraces, returning every few 
 minutes to the neighborhood of the great stone 
 dial, which now threw the shadows of its four 
 fingers towards the west. 
 
 At last he left the garden and walked slowly 
 past the galleries where the gentlemen of the 
 court loitered away so many hours, and past the 
 noble banqueting hall which not many years 
 before had witnessed the strange sight of the 
 execution of a king. The afternoon sun shone 
 brightly on the battlements and on the four 
 octagonal turrets of the great gateway before him, 
 lighting up the contrasting colors of its checkered 
 stonework and bringing out the natural tints and 
 rich gilding of the busts that adorned the spaces 
 between the small-paned windows of the towers. 
 Here and there the shadow of some projecting 
 piece of masonry gave relief to the eye, while the 
 
 213 
 
 M 
 
 iji 
 
 i i' 
 
214 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 : V 
 
 M[ 
 
 deep shade within the archways seemed to prom- 
 ise coolness and comfort beyond. Through the 
 broad, rounded central gateway, gilded coaches 
 rolled with a hollow echo, while foot passengers 
 in attire as gay as the plumage of tropical birds 
 appeared and disappeared in the shadows of the 
 narrow pointed arches under the towers. 
 
 Harold felt tired and languid with the heat, 
 and, having nothing particular to do, he indulged 
 his laziness and moved so slowly and stopped so 
 often that more than one stranger fancied him ill 
 and crossed over to the other side of the way to 
 avoid passing him close, lest he infect them with 
 the dreaded plague. 
 
 Just as he reached the gateway, however, a 
 young man came out of the tennis court near by, 
 and hurrying after him clapped him on the shoul- 
 der, exclaiming, " Halloo, M*-. Clive ! do you call 
 this keeping of your word.? Here have I been 
 loitering in the tennis court for two good hours 
 waiting for you." 
 
 " The tennis court } Nay ! *t was by the dial in 
 the gardens we agreed to meet. It is I who have 
 cause to blame you. I was there before five of 
 the clock." 
 
 Lord Redwood shook his head. " Nay," he per- 
 sisted, " the mistake is yours. Methinks, Hal, you 
 were something overcome with wine last night." 
 
 "/.'" cried Clive, trying to shake off his 
 friend's arm. '^You were, that I well know." 
 
COURT GALLANTS, 
 
 215 
 
 " Nay ; ask your friend, that most sober and 
 puritanical young preacher; he will tell you that 
 your head was none of the clearest ! Ay, he 
 looked properly shocked, I promise you. Me- 
 thought he would have given you a lecture on 
 the 'vile sin of drunkenness.*" 
 
 Clive's cheeks flushed, and his friend said 
 sneeringly, "Nay, never blush for it. We have 
 all been a little over merry at times, I dare swear 
 — your sanctified friend, doubtless, as well as 
 another. By the way, Hal, it would be glorious 
 sport to make him 'merry with wine.' Would he 
 take to exhorting of us for our sins, think you } or 
 would he set a-psalm-singing ? Make him come 
 with you to-night. I promise you we will do the 
 young coxcomb no hurt." 
 
 " He *s not so great a fool as to come." 
 
 " Is he not } Perchance he *s afraid. Come, 
 Hal, do ask him." 
 
 " I tell you he will not come." 
 
 " Methinks you don't want him to come, lest he 
 should strive to keep you in order. I know you 
 are mighty frighted of him. Why, last night 
 he but said ' Harold ! * to you in a kind of holy 
 horror, and you well-nigh fell a-weeping;" and 
 Lord Redwood laughed again more loudly than 
 before. 
 
 " You lie ! " cried Clive, laying his hand on his 
 sword. 
 
 " Nay, man, I did but jest. Only, think you it 
 
 I ': 
 
^" 
 
 2l6 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 is treating the young fellow with common civility 
 to leave him moping at home while you go off 
 enjoying of yourself ? " 
 
 " I know not whether I shall join you myself ; I 
 feel something indisposed." 
 
 " Nonsense, Hal ! you are nervous. Make up 
 your mind you won't be ill and then you won't. 
 Pah ! all this talk of sickness and death is enough 
 to give one the horrors. You can go nowhere 
 without hearing of incessant talk of the plague — 
 that is what ails you." 
 
 "Well, my lord, where are you going this 
 evening } " 
 
 "What think you of going to see *The Mer- 
 maid ' at the Duke's Playhouse ? The playhouses 
 are like to be shut up on account of the sickness 
 full soon, so we must even make the best of them 
 now. Then come home and sup with me. Wayne 
 and the rest are coming." 
 
 " Then I '11 come," said Clive, longing to refuse, 
 but fearing lest he should be laughed at. 
 
 " And you '11 bring Mr. Rupert Staynor } " 
 
 " If he chooseth to come. Good-day." 
 
 As he entered St. Martin's Lane he saw a man 
 fastening the dreadful red cross on the door of a 
 house at the corner, and like the rest of the pas- 
 sengers he crossed to the other side of the street 
 to avoid it. 
 
 Rupert was writing at the table, and Clive flung 
 himself down on a lounge and lay for some 
 
COURT GALLANTS, 
 
 217 
 
 minutes without speaking. At last he remarked 
 slowly, " My Lord Redwood desired me to beg of 
 you to join us to-night at the playhouse, and to 
 sup at his house." 
 
 Rupert looked at his friend with a rather anx- 
 ious, meditative expression; then said, ''I think 
 it not right to go to the playhouse, Harold ; but 
 as my Lord Redwood is so kind, I will gladly join 
 you at supper. His house is on the Strand, is it 
 not.?" 
 
 The fact was that Rupert had begun to think 
 during the last few days that he had been keeping 
 very badly the promise he had made to Edith, 
 when he bade her farewell, to take good care of 
 Harold. When he had made it, he had thought 
 chiefly of his friend's bodily health and comfort ; 
 but now he knew that London was full of dangers 
 to soul as well as body. 
 
 Clive was ill pleased at his ready acceptance of 
 Lord Redwood's treacherous invitation ; but from 
 motives of delicacy he never liked to attempt to 
 influence Rupert's choice in any way while he was 
 so dependent upon him. No more was said on 
 the subject and soon afterwards Clive sent for a 
 chair and dressed to go out. 
 
 Rupert looked at his attire with amused interest 
 when he came in to give him full directions how 
 to find Lord Redwood's house. His curled and 
 powdered periwig was delicately scented, and fell 
 from beneath a broad hat of deep red velvet. 
 
 
 
 T-i 
 
 I 
 
 i m 
 
 m 
 
 
2l8 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT* S NAMESAKE. 
 
 i\ \ 
 
 IM 
 
 I 
 
 "i 
 
 shaded with plumes of the palest blue. His short 
 blue coat, braided with silver, revealed a much- 
 ruffled shirt as soft and fine as silk. His trowsers, 
 close fitting to the knees, were trimmed with wide 
 frills of silver lace, while over them he wore a 
 short skirt or kilt fantastically adorned with puff- 
 ings of blue satin. White silk stockings and low 
 shoes tied with blue ribbons were on his feet, and 
 in his hand he carried a pair of fringed and 
 scented gloves. A short silk coat lined with crim- 
 son velvet hung from one shoulder, and from an 
 embroidered sash was suspended a sword, of 
 which the hilt glistened with gems. 
 
 "Shall you take coach to-night V asked Rupert. 
 
 "No; my man hath called a chair. Not a 
 coach was to be had for love or money, though 
 he went all the way to the Maypole seeking of 
 
 one. 
 
 >» 
 
 His bearers had hardly reached the end of the 
 street when a most terrible wailing and shrieking 
 startled them, and setting the chair down they 
 fled in haste up a narrow alley, crying out, " The 
 plague ! the plague ! " Trembling in every limb, 
 Harold opened the door to see what w;is the mat- 
 cer. The screams and shrieks proceeded from the 
 open window of the house which he had seen 
 marked that day with the red cross, but the door 
 was now unfastened, and a man in white night- 
 clothes was trying to pass the watchman, shouting 
 wildly in delirium. 
 
w 
 
 COURT GALLANTS. 
 
 219 
 
 For a moment the guard succeeded in prevent- 
 ing his escape by a dexterous use of the long 
 staff he carried, but only for a moment. Wild 
 with pain and terror the sufferer pushed the 
 watchman aside, and rushed shrieking toward the 
 river, while overhead the dismal cries sounded 
 louder. 
 
 Faint and sick, Harold leaned back in the chair, 
 scarcely remembering where he was till a sudden 
 jolt brought back his senses, and he knew that his 
 bearers had returned. Then he threw open the 
 panels for air, and for an instant took comfort in 
 the thought of being alone no longer, till he 
 found that the fellows were telling dismal stories 
 of the horrors of being " shut up." 
 
 That night he could neither listen to the play 
 nor to Lord Redwood's jests, for he was haunted 
 by gruesome fears of the pestilence, and by recol- 
 lections of his sister and Madge, neither of whom, 
 he began to think, he would ever see again. He 
 wished that he had not been so weak and wicked 
 as to join his present companions, for he knew as 
 surely as any one could tell him that he could not 
 resist their evil influence. Even now when he 
 opened his mouth it was to swear like the others, 
 and to mock (though it seemed against his will) at 
 all worth and goodness. Oh, why had he asked 
 Rupert to meet them } What if he fell into the 
 same sins.^ and he could scarcely hope that he 
 would escape, for he knew that his companions 
 15 
 
 % 
 i ^1 
 
 
 ni 
 

 iv 
 11 
 
 !20 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 ill 
 I! 
 
 
 
 
 \: \ 
 
 
 if . 
 
 9 
 
 
 1 
 
 1 ' 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 \ 
 
 \\ 
 
 
 were plotting to force the lad to drink and swear 
 with them. 
 
 The play was a long one, but soon after nine 
 Lord Redwood's guests were assembled at his 
 beautiful house in the Strand, round a table heaped 
 with delicacies. Clive was miserable, for Rupert 
 had come ; but he tried to drown his remorse and 
 wretchedness in the wine which their host pressed 
 on them all. The memory of that corpse-like fig- 
 ure maddened with pain haunted him, a very skele- 
 ton at the feast ; but the wine seemed to warm his 
 blood and cheer his heart, and soon he was sing- 
 ing and shouting louder than any of the rest. 
 
 Presently a clear rich voice rang through the 
 room singing one of the sweet old songs that had 
 so often sounded amongst the abbey ruins, and 
 with a tremendous effort he stilled himself to lis- 
 ten. He knew that it was Rupert, he saw his 
 eyes fixed on him in sad reproach, and with half- 
 maudlin penitence he burst into tears while the 
 room rang with the plaudits of his companions. 
 Shouts of coarse laughter mocked his misery, and 
 in fierce resentment he flew madly on his nearest 
 neighbor and tried to throw him down. Some 
 one separated them, and he found himself strug- 
 gling feebly in the grasp of several of his friends, 
 while Rupert begged him to come home. The 
 jeering tongues of Lord Redwood and Sir Wil- 
 liam Wayne added their mocking entreaties to 
 him *' to go quietly home like a dear good child," 
 
COURT GALLANTS. 
 
 221 
 
 the 
 bad 
 and 
 
 Us- 
 
 his 
 
 half- 
 the 
 ons. 
 and 
 .rest 
 ome 
 rug- 
 nds, 
 The 
 Wil- 
 s to 
 aid," 
 
 and shaking Rupert off, he followed the others to 
 another room overlooking the gardens, where the 
 gentle wash of the river against its banks sounded 
 pleasantly from the darkness. Great wax candles 
 in silver sconces filled the chamber with mellow 
 light ; rare statues and pictures decked each nook 
 and corner ; luxurious couches tempted the idle 
 with their velvet cushions ; vases of sweet-scented 
 roses perfumed the air, and from the dusky garden 
 rose the melodious notes of a harp. 
 
 Excited and miserable as he was, Clive felt for 
 a moment the sweet influences of this palace of 
 pleasure, and flinging himself on a couch he tried 
 to listen to the rippling music and the soft sounds 
 of the water ; but he had not been thus in quiet 
 for five minutes when Lord Redwood forcibly 
 dragged him from his resting place and pushed 
 him into a chair at the card table. 
 
 Rupert refused to play, and remonstrated with 
 his host on thus treating a reluctant guest, but 
 in vain. They scoffed at his hypocrisy, as they 
 called it, and sneered at nim for "living like a 
 beggar on other men's charity." The lad's cheeks 
 flushed, but he kept his seat among them and 
 replied neither by word nor look, for Clive was 
 still at the cards and playing so ill that his oppo- 
 nents soo*^ "von every gold piece in his possession. 
 
 " Now, rial, come away," he said at last, when 
 Clive left the table ; " you are in no state to play 
 with them." 
 
222 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 Mil! 
 
 11 
 
 " You ranting, psalm-singing fanatic, dare you 
 say I played unfairly ? " cried Sir William. 
 
 " I say nothing, sir," replied Rupert, taking 
 Clive's arm ; and adding as he bowed to Lord 
 Redwood, "We thank you, my lord, for your 
 hospitality." 
 
 "What, Mr. Clive, will you be ruled by yon 
 young cub?" 
 
 " Let go mine arm ! " cried Clive angrily ; and 
 failing to shake himself free, he suddenly lifted his 
 other hand, and gave Rupert a blow on the cheek. 
 Rupert dropped his arm as if he had been shot, 
 and half drew his sword, while a wild shout of 
 laughter echoed through the room ; but Clive was 
 for the moment sobered, and looked sorry and 
 ashamed. 
 
 "Ay, Mr. Staynor, that's right," said Lord 
 Redwood. " No gentleman can take such a blow 
 as that unavenged. You are bound to fight, unless 
 he will apologize ! " 
 
 " I *d never apologize, Hal, if I were you," cried 
 Wayne. "The young fellow richly deserves to 
 be taught how to keep his place." 
 
 The hot blood of his fighting ancestors seemed 
 to be boiling in his veins, and for one moment 
 Rupert stood with his hand on his sword and his 
 eyes on the man who had dared thus to insult him 
 publicly. 
 
 " Sir," repeated the tempter at his side, " your 
 honor demands satisfaction." 
 
 i i< 
 
COURT GALLANTS. 
 
 223 
 
 emed 
 >ment 
 d his 
 t him 
 
 V your 
 
 Rupert turned towards him and saw not the 
 flushed, bloated face of the young nobleman, but 
 the picture on the wall over his head. Strange 
 how it had come into such a place ! It was a 
 wonderful painting of the Son of Man bound, 
 bruised, blindfolded. His attitude expressed no- 
 ble fortitude as well as meek patience under 
 insults the most galling and humiliating. The 
 coarse faces of the tormenters were also wonder- 
 fully expressive, and, alas ! true to nature ; but 
 ^lupert saw nothing save the central figure of the 
 »»,nrist, and as he looked he returned his sword 
 into its sheath, slowly opened the door, and left 
 the room. 
 
 He was followed by derisive shouts ; then some 
 one suggested that he should be pursued and 
 brought back, and they all rushed out into the 
 street, vowing vengeance upon him. But their 
 humor changed, and the next moment they were 
 dancing around the tall Maypole opposite Somer- 
 set House, singing and shouting till the uproar 
 frighten ec! away the poor old watchman who was 
 goii^g his rounds with a lantern; but as he fled 
 they toll V" J with drawn swords, forcing every 
 one whom they met into the middle of the street. 
 Clive could hardly stumble on, but Lord Redwood 
 supporting him on one side and another noble 
 gentleman on the other, they contrived to drag 
 him orward with the rest. Presently they met a 
 coa;l t' ill of ladies, attended by several gentlemen 
 
 1: f 
 % 
 
224 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 ' II 
 
 on horseback and three or four linkboys (for there 
 were no lamps in the streets), and Wayne, trying* 
 to wrest a torch from one of the lads, caused a 
 general scuffle in which several of the party re- 
 ceived a severe horsewhipping, as they richly 
 deserved. 
 
 Next they turned up a narrow street near Tem- 
 ple Bar, so dark and dirty none of them would 
 have cared to enter it had they been in full pos- 
 session of their wits. V '" i as it was, they soon 
 turned back, groping the, way by the walls, and 
 shouting and swearing as they stumbled against 
 stalls or caught their feet in the uneven pavement. 
 As they neared the end of the alley, their shouts 
 were answered with derisive cries, and the dim, 
 smoky light of two or three links held high at the 
 entrance showed a knot of dark figures drawn 
 up to receive them. This was another party of 
 high-born young ruffians like themselves, who had 
 determined to vary the monotony of the proceed- 
 ings by provoking a fight. Nothing loath. Lord 
 Redwood's party flung themselves eagerly into 
 the fray, and for ten minutes they struggled 
 furiously. Harold was thrown down and was in 
 danger of being trampled to death, when a slow 
 precession preceded by two torchbearers came 
 into view. 
 
 Two black-robed, black-veiled women walked 
 beside a bier covered with a black cloth, and 
 behind came three or four men in mourning 
 
%,' 
 
 COURT GALLANTS. 
 
 225 
 
 dresses. The combatants ceased fighting, and 
 with shrieks of terror fled in all directions, leav- 
 ing Clive lying senseless in the mire. 
 
 Meanwhile Rupert had been wandering up and 
 down the dark streets, vainly trying to subdue his 
 passionate resentment against Harold. He told 
 himself how unlike his friend it was to put such 
 a shameful insult upon him ; he tried to dwell on 
 his untiring kindness and generosity ; he assured 
 himself that he wouM never have done such a 
 thing in his right senses ; but, argue with himself 
 as he would, he could not forgive the blow. Nay, 
 he could hardly forgive himself that he had not 
 demanded satisfaction for it. 
 
 "Vet again the memory of that gentle figure in 
 the picture recurred to his mind. He would have 
 dismissed it if he could, for he scarcely cared at 
 present to think of his duty as a Christian to for- 
 give when injured ; but look where he would, that 
 patient, submissive Sufferer seemed ever present ; 
 and he felt at last as if he had taken his place 
 among the cruel mockers and scourgers, for, 
 while he professed to serve and honor him, he 
 knew that he was not fighting as he might against 
 the unholy anger that possessed him. 
 
 Careless whither he went, and only determined 
 never again to take anything from the hand that 
 had struck him, he Wandered down to the river 
 and seating himself on the edge of a wharf he 
 watched the peaceful water at his feet as intently 
 
 I 
 
 I I 
 
 A. 
 
 ! S 
 
226 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 as if nothing else were occupying his thoughts. 
 The longer he reflected the more hard and unfor- 
 giving he felt. He recalled every word that had 
 been spoken concerning him that evening, and 
 concluded that Clive had been boasting of his 
 own generosity, for they had reproached him 
 with depending on charity. 
 
 Unconsciously the sad words of the Psalmist 
 rose to his lips, and he murmured, " Mine own 
 familiar friend in whom I trusted hath lifted up 
 his heel against me." 
 
 " Surely, my son, that is a hard case," said a 
 voice at his side, which he recognized as belonging 
 to one of the speakers at a conventicle he had at- 
 tended the week before. "Who hath offended 
 thee } " 
 
 Rupert rose and bowed, but disregarded the 
 question. 
 
 " What hath angered thee, my son } " repeated 
 the man. 
 
 " Sir, I know not that I should do well to tell 
 the story," replied Rupert. "My friend hath 
 been a true one to me until now, and I care not 
 to publish the reason of our quarrel." 
 
 " Nay, then, if you judge it best to keep silence, 
 confide thy sorrow and perchance thy sin to God 
 alone." 
 
 "Indeed," began Rupert, provoked to justify 
 himself by the man's grave tone, " methinks the 
 wrong I suffered was altogether undeserved." 
 
 ill 
 
COURT GALLANTS. 
 
 227 
 
 " Well, for the sake of argument we will admit 
 that thou wast buffeted for well-doing; there- 
 fore it but remains to ask, Hast thou taken it 
 patiently ? " 
 
 "How can I choose but feel wounded and 
 grieved ? " 
 
 " And angered at him who did thee wrong ? 
 Methinks, my son, that the Lord's Prayer would 
 die on thy lips to-night. * Forgive our trespasses, 
 as we forgive them that trespass against us ! ' 
 Perchance (if, as I think, thou art among his re- 
 deemed and chosen) thy Lord to-night may share 
 thy plaint : ' Mine own familiar friend, in whom I 
 trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lifted 
 up his heel against me * ! " 
 
 Long after his companion had passed on his 
 way, Rupert stood looking into the gray mists 
 that lay on the water, fighting once again the bat- 
 tle with his own rebellious heart that he had 
 thought over forever. Forgiveness would mean 
 returning to Clive's lodgings as if nothing had 
 happened, and sitting at his table and eating his 
 bread as before. Lord Redwood and his friends 
 would laugh at his humility, and declare that he 
 would bear any affront for the sake of what he 
 could get. His pride revolted at it, and ready 
 like the rest of us to cheat himself, he declared 
 that Clive would probably not desire his return. 
 He knew well enough that he was trying to de- 
 ceive himself, He had seen Harold's downcast 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 Ul-' 
 
 % 
 
 
 
 ipi;| 
 
228 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 \ I 
 
 face, directly the blow was given ; but the cer- 
 tainty of the ridicule of which he would be the 
 object made the thought of his return insufferable. 
 If this were forgiveness, he could not forgive ! 
 
 Already he was thankful that God had held him 
 back from drawing his sword on Harold to avenge 
 the insult. A fearful picture rose before his 
 mind, of Clive wounded and dying, of Edith weep- 
 ing at his side, of himself shamed forever with 
 the murderer's brand upon his brow, and of them 
 all at home turning away from him in horror. 
 Thank God it had not come to that ! 
 
 But he could not and would not overlook the 
 past. Harold and he must henceforth live apart. 
 " Mine own familiar friend ! " he could call him 
 no more; and then the minister's strange use 
 of the words recurred to him, sending a sudden 
 flood of light on his bitterness and anger. Was 
 it true that Christ was as grieved with him as 
 he was with Harold 1 Was it really lifting up his 
 heel against his Saviour to proudly refuse to do 
 his bidding for the dread of foolish ridicule.? 
 
 He knew there was but one answer to these 
 questions, and turning from the gray river he set 
 his face towards home, determined that he would 
 strive with all his might both to forgive and to 
 forget. 
 
 He had wandered some distance, and, not know- 
 ing the city well enough to venture on taking 
 short cuts in the darkness, he made his way into 
 
COURT GALLANTS. 
 
 229 
 
 ito 
 
 the Strand, and walked as fast as he could ; but 
 missing one of the many bridges that crossed the 
 water courses flowing towards the river, he stum- 
 bled into the middle of the stream. He easily 
 scrambled on to firm earth again, but the accident 
 had taught him caution, and he proceeded much 
 more slowly. More than once, notwithstanding, 
 he caught his foot in a hole, or ran against a sign- 
 post. As he neared the Maypole he heard a dis- 
 tant uproar and a second later a number of young 
 men rushed up the street, shrieking wildly. 
 
 He fancied he recognized the voice of Wayne, 
 and drawing aside to let them pass, listened anx- 
 iously to hear whether Clive were with them. A 
 little farther down the street he met the funeral 
 procession that had so scared Lord Redwood's 
 followers, and crossing the road to avoid it hf; 
 hurried on, fearful lost his tormentors of the 
 evening should turn back and fall upon him in the 
 darkness. He had not gone many yards farther 
 when he heard a muffled groan from the dim en- 
 trance to an alley near by, and looking closely he 
 saw what seemed like a light-colored bundle on 
 the ground, but when he stooped to raise it his 
 hand touched soft curls of hair. In his first sur- 
 prise he feared that he had come upon the mur- 
 dered victim of some of the young ruffians who 
 had passed him, for the curls were damp with 
 blood; but gathering courage after a moment's 
 hesitation, he bent down again and touched the 
 
230 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 \ '.' 
 
 face, of which he could just see the dim outline. 
 It was cold, but not death-cold; and kneeling 
 down he felt among the silks and laces of the rich 
 dress to find out whether the heart was still beat- 
 ing, little guessing whom he was tending. Alone 
 thus in the stillness and darkness of the great city 
 at midnight with a wounded and helpless man upon 
 his hands, he was utterly at a loss how to proceed. 
 
 Suddenly the watchman's voice rang close be- 
 side him : " Twelve of the clock, and a dark cloudy 
 night ! " and springing up he hurried towards him 
 and begged his assistance. 
 
 Holding his lantern so that the light fell full on 
 the white face, the old man said slowly, "Me- 
 thinks it 's one o* them young Hectors, worse 
 luck to him ! He ain't dead, not he ! " 
 
 But Rupert had seen the face, and, utterly for- 
 getful now of wrong and insult, he exclaimed 
 eagerly, "Call me a coach and I will carry him 
 home. Make haste, and you shall have a piece 
 of gold." Kneeling down he raised the prostrate 
 form in his arms and wiped away the mud and 
 dust from his friend's face as tenderly as any 
 mother could have done. 
 
 The old man looked at him with something like 
 contempt. "He ain't nought but dead drunk," 
 he said as he hobbled away to fetch the coach. 
 He was a long time gone and returned at last 
 without one, saying, " They do all be taken, sir, 
 or the men is abed and care not to get up." 
 
COURT GALLANTS, 
 
 231 
 
 "Then get a chair or a cart or anything," said 
 Rupert. "He will bleed to death here." 
 
 " Nay ; there do be no fear of that, master," 
 said the watchman, chuckling. "Such as he is 
 hard to kill, more 's the pity ! " 
 
 Ten minutes later they lifted Clive into a 
 huckster's cart and laid him on a bundle of hay 
 at the bottom, and in this ignominious fashion he 
 was carried home. Ashamed that any one should 
 see him as he was, Rupert wrapped his own 
 cloak over the mud-stained garments and threw 
 one corner over the pale, cut face before he 
 called his serv^ant to aid in carrying him to his 
 bedroom. 
 
 The cut that had alarmed him was not very 
 deep, and by the time a surgeon came to dress it 
 Clive had recovered consciousness sufficiently to 
 be heartily ashamed of himself. A vague remem- 
 brance of the events of the evening made him 
 unusually constrained with Rupert, but his head 
 was still so confused that he was quite uncertain 
 what had really happened. 
 
 Recommending him to keep perfectly quiet and 
 promising to call again in the morning, the doctor 
 left him, and he slept till midday; but his head 
 still ached grievously and he felt so weak and 
 miserable that he could hardly crawl out of 
 bed. 
 
 As it happened the surgeon was an obsequious, 
 smooth-spoken man who was exceedingly glad to be 
 
 :' I. 
 i ( 
 
 f [ 
 
 I ; 
 
 
232 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 called to a rich patient, and utterly ignored the dis- 
 graceful cause of the disaster. Indeed he admin- 
 istered so much open flattery with his medicines 
 that Clive thought of the dedication and was dis- 
 gusted. 
 
 " Rupert, let not that fool come near me again. 
 If he is as simple as he pretends and really doth 
 not know what aileth me, I care not to drink his 
 vile drugs, for there is small chance of their doing 
 of me good. Why did you send for him ? " 
 
 " Because I was trighted lest you had received 
 some serious hurt." 
 
 " Not I ! " said Clive bitterly. " I could have 
 found it in mine heart to wish that the hurt had 
 been unto death. Rupert, I am ashamed to look 
 you in the face, for I know not what I said or did 
 in my folly, and yet I seem to fancy (I hope it is 
 but a dream !) that I even struck you." 
 
 Rupert did not answer, and Harold continued : 
 "Tell me, Ru, exactly what I did do. Oh, I'll 
 never boast myself of finding of no temptation 
 in drink again. Methinks I acted as if some 
 demon had possessed me. I know not how 
 I shall dare trust myself with such a crew 
 again." 
 
 "I would break with them, Harold, for surely 
 no man can trust to himself (nay, nor to God 
 either), if he willfully runs into temptation. Be- 
 sides, the doctor says that you will ruin yourself 
 sooner if you fall into this evil habit than would 
 
(^0VI17- GALLANTS. 
 
 a man of stronger health u '^^ 
 
 "Owning that itloufd be dea^h !°" "^ ""' '"is 
 twelve years at furthest " >'°" '" '^n or 
 
 ^:^^yrespo.eh:l:;rt^I^r-''ebraJ 
 of yp;.^^--^''e cared not to risk Offending 
 
 Ruirioyoupts^t^?^ '° ^'■' "" now 
 °^ all last n'ght? Stt"" ^ ''^ "'*■" »™'h 
 you or no ? " '"'^nture. First, did I strilce 
 
 ■''nthe''„TdroTtra:V^^^'''^-^''^-" 
 Then, Rupert, I humWy" er""""' """'^"y' 
 "d I assure you on miL hn ^°" *° ^°'"S'^^ "«, 
 -at I would sooner have ost ^ ^" ^^""^-"an 
 have put such a base 2r ^ "«•" ""and than 
 places in the world ill "P°f ^O" 'here of all 
 a cur for so „ea„ behaWor: ■• '" '° "^ ''^'^ ''ko 
 
 -r r^i;^rtJ:'J- his hand, and Ciive 
 "^ar all you k„ow. CoJ.^*''""^"- ^ ^ant to 
 
 and, "trargffo ty^'S^^^^^ '^^ -hole sto,y. 
 calculated to rest rab ^^Z" """''"^ "'^« •>«'« 
 ■ng in such excesses in^h""^ T' ^'°'" '"dulg- 
 account of how he hL k . ^"'"'^ *han the 
 
 and carried ho«e ,t Ihe bott ""'/" ""^ ""•- 
 cart. 'he bottom of a common 
 
234 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 " Well, methinks I have received some part of 
 the punishment I deserved," was his comment. 
 " Think you that many folk saw me thus, Rupert ? 
 Sure I wonder the servants can refrain them- 
 selves from laughing in my face." 
 
IP^ 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 SHUT UP. 
 
 DID you contrive to see the king to-day, 
 Rupert } " asked Clive, some days later, 
 after his friend had spent the morning at White- 
 hall and in the park. 
 
 •' No ; mcthinks his majesty hath taken alarm, 
 and hath kept within, out of danger of infection. 
 He leaves for Oxford to-morrow, with the court, 
 so 't is vain for us to tarry longer. I will go pres- 
 ently to the mayor to get our bills of health, if it 
 like you, Hal, and then methinks we had better 
 pack up and away, since there is nothing to stay 
 us here." 
 
 " I had a letter from Edith to-day, and she is 
 growing anxious for our return. The news-letters 
 must be making of the worst of it. She seems 
 well-nigh frighted out of her wits for us. I am 
 grieved our journey hither hath not served you 
 better, but I am of your mind, that we had best 
 leave town while we may." 
 
 •* Indeed, the danger is no light one. I saw a 
 poor wretch, scarce an hour ago, coming from the 
 market with a basket on his arm, and suddenly he 
 gave a cry, and going to sit down on a doorstep 
 
 16 236 
 
 i 
 
 : i I" 
 
236 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 to rest himself, in less than ten minutes was a 
 dying man." 
 
 " God help us ! I trust you touched him not, 
 Rupert." 
 
 "Nay; I crossed to the other side, though it 
 seemed cruel to leave the poor fellow in his pain. 
 A surgeon coming by opened his clothes, and find- 
 ing the tokens on his breast bade them carry him 
 to the pesthouse ; so one fetched a coach and he 
 was put therein. He was scarce like to reach it 
 alive. The streets are more blocked to-day than 
 ever yet, and I fear we shall be cruelly troubled to 
 get horses for our journey." 
 
 " Could we not go up by sea } " 
 
 " Ay, that we might, if we can get any captain 
 to adventure taking us from this part of the town. 
 Methinks there may be difficulty on that score ! " 
 
 " Well, I will send Haynes to buy what horses 
 he can for us ; then, if no ship will carry us, we 
 must e'en travel by land. I would we had hot 
 been so great fools as to stay thus long." 
 
 Clive himself went to see about their certificates 
 of good health, without which it was vain to at- 
 tempt to leave London, as no town upon the road 
 would permit them to pass, while Rupert went to 
 engage their passage in some vessel bound for 
 Liverpool, or, indeed, for any northern port. 
 
 It was late when he returned to the lodgings, 
 and found the people of the house also preparing 
 for immediate flight. He felt so tired that he was 
 
SHUT UP. 
 
 237 
 
 or 
 
 almost faint. He had had nothing to eat since 
 noon, but the sight of food turned him sick. 
 
 When Clive entered the room an hour later he 
 was lying half asleep on a couch in the darkness, 
 but when Harold spoke he sat up, rubbing his 
 eyes. " Have you got our bills of health, Hal } " 
 
 " Yes ; but there was such a press for them that 
 I have been waiting on my lord mayor all these 
 hours, packed in the crowd like a herring in a 
 barrel. God grant that my neighbors were sound 
 and whole ! Hath Haynes returned yet } " 
 
 "Nay; but I have bargained with the captain 
 of the Queen Catherine to carry us to Liverpool. 
 We can go aboard to-morrow, but he will not 
 sail till Friday." 
 
 " Have you had supper, Ru ? " 
 
 "Nay; I care for naught just now. Methinks I 
 will take a draught of milk and go to b( 1. I am 
 something weary ; it hath been so hot all day." 
 
 "Wherefore have they not brought up the can- 
 dles?" exclaimed Clive rather impatiently as he 
 seated himself at the table. " It is well-nigh ten 
 of the clock, and the room looks wondrous dreary 
 and uncared for. Ah, there is Mary now." 
 
 The girl who brought in the lights looked pale 
 and .ightened, and Clive asked involuntarily, 
 "What is amiss, Mary.?" 
 
 "The house over the way hath just been shut 
 up, sir," she said, "and now there is some poor 
 wretch next door to us a-shrieking fit to raise the 
 
I 
 
 238 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 dead. God help us all ! Oh, hearken, sirs ! did 
 you ever hear the like of that?" 
 
 The three looked on one another in terror, and 
 then ran to the open window, for a strange, un- 
 earthly voice sounded above the rattle of the traffic 
 that was still going on, crying, " Woe ! woe ! woe ! 
 Yet a few days and London shall be destroyed ! 
 Oh, the great, the dreadful God ! " 
 
 The weird tones thrilled them with horror. As 
 they stood gazing down, the tall, gaunt figure of 
 a man with bare arms and legs crossed the light 
 from an open door opposite and fled wildly up the 
 street, still shrieking out his prophecy of doom. 
 
 Clive sank into a chair and covered his face 
 with his hands. Mary shrieked and sobbed aloud, 
 but Rupert only said dreamily, " Repent ye : for 
 the kingdom of heaven is at hand." 
 
 " Do you believe, Ru, that God is thus visiting 
 of us in his wrath } " 
 
 " Ay, Hal ! that I do. In olden time did he 
 not oft send wars and pestilence to chastise his 
 erring people, and did ever Israel wander so 
 grievously out of the way as this people of 
 England hath done now.? I tell you, Harold, 
 that many a godly man hath wondered that the 
 abominations practiced at Whitehall have not 
 provoked God to destroy us even with the 
 plagues of Sodom and Gomorrah." 
 
 "Mr. Haynes hath but now returned," put in 
 the girl, " and he saith a great concourse of folk 
 
wmsa^^^ 
 
 SHUT UP. 
 
 239 
 
 were gathered nigh St. Bride's burying ground 
 watching of a ghost walking over the tombstones 
 there and pointing to the houses round about 
 with a great sword." 
 
 " Methinks the imagination of the people is 
 clean disordered with terror," said Rupert. 
 
 " Haynes is a grave, sensible fellow and scarce 
 like to be led away by overmuch imagination," 
 said Clive. 
 
 "Nay, sirs, Mr. Haynes saith he himself saw 
 naught in the churchyard from first to last." 
 
 "Well, Mary," returned Clive, slightly reassured, 
 " bid him come up and report himself." 
 
 The man looked deathly pale and could scarcely 
 stand. He had had no success, for all the horses 
 in the town seemed to be either sold or hired, or 
 their owners, expecting the demand for them to 
 still increase, were holding them back. 
 
 "Ah, well, it matters not," replied his master, 
 "for Mr. Staynor hath engaged our passage to 
 Liverpool in the Queen Catherine." 
 
 " Thank God for that ! The pest is growing 
 mighty raging all around us now. Ten houses 
 are shut up between us and Whitehall." 
 
 " I like not yon fellow's looks," said Harold as 
 the man left them. " Would we had left a month 
 ago ! However, let us to bed. We will go aboard 
 the Catherine first thing in the morning." 
 
 During the earlier part of the night there was 
 so much noise in the house itself and in the 
 
 
 I 
 
 '■'A \ 
 
w 
 
 240 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 Streets without and Clive was so excited and nerv- 
 ous that he could not sleep. Toward morning, as 
 it grew cooler, he fell into a heavy slumber, and 
 having drawn the curtains of his bed to keep the 
 light from his eyes he did not awake till late. 
 Even then, feeling very comfortable, he lay for 
 some time in that pleasant state of half-con- 
 sciousness that follows waking, till he began to 
 wonder that he heard no sounds in the house and 
 drew out his watch from under his pillow. It was 
 nearly eleven, and rising hastily with a sudden 
 remembrance of his determination to take refuge 
 on the ship as soon as possible, he called for 
 Haynes. Several times he repeated his summons, 
 but it was unanswered ; and dressing himself 
 quickly he went downstairs. 
 
 From the street came the loud rattle of carts 
 and carriages on the pavement, but within no 
 sound broke the stillness. The doors of the 
 rooms were open; half-packed trunks lay about 
 the floors; the beds were left in wild disorder, 
 but there was no sign of any human creature in 
 the house. 
 
 No fire was lighted in the unswept kitchen, but 
 the remains of a hasty meal lay on the table. 
 Neither the mistress nor Haynes nor an}' of the 
 family were to be seen below, and Clive, begin- 
 ning to think that they had been deliberately 
 deserted, turned back up the stairs to search the 
 upper rooms. His servant slept in an attic above 
 
umm 
 
 Sffur UP, 
 
 241 
 
 )Ut 
 
 )le. 
 the 
 ;in- 
 lely 
 Ithe 
 )ve 
 
 his own room. As he opened the door the sun- 
 light from the little gable window dazzled and 
 blinded him ; but only for a moment. The next 
 instant he uttered a cry that rang wildly down 
 into the street. 
 
 In the corner, stretched across the bed, lay his 
 faithful servant dead and cold. His ghastly face 
 was turned full to the light, and his wide-open 
 eyes were dull and glazed. 
 
 The horror of this unexpected sight took the 
 strength from Harold's limbs, and with that fear- 
 ful cry for help he sank down on the floor, dizzy 
 and panting. Suddenly it occurred to him that 
 breathing the air of that infected room was add- 
 ing each moment to his peril of a like shocking 
 death. Nerved by the thought of this awful dan- 
 ger, he gathered strength to fly down the stairs, 
 and bursting open the door of Rupert's room he 
 cried out : " O Rupert ! the plague is on us ! 
 Haynes is dead of it in the chamber above, and 
 the cowards here have left us to our fate." 
 
 Rupert looked as if he scarcely understood. 
 
 " Come not near me, Hal ! " he called out 
 wildly. "For my Lady Elmer's sake, shut the 
 door and go." 
 
 " O Ru ! what mean you } " 
 
 " Go, Harold, I tell you ! I have the distemper 
 upon me. Bid them all farewell for me ! " 
 
 " Rupert, I cannot leave you. Perchance you 
 are mistaken." 
 
 n 
 
 'i ^ 
 
 ■ V 
 
 i 1! ■' 
 
 'if 
 
 
 
 v <H 
 
 f 
 
 Hi 
 ! It* 
 
242 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 \ I 
 
 , 
 
 \ 
 
 
 " Nay ; go you must. I am not mistaken," he 
 answered more quietly. " The swellings are com- 
 ing out upon my neck, which is a sure sign, they 
 say, and I am sick and faint and fevered. Be not 
 so foolhardy, Harold; it would grieve me sore 
 to give you the sickness, and every moment you 
 linger here is of peril for you. Perchance they 
 would take me at the pesthouse. Oh ! please 
 be gone!" 
 
 Harold shut the door and Rupert sank back 
 among his pillows, exhausted even by the effort 
 required to speak to his friend. 
 
 Clive had always had an intense nervous dread 
 of disease and death, and now as he threw open 
 his window and leaned his arms on the sill, he 
 felt like a condemned criminal taking his last 
 look at earth and sky. He drew deep breaths of 
 the fresh morning air, but the ghastly corpse 
 upstairs seemed to pollute everything. He tried 
 to think what he must do, but his busy fancy had 
 conjured up scenes of such horror, in which he 
 was always the principal figure, that he felt as if 
 he were already dead and had passed beyond the 
 cares and duties of life. 
 
 Suddenly a loud, piteous cry for water broke 
 in on his meditations, and filling a cup to the 
 brim he went to Rupert's room. The poor lad 
 drained it eagerly, then, remembering all, ex- 
 claimed sadly: — 
 
 " O Clive ! how could you let me touch you } 
 
T 
 
 if 
 
 :e 
 le 
 id 
 iX- 
 
 si/ur UP. 
 
 243 
 
 I meant not to cry out thus ; but if you love me, 
 take no heed in future." 
 
 " Nay, Rupert ; rather, pray for me, lest I 
 prove myself a base and selfish coward ! " he 
 replied; and going again to his own room he 
 knelt beside the window, and calling to a passer- 
 by in the dress of a clergyman begged him to 
 send a surgeon. 
 
 " What ! have you the plague } " 
 
 " Ay ; one sick in the house and one dead, and 
 the rest all fled, reverend sir." 
 
 Nearly half an hour passed before the surgeon 
 came, and Clive wandered miserably about the 
 deserted house trying to prepare himself for 
 death, but failing utterly to keep his attention to 
 any one line of thought for five minutes in suc- 
 cession. At last he took up his old position by 
 the window to watch for the surgeon. Presently 
 he saw in the distance a man carrying a long red 
 wand, as all attendants on the sick had been com- 
 manded to do, and, as he seemed to be looking for 
 some particular house, he ran down and opened 
 the door. 
 
 "Sir," said the surgeon, "is this the house 
 where one lieth sick of the plague.?" 
 
 "Yes, good sir. I thank God that you have 
 come. My friend is in a raging fever, and hath 
 great swellings rising in his neck." 
 
 "I will go see him, with your leave, young sir." 
 
 " How long will he live } Hath he any chance 
 
 : Ml 
 
 I 
 
244 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 ■ I 
 
 of recovery?" asked Clive as the doctor came 
 out of the sick room. 
 
 "Ay; there is greater hope for him than for 
 many an one that seemeth well. I will send you 
 medicine and a plaster for him. If the tumors 
 can be made to break, I trust he may do well ; but 
 you should have a nurse for him. You cannot 
 tend him yourself." 
 
 "If any woman will adventure herself in this 
 doleful house, I will gladly give her double fee. 
 But, sir, my servant — who lieth dead upstairs — 
 what shall I do concerning him } " 
 
 " Leave him where he is till night, for he may 
 not be buried till sunset. But, if it like you, I 
 will send a man to you to take your orders for 
 burying of him decently." 
 
 "Ay, sir. Shall we have to be presently 
 shut up?" 
 
 " Yes ; there is no help for it. A watchman 
 will be here in a few minutes ; it is the only 
 means to prevent the plague spreading through- 
 out the length and breadth of the city. He will 
 bring all you need or desire." 
 
 "Then may I not go out, even though I fall 
 not sick?" 
 
 " Nay ; not if you choose to remain with your 
 friend. But if it like you better, you may yet go to 
 some unoccupied house, and being shut up there 
 for at least a week, may after that go free, if the 
 disease show not itself upon you in the meantime." 
 
SHUT UP. 
 
 245 
 
 in 
 
 th- 
 rill 
 
 lall 
 
 )ur 
 to 
 :re 
 
 the 
 
 le. 
 
 »» 
 
 "I will not leave Mr. Staynor; but for how 
 long shall we be thus imprisoned ? " 
 
 " For a month after he is whole again." 
 
 " Think you not that I am sure to take it ? " 
 
 "I will send you a preventive against infec- 
 tion, and now and again you must burn gun- 
 powder and brimstone or pitch and resin to make 
 a great smoke in your own rooms, and if you go 
 near your friend sprinkle vinegar on your clothes 
 and hold a handkerchief wet with the same to 
 your nostrils. By these means you may, per- 
 chance, escape the infection altogether." 
 
 "You will call again, I trust, to see how Mr. 
 Staynor goes on .? " 
 
 " Ay ; if I be not myself taken," said the 
 doctor gravely. 
 
 A few minutes later the watchman arrived, and 
 going round the house fastened both doors and 
 windows on the outside as securely as he was 
 able, fixed the red cross on the door, with the 
 words " Lord have mercy on us ! " close above it, 
 and took up his station in the street. Clive 
 watched these dismal preparations with unspeak- 
 able horror, for in spite of the surgeon's hopeful 
 words he was firmly persuaded that neither he 
 nor Rupert would ever go out alive. 
 
 Many times during the morning he went up- 
 stairs to give his friend such food and drink as he 
 would take, but Rupert was only anxious that 
 he should not come near him. 
 
I* 
 
 1 1' 
 
 246 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 K' 
 
 T is no use fighting against it, Ru," he said at 
 last. " If God wills it, I suppose I shall live, and 
 if not, I must die, whether I come nigh you or not." 
 
 "What is that noise .^" asked Rupert wearily. 
 
 " The watchman nailing up the lower windows. 
 We are fast prisoners together, Rupert, and they 
 mean not to have us escape. One keeper is to 
 guard us by day and another by night, and a 
 nurse will presently be here to keep watch on us 
 within." 
 
 The nurse sent them was a pleasant-faced, soft- 
 voiced woman of middle age, and both lads felt 
 her presence a consolation and support. She had 
 not been in the house many hours before its 
 comfortless, disorderly appearance was entirely re- 
 moved, and at night Clive sat down to a supper 
 so daintily cooked that he ate more than he had 
 had all the day before. 
 
 Rupert was asleep at last, for the medicine had 
 soothed him; and Mrs. Thurlow lingered a few 
 moments to talk to his friend. 
 
 " I admire that you were not frighted to take 
 pity on us in our distress," said Clive. 
 
 " What else can I do, good sir > Mine husband 
 is a bricklayer, but the sickness hath put an 
 entire stop to that trade, and for well-nigh a week 
 my lads and wenches have gone huiigry to bed. I 
 deny not that at first it liked me ill to think of 
 adventuring myself right into the midst of the 
 contagion — deed, when Dr. Arthur did speak of 
 
SHUT UP. 
 
 247 
 
 5k 
 
 I 
 
 I of 
 
 Ihe 
 
 of 
 
 my coming here, I said nay without thinking. 
 He looked at me solemn-like and says, ' My good 
 woman, I ask you not to do what I myself am 
 frighted of. I too have my little ones at home, 
 and the lad,* says he, 'will surely die if he hath 
 not the best of care.' Them's his very words, 
 sir, saving your presence. Doubtless he did see 
 you were not strong, nor used to sickness. Well, 
 even then I could scarce make up my mind, and 
 says I, ' Jim, what think you of it .? ' ' Well,' says 
 he, *methinks I do have a chance to get on to the 
 grave-digging — mayhap we shall do all right, 
 good wife.* But then I looked at Betty (she's 
 my eldest, sir, as good a lass as ever stepped and 
 handy too) and says I, ' Dr. Arthur, I *m a-going 
 round as soon as I can gather up my things, for 
 the lass can manage well enough. So here I am, 
 for it came into my mind sudden-like that perhaps 
 the Lord meant me to go ! " 
 
 " Do you think Mr. Staynor will recover } " 
 
 "The Lord only knows. He is but just begin- 
 ning of the distemper.'* 
 
 " But my servant, who lies upstairs there, was 
 seemingly in health up to this hour yesterday — 
 ay, and afterwards ! '* 
 
 " Ay ; but the doctor says the infection do work 
 two ways. On some it goes inward, and they do 
 believe themselves whole and well till they are on 
 the very point of death, and with them there is 
 no hope. No help can reach them, though they 
 
248 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 sicken and die without any great pain or suffer- 
 ing. But when there are swellings and tumors, 
 the disease often takes many days, and the sick 
 suffer grievously at times, though there is hope 
 of their recovery. If we can but get the tumors 
 to break, Mr. Staynor will do well, I doubt not, 
 and Dr. Arthur is a skillful surgeon, if ever there 
 were one." 
 
 Nevertheless there soon came a time when pain 
 and fever together drove Rupert into wild delir- 
 ium. His nurse had to call Clive to assist to 
 hold him down in bed, but, though he was shout- 
 ing Harold's name half the time, he did not 
 recognize him. He seemed to fancy that he was 
 Lord Redwood or one of his friends, and he 
 struggled wildly to get free. 
 
 The swellings in his neck grew harder and 
 larger, but showed no sign of breaking, and one 
 morning after he had been in agonies of pain all 
 night long, Mrs. Thurlow told Clive that she 
 feared he could scarcely live through the day. 
 
 Harold immediately sent the watchman for 
 the doctor, but the man came back saying that he 
 too was down with the plague. 
 
 "Fetch me a surgeon from somewhere," cried 
 Harold, " and you shall have a sovereign for your 
 pains. Surely there must be physicians to be 
 had in this great town ! " 
 
 " Many are dead, sir, and the rest fled ; but I 
 will do my best to bring one." 
 
« z*Ma'.ur.GT» ;tu>i;; 
 
 -=^a««!M«!»»!.i 
 
 SHUT UP. 
 
 249 
 
 V 
 
 le 
 
 I 
 
 Clive watched him with miserable impatience 
 as he hurried down the street. From the next 
 room came fearful cries of agony, for Rupert in 
 his delirium had lost all self-control, and Harold 
 stopped his ears with his fingers to deaden the 
 sound. An instant later he heard his own name 
 called in frightened tones. 
 
 "What is the matter, Mrs. Thurlow.?" he asked, 
 going to the door of Rupert's room. " A surgeon 
 will presently arrive, I trust." 
 
 "Make haste, sir, make haste! I cannot hold 
 him ! " she gasped. " Oh, I was frighted lest he 
 should throw himself from the window before I 
 could make you hear." 
 
 Rupert was out of bed and struggling to get 
 free from his nurse, but when Clive came to her 
 help he submitted to be laid down again. Harold 
 seated himself between the bed and the window, 
 and Mrs. Thurlow said, "Think you that you can 
 watch him, sir, while I go down to get his sooth- 
 ing draught } Poor lad ! he hath never been so 
 mighty unmanageable before." 
 
 " Have you had breakfast, ma'am } " asked Clive 
 as she was leaving the room. " If not, stay now 
 and get it, and if I greatly need your help, I can 
 ring the bell for you." 
 
 "Thank you, sir. Methinks I should be the 
 better of something to eat, and I will put the bell 
 within reach of your hand." 
 
 For some time Rupert lay quite still, breathing 
 
 ii 
 
 
 \ 
 
 
 m 
 
 \ 
 
 1 
 
 \ 
 
 -Bit^ 
 
 
 '^1 
 
 L 
 
 J 
 
: ! 
 
 250 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 heavily, and being quite unconscious of his change 
 of attendants. Suddenly he sat up and tried to 
 sing, evidently fancying himself at some meeting, 
 but seemed distressed at his difficulty in keeping 
 the tune. Clive put his arm round him to hold 
 him, though he never touched him without a 
 dread that he might be bringing death on himself ; 
 and then seeing a Bible close at hand, he opened 
 it at random and began to read aloud, for he 
 thought that Rupert might be soothed by it. 
 
 The book opened at the Gospel of John, and 
 not stopping to choose any passage he began at 
 the first words which caught his eyes, in the 
 middle of the account of how Jesus stilled the 
 winds and waves. For a moment Rupert seemed 
 not to hear him, but by and by his restless tossing 
 ceased, and a more peaceful expression stole over 
 his pain-worn face. Not daring to move for fear 
 of disturbing him, Clive read slowly on, verse after 
 verse, in clear distinct tones ; yet no word of all 
 that beautiful chapter had any meaning for him. 
 Mechanically his eyes followed the lines and his 
 lips uttered the words, but his thoughts were' fixed 
 on the gloom and horror that surrounded him. 
 
 Rupert was surely dying. A week ago his sor- 
 row for him would have been very bitter, for he 
 loved him like a brother; but now despair had 
 conquered him, and it seemed vain to grieve for 
 Rupert when he could scarcely hope to survive 
 him many hours. Ever since the wretched even- 
 
SHUT UP. 
 
 251 
 
 ing at Lord Redwood's house, the remembrance 
 of that cowardly blow had haunted him ; but now 
 he was comforted to feel that he was facing the 
 peril of an awful death for Rupert's sake, though 
 he would never know it. 
 
 He held his friend the closer, and read on, till 
 the door opened and Mrs. Thurlow entered fol- 
 lowed by a doctor whose face and voice seemed 
 half familiar to him. It was Forsyth ; but Harold 
 did not recognize him till he uttered a sharp 
 exclamation of dismay. " For heaven's sake, Mr. 
 Clive, know you that you are literally seeking 
 of death.? How long have you been in that 
 posture ? " 
 
 Harold looked at him in a dull uncomprehend- 
 ing fashion, but neither spoke nor stirred till the 
 doctor forcibly drew him away from the bed and 
 led him downstairs. 
 
 *' Sir," exclaimed Clive indignantly, " I did net 
 caL' for you to interfere with me thus. I de- 
 sire naught but your opinion of my friend's 
 condition." 
 
 " It is rank folly, Mr. Clive," said Forsyth im- 
 patiently, " to rush thus into danger. Drink this, 
 take food and rest, and pray God not to judge 
 you for your pr^^sumption." 
 
 "Can you not Jo anythmg to relieve Mr. 
 
 Staynor's agonies } He hath been utterly beside 
 
 himself this morning. I was obliged to hold him 
 
 to prevent his doing of himself some mischief." 
 17 
 
 ■k 
 
 I'M 
 
252 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 " If the tumors cannot be made to break, he is 
 a dead man," said Forsyth sadly. " Methinks I 
 can do naught for him, but put caustic upon them, 
 and that of itself is mighty painful at times." 
 
 " Nay, then let him die in peace. 'T is cruel to 
 torture him uselessly." 
 
 " But, Mr. Clive, many an one hath recovered 
 who was full as sick as he." 
 
 " I am fain to wish you had not spoken to me 
 first," said Clive. "If you think there is good 
 hope of saving him, use the caustic; but if not, 
 give him not useless pain. I myself am some- 
 thing sick and faint this morning. Think you 
 that the distemper hath got hold on me .? " 
 
 " I trust not ; but if >ou choose, I will examine 
 you." 
 
 Clive assented, fully expecting to be told that 
 he had but an hour or two to live, but Forsyth 
 said, " No, sir ; you have neither swelling nor 
 tokens. 'T is no strange thing to feel faint and 
 sick at such a time as this. The want of natural 
 food and rest and the pressure of anxiety telleth 
 on folk." 
 
 " Mrs. Thurlow is also well-nigh exhausted. 
 Methinks if any woman will come, I had best get 
 more aid for her. Do you know of a nurse who 
 would tend poor Rupert kindly.?" 
 
 "There is a woman now shut up alone in a 
 house not far distant. Her patient hath died, 
 and it still wants three weeks to the time of her 
 
 
SHUT UP, 
 
 253 
 
 release ; doubtless she would gladly come. I 
 must not tarry here longer, so with your good 
 leave I will go up again to see Mr. Staynor and 
 to do for him as I judge the best." 
 
 Clive was very thankful when the second nurse 
 arrived, for after the application of the caustic 
 Rupert required even more watching than before. 
 At times he was so violent that they were obliged 
 to tie him in bed, and though Harold took his 
 share of nursing with the women, it was a most 
 painful duty. 
 
 On the night after Dr. Forsyth's visit, he had 
 been watching till twelve o'clock, when, utterly 
 unnerved, he went to the window of his own 
 room to get some air. It was so near the sick 
 chamber that he could hear every cry and motion ; 
 but downstairs the rooms were stifling with their 
 closed doors and windows. 
 
 As he sat on the broad window ledge, the fresh 
 air revived him, and brought back his powers of 
 thought. "O God," he cried aloud, "have pity 
 on the poor lad yonder and give him death ! " 
 
 Overhead the peaceful stars shone down on the 
 wretchedness and misery of the great city, and as 
 Clive raised his dim eyes towards the deep night- 
 blue overarching all, it seemed to him as if God 
 mocked him with the same pitiless unconcern as 
 those twinkling points of light. "O God, have 
 mercy upon us ! " he cried again. " What have 
 we done that we should be tortured so .? " 
 
 u 
 
 m \ 
 
 l\ 
 
I 
 
 254 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 The clanging of a distant bell was the only 
 answer. 
 
 "Sure it is all a mistake," he murmured. 
 "God cares not for us, or there is no God. Ru- 
 pert hath deceived himself with vain hopes of 
 heaven, and will go to dust like the rest of us 
 without being anything the better for his vain 
 trust in God." The ringing of the bell sounded 
 nearer, and a harsh voice echoed through the 
 streets. 
 
 " 'T is strange to fear death so greatly. Oh, if 
 one could only know certainly whether it be the 
 end of all ! If it be God's wrath that hath lighted 
 on us, wherefore should it fall thus heavily on Ru- 
 pert, who liveth but to do his will.? O God, O 
 God, reveal thyself ! They call thee merciful — 
 give me some light, some comfort, or I shall go 
 mad!" 
 
 The bell came ever nearer, a dim, smoky light 
 shone at the bottom of the street, and the omi- 
 nous cry, " Bring out your dead ! " broke the 
 stillness. 
 
 Harold pressed his hands to his eyes. " Christ, 
 have mercy ! " he cried. " Oh, save me, save me ! 
 Give me a little longer time to find thee ! Oh, if 
 thou wilt spare me, I swear to serve thee truly 
 till my life's end. O God, forgive my sins ! Slay 
 me not in thine anger ! " 
 
 The bell clashed now beneath the window. The 
 rattling wheels stopped short, and louder than 
 
SHUT UP. 
 
 255 
 
 ever came the hoarse shout, "Bring out your 
 dead ! Bring out your dead ! " 
 
 Involuntarily Clive looked down. The cart was 
 almost full. The red torchlight gleamed on its 
 hideous load, and it seemed to the lad that it was 
 hours beneath his window. Backward and forward 
 toiled the men with their ghastly burdens, from 
 dim courts and alleys too narrow to be entered by 
 any vehicle. The impatient horses stamped and 
 shook their heads, but still their load was increased, 
 while Clive looked on unable to move hand or foot 
 to escape from the awful sight. 
 
 To-morrow night, perhaps, his body would be 
 lying, waiting to be borne away by the same 
 rough hands. To-morrow night he might be past 
 all mercy and forgiveness, before the dread judg- 
 ment throne of God ! 
 
 Slowly the cart moved on ; the clang of the 
 bell grew softer; the awful cry of the driver 
 died away in the distance ; and Harold, sick 
 with horror, sank down on the floor to beg and 
 pray for mercy in a wild passion of fear. Death 
 seemed to stand beside him. How could he tell ? 
 The agony upon him might be the beginning of 
 the end. He tore open his vest. He thought 
 he could feel little hard, round lumps upon 
 his chest, and certain now that he had not six 
 hours to live, he tried to fix his thoughts upon 
 the Saviour, but could think of nothing but the 
 dead-cart. 
 
 HI )r 
 
 \\ 
 
r^ 
 
 li 
 
 256 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 . ' 
 
 " Jesus, Christ Jesus, help me ! " he cried. " Son 
 of God, Son of Man, have pity ! " 
 
 "Verily, verily, I say unto you. He that be- 
 lieveth on me Aat/i everlasting life" came clear 
 and sharp to his consciousness as spoken words. 
 
 Hath everlasting life ! What, life then and 
 there in the plague-stricken city } Yes ; a life that 
 pestilence and death could never touch, everlast- 
 ing as He who gives it. 
 
 " Lord Jesus," prayed Clive humbly and sadly, 
 " I do believe. Oh, give me this life ; take away 
 my coward fear of death, and make me thy true, 
 brave, and faithful servant ! " 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE STING OF DEATH. 
 
 THE morning light streamed down upon 
 Harold, asleep on the floor beneath the 
 window. Mrs. Thurlow came softly in, put a pil- 
 low under his head, drew the curtain to shade him 
 from the sunlight, and then went silently away. 
 
 An hour later the lad awoke. The house was 
 strangely silent : even from the sick room came 
 no sound. Was Rupert dead.? 
 
 He was gently turning the handle of Rupert's 
 door when it opened from within and Mrs. Thur- 
 low came out. Making a sign for him to be quiet, 
 she said softly, " God be thanked, Mr. Clive ! 
 The tumors is a-breaking, every one, and he is 
 sleeping easy now. Mayhap he'll wake in his 
 right mind." 
 
 Harold pressed her hand but could find no 
 words to speak. 
 
 Some hours later she called him again. " Mr. 
 Staynor 's a-wanting of you, sir." 
 
 Rupert seemed weaker now than he had been 
 even at the worst, for the false strength of the 
 fever had left him. He could scarcely speak above 
 
 257 
 
258 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 a whisper, but he was lying still, and for the fust 
 time in many days he recognized his friend. 
 
 "Deaf Hal," he said, "how can I ever thank 
 you for staying here with me ? I feel as if I had 
 been somewhere out of the world for months." 
 
 " Hath the pain gone, Ru } " 
 
 " It is better. Methinks I must have played 
 the coward in my sickness. My good nurse tells 
 me that you have had ill work to keep me from 
 doing myself a mischief. Did I cry out much ? " 
 
 " Sometimes. I wonder not at it neither, Ru. 
 I have well-nigh cried out to see you." 
 
 " Doth the surgeon think I shall now recover } " 
 
 " But yesterday he said he would have good 
 hope if the swellings would break. I shall send 
 for him again to-night." 
 
 " Nay, bethink you, Harold, he hath so many 
 folk to visit. He hath already told Mrs. Thurlow 
 what to do for me." 
 
 " Well, I suppose one thing must be to permit 
 you to sleep much, so I will e'en bid you farewell 
 for the present." 
 
 Going downstairs, Harold walked up and down 
 the passages in the miserably restless mood that 
 sometimes seized him. The agonized frenzy of 
 the previous night did not return and he was de- 
 termined to try to keep the vow that he had made 
 to be Christ's true servant ; but now it seemed a 
 hard thing that he had taken on himself. He was 
 so weak and idle and pleasure-loving that he feared 
 
THE STING OF DEATH. 
 
 259 
 
 lit 
 
 he might fall back to his old life as soon as he 
 should be put among the same temptations. Yet 
 the thought of those riotous evenings spent with 
 his wild friends filled him with disgust and horror 
 at himself, and he could already thank God that 
 he had been "shut up," and forcibly prevented 
 from indulging in such sins. 
 
 Two or three days later they had lifted Rupert 
 from his bed to a chair by the window, and Clive 
 went up to sit with him. 
 
 "Rupert," he said suddenly, "the night after 
 Forsyth saw you, I thought that the tokens were 
 coming out upon me, and that I was dying. I 
 prayed to God to pity me, and I heard as plainly 
 as any voice could have spoken the words, * Verily, 
 verily, I say unto you. He that believeth on me 
 hath everlasting life.* Do you think it was indeed 
 an answer to my prayer ? " 
 
 " Ay, Hal. Thank God that he hath given you 
 his life ! " 
 
 " But, Rupert, the longer I dwell on it the more 
 fear I have that I shall fall into sin as soon as I 
 am tempted ! " 
 
 " If God hath given you his life, Hal, surely you 
 are no longer just the same as you were before 
 you had it. Ask day by day for aid and guidance 
 and it will certainly be granted you." 
 
 " Do you pray daily thus } " 
 
 "Ay, Hal, and many a time in the day; but I 
 am no pattern for you. Christ himself will surely 
 lead you." 
 
 
 1' " 
 
r 
 
 260 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 Slowly the days of their captivity went by. 
 The only events that broke the monotony of their 
 lives were the nightly passing of the dead-carts 
 and occasional visits from Horace Forsyth, who 
 was working night and day. So many doctors 
 were now dead of the few who had remained in 
 the city that those who were still able to go 
 about had no rest or leisure. 
 
 As the time of their release drew near, his 
 visits became few and far between, and at last 
 ceased altogether. 
 
 "Rupert," said Give one evening as they sat 
 beside the window, " if all goes well, we shall be 
 free again next Monday. I wonder wherefore 
 Horace hath not visited us for so many days.^" 
 
 "They say the plague is increasing mightily 
 throughout the city; perchance he hath not lei- 
 sure to spend on us." 
 
 "Mayhap he is dead. I would that we could 
 hear more certain news from Cheshire. Methinks 
 some letters must have been written, but the dis- 
 temper hath disordered all." 
 
 " Look ! is not that Forsyth down below } " 
 
 " Yes. Halloo, Mr. Forsyth ! Wherefore have 
 you deserted us lately so entirely } " 
 
 "I have had no leisure for visiting and little 
 enough for either eating or sleeping. My mother 
 hath sickened, but is happily through the worst." 
 
 " Doth the contagion yet abate at all } " asked 
 Clive. 
 
THE STING OF DEATH. 
 
 261 
 
 Forsyth shook his head. " Nay ; last week 
 nigh on three thousand died. Some folk are try- 
 ing to escape into the country, but the people of 
 the towns round about will not let them pass." 
 
 " Small blame to them. Then there will be no 
 escape at present, I doubt," said Rupert with an 
 anxious glance at Clive. 
 
 "It will be difficult, but might perchance be 
 contrived. I dare not linger now, for I have been 
 called to one who is dying ; but I will talk with 
 you again of this matter. Have you been out 
 yet > " 
 
 "Nay ; we are shut up till Monday." 
 
 "But know you not that my lord mayor hath 
 given an order that the well people shall keep 
 within of nights after nine of the clock, that the 
 sick may have liberty to go abroad for air.^ A 
 wise plan it is too, for many an one hath died, I 
 fear, of want of air and liberty as much as of the 
 plague. I will bid your watchman open for you 
 presently." 
 
 "Thank you. I doubt not I shall speedily 
 regain strength," said Rupert. " The want of air 
 and exercise is a grievous inconvenience to one 
 accustomed to live much outside. I have been 
 frighted lest Hal should fall sick solely of being 
 shut up." 
 
 It was beginning to grow dusk in the streets 
 when the bell of a neighboring church struck nine 
 and the watchman opened the door. 
 
262 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 " Doth it not seem strange, Hal, to be again 
 abroad?" said Rupert when they had walked 
 some distance. "Whither shall we go?" 
 
 " I care not. The streets seem mighty dismal. 
 I would we had a link." 
 
 "Yonder is one in the distance. Ah, and a 
 bell is ringing ; it is the dead-cart ! Is it safe, 
 Harold, for you to walk thus abroad amongst all 
 the infected folk ? Look ! yonder comes a fellow 
 limping. His sores must be as yet unhealed." 
 
 Here and there little knots of people who were 
 recovering from the disease had gathered at the 
 street corners and were comparing notes as to 
 their symptoms. Many of the women were cry- 
 ing bitterly as they talked, for they had lost 
 husbands or children. All along the streets the 
 houses locked up by their owners or shut up by 
 the authorities looked dark and cheerless. Boards 
 were nailed over the lower windows to prevent 
 thieves getting in or their inhabitants getting out, 
 and grass and weeds grew before many a door. 
 Sometimes indeed broken windows and doors 
 falling from their hinges gave an utterly forlorn 
 and forsaken aspect to several houses in i, row, 
 for those who had once cared for them were dead 
 and buried, or had contrived to escape the vigi- 
 lance of the watchmen when their homes were 
 turned into prisons. 
 
 The lads went on, Clive holding Rupert's arm, 
 for the dusky figures wandering: with uncertain 
 
THE STING OF DEATH. 
 
 263 
 
 steps up and down the rugged streets filled him 
 with apprehensions almost superstitious in their 
 character. They looked woe-begone and ghost- 
 like in the August twilight, with hideous plasters 
 on 'heir faces or white bandages swathed about 
 their necks. 
 
 As they turned down a narrow street leading to 
 the Strand, a frightful shriek rang through the 
 dismal court with a suddenness so startling that 
 Clive clung to his friend in horror, scarcely 
 knowing what he did. 
 
 "Hal, let us go home," said Rupert gently. 
 "Methinks we have had air enough for one 
 night." But as they turned the corner they came 
 close to the wall of St. Clement's Church. The 
 dark tower rose sharply up against the fair, pure 
 evening sky, but under the shadow of its gray 
 walls yawned a fearful pit, beside which flared 
 smoking torches, set to light the dead-carts to 
 their journey's end. The noise of the wheels 
 ceased as the lads came up. The men shouted 
 to the horses, and the cart was drawn back 
 empty. Clive turned away with a ghastly picture 
 burnt forever into his memory. Men who had 
 been wealthy and highly respected, women who 
 had been fair, sweet children, tender babes, 
 undistinguishable from the vilest of mankind, 
 all huddled into one common grave, nameless 
 and uncounted ! Was there ever a more fearful 
 lesson on the true equality of man underlying 
 
 ^ 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 
 i \ 
 
I 
 
 264 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 
 I 
 
 all the vain distinctions of pomp and circum 
 stance ? 
 
 Clive felt it deep in his soul, but all the way 
 home he spoke no word. Living, young, and 
 beautiful as yet, within a few hours* time his 
 corpse too might be lying there ! How was he 
 better than the beggar that had neither bread 
 nor shelter to call his own? 
 
 "Methinks, Hal," said Rupert softly, "'tis a 
 wondrous thing to think on the day of resurrec- 
 tion. Perchance many a glorious body will rise 
 from that foul grave." 
 
 " Rupert, I cannot think on it. My mind mis- 
 gives me. I shall never forget this sight." 
 
 "Nay; think rather of the springtime here- 
 after. He who can raise up beauty from sodden 
 earth may clothe those poor decaying bodies with 
 wondrous fairness. He works not as we do." 
 
 "As I stood there, Rupert, I was haunted with 
 a maddening doubt whether there be a God in- 
 deed. How can he love us and let us suffer 
 thus .? " 
 
 "Sure I cannot answer you, Hal, if you ask 
 wherefore he doeth this or that ; and yet I doubt 
 not that he lives, and is merciful as well as holy, 
 because he hath so shown himself to me. Were 
 I blind or in utter darkness, if your voice sounded 
 in mine ears, I should know you were beside me. 
 In like manner God hath spoken to my spirit, and 
 I know he lives and loves us." 
 
THE STING OF DEATH. 
 
 265 
 
 " One who believed not might say you put your 
 own dreams and fancies in the place of proofs." 
 
 '* Ay ; and to such an one it would be hard to 
 show that one doth not do so. God hath said 
 that to those who do his will he will reveal him- 
 self. That is ever my comfort, Hal. Howsoever 
 perplexing may be the doubts or fears or thoughts 
 with which the devil vexes us, doth one but turn 
 his back on them and set to the doing of God's 
 will all is plain enough for the simplest child." 
 
 For several days afterward they went out little, 
 for the night walks among the sick were very de- 
 ..ressing ; but at last the time came when they 
 w ;re free to do as they chose, and they began to 
 consult about trying to get home. 
 
 "I am only frighted, Rupert, lest we should 
 carry the sickness with us." 
 
 " Suppose I stay, and you go away, if you can 
 contrive it. Perchance I may get some work to do 
 while I tarry here. I will speak to Dr. Forsyth." 
 
 "Nonsense, Ru ! if you stay, I will; but had 
 we not better turn back t 'T is growing dusk, 
 and now 't is needless to linger out until the sick 
 are all abroad. Sure this must be Bow Street* 
 I did not think we had wandered so far." 
 
 Keeping carefully in the middle of the road and 
 avoiding all other travelers, they walked briskly 
 down the sharply curved street, and nearly 
 reached the corner where Will's Coffeehouse stood 
 when a wild yet feeble cry for help startled 
 
 
 ii 
 
 ! I 
 
 
 
266 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 them. It came from a handsome house built close 
 on the road, and was unlike the shrieks of pain 
 that often sounded from infected houses. 
 
 " Help ! help ! " The words were not to be 
 mistaken. 
 
 The house vas marked with the dreadful cross, 
 but there was, no watchman to be seen. " Mur- 
 der ! murder ! " cried the muffled voice again, and 
 Rupert, hesitating no longer, rushed at the door. 
 The padlock was not fastened and the key within 
 not turned. 
 
 Rupert burst the door open and sprang in. 
 Clive drew his sword and followed. A flight of 
 stairs showed dimly in the light of a lamp that 
 was left on the topmost step. As they reached 
 the first floor the door of a bedroom at the end 
 ot a long corridor was flung open, and a man 
 rushed desperately upon them, but the next mo- 
 ment Rupert had him by the collar, and forcing 
 him to his knees dragged him toward the door of 
 the chamber from which he had just issued, while 
 he howled and begged for mercy. 
 
 " Let me pass, Ru," cried Clive. " Mayhap the 
 man within is dying. Hold that rascal fast." 
 
 There was a light burning at the bedside, but 
 as Harold entered a woman sprang forward to 
 put it out. Clive was too quick for her, and see- 
 ing she could not reach it she turned and scram- 
 bled through the window out into the darkness. 
 He listened in horror, expecting to hear her fall, 
 
THE STING OF DEATH. 
 
 257 
 
 m. 
 
 but was recalled to his senses by Rupert shouting, 
 " Have the wretches murdered the fellow ? " 
 
 The flickering candlelight fell on a mummy-like 
 figure beneath the gorgeous canopy of the bed, 
 swathed in a long white sheet ; but the face was 
 covered with a thick woolen cloth wrung out of 
 water and folded many times. With a cry that 
 brought Rupert to his side Clive snatched it off 
 and disclosed to view the face of Sir William 
 Wayne. 
 
 '* He is dead ! " cried Rupert. 
 
 "Nay; he still breathes. The villains have 
 been trying to smother him. Have you let the 
 murderer go, Ru.^" 
 
 Rupert turned and rushed toward the stairs in 
 time to hear the outer door clash on its hinges 
 and the huge key grate in the lock outside. 
 Once more they were prisoners, and finding he 
 could not even shake the great nail-studded door 
 with his utmost efforts he went back upstairs to 
 Clive, who was still occupied in trying to restore 
 the sick man. They feared to give him any of 
 the medicines in the chamber lest they should 
 contain poison. 
 
 " Methinks, Ru, we had best lift him to the 
 window," suggested Clive. " The air might re- 
 vive him ; but let us take off this cloth first. 
 Look how it is tied about his feet, as if they 
 meant it for his winding sheet." 
 
 " Doubtless they did. Ah ! here is another one 
 
268 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 below wrapped round and round his arms till he 
 can scarce stir a finger and so tight that I much 
 admire he can breathe at all. Now, Hal, let us 
 lay him on yon couch ; look, his eyes are opening 
 already." 
 
 His breath came at first in gasping sobs and 
 his eyes were dull and heavy ; but as he grew 
 easier he began to look about him with a fright- 
 ened and puzzled air. 
 
 " Be not alarmed, sir," said Rupert. " You are 
 with friends. Let us lift him back to his bed, 
 Harold ; mayhap he will sleep." 
 
 But there was no sleep for any of them that 
 night, for Sir William was wild with pain and 
 terror. The sight of Rupert seemed to send him 
 into paroxysms of fear, and at last he was obliged 
 to leave Clive to watch alone. 
 
 " He will murder me ! " he screamed whenever 
 Rupert went near ; then he changed his cries to 
 piteous entreaties for mercy. "It was but in 
 jest, sir," he repeated over and over again. 
 
 " Doth the man think I have come to avenge 
 myself on him for his insolent mockeries } " 
 
 "Ay," said Clive; "hearken to him! No; 
 sure he cannot be troubled about you now ; it 
 must be concerning some other ! " 
 
 " I meant not to beat you, Samuel ! " he cried. 
 " I never thought it was you. I was overcome 
 with wine and something excited, or I never 
 would have hurt you nor the wench neither. She 
 
 I , I 
 
THE STING OF DEATH, 
 
 269 
 
 will recover, Samuel ; it is but a sword-cut ! the 
 doctor says so. Come, what will you take to pay 
 for all ? I '11 give you a purse of gold ; nay, ten 
 purses, if that will satisfy you. Nay, Samuel, 
 help ! help ! Keep off, you old hag ! Where is 
 my sword ? I am not dead yet. Help ! murder ! 
 What is this round me > Loose me, you wretches, 
 loose me, or " — 
 
 What need is there to write the fearful oaths 
 that followed } All night long the wretched man 
 alternately shrieked for mercy and cursed his tor- 
 mentors, while Clive sat at his bedside striving 
 to ease and soothe him, and Rupert waited on the 
 stairs without. 
 
 The first glimmer of light was in the east 
 when Harold came out, saying, " Is the night 
 watchman still there, Ru ? " 
 
 •' Nay ; he hath not been near all night, and 
 the other fellow hath locked us in so securely that 
 I see not as yet how we are to break out. Be- 
 sides, having come hither, mayhap 't is our duty 
 to remain, lest we carry the contagion abroad." 
 
 " Ay ; yet if we remain thus without help, we 
 shall be starved ; besides, Sir William is at the 
 point of death, I fear. The nurse climbed out of 
 yon window, but whither she went next I know 
 not." 
 
 "Sure then I can do it, if you are not frighted 
 to be left alone. I would stay, but I fear to drive 
 the poor wretch mad." 
 
 "! 
 
 i 
 
 bi 
 
270 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 " Nay ; mine head was never steady for climb- 
 ing. If you can find no other doctor, methinks 
 Horace would come." 
 
 " Mrs. Thurlow will have been frighted for us," 
 said Rupert. " I had better tell her how it all 
 fell out." 
 
 " Ay ; and pay her what is owing to her and 
 bid her go home, Ru." 
 
 " Well, if I make haste, perchance I may re- 
 turn before folk are stirring in the streets." 
 
 He had no difficulty in escaping from the house, 
 as a narrow ledge ran across its front and that of 
 the untenanted dwelling adjoining, from which he 
 contrived to let himself out at an open window 
 below. 
 
 Dr. Forsyth was not at home, but leaving a 
 message for him he hastened to St. Martin's 
 Lane to acquaint Mrs. Thurlow with their change 
 of plans. 
 
 " I was mighty frighted to be all alone last 
 night," she said. "Just after you went out a 
 man brought a packet of letters for you and Mr. 
 Clive. He asked ten shillings for his trouble, and 
 methought I had best pay him." 
 
 " Ay, indeed, ma'am ; thank you ! Where are 
 they, please ? " 
 
 There was one letter for Rupert and a great 
 budget for Clive. He opened his own eagerly. 
 It was from Madge, and she seemed painfully 
 anxious about his safety. There was very little 
 
THE STING OF DEATH. 
 
 271 
 
 news in it, but she begged him earnestly to come 
 home at once, as Mrs. Staynor was ill with fret- 
 ting about him, and his grandfather seemed to 
 feel extremely the extra work which devolved on 
 him. They had evidently not heard of his illness, 
 but the reports of the plague which had reached 
 them had been exaggerated at the time, though 
 they scarcely come up to the truth now. 
 
 When he reached Bow Street again the people 
 were all astir in the streets, but he found it was 
 not nearly so easy a matter to get into the house 
 as it had been to get out. Clive came to the 
 window of Sir William's room while he was 
 vainly trying to reach the ledge from which he 
 had swung himself. 
 
 " Stay, Rupert ! " he called in alarm. " Try 
 not to pass that way. You will surely break your 
 neck." 
 
 " Nay ; be not affrighted. I will take good 
 heed. Dr. Forsyth was out, but his mother prom- 
 ised me he should come at once, and I got some 
 letters from good Mrs. Thurlow — a whole packet 
 for you, and one for me from Madge." 
 
 " How are they all } Hath the distemper trav- 
 eled thither } " 
 
 " Nay ; but I fear grandfather and grandmother 
 are both ailing." 
 
 '' And Madge .? " 
 
 *'She says naught of herself, but she writes 
 rather sadly." 
 
 
272 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 
 " Rupert, you must go home. T is useless stay- 
 ing now to see Prince Rupert or the king, for 
 every one is well-nigh mad with fears of the con- 
 tagion ; and I, if I live, will speak for you." 
 
 " Sure, Hal, you mean not to tarry here your- 
 self ! " 
 
 *' Ay, Ru, I must for a time at least. Methinks 
 God hath sent me hither." 
 
 " Horace Forsyth would know of some nurse 
 who might be trusted not to abuse the poor fellow. 
 Come home, Harold, as soon as we may venture, 
 for the sake of the contagion." 
 
 Harold shook his head. " I have been thinking 
 much this morning of what you said, Rupert, of 
 doing of God's will, and sure I must believe that 
 when he sent us here he meant me not to desert 
 the man. 'T is strange how he clingeth to me. 
 Twice this morning he hath started up in terror, 
 and twice my voice hath soothed him and he hath 
 laid him down again." 
 
 "Then, Hal, we will stay here together." 
 
 " Nay, Rupert, J. have thought of all. Attempt 
 not to enter this place again, but tarry for a few 
 days longer at our lodgings, till the danger is 
 abated of your carrying the infection in your gar- 
 ments ; then take ship, if possible, and go home." 
 
 " 'T is useless talking, Harold ; I will not leave 
 you here alone. If you stay, I must stay also. 
 Suppose you should take the disease " — 
 
 " Methinks I shall not, Rupert. I am less 
 
THE STING OF DEATH. 
 
 273 
 
 frighted of it now than formerly, and if God wills 
 that I must die, to flee from my plain duty will 
 not save me." 
 
 " It is my duty full as much as yours." 
 
 " Nay ; your very presence drives Sir William 
 frantic, and you are sore needed at home, while I 
 have no home to think of. Supposing the distem- 
 per should break out there, what would they do, 
 Rupert } and the doctors say that like enough it 
 will go throughout all England before its fury is 
 appeased." 
 
 "Care you not to look at your letters.'" asked 
 Rupert evasively. "Catch and I will toss them 
 up to you ! " 
 
 '• Hearken, Ru, what Edith says : * Methinks 
 the squire is aging very fast since Rupert left ; he 
 looks so frail and feeble it grieves one to see him 
 going about his work, and Mrs. Stay nor seems to 
 have lost heart entirely, and spends morning, 
 noon, and night in fretting and weeping and 
 bewailing herself. Madge hath a sore time. If 
 Rupert can get home, he should come at once. 
 Tell him, Harold, that I say so.' " 
 
 "Well, I cannot get home for some days at 
 the least ; for after passing of last night in an 
 infected house, neither coachman nor captain 
 would carry me hence." 
 
 " At the least, then, come not in hither to me. 
 I will get nurses and watchmen in ^ood time." 
 
 A week later, Rupert got a second letter from 
 
 ! 
 
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 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 /j 
 
 
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 2? 
 
 
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 1.0 
 
 1.25 
 
 Uilli 
 
 |25 
 
 
 12.2 
 
 6" 
 
 I 
 
 2.0 
 
 U 11.6 
 
 Photographic 
 
 Sciences 
 
 Corporation 
 
 33 WIST MAIN STRUT 
 
 WnSTH.N.Y. USSO 
 
 (716)S72-4S03 
 
 

274 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 Madge that decided him to go home, for he was 
 now perfectly well and strong, and Clive promised 
 to follow as soon as possible. It was nut easy to 
 escape from the city, but at last he determined to 
 set out for the north on horseback, carrying what 
 provisions he could with him, so as to avoid call- 
 ing at the towns near London, as travelers were 
 frequently driven back by the inhabitants from 
 fear of the plague. 
 
 As he went through the streets to bid Clive 
 good-by, he was surprised to see that very few of 
 the plague-stricken houses were now watched or 
 shut up, for the people were in despair of keeping 
 down the disease by any precautions, and more 
 than once he passed a dead body lying unburied 
 in some danc alley. 
 
 "Harold," he said, "nigh on seven thousand 
 died last week. I dare not leave you behind." 
 
 "There is a rumor, Rupert, that the plague 
 hath broken out in some of the northern towns. 
 Think how grievously helpless your grandfather 
 and grandmother would be were Madge to sicken. 
 They might die of want or misery. Indeed you 
 ought to go home." 
 
 " How is Sir William this morning } " 
 
 " In grievous pain. God help him ! his mind is 
 so distraught with agony, he scarce can think of 
 his poor soul. If I see you not again, Ru, bid 
 them all farewell for me. Give Editli my dear 
 love ; and tell Margery that I know now that she 
 
THE STING OF DEATH, 
 
 275 
 
 was right — this sickness hath taught me that I 
 am nothing so great as I fancied myself." 
 
 "O Hal, it hath taught me that if ever man 
 deserved the name of brave and true, it is you. 
 Forgive me for having so mistaken you." 
 
 " Nay, it was no mistake. I am a coward still, 
 but now I know that I am not alone. Farewell, 
 dear Rupert. May God be with you, and lead 
 you safe home ! " 
 
 Rupert turned away, unable to speak, but 
 looked back at the corner of the street. Harold 
 was leaning from the window, fluttering a white 
 handkerchief. A gleam of sunlight fell on his 
 face ; but Rupert could hardly see it for his tears, 
 for he felt a miserable foreboding that he had 
 bidden him farewell till they should meet again 
 in the presence of God and his angels. 
 
 His journey to the north was long and event- 
 ful, but he reached home safely three weeks after 
 he left London, and was welcomed by Margery and 
 his grandparents as one come back from the dead. 
 They did, indeed, need him sorely, but he could 
 not overcome the feeling that he had ill-requited 
 Clive's noble friendship by leaving him in danger 
 in the stricken city, though at the time it had 
 seemed necessary. 
 
 Meanwhile, Harold was spending weary, self- 
 denying hours at the bedsides of the sick and 
 dying. Rupert had not gone many miles upon his 
 journey when Sir William became so ill that Clive 
 
f 
 
 276 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT* S NAMESAKE, 
 
 V I 
 
 could see that he had scarcely an hour to live, 
 though his pain was hot so severe as it had been, 
 and he seemed to understand what was said. 
 From his broken words and muttered prayers, 
 Harold hoped that in the last hour he had re- 
 pented of his sins, and kneeling down he prayed 
 aloud that He who had pardoned the thief upon 
 the cross would forgive and receive this poor 
 dying sinner even in his last moments. 
 
 The light was fast waning. Clive could scarcely 
 see the face upon the pillow, but Sir William's ice- 
 cold hand clutched his convulsively. The fright- 
 ened nurse had fled to another room when she 
 saw that death was approaching. The darkness 
 deepened, but Clive prayed on, till with a faint cry 
 and a short, sharp struggle, Sir William rose up in 
 the bed and fell back dead. 
 
 Then, strangely in that moment there came 
 back to Clive a miserable return of his old super- 
 stitious fears, though he was still upon his knees. 
 A great horror of the dimly visible figure on the 
 bed overcame him, but only for a moment. He 
 groped his way downstairs, struck a light, and 
 called the nurse. There was no doubt that Wayne 
 was dead ; and wrapping a sheet about his body, 
 they carried him down into the hall ; and as the 
 gray light of morning dawned they heard the bell- 
 man in the street. 
 
 Locking the doors of the desolate house behind 
 him, Clive hurried to the doctor's house in Maiden 
 
THE STING OF DEATH. 
 
 277 
 
 Lane, and for once Forsyth was at home. "I 
 know not wherefore I have come to trouble you," 
 he said, "only I feel something lonely, and the 
 sight of a friendly face does one good." 
 
 "Come in. Breakfast is ready. Where is your 
 friend ? " 
 
 " He hath gone home ; they needed him, but I 
 could not leave poor Wayne. He died last night 
 just after sundown." 
 
 "There was no hope for him from the first," 
 said the doctor gravely. " His ill life had broken 
 his health and strength. Whither are you going 
 now } " 
 
 " I had thought of returning to my lodgings." 
 
 " I wish you could leave the city. The plague 
 is increasing mightily upon us, and groweth more 
 mortal every week. Scarce one in five recovers 
 now, if taken, and it killeth ordinarily in two or 
 three days." 
 
 "God help us! Surely, if it goes on at this 
 rate, none in the town will be left alive." 
 
 " God ruleth over all," said Mrs. Forsyth gently. 
 " In his good time the plague will be stayed." 
 
 "Madam," said Clive slowly, "since I came 
 hither I have been wondering whether you could 
 spare me a room for a lime. It likes me ill to 
 lodge iri this dangerous time apart from all 
 friends." 
 
 " Ay ; we have room enough," said Mrs. Forsyth ; 
 "but if you tarry here, you will be in constant 
 
278 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT* S NAMESAKE. 
 
 peril of infection. What say you, Horace ? Is it 
 safe ? " 
 
 "I have been tending the sick during many 
 weeks, so perchance I shall not suffer from the 
 distemper. If Mrs. Forsyth will not find it 
 an inconvenience to her, I will very gladly 
 stry." 
 
 Thus it was settled; and from that moment 
 Clive talked no more of trying to go home, though 
 the pestilence daily increased in violence. All 
 through September the ^^ ^^ople died by thousands, 
 especially the poor who lived crowded together in 
 the breathless courts and alleys of the great city. 
 Business had long been at a standstill. Grass 
 grew in the open court of the new Exchange, 
 and the ships in the river lay with their sails 
 idly furled, for no one would venture to receive 
 a cargo from the port of London. 
 
 The few physicians still in town labored nobly 
 but vainly to check the spread of the disease. 
 Many of them lost their lives through venturing 
 into the infected houses, but Dr. Forsyth toiled 
 night and day, and seemed none the worse for it. 
 At first he tried to keep Harold out of danger, 
 but when he came in with a sad report of a poor 
 child lying sick and alone in a tumble-down house 
 in Moses and Aaron Alley, he could not forbid 
 the young man's taking on himself the duty of 
 tending him. 
 
 Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least 
 
 (( 
 
THE STING OF DEATH. 
 
 279 
 
 of these ye did it not to me," said Harold when 
 Forsyth objected to his willfully running into 
 danger. 
 
 For two days the poor little lad hung between 
 life and death. His father and mother had died 
 before him; the poor house had been robbed of 
 all it contained ; and it was Clive who provided 
 bed and bedding as well as food and medicine. 
 It was Clive also who sat up through the long, 
 gloomy nights, telling him the sweet story of 
 Christ's love for little children, so that he might 
 not hear the horrible clanging of the dead-cart 
 bell. By the third night he could hear nothing, 
 and before morning he was dead. 
 
 From that day Harold made no more attempt 
 to shun the contagion, but went in and out among 
 the infected houses, carrying life to many a poor 
 wretch sinking from want of food and medicine, 
 and comforting and cheering the dying with the 
 glorious message of salvation. 
 
 One evening early in the autumn he was going 
 slowly towards Mrs. Forsyth's house for a few 
 hours' much-needed rest when he saw people 
 wildly shaking hands and embracing one another, 
 and he idly wondered what had happened. 
 
 " Have you heard the good news, sir } " asked 
 Mrs. Forsyth as she opened the door for him. 
 "Horace told me an hour ago. The plague is 
 abating ! The bill is less than last week." 
 
 " Thank God I " said Clive. 
 
28o 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 Yet for many a week to come he still continued 
 at his work of nursing the sick and poor, for till 
 the winter was well advanced hundreds died each 
 month, and even in the following spring the 
 plague was lingering in the dark, dirty lanes of 
 the poorer parts of the town. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 TALK OF TREASON. 
 
 IT was midsummer again. A whole year had 
 passed since Rupert's terrible illness, and he 
 and Madge were walking together on the soft 
 springy turf of the woods, returning slowly from 
 a visit to Lady Elmer. Madge looked thin and 
 pale, for the past year had been a very hard one. 
 The money they had found in the abbot's grave 
 had long been spent and they had been forced to 
 part with all the treasured relics of former splen- 
 dor, so that their rooms looked dreary and ugly 
 now. But that was not the worst, for they had 
 neither money nor food in the house and all their 
 brilliant hopes of what the journey to London 
 was to do for them had died away; indeed it 
 seemed clear that the king would not help them. 
 
 " I wish it was all over and ended, Ru," sighed 
 Madge. " I am so tired of living on thus day 
 after day, having to plot and scheme for each 
 morsel that, we eat and yet never having enough." 
 
 " We have never really come short of our daily 
 bread, and God hath sent even to us much to 
 thank him for. Look at the golden light on yon 
 
 881 
 
282 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 tree tops and the pretty rabbits at play on the 
 slopes there ! Methinks God sends us light and 
 beauty and his gentle timid creatures that the 
 earth may not be too sad, Madge." 
 
 " I am the sadder for them, Ru. The very sun 
 seems to mock us in our misery." 
 
 " Nay, Margery, think what it is to be shut up 
 out of God's free air and sunshine. We have at 
 least these things (ay ! and many another) though 
 he hath seen fit to deny us pleasant food and 
 easy lives." 
 
 ** You may talk if it likes you, Ru ; for mine 
 own particular I see not that we have aught to be 
 thankful for. No beggar in the street hath lived 
 more wretchedly than we of late. Father and 
 mother grow weaker every day ; they cannot eat 
 so poor food. Nothing remaineth to be sold either, 
 but mother's picture. Oh, what shall we do.' 
 Nobody careth for us ! Even Edith hath forgotten 
 our necessities. I thought she would have given 
 us something to carry home with us." 
 
 " I will go back and ask her for something ! " 
 
 " Nay, Ru, better die than be a beggar ! " 
 
 The lad walked on without a word, for he had 
 an instinctive feeling that this was no time to talk 
 to Margery of the almighty love of God. 
 
 " Father will die in jail and mother of her grief! 
 Oh, what shall we do ! " 
 
 The discussion ended as it always did with 
 Rupert's remarking, "Something must be at- 
 
TALK OF TREASON. 
 
 283 
 
 1 
 
 >> 
 
 grief! 
 
 with 
 ke at- 
 
 tempted at once!" But there was no denying 
 that their prospects were very dreary. 
 
 As they were crossing the moss Rupert looked 
 cautiously round to see that no one was within 
 hearing and said, " Madge, we are to have a meet- 
 ing to-morrow in the old barn. I wish you would 
 come with me. My Lady Elmer is going." 
 
 "Edith ? she said naught of it to me." 
 
 "But she told me so. She hath lately come 
 to think that Sir John is right. Have you not 
 noticed that she hath cast off her unseemly gayety 
 of apparel?" 
 
 " Nonsense, Ru ! Edith will never give up 
 wearing of her jewels and her brave dresses." 
 
 " Sir John says, Madge, that she hath come to 
 see herself as a vile sinner " — 
 
 " Pah I you are learning to talk just like Master 
 Kenrick. " 
 
 "He is a worthy and noble servant of God, 
 Margery, and I trust that my Lady Elmer will 
 soon cease to be bound by this world's follies and 
 vanities. She was with us at our last meeting 
 for the first time." 
 
 " I am no such timid gentle fool as she, Rupert. 
 Never think you can persuade me to join your 
 secret meetings. I know they will bring down 
 some fearful trouble upon us before all is done." 
 
 " If God wills it, we should be ready to suffer 
 
 for Christ's sake." 
 
 "Yes, yes! that is like you fanatics all over. 
 19 
 
284 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT*S NAMESAKE. 
 
 '■ 
 
 I profess I should much like to hear why you 
 account yourselves so different from the rest of 
 the world. Sure if there be a God, he can hear 
 you as well from yonder church as from your 
 barn. To my mind the church is the worthier 
 place of the two ; but you gather yourselves to- 
 gether in such wild places as if you thought it 
 sinful to pray under a good roof. Ay, and you 
 revile those who differ from you as if you had 
 special light from heaven vouchsafed to you alone." 
 
 "Madge, it is not true. Come with me once 
 and see for yourself." 
 
 " Never, Rupert ! I scarce know whether to 
 believe in God or no ; but / will not risk the 
 bringing of trouble on those I love for any such 
 doings. A year and a half ago you would not 
 have done it neither, Ru." 
 
 "I tell you once more, Margery, that in the 
 sight of God our meeting ha h no harm. Never 
 once have I heard a word of treason spoken 
 there." 
 
 " It is because they think you soft and simple, 
 then. I promise you Master Kenrick hath heard, 
 ay, and spoken, treason enough. It is matter of 
 common report that he is plotting to get rid of 
 the king and to bring in government by the 
 soldiers again." 
 
 " I can but repeat that no such words are true. 
 Say naught of this to grandfather and grand- 
 mother, Margery. Go I must, for I am pledged 
 
TALK OP TSBASOlf. 
 
 28s 
 
 »» 
 
 iple, 
 iard, 
 irof 
 lid of 
 the 
 
 I true. 
 Irand- 
 idged 
 
 to it ; besides, Mr. Hartley is to make the sermon, 
 and I would not miss it for the world." 
 
 At dusk on the following evening Rupert en- 
 tered the old barn near the moss. There still 
 wanted half an hour to service time, and the few 
 people already assembled were chatting together 
 in low voices. The lad took a seat in a lonely 
 comer and began to wonder, now that he had car- 
 ried his point and was here, whether be had not 
 been selfish and unkind to insist on coming. He 
 had asserted to Madge that it was bis duty to 
 seek the spiritual food and comfort taat God had 
 put in his way. He hated to seem timorous and 
 half-hearted to those who had taught him the way 
 01 salvation ; but to-night, with unusual indeci- 
 sion, he could not be certain that he had done 
 his Lord's will in coming to the assembly. 
 
 Half impatiently he tried to stop thinking of 
 his perplexities, but he could not ; and at last he 
 rose and joined a knot of men who were talking 
 in whispers on the opposite side of the building. 
 They looked at him and became silent. At last 
 Kenrick, who was in the center of the group, 
 said aloud : " Sure, good friends, we have no 
 cause to feel ashamed of our words being over- 
 heard ; they are true. The king is a monster 
 of iniquity, his court is a very Babylon, and the 
 sooner this perverse, unclean, idolatrous genera- 
 tion is wiped off the face of tht earth, the better 
 hope have we that this poor realm may become, 
 
 '!'. 
 
286 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 like Israel of old, God's chosen kingdom. Oh! 
 that we could have again one year of our noble 
 and precious Oliver! But doubtless in his own 
 good time and way our Lord will send us a de- 
 liverer. He hath searched and tried us in his 
 judgments, as with fire, sending his plagues upon 
 us and delivering us up captive to the evil will 
 of strange children ; but I trust the time of our 
 redemption is at hand." 
 
 " Ay ! " said another ; " the darkest hour is 
 ever before the dawn." 
 
 " Nay," answered a third ; " I think not with 
 you. Pestilence and warfare foretell the coming 
 of the end. Our God hath had long patience, 
 but be sure he hath looked down upon us in the 
 fierceness of his wrath, counting up our foul in- 
 iquities till the measure of them be full. The 
 people have gone madly after vanity and folly; 
 our rulers, rioting in the daytime, have sold them- 
 selves to do evil, oppressing the widow and father- 
 less, turning away justice from the poor, and 
 giving themselves up to work all uncleanness with 
 greediness. Can the Most High bear longer 
 with us } Nay ; I say his sword is already raised 
 to smite; he will take away our place among 
 the nations and make us even as Sodom and 
 Gomorrah." 
 
 "Our day of mercy hath not fled, perchance. 
 Mayhap the Lord hath yet seven thousand in 
 Israel who have not bowed the knee to Baal," said 
 
ince. 
 
 Id in 
 
 said 
 
 TALK OF TREASON. 
 
 287 
 
 Kenrick. "Oh, if the godly would but gather 
 themselves together against the mighty! Had 
 we but faith, even now the Lord might raise up a 
 Gideon for us ! " 
 
 " What mean you, Mr. Kenrick ? " cried Rupert 
 quickly. "You would not fight to put down 
 these follies at court, would you } " 
 
 "Would I not.? Did I believe that the Lord 
 was amongst us, I would go forth to-morrow to 
 gather his people together. Ay, I would gladly 
 see this king of ours brought where bis father 
 was to answer for his crimes. But to my thinking 
 neither the pillar of cloud nor of fire bids us 
 go forward!" 
 
 " O good sirs I " cried Rupert, " doth not the 
 Bible bid us honor the king.?" 
 
 "Was not Israel bidden to slaughter the Ca- 
 naanitish idolaters ? Was not Saul condemned 
 because his eye pitied Agag ? I tell you, my 
 young friend, thac he who hath put his nands 
 to the plow and looketh back is not fit for the 
 kingdom of God." 
 
 With a sad, puzzled look at the shoemaker, 
 Rupert turned away and went back to his lonely 
 seat. His new convictions and his old ideas were 
 at war. Whether Kenrick were right or his 
 grandfather he could not decide ; but now he kad 
 listened to treason. His face flushed with shame 
 at the thought. 
 
 At that instant a young man came up to 
 
 \ 
 
288 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 him, saying, "May I speak a word to you, Mr. 
 Staynor ? " 
 
 " Nay ; I tell you plainly, Robert, I care not to 
 hear such talk." 
 
 " It is not what you suppose. It is your own 
 private concern. You know, I doubt not, that 
 the squire, your grandfather, hath been deep in 
 debt these many years." 
 
 Rupert nodded. 
 
 " Ay ; 't is common talk. Well, as I came 
 hither I met Will Jacobs the constable, and he 
 said he had a warrant for the apprehension of 
 Mr. Staynor for a great debt. If it be true, the 
 squire would do well to betake himself to some 
 sure hiding place. Methinks the man hath a kind- 
 ness for the old gentleman, and will make no 
 undue haste in the execution of his errand." 
 
 " I thank you, Robert, for your kind care of 
 us," said Rupert, shaking him heartily by the 
 hand. 
 
 A few minutes later Sir John and Lady Elmer 
 entered. Edith took a seat at once, but Sir John 
 walked up and down talkitjg to many of those 
 present in whispers. Rupert could not help won- 
 dering whether he too might not be talking trea- 
 son. However, he had not much time to give to 
 these disagreeable meditations, for the service 
 soon began, and the singing of the first psalm 
 turned his thoughts away from his troubles. 
 
 The prayer that followed seemed specially 
 
TALK OF TREASON, 
 
 of 
 the 
 
 289 
 
 meant for him. It put into words his troubles 
 and perplexities, and asked help for his deepest 
 needs. Perhaps others thought the same, for 
 there was not a sound or a murmur to be heard 
 while the preacher's passionate voice rang through 
 the building. 
 
 It had hardly ceased; they were still standing 
 with bent heads and closed eyes, when the door 
 was burst open, and with a horrible vindictive 
 shout a number of rough-looking men rushed in 
 with drawn swords in their hands. Some of the 
 women fainted and many of the men turned pale. 
 Two fellows tried to seize the preacher, but with 
 a grim smile Kenrick drew a pistol from the 
 breast of his doublet and one fell wounded. Ru- 
 pert tried to go to Ken rick's help, but at that 
 instant the lights were dashed out, and in the first 
 moment of confusion his arms were seized from 
 behind and bound together with a strong rope. 
 He kicked and struggled violently, but being at 
 such disadvantage was soon carried out of the 
 barn and flung on the ground beside two or three 
 companions in misfortune. For a while he lay 
 half stunned by his fall, listening in horrible anx- 
 iety to the sounds of the conflict. Presently 
 more captives were brought out, and one of them, 
 in spite of his bonds, was so active that he con- 
 trived to knock the torches from the hands of his 
 guards and to escape toward the woods. He was 
 pursued by most of the men who had been set 
 
 I 
 
290 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 to watch the prisoners, and Rupert contrived to 
 scramble to his feet unobserved and to dart behind 
 the shelter of a tree. 
 
 The next minute the other man was caught and 
 was led by his captors within a yard of Rupert's 
 hiding place. He heard them swearing loudly at 
 him and vowing that they would "tie all the 
 fanatics together by the necks, so that they could 
 hang each other without further ceremony," and 
 afraid lest he should be missed he did not wait to 
 hear another word, but pressed deeper into the 
 wood, stumbling miserably in the darkness. If 
 he had been able to feel where he was going, he 
 would have had little difficulty in finding his way ; 
 but to his dismay he discovered, after nearly half 
 an houi s walking, that he was drawing closer to 
 the barn again instead of going farther away. 
 The shouts sounded near and the torchlight 
 seemed close at hand. 
 
 Despairing of making good his escape as he 
 was, he sat down and wrenched and struggled at 
 the rope that bound him till it cut into the flesh. 
 All his efforts but tightened the knot, and at last 
 he resolved to hide among the trees till it was 
 light enough for him to find his way to the hut 
 of a dissenter who lived on the outskirts of the 
 wood. This plan gave him hope and courage, and 
 turning his back to the lights he tried to go 
 straight forward, striking against the trees at 
 every step in spite of his utmost care. He had 
 
TALK OF TREASON. 
 
 291 
 
 he 
 
 d at 
 
 esh. 
 
 last 
 
 was 
 
 hut 
 
 the 
 
 and 
 
 > go 
 
 \ at 
 had 
 
 scarcely gone forty feet when he found himself 
 facing the lights once more, and he had just con- 
 cluded that he would sit still where he was when 
 he heard a quick step close behind him. As it 
 happened he had struck into the path again, and 
 thinking it would be safer to crawl in among the 
 underbrush he hunied forward alarmed at the 
 crackling of the dry twigs beneath his feet, but 
 more afraid to remain where he was. Alas! it 
 was a case of "most haste least speed." He 
 caught his foot on a fallen branch and fell with a 
 crash into a large rosebush. The sound of hurry- 
 ing footsteps came nearer; he dared not stir; 
 he scarcely ventured to breathe. A dim figure 
 passed him rapidly, and with incautious haste 
 Rupert called softly : — 
 
 " Stop, sir, please ! " 
 
 The man looked to right and left, began to run, 
 then turned and deliberately came back. 
 
 "Who spoke to me ? " he said. 
 
 " I, Mr. Hartley. Oh, please cut this cord ! " 
 
 " Rupert Staynor ! Where are you ? " 
 
 For answer Rupert scrambled to his feet. 
 
 " My hands are iast," he said. " I have a knife 
 in the pocket of my doublet. Thank God ! I can 
 find my way now." 
 
 "I cannot, Rupert," whispered his companion. 
 * I have been lost in this wood for full twenty 
 minutes. Methought mine own escape narrow 
 enough, but yours hath been narrower." 
 
 * ■ 
 
 1 
 
 !». 
 
 
 I I 
 
 
r 
 
 
 292 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 " We can scarce say yet that we have escaped." 
 
 Presently they reached the Denham road, and 
 Rupert breathed more freely, for the moon had 
 risen bright and clear, and they could see that 
 they were not pursued. 
 
 " Are many taken ? " he asked. 
 
 "Ay; full half the assembly. Perhaps even 
 more are made captive, for, cowardly as it seemeth 
 to seek one's own safety at such a time, I could 
 have done nothing to save them, and I fled before 
 all was over. Alas ! I do believe Obadiah Ken- 
 rick might easily have saved himself had he not 
 come to mine aid." 
 
 " Where shall you go } " 
 
 "Can I but make shift to reach the abbey 
 boundaries I have a sure hiding place that hath 
 already served me well. Methinks, Rupert, you 
 had best accompany me thither, for they are sure 
 to seek for you at home ere morning." 
 
 "Grandfather too must needs go into hiding; 
 the warrants are out against him for his debts. 
 Is there room for three.?" 
 
 "Ay, at a pinch," replied the preacher in a 
 trembling voice; "and of the three your grand- 
 father hath the best right to it; but, hark 
 ye, lad! speak of me as little as may be in 
 your account of this day's adventure. I will 
 tell you why when we have leisure. I am sore 
 grieved that Mr. Staynor hath fallen on such 
 evil times." 
 
TALK OF TREASON. 
 
 293 
 
 " When shall we meet with you ? Oh, would it 
 not be periling your safety for our sakes ? " 
 
 "Nay. Bring your grandfather to the three 
 elms by Lady Ellen's well, within two hours after 
 you reach home, and all will yet be well, I trust. 
 I knew not, young sir, that the squire was in 
 such straits." 
 
 * "All the villagers know it, sir. One of them 
 gave me the warning." 
 
 * Bring some provisions with you, if possible. 
 The place is but ill stored." 
 
 Little more was said until they parted at the 
 turning to the abbey gates, when Rupert ex- 
 claimed, " Fair sir, can you not come to sup with 
 us to-night? Our fare is poor enough, but you 
 will be right welcome!" 
 
 "I dare not, Rupert — not now. Good-night." 
 
 i 
 
 ■ S'- 
 
 I 
 
f 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 IN NEWGATE. 
 
 i 
 
 WHEN Rupert went to the meetings the 
 door was usually left unlocked, so that 
 he could let himself in without disturbing any 
 one; but this time it was securely barred, and 
 he was obliged to rap long and loud before any 
 one heard him. 
 
 Madge came to open it at last, saying, " I have 
 been so miserable, Ru, I could not go to bed, and 
 I have opened the door so many times that I did 
 not believe it could really be you now ; but what 
 is the matter ? " 
 
 "You were right, Madge. Many an one hath 
 been taken to-night." 
 
 ** Oh, Ru ! and you are all mud ! and where 's 
 your hat.?" 
 
 "My hat } I must have lost it. I Mttle thought 
 to escape." 
 
 Madge put her arms around his neck and kissed 
 him again and again, then called herself " a little 
 fool," and drew him into the hall where a large 
 slice of bread and a bowl of milk v/ere awaiting 
 him. 
 
IN NEWGATE, 
 
 295 
 
 "You look half dead, Ru, and your wrists — oh, 
 what hath happened to them ? " 
 
 Rupert looked at them and saw that they were 
 marked with blood. "I cut them, Madge, with 
 trying to break a cord they bound me with." 
 
 Madge turned pale. " Oh, Ru ! How was it ? " 
 
 The lad told his story in as few words as possi- 
 ble, ending with repeating Mr. Hartley's strange 
 promise of a hiding place. 
 
 " What can he mean, Ru } Methought we knew 
 this place as well as most folk." 
 
 "I know not, Madge. There was no time to 
 tarry for questions. He hath promised to tell me 
 all when we have gained his retreat ; but should 
 you not rouse grandfather ? " 
 
 Madge agreed ; but met the squire at the door of 
 his room, coming to see if Rupert had come home. 
 
 " Father," she said, " Rupert hath been taken 
 and hath escaped, and the preacher hath promised 
 to lead him to a sure hiding place. Will you not 
 go with him ? " 
 
 "There is a warrant out against you, grand- 
 father!" exclaimed Rupert. "Robert Thomson 
 told me that Jacobs had it." 
 
 "God's will be done!" 
 
 "Ay, father! but tarry not here. Do, do go 
 with Rupert." 
 
 "My child, I have long foreseen that I needs 
 must end my life in prison. What matter a few 
 days sooner or later } " 
 
 J 
 
 I 
 

 1 
 
 296 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 Margery looked at his quiet face in silent aston- 
 ishment, then went without another word to her 
 mother's room. " Mother ! " she said, " mother, 
 are you able to get up? Father is resolved on 
 ending of his days in jail. Come and persuade 
 him to go into hiding." 
 
 Mrs. Staynor was so nervous with her long 
 listening for Rupert that she burst into tears; 
 but Margery only repeated, " Come and let us get 
 them away." 
 
 " I don't understand, Madge." 
 
 "A friend of Rupert's hath promised to hide 
 them both, but father saith he will not go." 
 
 " Wherefore should he go } " 
 
 "For his debts, mother. Oh, if he is once 
 taken, we shall never have him free again ; and 
 they say the prison is a most vile, wretched place. 
 Why, mother, many a debtor is half starved, and 
 we have no money to keep father with in Chester, 
 or wherever they take him." 
 
 Mrs. Staynor shivered, but Margery went on: 
 " Father would die shut up with all those fearful 
 low men in that horrid prison. Mrs. Jacobs was 
 telling me all about it one day. She says the 
 debtors who are too poor to hire rooms for them- 
 selves live crowded together like sheep in a pen — 
 the vilest, filthiest place ! And they take turns to 
 sit in a great cage over the street to beg for all 
 who have no money. Fancy father there ! " 
 
 Mrs. Staynor gave a sort of inarticulate moan. 
 
IN NEWGATE, 
 
 297 
 
 but she followed Madge to the hall, which was 
 now almost bare of furniture, and without the 
 faded tapestry that had once covered the cold 
 stone walls. 
 
 Her husband met her at the door, held her in 
 his arms, kissed her ashen face, and spoke gentle, 
 soothing words to her ; but her trembling lips re- 
 fused to speak the words she wished so much to 
 say. 
 
 " Dear grandmother," said Rupert, " grieve not 
 so. We shall, I trust, be safe." 
 
 " Go, Richard," she gasped at last. " Tarry not 
 a moment; hearken! I hear voices coming this 
 way." 
 
 "'Tis fancy, mother," said Madge. "I hear 
 naught but the vind." 
 
 " Catherine, my love, I cannot leave you." 
 
 " Nay, but you must, Richard. I shall miss you 
 sore, but it grieves me worse to have you here in 
 danger." 
 
 "They will not come till dawn, methinks, if 
 they do then. It likes them not to ride abroad 
 at nit,nt instead of resting warm abed." 
 
 Margery drew Rupert aside, saying, "Think 
 you, Rupert, that you were recognized.?" 
 
 " I know not but you were right, Madge. This 
 night, though I have never heard them do as 
 much aforetime, they did speak somewhat that 
 had the sound of treason ! " 
 
 "Father," said Madge, crossing to where the 
 
 i 
 
298 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 
 squire sat, trying to soothe his trembling wife, 
 " Father, Rupert saith they did talk treason this 
 night at the meeting. Indeed it is not safe to 
 tarry so long. Oh, think if he were taken! he 
 would be hanged and " — 
 
 She did not finish her sentence, for with a wild, 
 pitiful cry Mrs. Staynor turned white as death 
 and fell back in a faint. Margery's careless 
 words gave her the impression that Rupert had 
 confessed himself a traitor, and she seemed to 
 see him suffering the horrible penalty of his 
 crime. 
 
 They laid her gently on the floor, bathed her 
 face and rubbed her hands, but she remained as 
 still and stony as ever. ** Rupert," said the squire 
 at last, "I cannot leave her; but do you go at 
 once, for your danger is great and pressing com- 
 pared to mine. If I am able, I will be by the well 
 by nine of the clock." 
 
 "Then I will tarry for you, grandfather." 
 
 "Nay. If you meet not Mr. Hartley at the 
 time appointed, how shall we discover his hiding 
 place ? " 
 
 "'Tis sca» :e time yet, grandfather. Hark! 
 what is that; 
 
 " Some one n the court. I will go up to the 
 tower and see what I can," cried Madge. "Ru- 
 pert, father, lade yourselves somewhere ! Oh, 
 quick ! " 
 
 But Rupert pointed to a man's face pressed 
 
IN NEWGATE, 
 
 lark! 
 
 the 
 Ru- 
 Oh, 
 
 bssed 
 
 299 
 
 against the window and whispered, "It is too 
 latel he hath seen us." 
 
 "Nay; if you can but once get among the 
 ruins, all will be well. Oh, why were we so great 
 fools as to let you linger here } Listen how they 
 are beating on the door!" 
 
 " Open in the king's name ! " was shouted from 
 without. 
 
 " Try to get out by the kitchen way, Ru." 
 
 **'Tis hopeless, Madge. We are caught in a 
 regular trap. That door will not hold long." 
 
 " There *s the chimney, Ru ; it is wide enough " 
 — but at that inoment the doc^ crashed open and 
 a party of men rushed in. All this while Mrs. 
 Staynor had lain in her deathlike faint, and the 
 old squire had sat beside her like one dazed. 
 
 "Ah, my fine fellow, we have caught you at last ! " 
 cried the leader with a derisive laugh. "You 
 have not gained much by your tricks, I can tell 
 you. Come, you had best be quiet ; clever as you 
 are, you shall not escape again. So that old gen- 
 tleman is your grandfather, eh ? " 
 
 Rupert did not answer, but the squire came 
 forward saying, "By what right, sir, have you 
 forced your way into mine house at midnight.' 
 Show me your warrant, if you have one." 
 
 " That will I, sir, with the greatest of pleasure. 
 You will find your own name in it as well as that 
 of your hopeful grandson here. Like enough it 
 will be a hanging job for both of you. Come, sir, 
 
 ao 
 
 I 
 
 
 %. 
 
300 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 your little lass can look to the old lady ; but hark 
 ye, my girl, fetch us up some wine or ale ! I am 
 something thirsty; hunting of fanatics is dry 
 work." 
 
 " Father is no fanatic." 
 
 " That 's as it may be, my pretty wench ; least- 
 ways he 's got himself mixed up in the plot and 
 must come along with us. Hurry with the liquor, 
 my lass." 
 
 " I Will bring the best we have, sir, but 't is poor 
 enough, " said Margery, humbling herself to pro- 
 pitiate the men if possible for the sake of the cap- 
 tives. " I have only ale, and a bit of cold fowl." 
 
 The men were hungry as well as thirsty, and 
 though Margery brought out everything eatable 
 that the house afforded, they were scarcely satis- 
 fied. Mr. Staynor meanwhile continued his un- 
 availing efforts to rouse his wife from her swoon, 
 but Rupert sat grim and silent in the corner, for 
 iron fetters were locked on both wrists and ankles 
 and this time escape seemed utterly hopeless. 
 He felt vexed that Madge should spend these last 
 few precious moments in waiting on the soldiers, 
 though he knew that she was doing it for their 
 sakes. 
 
 But at last she came to his side and whispered, 
 "O Ru, you are going to be taken to London. 
 Don't lose heart. Sure we shall get some one 
 to speak for you." 
 
 "I fear not. It is all lies from first to last, 
 
IN NEWGATE. 
 
 301 
 
 or they would not be carrying off grandfather 
 
 too. 
 
 )i 
 
 « 
 
 Here, my lass," called out a man at the table, 
 "give the poor lad a drink; he needs cheering 
 up a bit." 
 
 " No ; be still, Madge," said Rupert impatiently. 
 " That grinning fool will drive me mad, making a 
 laughing stock of me thus after having escaped 
 him once. I wonder if he will carry us thus 
 bound all the way to London. " 
 
 "Ru," said Madge suddenly, "can you think 
 now that all God allows to fall on us is right } " 
 
 "O Madge, are you too mocking of me at 
 this sore time? I know my faith hath sadly 
 failed." 
 
 " Nay, Ru, nay. Think you I could mock you 
 now } " 
 
 "Then, Margery, I do believe that God hath 
 sent even this, though I can scarce feel it. Look ! 
 grandmother hath opened her eyes." 
 
 "Now, sirs, are you ready .^ " cried the rough 
 voice of the soldier. 
 
 " O fair sir, be good to them ! " exclaimed 
 Madge, throwing herself on her knees before the 
 man. " I have no money, not even a shilling ! or 
 you should have had it ; but be good to them ! 
 They are indeed as true to the king as you your- 
 self. We have lost all for his sake." 
 
 "Ay, child, I'll not hurt them. I am obliged 
 to prevent young master's overrunning us again, 
 
302 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 I 1 
 
 but if the old gentleman will give us his word to 
 come along quietly, he shall go free." 
 
 "I promise to give you no trouble," said Mr. 
 Staynor. " I will make no attempt to escape." 
 
 " And if Rupert would promise " — 
 
 * No, Madge ; I shall escape if I can." 
 
 " Well, that *s fair warning," laughed the officer, 
 " though methinks as yet I have the best of the 
 bargain ; but now, gentlemen, we must be gone." 
 
 Mrs. Staynor seemed scarcely to realize what 
 had happened, but Madge clung passionately first 
 to her father and then to Rupert as if she could 
 never let them go. Tears of which he was 
 ashamed dimmed the lad's eyes, but this time his 
 captors did not laugh. They turned away to let 
 him say his farewell, but he could think of nothing 
 that he wished to say till he was jolting towards 
 Horton in a rough cart that had been brought 
 from the village. 
 
 They rested till daylight at the inn, and then 
 they and Obadiah Kenrick and one or two other 
 prisoners began their long, slow journey up to 
 London. The rest of those who were taken at 
 the conventicle had been sent to the county jail ; 
 and there was something alarming in these being 
 singled out from their companions. 
 
 " Master Kenrick," whispered Rupert anxiously, 
 " what hath become of my Lady Elmer and of Sir 
 John .? " 
 
 "I know not. Methinks they have escaped, 
 
IN NEWGATE, 
 
 303 
 
 >> 
 
 and Mr. Hartley also, I trust. Leastways they 
 are not with us." 
 
 The captives were crowded together in a rough 
 springless cart, while their guards were on horse- 
 back. Fortunately an awning protected them 
 both from the heat of the sun and from the curi- 
 ous glances of the inhabitants of the towns and 
 villages through which they passed. 
 
 In spite of his belief that God had sent this 
 trouble on them, Rupert was soon so out of spirits 
 that it cost him an effort even to answer when 
 addressed. The weary monotony of each day's 
 journey, ending at evening in the arrival at some 
 new inn, where they were always the center of a 
 crowd of laughing, curious people, and the rest- 
 less, sleepless nights passed on the hard benches 
 of the common room wore out both strength and 
 patience. Every day escape seemed more out of 
 the question, for he was getting stiff and weak ; 
 but plans for it occupied his thoughts unceas- 
 ingly. His grandfather suffered less, perhaps be- 
 cause he had so long looked forward to this mis- 
 fortune that the reality was little worse than the 
 anticipation had been. He tried to inspire his 
 companions with his own faith and hope, but he 
 soon saw that they preferred to endure the hard- 
 ships of their lot in silence. 
 
 Towards evening on the fifth day they reached 
 London ; and Rupert, cheered by the thought of a 
 change in his condition, even though it were only 
 
 
 .i 
 
 m. 
 
304 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 i ' 
 
 to a prison cell, drew aside one of the flapping 
 curtains of the cart to peep out, taking care, 
 however, not to be seen himself. 
 
 It was already growing dusk, though they were 
 yet on the outskirts of the town. "Last year 
 when the plague was at its worst," said Rupert, 
 "Hal and I often walked up hither. One felt 
 stifled in the city, not knowing but that every 
 breath one drew might be receiving of the con- 
 tagion ; but out here among the fields and hedges 
 it all felt fresh and pure. For a fortnight before 
 1 sickened they made great fires in our lodging, 
 burning pitch and gunpowder till the house was 
 filled with thick smoke." 
 
 " All these houses are new since I was last in 
 London. Sure this must be the Holborn road. 
 I wonder if they are carrying us to Newgate." 
 
 " Newgate } Methought we were bound for the 
 Tower. Ah, yonder comes my Lady Shirley's 
 coach. I would not for the world she should see 
 me thus," said Rupert, hastily dropping the cur- 
 tain and shrinking back into a dark corner. 
 
 A few minutes later the cart stopped with a 
 jolt, and the train of rough men and coarse 
 women who had followed it, making a straggling 
 procession for some distance, now collected in a 
 crowd to see the prisoners alight. Their guards 
 had some difficulty in forcing a passage for them 
 through the throng, all pushing and struggling 
 to get a good view, but not too much occupied 
 
IN NEWGATE, 
 
 305 
 
 Ih a 
 irse 
 [ling 
 in a 
 lards 
 lem 
 jling 
 pied 
 
 to assail them with loud jeers and volleys of such 
 missiles as cabbage stalks and rotten apples. 
 
 Richard Staynor held fast to his grandson's 
 arm, for the lad was unnerved at the sight of the 
 brutal, mocking crowd pressing so close about 
 them. The flickering light of the torches gleamed 
 one moment on a sea of savage, grinning faces; 
 the next the great gate had clanged behind them, 
 and they were within a roughly paved, dimly 
 lighted yard, surrounded with gloomy walls of 
 massive stone. 
 
 Outside the mob yelled and beat upon the 
 gates, and within from a loophole high overhead 
 came sounds of coarse laughter and snatches of 
 ribald songs. Rupert shuddered and Mr. Staynor 
 gently stroked his bent head, though he said 
 nothing. A few minutes later they were con- 
 ducted into a small, ill-smelling yard open to wind 
 and rain, and there they were left till morning to 
 sleep, if they could, on the dirty stones of the 
 pavement. 
 
 Toward noon on the following day the governor 
 of the jail came to see them, and, knowing some- 
 thing of Mr. Staynor's history, ordered him and 
 his grandson to be removed to a cell over the city 
 gate. He also released Rupert from his fetters, 
 but he would not mitigate in the least the sever- 
 ities of the imprisonment of their companions 
 in misfortune. 
 
 Their new room was small, gloomy, and almost 
 
 i!i 
 
 -■: 
 
 14 
 
 jii 
 
 
'i 
 
 306 
 
 PRINCE R UPER T 'S ' NAMESAKE. 
 
 destitute of furniture, but through the heavy bars 
 that crossed the narrow window they could look 
 down on the life and bustle of the Cheap, and a 
 fresh breeze blew pleasantly into their little cell. 
 
 A scanty meal of bread and water was brought 
 to them soon after noon, but Rupert was so 
 hungry that he could have eaten twice as much 
 as had been allowed for him. 
 
 "Grandfather," he said, "I fear that we shall 
 starve if they give us but one meal a day, and 
 that one so light and unsatisfying." 
 
 " I will write a memorial to the king, Rupert. 
 I think he will see that we have justice." 
 
 * I know not ; methinks he cares not to be 
 troubled with us and our losses. I would we 
 could let Clive know that we have been carried 
 hither." 
 
 " We will ask for paper and ink when the turn- 
 key cometh in again, and perchance some one for 
 charity will carry our messages." 
 
 There was no bed in the room, but that night 
 the prisoners slept better than they had done 
 since they left the abbey. When the first rays 
 of sunlight stole into their chamber Rupert awoke 
 and rising softly stood at the high window look- 
 ing down into the street. The country folk were 
 coming into market with full baskets of fruit and 
 vegetables, and the lad began to think hungrily of 
 their chances of breakfast. 
 
 The rattling of the heavy bolts outside the 
 
light 
 
 Idone 
 rays 
 
 Iwoke 
 look- 
 were 
 and 
 rily of 
 
 IN NEWGATE, 
 
 307 
 
 door disturbed his meditations. Turning he saw- 
 one of the jailers enter. 
 
 "Are you a-wanting of breakfast?" the man 
 asked. " Because I 'm going out to buy some 
 things for the gentlemen upstairs an' I can get 
 anything you wish." 
 
 "We have no money, sir; methinks we shall 
 be forced to live as we can on what the governor 
 allows us." 
 
 "No money .^ then you are like to fare ill. 
 Have you any friends in the town } " 
 
 " Ay. Could you not give us a sheet or two of 
 paper and some ink and we will write to them } " 
 
 The jailer nodded and left them, returning 
 presently with a dusty ink bottle, a worn-out quill 
 pen, and a few sheets of paper. 
 
 Rupert stood up by the window, for they had 
 no table, and wrote a hasty note to Clive, address- 
 ing it to the care of Dr. Horace Forsyth. Then 
 Mr. Staynor took the pen to write to his wife and 
 to the king, protesting that no thought of treason 
 had ever occurred to them and begging that he 
 would order their case to be looked into. " Per- 
 chance this may do some good," he said with 
 a sigh. 
 
 " His majesty hath taken no heed to the memo- 
 rial we sent by the prince." 
 
 "It may not have reached his hands." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; I think he would scarce have 
 treated us with utter contempt, but he seemed 
 
 I 
 
 n 1 
 
 ; I'l I 
 
 i^i 
 
 I 
 
 III 
 
 
 
 P 
 
 
 K 
 
3o8 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 unwilling to take much pains to do us justice, and 
 they call us traitors now. I see not how we can 
 disprove so vague charges. Madge blames me for 
 going to the meetings, but indeed I heard nothing 
 wronging of the king until that last unlucky day, 
 and then I stayed not to listen. I am bitterly 
 grieved to have brought you into trouble and 
 disgrace with going of my own way. If aught 
 ill happen to you. I shall never forgive my- 
 self." 
 
 " It doth not grieve me, Rupert, that God hath 
 ordered it that we share the same prison. Sure 
 we can comfort one another." 
 
 "Are you not hungry, grandfather.? How 
 shall we get bread? Think you they will let 
 us starve.?" 
 
 "Nay; though I doubt not we shall have to 
 content ourselves with less than we desire. Many 
 a poor soul hath lain long years in prison and 
 hath known what it is to suffer both cold and 
 hunger." 
 
 Rupert sat down m the corner on the floor and 
 thought deeply. At last he rose and tied a piece 
 of twine through a hole which he cut in the wrist 
 of his glove. 
 
 "What are you doing, Rupert.?" asked Mr. 
 Staynor. 
 
 " I am endeavoring to earn our dinner." 
 
 Holding by the iron bars, he swung himself up 
 to the window ledge and began to sing. He could 
 
IN NEWGATE. 
 
 309 
 
 and 
 piece 
 wrist 
 
 Mr. 
 
 5lf up 
 could 
 
 scarcely tell whether the people below the gate 
 were listening or not, but at the end of his song 
 he let down his glove. With his face pressed 
 against the bars he could see that a gilded coach 
 had stopped beneath the arch, and hoping that 
 some pitiful lady might be within it he began 
 again. Before the second song was finished he 
 felt sundry tugs and jerks at the string he held, 
 and when he drew up the glove it was half full of 
 copper coins, and contained in addition a piece 
 of glittering gold. "Here is our dinner, grand- 
 father," he said triumphantly. " I had rather 
 earn it some other way, but beggars may not 
 choose." 
 
 The crowd still lingered, shouting for favorite 
 ditties, but Rupert sang no more that afternoon. 
 
 " I wish the fellow would come ! " he said. " I 
 feel nearly hungry enough to eat my shoes." 
 
 About five o'clock the key turned once more, 
 and Rupert begged the man to make haste and 
 buy sufficient bread and meat for them and for 
 their friends in the yard. 
 
 He took the money and promised to do the 
 errand, but the room was beginning to get dim 
 and dusky before be returned with a basket con- 
 taining a loaf of bread, a few slices of beef, and 
 a bottle of milk. 
 
 " Did you carry some to our friends .? " inquired 
 Rupert eagerly as he set the basket down. 
 
 " Ay ; and they bade me tell you that you should 
 
 
 t '■ ... 
 
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 i! 
 
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 I *i 
 
 m\ 
 
, 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 I 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
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 ! 
 
 310 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 tt 
 
 tt 
 
 have their prayers," said the jailer with a grin in 
 which contempt was mingled with amusement. 
 Are they well?" 
 
 'Ay; well enough, if that preaching fellow, 
 Kenrick, ain't sickening of the fever. Good* 
 night. Pleasant dreams, young sir ! " 
 
 They both enjoyed the meal, but Rupert was 
 much distressed at the news of the poor old shoe- 
 maker's illness. Long after he lay down to rest 
 with his cloak under his head for a pillow, he 
 could not sleep for thinking of his friend in the 
 vile courtyard below, lying fevered and restless on 
 the stones and galled with heavy fetters on every 
 limb. He fancied that his grandfather was asleep; 
 and overpowered by the misery of the present and 
 the gloom of the future, he lost all self-control 
 and sobbed like a weary, frightened child. 
 
 "Rupert, my boy, what grieveth you } " 
 
 The squire's calm, quiet voice soothed him in 
 spite of himself, and with a great effort he 
 checked his sobs. " Pray to God to help us, Ru. 
 He is as near us now as ever." 
 
 Days passed by, and still they were kept in 
 close confinement, varied only by an occasional 
 airing in the yard. Rupert became hourly more 
 eager to escape, and more convinced of the hope- 
 lessness of attempting it. Clive had not been to 
 see them, and they had heard nothing from the 
 king. To his own bitter shame and sorrow, 
 Rupert's patience failed him utterly, and as he 
 
IN NEWGATE, 
 
 3" 
 
 confessed to his grandfather, after a passionate 
 outbreak of rebellion, he " could not be a Chris- 
 tian in prison." 
 
 " If that be true, Rupert, I fear you will prove 
 but an unprofitable servant to your Lord." 
 
 " It is true ; I am an unprofitable servant ; nay, 
 I am scarce a servant at all." 
 
 " And yet, my lad, you thought yourself strong 
 enough to risk this and more for the sake of ob- 
 taining of that kind of spiritual food you thought 
 the best." 
 
 "Grandfather, think you not that it might be 
 easier even to die than to linger here so long? 
 Methinks at times I shall go mad with longing for 
 fresh air and freedom. Yesterday I had a mind 
 to knock down Timothy when he brought up our 
 breakfast, and wrench his keys from him." 
 
 " Rupert, Rupert ! think not of such folly. 
 Escape is impossible, and such ill-judged attempts 
 as that are like to make you lose the little liberty 
 you have. There are chambers underground, built 
 in the thickness of the wall, where there is scarce 
 room to stand upright or lie at length." 
 
 " I should die in so wretched a place." 
 
 "Nay, Rupert; men can live for years so 
 cramped. Have patience, lad ! tempt them not to 
 treat you like some mad, ungovernable beast." 
 
 "They have no right to shut me up thus." 
 
 " Right or none, they have the power ; besides, 
 my boy, you did break the law of the land, as you 
 
 I ! 
 
 Ml 
 
 \W 
 
 • \ 
 
 ;til 
 
 i 
 
 m 
 
 < 
 

 i 
 
 312 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 know. 'T is neither wise nor just, to my thinking, 
 but you broke it knowing the consequences, and 
 will you now turn " — 
 
 " Faint heart and coward, you would say, grand- 
 father. Well, I am grieved and shamed with 
 myself. Full often I resolve to hold my tongue, 
 but sooner or later, though I pray and fight for 
 patience, I begin to rail at our persecutors more 
 bitterly than ever. O grandfather, what can I 
 do } " 
 
 " * Watch and pray, that ye enter not into tempta- 
 tion,' " said the old man reverently. " I know my 
 chill old blood hath little sympathy with thine, 
 but I remember how I vexed myself for many a 
 year in the gatehouse at Westminster, and how at 
 last I learned that even there God could teach me 
 something of himself and his wondrous love." 
 
 " For many a year ! " repeated Rupert with a 
 groan. " Grandfather, did you bear it for many a 
 year.^ and we have scarce been here two weeks. 
 Oh, what a craven wretch I am ! " 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE HUMPBACKED PEDDLER. 
 
 MARGERY! Margery!" cried Mrs. Staynor 
 in great excitement, " come hither quick." 
 
 It was three days after the squire and Rupert 
 had been carried off, and Mrs. Staynor was 
 crouching at dusk over a handful of fire on the 
 broad hearth, for she still felt weak and ill after 
 the shock she had received. 
 
 " What hath happened, mother ? " cried Mar- 
 gery, running hastily down the turret stairs. 
 
 " I heard a step in the kitchen passage. I 
 thought it was the bailiffs. O Madge! where 
 shall we go ? What shall we do ? " and she broke 
 out into a passionate fit of crying. 
 
 " Mother darling, don't ! don't ! I declare it 
 putteth me at my wits' end. Oh, I wish we could 
 go up to London to see the king or the prince. 
 They would never let father come to hurt if they 
 knew; and perchance they might even pardon 
 Rupert for his folly." 
 
 " I wish we were all dead and at rest." 
 
 "I should be frighted to die, mother," said 
 Madge, looking up with dark startled eyes. 
 
 313 
 
 |h 
 ■i 
 
 ! r 
 ill 
 
 ! ;M 
 
 ;■! i 
 
 f 
 
 
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 !;. 
 
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 m& 
 
 ;-M 
 
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 3H 
 
 PRINCE RUPERTS NAMESAKE. 
 
 " Mother, are you, like father, sure of happiness 
 and heaven ? " 
 
 Mrs. Staynor's eyes filled with tears, and throw- 
 ing herself back in her chair she wept and sobbed 
 for an hour, refusing to be comforted. 
 
 Madge was in despair, but at last, remembering 
 that a spoonful of Lady Elmer's last present of 
 tea was left in a small box in the kitchen, she 
 went out to make a cup, for Mrs. Staynor always 
 declared it did her more good than anything else. 
 The kettle was on the fire ready boiling, but before 
 making the tea she knelt down with her hands on 
 the old stool beside the fire, and said aloud : " O 
 God, thou knowest how much father loves thee ! 
 Oh, be good to him and Ru, and help us in our 
 sore trouble ! " 
 
 For a moment she felt as if an answer might 
 come to her in articulate words ; then she lit a 
 candle and poured the water on the tea. As she 
 set the cup on the table she saw with surprise a 
 little odd-shaped parcel with her own name on it, 
 and hastily pulling off the string she found within 
 an old-fashioned purse containing several gold 
 coins. 
 
 For a moment she thought it had come in an- 
 swer to her prayer ; but it must have been on the 
 table all the while ! The next instant it flashed 
 across her mind that now they could go to Lon- 
 don. She rushed into the hall, and with her 
 usual impetuosity flung the purse into her mother's 
 
THE HUMPBACKED PEDDLER. 
 
 )W- 
 
 •ing 
 t of 
 she 
 vays 
 else, 
 jfore 
 s on 
 "0 
 thee I 
 1 our 
 
 night 
 
 lit a 
 
 s she 
 
 ise a 
 Ion it, 
 
 rithin 
 gold 
 
 in an- 
 
 )n the 
 
 lashed 
 
 Lon- 
 
 Ih her 
 
 )ther's 
 
 315 
 
 lap, crying, " Look ! look ! now we can go up 
 to London ! " 
 
 " Where did you discover it ? " 
 
 " On the kitchen table, with my name on it as 
 plain as plain could be : Mistress Margery Stay- 
 nor ! Who could have left it there ? " 
 
 " Mayhap it is Mr. Clayton." 
 
 " Nay ; clergymen have few gold pieces to 
 spare. Could it be the fanatics } They must be 
 sore grieved, methinks, to see the trouble they 
 have brought us into." 
 
 " Can it be Lady Elmer } " 
 
 " She is either taken or fled, mother. The 
 castle is shut up and some folk say that Sir John 
 and she have gone into France or Holland. I 
 trust they are safe." 
 
 " Perhaps it is Mr. Clive." 
 
 " Nay ; he would have come in to see how we 
 did ; but, however it hath come, do let us go up 
 to London, mother." 
 
 " My child, how could we make shift to travel 
 thither > " 
 
 " I could walk and you could ride. I have 
 thought about it all. Plenty of people go at this 
 time of the year ; and doubtless we shall hear of 
 some one who is going either from Horton or 
 Denham." 
 
 "Madge dear, methinks I should die by the 
 
 wayside. We shall never see them again." 
 
 "O mother! wherefore will you be so dismal 
 ai 
 
 1|! 
 
 'I! 
 
 I 
 
 
 m 
 
3i6 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 and sad ? We must get to London in some 
 fashion, for bethink you we may be able to save 
 them if we be there in time. I shall go see the 
 king and tell him all father hath done for him 
 and how we are beggars for his sake." 
 
 " My child, you know naught of the ways of 
 the court." 
 
 " I care not for that, mother. Harold says any 
 one who will take no denial can have his will of 
 his gracious majesty. I shall tell him that it is 
 an infamous lie to call either father or Ru a 
 traitor ; and I shall beg him to forgive Ru's going 
 to that conventicle." 
 
 "Ay, Madge; but 'tis no easy matter to get 
 speech of a king." 
 
 " Harold said he had spoken to him many times 
 when he was playing of pell-mell or feeding of his 
 ducks and swans on the lake in the park. O 
 mother ! at least let me go. I cannot stay here 
 while they are in prison. The prince will help us." 
 
 " I fear he cares not to be troubled with our 
 business. He hath done naught for us in spite 
 of his promise." 
 
 " Mother, we know not that he got the letter. 
 Do let me go ; you could get Kate to tarry here 
 with you." 
 
 " Nay, Madge ; if you go, I will make shift to 
 travel with you myself. If there were the least 
 hope of our doing any good, I would contrive it 
 somehow." 
 
lere 
 
 tter. 
 here 
 
 ft to 
 least 
 Ive it 
 
 THE HUMPBACKED PEDDLER. 
 
 317 
 
 " I '11 contrive it, trust me, mother. Oh, how 
 ridiculous I am ! I have forgot your tea ! " and 
 she ran inro the kitchen to get it. 
 
 The longer Mrs. Staynor thought about it, the 
 better she approved of Margery's plans. She lay 
 awake all night meditating on it, and in the morn- 
 ing her daughter was astonished to find how eager 
 she was that there should be no delay in putting 
 it into execution. 
 
 " Will you go this morning, Madge, to discover 
 how we may travel.?" were the first words she 
 spoke. 
 
 "Gladly, mother. I trust I shall have good 
 fortune." 
 
 She inquired from all her humble friends in 
 Denham, but no one knew of any one with whom 
 they could travel ; and then she went on to Hor- 
 ton and paid a visit to the landlady of the Rose 
 and Crown, with no better success. She asked 
 many questions about their misfortunes and spoke 
 with special interest of Lady Elmer; but Mar- 
 irery could tell her nothing except what she 
 knew quite as well herself. She could describe 
 tko "lonesome appearance of the castle," with 
 the family and servants absent, and a "set of 
 roystering soldiers" keeping guard over it, and 
 she could tell how Sir John's papers had been 
 seized and carried away all sealed up to Lon- 
 don ; and how he was "sure to be hanged, poor 
 dear gentleman ! " Then she began on Rupert's 
 
 
 5v« 
 
 m 
 
 ^r 
 
 '11 
 
3i8 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 I 
 
 I n 
 
 1 I' 
 
 , I 
 I 
 
 wretched chance of escape, and talked of all the 
 hangings and quarterings she had seen till Madge 
 turned sick with horror. 
 
 "Why, Mistress Margery," she exclaimed, "you 
 ain't eating a bite ! Come, now, do try a egg 
 or a rasher o' bacon. Well, my dear, as I was 
 a-saying, I used to live up in London myself, and 
 many 's the pretty fellow I 've seen hanged at 
 Tyburn. Oi"»e poor lad, scarce as old as Mr. 
 Rupert, with same look in his soft, dark eyes, 
 I mind as well ao if 't was yesterday. He 'd stole 
 a couple o* sheep, — leastways they said he had, 
 — but he did make *um the noblest speech of any 
 man I ever heard. 'T ain't every man as can 
 make a speech with a cart under his feet and a 
 rope about his neck — but this lad spoke as beau- 
 tiful as any sermon. Oh, I would n't 'a' missed 
 it for ten pound!" 
 
 " It makes me sick to think of, M'*stress Ward.'* 
 
 " So it do me, my dear ; but there ! if you 've 
 never seen a hanging, you don't know what you 've 
 lost, and 't ain't no use a-talking of it. Why, I 'd 
 go to Chester to-morrow if there *d be one." 
 
 " O Mistress Ward ! I never thought you 'd 
 have been so cruel." 
 
 "No more I am cruel, my dear. Handsome 
 young ladies like yourself likes to see a pretty man 
 hanged, if he goes off Christian- like. Mr. Ru " — 
 
 Madge threw down her knife and fork with a 
 clatter, saying passionately, — 
 
THE HUMPBACKED PEDDLER. 
 
 319 
 
 fd." 
 
 've 
 've 
 I'd 
 
 m'd 
 
 [ome 
 
 Iman 
 
 I »» . 
 
 th a 
 
 " Don't talk of Rupert, Mistress Ward ! Good 
 by. I'm sorry you can't help me." 
 
 " Now, my dear, be not in so great haste. May- 
 hap I can help you. You bide quiet at home for 
 a few days and I *11 see whether I cannot hear of 
 some one going up to London that will carry you 
 along." 
 
 ** Do ; there 's a dear woman ! We can pay 
 something for the service, but not much. Make 
 as good a L^rgain as you can, even if you hear of 
 any one going but part of the way." 
 
 "That I will, my dear! Now sit down and 
 finish your dinner." 
 
 For the next three or four days Margery was 
 busy in making preparations for their departure. 
 She washed and mended all their clothes and 
 those that her father and Rupert had left behind, 
 and made them up into bundles to carry away. 
 She also packed up a great parcel of her father's 
 most precious books and instruments, intending to 
 leave them with Mrs. Ward. 
 
 At last everything was done, but she had heard 
 nothing from the landlady, and she began to fear 
 that their journey might be indefinitely delayed. 
 Rising very early in the morning «he took her 
 mother's gruel to her bedside, and then set off 
 for Horton. 
 
 She arrived at the inn about ten o'clock, but 
 Mrs. Ward was so busy attending to a party of 
 sportsmen who had come in for refreshment that 
 
 ■ 
 
 I 
 
 u« 
 
 ^•1 
 
 '\ \ 
 
320 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 1 
 
 11 1 
 
 '' 
 
 1 
 
 !i 
 
 the girl had to wait nearly an hour before she 
 could speak to her. 
 
 "Well, Mistress Margery!" she exclaimed, 
 "you've come at last. I began to think you 
 must have managed the business for yourself." 
 
 " No, indeed. Is any one ready to carry us to 
 London ? " 
 
 " Ay ; there 's a poor sort of peddler fellow that 
 sells stuffs and ribbons and collars and what not, 
 and he do come in here for a bite now and again. 
 He was here one morning when I was a-telling of 
 Sam Davy how set you was on going up to Lon- 
 don and how I did know no. one that I could trust 
 to take charge on two lone ladies like you. Well, 
 this fellow pricks up his ears, and says he, * Mine 
 occasions call me thither; I will carry up these 
 ladies for whatever they choose to give.' Will 
 you go with him. Mistress Margery.?" 
 
 "Ay ; if he be willing to take us." 
 
 " He is mighty ill-favored, but soft-spoken and 
 thankful for any notice one takes of him, poor 
 wretch ! I promise you, your mother will be 
 scared at the sight o' him. He is a great tall 
 fellow with a kind o* hump to his shoulders, and 
 he wears horrid black glasses over his eyes that 
 hide half his face. Somehow, what with them 
 and with his great yellow periwig, he hath much 
 the look of an owl. Says I, * Them glasses, good 
 sir, do become you mighty ill.' 'Madam,' says he, 
 'methinks the glasses serve my turn well enough.' 
 
THE HUMPBACKED PEDDLER, 
 
 321 
 
 ^gt^' 
 
 *Is your eyes that weak?' says I. 'They are 
 weak enough/ says he ; ' and sure 't is wise to 
 take care o' them.' " 
 
 " When will he be ready, Mistress Ward ? " 
 
 " To-morrow or the next day, as will best suit 
 you; and I agreed with him for five shillings 
 apiece, and he is to set you down in any part o' 
 London you please. Is that right } " 
 
 " Thanks, Mistress Ward ; it is a noble bargain. 
 But think you it will pay the man?" 
 
 "That's his concern; he said it would. He 
 promised to call here before eight o' the clock 
 to-night to hear when you wished to set forth. 
 I was a-wondering how I was to let you know." 
 
 "Tell him to-morrow by daybreak, if it like 
 him." 
 
 "And when will you be coming back again, 
 Mistress Margery?" 
 
 " Nay, I know not ; but sure when I do re- 
 turn I shall come to see you straight." 
 
 Madge walked slowly home, and to her dismay 
 found a strange, rough-looking man established in 
 the hall as if he meant to stay. In answer to her 
 indignant questions, he said that he was the 
 bailiff's man and that he was there to prevent 
 their carrying away any of their possessions. All 
 Mr. Staynor's papers had been taken up to Lon- 
 don already by the soldiers, but the man had been 
 employing himself during her absence in ransack- 
 ing the old chests in the tower and tearing down 
 
 11 
 
 . ii .' ill 
 
 ii;' 
 
 ii 
 
322 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 the wainscoting in a fruitless search for traitor- 
 ous letters. 
 
 Mrs. Staynor had retired to her bedroom and 
 left him to do as he chose. 
 
 " O Margery," she cried, " why have you been 
 so long away.^ A man hath been here all day, 
 prying into every room in the place." 
 
 "I have spoken to him, mother. Never mind 
 him. We will go away to-morrow morning early. 
 A peddler will carry us up to town for five 
 shillings apiece." 
 
 " In a cart, I suppose ! That fellow hath torn 
 open all our bundles, and he says we may not 
 take aught away with us ! " 
 
 " He cannot stop us. We have a right to take 
 away our books and clothes." 
 
 But the man was deaf both to argument and 
 persuasion. He would allow them to carry off 
 nothing but a small bundle of their own garments. 
 
 It proved to be just as well, however, for they 
 could not possibly have carried half of what Mar- 
 gery had packed up. She had been mistaken in 
 thinking that they were to travel in a cart, for at 
 the first streak of dawn their odd-looking con- 
 ductor, with hump, spectacles, wig, and all, appeared 
 in the courtyard leading three pack horses, whose 
 loads seemed likely to make the mounting of the 
 animals a difficult and daring feat. Mrs. Staynor 
 in her younger days had been an accomplished 
 horsewoman, and she by no means enjoyed the 
 
THE HUMPBACKED PEDDLER, 
 
 323 
 
 prospect of riding the shaggy, rawboned animal 
 which was intended for her use. The great bas- 
 kets slung to the pack saddle were neither elegant 
 nor convenient ; but after a moment's hesitation 
 she allowed the peddler to help her to her seat 
 amongst the bundles. To say the truth she 
 looked nearly as odd a figure as her guide, though 
 in a different way, for she was shrouded from 
 head to foot in a long black cloak and a thick nun- 
 like veil, and she sat in an attitude of stern, uncom- 
 promising dignity that accorded ill enough with 
 the clumsy shape and shambling gait of her steed. 
 
 Madge climbed to her perch without assistance, 
 greatly enjoying the prospect of the atlventures 
 before them, in spite of the objectionable pan- 
 niers ; but when all the bundles had been stowed 
 away and the peddler had mounted his own horse, 
 she lingered in the court to look once more at 
 the old gray ruins with their mingled memories 
 of pain and pleasure. The color faded from her 
 cheeks and the light from her eyes as she sat 
 there in the sunlight, and she could not tear 
 herself away till she saw that the queer peddler 
 was waiting for her at the gate. 
 
 Mrs. Staynor had particularly requested that 
 they might not pass through Denham village, and 
 her guide, though he had merely nodded his head 
 in assent, appeared to have given the widest pos- 
 sible interpretation to her desire, for all that day 
 they rode through woods and byways, scrupu- 
 
 \\ 
 
 ill 
 
324 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 ^\ 
 
 lously avoiding all frequented roads. At night 
 they rested in a quiet cottage, far from any vil- 
 lage, where their hosts refused all payment for 
 their kindness except a few yards of ribbon from 
 the peddler's pack. 
 
 " Sir," asked Margery on the second day, when 
 they seemed to be pursuing the same plan, " how 
 can you hope to do business if you so strictly 
 avoid all populous places ? Methought we ought 
 to have gone through all the towns near by." 
 
 " Madam, my business is to get to London with 
 all the speed possible. If I linger here and there 
 haggling over stuffs and laces, we shall not see 
 London within a fortnight." 
 
 Mrs. Staynor scarcely ever spoke, but Margery 
 often tried to enter into conversation with the 
 man, for his care for her mother had gradually 
 overcome the dislike with which the oddity of his 
 appearance had inspired her. Her efforts were 
 not, however, attended with much success ; he 
 either seemed not to hear or answered her so 
 briefly that she could make nothing of his replies. 
 
 Sometimes when the v^eather was hot and the 
 road bad the peddler walked all day long to save 
 his weary horse, and though Madge sometimes 
 followed his example for an hour or two, he was 
 far the better walker in spite of his deformity. 
 
 " You are wond.ous strong, good sir," she said 
 one day, when they had walked side by side for 
 some time. 
 
THE HUMPBACKED PEDDLER, 
 
 325 
 
 "You would say so if you knew all," he re- 
 turned. 
 
 "Have you suffered some terrible accidents?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " Ay ; many. Wounds, shipwreck, and cruel im- 
 prisonments." 
 
 " Were you sick for very long } I have heard 
 that the spine giveth fearful pain when injured." 
 
 " It doth, indeed." 
 
 " How did it happen } " asked Margery softly. 
 "Were your eyes injured at the same time.?" 
 
 " Madam, I cannot tell you about the business 
 at this present moment." 
 
 " I have often wondered that you seem to see 
 so well. Were both eyes hurt } and is it just 
 because you are used to it that you so rarely lose 
 your way .? " 
 
 " Perchance it is so. I had thought of trying 
 to sell somewhat in yonder village, but they told 
 me last night it is sore smitten with the plague. 
 But, Mistress Margery, had you not best mount 
 again } This road hath ill repute for highwaymen, 
 and it would like me ill to be stayed by them. 
 Canst see any one amongst those trees } " 
 
 "Methinks I can," said Margery, her heart 
 beating fast with excitement. "There are three 
 men there, and oh ! I do believe they have 
 pistols." 
 
 " What shall we do > " cried Mrs. Staynor. 
 
 "Ride boldly on. Doubtless they mean no 
 
 
 
 
I 
 
 326 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 1 ; 
 
 harm. Perhaps *t is but prentices out for a 
 holiday." 
 
 They were received with loud and derisive 
 shouts as they came on. Their appearance was 
 criticized more freely than politely, and Madge as 
 well as Mrs. Staynor was beginning to get alarmed. 
 Their guide pulled up his steed to a walk, saying, 
 " If you are fearful of passing yon fellows, we can 
 turn back and go to Newton after all. They have 
 something the semblance of footpads." 
 
 " I am rather frighted," admitted Madge, pull« 
 ing her horse quickly round. " Mother, do make 
 haste ! " 
 
 "Now ride for your lives," cried their gui' 
 urging his own beast to its utmost spcv. 
 "Ah, yonder fellow means to meet us at the 
 corner!" 
 
 Margery looked back over her shoulder and was 
 horrified to see that the whole party was pursuing 
 them, while one armed with a great blunderbuss 
 was crossing the fields toward the bend in the 
 road. Shouts and curses sounded on the air, but 
 the only one who was gaining on them in the least 
 was the one with the gun. 
 
 " Let me pass," said the peddler coolly. " Me- 
 thinks there is no cause to be frighted by one." 
 
 "But you have neither sword nor pistol," said 
 Madge. 
 
 "Be not too sure of that, madam, though I deny 
 not I should be loath to use them ! Now ride 
 
THE HUMPBACKED PEDDLER. 
 
 327 
 
 Me- 
 
 M 
 
 deny 
 ride 
 
 more easily ; the rest are far enough behind, and I 
 will settle with that young rascal." 
 
 The lad (for he was no more) had taken his 
 stand at a sharp turn in the road and was shout- 
 ing with might and main, " Your money or your 
 life ! " But the peddler rode on at the utmost 
 speed of his clumsy horse, as if he meant to 
 charge up the bank at the threatening youth. 
 The would-be robber began to cast anxious 
 glances down the road to see if his companions 
 were in sight, and, seeing none, raised his piece 
 and pulled the trigger. At first it would not go 
 off, and he was still fumbling with it nervously 
 when his adversary rode up within three yards 
 of him. Rising in his stirrups he held above 
 his head his heaviest bale of goods. There was 
 a puff of smoke, a loud report, and just in the 
 act of hurling his missile at the foe the valiant 
 peddler was thrown from his horse. 
 
 But his deadly aim, aided perhaps by the terrible 
 rebound of the overloaded gun, had laid the enemy 
 low. His smothered cries from the ditch where 
 he had fallen gave assurance of his safety, and 
 Madge leaping from her horse hastened to the 
 assistance of their champion. Alas! he was not 
 unscathed : he had lost both wig and spectacles in 
 the encounter, his cloak was torn to shreds, and 
 his crooked shoulders had become mysteriously 
 straight. 
 
 As he rose from the ground he looked with a 
 
 .! 
 
 *1 
 
 li. 
 
 ill 
 
328 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 queer shamefaced smile at Madge. " Madam," he 
 said, " your questions about me are well answered ; 
 but will you aid me to regain mine infirmities as 
 speedily as may be ? " 
 
 Mrs. Staynor sat stiff and still on her horse, but 
 Madge made a puzzled courtesy ; she knew the 
 man, and yet she did not know him. But at any 
 moment the lad might scramble out of his ditch, 
 so there was no time to be lost. The wig and 
 spectacles lay close at hand, happily undamaged 
 by their fall; and they all breathed more freely 
 when the face of their guide was hidden by its 
 accustomed disguises ; but the humped shoulders 
 were a more serious matter. 
 
 The unsightly padding had probably saved its 
 wearer's life, for the shot had passed completely 
 through it ; but it was difficult to replace it in such 
 haste. However, with the help of a small bundle 
 or two from the pack, Madge contrived a substi- 
 tute for it, carefully draping the tattered cloak so 
 that the rents might not reveal anything suspi- 
 cious, and mounting again they rode on toward 
 Newton. 
 
 "'Tis lucky the rest grew tired of following 
 us," said Margery in a low voice to the peddler. 
 
 " I suspect they had higher game in view. 
 I trust yon fellow hath received no serious 
 hurt." 
 
 " If he hath, it may teach him a lesson. Me- 
 thinks he meant to kill you ! I hope he saw not 
 
THE HUMPBACKED PEDDLER. 
 
 329 
 
 Me- 
 
 law not 
 
 our operations after the disaster. But wherefore 
 do you ride thus disguised, fair sir? " 
 
 "Methought you knew me. Sure there is 
 good reason why I should endeavor to conceal 
 myself. I was deeply grieved that Rupert came 
 not with me to mine hiding place on that un- 
 happy night." 
 
 "Ah ! " said Madge, " I know you now. It seems 
 scarce grateful, when you have been so good to us, 
 to speak thus ; but, oh, why did you lead a lad like 
 Ru into danger } " 
 
 "Mistress Margery, I have not led him into 
 danger. Rupert joined us of his own free will. 
 Indeed I love the lad, but yet it seemeth to me 
 not altogether grievous that he hath been counted 
 worthy to suffer wrong and shame for Christ's 
 sake." 
 
 " Ay ; I might have foreseen that you would tell 
 me that I ought to be thankful for this cruel mis- 
 fortune. It is the way with all you fanatics — par- 
 don the word, good sir ! — one and all you take so 
 strange, unnatural views of all that befalleth either 
 yourselves or others." 
 
 "Because, madam, we believe that naught can 
 happen to us against our Father's will, and we 
 know that that which seemeth most untoward is 
 full oft the richest blessing. Dear lady, I would 
 to God that you could rest yourself on God's 
 great love!" 
 
 " Reverend sir, I scarce know whether there be 
 
 ■y\ M; 
 
 U 
 
 i 
 
 iiv < 
 
 'ill' 
 
330 
 
 FRINGE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 a God — how can I trust his love ? Oh, if it be 
 true and if he be indeed so kind and loving, me- 
 thinks he would not be thus hard to find ! 'T is 
 not my fault that I so wander in the dark. I 
 have longed and prayed to be like father, whose 
 life is so holy." 
 
 "If your wish was single-hearted and sincere, 
 it will indeed be granted," said the preacher in 
 a slow, sad tone; "but beware lest you deceive 
 yourself. You cannot be like your father unless 
 you are willing to take upon you Christ's easy 
 yoke, and to give up your own will to your Lord's. * 
 Have you thought upon this. Mistress Margery } 
 Are you truly ready to seek after meekness and 
 gentleness, to mortify your ill tempers and van- 
 ities, to forgive as you have been forgiven, and to 
 cast yourself humbly on God's mercy, remember- 
 ing that in his holy eyes your noblest works are 
 nothing worth } " 
 
 "Sir," said Margery quickly, "you are just as 
 bad as Master Kenrick. I deny not that my 
 life hath been sinful enough, but — but" — 
 
 " It likes you ill to gi'/e your whims and follies 
 the ugly hideous name of sin. Dear lady, in the 
 olden days he who was defiled with leprosy was 
 driven forth from amongst his kind, and if by 
 chance he met man, woman, or child, he had to 
 stand aside, crying out, 'Unclean! unclean!' I 
 saw a leper once upon my travels. His flesh was 
 dead white and dropping from his bones like that 
 
THE HUMPBACKED PEDDLER. 
 
 331 
 
 \ 
 
 Eollies 
 in the 
 
 was 
 [if by 
 lad to 
 !• I 
 ih was 
 
 that 
 
 of a foul and loathsome corpse. I never before 
 saw so horrid and awful a sight ; but God himself 
 hath likened sin to leprosy, and doubtless to his 
 pure sight your soul looks full as hideous as that 
 poor wretch's body did to me." 
 
 Madge shrugged her shoulders and tried to 
 laugh as she said, " Truly, good sir, if it were not 
 your profession to call us by ill names, I should 
 think your gruesome talk something insulting! 
 Pray, how then doth your own soul appear, if 
 mine be so ill } " 
 
 " Perhaps, lady, you think to entangle me in 
 setting up of myself above my fellows ; but I will 
 even answer you. Mine own soul is fair and 
 whole before God because his Son hath healed 
 and cleansed it by his loving sacrifice ; yea, it is 
 clad in the beautiful robe of his righteousness." 
 
 " But now you spoke of my vanity, good sir ; 
 yet in mine humble judgment even professors 
 
 seem not to be wholly free from this small 
 
 ■ >i 
 vice. 
 
 " Neither they are, madam. Every day of this 
 weary pilgrimage I bring bitter shame on him 
 who hath called me by his name ; and yet like a 
 tender father God looketh on me with love and 
 great delight, because for Christ's sake I am 
 become his child." 
 
 " Sir, your speech is in riddles. How can you 
 shame Christ Jesus if your soul be indeed so 
 white and clean } " 
 
 '!ii 
 
 i ! ' 
 
 ih 
 
332 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 ** Like many another truth, dear lady, it is hard 
 to make clear to one who hath in his own breast 
 no answering sense of it — and yet perchance I 
 may explain my meaning by something of a para- 
 ble. Two merchants, having each much business 
 in all parts of the world, joined together, and one 
 staying at home bought and sold for both while 
 the other did likewise in lands beyond the seas. 
 The first, a wise and prudent man, brought wealth 
 and honor unto both at home ; but.the other, vain 
 and foolish, gained an ill name for both abroad. 
 Now Christ hath condescended to represent me 
 in his father's house and there his glory over- 
 shadows me, while here he hath put his name 
 upon me and hath bidden me so walk that his 
 love and goodness shall be knv^wn throughout the 
 world ; but ofttimes, alas ! I drag his glory in the 
 dust and gain for him a name of ill repute." 
 
 " Look ! " said Madge suddenly. " We are close 
 on Newton now ; but methinks I see a red cross 
 on yon cottage." 
 
 "Ay; it is shut up for the plague, doubtless; 
 but, madam, before we turn from the subject of 
 which we have been discoursing let me charge 
 you as you seek happiness and flee from sorrow 
 to ask God to send into your heart the spirit of 
 repentance and meekness. Methinks this journey 
 on which we are bound is full of danger, and per- 
 haps we shall not see the end of it." 
 
 "Sir, it is useless to seek thus to terrify me. 
 
THE HUMPBACKED PEDDLER. 
 
 333 
 
 Sure if God wants me, he will turn my heart to 
 him. Indeed, indeed I have tried to believe." 
 
 "He will not force you to be his; but if any 
 man will do the will of God, he shall know of the 
 doctrine whether it be of God." Thus speaking 
 he passed on, and they rode through the long 
 street of the village in single file. 
 
 It was evening nearly a week later when they 
 reached the outskirts of the great city, and their 
 guide found them lodgings in an unpretentious 
 but clean little house on Watling Street. 
 
 
 row 
 of 
 
 ill 
 
 )er- 
 
 mv 
 
 me. 
 

 I'i! 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A DIFFICULT PROBLEM. 
 
 MOTHER," said Margery the next morning, 
 "I have been thinking that we had best 
 go to see Prince Rupert. His house is on Beech 
 Lane, they say, off Aldersgate Street. I am sure 
 he will help us to get speech of his majesty." 
 
 "I wonder whither they have been carried! 
 Perchance our good friend the peddler would in- 
 quire for us." 
 
 "Nay, mother; it might cost him his liberty. 
 Leave it to me." 
 
 They dressed themselves as well as their scanty 
 store of clothing would allow, and set out early on 
 their long walk. The rough pavement tired Mrs. 
 Staynor's feet so that she could scarcely drag her- 
 self along ; and the hurry and bustle of the town 
 kept her in a state of nervous agitation equally 
 painful to herself and to Madge. She fully ex- 
 pected to be run over every time a coach passed 
 in the narrow way; but they reached theii jour- 
 ney's end in safety. 
 
 The prince's house was neither handsome nor 
 large. A bow window adorned the front, gables 
 of different sizes rose from the steep roof, and 
 
 834 
 
A DIFFICULT PROBLEM. 
 
 335 
 
 ity 
 on 
 [rs. 
 ler- 
 ^wn 
 lUy 
 lex- 
 Ised 
 )ur- 
 
 diamond-paned lattice windows were thrown open 
 to admit the cool morning air. 
 
 "Are you sure you have made no mistake, 
 Madge ? " 
 
 " Nay ; this is indeed his house. He hath never 
 been rich, mother." 
 
 The lackey who answered to their summons 
 looked curiously at their dusty shoes and travel- 
 worn attire, and scarcely deigned to attend to 
 their message. " His highness never sees folk at 
 this hour," he said curtly. " He is busy in his 
 elaboratory." 
 
 "We must see him, young man," said Margery 
 haughtily. " Tell him at once that Mrs. Staynor 
 desires to speak with him. Mrs, Staynor — do 
 you hear.?" 
 
 " 'T is as much as my place is worth to disturb 
 him ! " grumbled the man. 
 
 " Go ! " said Madge ; ** our errand is of great 
 importance." 
 
 '* Be still, Margery," said her mother, taking a 
 silver coin from her purse and placing it in the 
 servant's hand. " I am sure, my good man, that 
 you will carry our message to your master." 
 
 The fellow took the silver and went in, but 
 returned after a quarter of an hour's absence, 
 saying, " His highness do not wish to be dis- 
 turbed; I told you so." 
 
 "Did you say Mrs. Staynor desired to see 
 him ? " 
 
 ii ii 
 
 n 
 
 
 : ! 
 
 ^: \ 
 
 ll:i: 
 
336 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 " Ay ; and he said he was busy and would n't see 
 the queen herself — not if she begged for him 
 to come out on her bended knees, he would n't." 
 
 The walk back was far more tiring than the 
 walk to Beech Lane had been, for the sun was 
 hotter, the streets more crowded, and themselves 
 utterly hopeless. 
 
 Mr. Hartley had taken lodgings in a different 
 part of the town, fearing lest his presence might 
 bring danger on Mrs. Staynor and her daughter. 
 Madge felt very lonely, for she knew no one with 
 whom she could consult. At last she induced her 
 mother to lie down and set out to the Strand to 
 Clive's new lodgings, hoping that she might find 
 him at home. 
 
 Her red hood was faded, her shoes were 
 patched, and her gray homespun gown was any- 
 thing but fashionable. She felt the poverty of 
 her attire all the more keenly when she turned 
 into the streets where the richer people lived. As 
 she reached the house and let the clanging 
 knocker fall she shrank into the shadow of the 
 doorway, for a coach magnificently painted was 
 just dashing up the street drawn by four gray 
 horses. 
 
 " Nothing for you, my wench ! " said the man 
 who opened the door, without waiting for her to 
 speak. 
 
 "You saucy fellow!" exclaimed Madge indig- 
 nantly. " Is Mr. Clive within } " 
 
 \ 
 
A DIFFICULT PROBLEM. 
 
 337 
 
 were 
 any- 
 of 
 rned 
 
 As 
 
 ging 
 the 
 was 
 
 gray 
 
 man 
 ;r to 
 
 ndig- 
 
 " No, he 's not, my pretty lass ; and a good 
 thing too. All the beggars in the streets come 
 a-plaguing of us since he played that fool trick of 
 sick nursing. Get you gone, missis ! We want 
 none of you beggars ! " 
 
 "William!" cried a voice behind her, "how 
 dare you speak so insolently.? Get you gone, 
 sirrah ! Margery, Margery ! what hath brought 
 you hither?" 
 
 Margery turned and held out both her hands, 
 for it was Harold himself who was springing up 
 the steps to meet her. "O Hal ! " she cried, " I 
 am so glad to see you ! " 
 
 "Tell me everything," he said breathlessly, 
 leading her into a pretty parlor looking on a cool 
 green garden at the back of the louse. "Hath 
 aught ill happened.?" 
 
 "It's the conventicle!" sobbed Madge ; "father 
 and Ru are both taken — for treason, they say — 
 and we cannot find them, and no one will 
 help us." 
 
 "We'll soon find them, Madge. I'll send 
 William for a coach presently. Now tell me all." 
 
 The coach arrived before Madge had finished 
 her story and Clive , handed her in, saying, " Me- 
 thinks, Margery, that they must be in the Tower. 
 How would it like you to go thither by water.? 
 'T is a lovely afternoon for a row. To the Palace 
 Stairs, coachman. 
 
 " Never fear, Madge ; wherever they are we will 
 
 ^ti 
 
 ^ 
 
33^ 
 
 PRINCE RUPERTS NAMESAKE. 
 
 go to the king and beg him to do your father 
 justice. I doubt not all will yet be well." 
 
 " How shall we ever thank you, Hal ? Oh, I 
 have been so proud to think we were your friends 
 when we heard the noble things you did last 
 year ! Sure you saved Ru's life." 
 
 Harold's face flushed. " Rupert saved me from 
 somewhat infinitely worse than the plague, Mar- 
 gery. I will tell you all some day." 
 
 "Is it true that you are a — Christian, Harold .>" 
 said Margery, who had been regarding him for 
 some minutes of silence with keen eyes. Certain 
 changes in his dress had struck her at once, for 
 though his clothes were handsome and well made, 
 they were of soberer hue and less fantastic cut 
 than formerly, while the changes in his face were 
 even more marked. His expression was graver 
 and more thoughtful, and Madge thought sadder ; 
 but he had an air of manliness and decision that 
 had been quite wanting in old days. 
 
 Now he looked her full in the face and an- 
 swered, " Ay, Margery ; thank God I am a Chris- 
 tian, though I too often grievously shame my 
 Lord! Are you, Madge?" 
 
 Madge shook her head and asked, "Was it 
 the fear of death that drove you to it.?" 
 
 "I suppose it was; you know I have ever 
 been a coward, and " — 
 
 " A coward, Hal ! Nay ! I do believe you are 
 the bravest man that ever lived ! Oh, it must 
 
A DIFFICULT PROBLEM. 
 
 339 
 
 be easier to face death in battle against all odds 
 than to tarry day after day and night after night 
 in mortal peril of the contagion. I cannot bear 
 even to think of it." 
 
 At that moment the coach drew up at the 
 wharf, so there was no opportunity to continue 
 the conversation; the next they were afloat on 
 the broad sunlit river, and in spite of her anxiety 
 Margery greatly enjoyed herself. 
 
 Behind them in the fast receding distance the 
 gardens and galleries of Whitehall were washed 
 by the silver water; and on the stairs they had 
 just left were groups of gay court ladies and their 
 attendant gallants going to take the air in pretty 
 pleasure boats with awnings of all the colors of 
 the rainbow. Sweet music floated towards them 
 from a little boat following in their wake, and 
 snow-white swans sailed with proud dignity up 
 the stream. On the west the battlements and 
 turrets of many a lordly palace rose dark against 
 the clear blue sky, and terraced gardens flooded 
 with sunlight came to the water's edge. At a 
 turn in the river the distant pile of London Bridge 
 came into view and the light flashed on fleets of 
 boats coming up from the city rowed by merry 
 prentice lads or anxious fathers of families. 
 
 " Why did you not come to see us in all these 
 months } " said Madge. 
 
 "At first the contagion kept me away; then 
 my Lord Enderby commanded mine attendance 
 
 . I 
 
 i!?j 
 
340 
 
 PKINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 and I have been with him nigh on two months 
 while all the tedious law business connected with 
 mine estate was brought to a conclusion. You 
 know I am now of age." 
 
 " Yes ; when are you to — I mean is the busi- 
 ness of my Lady Lilias also settled ? " 
 
 " Ay ; and my Lord Shirley is my good friend, 
 though I told him the plain and simple truth, 
 much to the distaste of my worthy guardian." 
 
 Great warehouses with narrow lanes and dismal 
 courts between threw deep shadows on the water 
 and the bridge was close before them now. The 
 tide was coming freshly in and meeting the down- 
 ward force of the stream ; the water boiled and 
 surged between the narrow arches as if it would 
 break them down. It was strange indeed that they 
 had borne the strain so long, for mills and shops, 
 towers and houses were built from end to end of 
 the old bridge and the narrow road was arched 
 over with wooden props from house to house. 
 
 The swirling water looked greedy for victims; 
 the arch was dark and narrow, but the boatman 
 knew his business and shot through the danger- 
 ous passage safely. " I have shot London Bridge 
 at midnight in a higher tide than this, but it is a 
 true proverb that it is built ' for wise men to go 
 over and fools to go under.* Look; now you can 
 see the Tower." 
 
 "Methought it was one great building," said 
 Margery. 
 
A DIFFICULT PROBLEM. 
 
 341 
 
 " Nay ; it is more like thirty than one. 'T is an 
 ill place. I have rowed many a worthy gentle- 
 man in who hath been cruelly troubled to get 
 out again. Yon is Traitor's Gate!" 
 
 Madge looked up at the dark frowning archway 
 with a sick feeling of misery as their boatman 
 pulled up to the stairs, and Clive led her to the 
 Spur Gate ; but the officer in charge, after making 
 inquiry, assured them that their friends were not 
 within, adding, " Mayhap, sir, you will find them 
 at Newgate. They carry many of the fanatics 
 thither." 
 
 It was getting late in the afternoon, but Madge 
 could not resist the temptation to accept Harold's 
 offer of taking her to see if the squire and Rupert 
 really were confined in Newgate. " I am grieved 
 if they are there, Madge," he said slowly, "for 
 though I have never been within it I know it is 
 a most wretched place." 
 
 It was nearly five when the coach stopped at 
 the prison gate, and it took nearly another hour 
 for Clive to persuade and to bribe the jailer to 
 admit them. When at last he consented, Madge 
 clung fast to Harold's arm, for she was terrified 
 by the gloomy, rock-like walls and the horrid 
 singing and shouting of some of the prisoners in 
 the distance. 
 
 After the close narrow stairs and passages the 
 cell itself seemed comparatively light and airy. 
 Clive would have stayed outside, but Madge 
 
 1 ] 
 
 :■ (i, 
 
 'it' 
 
 It;. 
 
342 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 drew him in, then flew to her father and flung 
 her arms round his neck, kissing and crying over 
 him till the poor old man was utterly bewildered. 
 
 " Father ! Ru ! " she cried, " I don't know what 
 to do ! Oh, I am so glad to see you ! Oh, what 
 a wretched room ! No bed, no table ; how can 
 you live ? " 
 
 Rupert spread his old cloak on the floor and 
 begged her to take a seat, but she was too excited 
 to be still. 
 
 " Rupert, you look woefully thin," she said ; " I 
 trust they are not as sparing of their food as their 
 furniture ? " 
 
 " Well-nigh as bad ; but I have hit on a famous 
 plan for earning of our living, Madge," said Ru- 
 pert lightly. " I climb to yon window ledge each 
 morning when the street is busiest, let down 
 mine old glove through the bars, and sing to 
 obtain wherewith to pay for our necessities." 
 
 " Have you had no dinner, Ru t " 
 
 "It is nigh supper time," he said evasively. 
 "We are not hungry; are we, grandfather.^" 
 
 Madge sprang up and shook and rattled at the 
 door till Rupert laughed merrily. "Methinks, 
 Madge, you have forgot we are in prison. Our 
 door doth not open from within." 
 
 " It is a wicked shame ! I shall go to the king 
 and tell him so." 
 
 " Have you heard aught of Sir John and your 
 sister, Harold } " asked the squire. 
 
A DIFFICULT PKOBLEM. 
 
 343 
 
 " No, sir. I knew not anything had gone wrong 
 till I saw Margery to-day." 
 
 "How did you contrive to travel up hither, 
 Margery.!*" said Rupert. 
 
 " Mr. Hartley came up with us in a strange dis- 
 guise. He hath been a very noble friend to us. 
 I promise you not to think so ill of fanatics again ; 
 even mother hath learned to love him and lean 
 on him. 'T is quite a grief to her that he hath 
 judged it safer for us that he should not lodge in 
 the same house." 
 
 At that moment the key jarred in the lock 
 again and the jailer gruffly requested the visitors 
 to withdraw. 
 
 "Margery," whispered Rupert, "there is one 
 great thing you can do to comfort me." 
 
 "I would do anything for you, you know." 
 
 "Then ask to see Obadiah. They say he is 
 sick, and I fear lest they are starving him." 
 
 " I will, Ru, though I had rather do anything 
 else. Good-by! I trust to bring mother hither 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Hal," she said as they descended the stairs, 
 " Rupert begged me to see his friend, that strange 
 old fanatic, Obadiah Kenrick; think you it can 
 be managed .^" 
 
 " Yes ; I hope so. I will speak to yon fellow." 
 
 Five minutes later Madge found herself locked 
 into a narrow yard, open to the sky save for a 
 rough shelter of boards in one corner. Among 
 
 li^ % 
 
 
 fi. i\' 
 
 IllM 
 
344 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 the wild-looking, unkempt, ragged, dirty men, 
 whose fetters clanked at every movement, she did 
 not recognize Obadiah till he spoke, for he was 
 lying propped up in a corner. 
 
 " Are you sick, sir ? " she asked pitifully. 
 
 " Nay, my lass, scarce sick ; but I am growing 
 old, and the tender mercies of the wicked are 
 cruel. If it had not been for that lad Rupert, 
 methinks we should have all starved. He hath 
 sent us bread and meat daily, though how 
 he hath come by it passeth my judgment to 
 discover." ■ 
 
 "He hath been cruelly distressed for you, and 
 he hath sent me now to hear from your own lips 
 whether you have indeed received the things he 
 hath sent." 
 
 " Ay ; daily, my lass ; praise God ! Truly 
 He will not suffer the wicked one to prevail 
 against us." 
 
 "O Master Kenrick, can you still think that 
 God cares for you in this vile den } " 
 
 " Ay, child. Doubtless our Father sees chas- 
 tisement to be needful for us, and though it is 
 bitter to flesh and blood, I believe that some day 
 I shall know how good it was for us to be thus 
 mocked and imprisoned, and spitefully entreated. 
 Sure, my maid, I count myself happier now in 
 my gray hairs, in this miry pit, than ever I was in 
 my boyhood, when I walked free over the sweet 
 green hills ; for I know that I have a Friend, to 
 
A DIFFICULT PROBLEM. 
 
 345 
 
 that 
 
 whose love all things in earth, ay ! and in heaven 
 also, are nothing worth." 
 
 " O sir, once I was angered at your praying for 
 me; but will you forgive me, and pray for me 
 now, sometimes?" 
 
 " My maid, a day hath not passed since first you 
 came under my roof, in which I have not entreated 
 the Lord to be gracious unto thee and to turn thy 
 heart." 
 
 Margery turned away with tears in her eyes. 
 "How can folk be so cruel, Hal.?" she exclaimed 
 as they drove away. "Tis strange those who 
 have ordered this can ever be happy, night or 
 day." 
 
 "It is sad indeed; but, Margery, I will strive 
 to get these good men removed to better quarters, 
 and I have given orders to provide food for all, 
 and some other comforts for Mr. Staynor and 
 Rupert. To-night I trust they will have beds to 
 lie in." 
 
 Mrs. Staynor was getting anxious at Margery's 
 long absence. Mr. Hartley had called and was 
 on thv^ point of going out in search of her when 
 she appeared. They all had supper together in 
 Mrs. Staynor's rooms, eagerly discussing plans 
 for the release of the captives. 
 
 " I will not rest," said Clive, " till they are free. 
 Think you, Mr. Hartley, that it would aid them 
 to engage a lawyer to look into the matter.?" 
 
 " I fear it would not aid Rupert ; because, alas ! 
 
 ,L. i, ' 
 
 iftNi 
 
 [■ 
 
346 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 I 
 
 't is plain enough that all we who have attended 
 the meetings have broken the law. Perchance 
 for Mr. Staynor a lawyer's help would be the 
 surest." 
 
 " Let us appeal to the king," said Madge. " He 
 cannot have forgotten all we have done for him. 
 Oh, I am grievously disappointed in Prince Rupert. 
 Methought he would have stood our friend." 
 
 " But if the king will do naught } " 
 
 "Then, mother, we must plan some way of 
 compassing their escape secretly." 
 
 "Might not that be the surest plan.'" said 
 Clive. "All I have is at your service, madam, 
 and one at least of their keepers loveth money 
 singularly." 
 
 " For mine own particular, the plan of entreat- 
 ing his majesty's pardon likes me best," said 
 Hartley. " I have broke prison twice, but never- 
 theless I should scarce care to try it again unless 
 in instant peril of death. The risk is too great ; 
 for if the plan halts in any part, the prisoners are 
 sure to be retaken, and to be condemned to much 
 greater severities than before. Besides, Mr. Stay- 
 nor is something old and feeble to endure the 
 hardships of hasty journeys and long lying in 
 hiding." 
 
 "Well," said Madge, "if the king will do 
 naught in the matter, we can then try the other 
 plan afterward." 
 
 "Think you that Mr. Staynor would dislike to 
 
of 
 
 II do 
 other 
 
 ke to 
 
 A DIFFICULT PROBLEM. 
 
 347 
 
 travel to America ? I have friends there and can 
 warrant that he would be safe among them from 
 all enemies," said Mr. Hartley. " Madam, could 
 you bear to leave all — home, country, and friends 
 — for the sake of living without fear of your 
 husband's imprisonment ? " 
 
 " Ay, that I could ; but how could we live } " 
 
 " Rupert is a brave lad ; he would do nobly in 
 that young country, and — I myself own some 
 hundreds of acres in New England and a house 
 which might make shift to shelter you till some- 
 thing better could be devised." 
 
 " But, sir ! " exclaimed Madge, " we could never 
 repay you for all ! " 
 
 " I do not desire to be repaid. Mistress Margery. 
 It would be my greatest happiness to serve you." 
 
 " Know you, sir, that I have never S3fmpathized 
 with the Dissenters ? Nay, I have even hated 
 them," said Mrs. Staynor slowly ; " and how can 
 I take so great kindness from you } " 
 
 "Dear lady, we would not ask you to change 
 your mind concerning us, save of your own free 
 will," said the preacher ; but his thin face was lit 
 up with £. quiet smile of pleasure. 
 
 " Sir," cried Clive earnestly, "when Mr. Staynor 
 is set free he must choose between us. I too would 
 gladly offer him mine house and all it contains." 
 
 " Ay ; but he would ever be in danger of being 
 retaken in England." 
 
 " His debts shall be paid." 
 23 
 
 11 
 
 ■ f 
 
 ' *U i 
 
 ! -15 
 
348 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 
 
 "The laws against attending of conventicles 
 would still be as cruel, and Rupert would run 
 again into peril." 
 
 " Perchance Rupert might get a ship, and then 
 he would be out of the way of danger." 
 
 "Methinks he would be happier in New Eng- 
 land " - 
 
 "Gentlemen, you are both exceeding kind," 
 interposed Madge; "but perchance we had best 
 set them free first." 
 
 Clive took his lawyer to visit the captives on 
 the following morning, but he shook his head over 
 their case and seemed to doubt his ability to 
 prove their innocence of the charge of treason, 
 while Rupert of course could not deny that he 
 had been present at several illegal meetings. 
 Mrs. Staynor and Madge went to Newgate in the 
 afternoon of the same day, and found the prison- 
 ers in a much more comfortable condition as to 
 food and furniture, but rather depressed by the 
 lawyer's talk. 
 
 " Never fear, Rupert," persisted Madge ; " you 
 shall be got out in some way. We had meant to 
 go to the king this week, but Hal hath insisted on 
 providing new gowns for us both, and they will 
 not be ready till Thursday. He saith his majesty 
 taketh great notice of such matters, and that if 
 we are arrayed somewhat as becometh our con- 
 dition, there is the better chance of his listening 
 to our suit. Nevertheless I hate to leave you 
 
W DIFFICULT PROBLEM. j^g 
 
 wearying here while we are tarrying for the tailor 
 to get ready our braveries." 
 
 I fea"" """ ''" '"'"'^'"^ ''^" ■"" ^°rtune on us, 
 
 tnarges. He had a letter from Sir John this 
 mommg They are living quietly at The Hague 
 
 S Ste r' ""■°" *° ^"^ "P *° Cheshire' to 
 look after h.s estate. Edith is well, though they 
 
 had a most toilsome and dangerous journey" 
 
 I:: IIU 
 
 I! 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 IN THE PATH OF THE FIRE. 
 
 i ) 
 
 MADGE! Madge!" called Mrs. Staynor in 
 her ear. "Wake up, child! wake up!'' 
 
 " Sure, mother, it is not yet morning," said 
 Margery sleepily. 
 
 " Hearken ! " whispered her mother. " What 1 
 hath happened.?" 
 
 Madge jumped out of bed and threw open the 
 window. "'Tis a fire, mother, a good way off, 
 that is all. I expect the folk are running to 
 see it;" and she lay down again and slept till 
 morning. 
 
 By daylight the street was crowded with carts 
 laden with household furniture, men carrying 
 pictures or mirrors on their backs, and mothers 
 with children in their arms or clinging to their 
 skirts. 
 
 " Poor souls ! " said Mrs. Staynor pitifully. " I 
 fear it hath been a very great fire." 
 
 "Ay," said their landlady as she came in to 
 bring some milk for their breakfast ; " three hun- 
 dred houses arc gone already, and the flames are 
 raging more mightily than ever. God help us ! 
 
 360 
 
 
IN THE PATH OF THE FIRE, 
 
 "I 
 
 to 
 lun- 
 lare 
 lus! 
 
 351 
 Look 
 
 Of his fearful judgments there is no end. 
 how the smoke is pouring toward us ! " 
 " Think you we are in present danger ? " 
 " Nay ; I shall tarry here yet a while." 
 "Harold is sure to come hither to seek us, 
 mother; let us not be in too great haste to 
 leave." 
 
 Before the church bells had ceased to ring for 
 morning service Harold appeared, and an hour 
 later Mr. Hartley joined them. The latter's dress 
 was torn, he had lost his hat, and his face and 
 hands were black with smoke. "My lodging is 
 burned to the ground," he said. " Truly the Lord 
 is making London like a fiery oven in his wrath. 
 The noise of the flames is most strange and 
 hideous. Thames Street is one broad sheet of 
 fire and the houses on the bridge are wrapped 
 in flames." 
 
 " Had you difficulty in making of your escape ? " 
 asked Mrs. Staynor. 
 
 " No ; save that mine hostess is a lone widow 
 woman with many children, and the little ones 
 could travel but slowly. But, dear madam, do 
 not tarry here ! The fire is coming on apace 
 before a most fierce and violent wind, the houses 
 are dry as tinder, and my Lord Mayor is well-nigh 
 distraught. He saith he and his soldiers are 
 spent with pulling down houses, and that the 
 people will not obey him. They are indeed 
 utterly dismayed, using of no manner of means to 
 
 \ 
 
 ■'. 
 
 ilj 
 
 1^ 
 
 i 
 
 : 1 
 
 : 'i j 
 
 I 1 
 
 1 ;■ ■; 
 
 <i m 
 
 l;:i 
 
 
352 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 \ 
 
 quench the fire, but each man picking up all of his 
 goods he can make shift to carry, and running off 
 with them. Mr. Clive, think you not that these 
 ladies had best remove whilst there is time ? " 
 
 " Ay ; indeed they had. Madam, if you please, 
 I will send for a coach and carry you to my lodg- 
 ings ; there you will be safe- I trust." 
 
 "Dear mother, go with Hal," urged Madge; 
 " but as for me, I must tarry here till I see whether 
 the fire is in truth so close at hand. I promise to 
 follow you shortly, but I can very well walk, and," 
 she added in a whisper to Harold, " I am griev- 
 ously frighted for father and Ru." \ 
 
 " There is no fear for them yet." 
 
 " I am not satisfied of that, Hal. Take mother 
 away and come back here, or, if I am forced from 
 here, I will flee toward the prison ; perchance Mr. 
 Hartley will bear me company." 
 
 But Mrs. Stay nor refused to go alone, and no 
 coach was to be got, so they all four walked to the 
 Strand together. 
 
 At dusk the red light from the flames lit the 
 whole city with its lurid glare, and volumes of 
 smoke swept from the burning buildings. Mrs. 
 Staynor soon went to bed, but Madge would not 
 try to sleep, she was so full of fears for her father 
 and Ru. If her mother had not positively for- 
 bidden her, she would have gone out to see for 
 herself whether the prisoners were in danger. 
 
 " Hal," she said, " I am well-nigh frighted to 
 
IN THE PATH OF THE FIRE. 
 
 353 
 
 death for them. Oh, think you they will let them 
 burn, shut up in those hideous dungeons ? " 
 
 "God forbid ! they will surely carry them else- 
 where, if the danger gets very nigh." 
 
 "Then sure, Hal, we might have a chance to 
 set them free. O Harold, could we not watch 
 beside the prison ? I will go up to mother and 
 tell her all. I shall go mad to thin^ of them. 
 
 "Mother, mother!" she cried, "give me leave 
 to go. Think of father and Ru in the very path 
 of the fire. The wind is as high as ever. Per- 
 chance we may save them if we are ready on the 
 spot. Harold thinks they will be removed if the 
 flames come nigh, and then we might be able to 
 snatch them from their keepers." 
 
 Her mother at last consented to her going, for 
 she was half bewildered between her terror and 
 exhaustion and fears for her husband and grand- 
 son. At any other moment Madge would not 
 have left her, but now her imagination was so 
 impressed with thoughts of the prisoners scorch- 
 ing and suffocating in their narrow cell that she 
 could think of nothing else. 
 
 " Make haste, oh, do make haste ! " she gasped. 
 
 As they went further east the streets became 
 more and more crowded with carts and foot- 
 passengers. The air was thick with blinding 
 smoke and a red glare shone on the windows of 
 the houses and on the faces of the people hurry- 
 ing hither and thither. 
 
 n 
 
 11 
 
 III 
 
 t 
 
 liily 
 
 liiiii 
 
 m 
 
354 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 
 Madge breathed more freely when they reached 
 Holborn Road, for though a frightened crowd was 
 flying through the gate beneath the prison it still 
 rose black and forbidding against the lurid sky. 
 As they tried to pass through the dark archway, 
 Madge was nearly carried off her feet by the 
 throng pressing in the opposite direction, and 
 Clive was forced backward more than once; but 
 the preacher threw his arm round her waist and 
 little by little they worked their way through the 
 stifling passage to the street beyond. 
 
 " We are none too soon," cried Madge. " Look 
 at yon wicked tongues of flame how they are roll- 
 ing towards us." 
 
 "Methinks, Margery, they are farther off than 
 you fancy," said Clive. 
 
 " I wonder if father and Rupert are still there. 
 Can you see them .? " 
 
 " Let us go farther from the wall. Now sure 
 I can descry a face behind yon bars." 
 
 " Rupert ! Rupert ! " called Madge, going close 
 beneath his narrow window again. " Rupert, are 
 you there } " She called again and again ; but if 
 he heard and answered, the distant rushing of the 
 flames and the trampling of feet drowned the 
 sound of his voice. 
 
 " Mr. Hartley, tarry with Margery here and I 
 will speak to the keeper, if I can find him," said 
 Clive ; but though he knocked on the great gate 
 at intervals for half an hour, no one came to speak 
 
IN THE PATH OF THE FIRE. 
 
 355 
 
 I 
 
 lid 
 ite 
 
 to him. " The poor wretches within arc horribly 
 frighted," he said. " They are shrieking like mad- 
 men to the jailers to set them free." 
 
 " Rupert ! Rupert ! " called the girl again. 
 ^^ Father! are you there?" 
 
 "Ay, Madge," came faintly from the window i?t 
 last. " It is a wondrous great and mighty fire. 
 Methinks it is sweeping hither very fast." He 
 added something which they did not clearly hear. 
 
 "Be not affrighted, Rupert," cried Madge 
 again ; then turning to her companions she ex- 
 claimed bitterly, "Alas, alas! but after all what 
 can we do .^ " 
 
 " Margery," said Harold gently, " come to yon 
 house across the way and rest there. Mr. Hartley 
 and I will watch the gate, and if aught be to be 
 done, we will call you." 
 
 Madge shook her head, but Mr. Hartley said 
 gravely, " My child, indeed you must not stay 
 here. Come ; " and he took her hand and drew 
 her away. 
 
 " I cannot rest," she said passionately. " It is 
 my father in peril, sir, and they are but strangers 
 to you!" 
 
 "Nay, Margery; you know not what you say. 
 I promise to fetch you if there be any chance of 
 your aiding them." 
 
 On Hartley's explaining how matters stood, the 
 mistress of the house readily allowed Margery to 
 rest on the seat of a window looking towards the 
 
 « 
 
 1 
 
 . < 
 
 " 
 
 !>! f 
 
 III 
 
 :M. 
 
356 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 gate, and all night long she sat gazing on the 
 driving smoke, the glowing sky, and that black 
 pile of buildings. 
 
 In the morning Clive came to speak to her, 
 while Hartley remained at the gate. " Have you 
 slept at all?" he asked. 
 
 "Slept, Hal? Could you sleep in such a case ? 
 Oh, when will they open that door ? " 
 
 "They are sure to bring them out now, soon, 
 Madge, it is growing wondrous hot by reason of 
 the nearness of the fire. The scaffolding is catch- 
 ing around St. Paul's. Mr. Hartley knoweth many 
 an one in different parts of the city, and he hath 
 collected five or six young lads, Dissenters like 
 himself, who will aid us to rescue them." 
 
 " I fear much that they will be too well guarded. 
 We shall never save them, Hal." 
 
 " I trust we shall. I have a coach in waiting 
 close by. Fear not, Margery ; but I must make 
 haste. They may open the gat'^ at any moment 
 now." 
 
 " Hal, I must go with you. I will keep out of 
 the way, but I cannot stay here. What time 
 is it ? " 
 
 "Nigh seven of the clock. Look how tbi 
 sparks are flying ! Sure there will be fire all 
 around in a few hours' time. Ah, the flames are 
 curling all about the tower of St. Paul's yonder ! 
 See how they shine through the smoke ! " 
 
 The roaring and rattling of the flames were now 
 
IN THE PATH OF THE FIRE. 
 
 357 
 
 SO loud that they could scarcely hear each other 
 speak ; but still the prison gate was fast shut. 
 The wind seemed like the hot, poisonous breath 
 of the flames. Blinding smoke poured in their 
 faces, and far and wide through the city flew 
 burning fragments of \/0Dd. Ever and anon a 
 dreadful crash sounded above the roaring of the 
 fire, as the houses were consumed and fell, roof 
 and all, leveled to their foundations. 
 
 That fearful day dragged on, the hours un- 
 marked save by the increasing nearness of the 
 flames, and added horror and confusion as the 
 people left their dwellings and fled for their lives 
 before the suffocating glow and heat. St. Paul's 
 was burning now in earnest, and suddenly a great 
 spark fell on the roof of the prison itself. Madge 
 felt her senses reeling ; but at that instant the 
 gate opened, and her nerves grew steady as she 
 gazed. Alas ! escape for them was hopeless ! 
 
 The prisoners were chained together in gangs, 
 and surrounded on all sides by warders. In the 
 very center of the procession marched Obadiah 
 Kenrick, his rugged face showing plainly in the 
 ruddy light ; but where were Rupert and Mr. 
 Staynor } 
 
 As the gate swung back, Clive gave a long 
 whistle, and Hartley's friends started to his side ; 
 but they could not get near the prisoners for the 
 crowd, and the guards were at leas* two to one. 
 It was hopeless and they knew it. Clive's sword 
 
 r i 
 
 ;! 
 
 f ; 
 
 .( 
 
 i|i 
 
 (i i 
 
358 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 flashed out, but he never struck a blow, for he 
 feared lest he might endanger the lives of the 
 captives if he provoked a riot in that perilous time 
 and place. 
 
 " Madge," he said, " you were right. It was vain 
 to try to rescue them." 
 
 "Where is Rupert?" 
 
 " Rupert ? Was he not with them, Madge } 
 God help him if he be in there ! " 
 
 The flames were sweeping close to the archway, 
 but Margery rushed through the open prison gate 
 with a wild cry. Clive followed her, but missed 
 his way in the smoke and was obliged to return to 
 the yard, where he met Hartley with a great axe 
 on his shoulder. 
 
 " Where are they } " asked the preacher eagerly. 
 
 " I lost my way. Let us try again. Madge 
 hath rushed in already. God help us all ! " 
 
 A second later they found her beating wildly on 
 the door of the cell with a great bludgeon that had 
 been dropped by some jailer in his flight. The door 
 was fearfully strong, resisting for several minutes 
 their united efforts to force it ; but it gave way at 
 last and fell with a crash into the narrow cell. 
 Rupert lay insensible beneath the window, through 
 which streamed volumes of smoke, but the squire 
 was nowhere to be seen, and with a bitter cry of 
 " Oh, my father, my father ! " Hartley turned and 
 rushed down the corridor. Madge would have 
 followed, but Clive caught her dress, exclaiming, 
 
IN THE PATH OF THE FIRE. 
 
 359 
 
 " Rupert will presently die if he be not removed 
 into fresher air. I will come back to seek your 
 father when Ru is safe." 
 
 Half carrying, half dragging him they got him 
 down into the yard and in the air he soon revived. 
 
 " Now I will go ! " cried Clive. " Look ! there 
 comes Mr. Hartley ! Have you found him, sir ! " 
 
 " No ! ' said Hartley. " Is Rupert better t Per- 
 haps he can tell us where to seek him ! " 
 
 "Grandfather!" exclaimed the lad. "He and 
 several others were carried last night to the 
 Tower. By what chance I was left behind I know 
 not. Sure I had given myself up for lost. I 
 suppose they forgot me, though I shouted at the 
 top of my voice." 
 
 " Thank God that you are both safe ! " cried 
 Harold ; " though I would that your father also 
 were at liberty." 
 
 " Let us make haste away," said Hartley, ** or 
 we shall be unable to get through the streets. 
 Yon house to the west is flaming now." 
 
 Before they reached the burning building in 
 question, great tongues of flame had burst out of 
 the windows of the opposite house, completely 
 barring their way with a wall of living fire. The 
 heat was insufferable, and the smoke bewildered 
 them. 
 
 " Could we not make towaids the river } " said 
 Madge at last. " I feel as if my feet are scorch- 
 ing here." 
 
 W 
 
 ill 
 
 ^t! 
 
36o 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 "I doubt the fire lies betwixt us and the water," 
 replied Rupert. " Had we not best travel toward 
 Holborn, till we see our way more plain before 
 us ? " 
 
 But they were all so utterly exhausted and foot- 
 sore that they were forced to rest as soon as they 
 got out of immediate danger. They drank deep 
 draughts of cool fresh water from a brook running 
 through a field by the roadside, and washed their 
 smoke-blackened hands and faces. 
 
 Madge lay down under a tree. The others 
 thought she was asleep, but she was not. She 
 was thinking how all their plans had been discon- 
 certed. Suddenly a remembrance of the preacher's 
 wild cry threw a flood of light on many things 
 that had puzzled her, and, impulsive as ever, she 
 sprang to her feet, flung her arms round Mr. 
 Hartley's neck, and exclaimed, " You are Geoffrey ! 
 I know you now." 
 
 He had no idea how she had guessed his secret, 
 but all he said was, ' Yes ; I am Geoffrey, little 
 sister; but you must not tell our mother. I have 
 caused her grief enough in my time and I would 
 not have the old wound opened, even to learn 
 whether she hath forgiven me. Rupert, Mr. 
 Clive, you will not betray me .? " 
 
 They promised, but Madge only said, *' Oh, now 
 I know where that purse came from, How stupid 
 of me not to think of it before ! Mother and I 
 have often wondered concerning it." 
 
IN THE PATH OF THE FIRE. 
 
 361 
 
 n 
 
 Nay, but say naught of it to her," entreated 
 Hartley. " It hath been a great though sad pleas- 
 ure to me to serve and protect her, though she 
 knew me not. Oh, I would to God that I had 
 been able to make clear to her that I disobeyed 
 her not from lack of love, but because on my 
 conscience I dared not fight for the cause I es- 
 teemed wrong!" Geoffrey's face looked white 
 even in the dull red glow. 
 
 " * He that loveth father or mother more than me 
 is not worthy of me ! ' " said Rupert softly. 
 
 " That text hath been my only stay in many a 
 time of sore affliction ; and, thank God ! it hath 
 held me firm to the truth." 
 
 "Then you still believe as you did.?" asked 
 Margery. 
 
 " Ay ; and ever more strongly as the years go 
 on. But come," he added abruptly, as if unwill- 
 ing to discuss the subject further, " methinks we 
 had best be walking on. Mrs. — mother will be 
 frighted for us, I fear." 
 
 "Stay," said Give thoughtfully; "is there not 
 danger of Rupert's being retaken } Had he not 
 better hide himself somewhere, Mr. Hartley, rather 
 than walk thus openly through the town ? Per- 
 chance if we made toward the river, we might 
 send him away into France or Holland till the 
 peril be past. I wonder if yon fellow with the 
 wagon would carry us on our journey ? Halloo, 
 sir ! whither are you bound .-* " 
 
 1 ji 
 
 i ,15 
 
 w. 
 
362 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 " To Ludgate Hill. I have promised to fetch 
 away some goods from a house there." 
 
 "I doubt you will scarce get through for the 
 flames. The fire hath grown mighty raging and 
 the wind is still fresh from the west," said Hart- 
 ley. " St. Paul's was all aflame two hours ago." 
 
 ' Will you carry us with you, sir } " asked Clive. 
 " We are spent with walking, but desire to reach 
 the river, if possible. I will pay well for the 
 service." 
 
 After a little discussion he agreed to take them, 
 but they had not ridden very far before they 
 repented that they had ventured back into the 
 streets at all. The air was filled with smoke and 
 flying sjjarks, and the streets were so choked with 
 people trying to carry away their goods, that more 
 than once a block occurred, and they had to wait 
 for many minutes before they could move on. It 
 was growing dark now, and from churches and 
 shops and houses toward the east rose "a most 
 horrid, malicious, bloody flame." As they passed 
 St. Paul's great tongues of fire were climbing up 
 the square tower and curling round the graceful 
 pinnacles that adorned the roof. 
 
 At Ludgate Hill they left the carter to do his 
 errand and went toward the water hoping to get 
 a boat to carry them home. All along the shore 
 lighters were moored piled high with household 
 furniture and guarded by servants. Every boat 
 seemed to be employed ; but after waiting a long 
 
IN THE PATH OF THE FIRE. 
 
 363 
 
 time they succeeded in hiring a man to take them 
 to Whitehall Stairs. 
 
 The view from the river was magnificent but 
 appalling. The flames from great warehouses 
 filled with stores of tar and oil rose high into the 
 dark heavens. The waters beneath glowed and 
 flashed and flickered as if they too were on fire, 
 while in the distance the smoldering ruins of 
 London Bridge showed dimly through the heavy 
 smoke. 
 
 Madge drew a long breath and said to Clive, 
 who was beside her, "I was frighted for our 
 lives, Hal, in those crowded ways so nigh the 
 fire." 
 
 " I am more frighted for Rupert," he answered 
 in a whisper, with an anxious glance at the boat- 
 man. ** Sure we must make shift to send him 
 aboard some outgoing craft before the morning. 
 If he were but away, I should fear little for your 
 father, for indeed he hath not even broken the 
 law." 
 
 "Mr. Clive, I will take Rupert to a friend of 
 mine on Drury Lane. He is a godly man and 
 will hide him till it be safe to send him hence," 
 said Geoffrey in an equally low voice. 
 
 " Ay ; that would indeed be the wisest scheme. 
 Think you it would be safe for him to bid Mrs. 
 Stay nor farewell } " 
 
 "Oh, I must say farewell to her!" exclaimed 
 
 Rupert eagerly. 
 24 
 
364 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 They found their temporary home in wild con- 
 fusion, for the landlady was packing up all her 
 more valuable goods for fear of the fire, and even 
 Mrs. Staynor had busied herself with getting 
 Clive's things ready for removal. They discovered 
 her in the midst of a pile of bales and boxes listen- 
 ing nervously to the bustle without and within. 
 " I was fearful that some evil had befallen you ! " 
 she exclaimed. "You have been so long away! 
 Where is your father?" 
 
 " Indeed, mother dear, we could not help it. 
 Father is carried away, but oh, they left Rupert 
 behind ! They forgot him, mother, and the place 
 was burning ! " 
 
 By degrees the whole story was told. Mrs. 
 Staynor was bitterly disappointed that her hus- 
 band had not also escaped, but Madge said cheer- 
 fully, " We will go to the king to-morrow, gowns 
 or no gowns, and beg him to do father justice — 
 only let Ru get safe beyond the reach of harm 
 first." 
 
 But her mother refused to be comforted, and 
 wailed over and over again, " Sure God hath been 
 very hard on me. I am bereaved of my children 
 and now mine husband is also taken away ! " 
 
 "Mother,*' said Madge, with her eyes fixed on 
 the ground, " I have had news to-day of Geoffrey. 
 You are not bereaved of all your children ! " 
 
 " Geoffrey ! " she repeated wildly, grasping her 
 daughter's arm. " O Margery, make haste, speak ! " 
 
IN THE PATH OF THE FIRE. 
 
 365 
 
 " He fears that you might not be ready to for- 
 give him even yet." 
 
 "Mother, mother!" cried the preacher in a 
 choked voice. " I have come back to you, changed 
 in many ways, but still of mine old opinion in the 
 business which parted us. May I stay } " 
 
 Mrs. Staynor looked from one to the other in 
 bewilderment. Then snatching the candle from 
 the table, she held it close to Geoffrey's agitated 
 face. To him it seemed as if that eager scrutiny 
 would never end ; to the others it seemed but an 
 instant ere the candle had fallen from her hand, 
 and she, once so proud and haughty, had flung 
 herself at her son's feet. " My boy ! my boy ! " 
 she sobbed, " can you forgive me } God hath 
 punished me for my grievous sin." 
 
 Geoffrey lifted her from the ground. " Mother, 
 dear mother ! " was all he said, but he held her 
 fast. She threw her arms round his neck, but her 
 face was bent down. " My punishment hath been 
 greater than I could bear," she murmured. " God 
 hath taken from me the things I loved and valued, 
 and the king himself hath despised us. O Geoff- 
 rey, Geoffrey, forgive my cruelty ! " 
 
 The others crept gently away and left the 
 mother and son alone together in the soft moon- 
 light. What passed between them no one ever 
 knew, but from that moment they understood each 
 other as they had never done before. 
 
 "Margery," said Rupert, "I was grievously 
 
 II 
 
366 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 dismayed to hear you speak of Uncle Geoffrey. 
 I thought it was understood that we were to keep 
 silence concerning him." 
 
 " I said not so. I was fully determined to 
 speak," she replied with a rather self-satisfied air. 
 " I detest mysteries and such-like follies." 
 
 All the next day, the fire still burned ; Fleet 
 Street was leveled to the ground ; the wooden 
 archway of Temple Bar was consumed, while on 
 the other side of the town the conflagration 
 raged up to the very boundaries of the Tower 
 precincts. 
 
 " I greatly fear," said Clive, "that the whole 
 city is doomed. Naught seems to stay the flames. 
 On Tower Street they are blowing up houses with 
 gunpowder, that the fire may have nothing to 
 feed itself on, but I doubt that it will all be of no 
 avail. The roof of the choir of ♦•he cathedral 
 hath fallen into St. Faith's, and the stones there- 
 from are flying like grenades. 'T is mighty dan- 
 gerous to go near it, by reason of falling stones, 
 melting lead, and the heat of the pavements. 
 Methinks, Margery, we must scarce attempt to 
 wait on the king to-day, for I hear that he hath 
 busied himself greatly concerning this fire. We 
 had best tarry till it is a little abated." 
 
 Two days later Margery went with Clive to see 
 her father in the Tower, whither he had been 
 taken. The roads among the still smoldering 
 ruins were hard to follow and painfully hot to the 
 
 ^*mmmmm 
 
1 
 
 11:1 
 
 /N THE PATH OF THE FIRE. 
 
 367 
 
 feet, but they went by boat for the greatest part 
 of the way. 
 
 The squire was shut up in a small room in the 
 White Tower, and Margery felt dismayed at the 
 very sight of the building. Its massive walls 
 and narrow loopholes gave it a terribly gloomy 
 aspect. Even the inner walls which divided one 
 room from another were ten feet thick, so that 
 the chambers within seemed as cold and silent 
 as the grave and as far from the living world. 
 
 Mr. Staynor had been very anxious about Ru- 
 pert, but Margery could hardly answer his ques- 
 tions in her impatience to tell him the strange 
 news of Geoffrey. 
 
 " Hath his mother forgiven him } " 
 
 "Ay," said Margery simply. 
 
 " Thank God ! Mcthinks, Madge, after that I 
 could well-nigh sing my Nunc dimittis*^ 
 
 " No, no, father ! I trust you will soon be free 
 and we shall be happy all together. Geoffrey wants 
 us to go to America ; he hath lands and a house 
 in New England." 
 
 " Ah, well ! if I am ever free again, we might 
 think of it." 
 
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CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 MADGE AT COURT. 
 
 CLIVE had gone to see Rupert on board a 
 small fishing smack which was to land him 
 either in France or Holland; Mrs. Staynor was 
 resting in bed after her recent fatigue and excite- 
 ment, so Margery went out alone to buy herself a 
 new pair of shoes. She walked slowly up the Strand 
 and even went a little way into the desolate region 
 of smold^'iing rubbish beyond Temple Bar before 
 going to make her purchase. It was inexpress- 
 ibly dreary, and she soon turned back to the 
 crowded streets that had escaped the fire. St. 
 Clement's Danes was thronged with homeless 
 people, and confused piles of household furniture 
 were heaped on the gravestones, for all the 
 churches had been opened to receive those ren- 
 dered destitute by the fire. Children were run- 
 ning from the Holy Well with pails of water, and 
 women were busy sewing and washing under the 
 shadow of the old church. 
 
 Madge forgot her errand in her interest in the 
 scene. A coach stopped beside her and a gentle- 
 man alighted, but she did not turn her head till he 
 spoke. " Mistress Margery Staynor, I believe ? " 
 
 368 
 
MADGE AT COURT. 
 
 369 
 
 The girl looked up at her questioner in surprise 
 and returned his bow with a deep courtesy. 
 
 "Have you been long in London? Is my 
 namesake here ? " 
 
 "Yes; that is — no. We have been in sad 
 trouble, your highness." 
 
 "Ah, I am grieved for that, madam;" and the 
 prince looked down on her so kindly that Margery 
 was emboldened to say bluntly : — 
 
 "Sir, one day last week my mother and I 
 traveled afoot to your house to request your aid, 
 and the lackey told us with scant courtesy that 
 your highness was l)usy in your elaboratory and 
 would not see us." 
 
 " The impudent knave ! He never brought me 
 your message at all ! But now what can I do for 
 you ? " 
 
 "'Tis only will you get us speech of his 
 majesty ? Rupert hath got into trouble like a fool- 
 ish boy with attending of conventicles, and my 
 father lieth in the Tower under a grievous and 
 lying charge of treason. Indeed, your highness, 
 he hath ever been true to the king." 
 
 " I doubt it not, Mistress Margery. I will carry 
 you to him now, if you think fit to accompany me 
 to Whitehall." 
 
 Margery looked at her shoes and thought of her 
 dress ; but decided that she had better go while 
 she had the chance of being presented to the 
 king by so distinguished a pt^rson, especially as it 
 
370 PRINCE RUPERT'S ^AMESAKE, 
 
 would be a work of time to get new clothes just 
 then. 
 
 The prince handed her into the coach as politely 
 as if she had been a great lady, and Madge told 
 him the whole history of their misfortunes, not 
 excepting the sending of the memorial which as 
 she suspected had never reached his hands. He 
 asked her many questions, and promised to do his 
 utmost to influence the king in their favor. 
 
 When they left the coach, Madge felt more 
 ashamed of her shabby dress than ever ; but the 
 prince led her on through several long galleries, * 
 crowded with courtiers and statesmen and gayly 
 dressed ladies, to a little waiting room, where he 
 left her for a few moments. She had time to get 
 very nervous with thinking of the ordeal awaiting 
 her before he returned, saying, — 
 
 " His majesty will see you now. Mistress Stay- 
 nor. Be not affrighted, but speak out boldly and 
 plainly and I trust all will yet be well." 
 
 To her dismay the room to which she was taken 
 was almost full of gentlemen dressed in the rich- 
 est and most fanciful costumes. Only one or two 
 ladies were among them, and she fancied that a 
 smile of amusement passed from face to face as 
 she entered. But her tall guide led her up to a 
 gentleman who was chatting merrily in the midst 
 of a circle of gallants. ^ 
 
 "This is the lady of whom I spoke, Mistress 
 Margery Staynor, may it please your majesty." 
 
MADGE AT COURT, 
 
 371 
 
 The king extended his hand, and the talking in 
 the room ceased. Madge blushed up to the roots 
 of her hair, as she made her courtesy and lifted her 
 sovereign's hand to her lips. 
 
 "His highness hath told me that you have some 
 request to make to me." 
 
 Madge cast a despairing glance at the gentle- 
 men around her. " May it please your majesty " — 
 
 " Gentlemen, fall back a little. This lady desires 
 to speak with me in private. Now, my child, what 
 is it.?" 
 
 "O sir," cried Madge, "it is that you will be 
 pleased to pardon my father. Indeed, indeed, he 
 hath done nothing wrong." 
 
 "Sure, if that be so, he scarce needs pardon. 
 Tell me how it hath all chanced." 
 
 Drawing a step or two nearer, speaking very 
 fast, and forgetting all the circumlocutions of 
 court etiquette, Madge looked straight at the king 
 and began at the beginning. She told him how 
 her father had fought for King Charles I, how her 
 mother had suffered their home to be beaten down 
 by his enemies rather than surrender it, how her 
 brothers had died for him — and the king was obvi- 
 ously touched. She drew a vivid picture of the 
 life they had led since the Restoration, their debts 
 and their privations, and she did not scruple to 
 add that all was owing to their heavy losses in the 
 time of his majesty's royal father. 
 
 She paused a moment, and the king asked. 
 
372 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 ** Hath my good friend Richard sent you on this 
 errand, my pretty maid ? " 
 
 "No, sir. At present he lieth in the Tower 
 under a false and grievous charge of treason." 
 
 " Treason ! how cometh that about, fair maid > " 
 
 "Indeed, your majesty may well ask; it passeth 
 my poor judgment to understand the matter. It 
 fell in this fashion : my father's eldest son hath 
 left a son who is now well-nigh grown up." 
 
 " Ah, methinks I have seen the young spark — 
 a handsome, likely lad too ! " 
 
 " But the fanatic in our parts have gained somci 
 influence over him, and he hath several times at- 
 tended a conventicle, though indeed he neglects 
 not to go to church also each Sunday. He denies 
 not that once he heard some foolish talking of ill 
 practices there, though he neither joined in it 
 nor listened to it ; but that very night many were 
 taken. Rupert escaped them once, but they fol- 
 lowed him home, and carried o£E both the lad and 
 my father, accusing them of plotting to work your 
 majesty's destruction. Now, sir, indeed it is not 
 true ! His highness Prince Rupert knoweth him 
 well. Oh, do be pleased to set him free ! " 
 
 The king signed to Prince Rupert to accompany 
 him to a recess, and said a few words to him in a 
 low voice. The reply was not spoken so softly. 
 
 "Nay, your majesty; I should as soon doubt 
 mine own loyalty as his. He suffered grievously 
 in the troubles, and hath to my certain knowledge 
 
MADGE AT COURT, 
 
 373 
 
 received naught in the way of reward or compen- 
 sation. It were more fitting, methinks, to pay his 
 debts and redeem his lands than to imprison him. 
 He hath never been much of a soldier, but he is 
 not the man to busy himself with plots of one 
 kind or another. He is something of a philoso- 
 pher and hath fitted up for himself a little elabo- 
 ratory in the sole tower now standing of his ruined 
 halls. If your majesty desires my counsel, I 
 would have him presently set free, and " — 
 
 " Ay, my good cousin," laughed the king, " me- 
 thinks it is his elaboratory that hath won thine 
 heart. You philosophers are all hand and glove." 
 
 " Plain justice, sir, — ay, and a prudent regard 
 for your majesty's honor, — demands that your 
 friends should not be left to perish miserably of 
 starvation or ill usage." 
 
 "Ay ay; true enough, I dare say; but doth 
 your highness see how I am to prevent mine 
 old friend's starving } " asked Charles impatiently. 
 "This long war hath drained the treasury to that 
 degree that if I venture to provide for a friend, 
 all mine advisers cry out upon mine extrava- 
 gance." 
 
 "Yet, sir, if you do naught for him beyond 
 granting him a pardon, his affairs are in that 
 sad condition that he will straight be transferred 
 to a debtor's jail." 
 
 " Poor wretch ! it doth indeed seem an ill reward 
 for his great services. Mayhap if his debts be not 
 
374 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT* S NAMESAKE. 
 
 too great — However, we will see. Madam," 
 he continued, addressing Margery, "his highness 
 liath told me he is assured that the charge against 
 your good father is wholly false. The business 
 shall be looked into, and he shall be at once re- 
 leased if all prove as we think it." 
 
 Madge made a deep courtesy, murmuring, "I 
 thank your majesty for your gracious kindness. 
 When will he be suffered to go free.^" 
 
 "To-morrow, perchance, or the next day. His 
 highness will take charge of the business, I, doubt 
 not. As for the lad, think you he is an incorrigi- 
 ble fanatic, my child, that you ask no grace for 
 him ? " 
 
 Margery blushed again. "May it please your 
 majesty, he hath escaped." 
 
 "Escaped! From the Tower! The lad must 
 have both parts and courage!" 
 
 " No, sir ; from Newgate, while it was a-buming. 
 He was locked in a cell over the gateway, sir, and 
 there forgotten." 
 
 " Ah ! and where is he now ? " 
 
 Margery hesitated; then said slowly, "May it 
 please your majesty, I hardly know." 
 
 " Ay, and I '11 be bound do not care to tell. 
 Well, well, I'll not quarrel with you on that 
 score. I owe a good deal myself to such v-ion- 
 venient ignorance on the part of ladies. Alter 
 the battle of Worcester some of mine escapes 
 were so narrow that, 'pon mine honor, mine hair 
 
MADGE AT COURT. 
 
 375 
 
 is ready to stand on end even now at the thought. 
 Nay ; if the lad 's escaped, that 's all about it. I 
 dare say he will make shift to do without my 
 pardon." • 
 
 Margery still lingered, wishing but fearing to 
 ask for a pardon for Sir John and Lady Elmer, 
 and feeling that she ought to make an e£fort 
 for poor old Master Kenrick. 
 
 " Sir, there *s an old man in the jail " — 
 
 " Another friend of thine ? " 
 
 " He hath been wondrous kmd to Rupert, sir ; 
 and methought perhaps you would order that he 
 too might be set free." 
 
 "What hath he done? Been a-preaching, or 
 stolen a sheep .^" 
 
 " At times he goeth to conventicles, sir ; and Sir 
 John and Lady Elmer, who also are in trouble " — 
 
 " My child, I cannot aid all your friends, though 
 I am grieved to deny you. Farewell ; I trust your 
 father will soon be at liberty." The king held out 
 his hand and Madge kissed it once more, under- 
 standing that he meant to bring their long in- 
 terview to a conclusion. 
 
 She fancied that the courtiers looked at her 
 with even more amazement than before as she 
 went down the long gallery on the arm of her 
 grave protector. A long mirror near which they 
 passed showed her the odd incongruity between 
 herself and her companion ; and her gray dress 
 and crimson hood did not contrast more strongly 
 
376 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 with his highness' dark silk and gold lace than 
 did her slight figure and youthful face with the 
 stately height and stern features of the warrior 
 prince. Nevertheless she was annoyed at the 
 notice they were attracting, and a half-heard wit- 
 ticism caused her to draw herself up and march 
 on with a dignified air that would have done 
 credit to her mother, but sat rather ludicrously 
 on her. 
 
 Suddenly a half-suppressed exclamation of 
 "Madge!" reached her ears in a tone of excess- 
 ive astonishment; but disdaining to look round 
 lest she should make some mistake and afford 
 the gentlemen and maids of honor an excuse 
 for their diversion, she swept on unheeding. 
 
 The prince set her down at their lodgings after 
 promising to see her father that very afternoon ; 
 but his coach was hardly out of sight when 
 another drove up and Clive hurried upstairs. 
 "What have you been doing, Margery.^" he 
 cried. 
 
 "Hal," she said reproachfully, "wherefore did 
 you speak to me in that sudden fashion.^ You 
 well-nigh made me laugh!" 
 
 " But what have you been doing, Margery .^ " 
 
 " I have been to the king to ask him to pardon 
 father. It all came about by accident. Prince 
 Rupert recognized me in the Strand and offered 
 to carry me to Whitehall then and there. Oh, 
 Hal, I do hope father will be set free! and the 
 
MADGE AT COURT. 
 
 m 
 
 prince spoke of his debts and said they ought 
 to be paid. Is Rupert safely gone?" 
 
 * Ay; all being well he will be with Edith 
 before Thursday night!" 
 
 "Hal, did I do wrong? I spoke of Sir John 
 and Edith, but methought the king fancied I 
 was presuming on his grace and straightway 
 dismissed me." 
 
 *'No; I trust it will not hurt them. I met 
 the lawyer this morning and he told me that 
 he hath great hopes that the charge of treason 
 will be withdrawn. The witnesses can be shown 
 to disagree amongst themselves, for there hath 
 been no plot — naught but some idle talk amongst 
 the more vehement Dissenters." 
 
 "Rupert said Master Kenrick had spoken much 
 something like treason." 
 
 " Master Kenrick, Madge, is like to be beyond 
 the reach of harm erelong; he hath the jail 
 fever, I heard this morning, and can scarce live 
 through the day." 
 
 " O Harold, is he dying ? I would that I 
 could see him ! " 
 
 *• It is grievously infectious, Margery. It might 
 cost you your life." 
 
 Before the evening of the following day 
 Mr. Staynor had been released. Prince Rupert 
 brought him from the Tower in his own coach, 
 but refused to come in to receive Mrs. Staynor's 
 thanks. Madge did not suffer him so to escape. 
 
378 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 however, for, rushing down to meet her father, she 
 flung her arms round his neck and gave him one 
 kiss, then turned towards the prince, who was re- 
 entering his carriage, exclaiming, "Sir, I know 
 not how to thank your highness for your won- 
 drous goodness tov ards us. I shall never, never 
 forget ! neither will Rupert." 
 
 " I am grieved not to see my godson again. 
 Will you tell him so, Mistress Margery, and give 
 him this as a keepsake ? " he added, slipping a 
 ring from his finger and putting it into her hand. 
 " Farewell ; your father tells me he thinks of 
 traveling to New England. May all good fortune 
 attend you and yours ! " 
 
 Margery courtesied once more, the coach rolled 
 away, and she ran upstairs to hang about her 
 father while he told all that had happened to 
 them. 
 
 "The prince hath been most noble," he said. 
 " He sat more than an b >ur in my cell yesterday 
 endeavoring to arrange mine affairs, and he hath 
 influenced the king to send me an order for a 
 sufficient sum to pay the residue of my debts 
 and to leave somewhat for our support after- 
 wards." 
 
 " Then sure we can go back to the abbey ! " 
 
 The squire shook his head. "Geoffrey and 
 Rupert would both be in danger there. Madge, 
 we must try our fortunes in the New World. We 
 can be very happy there, I trust." 
 
MADGE AT COURT. 
 
 379 
 
 " But mother — how will she bear it ? The life 
 is wondrous hard, they say." 
 
 "She would go an3nvhere to keep her boys 
 beside her — would you not, Catherine ? " 
 
 "Yes; please God, Geoffrey and I will never 
 part again." 
 
 " Doth it not please you, little daughter ? Me- 
 thought you loved change." 
 
 " Yes, father ; and yet — and yet " — She did 
 not finish her sentence, but, kissing bis forehead, 
 darted out of the room. 
 
 Half an hour later she returned nd found that 
 Clive and Geoffrey had come in. They looked 
 ver}'^ pdiVQ and Clive was saying sadly, " He died 
 an hour ago, without much pain at the last, the 
 jailer says." 
 
 " Who ? Master Kenrick > Oh, is he dead ? " 
 cried Margery. 
 
 The news shocked and grieved her strangely, 
 considering how much she had disliked him at one 
 time. 
 
 " How sorry Rupert will be ! " she said. She 
 felt, and rightly, that they had both lost a 
 faithful and warm friend in the rugged old shoe- 
 maker, and it grieved her inexpressibly to remem- 
 ber how ill she had requited his kindness. "O 
 God, forgive me and answer his prayers for me ! " 
 she cried, as she knelt beside her bed that night 
 and thought of the lonely old man lying dead in 
 
 his prison cell. 
 as 
 
38o 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 " Madge, can you spare a few minutes to talk 
 to me ? " said her father in the morning. 
 
 "Ay, father," she answered, perching on the 
 arm of his chair and pressing her hand against 
 her aching head. 
 
 "Haroid told me last night something that 
 concerns you very nearly, my daughter. He is 
 mighty grieved at the thought of our departing " 
 (a faint smile crossed Margery's pale face) " and 
 he saith that he hath long loved you. He wishes 
 to keep you here, Margery; will you stay with 
 him or go with us .^ " 
 
 " O father, father, how can I choose } " sobbed 
 the girl. " Could we not all stay here ? " 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 LAST WORDS. 
 
 TEN days later a large merchant vessel lay off 
 the low coast of Holland, in the harbor of 
 Flushing. Boats were plying backward and for- 
 ward with messages and passengers, but the 
 cargo was all on board. In another hour her 
 broad sails would be spread and she would stand 
 out to sea on her long voyage across the Atlantic. 
 
 The deck was piled with bales and packages in 
 wild confusion, but they were fast being lowered 
 into the hold, and those who had come to see the 
 travelers off began to realize that the time of 
 departure was drawing very near. In a sheltered 
 corner, out of the bustle, a knot of friends were 
 gathered close together. 
 
 " Oh," sighed Edith, " I could well-nigh wish we 
 were going with you. I am grievously frighted 
 for John while we tarry in England ! " 
 
 " When are you going home } " asked Mrs. 
 Staynor. 
 
 " Within a month or two, at latest. Harold says 
 
 all will be well, but I doubt it. I know John will 
 
 get into some trouble." 
 
 " Methinks," said Geoffrey suddenly, " I had 
 
 an 
 
382 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 best tell him of the secret hiding place I had 
 there. Edward and I discovered it years ago 
 when we were boys together. I little thought 
 then that it would prove so great a benefit to me. 
 Close by Lady Ellen's Well in the park is a broad 
 flag sculptured like an old gravestone, but much 
 defaced, and raising that (you can get your hand 
 under it in one place) you will see a flight of 
 steps running down to a long tunnel. It is airy 
 enough, for the monks who built it doubtless used 
 it often. In one part it broadens out into a little 
 chamber, close against what is called the abbot's \ 
 grave, and from that point is another passage into 
 the ruins so broken and rugged I never used it 
 but once." 
 
 "Go on," said Madge. "Tell us about that 
 time." 
 
 Geoffrey smiled. "Methinks you know the 
 history of it better than I, Margery. It was the 
 night you dug for treasure." 
 
 "There, Ru!" cried Margery triumphantly, 
 " have n't I ever told you I did see some- 
 thing.?" 
 
 " Ay ; but how could you take Uncle Geoffrey 
 for the abbot's ghost.?" 
 
 "That is just what he looked like. I do believe 
 he wore a flapping black robe of set purpose to 
 horrify us — now did you not, Geoffrey.?" 
 
 " I was frighted lest I should lose mine hiding 
 place, for Rupert made as if he meant to break 
 
LAST WOKDS. 
 
 383 
 
 down the wall between the grave and my 
 dwelling." 
 
 " It is not a grave," said Rupert. " 'T is but 
 a vault and methinks must once have been con- 
 nected with your hiding place. Perchance I might 
 have endeavored to break through had not Mar- 
 gery shrieked so awfully." 
 
 "Now, Ru, if you had seen him, you would 
 either have shrieked or — fainted," she added 
 with a quick glance at Clive. 
 
 Clive looked half vexed and half amused and 
 said to Geoffrey, " Indeed, sir, it was your kindness 
 that did the mischief. Had you left me where I 
 fell, mayhap I might have followed Madge ; but 
 sure I thought you meant to do me some great 
 hurt when you laid your hand upon me." 
 
 " Indeed I was sorry when I found whom I had 
 disturbed in mine haste, but I could not confess 
 mine error nor explain at the time without telling 
 of my secret." 
 
 "Methinks I shall not so readily believe in 
 ghosts again!" said Clive. 
 
 They all talked lightly, as people are apt to do 
 at such times, till the very last moment. Then 
 they broke down. At the best of times it is hard 
 to say good-by for months or years, and they knew 
 that many a danger overhung them all. 
 
 " God bless you, and carry you safe to your 
 journey's end ! " said Sir John as he grasped the 
 squire's hand. 
 
384 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 " I trust he will. He hath led me safe through 
 numberless trials and temptations and I fear not 
 that he will leave me now in mine old age. Hath 
 he not said, * I will never leave thee, nor forsake 
 thee ' ? All my life long there hath never failed 
 one word of all his good promise." 
 
 " Yet," sighed Edith, " you have had more than 
 many folk of grievous trials and troubles ! " 
 
 " Dear lady," said the old man tenderly, " I 
 have had no grief or pain but what the Lord sent 
 me in deepest love, and with them he hath ever 
 sent strength to bear them. If it be your lot to 
 feel the weight of his chastening rod, he will 
 surely sustain and uphold you; but grieve not 
 beforehand, for many a storm cloud passes harm- 
 less overhead." 
 
 " * Be strong and of a good courage ; be not 
 afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord 
 thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest,' " 
 said Geoffrey in a low voice. " Methinks 't is a 
 grand text for all of us." 
 
 "O Harold, I would to God I had a right to 
 it!" whispered Margery as they stood a little 
 apart from the rest, looking towards the broad 
 ocean which would so soon roll between them. 
 " In old days I scoffed at you, because, for- 
 sooth, I thought you had some lack of courage. 
 Now I am frighted of all I do, either waking or 
 sleeping, lest God should suddenly cut me off. 
 I hate to make this journey lest I should 
 
 \ 
 
LAST WORDS, 
 
 385 
 
 never see you or home again. I know not what 
 hath come to me." 
 
 " O Margery, then go not ! Return with Edith 
 while you may. Your father doubtless would 
 consent." 
 
 Margery shook her head. " Nay, Hal ; I ought 
 to go, and you know it. 'T will be hard enough 
 for mother as it is. I scarce know whether I was 
 right to say I would return within the year. 
 Besides, indeed I am not fit to be wedded to a 
 Christian man. Pray every day for me, Hal, that 
 when I am your wife I may not be a hindrance 
 to you. Pray that Christ will make me believe 
 on him, for surely it seems as if nothing short of 
 that will ever save me." 
 
 In old days Harold would have answered her 
 with compliments, and told her that he loved her 
 just as she was and desired no change ; but now 
 he was too much in earnest to say anything so 
 untrue. " Margery, I pray for you many times a 
 day, and I know, I know that the Lord Christ will 
 make you into his true servant yet. Oh, why will 
 you wait to see or feel some strange thing before 
 you take hin: at his word } " 
 
 " I cannot help it, Harold. I cannot believe." 
 
 " Margery, say here and now, * Lord Jesus, 
 henceforth I will strive to do thy will.'" 
 
 " I dare not, Harold. Besides, how could it 
 help me.^" 
 
 " ' If any man will do his will, he shall know 
 
386 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE, 
 
 of the doctrine, whether it be of God.' At 
 least, Margery, promise me this: that you will 
 try earnest, stedfast, patient doing of his will, 
 till we meet again." 
 
 Margery was silent, looking with troubled eyes 
 over the dreary waters. 
 
 '' Hearken ! they are calling us. It is the last 
 thing I shall ask of you, Madge, for a whole long 
 year at the least. Promise me, dearest!" he said, 
 taking her hand and looking into her eyes. 
 
 Margery felt very sad and very hopeless about 
 it all ; but looking up at Clive's earnest handsome 
 face, so full of love and sorrow, she could not 
 refuse this last thing he was asking of her. She 
 knew what she was doing. She knew that to do 
 the will of Jesus meant to live a life like his, of 
 untiring self-sacrifice. " I promise, Harold," she 
 said solemnly. 
 
 " Thank God ! " he said as he gave her a fare- 
 well kiss. 
 
 "Harold," called Sir John, "are you coming? 
 They are waiting for us." 
 
 Madge dashed away the tears from her eyes and 
 hurried to bid Edith good-by ; but of all the many 
 things she wanted to say she could utter none for 
 weeping. 
 
 A few moments later the boat had cast off from 
 the ship's side, the anchor was slowly hoisted on 
 board, the great sails were spread to the wind, 
 and the dear faces of their friends had become 
 
 \ 
 
LAST IVOA'DS. 
 
 387 
 
 indistinguishable in the distance, though they 
 still waved their white handkerchiefs from the 
 deck, till the boat was lost to sight among the 
 busy craft along the shore. 
 
 They landed in New England before the white 
 snow carpet came to cover the gold and crimson 
 leaves fallen from the trees. Dark pines sheltered 
 GeofErey's log house from the fierce northern gales. 
 The blazing firelight of the hearth danced on the 
 rough walls as merrily as in old days at the abbey, 
 and long before the bears and squirrels came out 
 of their winter hiding places Mrs. Staynor felt 
 happy and at home, undaunted even by the bit- 
 ter cold and deep snow. Geoffrey's return had 
 given her new life and she was no longer the fret- 
 ful invalid who needed to be cared for and consid- 
 ered first of all. She took her place as mistress 
 in the little house in the forest as she had never 
 cared to do in the stately ruins of her old home ; 
 and Margery, as the time of her departure drew 
 near, was glad that it should be so. The resolution 
 and energy of Mrs. Staynor's youth were not quite 
 dead after all ; and they found abundant occupation 
 in providing for a household, for which, according to 
 early colonial custom, nothing was to be bought 
 which by any ingenuity could be made at home. 
 She sewed and baked, made candles and learned 
 to spin, forgetting her languor and her nervous- 
 ness in healthy work, and became daily more 
 
388 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 unselfish and hopeful and humble. At first when 
 she looked at Geoffrey she thought sadly of the 
 bitter years wasted in vain anger and sorrow ; but 
 by and by even the memory of the past could not 
 break the sweet calm of the present, for the peace 
 of God had dawned in her heart, which man can 
 neither give nor take away. 
 
 Mr. Staynor fell even more readily than his 
 wife into the new ways of the new country, 
 though he missed his room in the old tower 
 much more than he would allow. Happily, how- 
 ever, he soon made acquaintance with the minis- 
 ter of Mapleton, a learned and "curious" gentle- 
 man like himself, and in his society he spent many 
 a pleasant hour of quiet talk on the wonders of 
 God's creation. His freedom from debt and the 
 fear of imprisonment which had pressed on him 
 for so many years was an unspeakable relief to 
 him. His trust in God, unshaken during the time 
 of his trial, shone ever more brightly as he drew 
 nearer to being with him forever; and when at 
 last his Master called him he lay down to die 
 in joyful and triumphant hope of a glorious 
 resurrection. 
 
 Geoffrey, with faith scarcely less strong, found 
 life a fearful struggle against the evil within and 
 around him. He could not rest in his quiet 
 home, but when the summer work was ended he 
 went forth to carry to the trappers and Indians 
 in the woods the story of God's love, and his 
 
LAST WORDS, 
 
 389 
 
 passionate, earnest words roused many a soul to 
 repent. 
 
 He never married ; and when his father and 
 mother were laid to rest under the shadow of the 
 pines he cast all earthly ties behind him and 
 from thenceforward devoted his life to wandering 
 hither and thither, seeking the lost sheep who had 
 never known the Good Shepherd's care. How 
 many he brought into the fold he never knew ; 
 but his weary, toilsome journeys were not in vain. 
 Even here his heart was gladdened with some 
 tokens of God's blessing on his work, and here- 
 after he will doubtless receive an abundant har- 
 vest for his patient sowing. 
 
 Two years after Margery left them Rupert mar- 
 ried a pretty, gentle girl. She was the minister's 
 daughter, born and brought up in the woods; 
 but she was both ladylike and well educated in a 
 quaint, unusual fashion, for her father had taught 
 her much of what chiefly interested himself, and 
 Mr. Staynor soon loved her as dearly as his own 
 daughter. The earnest discussions between the 
 pair amused Rupert exceedingly, but he was very 
 proud of his wife and wrote Margery glowing 
 accounts of her beauty and cleverness. For her 
 sake he was sometimes sorry that the inheritance 
 of his forefathers had passed to strangers; but 
 she always comforted him by telling him that if 
 he had not lost all, he would never have seen her ; 
 and after all he really liked his hard-working out- 
 
 ' 
 
390 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 door life. It was manly, free, and independent, 
 for they never suffered such grievous want as had 
 often been their lot at the abbey ; and as his chil- 
 dren grew up around him Rupert thought less 
 and less of what might have been and thanked 
 God that " the lines had fallen to him in pleasant 
 places." 
 
 On the other side of the sea Clive and Margery 
 lived a strangely diffe. ent life. They had all that 
 wealth could give them and with it heavier cares 
 and greater dangers. Edith's fears had not been 
 groundless. More than once both Sir John and 
 Harold were in great peril of unjust imprison- 
 ment, and perhaps worse, but the danger had 
 always passed by before long. 
 
 Margery had kept her promise, and had learnt 
 to believe in Jesus by the time that Harold came 
 for her, and when God sent her children she strove 
 prayerfully and humbly to lead them to him. 
 She was a very true friend to her husband's poor 
 tenants. "You see, Hal, I used to be so poor 
 myself," she said one day. " I know exactly 
 how it feels to have naught but bread for 
 dinner and little enough of that. Now, me- 
 thinks mine only trouble is to see you look so 
 tired and worn." 
 
 "Nay, Madge; I am well enough," he said, 
 passing his hand across his brow, which was 
 deeply lined and furrowed. "I heard from John 
 to-day and he says that their little Edith Jiath 
 
LAST WORDS. 
 
 391 
 
 been grievously sick but is better again. And 
 there is ill news from court. The king is like 
 to die." 
 
 " Sure, it is very sudden." 
 
 "Ay, but too true. I am grieved to think 
 how this poor nation may suffer under a papist 
 sovereign." 
 
 " Now, Hal," said Margery, half smiling, " you 
 are at your old trick of crossing of the bridge be- 
 fore you come to it. There hath never been a 
 year since our marriage when it hath not looked ill 
 for us at some time, and yet we are here in peace 
 and comfort still ! " 
 
 "If James beginneth to persecute those who 
 differ from him, as I scarce doubt he will, we 
 can fly, percnance, to America, and Rupert will 
 show me how to earn our bread there ! " 
 
 Madge looked at her husband's slight figure 
 with a sigh, saying, " Indeed, Hal, you would 
 not be fitted for it. Besides, it would ill become 
 us to desert our people here, save in the last 
 ( ^remity. I wonder if Rupert is much altered. 
 In his last letter he wrote of his boys as if 
 they were nigh grown up. Oh, I should like to 
 see him ! " 
 
 Madge had her wish sooner than she expected. 
 That same evening the candles were lighted, the 
 curtains drawn, and her eldest daughter was play- 
 ing soft low tunes on her virginals when the do. i 
 was thrown open and a tall, dark-eyed stranger 
 
392 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 entered. Much to the amazement of the chil- 
 dren he took their mother in his arms and kissed 
 her again and again ; then gave his hand to their 
 father, saying, "Forgive my taking you all by 
 storm thus ; I had an errand to do to the Coun- 
 cil concerning a matter of boundaries and I could 
 not resist coming up hither first." 
 
 " You are bigger and browner and stronger, ay, 
 and handsomer, than ever, Ru," said Margery; 
 "but you are not changed otherwise." 
 
 Rupert shook his head. "Madge dear, you 
 never used to tell stories. Why, 't is more than 
 seventeen years since we parted! I have a son 
 at home far liker what I used to be." 
 
 " Edith says this boy of mine is like you," said 
 Margery. " Here, Hal, come show yourself to 
 Cousin Rupert. To-morrow, methinks, he will 
 have many a strange tale to tell you of life across 
 the ocean. They like my stories of that one year 
 in America better than aught else I can tell them," 
 she added 
 
 Rupert laughed. "The favorite story of my 
 little ones \s how we dug tho abbot's grave for 
 treasure. J lave you ever told them that, Madge?" 
 
 " It seen, like old times," said Clive when the 
 children hai left them, "for us three to be gath- 
 ered togethe again. I was telling Margery but 
 now that if '/ lings go ill here, I shall feel minded 
 to try the New World for a change. Have you 
 heard that the king is dead?" 
 
LAST IVOJtDS. 
 
 393 
 
 " Ay ; God forgive him for all the ill he hath 
 done ! Methinks, Hal, life in America would like 
 you ill." 
 
 " Ru," interposed Margery, " I have been try- 
 ing to make Harold write me a poem again. I 
 am sure I should be proud of it and him." 
 
 Clive smiled. "I have not forgot how you 
 laughed over the last ; but, seriously, I have other 
 work to do." 
 
 " Ay, Ru ; did you know he was a Parliament 
 man.?" 
 
 "I spoke but now of leaving England should 
 trouble cciie," said Clive slowly; "but perchance 
 'twas a coward thought. I at least am little 
 changed since the days I fled from the ghost, 
 Ru." 
 
 "Nay; rather since the days you watched be- 
 side me through the pest. Speaking of the abbot, 
 though. Uncle Geoffrey looketh quite a feeble old 
 man now. His hair is white and his shoulders 
 bent, but he allows himself no ease nor rest. 
 Methinks he is not long for this world. Since 
 grandmother died he hath never ceased his wan- 
 derings." 
 
 " I trust we shall all be as true to doing of the 
 work God giveth us," said Clive. 
 
 " Let us pray that in the life before us we may 
 all have strength and courage," said Madge. 
 
 They knelt together and the prayer was an- 
 swered for them all. During James' brief but 
 
 \ 
 
394 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT'S NAMESAKE. 
 
 perilous reign Cllve played the part of a noble 
 Christian gentleman and Margery was his true 
 helpmeet ; while thousands of miles away Rupert 
 was treading steadily the same uphill path that 
 leads to right and God, though fewer witnessed 
 either his temptations or his victories. 
 

 
 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 
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 1/S 
 
 w*0 
 
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 m7 
 
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 the present work by the numerous and well-executed 
 woodcuts which adorn its pages. The author has earned 
 the thanks of his contemporaries by the able manner in 
 which he has woven into his work the most salient points 
 of Edinburgh history. Iti style and typography are of 
 that high order which we n>\gho expect from a firm of 
 publishers of such repute." — IVasiem Antiquary. 
 
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 and all booksellers. 
 
Crown 8 vo, Cloth Extra, Illustrated, Price 3s. 6cl. ; 
 Plainer Binding, as. 6d. ; Paper Boards, as. 
 
 ''Matthew Dale, Farmer'' 
 
 By Mrs. Sanders, 
 
 Author of ** Happy with Either.*' 
 Second Edition. 
 
 "Told in an easy, pleasant style; its incidents are 
 generally well chosen and probable, and the characters 
 are all well drawn. A very few touches suffice to outline 
 each, and the shading given by conversation and action is 
 in each case consistent and sufficient. ... It has the 
 merit of being unstrained and unsensational in its 
 inciderts, and thoroughly healthy in tone."— 5"/. /«»!«' 
 Gazette. 
 
 " The interest of the story in general, though entirely 
 domestic, is exceedingly varied. ... A very considerable 
 dash of true Scotch humour." — The Globe. 
 
 " Another Scottish rural romance : the personages are 
 in a humble line of life ; and they are drawn by a lady, 
 who, as is very evident, thoroughly understands her 
 countryfolk." — The Times. 
 
 "There is nothing in the story that might not have 
 happened, and yet nothing that was not worth the telling." 
 —The Graphic. 
 
 "'Matthew Dale' is thoroughly enjoyable; the plot 
 is evolved with great care, and the style is remarkably 
 good. Ann Forbes's troubles with the household affiurs 
 of the employer whom she has admired from girlhood, 
 with his treacherous sister, and his drunken nephew, are 
 as genuine as anything we have seen in fiction for a long 
 time." — spectator. 
 
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 AND ALL BOOKSELLERS. 
 
~3sr 
 
 Crown 8vo, Cloth Extra, with Frontispiece by 
 Ida Lovering, Price 2S. 
 
 ^^ Sister Constance! 
 
 By K. M. Fitzgerald. 
 
 " * Sister Constance ' is not a pretentious story, but it is 
 exceedingly fresh and interesting, from first to last— with 
 all the elements of not improbable romance, and with a 
 brightness and lightness of style which are in the best 
 sense of the word feminine. 'Sister Constance '—the 
 daughter of a certain Lady Jervis, who, for reasons good 
 or bad, quarrels with her mother, and leaves home to 
 follow a nurse's occupation — is the nominal heroine, but 
 Kate Cranston, who gives up the ambition of being a 
 senior wrangler in order to be a devoted daughter and 
 sister at home, is an even more delightful personage, and 
 deserves the first place in the story. It is not an elabor- 
 ate story, but it is skilfully and dexterously managed. 
 The characters are sketched with a free and effective 
 touch, the dialogue is natural and easy, the plot — such as 
 there is — is not strained or artificial, and the treatment of 
 detail— on which the * vraisemblance ' of every fiction so 
 much depends — is adroit and natural. There are many 
 much more ambitious works which have not half the 
 charm of easy art which characterises * Sister Constance.' 
 If it is a first story it is a story of promise, and in any case 
 it has so much real spontaneity, and at the same time, 
 within its limits, so much successful contrivance and 
 invention, that no one who reads it is likely to feel 
 disappointed." — Newcastle Daily Leader. 
 
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^ 
 
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 ^^ Elton Hazlewoody 
 
 A Memoir, by his Friend, Henry Vane, 
 By Frederick George Scott, 
 
 Author of "The Soul's Quest, and other Poems." 
 
 " It is seldom our good fortune to review a book which 
 has afforded us so much pleasure in perusal as the Memoir 
 of Elton Hazlewood. It is a book that will be a guide to 
 many a weary pilgrim journeying o'er life's rugged path. 
 There is much sound philosophy which helps to strengthen 
 the veracity of the Scriptural text, ' The Word was made 
 flesh,' and in reading it one is transmigrated to a holy 
 and purer world of thought. The author has a strong 
 power of word-painting, and his description of places 
 referred to in the volume is really charming. The get-up 
 of the volume is very handsome, and the motto on the 
 cover Esse Quam Videri is very befitting." — Library 
 Review. 
 
 " We have read with very great interest the life-story 
 of Elton Hazlewood, by George Scott. Attractive 
 exceedingly to outward view, and surely exceedingly 
 cheap, it is a most touching record of one strangely 
 dowered man's history. And the author is a writer of 
 pure and undefiled English." — The Sunday School. 
 
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Post 8vo, Antique Paper, Cloth extra, Price 2S. 6d. 
 
 '* Bunyan Characters !' 
 
 Lectures delivered in St. George's Free Church, 
 
 Edinburgh. 
 
 By Alexander whyte, D.D. 
 
 "Dr. Alexander Whyte, the poet-preacher of Edin- 
 burgh, has been for years a close and enthusiastic 
 student of the writings of the author of * The Pilgrim's 
 Progress,' and this circumstance lends special interest 
 to the volume which he has just published, entitled 
 'Bunyan Characters.* The book consists of twenty- 
 six lectures delivered in St. George's Free Church, 
 Edinburgh, and it is a quite noteworthy exposition of 
 the facts and forces which met in the personages who 
 figure in Bunyan's wonderful allegory. Dr. Whyte 
 helps us to understand more vividly than before what 
 manner of men were Obstinate, Pliable, Talkative, 
 Faithful, Evangelist, and the like ; and the modern 
 applications of that old story of the soul's quest are 
 indicated by many subtle and suggestive comments 
 which often touch to the quick the greater as well as 
 the lesser issues of faith and conduct. There is both 
 vigour and vivacity about the book, fancy and feeling, 
 yet the tenderness is as conspicuous as the courage. Dr. 
 Whyte has done well to give these lectures to a wider 
 audience than that to which they were originally 
 addressed, for the book is the outcome of mellow ex- 
 perience as well as independent thought, and multitudes 
 will welcome it because of the light which it casts, not 
 merely on Bunyan's page, but on the battle and burden 
 which — in the nineteenth century no less than in the 
 seventeenth — confront those who are not content to live 
 at random." — Speaker. 
 
 "The book is one of the most searching, fearless, and 
 powerful treatises on personal religion we have ever 
 read, and we wish that it may fmd an entrance into all 
 our homes, being read alike by old and young, masters 
 and servants, rich and poor. The publishers have 
 evidently felt that they were putting forth a valuable 
 work, and have taken great pains to give it a worthy 
 form. The paper, printing, and binding are excellent, 
 and the price is very low. We at-t not surprised to 
 learn that its sale is already large." — Youth. 
 
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