THE 
 
 Dray tons and the Davenants 
 
 A 8TOBT OF 
 
 
 THE CIVIL WARS. 
 
 By the. Author of 
 
 "CHRONICLES OF THE SCHONBERG-COTTA FAMILY," 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 New York : 
 
 M. W. DODD, 506 BROADWAY. 
 i 866. 
 
AUTHOR S EDITION 
 
CARD FROM THE AUTHOR. 
 
 " The Author of the Schonberg-Cotta Family 
 wishes it to be generally known among the readers of her 
 books in America, that the American Editions issued by 
 Mr. M. W. Dodd, of New York, alone have the Author s 
 sanction." 
 
 101688 
 
NOTICE. 
 
 This Volume will he followed next year by 
 
 a supplementary Volume covering the 
 
 period of the Commonwealth and 
 
 the Restoration, and embracing 
 
 incidents connected with 
 
 the Early History 
 
 of this country. 
 
( L NiV- 
 
 . THE 
 
 Draytons and the Davenants 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 ESTERDAY at noon, when the house 
 and all the land were still, and the men, 
 
 with the lads and lasses, were away at 
 the harvesting, and I sat alone, with 
 barred doors, for fear of the Indians (who have of 
 late shown themselves unfriendly), I chanced to 
 look up from my spinning-wheel through the open 
 window, across the creek on which our house 
 stands. And something, I scarce know what, car 
 ried me back through the years and across the seas 
 to the old house on the borders of the Fen Country, 
 in the days of my childhood. It may have been 
 the quiet rustling <5f the sleepy air in the long 
 grasses by the water-side that wafted my spirit 
 back to where the English winds sigh and sough 
 among the reeds on the borders of the fens ; it may 
 have been the shining of the smooth water, fur- 
 
 (9) 
 
I o THE DRA YTONS A KD 
 
 rowed by the track of the water-fowl, that set my 
 memory down beside the broad Mere, whose gleam 
 we could see from my chamber window. It may 
 have been the smell of this year s hay, which came 
 in in sweet, soft gusts through the lattice, that 
 floated me up to the top of the tiny haystack, made 
 of the waste grass in the orchard at old Netherby 
 Manor, at the foot of which Roger, my brother, 
 used to stand while I turned up the hay, assisted by 
 our Cousin Placidia (when she was condescending), 
 and by our Aunt Gretel, my mother s sister, when 
 ever we had need of her. Most probably it waa 
 the hay. For, as the excellent Mr. Bunyan has 
 illustriously set forth in his work on the Holy War, 
 the soul hath five gates through which she holdeth 
 parlance with the outer world. And correspondent 
 with these outer gates from the sensible world in 
 space, meseemeth, are as many inner gates into the 
 inner, invisible world of thought and time ; which 
 inner gates open simultaneously with the outer, by 
 the same spring. But of all the mystic springs 
 which unlock the wondrous inward world, none act 
 with such swift, secret magic as those of the Gate 
 of Odors. There steal eth in unobserved some deli 
 cate perfume of familiar field flower or garden herb, 
 and straightway, or ere she is aware, the soul is 
 afar off in the world of the past, gathering posies 
 among the fields of childhood, or culling herbs in 
 the old corner of the old garden, to be laid, by 
 hands long since cold, in familiar chambers long 
 since tenanted by other owners. 
 
 Wherefore, I deem, it was the new, sweet smell 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 1 1 
 
 of onr New England hay which more than anything 
 carried me back to the old house in Old England, 
 and the days so long gone by. 
 
 With my heart in far-off days, I continued my 
 spinning, as women are wont, the hand moving the 
 more swiftly for the speed wherewith the thoughts 
 travel, until my thoughts and my work came to a 
 pause together by the flax on my distaff being ex 
 hausted. I went to an upper chamber for a fresh 
 stock, and while there my eye lighted on an old 
 chest, in the depths whereof lay many little volumes 
 of an old journal written by my hand through a 
 series of buried years. 
 
 An irresistible attraction drew me to them ; and 
 as I knelt before the old chest, and turned over 
 these yellow leaves, in some cases eaten with worms, 
 and read the writing the earlier portions of it in 
 large, laborious, childish characters, as if each letter 
 were a solemn symbol of weighty import the later 
 scrawled hastily in the snatched intervals of a busy 
 and tangled life I seemed to be looking through a 
 series of stained windows into the halls of an ancient 
 palace. On the windows were the familiar portraits 
 of a little eager girl, and a young maiden familiar 
 to me, yet strange. But the paintings were also 
 window-panes; and, after the first glance, the 
 painted panes seemed to vanish, and I saw only the 
 palace chambers on which they looked. Not empty 
 chambers, or shadowy, or silent, but solid, and 
 fresh, and vivid, and full of the stir of much life ; 
 so that, when I laid down those old pages, and 
 looked out through the declining light over these 
 
1 2 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 new shores, Across tins new sea, towards the far-off 
 England which still lives beyond, it seemed for a 
 moment as if the sun setting behind the wide west 
 ern woods, the strip of golden corn-fields, the reapers 
 returning slowly over the hill, the Indian burial- 
 mounds beside the creek, the trim new house, my 
 old quiet self, were the shadows, and that Old World, 
 in which my spirit had been sojourning, still the 
 living and the real. 
 
 Neighbor Hartop s cheery voice roused me out 
 of my dream, and I hurried down to cpen the door, 
 and to set out the harvest supper. 
 
 But as I look at the old crumpled papers again 
 to-day, the past lives again once more before me, 
 and I will not let it die. 
 
 There is an hour in the day when the sun has set, 
 and all the dazzle of day is gone, and the dusk of 
 night has not set in, when I think the world looks 
 larger and clearer than at any other time. The sky 
 seems higher and more heavenly than at other 
 hours ; and yet the earth, tinted here and there on 
 its high places with heavenly color, seems more to 
 belong to heaven. The little landscape within our 
 horizon becomes more manifestly a portion of a 
 wider world. And is there not such an hour in 
 life ? Before it passes let me use the light, and fix 
 in my mind .the scenes Avhich will so soon vanish 
 into dreams and silence. 
 
 The first entry in those old journals of mine is : 
 
 " The twenty-eighth day of March, in the year of onf 
 Lord sixteen hundred and thirty-seven. On this day, twelve 
 years since, King Charles was proclaimed King at White- 
 
THE DAVEXAXTS. 13 
 
 hall Gate, and in Cheapside ; the while the rain fell in 
 heavy showers. My father heard the herald; and my 
 Aunt Dorothy well remembers the rain, because it spoiled 
 a slashed satin doublet of my father s (the last he ever 
 bought, having since then been habited more soberly) ; 
 also because many of the people said the weather was of 
 evil promise for the new reign. But father saith that is 
 a superstitious notion, unworthy of Christian people. 
 
 " Also my father was present at the king s coronation, 
 on the 5th of February in the following year. Our French 
 Queen would not enter the Abbey on account of her 
 Popish faith. When the king was presented bareheaded 
 to the people, all were silent, none crying God save the 
 King, until the Earl of Arundel bade them ; which my 
 father saith was a worse omen than if the clouds poured 
 down rivers." 
 
 These in large characters, each letter formed with 
 conscientious pains. 
 
 The second entry is diverse from the first. It 
 runs thus : 
 
 " April the tenth. The brindled cow hath died, leaving 
 an orphan calf. Aunt Gretel saith I may bring up the 
 calf for my own, with the help of Tib the dairy-woman." 
 
 The diversity between these entries recalls many 
 things to me. On the day before the first entry, 
 father brought to Roger niy brother, my Cousin 
 Placidia, and me, three small books stitched neatly 
 together, and told us these were for us to use to 
 note down any remarkable events therein. " For," 
 said he, " we live in strange and notable times, and 
 you children may see things before you are grown, 
 yea, and perchance do or suffer such things as his 
 tory is made of." 
 2 
 
1 4 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 The stipulation was, that we were each to write 
 independently, and not to borrow from the other ; 
 which was a hard covenant for me, who seldom 
 then meditated or did anything without the co 
 operation or sanction of Roger. 
 
 After much solitary pondering, therefore, I ar 
 rived at the conclusion that history especially con 
 cerns kings and queens, and lesser people only as 
 connected with them. That is, when there are 
 kings and queens. In the old Greek history I re 
 membered there were heroes who were not kings, 
 but I supposed they did instead. But the English 
 history was all made up of w T hat happened to the 
 kings. One was shot while hunting ; another was 
 murdered at Berkeley Castle; the little princes 
 were smothered in the Tower. King Edward III. 
 gained a great victory at Cre9y in France ; King 
 Henry V. gained another at Agincourt. Of course 
 other people were concerned in these things. Sir 
 Walter Tyrrel shot the arrow by accident that 
 killed King William, and some wicked people must 
 have murdered King Edward and the little princes 
 on purpose. And, of course, there were armies who 
 helped King Edward and King Henry to gain their 
 victories; but none of these people would have 
 been in history, I thought, except as connected 
 with the kings. At the* same time I thought it was 
 of no use to relate things which no one belonging 
 to me had had anything to do with, because any 
 one else could have done that without my taking 
 the trouble to write a note-book at all. Therefore 
 it seemed to me that my father, and even my father s 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. ! 5 
 
 slashed satin doublet, fairly became historical by 
 having been present at the King s proclamation, 
 and Aunt Dorothy by having commented thereon. 
 
 The second entry was caused by an entirely dif 
 ferent theory of history, having its origin in a talk 
 with Roger. Roger said that we never can tell 
 what things are historical until afterwards, and that 
 therefore the only way was to note down what 
 honestly interests us. If these things prove after 
 wards to be things which interest the world, our 
 story of them becomes part of the world s story, 
 and, as such, history to the people who care for us. 
 But to note down feeble echoes of far-off great 
 events, in which we think we ought to be interested, 
 is no human speech at all, Roger thought, but mere 
 monkey s imitative chattering. Every one, Roger 
 thinks, sees everything just a little differently from 
 any one else, and therefore if every one would 
 describe truly the little bit they do see, in that way, 
 by degrees, we might have a perfect picture. But 
 to copy wKat others have seen is simply to depart 
 with every fresh copy a little further from the orig 
 inal. If, for instance, said he, the nurse of Julius 
 Cresar had told us nursery stories of what Julius 
 Caesar did when he was a little boy, it would have 
 been history; but the opinions of Julius Cresar s 
 nurse on the politics of the Roman republic would 
 probably not have been history at all, but idle tattle. 
 
 With respect to kings and queens being the only 
 true subjects for history, also, Roger was very 
 scornful. He had lately been paying a visit to Mr. 
 John Hampden, Mr. Oliver Cromwell, and others 
 
1 6 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 of my father s friends, and he had returned full of 
 indignation against the tyranny of the court and 
 the prelates. The nation, he said wise men thought, 
 was not made for the king, but the king for the na 
 tion. And, to say nothing of the Greek history, 
 the Bible history was certainly not filled up with 
 kings and queens, but with shepherds, herdsmen, 
 preachers, and soldiers ; or if with kings, with kings 
 who had been shepherds and soldiers, and who 
 were saints and heroes as well as kings. 
 
 All which reasoning decided me to make my next 
 entry concerning the calf of the brindled cow, 
 which at that time was the subject in the world 
 which honestly interested me the most. If my 
 father, or Roger, or Cousin Placidia, or Aunt Gretel, 
 ever became historical personages (and, as Roger 
 said, who could tell?), then- anecdotes concerning 
 the calf of the cow which my father owned and 
 Aunt Gretel cherished, and which Cousin Placidia 
 thought it childish to care so much about, might 
 become, in a secondary sense, historical also. At 
 all events, I resolved I would not be like Julius 
 Ca3sar s nurse, babbling of politics. 
 
 The next entry was : 
 
 " August 4, 1637. Dr. Antony has spent the evening 
 with us, and is to remain some days, at father s entreaty, 
 to recruit his strength ; Aunt Dorothy having knowledge 
 of medicinal herbs, and Aunt Gretel of savory dishes, 
 which may be of use to him. He hath narrowly escaped 
 the jail-sickness, having of late visited many afflicted good 
 people in the prisons through the country, as is his cus- 
 .torn. Sick and in prison, Dr. Antony saith, and ye 
 
THE DA VEX ANTS. 1 7 
 
 visited me, is plain enough to read by the dimmest light, 
 whatever else is hard to understand. He told us of two 
 strange things which happened lately. At least they seem 
 very strange to me. 
 
 " In the Palace Yard at Westminster, on the 30th of 
 last June (while Roger and I were making hay in the 
 pleasant sunshine of the orchard), Dr. Antony saw three 
 gentlemen stand in the pillory. The pillory is a wooden 
 frame set up on a platform, where wicked people are 
 fastened helplessly like savage dogs, with their heads and 
 hands coming through holes, to make them look ridicu 
 lous, that people may mock and jeer at them. But father 
 and Dr. Anthony did not think these gentlemen wicked, 
 only at worst a little hasty in speech. And the people did 
 not think them ridiculous ; they did not mock and jeer 
 at them, but kept very still, or wept. Their names were 
 Mr. Prynne, a gentleman at the bar, Dr. John Bastwick, a 
 physician ; and Mr. Burton, a clergyman of a parish in 
 London. There they stood many hours while the hang 
 man came to each of them in turn and sawed off their 
 ears with a rough knife, and then burnt in two cruel let 
 ters on their cheeks, S. L., for seditious libeler. Dr. 
 Anthony did not say the three gentlemen made one cry or 
 complaint, but bore themselves like brave men. But the 
 bravest of all, I think, was Mrs. Bastwick, the doctor s 
 wife. She stayed on the scaffold, and bore to see all her 
 husband s pain without a Word or moan, lest she should 
 make him flinch, and then received his ears in her lap, 
 and kissed his poor wounded face before all the people. 
 Sweet, brave heart ! I would fain have her home amongst 
 us here, and kiss her faithful hands like a queen s, and lay 
 my head on her brave heart, as if it were my mother s ! 
 The sufferers made no moan ; but the people broke their 
 pitiful silence once with an angry shout, and many times 
 with low, hushed groans, as if the pain and shame were 
 o* 
 
I g THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 theirs (Dr. Anthony said), and they would remember it. 
 And Mr. Prynne, when the irons were burning his face, 
 said to the executioner, Cut me, tear me, I fear not thee ; 
 I fear the fire of hell. Mr. Burton spoke to the people 
 of God and his truth, and how it was worth while to 
 suffer rather than give up that. And at last he nearly 
 fainted, but when he was borne away into a house near, 
 he said, with good cheer, It is too hot to last. (He 
 meant the persecution.) But the three gentlemen are now 
 shut up in three prisons in Launceston, Lancaster, and 
 Caernarvon. And father and Dr. Antony say it is Arch 
 bishop Laud who ordered it all to be done. But could 
 not the king have stopped it if he liked ? 
 
 " But will Roger and I ever turn over the hay again in 
 the pleasant June sunshine, without thinking how it 
 burned down on those poor, maimed and wounded gentle 
 men ? And one day I do hope I may see brave Mistress Bast- 
 wick and tell her how I love and honor her, and how the 
 thought of her will help me to be brave and patient more 
 than a hundred sermons. 
 
 " Dr. Antony s other story was of one Jenny or Janet 
 Geddes, not a gentlewoman, for she kept an apple stall in 
 Edinburgh streets, and, moreover, does not appear to have 
 used good language at all. The Scotch, it seems, do not 
 like bishops, and, indeed, will not have bishops. But 
 Archbishop Laud and the king will make them. On Sun 
 day, the 23d of last July, a month since, one of Arch 
 bishop Laud s bishops began the collect for the day in St. 
 Giles s Cathedral, Edinburgh. Jenny Geddes had brought 
 her folding stool (on which she sat by her apple stall, I 
 suppose) into the church, and when the bishop came out 
 in his robes (which Archbishop Laud likes of many colors, 
 while the Scotch, it seems, will have nothing but black), 
 she took up her stool and flung it at the bishop s head, 
 calling the service, the mass and the bishop a thief, and 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 1 9 
 
 wishing him very ill wishes in a curious Scottish dialect, 
 which, I suppose, I do not quite understand ; for it sound 
 ed like swearing, and if Jenny Geddes was a good woman 
 (although not a gentlewoman) she would scarcely. I should 
 think, swear, at least not in church. Whether the bishop 
 was hurt or not, no one seems to know or care. I suppose 
 the stool did not reach his head. But it stopped the ser 
 vice. For all the people rose in great fury, not against 
 Jenny Geddes, but against the bishop, and the archbishop, 
 and the prayer-book, and against all bishops and all pray 
 ers in books, not in Edinburgh only, but throughout the 
 land. Which shows, father said, that a great deal of 
 angry talk had been going on beforehand in the streets 
 around Jenny Geddes apple stall. There must always be 
 some angry person, father said, to throw the folding stool, 
 but no one heeds the angry person unless there is some 
 thing to be angry about." 
 
 A very long entry, which lost me many hours 
 and many pages. 
 
 And about the passages in my own history which 
 it led to, not a word. Indeed, throughout these 
 journals I notice that it is more what they recall 
 than what they say which brings back the past to 
 me. I wonder if it is not thus with most diaries. 
 For to keep to Roger s rule of writing the things 
 which really interest us at the time seems to me 
 scarcely possible ; because at the time we scarcely 
 know what things are most deeply interesting us, 
 and if we do, they are the very things we cannot 
 write about. Underneath the things we see and 
 think and speak about are the great, dim, silent 
 places out of which we ourselves are growing into 
 being, and where God is at work. The things we 
 
20 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 are beginning to see we can not see, the things we 
 are feeling without knowing what we feel, the dim, 
 struggling thoughts we cannot utter or even think. 
 Without form and void is the state of a world being 
 created. When the world is created, the creation 
 is a history, and can be written. While it is being 
 created, it is chaos, and from without can only be 
 described as without form and void from within, 
 in the chaos, not at all. The Creator only under 
 stands chaos, and knows the chaos before the new 
 creation from the mere waste and ruin of the old. 
 
 To understand the past is only partly possible for 
 the wisest men. 
 
 To understand the present is only possible to 
 God. 
 
 Because to understand the present would be to 
 foresee the future. To see through the chaos would 
 be to foresee the new creation. 
 
 Wherefore it seems to me all diaries are of value 
 not as records, but as suggestions. And all self-ex 
 amination resolves itself at last into prayer, saying, 
 " What I see not, teach Thou me." 
 
 " Search me and try me, and see Thou, and lead 
 Thou me." 
 
 The passages in my history that this story of Dr. 
 Antony led to, arise before me as clearly as if they 
 happened yesterday, although in the Journal not a 
 hint of them is given. 
 
 The Sunday after Dr. Antony had told us those 
 terrible things about the sufferings in the pillory, 
 Roger and I had gone to our usual Sunday after 
 noon perch in an apple-tree in the corner of the 
 
THE DA VEX A XTS. 2 1 
 
 orchard furthest from the housV. We had taken 
 with us for our contemplation a very terrible deli 
 neation, which was the nearest approach to a pic 
 ture Aunt Dorothy would let us have on the Sab 
 bath-day. This she permitted us, partly, I believe, 
 because it was not the likeness of anything in 
 heaven or earth (nor, I hope, under the earth), 
 and partly on account of the very awful thoughts 
 it was calculated to inspire. 
 
 It was a huge branching thing like our old family 
 tree. But at the root of the tree, where would be 
 the name of Adam or Xoah, or ^Eneas of Troy, or 
 Cassibelaun, or whoever else was recognized as 
 the head of the family, stood the sacred name of 
 the Holy Trinity. From this trunk forked off two 
 leading branches, one representing the wicked and 
 the other the just, with the words written along 
 them to show that the very same mercies and 
 means of grace which produce repentance and faith 
 and love in the hearts of the just, produce bitter 
 ness and false security and hatred of God in the 
 hearts of the wicked. Further and further the 
 branches diverged until one ended in an angel with 
 wings, and the other in a mouth of a horrible hob 
 goblin with a whale s mouth, a dragon s claws, 
 and a lion s teeth, and both were united by the 
 lines, 
 
 " Whether to heaven or hell you bend, 
 God will have glory in the end."* 
 
 * A similar tree is to be seen in the beginning of Bunyan s 
 Pilgrim s Progress, in the edition of 1698. 
 
22 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 Most terrible was^this delineation to me, sitting 
 that sunny autumn day in the apple-tree, especially 
 because if you were once on the wrong branch, it 
 was not at all pointed out how you were ever to 
 get on the right. All seemed as irrevocable and 
 inevitable as that point in our own pedigree where 
 Edwy, the eldest son, became a Benedictine monk 
 and vanished into a thin flourish, and Walter, the 
 second son, married Adalgiva, heiress of Netherby 
 Manor, and branched off into us. And it looked so 
 terribly (with unutterable terror I felt it) as if 
 it mattered as little to the Holy Trinity what be 
 came of any one of us, as to Cassibelaun or Noah 
 what became of his descendants, Edwy or Wal 
 ter. 
 
 So it happened that Roger and I sat very awe- 
 stricken and still in our perch in the apple-tree, 
 while the wind fluttered the green leaves around 
 us, and the sunbeams ripened the rosy apples for 
 their work, and then danced in and out on the grass 
 below for their play. And I remember as if it were 
 yesterday how the thought shuddered through my 
 heart, that the same sun which was shining on Ro 
 ger and me, on that last 30th of June, making hay 
 in the orchard, was at that very same moment 
 scorching those poor wounded gentlemen in the 
 pillory in the Palace Yard, and not losing a whit 
 of its glory to us by all the anguish it was inflict 
 ing, like a blazing furnace, on them. And if this 
 fearful tree were true, did it riot seem as if it were 
 the same with God? 
 
 I sat some time silent under the weight of this 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 2 $ 
 
 dread. It made me shiver with cold in the sun 
 shine, and at length I could keep it in no longer, 
 and said to Roger, in a whisper, for I was half afraid 
 to hear my words, 
 
 " Oh, Eoger, why did not God kill the devil ?" 
 
 At that moment something shook the tree, and I 
 clung to Roger in terror. I could not see what from 
 among the thick leaves where we were sitting. I 
 trembled at the echo of my voice. The dark 
 thoughts within seemed to have brought night with 
 its nameless terrors into the heart of day. But 
 Roger leant down from the branch, and said, 
 
 " Cousin Placidia ! For shame ! You shook 
 the tree on purpose. I heard the apples fall on 
 the ground, and you are picking them up. That is 
 cheating." 
 
 For the fallen fruit was the right of us, children. 
 
 Said Placidia in a smooth, unmoved voice, 
 
 " I came against the stem of the tree by acci 
 dent, and perhaps I did shake it a little more 
 than T need, when I heard what Olive said. They 
 were very wicked words, and I shall tell Aunt Dor 
 othy." 
 
 " You may tell any one you like/ said Roger in 
 dignantly. " Olive did not mean to say anything 
 wrong. You are cruel enough to sit in the Star- 
 chamber, Placidia." 
 
 " She is exactly like our gray cat," he continued 
 to me, as she glided away, " with her soft, noiseless 
 ways, and her stealthy, steady following of her own 
 interests. \Vhen the fowl-house was burnt down 
 last year, and the turkeys were screaming, and the 
 
24 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 hens cackling, and every one flying hither and 
 thither trying to save somebody or something, I 
 saw the gray cat quietly licking her lips in a corner 
 over a poor singed chicken. I believe she thought 
 the whole thing had been set on foot to roast her 
 supper. And Placidia would have done precisely 
 the same. If London were on fire, and she in it, I 
 believe she would contrive to get her supper roasted 
 on the cinders. And the provoking thing is, she 
 thinks no one sees." 
 
 Roger was not often vehement in speech, but 
 Placidia was our standing grievance, his and mine. 
 There were certain little unfairnesses, not quite 
 cheating, certain little meannesses, not quite dis 
 honesties, and certain little prevarications, not quite 
 lies, which always excited his greatest wrath, espe 
 cially when, as often happened, I was the loser or 
 the sufferer by them. 
 
 " Do you think she will tell Aunt Dorothy ?" I 
 said, for that very morning Placidia and I had had 
 a quarrel, she having pinched my arm where it could 
 not be seen, and I having to my shame bitten her 
 finger where it could be seen. 
 
 " I don t know, and I don t care," said Roger 
 loftily. " What is the good of minding ? I sup 
 pose we must all go through a certain quantity of 
 punishment, Olive, and it is to be hoped it will do 
 us good for the future, if we did not deserve it by 
 the past. At least Aunt Dorothy says so. Go on 
 with what you were saying." 
 
 So I recurred to my question. 
 
 " Oh, Roger, I wish I knew why God did not de- 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 25 
 
 stroy the devil in the beginning, or at least not let 
 him come into the garden. Because, then, nothing 
 would have gone wrong, would it ? Eve would not 
 have eaten the fruit. Mr. Prynne and Dr. Bastwick 
 would not have been set in the pillory. And I 
 should not, most likely, have quarrelled with Pla 
 cidia, because, I suppose, Placidia would*not have 
 been provoking." 
 
 " I wish I knew why my Father lets Cousin Pla 
 cidia live with us, and always be making us do 
 wrong," said Roger. 
 
 " She is an orphan, and some one must 
 take care of her, you know," I said. "Besides, 
 surely, Father has reasons, only we don t always 
 know." 
 
 " And I suppose God has reasons," said Roger 
 reverently, " only we don t always know." 
 
 " But the devil is all bad," said I, " and will 
 never be better; and Cousin Placidia may. It 
 could not be for the devil s own sake God did not 
 kill him, for he only gets worse ; and I do not see 
 how it could be for ours." 
 
 " The devil was not always the devil, Olive," said 
 Roger, after thinking a little while. " He was an 
 angel at first." 
 
 " Then, O Roger," said I eagerly, for the perplexi 
 ty lay heavy on my heart, " why did not God stop 
 the devil from ever being the devil ? That would 
 have been better than anything." 
 
 Roger made no reply. 
 
 " It cannot be because God could not," I pur 
 sued, " because Aunt Dorothy says He can do 
 3 
 
26 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 everything. And it cannot be because He would 
 not, because Aunt Gretel says He hates to see 
 any one do wrong or be unhappy. But there 
 must be some reason ; and if we only knew it, 
 I think everything else would become quite 
 plain." 
 
 " I do not see the reason, Olive," said Roger, af 
 ter a long pause. " I cannot see it in tho least. I 
 remember hearing two or three people discuss it 
 once with Father and Aunt Dorothy ; and I think 
 they all thought they explained it. But no one 
 thought any one else did. And they used ex 
 ceedingly long and learned words, longer and 
 more learned the further they went on. But they 
 could not agree at all, and at last they became an 
 gry, so that I never heard the end. But in two 
 or three years, you know, I am going to Oxford, 
 and then I will try and find out the reason. And 
 when I have found it out, Olive, I will be sure to 
 tell you." 
 
 " But that is not at all the most perplexing thing 
 to me, Olive," he began, after a little silence ; 
 " because, after all, if we or the angels were to be 
 persons and not things, I don t see how it could be 
 helped that we might do wrong if we liked. 
 The great puzzle to me is, why we do anything, 
 or if we can help doing anything we do ; that is, 
 if we are really persons at all, and not a kind of 
 puppets." 
 
 " Of course we are not puppets, Roger," said I. 
 " Of course we can help doing things if we like. I 
 do not think that is any puzzle at all. I could 
 
THE DA VENAXTS. 27 
 
 have helped biting Placidia s finger if I had liked 
 that is, if I had tried. And that is what makes it 
 wrong." 
 
 " But you did not like it," said Eoger, "and so 
 you did not help it. And what was to make you 
 like to help it, if you did not ? " 
 
 " If I had been good, I should not have liked 
 to hurt Placidia, however provoking she was," I 
 said. 
 
 " And what is to be good ?" said he. 
 
 " To like to do right," I said. " I think that is to 
 be good." 
 
 " But what is to make you like to do right ?" 
 
 " Being good, to be sure," said I, feeling myself 
 helplessly drawn into the whirlpool. 
 
 " That is going round and round, and coming to 
 nothing," said Roger. "But leaving alone about 
 right and wrong, what is to make you do any 
 thing ?" 
 
 " Because I choose," said I, " or some one else 
 chooses." 
 
 " But what makes you choose ?" said he. " What 
 made you choose, for instance, to come here this af 
 ternoon ?" 
 
 " Because you wished it, and because it was 
 a fine afternoon; and we always do when it is," 
 said I. 
 
 " Then you chose it because of something in you 
 which makes you like to please me, and because the 
 sun was shining. Neither of which you could help ; 
 therefore you did. not really choose at all." 
 
 "I did choose, Roger," said I. "I might have 
 
2 8 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 felt cross, and "chosen to disappoint you, if I had 
 liked." 
 
 " But you are not cross ; you are good-tempered, 
 on the whole, so you could not help liking to please 
 me." 
 
 "But I am cross sometimes with Placidia," I 
 said. 
 
 "That is because, as Aunt Gretel says, your 
 temper is like what our mother s was, quick but 
 sweet," said he ; " and that is a deeper puzzle still, 
 because it goes further back than you and your 
 character, to our mother s character, that is to say ; 
 and if to hers, no one can say how much further, 
 probably as far as Eve." 
 
 " But sometimes," said I, " for instance, when you 
 talk like this, my temper is tempted to be cross even 
 with you, Koger. But I choose to keep my temper, 
 and it must be I myself that choose, and not my 
 temper or my mother s." 
 
 " That is because of the two motives, the one 
 which inclines you to keep your temper is stronger 
 than the one which inclines you to lose it," said he. 
 " But there is always something before your choice 
 to make you choose, so that really you must choose 
 what you do, and therefore you do not really choose 
 at all." 
 
 " But I do choose, Roger," said I. " I choose this 
 instant to jump down from this tree so and go 
 home." 
 
 "That proves nothing," said he, following me 
 down from the tree with provoking coolness ; " you 
 chose to jump down, because there is a wilful feel- 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 2 g 
 
 ing in you which made you choose it, and that is 
 part of your character, and probably can be traced 
 back to Eve, and proves exactly what I say." 
 
 " I am not free to do right or wrong, or anything, 
 Roger !" I said. " Then I might as well be a horse, 
 or a tree, or a stone." 
 
 " I suppose you might, if you were," said Roger 
 drily. 
 
 " Is there no way out of the puzzle, Roger ?" I 
 said. 
 
 " I do not see any," he said ; " at least not by 
 thinking. But there seems to me no end to the 
 puzzles, if one begins to think." 
 
 He did not seem to mind it at all, but rather to 
 enjoy it, as if it were a mere tossing of mental balls 
 and catching them. 
 
 But I, on the other hand, was in great bewilder 
 ment and heaviness, for I felt like being a ball my 
 self, tossed helplessly round and round, without 
 seeing any beginning or end to it, and it made me 
 very unhappy. 
 
 We came back to the house at supper-time with a 
 vague sense of some judgment hanging over our 
 heads. Aunt Dorothy met us in the porch with a 
 switch in her hand. 
 
 " Xaughty children," said she, " Placidia says she 
 heard you using profane language in the apple-tree, 
 taking God s holy name in vain." 
 
 " I was not speaking so much of God, Aunt Dor 
 othy," said I in confusion, " as of the devil." 
 
 " Worse again," said Aunt Dorothy, " that is 
 swearing downright. It is as bad as the cavaliers 
 3* 
 
30 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 at the Court. Hold out your hand, Roger; and, 
 Olive, go to bed without supper." 
 
 Roger scorned any self-defence. He held out his 
 hand, and received three sharp switches without 
 flinching. Only at the end he said, 
 
 "Now I shall tell my father how Placidia stole 
 the apples and get justice done to Olive." 
 
 " You will tell your father nothing, sir," said 
 Aunt Dorothy. "I have sent Placidia to bed 
 three hours ago for tale-bearing, and given her 
 the chapter in the Proverbs to learn. And you 
 will sit down and learn the same, and both of you 
 say it to me to-morrow morning before breakfast." 
 
 This was what Aunt Dorothy considered even- 
 handed justice. Time, she said, was too precious 
 to spend in searching out the rights of children s 
 quarrels, and human nature being depraved as it is, 
 all accusations had probably some ground of truth, 
 and all accusers some wrong motive. And in all 
 quarrels there is always, said she, fault on both 
 sides. She therefore punished accused and accuser 
 alike, without further investigation. I have ob 
 served something of the same plan pursued since by 
 some persons who aspire to the character of impar 
 tial historians. But it never struck me as quite 
 fair in the historians or in Aunt Dorothy. How 
 ever, I must say, in Aunt Dorothy s case, this mode 
 of administering justice had a tendency to check 
 accusations. It must have been an unusually strong 
 desire of vengeance, or sense of wrong, which in 
 duced us to draw up an indictment which was sure 
 to be visited with equal severity on plaintiff and 
 
THE DA VEXANTS. 3 1 
 
 defendant. And although our sense of justice was 
 not satisfied, and Roger and I in consequence form 
 ed ourselves into a permanent Committee of Griev 
 ances, the peace of the household was perhaps on 
 the whole promoted by the system. The embitter 
 ing effects were, moreover, softened in our case by 
 the presence of other counteracting elements. 
 
 I had not been long in bed according to the de 
 crees of Justice in the person of Aunt Dorothy, when 
 Mercy, in the person of Aunt Gretel, came to bind 
 up my wounds. 
 
 " Olive, my little one," said she, sitting down on 
 the side of my bed, " what hast thou been saying ? 
 Thou wouldst not surely say anything ungrateful 
 against the dear Lord and Saviour ?" 
 
 Whereupon I buried my face in the bed-clothes, 
 and sobbed so that the bed shook under me. 
 
 She took my hand, and bending over me, said 
 tenderly, 
 
 " Poor little one ! Thou must not break thy 
 heart. The good Lord will forgive, Olive, will for 
 give all. Tell me what it is, darling, and don t be 
 afraid." 
 
 StilJ I sobbed on, when she said, 
 
 " If thou canst not tell me, tell the dear Saviour. 
 He is gentler than poor Aunt Gretel, and knows 
 thee better. Only do not be afraid of Him, 
 nothing grieves Him like that, sweet heart; any 
 thing but that." 
 
 Then I grew a little calmer, and moaned out, 
 
 " Indeed, Aunt Gretel, I did not mean any 
 thing wicked. But it is so hard to understand. 
 
32 THE DRAJTONS AND 
 
 There are so many things I cannot make out. 
 And oil, if I should be on the wrong side of the 
 tree after all ! If I should be on the wrong side of 
 the tree !" 
 
 And at the thought my sobs burst forth afresh. 
 
 Aunt Gretel was sorely perplexed. She said 
 
 " What tree, little one ? Where is thy poor 
 brain wandering ?" 
 
 "The tree with God at the beginning," said I, 
 " and with heaven at one end and hell at the other, 
 and no way to cross over if once you get wrong, 
 and God never seeming to mind." 
 
 "A very wicked tree," said Aunt Gretel. "I 
 never heard of it. The only tree in the Bible is 
 the Tree of Life. And of that the blessed Lord 
 will give freely to every one who comes the fruit 
 for life and the leaves for healing. Never mind the 
 other, sweet heart." 
 
 " If there were only a way across !" said I, " and 
 if I could be sure God did care !" 
 
 " There is a way across, my lamb," said she. 
 " Only it is not a way. It is but a step. It is a 
 look. It is a touch. For the way across is the 
 blessed Saviour Himself. And He is always nearer 
 than I am now, if you could only see." 
 
 " And God does care," said I, " whether we are 
 lost or saved ?" 
 
 " Care ! little Olive," said she. " Hast thou for 
 gotten the manger and the cross? That comes of 
 trying to see back to the beginning. He was in 
 the beginning, sweet heart, but not thou or I ! He 
 is the beginning every day and for ever to ns. 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 3 3 
 
 Look to Him. His face is shining on you now, 
 watching you tenderly as if it were your mother s, 
 my poor motherless lamb. Whatever else is dark, 
 that is plain. And you never meant to grieve or 
 question Him ! You did not mean to say the dark 
 ness was in Him, Olive ! You never meant that. 
 Put the darkness anywhere but there, sweet heart 
 anywhere but there. There is darkness enough, 
 in good sooth. But in Him is no darkness at all." 
 And then she murmured, half to herself, " It is very 
 strange, Dr. Luther made it all so plain, more than 
 a hundred years ago. And it seems as if it all had 
 to be done over again." 
 
 " Didst thou say thy prayers, my lamb ?" she 
 added. 
 
 I had. But it was sweet to kneel down with 
 Aunt Gretel again, with her arms and her warm 
 dress folded around me, and say the words after 
 her, the Our Father, and the prayer for father and 
 Roger and all. 
 
 But when I came to ask a blessing on Cousin 
 Placidia, my lips seemed unable to frame the words. 
 
 " Thou didst not pray for thy cousin, Olive," said 
 Aunt Gretel. 
 
 " She is so very difficult to love, Aunt Gretel," 
 said I ; " she often makes me do wrong. And I 
 bit her finger this morning." 
 
 Aunt Gretel shook her head. 
 
 " Poor little one," said she, " ah, yes ! It is 
 always hardest to forgive those we have hurt." 
 
 " But she pinched my arm where no one could 
 Bee," said I. 
 
34 
 
 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 "It will not help thee to think of that, poor 
 lamb," said Aunt Gretel, " what thou hast to do is 
 to forgive. Think of what will help thee to do 
 that." 
 
 "I can t think of anything that helps me, * 
 said I. 
 
 " Dost thou wish anything bad to happen to thy 
 cousin ?" said Aunt Gretel, after a pause. " If thou 
 couldst bring trouble on her by praying for it, 
 wouldst thou do it ?" 
 
 " No, not from God," said I. Of course I could 
 not ask anything bad from God." 
 
 " Then wouldst thou ask thy father to send her 
 away, poor neglected orphan child that she was ?" 
 
 " No, no, Aunt Gretel," I said, " not that. But I 
 should like to see her punished by Aunt Dorothy." 
 
 " How much ?" said Aunt Gretel. 
 
 " I am not sure. Only as much as she quite de 
 serves." 
 
 " That would be a good deal for us all," said she ; 
 " perhaps even for thee a little more than going to 
 bed one night without supper." 
 
 " Then until she was good," said I. 
 
 "Thou wishest thy cousin to be good, then?" 
 said Aunt Gretel. " Then thou canst at least pray 
 for that." &*=* 
 
 "It would make the house like the Garden of 
 Eden, I think," I said, " before the tempter came, if 
 Placidia were only not so provoking." 
 
 " Would it ?" said she, gravely. " Art thou then 
 always so good? Then, perhaps, thou canst ask 
 that thy cousin s trespasses may be forgiven, even 
 
THE LA I *EXA XTS. 3 5 
 
 if thou canst not forgive her, and hast none of thine 
 own to be forgiven !" 
 
 " O, Aunt Gretel," said I, suddenly perceiving 
 her meaning, " I see it all now * It is the bit of ice 
 in my own heart that made everything dark and 
 cold to me. It is the bit of ice in my own heart !" 
 
 She smiled and folded me to her heart. 
 
 And then she prayed once more for Placidia the 
 orphan, and for me, and Roger, that God in His 
 great pity would bless us and forgive us, and make 
 us good and loving, and like Himself and His dear 
 Son who suffered for us and bore our sins." 
 
 And after that I did not so much care even 
 whether Roger brought the answer he promised 
 from Oxford or not. 
 
 And it flashed on me for an instant, as if the 
 answer to Roger s other puzzle might come some 
 how from the same point ; as if it answered every 
 thing to the heart to think that light and not dark 
 ness, love and not necessity, are at the innermost 
 heart of all. For love is at once perfect freedom 
 and inevitable necessity. 
 
 But before I fell asleep, while Aunt Gretel was 
 still sitting on the bedside with her knitting, I 
 heard her say to herself 
 
 " Xot so v^ery strange not so strange after all, 
 although Dr. Luther did make it all clear as sun 
 shine more than a hundred years ago. It is that 
 bit of ice in the heart, that bit of ice that is always 
 freezing afresh in the heart." 
 
 But Aunt Dorothy, on a night s consideration, 
 thought the affair of the apple-tree too important 
 
36 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 to be passed over, as most of our childish quarrels 
 were, without troubling my father about them. 
 
 Accordingly the next morning we were sum 
 moned into my father s private room, where he 
 received his rents as a landlord, and sentenced 
 offenders as a magistrate, and kept his law-books, 
 and many other great hereditary folios on divinity, 
 philosophy, and things in general. A very solemn 
 proceeding for me that morning, my conscience 
 oppressed with a sense of having done some wrong 
 intentionally, and I knew not how much more with 
 out intending it. 
 
 Gradually, Roger and I standing on the other 
 side of the table, with the law-books and the mathe 
 matical instruments my father was so fond of be 
 tween us, he drew from us what had been the 
 subject of our conversation. 
 
 Then, to my surprise, as we stood awaiting our 
 sentence, he called me gently to him, and, seating 
 me on his knee, pointed out a paper spread on a 
 huge folio volume, which lay open before him. It 
 was a diagram of the sun and the planets, with the 
 four moons of Jupiter, the earth and the moon, 
 complicated by circles and lines mysteriously inter 
 secting each other. 
 
 " Olive," said he, " be so good as to explain that 
 to me. It is made by a gentleman who learned about 
 it from the great astronomer Galileo, and is meant 
 to explain how the earth and the sun are kept in 
 their places." I looked at the complication of fig 
 ures and lines and magical-looking signs, and then 
 in his face to see what he could mean. 
 
THE A VENA NTS. 3 7 
 
 " You do not understand it ?" he said, as if he 
 were surprised. 
 
 " Father," said I, " a little child like me !" 
 
 " And yet this is only a drawing of a little corner 
 of the world, Olive the sun and the earth and a 
 few of the planets in the nook of the world in which 
 we live. The whole universe is a good deal harder 
 to understand than this." 
 
 " Father," said I, ashamed and blushing, " indeed 
 I never thought I could understand these things 
 at least not yet; I only thought you might, or 
 some wise people somewhere." 
 
 " Olive," said he, in a low voice, tenderly and 
 reverently, stroking my head while he spoke, " be 
 fore the great mysteries you and Roger have fallen 
 on, I can only wonder, and wait, and say like you, 
 Father, a little child like me / And I do not think 
 the great Galileo himself could do much more." 
 
 But to Roger he said, rising and laying his hand 
 on his shoulder 
 
 " Exercise your wits as much as you can, my 
 boy ; but there are two kinds of roads I advise you 
 for the most part to eschew. One kind are the 
 roads that lead to the edge of the great darkness 
 which skirts our little patch of light on every side. 
 The other are the roads that go in a circle, leading 
 you round and round with much toil to the point 
 from which you started. I do not say, never travel 
 on these you cannot always help it. But for the 
 most part exercise yourself on the roads which lead 
 somewhere. The exercise is as good, and the result 
 better." And he was about to send us away. 
 4 
 
3 8 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 But Aunt Dorothy was not at all satisfied. 
 " That Signor Galileo was a very dangerous per 
 son," she said. " He said the sun went round, 
 and the earth stood still, which was contrary at 
 once to common sense, the five senses, and Scrip 
 ture ; and if chits like Roger and me were allowed 
 to enter on such false philosophy at our age, where 
 should we have wandered at hers ?" 
 
 " Not much further, Sister Dorothy," said my 
 Father, " if they reached the age of Methuselah. 
 Not much further into the question, and not much 
 nearer the answer." 
 
 " I see no difficulty in the question at all," said 
 Aunt Dorothy. " The Almighty does everything 
 because it is His will to do it. And we can do 
 nothing except He wills us to do it. Which an 
 swers Olive and Roger at once. All doubts are sins, 
 and ought to be crushed at the beginning." 
 
 " How would you do this, Sister Dorothy ?" asked 
 my Father ; " a good many persons have tried it be 
 fore and failed." 
 
 " How ! The simplest thing in the world," 
 said Aunt Dorothy. " In the first place, set 
 people to work, so that they have no time for 
 such foolish questions, and genealogies, and conten 
 tions." 
 
 " A wholesome plan, which seems to be very gen 
 erally pursued with regard to the whole human 
 race," said Father. " It is mercifully provided that 
 those who have leisure for such questions are few. 
 But what else would you do ?" 
 
 " For the children there is the switch," said Aunt 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 39 
 
 Dorothy. " They would be thankful enough for it 
 when they grew wiser." 
 
 " So think the Pope and Archbishop Laud," re 
 plied my Father ; " and so they set up the Inquisi 
 tion and the Star Chamber." 
 
 " I have no fault to find with the Inquisition and 
 the Star Chamber," said Aunt Dorothy, " if they 
 would only punish the right people." 
 
 "But sometimes we learn we haye been mis 
 taken ourselves," said Father. u How can we 
 be sure we are absolutely right about every 
 thing ?" 
 
 "//," said Aunt Dorothy, emphatically. "Thank 
 Heaven I have not a doubt about anything. Heresy 
 is worse than treason, for it is treason against God ; 
 and worse than murder, for it is the murder of im 
 mortal souls. The fault of the Pope and Archbishop 
 Laud is that they are heretics themselves, and pun 
 ish the wrong people." 
 
 This was a point often reached in discussions 
 between my Father and Aunt Dorothy, but this 
 time it was happily closed by the clatter of a 
 horse s hoofs on the pavement of the court before 
 the house. 
 
 My father s face brightened, and he rose hastily, 
 exclaiming, "A welcome guest, Sister Dorothy the 
 Lord of the Fens set the table in the wainscoted 
 parlour." 
 
 He left the room, and we children watched a tall, 
 stalwart gentleman, well known to us, with a 
 healthy, sunburnt face, alight from his horse. 
 
 " The Lord of the Fens, indeed !" said Aunt Dor- 
 
4 o THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 othy in a disappointed tone, as she looked out of 
 the window. " Why, it is only Mr. Oliver Crom 
 well of Ely, with his coat as slovenly as usual, and 
 his hat without a hat-band. I am as much against 
 gewgaws as any one. If I had my way, not a 
 slashed doublet, or ribboned hose, or feather, or 
 lace, should be seen in the kingdom. But there is 
 reason in all things. Gentlemen should look like 
 gentlemen, and a hat without a hat-band is going 
 too far, in all conscience. The wainscoted parlour, 
 in good sooth ! Why, his boots are covered with 
 mud, and I dare warrant it, he will never think of 
 rubbing them on the straw in the hall. And they 
 will get talking, no one knows how long, about that 
 everlasting draining of the Fen?. I can t think 
 why they won t let the Fens alone. They diet very 
 well for our fathers as they were, and they were 
 better men than we see now-a-days ; and if the Al 
 mighty made the Fens w r et, I suppose he meant 
 them to be wet ; and people had better take care 
 how they run against His designs. And they say 
 the king is against it, or against somebody con 
 cerned in it, so that there is no knowing what it 
 may lead to. All Scotland in a tumult, and the 
 godly languishing in prison, and our parson putting 
 on seme new furbelow and setting up some new 
 fandango every Sabbath ; and a godly gentleman 
 like Mr. Oliver Cromwell (for he is that, I don t 
 deny) to have nothing better to do than to try and 
 squeeze a few acres more of dry land out of the Fens !" 
 
 But Roger whispered to me, 
 
 " Mr. Hampden says Mr. Cromwell would be the 
 
THE DA YF.NAXTS. 41 
 
 greatest man in England if things should come to 
 the worst, and there should be any disturbance with 
 the king." 
 
 At that moment my father called Roger, and to 
 his delight he was allowed to accompany him and 
 our guest over the farm. 
 
 And the next entry in my Journal is this, 
 
 11 Mr. Oliver Cromwell of Ely was at our house yester 
 day. Roger walked over the farm with him and my father. 
 Their discourse was concerning twenty shillings which the 
 king wants to oblige Mr. Hampden of Great Hampden to 
 lend him, which Mr. Hampden will not, not because he 
 cannot afford it, but because the king would then be able 
 to make even* one lend him money whether they like it or 
 not, or whether they are able or not. They call it the 
 ship-money. Concerning this and also concerning some 
 good men, ministers or lecturers, whom Mr. Cromwell 
 wishes to set to preach the Gospel to the people in places 
 where no one else preaches, so that they can understand, 
 but whom Archbishop Laud has silenced with fines and 
 many threats, Aunt Dorothy thinks it a pity godly men 
 like Mr. Hampden and Mr. Cromwell should concern them 
 selves about such poor worldly things as shillings and 
 pence. Regarding the lecturers, she says that they have 
 more reason. Oniy, she says, it is a wonder to her they 
 will begin with such small insignificant things. Let them 
 set to work, root and branch (says she), against Popery 
 under false names and in high places, and these lesser 
 matters will take care of themselves. But father says, 
 poor worldly things are just the things by which we 
 are tried and proved whether we will be faithful to the 
 high unworldly calling or not. And small insignificant 
 things are the beginnings of everything that lives and 
 endures, from a British oak to the kingdom of heaven." 
 4* 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 Nay Day, 1638. 
 
 HIS morning, before break of day, I went to 
 bathe my face in the May dew by the Lady 
 Well. There I met Lettice Davenant with 
 her maidens. She was dressed in a kirtle of 
 grass-green silk, with a blue taffetas petticoat, and her 
 eyes were like wet violets, and her brown hair like wavy 
 tangles of soft glossy unspun silk, specked and woven with 
 gold, and she looked like a sweet May flower, just lifting 
 itself out of its green sheath into the sunshine, and all the 
 colours changing and weaving into each other, as they do 
 in the flowers. And she laid her soft, little hand in mine, 
 and said her mother loved mine, and she wished I would 
 love her, and be her friend. And she kissed me with her 
 dear, sweet, little mouth, like a rosebud like a child s. 
 And I held her close in my arms, with her silky hair fall 
 ing on my shoulder. She is just so much shorter than I 
 am. And her heart beat on mine. And I will love her 
 all my life. No wonder Roger thinks her fair. 
 
 " I will love her all my life, whatever Aunt Dorothy 
 says. 
 
 " Firstly, because I cannot help it. And secondly, be 
 cause I am sure it is right right right to love ; always 
 right to love to love as much, as dearly, as long, as deep 
 (42) 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 43 
 
 as we can. Always right to love, never right to despise, 
 or keep aloof, or turn aside. Sometimes right to hate, at 
 least I think so ; sometimes right to be angry, I am sure 
 of that ; but never right to despise, and always always 
 right to love. 
 
 "For Roger and I have looked well all through the 
 Gospels to see. And the Pharisee despised, the Priest and 
 the Levite passed by, and the disciples said once or twice, 
 send her away. But the Lord drew near, called them to 
 Him, touched, took in His arms, loved, always loved. 
 Loved when they were wandering loved when they would 
 not come ; loved even when they went away. 
 
 " And Aunt Gretel thinks the same. Only I sometimes 
 wish we had lived in the times she speaks of, told of in 
 certain Family Chronicles of hers, a century old. For 
 then it was the people with the wrong religion who de 
 spised others, and were harsh and severe. And they went 
 into convents, which must have been a great relief to the 
 rest of the family. And now it seems to be the people 
 with the right religion who do like the Pharisees. And 
 they stay at home, which is more difficult to understand, 
 and more unpleasant to bear." 
 
 A very vehement utterance, crossed through with 
 repentant lines in after times, but still quite legi 
 ble, and of interest to me for the vanished outer 
 world of life, and the tumultuous inward world of 
 revolt it recalls. 
 
 For that May morning, on my way home through 
 the wood, I met the village lads and lasses bringing 
 home the May ; and when I reached the house, it 
 was late; the serving men and maidens had finished 
 their meal at the long table in the hall, and Aunt 
 Dorothy sat at one end of the table, which crossed 
 
44 THE D RA YTONS AND 
 
 it at the top, and span ; and Cousin Placidia sat 
 silent at the other end and span, the whirr of their 
 spinning-wheels distinctly reproaching me in a 
 steady hum of displeasure, until I was constrained 
 to reply to it and to Aunt Dorothy s silence. 
 
 " Aunt Dorothy, prithee, forgive me. I only went 
 to bathe my face in the May dew by the Lady Well. 
 And there I met Lettice Davenant." 
 
 " I never reproached thee, child," said Aunt Doro 
 thy. " There is too much license in this house for 
 that. But this, I will say, the excuse is worse than 
 the fault. How often have I told thee not to stain 
 thy lips with the idolatrous title of that well ? And 
 as to bathing thy face in the May dew, Olive, it is 
 Popery sheer Popery." 
 
 " Not Popery, sister Dorothy," said my Father, 
 looking up from his sheet of news just brought from 
 London. " Not Popery ; Paganism. The custom 
 dates back to the ancient Romans, probably to the 
 festival of the goddess Maia, mother of Mercury, 
 but here antiquarians are divided." 
 
 "And well they may be," said Aunt Dorothy, 
 " what but sects and divisions can be expected from 
 such tampering with vanities and idolatries? For 
 my part, it matters little to me whether the custom 
 dates to the modern or the ancient Romans, or to 
 the Hittites, the Perizzites, the Amorites, and the 
 Jebusites. Whoever painted the idol, I have little 
 doubt who made it. And of the two I like the un- 
 christened idols best." 
 
 " Not quite, sister Dorothy, not always," remon 
 strated my Father, " it is certainly a great mistake 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 45 
 
 to worship the Virgin Mary. But the Moloch to 
 whom they burned little children was worse, much 
 worse." 
 
 " If he was, the less we hear about him the better, 
 Brother," said Aunt Dorothy. " But as to the burn 
 ing I see little difference. You can see the black 
 sites of Queen Mary s fires still. And Lettice Dave- 
 nant has been up at the court of the new Queen 
 Marie (as they call her) ; an unlucky name for 
 England. And little good she or hers are like to 
 do to our Olive." 
 
 On which I turned wholly into a boiling caldron 
 of indignation ; and to what it might have led I 
 know not, had not Aunt Gretel at that moment in 
 tervened, ruddy from the kitchen fire, and with the 
 glow of a pleasant purpose in her kindly blue eyes. 
 
 " They are like to have the blithest May to-day 
 they have seen for many a year," said she. " Our 
 Margery, the daughter of Tib the dairy woman, is 
 to be queen. And a better maiden or a sweeter 
 face there is not in all the country side. And Dick 
 on, the gardener s son at the Hall, is her sweetheart, 
 and the Lady Lucy Davenant has let them deck 
 the bower with posies from her own garden, and 
 they are coming from the Hall, the Lady Lucy and 
 Sir Walter, and Mistress Lettice and her five 
 brothers, to see the jollity." 
 
 " Tell Tib s goodman to broach a barrel of the 
 best ale, sister Gretel," said my Father, " and we 
 will go and see." 
 
 This was said in the tone Aunt Dorothy never 
 answered, and she made no remonstrance except 
 
46 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 through the whirr of her spinning-wheel, which 
 always seemed to Roger and me to be a kind of 
 "famulus" or a second-self to Aunt Dorothy (of 
 course of a white not a black kind), saying the thing 
 she meant but would not say, and in a thousand 
 ways spinning out and completing, not her thread 
 only, but her life and thought. 
 
 My Father soon rose and went to the farm. Aunt 
 Dorothy span silent at one end of the table, and 
 Cousin Placidia at the other ; while I sat too indisr- 
 
 o 
 
 nant to eat anything, and Aunt Gretel moved about 
 in a helpless, conciliatory state between. 
 
 "The Bible does speak of being merry, sister 
 Dorothy," said she at length, metaphorically putting 
 her foot into Aunt Dorothy s spiritual spinning, as 
 she was wont to do. 
 
 "No doubt it does," said Aunt Dorothy. " Is 
 any merry among you, let him sing psalms. " 
 
 " I am sure I wish they would," said Aunt Gre 
 tel, "there is nothing I enjoy so much. And," 
 pursued she, waxing bold, " after all, sister Doro 
 thy, the whole world does seem to sing and dance 
 in the green May, the little birds hop and sing, 
 (sing love-songs too, sister Dorothy), and the leaves 
 dance and rustle, and the flowers don all the colours 
 of the rainbow." 
 
 " As to the flowers," said Aunt Dorothy, " they 
 did not choose their own raiment, so no blame to 
 them, poor perishing things. I hold they were 
 clothed in their scarlet and purple, like fools in 
 motley, for the very purpose of shaming us into 
 being sober and grave in our attire. The birds, in- 
 
THE DA VEXAXTS. 47 
 
 deed, may hop and sing if they like it. JSTot that I 
 think they have much cause, poor inconsiderate 
 creatures, what with the birds -nesting, and the 
 poaching, and Mr. Cromwell draining the fens. 
 But they have no foresight, and they have not im 
 mortal souls, and if they re to be in a pie to-morrow 
 they don t know it ; and they are no worse for it the 
 day after." 
 
 " But," said Aunt Gretel, " we have immortal 
 souls, and I think that ought to make us sing a 
 thousand-fold better than the birds." 
 
 " We have not only souls, we have sins," said 
 Aunt Dorothy ; " and there is enough in sin, I hold, 
 to stop the sweetest music in the world when the 
 burden is felt." 
 
 " But we have the Gospel and the Saviour," said 
 Aunt Gretel, " glad tidings of great joy to all 
 people." 
 
 "Tell them, then, to the people," said Aunt 
 Dorothy ; "get a godly minister to go and preach 
 them to the poor sinners in the village, and that 
 will be better than setting up May-poles and broach 
 ing beer barrels." 
 
 " I do tell them whenever I can, sister Dorothy," 
 said Aunt Gretel meekly, " as well as I can. But 
 the best of us cannot always be listening to ser 
 mons." 
 
 "We might listen much longer than we do if 
 we tried," said Aunt Dorothy, branching off from 
 the subject. " In Scotland, I am told, the Sabbath 
 services last twelve hours." 
 
 Aunt Gretel sighed ; whether in compassion for 
 
48 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 the Scottish congregations, or in lamentation over 
 her own shortcomings, she did not explain. 
 
 " But," she resumed, " it does seem that if the 
 good God meant that there should have been no 
 merry-making in the world he would have arranged 
 that people should have come into the world full- 
 grown." 
 
 " Probably it would have been better if it could 
 have been so managed," said Aunt Dorothy ; " but 
 I suppose it could not. Howe ver that may be, the 
 best we can do now is to make people grow up as 
 soon as they can, and not keep them babies with 
 May games, and junketings, and possetings." 
 
 " But," said Aunt Gretel timidly, " after all, sis 
 ter Dorothy, the Bible does not give us any strict 
 rules by which we can judge other people in such 
 things." 
 
 41 1 confess," replied Aunt Dorothy, " that if there 
 could be a thing to be wished for in the Bible (with 
 reverence I say it), it iri just that there were a few 
 plain rules. St. Paul came very near it when he 
 was speaking of the weak brethren at the idol- 
 feasts ; but I confess I do think it would have been 
 a help if he had gone a little further while he was 
 about it. Then, people would not have been able 
 to pretend they did not know what he meant. I 
 do think it would have been a comfort if there could 
 have been a book of Leviticus in the New Testa 
 ment." 
 
 " But your Mr. John Milton," said Aunt Gretel, 
 " in his new masque of Comus, which your brother 
 thinks beautiful, introduces music and dancing." 
 
THE DA VEX AXIS. 
 
 49 
 
 " Mr. Milton is a godly man," said Aunt Dorothy, 
 " but, poor gentleman, he is a poet ; and poets can 
 not always be expected to keep straight, like rea 
 sonable people." 
 
 " But Dr. Martin Luther himself dearly loved 
 music," said Aunt Gretel, driven to her final court 
 of appeal, " and even sanctioned dancing, in a Chris 
 tian-like way, without rioting and drunkenness," 
 
 " Dr. Luther might," rejoined Aunt Dorothy. 
 "Dr. Luther believed in consubstantiation, and 
 rejected the Epistle of St. James. And, besides, by 
 this time he has been in heaven, it is to be hoped, 
 for nearly a hundred years, and there can be no 
 doubt he knows better." 
 
 Aunt Gretel was roused. 
 
 " Sister Dorothy," she said, " Dr. Luther does 
 not need to be defended by me. But I sometimes 
 think if he came to England in these days he would 
 think some of you had gone some way towards 
 painting again that terrible picture of God, which 
 made the little ones fly from Him instead of taking 
 refuge with Him, and which it took him so much 
 toil to destroy." 
 
 And she fled to the kitchen, rosier than she 
 came, but with tears instead of smiles in her 
 eyes. 
 
 "If people could enjoy themselves harmlessly, 
 without rioting and drunkenness," said Aunt Doro 
 thy, half yielding, " there might be less to be said 
 against it." 
 
 "What is rioting, Aunt Dorothy?" asked Pla- 
 cidia from her spinning- wheel 
 5 
 
5 o THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 " Idling and romping, and doing what had better 
 not be done nor talked about." 
 
 " Because, Aunt Dorothy," said Placidia solemnly, 
 " I saw Dickon trying to kiss our Tib s daughter, 
 Margery, behind the door; and she would not let 
 him. But she laughed and did not seem angry. Is 
 that rioting ?" 
 
 " Dickon may kiss Margery as often as he likes 
 without hurting you or any one, Placidia," said 
 Aunt Dorothy, incautiously. " Margery is a good 
 honest girl, and can take care of herself. And you 
 have no right to watch what any one does behind 
 doors. You, at least, shall not go to the May-pole 
 to-day, but shall stay with me and learn the thir 
 teenth of First Corinthians." 
 
 "I do not wish to go to any rioting or May 
 games," said Placidia. " I like my spinning and 
 my book. I never did care for dancing and playing 
 and fooling, Aunt Dorothy, I am thankful to say." 
 
 "Don t be a Pharisee, Placidia," said Aunt 
 Dorothy, turning hotly on her unwelcome ally. 
 " Better play and dance like a flipperty-gibbet, than 
 watch what other people do behind doors, and tell 
 tales." 
 
 And I left them to settle the controversy, while 
 I went to join Aunt Gretel, who was in my Father s 
 chamber preparing for me such sober decorations 
 in honor of the festivities as our Puritan wardrobes 
 admitted of. It was a great day for me ; chiefly for 
 the expectation of meeting the Lady Lucy and the 
 sweet maiden Lettice. 
 
 I was starting full of glee when the sight of Aunt 
 
THE DA VEXAXTS. 5 ! 
 
 Dorothy, spinning silently in the hall as we passed 
 the door, with Placidia beside her, threw a little 
 shadow over my contentment. Aunt Dorothy so 
 completely represented to me the majesty of law, 
 and at the bottom of our hearts both Roger and I 
 so trusted and honored her, that in spite even of my 
 Father s sanction, something of misgiving troubled 
 me at the sight of her grave face. AVith a sudden 
 impulse I ran back, and, standing before her, said 
 
 " Aunt Dorothy, you are not angry. I shall not 
 dance, only look, and soon be at home again, and 
 all will go on the same as ever." 
 
 She shook her head, but more sorrowfully than 
 angrily. 
 
 " Eve only looked," said she, " but nothing went 
 on the same evermore." 
 
 At that moment my father came back to seek me, 
 and, catching Aunt Dorothy s last words, he said 
 kindly but gravely, " Do not let us trouble the 
 child s conscience with our scruples. It is a serious 
 danger to force our scruples on others. When ex 
 perience of their own peculiar weaknesses and 
 besetmeiits has led them to scruple at things for 
 themselves, it is another matter. But to add to 
 God s laws is almost as tremendous a mistake as to 
 subtract from them. Our additions, moreover, are 
 sure to end in subtractions in some other direction. 
 Indifferent tilings done with a guilty conscience lead 
 to guilty tilings done with an indifferent conscience. 
 In inventing imaginary sins you create real sinners." 
 
 " "Well, brother, it is as you please," said Aunt 
 Dorothy, "but I should have thought our new par- 
 
5 2 THE DRA YTON8 AND 
 
 son reading from that blasphemous Book of Sports 
 from the pulpit, commending the people to dance 
 around the May-poles on the Sabbath afternoons, 
 was enough to turn any serious person against 
 them." 
 
 " Nay ; that is exactly one of the strongest reasons 
 why I go to-day," said my father. " I go to show 
 that it is not the May-poles we scruple at, but the 
 cruel robbing of the poor by the desecration of the 
 day given them by God for higher things." 
 
 And he led me away. But my free, innocent 
 gladsomeness was gone. 
 
 Conscience had come in with her questionings, 
 and her discernings and her dividings. I was not 
 sure whether God was pleased with me or with any 
 of us. Even when I looked at the garlanded May 
 pole, I thought of the old tree in Eden with its 
 pleasant fruit, which I had embroidered with a ser 
 pent coiled round it, darting out his forked tongue 
 at Eve. I wondered whether if my eyes were 
 opened I should see him there, writhing among the 
 hawthorn garlands, or hissing envenomed words 
 into the ear of our Tib s Margery as she sat in her 
 royal bower of green boughs crowned with flowers, 
 or gliding in and out among the dancers, as hand 
 in hand they moved singing around the May-pole, 
 wreathing and unwreathing the long garland which 
 united them, and making low reverences, as they 
 passed, to their blushing Queen. I wondered 
 whether the whole thing had some mysterious con 
 nection with idolatry, and heaven itself were after 
 all watching us with grieved displeasure, like Aunt 
 
TEE DA VENANTS. 
 
 53 
 
 Dorothy, and. secretly preparing fiery serpents, or a 
 rain of fire and brimstone, or a thunder storm, or 
 whatever came instead of fiery serpents and fire and 
 Brimstone in these days when there were no more 
 miracles. 
 
 These thoughts, however, all vanished when the 
 family appeared from the HalL The Lady Lucy 
 was borne by two men in a sedan-chair which she 
 had brought from London, a thing I had never seen 
 before. It so happened that I had never seen the 
 Lady Lucy until that day. The family had been 
 much about the court, and on the few occasions on 
 which they had spent any time at the Hall, the 
 Lady Lucy s health had been too feeble to admit of 
 her attending at the parish church with the rest of 
 the family. From the moment, therefore, that Sir 
 AValter handed her out of the chair and seated her 
 on cushions prepared for her, I could not take my 
 eyes from her, not even to look at Lettice. So 
 queenly she appeared to me, such a perfection of 
 grace and dignity and beauty. Her complexion 
 was fair like Lettice s, but very delicate and pale, 
 like a shell ; and her hair, still brown and abundant, 
 was arranged in countless small ringlets around her 
 face. On her neck and her forehead there was a 
 brilliant sparkle and a glitter, which must, of course, 
 have been from jewels ; and her dress had a sheen 
 and a gloss, and a delicate changing of gorgeous 
 colours on it which must have been that of velvet 
 and brocade and rare laces. But in my eyes she 
 sat wrapped in a kind of halo of unearthly glory. 
 I no more thought of resolving it into the texture 
 5* 
 
54 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 of any earthly looms than if she had been a lily or 
 a star. All around her seemed to belong to her, 
 like the moonbeams to the moon or the leaves to a 
 flower. Not her dress only, but the green leaves 
 which bent lovingly down to her, and the flowery 
 turf which seemed to kiss her feet. If I thought of 
 any comparison, it was Aunt Gretel s fairy-tale of 
 the princess with the three magic robes, enclosed in 
 the magic nut-shells, like the sun, like the moon, and 
 like the stars. 
 
 Even Sir Walter, burly, and sturdy, and noisy, 
 and substantial as he was, seemed to me to acquire 
 a kind of reflected glory by her speaking to him. 
 And her seven sons girdled her like the planets- 
 around the sun, or like the seven electors Aunt 
 Gretel told us about around the emperor. But 
 when at last her eyes rested on me, and she whis 
 pered something to Sir Walter, and he came across 
 and dofled his plumed hat to my father, and then 
 led me across to her, and she looked long in my 
 face, and then up in my father s, and said, " The 
 likeness is perfect," and then kissed me, and made 
 me sit down on the cushion beside her with her 
 hand in mine, I thought her voice like an angel s, 
 and her touch seemed to me to have something hal- 
 
 O 
 
 lowing in it which made me feel safe like a little 
 bird under its mother s wing. The silent smile of 
 her soft eyes under her smooth, broad, unfurrowed 
 brow, as she turned every now and then and looked 
 at me, fell on my heart like a kiss. And I thought 
 110 more of Eve and the serpent, or Aunt Dorothy, 
 or anything, until she rose to go. And then she 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 
 
 55 
 
 kissed me again. But I scarcely seemed to care 
 that she should kiss me. Her presence was an em 
 brace ; her smile was a kiss ; every tone of her 
 voice was a caress. A tender motherliness seemed 
 to fold me all round as I sat by her. As she left 
 me she said softly, 
 
 " Little Olive, you must come and see me. Your 
 mother and I loved each other." Then holding out 
 her hand to my father, she added, 
 
 " Politics and land-boundaries, Mr. Drayton, must 
 not keep us any longer apart." 
 
 He bowed, and they conversed some time longer ; 
 but the only thing I heard was that he promised I 
 should go and see her at the Hall. 
 
 I think every one felt something of the soft charm 
 there was in her. For, quiet and retiring as she 
 was, when she left, a light and gladness seemed to 
 go with her. Before long the dancing and singing 
 stopped, the tables were set on the green, and the 
 feasting began, and we left and went home. 
 
 " Oh, Roger," said I, when we were alone that 
 evening, " there can be no one like her in the 
 world." 
 
 " Of course not," said Roger decisively. " Did I 
 not always say so ?" 
 
 " But you never saw her before." 
 
 " Never saw her, Olive ? How can I help seeing 
 her every Sunday ? She sits at the end of the pew 
 just opposite mine." 
 
 " She never came to church, Roger." 
 
 " Xever came to church ? Who do you mean ?" 
 
 " Mean ? The Lady Lucy, to be sure." 
 
5 6 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 " Oh," said Roger, " I thought, of course, you 
 were speaking of Mistress Lettice." 
 
 But when we came back to ISTetherby, full as my 
 heart was of my new love, there was something in 
 Aunt Dorothy s manner that quite froze any utter 
 ance of it, and brought me back to Eve and the ap 
 ple. Yet she spoke kindly, 
 
 " Thou lookest serious, Olive," said she. " Per 
 haps thou didst not find it such a paradise after all. 
 Poor child, the world s a shallow cup, and the 
 sooner we drain it the better. I think better of 
 thee than that thou wilt long be content with such 
 May games and vanities. Come to thy supper." 
 
 But my honesty compelled me to speak. I did 
 not wish Aunt Dorothy to think better of me than 
 I deserved. 
 
 " It was rather like paradise, Aunt Dorothy," I 
 said. 
 
 " Paradise around a May-pole," said she compas 
 sionately. " Poor babe, poor babe !" 
 
 " It was not the May-pole," said I, my face burn 
 ing at having to bring out my hidden treasure of 
 new love ; " not the May-pole, but Lady Lucy." 
 
 "Lady Lucy took a fancy to the child, Sister 
 Dorothy," said my father, " and asked her to the 
 Hall." And lowering his voice he added, "She 
 thought her like Magdalene." 
 
 I had scarcely ever heard him utter my mother s 
 Christian name before, and now it seemed to fall 
 from his lips like a blessing. 
 
 Aunt Dorothy s brow darkened. 
 
 "Thou wilt never let the child go, brother?" 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 5 7 
 
 He did not at once reply. 
 
 " Into the very jaws of Babylon, brother ? The 
 Lady Lucy is one of the favourites, they say, of the 
 Popish Queen." 
 
 " Very probably," said my father dryly, " I do 
 not see how the Queen or any one else could help 
 honouring or favouring the Lady Lucy." 
 
 My heart bounded in acquiescence. 
 
 " They say she has a chapel at the Hall fitted up 
 on the very pattern of Archbishop Laud, and priests 
 in coats of no one knows how many colours, and 
 painted glass, and incense. Thou wilt never let the 
 poor unsuspecting lamb go into the very lair of the 
 Beast?" 
 
 "There are jewels in many a dust-heap, Sister 
 Dorothy, and the Lady Lucy is one," said my father 
 a little impatiently, for Aunt Dorothy had the fac 
 ulty of arousing the latent wilfulness of the meekest 
 of men. " Let us say no more about it. I have 
 made up my mind." 
 
 Had he known how deep was the spell on me, he 
 might have thought otherwise. For, ungrateful 
 that I was, having lost my heart to this fair strange 
 lady, I sat chafing at Aunt Dorothy s injustice, in a 
 wide-spread inward revolt, which bid fair to extend 
 itself to everything Aunt Dorothy believed or re 
 quired. All her life-long care and affection, and 
 patient (or impatient) toiling and planning for me 
 and mine, blotted out by w^hat I deemed her blind 
 injustice to this object of my worship, who had but 
 kissed me twice, and smiled on me, and said half-a- 
 
5 8 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 dozen soft words, and had won all my childish 
 heart ! 
 
 And yet, looking back from these sober hours, I 
 still feel it was not altogether an infatuation. Such 
 true and tender motherliness as dwelt in Lady Lucy 
 is the greatest power it seems to me that can invest 
 a woman. 
 
 All mothers certainly do not possess it. On some, 
 on the contrary, the motherly love which passion 
 ately enfolds those within is too like a bristling 
 fortification of jealousy and exclusiveness to those 
 without. Or rather (that I dishonour not the most 
 sacred thing in our nature), I should say, the moth 
 er s love which is from above is lowered and nar 
 rowed into a passion by the selfishness which is 
 not from above. And some unmarried women pos 
 sess it, some little maidens even who from infancy 
 draw the little ones to them by a soft irresistible 
 attraction, and seem to fold them under soft dove- 
 like plumage. Without something of it women are 
 not women, but only weaker, and shriller, and 
 smaller men. But where, as in Lady Lucy, the 
 whole being is steeped in it, it seems to me the 
 sweetest, strongest, most irresistible power on earth, 
 to control, and bless, and purify, and raise, and the 
 truest incarnation (I cannot say anything so cold as 
 image), the truest embodying and ensouling of what 
 is divine. 
 
 But that night it so chanced that I, who had fall 
 en asleep lapped in sweet memories of Lady Lucy 
 and in the protection of Aunt Gretel s presence, 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 59 
 
 was awakened by the long roll of a thunder-peal 
 which seemed as if it never would end. 
 
 For some time I tried to hide myself from the 
 flash and the terrific sound under the bed-clothes. 
 But it would not do. At length I sprang speechless 
 from my little bed to Aunt Gretel s. She took me 
 in close to her. And there, with my head on her 
 shoulder, speech came back to me, and I said, in a 
 frightened whisper (for it seemed to nie like speak 
 ing in church), 
 
 "Aunt Gretel, will the last trumpet be like 
 that ? " 
 
 " I do not know, Olive," said she quietly. " More 
 awful, I think, yet plainer, for we shall all under 
 stand it, even those in the graves ; and it will call 
 us home." 
 
 " O Aunt Gretel," I said at last, " can it have 
 anything to do with the May-pole ? " 
 
 " What, sweet heart ! the thunder ? " 
 
 " It is God s voice, is it not ? Does not the Bible 
 say so ? And it does sound like an angry voice," 
 I whispered, for the windows were rattling and the 
 house was quivering with the repeated peals, as if 
 in the grasp of a terrible giant. 
 
 " There is much indeed to make the good God 
 angry, my lamb, much more than May-poles." 
 
 " Yes," said I, " there were the three gentlemen 
 in the pillory ! That must have been worse cer 
 tainly. But do you think God can be angry with 
 me, Aunt Gretel ? " 
 
 " For what, sweet heart ? " 
 
60 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 " For loving Lady Lucy," said I ; " she is so very 
 sweet. " 
 
 " God is never angry with any one for loving," 
 said Aunt Gretel, " only for not loving. But there 
 is a better voice of God than the thunder, Olive," 
 added she. " A voice that does not roar but speaks, 
 sweet heart. Hast thou never heard that ? " 
 
 I was silent, for I half guessed what she meant. 
 
 " It is /, be not afraid^ " she said, in a low, clear 
 tone, contrasting with my awe-stricken whisper. 
 " Whenever you do not understand the voice that 
 thunders, sweet heart, go back to the voice that 
 speaks, and that will tell thee what the voice that 
 thunders means." 
 
 " Aunt Gretel," said I, after a little silence, " it 
 seemed to me as if Lady Lucy were like some 
 words of our Saviour s. As if everything in her 
 were saying in a soft dove s voice, Suffer the little 
 children to come unto Me. Was it wrong to think 
 so ? It seemed as if I were sitting beside my 
 Mother, and then I thought of those very words. 
 Was it wrong ? " 
 
 " Not wrong, my poor motherless lamb," said 
 she, " no, surely not wrong. Remember, Olive, 
 from Paradise downwards the worst heresy has been 
 slander of the love of God ; distrust of His love, 
 and disbelief of the awful warnings His love gives 
 Against sin. Whenever we feel anything very 
 tender in any human love, we should feel as if the 
 blessed God were stretching out His arms to us 
 through it, and saying, c That is a little like the 
 
THE DA VAN ANTS. 6 1 
 
 way I love thee. But only a little, only a lit 
 tle. " 
 
 And the thunder rolled on, and the lightning that 
 night cleft the great elin by the gate, so that in the 
 morning it stood a scorched and blackened trunk. 
 
 And Aunt Dorothy said what an awful warning 
 it was. But to me, if it was an " awful warning," 
 it stood also like a parable of mercy. I could not 
 exactly have explained why ; but I thought I could 
 read the meaning of the Voice that thundered by 
 the Voice that spoke. 
 
 I thought how He had been scathed and bruised 
 for us. 
 
 And I pleaded hard with my father that the old 
 scathed tree might not be felled. For to me its 
 great bare blackened branches seemed to shelter the 
 house like that accursed tree which had spread its 
 bare arms one Good Friday night outside Jerusalem, 
 and had pleaded not for vengeance, but for pity 
 and for pardon. 
 
 I think the resentment of injustice is one of the 
 first-born and strongest passions in an ingenuous 
 heart. And to this, I believe, is often due the fall 
 ing off of children from the party of their parents. 
 They hear hard things said of opponents ; on closer 
 acquaintance they find these to be exaggerations, 
 or, at least, suppressions ; the general gloom of a 
 picture being even more produced by effacing lights 
 than by deepening shadows. The discovery throws 
 a doubt over the whole range of inherited beliefs, 
 and it is well if in the heat of youth the revulsion 
 6 
 
62 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 is not far greater than the wrong ; if in their indig 
 nation at discovering that the heretic is not an em 
 bodied heresy, but merely a human creature believ 
 ing something wrong, they do not glorify him into 
 a martyr and a model. 
 
 For Roger and me it was the greatest blessing 
 that our father was just and candid to the extent 
 of seeing (often to his own great distress and per 
 plexity), even more clearly the defects of his own 
 party which he might correct, than of the other side, 
 which he could not ; and that Aunt Gretel was apt 
 to see all opinions and characters melted into a haze 
 of indiscriminate sunshine by the light of her own 
 loving heart. 
 
 Our indignation, therefore, during the period of 
 our lives which followed on this May-day was 
 almost entirely directed against Aunt Dorothy. 
 
 My idol remained for some time precisely at the 
 due idolatrous distance, enshrined in general behind 
 a screen of sweet mystery, with occasional flashes 
 of beatific vision ; the intervals filled up with ru 
 mours of the music, and breaths of the incense of 
 the inner sanctuary, enhanced by what I deemed the 
 unjust murmurs of the profane outside. 
 
 My father fulfilled his promise of taking me to the 
 Hall. On our way to Lady Lucy s drawing-cham 
 ber I caught a glimpse through a half-open door 
 into her private chapel, which left on my memory a 
 haze and a fragrance of coloured light falling on the 
 marble pavements through windows like rubies and 
 sapphires, of golden chalices and candelabras, of 
 aromatic perfumes, with a rise and fall of sweet 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 63 
 
 chords of sacred music, all blended together into a 
 kind of sacred spell, like the church bells on Sunday 
 across the Mere. The Lady Lucy herself was em 
 broidering a silken church vestment with gold and 
 crimson ; skeins of glossy silk of brilliant colours 
 lay around her, which thenceforth invested the de 
 scriptions of the broiclered work of the tabernacle 
 for me with a new interest. She received my lather 
 with a courtly grace, and ine with her own mother- 
 Iv sweetness. She made me sit on a tabouret at her 
 feet, while she conversed with iny father, and gave 
 me a French ivory puzzle to unravel. But I could do 
 nothing but drink ia the soft modulations of her 
 voice without heeding what she said, except that 
 the discourse seemed embroidered with the names 
 of the King and the Queen, and the Princes and 
 Princesses, which seemed as fit for her lips as her 
 rich dress was for her person. She seemed to speak 
 with a gentle raillery, reminding him of old times, 
 and asking why he deserted the court. But his 
 words and tones were very grave. Then, as he 
 :e of leaving, she unlocked a little sandal-wood 
 cabinet, and took out a locket containing a curl of 
 fair hair, and she said softly, " This was Magda 
 lene s ! " and held it beside mine. And then, as she 
 carefully laid it aside again, the conversation for a 
 few moments rose to higher things, and a Xanie 
 higher than those of kings and queens was in it. And 
 she said reverently, " In whatever else we suffer, that 
 good part, I trust, may be mine and yours ! as we 
 know so well it was hers." And my lather seemed 
 moved, took leave, and said nothing more until we 
 
64 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 had passed through the outer gate, when in the 
 avenue Lettice met us, cantering on a white palfrey, 
 in a riding coat laced with red, blue and yellow ; 
 and springing off, left her horse to go whither it 
 would, as she ran to welcome me, saying a thousand 
 pretty, kindly things, while I, in a shy ecstasy, 
 could only stand and hold her hand, and feel as if 
 I had been transported, entirely unprepared, straight 
 into the middle of a fairy tale. 
 
 After that for some weeks there was a stream 
 of courtly company at the Hall, and Roger and I 
 only saw Lettice and occasionally the Lady Lucy at 
 church, or met them now and then in our rides and 
 rambles by the Mere or through the woods. But 
 whenever we did meet there was always the same 
 eager cordial greeting from Lettice, and the same 
 affectionate manner in her mother. And from time 
 to time we heard, through Tib s sweetheart Dickon, 
 of the gracious little kindnesses of both mother and 
 daughter, of their thoughtful care for tenant and 
 servant, of the honour in which they were held by 
 prince and peasant. And so on me and on Roger 
 the spell worked on. 
 
 The Draytons were of as old standing in the par 
 ish as the Davenants. Indeed, if tradition and our 
 family tree spoke true, many a broad acre around 
 Netherby had been in the possession of our ances 
 tors, maternal or paternal, when the forefathers of 
 the Davenants had been holding insignificant fiefs 
 under Norman dukes, or cruising on very doubtful 
 errands about the northern seas. Our pedigree 
 dated back to Saxon times ; the porch of the oldest 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 65 
 
 transept of the church had, to Aunt Dorothy s 
 mingled pride and horror, an inscription on it re 
 questing prayers for the soul of one of our progeni 
 tors ; and the oldest tomb in the church was ours. 
 But while our family had remained stationary in 
 place as well as in rank, the Davenants had climbed 
 far above us. Our old Manor House had received 
 no additions since the reign of Elizabeth, when the 
 third gable had been built with the large embayed 
 window, and the three terraces sloping to the fish 
 pond and the orchards, while on the other side of 
 the court extended, as of old, the cattle-sheds and 
 stables. Meantime, the old Hall of the Davenants 
 had been degraded into farm-buildings, whilst a new 
 mansion, with sumptuous banqueting halls and 
 dainty ladies withdrawing-chamber like a palace, 
 had gradually sprung up around the remains of the 
 suppressed Priory, which had been granted to the 
 family ; the ancient Priory Church serving as Lady 
 Lucy s private chapel, the monks refectory as the 
 family dining-hall, whilst all signs of form life had 
 vanished out of sight, and scent, and hearing. 
 
 During the same period, the new transept of our 
 parish church, which had been the Davenants fam 
 ily chapel, had become enriched with stately monu 
 ments, where the effigies of knight and dame rested 
 under decorated canopies. The titles and armorial 
 bearings of many a noble family were mingled with 
 theirs on monumental brass and stained window ; 
 whilst the plain massive architecture of our heredit 
 ary portion of the church was not more contrasted 
 with the rich and delicate carving of theirs than 
 6* 
 
66 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 were we and our servingmen and maidens, in our 
 plain, sad-colored stuffs, unplumed, unadorned hats, 
 caps or coifs, and white linen kerchiefs, with the 
 brocades, satins, and velvets, ostrich feathers and 
 jewels, ribboned hosen and buckled shoes of the 
 Hall. 
 
 The contrast had gone deeper than mere exter 
 nals, as external contrasts mostly do, in this sym 
 bolical world. In the Civil Wars, when no politi 
 cal principle was involved, it had chanced that the 
 Draytons and the Davenants had seldom been on 
 the same side. But at and after the Reformation 
 the difference manifested itself plainly and steadily. 
 
 The Davenants had recognized Henry VIII. s 
 supremacy to the extent of receiving from him a 
 grant of the lands belonging to the neighbouring 
 abbey. But it had probably cost them little change 
 of belief to return zealously to the old religion, un 
 der the rule of Queen Mary ; whereas the Draytons, 
 adhering with Saxon immobility to the Papal au 
 thority when Henry VIII. discarded it, had slowly 
 come round to the conviction of the truth of the re 
 formed religion by the time it became dangerous ; 
 and we hold it one of our chief family distinctions 
 that we have a name closely connected with us en 
 rolled among the noble army in " Fox s Book of 
 Martyrs." Indeed, throughout their history, our 
 family had an unprosperous propensity to the dan 
 gerous side. The religious convictions, so painfully 
 adopted and so dearly proved, throughout the reign 
 of Elizabeth given our ancestors, a leaning to the 
 Puritan side; deep religious conviction binding 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 67 
 
 them from generation to generation to the noblest 
 spirits of their times, whilst a certain almost per 
 verse honesty and inflexibility of temper naturally 
 drove them to resist any kind of pressure from with 
 out, and a taste for what is solid and simple rather 
 than for what is elegant and gorgeous, whether in 
 life or in ritual, inclined them to the simplest forms 
 of ecclesiastical ceremonial. 
 
 It was this strong hereditary Protestantism which 
 had led my Father to join the religious wars in Ger 
 many. He held King Gustavus Adolphus, the 
 Swede, to be the noblest man and the greatest gen 
 eral of ancient or modern times. And he held that 
 the fearful conflict by which that great king turned 
 the tide against the Popish arms was little less than 
 a conflict between truth and falsehood, barbarism 
 and civilization, light and darkness. It was enough 
 to make any one believe in the necessity of hell, he 
 said, to have seen, as he had, the city of Magde 
 burg, ten days after Tilly s soldiers had sacked it, 
 when scarce three thousand corpse-like survivors 
 crept around the blackened ruins where lay buried 
 the mangled remains of their fourteen thousand 
 happier dead. To see that, said my Father, would 
 make any one understand what is meant by the 
 wrath of the Lamb ; and that there are things which 
 can make a gospel of vengeance as precious to just 
 men as a gospel of mercy. And some foretaste of 
 that merciful vengeance, he said, had been given 
 already. For after Magdeburg it was said Tilly 
 never won a battle. My Father fought with the 
 Swedish army till the death of the king, on the sixth 
 
68 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 of November, 1632 ; and that day of his victory and 
 death at Liitzen, was always kept in our household 
 as a day of family mourning. 
 
 Had Elizabeth been on the throne, my Father 
 used to say, and Cecil at the helm of state, it would 
 not have been the little northern kingdom of Sweden 
 which should have stemmed the torrent of Popish 
 and Imperial tyranny, while England stood by 
 wringing helpless womanish hands, beholding her 
 brethren in the faith tortured and slaughtered, her 
 own king s daughter exiled and dethroned, and, at 
 the same time, her brave soldiers and sailors trifled 
 to inglorious death by thousands at the bidding of 
 a musked and curled court favourite at Rhe and 
 Rochelle. 
 
 It was in Germany that my Father met my moth 
 er. She was a Saxon from Luther s own town, Wit- 
 temberg. Her name was Reichenbach, and her 
 family retained affectionate personal memories of 
 the great Reformer, as well as an enthusiastic devo 
 tion to his doctrines. She and Aunt Gretel (Mag 
 dalene and Margarethe) were orphan daughters of 
 an officer in the Protestant armies. And I often 
 count it among my mercies that our family history 
 linked us with more forms of our religion than one, 
 and extended our horizon beyond the sects and 
 parties of England. 
 
 Our mother died two years after my father s re 
 turn to England, leaving him us two children, and 
 the memory of a love as _ devoted, and a piety as 
 simple, as ever were. 
 
 It was during these years she made the acquaint- 
 
THE DA VEXAXTS. 69 
 
 ance with Lady Lucy. They had been very closely 
 attached, although political differences, and the long 
 absences of the Davenants at Court, had prevented 
 much intercourse between the families since her 
 death. 
 
 Roger recollected her face and voice and her 
 foreign accent, and one or two things she said to 
 him. I remember nothing of her but a kind of 
 brooding warmth and care, tender caressing tones, 
 and being watched by eyes with a look in them un 
 like any other, and then a day of weeping and si 
 lence and black dresses and sad faces, and a wan 
 dering about with a sense of something lost. Lost 
 for ever out of my life. As much as by any possi 
 bility could be, Aunt Gretel made up the tender 
 ness, and Aunt Dorothy the discipline ; and my 
 father did all he could to supply her place by a 
 fatherly care softened into an uncommon passion by 
 his sorrow, and deepened into the most sacred prin 
 ciple by his desire to remedy our loss. Yet, in 
 looking back, I feel more and more we did indeed 
 inevitably lose much. All these balancing and 
 compensating cares and affections and restraints 
 from every side yet missed something of the tender 
 constraints and the heart-quickening warmth they 
 would have had all living, blended, and consecrated 
 in the one mother s heart. Yet to Roger, perhaps, 
 the loss was at various points in his life even great 
 er than to me. 
 
 If she had lived, perchance the lessons we had to 
 learn after that May Day would have been learned 
 with less of blundering and heat. Yet how can I 
 G* 
 
7 o THE DRA YTONS, ETC. 
 
 tell? It seems to me the true painter keeps his 
 pictures in harmony not by mixing the colours on 
 the palette, but by blending them on the canvass, 
 not by painting in leaden monotonous grays, but by 
 interweaving and contrasting countless tints of pure 
 and varied colour. And in nature, in history, in 
 life, it seems to me the Creator does the same. 
 
 Yes, God forbid that in lamenting what we lost 
 I should blaspheme the highest love the love which, 
 as Aunt Gretel says, takes every image of human 
 affection, and fills and overfills it, and casts it away 
 as too shallow; in its unutterable intensity putting 
 as it were a tender paradox of slander on even a 
 mother s love for her babes, and saying, " They may 
 forget, yet will not I." 
 
 For that love, we believe, gave and took away, 
 and has led us through fasting and feasting, dan 
 gers and droughts, Marahs and Elims, chastenings 
 and cherishings, ever since. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 T length the time arrived when my dark 
 ages of mystery and adoration were to 
 to close. The pestilence so constantly 
 hovering over the wretched wastes of 
 devastated Germany had "been brought to Ketherby 
 by a cousin of my mother s, who had come on a 
 visit to us. He fell sick the day after his arrival, 
 and died on the third day. That evening Tib, the 
 dairywoman, sickened, and before the next morn 
 ing, Margery, her daughter. A panic seized the 
 household. My father accepted Lady Lucy s geii 
 erous offer, to take charge of Roger and me, wo 
 happening to have been from the first secluded from 
 all contact with the sick. Aunt Dorothy made a 
 faint remonstrance. There were, said she, conta 
 gions worse than any plague. If her brother would 
 answer for it, to his conscience, it was well. She, 
 at least, would wash her hands of the whole thing. 
 But my father had no scruples. ; He only hoped," 
 he said, " that Lady Lucy might touch us with the 
 infection of her gracious kindliness ; Olive would 
 
 (W) 
 
72 THE DRA 7TONS AND 
 
 be only with her, and as to Roger and the rest of 
 the household, if he was ever to be a true Protest 
 ant, the time must come when he must learn, if 
 necessary, to protest." 
 
 So much to Aunt Dorothy. To Roger himself, 
 he said, in a low voice, as we were riding off, with 
 his hand on the horse s mane, 
 
 " Remember, my lad, there is no true manliness 
 without godliness." 
 
 Aunt Gretel watched and waved her hand to us 
 from the infected chamber window where she sat 
 nursing Margery ; and when I opened my bundle of 
 clothes that evening, I found in the corner a little 
 book containing my mother s favorite psalms copied 
 in English for us, the 46th (Dr. Luther s own psalm), 
 the 23d, and the 139th. 
 
 Thus armed, Roger and I sallied forth into our 
 enchanted castle. 
 
 To be disenchanted. Not to be repelled, but 
 certainly to be disenchanted. Not by any subtle 
 spell of counter-magic, or rude shock of bitter dis 
 covery, but by the slow changing of the world of 
 misty twilight splendours, of dreams and visions, 
 guesses and rumours, into a world of daylight, of 
 sight and touch. 
 
 My first disenchantment was the Lady Lucy s 
 artificial curls. She allowed me to remain with her 
 while her gentlewoman disrobed her that evening. 
 I shall never forget the dismay with which I beheld 
 one dainty ringlet after another, of the kind called 
 " heart-breakers," disentangled from among her 
 hair itself still brown and abundant and laid on 
 
THE DA 1 EX A X TS. 7 3 
 
 the dressing-table. The perfumes, essences, pow 
 ders, ointments, salves, "balsams, crystal phials, and 
 porcelain cups, among which these " heart -break 
 ers" were laid, (mysterious and strange as they 
 were to me who knew of no cosmetics but cold 
 water and fresh air,) seemed to me only so many 
 appropriate decorations of the shrine of my idol. 
 But the hair was false, and perplexed me sorely, 
 Puritan child that I was, brought up with no habits 
 of subtle discernment between a deception and 
 a lie. 
 
 The next morning brought me yet greater per 
 plexity. I slept in a light closet in a turret off the 
 Lady Lucy s chamber. The Lady Lucy s own gen 
 tlewoman came in to dress me, but before she ap 
 peared I was already arrayed, and was kneeling at 
 the window-seat of my little arched window, read 
 ing my mother s psalms. 
 
 I thought she came to call me to prayers, with 
 which we always began the day at home ; my father 
 reading a psalm at daybreak and offering a short 
 solemn prayer in the Hall, where all the men and 
 maidens were gathered, after which we sat down at 
 one table to breakfast as the family had done since 
 the days of Queen Elizabeth. But when I asked 
 her if she came for this, she smiled, and said it was 
 not a saint s day, so that it was not likely the whole 
 household would assemble, though no doubt my 
 Lady and Mistress Lettice would attend service 
 with the chaplain in the chapel. But she said I 
 might attend Lady Lucy in her chamber before she 
 rose. I gladly accepted, and Lady Lucy invited 
 ~ 7 
 
74 
 
 THE DRA YTO:\ S AND 
 
 me to partake of a new kind of confection called 
 chocolate, brought from the Indies by the Spaniards, 
 which finding I could not fancy, she sent for a cup 
 of new rnilk and a manchct of fine inilk-bread on 
 which I breakfasted. Then she began her dressing ; 
 and then ensued my second stage of disenchantment. 
 Out of the many crystal and porcelain vases on the 
 table, her gentlewoman took powders and paints, 
 and to my unutterable amazement actually began 
 to tint with rose-colour Lady Lucy s cheeks, and to 
 lay a delicate ivory-white on her brow. She made 
 no mystery of it ; but I suppose she saw the horror 
 in my eyes, for she laughed and said, . 
 
 ".You are watching me little Olive, with great 
 eyes, as if I were Red Hiding Hood s wolgrand- 
 mother. What is the matter ?" 
 
 I could not answer, but I felt myself flush crim 
 son, and I remember that the only word that seem 
 ed as if it could come to my lips, was " Jezebel." I 
 quite hated myself for the thought ; the Lady Lucy 
 was so tender and good ! Yet all the day, through 
 the service in the chapel, and my plays with Lett ice, 
 and my quiet sitting on my favorite footstool at 
 Lady Lucy s feet, those terrible words haunted me 
 like a bad dream : " and she painted her face and 
 tired her head and looked out at a window." A 
 thousand times I drove them away. I repeated to 
 myself how she loved my mother, how my father 
 honored her, how gracious and tender she was to 
 me and to all. Still the words came back, with the 
 visions of the false curls, and the paint, and the 
 powder. And I could have cried with vexation 
 
THE DA V 
 
 ~ ; 
 
 that I had ever seen these. For I felt sure L 
 Lucy was inwardly as sweet and trae as I had be 
 lieved, and that these were only little court cus 
 toms quite foreign to her nature, to which she SB a 
 . r lady had ro submit, but which no more made 
 her heart bad than the washed hands and platters 
 made the Pharisees good. Yet the perfect ii: 
 
 - broken, and do what I would I could not re 
 store it. 
 
 My third disenchantment was more serious. 
 
 At the rinsing of the great tower bell for dinner, 
 summoning the household and inviting all within 
 hearing to share the hospitality of the Hall, a caval 
 cade swept up the avenue, consisting of the family 
 of a neighbouring country gentleman. Lady Lucy 
 who .:ed at her embroidery frame in the 
 
 drawing-chamber, was evidently not pleased at this 
 announcement. v * They always stay till dark," she 
 said. and question me till I am wearied to death, 
 about what the queen wears, what the prince 
 
 . or how the king talks, as if their majesties 
 were some strange foreign beasts, and I some Moor 
 ish showman hired to exhibit them. Lettice, my 
 et. take them into the garden after dinner, or I 
 shall not recover 
 
 Ya when the ladies entered she received them 
 with a manner as gracious as if they had been anx 
 iously expected friends. I reasoned with myself 
 that this gracio-: - - an inalienable quality of 
 
 hers, as little voluntary or conscious 
 tones of her voice; or that probably she repc: 
 of having spoken hastily of her v .id com- 
 
7 6 THE DRA YTONS A ND 
 
 pensated for it by being more than ordinarily kind. 
 But when it proved that they had to leave early, 
 and she lamented over the shortness of the visit, 
 and yet immediately after their departure threw 
 herself languidly on a couch, and sighed, " What a 
 deliverance !" I involuntarily shrank from her to 
 the farthest corner of the room, and watching the 
 departing strangers, wished myself departing with 
 them. 
 
 I stood there long, until she came gently to me 
 and laid her hand kindly on my head. I looked up 
 at her, and longed to look straight into her heart. 
 
 " Tears on the long lashes ! " said she, caressingly. 
 " What is the matter, little one ? " 
 
 My eyelids sank and the tears fell. 
 
 " What ails thee, little silent woman ? " said she, 
 stooping to me. 
 
 I threw my arms around her and sobbed, " You 
 are really glad to have me, Lady Lucy ; are you not ? 
 You would not like me to go ?" 
 
 She seemed at first perplexed. 
 
 " You take things too much to heart, Olive, like 
 your poor mother," she said at last, very gently. 
 " Those ladies are nothing to me ; and your mother 
 was dear to me, Olive, and so are you." 
 
 But in the evening when I was in bed she caine 
 herself into my little chamber, and sat by my bed 
 side, like Aunt Gretel, and played with my long 
 hair in her sweet way ; and then before she left, 
 said tenderly, 
 
 " My poor little Olive, you must not doubt your 
 mother s old friend. I am not all, or half I would 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 77 
 
 be, but I could not bear to be distrusted by you. 
 But you have lived too much shut up in a world of 
 your own. You wear your heart too near the sur 
 face. You bring heart and conscience into things 
 which only need courtesy and tactics. You waste 
 your gold where beads and copper are as valuable. 
 I must be courteous to niy enemies, little one, and 
 gracious to people who weary me to death ; but to 
 you I give a bit of my heart, and that is quite a 
 different thing." 
 
 And she left me reassured of her affection, but 
 not a little perplexed by this double code of 
 morals. That one region of life should be governed 
 by the rules of right and wrong, and another by 
 those of politeness, was altogether a strange thing 
 to me. 
 
 Meantime Lettice and I were rapidly advancing 
 from the outer court of courtesies into the inner one 
 of childish friendship, spiced with occasional sharp 
 debates, and very undisguised honesties towards 
 each other; as Lettice and her brothers initiated 
 me and Roger into the various plays and games in 
 which they were so much superior to us, and we be 
 came eager on both sides for victory. A very new 
 world this play-world was to us, who had known 
 scarcely any toys but such as we made for ourselves, 
 and no amusements but such as we had planned for 
 ourselves. 
 
 Very charming it was to us at first, the billiard- 
 table, the tennis-court, or pall-mall; and great de 
 light Roger took in learning to vault and throw the 
 dart on horseback, to wheel and curvet, or pick up 
 
7 8 THE D RA YTONS A ND 
 
 a lady s glove at full speed, and in the various 
 courtly exercises and feats, Spanish, French, or 
 Arabian, which the young Davenants had learned 
 from their riding-master. Naturally agile, he had 
 been trained to thorough command of his horse, by 
 following my Father through flood and fen, while his 
 eye had learned quickness and accuracy from hunt 
 ing the wild fowl, and tracking hares and foxes 
 through the wild country around us, and these ac 
 complishments came easily enough to him. Yet 
 with all these ingenious arrangements for passing 
 the time, it seemed to hang more heavily on hand 
 at the Hall than at Netherby ; it came, indeed, to 
 Roger and me as something completely new that 
 any arrangements should be needed to make the 
 time pass quickly. What with spinning, and sew 
 ing, and my helping my Aunts, and his learning 
 Greek, and Latin, and Italian of my Father, and 
 helping him about the farm, our holiday hours had 
 always seemed too brief for half the things we had 
 to do in them. Every morning found an eager 
 welcome from us, and every evening a reluctant 
 farewell ; and it was not until we spent those days 
 at the flail that the question, " What are we to do 
 next ? " ever occurred to us, not in hesitation which 
 to select of the countless things we had to do in our 
 precious spare hours, but as an appeal for some new 
 excitement. 
 
 Moreover, while in outward accomplishments and 
 graces we felt our inferiority, in many things we 
 could not but feel that our education had been far 
 more extensive than that of the Davenants. 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 79 
 
 Allusions to Greek and Roman history, and to 
 new discoveries in art and science, and even to 
 stories of modern European wars, which were as 
 natural to us as household words, were plainly an 
 unknown tongue to them. Even on the lute and 
 the harpsichord, Lettice s instructions had fallen 
 short of those my father had procured for me, 
 although her sweet clear voice, and her graceful 
 way of doing everything, made all she did seem 
 done better than any one else could have done it. 
 
 The brothers, for the most part, laughed off their 
 deficiencies, and often made them seem for the mo 
 ment a kind of gentlemanlike distinction, bantering 
 Roger as if learning were but a little better kind of 
 servile labour, beneath the attention of any but 
 those who had to earn their bread. All that kind 
 of thing, they said, was going out of the mode. 
 The late King James had tired the court out with 
 overmuch pedantry and learning ; the present king 
 indeed was a grave and accomplished gentleman, 
 but mtriicr days were coming in with the French 
 queen s court and the young princes, when the " gay 
 science " would be the only one much worth culti 
 vating by men of condition. Meantime the elder 
 brothers paid me many choice and graceful c.onipli- 
 mciits on ray hands and my hair, my eyes and my 
 eye-lashes, ray learning and my accomplishments, 
 jesting now and then in a courtly way on my sober 
 attire ; and, child that I was, sent me looking witli 
 U interest and wonder at myself in the long 
 glass in Lady Lucy s drawing-chamber, to see if 
 what they said was true. I remember, one after- 
 
go THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 noon, after a long survey of myself, I concluded 
 that much of it was, and thanked God that evening 
 for having made me pleasant to look at. A few 
 years later, the danger would have been different. 
 
 But Lettice was of a different nature from all her 
 "brothers except one. Generously alive to whatever 
 was to be loved or admired in others, and ready to 
 depreciate herself, she wanted Roger and me to 
 teach her all we knew. She made him hunt out the 
 books which would instruct her in Sir Walter s ncgr- 
 
 O 
 
 lected library. She sat patiently three sunny morn 
 ings trying to learn from Roger the Italian gram 
 mar, which she had pleaded hard he should teach 
 her, she made him read the poetry to her, and said 
 it was sweeter than her mother s lute. But on the 
 fourth morning her patience was exhausted ; she 
 declared it was a wicked prodigality to waste the 
 sunny hours in-doors, and danced us away to the 
 woods ; and all Roger s remonstrances could not 
 bring her back to such unwonted work. Indeed 
 the more he remonstrated, the more idle and indiff 
 erent she chose to be, insisting instead on showing 
 him some new French dance or singing him some 
 snatch of French song she had learned from the 
 Queen s ladies, until he gave up in despair ; when she 
 declared that but for his want of patience she had 
 been fairly on the way to become a feminine Solomon. 
 
 It was Monday when our visit commenced, so 
 that we were no longer strangers in the house by 
 the following Sunday. But we were not prepared 
 for the contrast between the Sundays at Davenant 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 8 x 
 
 Hall with those at Xetherby. At our own home, 
 grave as the day was, there was always a quiet fes 
 tival air about it. The hall was fresh swept, and 
 strewn with clean sand. My Father and my Aunts, 
 the maids and men, had on their holiday dresses. 
 That morning at prayers we always had a psalm, 
 and the mere thrill of my voice against my Father s 
 rich deep tones was a pleasure to me. Then after 
 breakfast Roger and I had a walk in the fields with 
 him, and he made us hear, and see a hundred things 
 in the ways of birds and beasts and insects that we 
 should never have known without him. One day 
 it was the little brown and white harvest-mouse, 
 which, by cautiously approaching it, we saw climb 
 ing by the help of its tail and claws to its little 
 round nest woven of grass suspended from a corn 
 stalk. Another day it was a squirrel, with its sum 
 mer house hung to the branch of a tree with its 
 nursery of little squirrels; and its warm winter 
 house, lined with hay, in the fork of an old trunk ; 
 or a colony of ants roofing their dwellings in the 
 wood with dry leaves and twigs. Or he would turn 
 it into a parable and show us how every creature 
 has its enemies, and must live on the defensive or 
 not live at all. Or lie would watch with us the 
 butterfly struggling from the chrysalis, or the dra 
 gon-fly soaring from its first life in the reedy creeks 
 of the Mere to the new life of freedom in the sun 
 shine. Or he would point out to us how the field- 
 spider had anticipated military science; how she 
 threw up her bulwarks and strengthened every 
 weak point by her fairy buttresses, and kept up the 
 
82 THE DRAY TONS AND 
 
 communication between the citadel and the remotest 
 outwork. Or he would teach us to distinguish the 
 various songs of the birds, the throstles, the chaf 
 finches, the blackbirds, or the nightingales. God, 
 he said, had filled the woods with throngs of sacred 
 carollers, and melodious troubadours, and merry 
 minstrels; some with one sweet monotonous ca 
 dence, one bell-like note, one happy little " peep " 
 or chirp, and no more, and others overflowing with 
 a passion of intricate and endlessly varied song ; 
 and it was a churlish return for such a concert not 
 to give heed enough to learn one song from another. 
 Or, together, we would watch the rooks in the great 
 elm grove behind the house, how strict their laws of 
 property were, the old birds claiming the same 
 nest every year, and the young ones having to con 
 struct new ones. Or he would tell us of the differ 
 ent forms of government among the various crea 
 tures ; how the bees had an hereditary monarchy, 
 yet owned no aristocracy but that of labour, killing 
 their drones before winter, that if any would not 
 work neither should he eat ; and how the rooks held 
 parliaments. Everywhere he made us see, wonder 
 fully blended and balanced, fixed order, with free 
 spontaneous action ; freaks of sportive merriment, 
 free as the wildest play of childhood, with a fixed 
 ness of law more exact than the nicest calculations 
 of the mathematicians ; " service which is perfect 
 freedom ; " delicate beauty with homely utility ; 
 lavish abundance with provident care. And every 
 where he made us feel that the spring of all this 
 order, the source of all this fullness, the smile 
 
/MriTTI T~k t 1 r 7^ \T t " 7*O f\ 
 
 lllJ^ DA I JSaJiA i >\ g* 
 
 through all this humour and play of nature, the soul 
 of all this law, was none other than God. So that 
 often after these morning walks with him we fell 
 into an awed silence, fee-ling the warm daylight 
 solemn as a starry midnight, with the Great Pres 
 ence ; and entered the church-porch almost with 
 the feeling that we were rather stepping out of 
 the Temple than into it ; that, sacred as was the 
 place of worship and of the dead, it was not more 
 sacred or awful than the world of life we left to 
 enter it. 
 
 The other golden hour of our golden day (for 
 Sunday was ever that to us), was when in the even 
 ing he read the Bible with Roger and me in his 
 o\vn room. I cannot remember much that he used 
 to say about it. I only remember how he made us 
 reverence and love it ; its fragments of biography 
 which make you know the people better than vol 
 umes of narrative ; its characters that are never mere 
 incarnations of principles, but men and women; its 
 letters that are never mere sermons concentrated on 
 an individual ; its sermons that are never mere dis 
 sertations peculiarly applicable to no one time or 
 place, but speeches intensely directed to the needs of 
 one audience, and the circumstances of one place, and 
 therefore containing guiding wisdom for all ; its 
 prayers that are never sermons from a pulpit, but 
 brief cries of entreaty from the dust or flaming tor 
 rents of adoration piercing beyond the stars, or 
 quiet asking of little children for daily bread ; its 
 confessions that are as great drops of blood wrung 
 slowly from the agony of the heart; its hymns that 
 
8 4 
 
 TEE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 dart upward singing and soaring in a wild passion 
 of praise and joy. 
 
 I can recall little of what my father said to us in 
 those evening hours, but I remember that they left 
 on our minds the same kind of joyous sense of hav 
 ing found something inexhaustible whicli came from 
 our morning walks. They made us feel that in com 
 ing to the Bible, as to nature, we come not to a cis 
 tern or a stream or a ponded store, though it might 
 be abundant enough for a nation ; but to a Foun 
 tain, which, though it might seem at times but a 
 gentle bubbling up of waters just enough for the 
 thirsty lips which pressed i4, was, nevertheless, 
 living, inexhaustible, eternal, because it welled up 
 from the fullness of God. 
 
 The usual name for the Sabbath in our home was 
 the Lord s Day, because of our Lord s Resurrection. 
 On other days my Father read to us, and made us 
 read and love other books books of history and 
 science as well as of religion, Shakespeare, Spenser, 
 the early poems of Mr. John Milton, and, when we 
 could understand them, the Italian poet Dante, or 
 Davila, and other great Italians who spoke nobly 
 of order and liberty. 
 
 But on this day of God lie never read but from 
 these two divine books, Nature and the Holy Scrip 
 tures. 
 
 In church we had not always any sermon at all. 
 Preaching had not been much encouraged since the 
 days of Queen Elizabeth. Occasionally one of the 
 lecturers, or gospel preachers, whom Mr. Cromwell 
 and other good men were so anxious to supply at 
 
THE DA I flXA XTS. 8 5 
 
 their own cost, used, in our earlier days, to enter 
 our pulpit and arouse us children with bursts of 
 earnest warning or entreaty (our parish minister 
 then being a meek and conformable person). But 
 Archbishop Laud soon put a stop to this, and sent 
 us a clergyman of his own type, who fretted Aunt 
 Dorothy by changing the places and colours of 
 things, moving the communion-table from the mid 
 dle of the church, where it had stood since the Ref 
 ormation, to the East End, wearing white where we 
 were used to black, and coats of many colours 
 where we were used to white, and in general mov 
 ing about the church in what appeared to us Puri 
 tan children, uninstructed in symbolism, a restless 
 and unaccountable manner ; standing when we had 
 been wont to sit, kneeling when we had been wont to 
 stand, making little unexpected bows in one direc 
 tion and little inexplicable turns in another, in a 
 way which provided matter of lively speculation to 
 Roger and me during the week, since we never 
 knew what new movement might be executed on 
 the following Sunday. But to Aunt Dorothy these 
 innovations were profanities, which would have 
 been utterly intolerable had she not consoled her 
 self by regarding them as signs of the end of all 
 things. For what to Mr. Nicholls, the parson, was 
 the " beauty of holiness," and to our father " per 
 sonal peculiarities of Mr. Nicholls," and to Aunt 
 Gretel but one more of our " incomprehensible Eng 
 lish customs," were to Aunt Dorothy the infernal 
 insignia of the "Mother of abominations." 
 
 She therefore remained resolutely and rigidly sit- 
 8 
 
86 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 ting and standing as she had been wont, a target 
 for fiery darts from Mr. ISTich oils eyes, and a sore 
 perplexity to Aunt Gretel, who, never having mas 
 tered our Anglican rubric, had hitherto had no cer 
 emonial rule, but to do what those around her did, 
 and was thus thrown into inextricable difficulties 
 between the silent reproaches of Aunt Dorothy s 
 compressed lips if she did one thing, and the sus 
 picious glances of the Parson s eyes if she did 
 another. 
 
 On our return Aunt Dorothy frequently made us 
 repeat the sixteenth and seventeenth chapters of the 
 Revelation. We understood that she regarded both 
 these chapters as in some way directed against Mr. 
 Xicholls. In what way we discussed it often 
 Roger and I at that time could never make out. 
 The great wicked city, with ships, and merchants, 
 and traders, and pipers, and harpers, seemed to us 
 more like London town, with the Court of the King, 
 than like the parish church at Ketherby. But how 
 ever that may be, I am always thankful for having 
 learned it. Many and many a time, when in after 
 life the world has tempted me with its splendours, 
 or straitened me with its cares, and I have been as 
 sailed with the Psalmist s old temptation at seeing 
 the wicked in great prosperity, the grand wail over 
 the doomed city has pealed like a triumphal march 
 through my soul, and the whole gaudy pomp and 
 glory of the world has lain beneath me in the power 
 of that solemn dirge, like the tinsel decorations of a 
 theatre in the sunbeams, whilst above me has arisen, 
 snow-white and majestic, the vision of the Bride in 
 
THE DA VEX A NTS. 87 
 
 her fine linen " clean and white," of the City 
 coming down from heaven " having the glory of 
 God." 
 
 Aunt Gretel, on the other hand, would frequently 
 quiet her ruffled spirits after her perplexities, by 
 making Roger and me read to her the fourteenth 
 chapter of the Romans, ending with, " "We then 
 that are strong ought to bear with the infirmities 
 of the weak. Let every one of us please his neigh 
 bour for his good to edification. For even Christ 
 pleased not Himself." A rubric which secretly 
 seemed to us to have two edges, one for Aunt 
 Dorothy and one for Mr. Xicholls, but of which 
 Aunt Gretel contrived to turn both on herself. 
 
 " You see, my dears," she would say, " that is a 
 rule of which I am naturally very fond. Because, 
 of course, I am one of the weak. And it certainly 
 would be a relief to me if those who are strong 
 would have a little more patience with me. But 
 then it is a comfort to think that Ke who is strong 
 er than all does bear with me. For He knows I do 
 not wish to please myself, and would be thankful 
 indeed if I could tell how to please niy neighbours." 
 "Which seemed to us like the weak bearing the in 
 firmities of the strong. 
 
 After this learning and repeating our chapters 
 from the Bible, while my Father and my Aunts were 
 going about the cottages and villages near us on 
 various errands of mercy, Roger and I had a free 
 hour or two, during which we commonly resorted 
 in summer to our perch on the apple-tree, and in 
 winter to the chamber over the porch where the 
 
g g THE D RA YTONS AND 
 
 dried herbs were kept, where we held our weekly 
 convocation as to all matters that came under our 
 cognizance, domestic, personal, ecclesiastical, or po 
 litical. Placidia was not excluded, but being four 
 years older, she preferred " her book" and the soci 
 ety of our Aunts. Then came the sacred hour with 
 our Father in his own chamber. Afterwards in win 
 ter, we often gathered round the fire in the great 
 hall, we in the chimney-nook, and the men and 
 maidens in an outer circle, while my Father told 
 stories of the sufferings of holy men and women for 
 conscience sake, or while Dr. Antony (when he was 
 visiting us) narrated to us his interviews with those 
 who were languishing for truth or for liberty in va 
 rious prisons throughout the realm. 
 
 And so the night came, always, it seemed to us, 
 sooner than on any other day. Although never un 
 til our visit at Davenant Hall did I understand the 
 unspeakable blessing of that weekly closing of the 
 doors on Time, and opening all the windows of the 
 soul towards Eternity ; the unspeakable lowering 
 and narrowing of the whole being which follows on 
 its neglect and loss. To us the Lord s Day was a 
 day of Paradise ; but I believe the barest Sabbath 
 which was ever fenced round with prohibitions by 
 the most rigid Puritanism, looking rather to the 
 fence than the enclosure, rather to what is shut out 
 than to what is cultivated within, is a boon and a 
 blessing compared with the life without pauses, 
 without any consecrated house for the soul built out 
 of Time, without silences wherein to listen to the 
 Voice that is heard best in silence. 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 8 9 
 
 It was a point of honor and a badge of loyalty 
 with many of the Cavaliers to protest against the 
 Puritan observance of the Sabbath. The Lady 
 Lucy, indeed, welcomed the sacred day, as she did 
 everything else that was sacred and heavenly. She 
 sang to her lute a lovely song in praise of the day 
 from the new " Divine Poems" of Mr. George Her 
 bert, and told me how he had sung it to his lute on 
 his death-bed only a few years before, in 1632. 
 
 " On Sunday heaven s gates stand ope," 
 
 she sang ; and I arn sure they stood ever open to 
 her. 
 
 But the rest of the family, whilst reverencing her 
 devout and charitable life, seemed to have no more 
 thought of following it than if she had been a nun in 
 a convent. Indeed, in a sense, she did dwell apart, 
 cloistered in a hallowed atmosphere of her own. 
 
 Her husband and her sons requested her prayers 
 when they went on any expedition of danger, as 
 their ancestors must have sought for the interces 
 sions of priest or canonized saint. The heavier 
 oaths, except under strong provocation, were drop 
 ped (by instinct rather than by intention) in her 
 presence ; and mild adjurations, as by heathen 
 gods or goddesses, or by a lover s troth, or by a 
 cavalier s honor, substituted for them. They would 
 listen fondly as she sang " divine poems" to her 
 lute, and declare she had the sweetest warbling 
 voice and the prettiest hands in His Majesty s three 
 kingdoms. But it never seemed to occur to them 
 that her piety was any condemnation, or any 
 8* 
 
9 o THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 to them. Indeed, she had so many minute laws 
 and ceremonies that, easily as they suited her, it 
 would have been difficult to fit them into any but a 
 lady s life of leisure. She had special prayers and 
 hymns for nine o clock, mid day, three o clock, six 
 o clock. And once awakening in the night I heard 
 sounds like those of her lute stealing from the win 
 dow of the little oratory next her chamber. She 
 had what seemed to me countless distinctions of 
 days and seasons, marked by the things she ate or 
 did not cat, which she observed as strictly as Aunt 
 Dorothy her prohibitions as to not wearing things. 
 Only in one thing Lady Lucy was happier than 
 Aunt Dorothy ; for whilst Aunt Dorothy fondly 
 wished for a book of Leviticus in the New Testa 
 ment, and could not find it, Lady Lucy had her 
 book of Leviticus, not indeed exactly in the New 
 Testament, but solemnly sanctioned by the author 
 ity of Archbishop Laud. 
 
 A complex framework to adapt to the endless 
 varieties and inexorable necessities of any man s 
 life, rich or poor, in court, or camp, or city ; or in 
 deed of any woman s, unless provided with waiting 
 gentlewomen. 
 
 In fact, the Lady Lucy herself sometimes spoke 
 with wistful looks and sighs of Mr. Farrar s Sacred 
 College at Little Gidden (not far from us), between 
 Huntingdon and Cambridge, where the voice of 
 prayer never ceased day nor night, and the psalter 
 was chanted through in a rotatory manner by suc 
 cessive worshippers once in every four-and-twenty 
 hours. 
 
THE DA VEXAXTS. p l 
 
 Sir TValter and her sons never attempted to imi 
 tate her. She floated in their imagination, in a 
 laud of clouds, between earth and heaven. Her re 
 ligion had a dainty sweetness and solemn grace 
 about it most becoming, they considered, to a noble 
 lady ; but for men, except for a few clergymen, as 
 inapplicable as Archbishop Laud s priestly vest 
 ments for the street or the battle-field. 
 
 In our Puritan homes there was altogether an 
 other stamp of religion. Whatever it might lack 
 in grace and taste, it was a religion for men as 
 much as for women, a religion for the camp as much 
 as the oratory. Rough it might be often, and stern. 
 It was never feeble. It had no two standards of 
 holiness for clergy and laity, men and women. All 
 men and women, we were taught, were called to 
 love God with the whole heart ; to serve him at all 
 times. If we obeyed we were still (in our sinful- 
 ness) ever doing less than duty. If we disobeyed, 
 we were in revolt against the King of heaven. 
 There were no neutrals in that war, no reserves in 
 that obedience. 
 
 And unhappily the Lady Lucy s family, in sur 
 rendering any hope of reaching her eminence of 
 piety, surrendered more. For, it is not elevating, 
 it is lowering, to have constantly before us an 
 image of holiness which we admire but do not imi 
 tated 
 
 In the morning the household met in the Family 
 Chapel (the Parish Church being for the present 
 avoided until clanger of the infectious sickness was 
 over). In the afternoon, Sir Walter and his sons 
 
9 2 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 loyally played at tennis and bowls with the young 
 men of the household. And in the evening there 
 was a dance in the hall, in which all joined. 
 
 The merriment was loud, and reached Lettice 
 and me where we sat with the Lady Lucy and her 
 lute. 
 
 Yet now and then one of the boys would come 
 in and complain of the tedium of the day. It was 
 such an interruption, they said, to the employments 
 of the week, and just at the best season in the year 
 for hunting, and with their father s hounds in per 
 fect condition and training. Tennis they said, was 
 all very well for boys, and Morris-dancing for girls, 
 but there was no real sport in such things after all, 
 except to fill up an idle hour or two. The next 
 day there was to be a rare bear-baiting at Hunting 
 don, and the day after a cock-fight in the next vil 
 lage. And at the beginning of the following week 
 Sir Walter had promised to give them a bull to be 
 baited. And the Book of Sports, in their opinion, 
 let the Puritans say what they like, was too rigid 
 by half in prohibiting such true old English sports 
 on Sundays. 
 
 The Lady Lucy said a few pitiful tender words 
 on behalf of Sir Walter s bull, which they listened 
 to without the slightest disrespect, or the slightest 
 change of mind kissing her hand and laughingly 
 vowing she was too tender and sweet for this 
 world at all, and that if she had had the making of 
 it she would certainly have left bears and bulls al 
 together out of the creation. 
 
 It was without doubt a long and dreary Sunday 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 93 
 
 to Roger and me. It would naturally have been 
 long and melancholy anywhere without our Father. 
 
 I missed the busy work of the week, which made 
 it not only a sacred day but a holiday. I missed 
 Aunt Dorothy s laws which made our liberty pre 
 cious. 
 
 But to Roger the day had had other trials. 
 
 In the evening he and I had a^few minutes alone 
 together in the window of the drawing-chamber. 
 
 " Oh, Roger," said I, " I am afraid it cannot be 
 right ; but I am so glad Sunday is over." 
 
 " So am I rather," he said. 
 
 " Has it seemed long to you ? I thought I heard 
 your voice in the tennis-court all the afternoon." 
 
 " You did not hear mine," he said. 
 
 " You did not think it right ?" I asked, " I won 
 dered how they could." 
 
 " I am not sure about its being right or wrong 
 for other people," said Roger. " But I was sure it 
 was wrong for me. My Father would not have liked 
 it, and, therefore, I could not think of doing it ; es 
 pecially when he was away." 
 
 " Were they angry ?" I asked. 
 
 " Not exactly," he said. " They only laughed." 
 
 " Only laughed !" said I. " I think that is worse 
 to bear than anything." 
 
 " So do I," he said. 
 
 " But you did not hesitate ?" 
 
 " Xot after they laughed, certainly," said he. 
 " That set my blood up, naturally ; for it was not 
 so much at me as at my Father and all of us. They 
 said I was too much of a ma:i for such a crew." 
 
9 4 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 " They laughed at Father !" said I, in horror. 
 
 " Not by name," said he, " but at all he thinks 
 right at the Puritans, or Precisians, as they call 
 us." 
 
 " What did you do, Roger ?" I said. 
 
 " Walked away into the wood," he replied. 
 
 "Why did you not come to us?" I asked. 
 
 " Because they told me to go to you," he said, 
 flushing. 
 
 " That was a pity ; we were singing sweet 
 hymns." 
 
 " I heard you," he said. " But I do not think it 
 was a pity I did not come. 
 
 " What did you find in the wood, then ?" said I. 
 
 " I do not know that I found anything," he said. 
 
 " What did you do then, Roger ?" 
 
 " I went to the Lady Well, and lay down among 
 the long grass by the stream which flows from it 
 towards the Mere, and separates my Father s land 
 from Sir Walter s, at the place where you can see 
 Davenant Hall on one side and Netherby among its 
 woods on the other. And I thought." 
 
 "What did you think of?" said I. 
 
 " I thought I had rather live as a hired servant 
 at my Father s than as master here," said he. 
 
 " Was that all ?" said I. 
 
 "I thought of our talk in the apple-tree about 
 our being puppets, or free." 
 
 I was silent. 
 
 " And Olive," he continued, " I seemed like some 
 one waking up, and it flashed on me that God has 
 no puppets. The devil has puppets. But God has 
 
THE LA I EX A XTS. 9 5 
 
 free, living creatures, freely serving him. And I 
 thought how glorious it would be to be a free ser 
 vant and a son of his. And then I thought of the 
 words, Thou hast redeemed us to God -by thy 
 blood ; not from God, Olive, but to G.od, to be his 
 free servants for ever." 
 
 " That was a great deal to think, Roger," said I. 
 " I think you did find something in the wood." 
 
 " I found I wanted something, Olive," he said very 
 gravely ; " and I thought of something Mr. Crom 
 well once said when people were talking about sects 
 and parties, To be a seeker is to be of the best 
 sect next to being a finder. . He meant to be seek 
 ing happiness, or wealth, or peace, or anything in 
 the world, Olive, but to be seeking God." 
 
 We were looking out across the woods to the 
 Mere, which we could also see from Xetherby. The 
 water was crimson in the sunset, and beyond it the 
 flats stretched on and on, dark and shadowy except 
 where the rows of willows and alders in the dis 
 tance, and some cattle on an enbanknient, stood out 
 distinct and black, like an ink etching, against the 
 golden sky. 
 
 And something in Roger s words made the sky 
 look higher and the world wider to me than ever 
 before. 
 
 The next week, Lady Lucy s eldest son, Harry, 
 came from London to the Hall with an acquaintance 
 of his, Sir Launcelot Trevor. 
 
 I thought Harry Davenant the most polished 
 gentleman I had ever seen. He was the first per- 
 
9 6 
 
 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 son who ever called me Mistress Olive, and treated 
 me with a gentle deference as if I had been a wo 
 man. I admired his manners exceedingly. His 
 voice, though deep and strong, had something of 
 the soft cadence of Lady Lucy s. He always saw 
 what every one wanted before they knew it them 
 selves. He always seemed to listen to what you 
 said as if he had something to learn from every 
 one. His whole soul always appeared to be in what 
 he Avas saying or what you were saying, and yet 
 there seemed to be another kind of porter-soul out 
 side, quite independent of this inner soul, always on 
 the watch to render any little courtesy to all around. 
 I supposed these courtly attentions had become an 
 instinct to him, so that he could attend to them and 
 to other things at the same time, as easily as w r e 
 can talk while we are eating or walking. 
 
 He was his mother s greatest friend. Sir Walter 
 never was this. He was always almost lover-like 
 in his deference and attention to her, stormy and 
 soldier-like as his usual manner was. But into her 
 thoughts he did not seem to care to enter, any more 
 than into her oratory. They had some portion of 
 their worlds in common, but the largest portion, 
 by far, apart. And the younger boys were like 
 him, more or less. But whatever Lady Lucy might 
 have missed in him was well made up to her in her 
 eldest son. 
 
 He was a cavalier to her heart, grave, religious, 
 cultivated, a soldier from duty, but finding his de 
 light in poetry and music, and all beautiful things 
 made by God or by man. It was a great interest 
 
THE DA VEXAXTS. 97 
 
 to me to sit at Lady Lucy s feet and listen to their 
 discourse about music and painting, about the 
 great Flemish painter Rubens, who hud painted the 
 ceiling of the king s banqueting-house at White 
 hall, the grand building which Mr. Inigo Jones had 
 just erected ; and about the additions the king had 
 lately made to his superb collection of pictures. 
 He and Lady Lucy spoke of the purchase of the 
 cartoons of Raftaelle and of other pictures by this 
 great master, and by Titian, Correggio, and Giulio 
 Romano, or by Cornelius Jansen and other Flemish 
 painters, with as much triumph as if each picture 
 had been a province won for the crown. He spoke 
 also with the greatest enthusiasm of the painter 
 Vandyke, who was painting the portraits of the 
 Royal Family, and the great gentlemen and ladies 
 of the Court. He had brought a portrait of himself 
 by Vandyke as a present to his mother, (only, he 
 said, as a bribe for her own by the same hand) ; and 
 it seemed to me that Mr. Vandyke must be as fine 
 a gentleman as Harry Davenant himself, or he nev 
 er could have painted so perfectly and nobly the 
 noble features, the grave almost sad look of the 
 eyes, the long chestnut-coloured love-locks, the 
 courtly air, and the dress so easy and yet so rich. 
 
 All this was very new discourse to me ; paintings, 
 especially religious paintings such as the Holy Fam 
 ilies and Crucifixions by the foreign masters which 
 Harry Davenant described, never having been much 
 encouraged among us. 
 
 When he spoke of music and poetry I was more 
 at home, and when he alluded with admiration to 
 9 
 
98 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 the Masque of Comns by Mr. John Milton, I felt 
 myself flush as at the praise of a friend. 
 
 For the names revered at Davcnant Hall and at 
 Netherby were usually altogether different. For 
 instance, of Archbishop Laud and Mr. "Went worth 
 (afterwards Lord Strafford), whom Lady Lucy and 
 her son seemed to regard as the two pillars of 
 church and state, I had only heard as the persecu 
 tors of Mr. Prynne, and the subvertors of the liber 
 ties of the nation. 
 
 But indeed the nation itself seemed to be little in 
 Harry Davenant s esteem, except as a Royal Estate 
 with very troublesome tenants who had to be kept 
 doAvn ; and liberty, which in our home was a kind 
 of sacred word, fell from his lips as if it had been 
 a mere pretext for every kind of disorder. 
 
 With all his refinement, however, it did seem 
 strange to me that Harry Davenant should enter 
 with apparent zest into the bull-baiting, bear-baiting, 
 and cock-fighting which Avere the festivities of the 
 next week. But he said these were fine old Eng 
 lish amusements, and it was right to show the peo 
 ple that the polish of the court did not make the 
 courtiers dainty or womanish, or prevent their en 
 tering into these manly sports. 
 
 Sir Launcelot Trevor was a man of a different 
 stamp. He had bold handsome features, black hair, 
 black eyes, and low forehead, a face with those 
 sharp contrasts of colour some people think hand 
 some. But there was something in him from which, 
 even as a child, I shrank, although he paid the most 
 finished compliments to the Lady Lucy, Lettice, and 
 
THE DA TEXAXTS. 99 
 
 me, and to everything we did or said. His compli 
 ments always seemed to me like insults. When 
 Harry Davenant spoke of Beauty in women, or pic 
 tures, or nature, he made you feel it something akin 
 to God and truth, to reverence and give thanks for. 
 
 When Sir Launcelot spoke of Beauty, he made 
 you feel it a thing akin to the dust, to be fingered 
 and smelt and tasted, and then to fade and perish. 
 
 Harry Davenant s was a polish bringing out the 
 grain, as in fine old oak. Sir Launcelot s was like a 
 glittering crust of ice over a stagnant pond, with 
 occasionally a flaw giving you a glimpse into the 
 black depths beneath. 
 
 But I suppose it was the way in which he be 
 haved to Roger that more than anything opened 
 my eyes to what he was. So that, behind all his 
 bland smiles on us, I always seemed to see the curl 
 of the mocking smile with which he so often ad 
 dressed Roger. From the first they seemed to re 
 cognize each other as antagonists. 
 
 Two days after his coming Sir Walter s bull was 
 to be baited in a field near the village. Lettice and 
 I were standing in the hall porch, debating whether 
 we ought at once to report to Lady Lucy a danger 
 ous adventure from which we had just escaped, or 
 whether it would alarm her too much, when we 
 heard voices approaching in eager and rather angry 
 conversation. First Sir Walter s rather scornful, 
 
 " Let the boy alone. If his father chose to bring 
 him up as a monk or a mercer it is no concern of 
 yours or mine." 
 
 Then Sir Launcelot s smooth tones. 
 
I oo* THE DRA YTONS A ND 
 
 "Far from it. Is there not indeed something 
 quite amiable in such compassion as Mr. Roger dis 
 plays for your bull ? In a woman it would be ir 
 resistible. Should we not almost regret that the 
 hardening years are too likely to destroy that de 
 lightful tenderness ?" 
 
 Then Roger s voice, monotonous and low, as 
 always when he was much moved. 
 
 " I see nothing more manly, Sir Launcelot, in 
 tormenting a bull than a cockchafer, when neither of 
 them can escape. My Father says it is not so much 
 because it is savage, as because it is mean, that he 
 will have nothing to do with cock-fighting or bear 
 and bull baiting." 
 
 Then a chorus of indignant disclaimers of the 
 comparison from the boys. 
 
 "If you are too tender to stand a bull-baiting, 
 how would you like a battle ?" 
 
 But the next moment little Lettice, sweet, gen 
 erous Lettice (herself Roger s prime tormentor when 
 he was left to her), confronting the whole com 
 pany the five brothers and Sir Launcelot and 
 seizing her father s hand in both hers, exclaimed, 
 
 " For shame on you all, Robert and George, and 
 Roland, and Dick, and Walter" (Harry was not 
 there, and she scornfully omitted Sir Launcelot); 
 " you are all baiting Roger. And that is worse than 
 baiting a dozen bulls. Don t let them, Father. He 
 has done a braver thing this very day for us than 
 baiting a hundred bulls. This very morning he 
 faced that very bull in the priory meadow ; not an 
 hour ago. We were crossing it, Olive and I, and 
 
THE DA VENANTS. IO i 
 
 the bull ran at us, and Roger saw him and leapt over 
 the hedge and fronted him, holding up my scarlet 
 kerchief, which I had dropped, and then moved 
 slowly backward, never turning till we were safe 
 over the paling beyond the bull s reach." 
 
 Sir Walter s eyes kindled as he turned and held 
 out his hand to Roger. 
 
 " Why did you not tell me of this, my boy ?" he 
 said. 
 
 " I did not think it had anything to do with it," 
 said Roger quietly. "I did not know any one 
 thought I was a coward." 
 
 Sir Launcelot took off his plumed hat and bowed 
 low to Lettice. 
 
 " Heaven send me such a fair defender, Mistress 
 Lettice, when I am assailed." 
 
 She looked up in his face with her large deep eyes, 
 and said indignantly, 
 
 " I am not Roger s defender. He was mine." 
 
 He laughed, but not pleasantly. 
 
 " Few would take much heed of such a danger for 
 such a reward," he said. 
 
 After this he professed to treat Roger with the 
 profoundest deference. 
 
 " A hero and a saint, a Don Quixote and one of 
 the godly, all in one," he said, " and such a paragon 
 at sixteen ! What might not England expect from 
 such a son ?" 
 
 He was, moreover, continually referring questions 
 of conscience to Roger ; asking him whether it was 
 consistent with Christian compassion to play at ten 
 nis ; he had heard of a tennis-ball once hitting a 
 9* 
 
1 02 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 man in the eye, and who could say but that it might 
 happen again ? or whether he seriously thought it 
 charitable to ride horses with sharp bits, since it 
 was almost certain they did not like it ! or whether 
 certain equestrian feats were not positively profane, 
 since they were brought to Europe by the Moors ; 
 or whether indeed there was not a text forbidding 
 
 O 
 
 the riding of horses altogether. 
 
 He did not venture on these taunts when Harry 
 Davenant was present. But he generally contrived 
 to make them with such a quaint and good-humoured 
 air that the boys joined in the laugh, and Roger, 
 having neither so ramble nor so practised a wit, 
 could only flush with indignation, and then with 
 vexation at himself that he could not control the 
 quick rush of blood which always betrayed that he 
 felt the sting. 
 
 Sir Launcelot had many of the qualities which 
 command the regard of boys an indiiference to 
 expenditure sustained by the Fortunatus purse of 
 an unbounded capacity for getting into debt, which 
 passed for generosity (" if the worst comes to the 
 worst," said he ; I can but make interest with the 
 king, for a monopoly") ; a wit never too heavily 
 weighted to wheel sharp round on an assailant ; 
 skill and quickness in all the accomplishments of a 
 cavalier, from commanding a squadron of horse to 
 tuning a lady s lute ; a dashing courage which shrank 
 from no bodily danger ; (brave I could not call him, 
 for to be brave is a quality of the spirit, and spirit it 
 was very difficult to conceive Sir Launcelot had, 
 except such as there is in a mettlesome horse) ; a 
 
THE DA VWANT& 1 03 
 
 kindly instinct which would make him take care of 
 his horses or dogs, or fling a piece of money to a 
 crying child ; or in the wars share his rations with 
 a hungry soldier (plundering the next Puritan cot 
 tage to repay himself). For cruel he was not, at 
 least not for cruelty s sake ; if his pleasures, whether 
 at the bull-baiting or bear-baiting, or of other 1 
 kinds proved cruelty to others, that was not his 
 intention, it was only an attendant accident, not, 
 (" of course,") to be avoided, since life was short 
 and enjoyment must be had, follow what might. 
 
 But of all that went on in the tennis-court and the 
 riding-ground I knew little, except such glimpses as 
 I have given, until long afterwards, when Lettice, 
 who heard it from her brothers told me ; Roger 
 scorning to breathe a word of complaint on the 
 subject, either while at the Hall or after our return. 
 
 But oh ! the joy when one morning my Father 
 came up to the Hall with two led horses following 
 him, the speechless joy with which, rushing down 
 from Lady Lucy s drawing chamber, I met him at 
 the great door and threw myself into his arms as he 
 dismounted. 
 
 " Why, Olive," he said, " you are like a small 
 whirlwind." 
 
 Yet I shed many tears when the moment came to 
 go. Lady Lucy, if no more a serene goddess, and 
 embodiment of perfect womanhood to me, was in 
 some sense more by being less. I loved her as a 
 dear, loving, mother-like woman. Her tender words 
 that night by my bedside " Olive, I am not all or 
 half I would be. But I could not bear to be dis- 
 
1 04 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 trusted by you." And all her frank, gracious, con 
 siderate self-forgetful ways had made my heart cling 
 with a true, reverent tenderness tp her, far deeper 
 rooted than my old idolatry. And Lettice, generous, 
 eager, willful as the wind, truthful as the light, now 
 imperious as an empress, now self-distrustful and 
 confiding as a little child, her sweet changing beauty 
 seemed to me only the necessary raiment of the 
 ever-changing, varying, yet constant heart, that 
 glowed in the brilliant flush of her cheek, and 
 beamed or flashed through her eye. 
 
 Lettice and I were friends by right of our differ 
 ences and our sympathies, by right of a common 
 antagonism to Sir Launcelot Trevor, and our com 
 mon conviction of our each having in Roger and in 
 Harry Davenant the best brothers in the world. 
 Lettice and Harry royalist, and Roger and I pa 
 triots to the core ; they devoted to the King and the 
 Queen Marie, and we to England and her liberties ; 
 they persuaded that Archbishop Laud was a new 
 apostle, w r e that he was a new Diocletian. 
 
 I shall never forget the joy of waking early the 
 next morning in my old chamber, and looking up 
 and seeing the sheen of the morning in the Mere, 
 and watching Aunt Gretel asleep in the bed close 
 to mine, and hearing the first solitary crow of the 
 king of the cocks, and then the clacking of his family 
 as they woke up one by one ; the bleating of the 
 sheep in the orchard meadow, and the lowing of 
 cows in the sheds the lowing of White-face, and 
 Beauty my own orphaned calf, and Meadow-sweet ; 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. i o 5 
 
 and then the cheery voice of Tib. the dairy-woman, 
 recovered from the sickness, remostrating with them 
 on their impatience ; and the calls of Bob, Tib s 
 husband, to his oxen, as he yoked them and drove 
 his team a-field ; and mingled with all, the deep sol 
 dierly bay of old Lion, the watch-mastiff, and the 
 sharp business-like bark of the sheep-dogs driving 
 the flocks to fresh pastures. It was such a delight 
 to be among all the living creatures again. It felt 
 like coming out of an enchanted castle, drowsy with 
 perfumes and languid strains of music, into the fresh 
 open air of God s own work-a-day world a world 
 of daylight, and truth, and judgment, and right 
 eousness, and duty. 
 
 I was dressed before Aunt Gretel was fairly 
 awake, and down among the animals, eager to learn 
 from Tib the latest news of all my friends in field 
 and poultry-yard. 
 
 But Roger was out before me. And before break 
 fast we had visited nearly all our familiar haunts 
 the heronry by the Mere, the creek where the water 
 fowl loved to build among the rushes, the swan s 
 nest on the reedy island, the shaded fish-ponds in 
 the orchard, the little brook below where he and I 
 had made the weir, the bit of waste low-ground 
 which the brook used to flood, which with Bob s 
 help we had dyked and embanked into corn-ground 
 for Roger s pigeons. 
 
 My very spinning task with Aunt Dorothy was 
 a luxury. I could scarcely help singing with a 
 loud voice as I span ; my heart was singing and 
 dancing every moment of the day. The lessons for 
 
lo6 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 iny Father were a keen delight, like a race on the 
 dykes in a fresh wind ; the Latin grammar was like 
 poetry to me. It was such a liberation to have 
 come into a busy, every-day, working world again ; 
 -"a world of law, and therefore of liberty, where 
 every one had his task, and every task its time, and 
 the play-hours were as busy as the working-hours 
 to heads and hands vigorous with the rebound of 
 real necessary labour. 
 
 All the world became thus again our play-ground, 
 and all the creatures our play-mates, by the mere 
 fact that when not at play we, too, were fellow- 
 workers with them working as hard in our way 
 as ant or bee, or happy building bird, or cleansing 
 winds, or even the glorious ministering sunbeams 
 themselves, whose work was all joyous play, and 
 whose play was all world-helpful work. 
 
 An then it was inspiring to hear once more the 
 great old honoured names of our childhood Sir 
 John Eliot (honoured in his dishonoured grave), 
 and Hampden, and Pym, and Sir Bevill Grenvil 
 (loyal then to his country and his King, and after 
 wards, as he believed, to his King for his country s 
 sake), and Mr. Cromwell, who whether in Parlia 
 ment, in the Fens, or on the " Soke of Somersham," 
 understood liberty to be, liberty to restrain the 
 strong from oppressing the weak liberty to speak 
 the truth loud enough for all the world to hear. 
 
 I thought I began to understand what was meant 
 by, " Thou hast set my feet in a large room." For 
 it seemed like coming forth from the ante-room of 
 a court presence-chamber, with low-toned voices, 
 
TILE DA VENAXTS. 
 
 107 
 
 perfumed atmosphere, constrained, soft movements, 
 into our own dear, free Old England, where we 
 might run, and sing, and freely use every free fac 
 ulty to the utmost, beneath the glorious open hea 
 vens, which are the Presence-chamber of the Great 
 
 King. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HE very afternoon of Roger s and my 
 return from Davenant Hall Dr. Antony 
 came on one of his ever- welcome visits. 
 He had, by dint of much trouble and 
 perseverance, obtained access to Mr. Prynne, in his 
 solitary cell at Caernarvon, and to Mr. Bastwick and 
 Mr. Burton, in theirs, in Launceston and Lancaster 
 Castles ; and afterwards to the prisons to which 
 they were removed, in Guernsey, Jersey, and the 
 Scilly Islands, and also to old Mr. Alexander Leigh- 
 ton, in his prison, after his most cruel mutilations. 
 
 Often in the summer Dr. Antony left his patients 
 for a season, to visit such throughout the land as 
 were in bonds for conscience sake, bearing them 
 the tidings, so precious to the solitary captive, that 
 in the rush of life outside they were not forgotten ; 
 taking them food or physic, and such poor bodily 
 comforts as were permitted by the hard rules of 
 their imprisonment, and bringing back messages to 
 their friends and kinsfolk. This last year Dr. An 
 tony himself (as we heard from others) had been 
 
 (108) 
 
THE DAVENAXTS. 
 
 109 
 
 somewhat impoverished "by a fine of 250 sterling, 
 to which he had been sentenced by the Star-Cham 
 ber on account of these visits of compassion; al 
 though there was no law against them. 
 
 This time he brought us grievous tidings from 
 many quarters ; and very grave was the discourse 
 between him and my Father. 
 
 Everywhere disgrace and disaster to our country ; 
 the French Huguenots cursing our Court for en 
 couraging them to insurrection, and then sending 
 ships against them to Rochelle (though, thank Hea 
 ven ! scarcely one of our brave sailors would bear 
 arms against their Protestant brethren officers and 
 men deserting in a body when they discovered 
 against whom they had been treacherously sold to 
 fight) ; our own fisheries on the east coast sold to 
 the Hollanders, and the capture of one of our India- 
 men by Dutch ships ; the Barbary corsairs landing 
 on the coast near Plymouth, and kidnapping our 
 countrymen and countrywomen from their village 
 homes, to sell them as slaves to the Moors in Africa ; 
 the King of Spain, the very pillar of Popery and 
 persecution, the sworn foe of our religion and our 
 race from the days of the Armada, permitted to re 
 cruit for his armies in Ireland ; the Government, 
 with Went worth (traitor to liberty) and Archbish 
 op Laud at the head of it, weak as scorched tow to 
 chastise our enemies abroad, yet armed with scor 
 pions against every defender of our ancient rights 
 at home. The decision but lately given by the 
 judges against the brave and good Mr. Hainpdeii 
 as to ship money, placing our fortunes at the mercy 
 10 
 
1 1 o THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 of the Court, who chiefly valued them as means 
 wherewith to destroy our liberties ; Justice Berke 
 ley declaring from the judgment-seat that Lex was 
 not Rex, but that Rex was Lex ; thirty-one monop 
 olies sold, thus making nearly every article of con 
 sumption at once dear and bad. The sweeping, 
 steady pressure of Lord Straiford s (Mr. Went- 
 worth) " Thorough" wrought into a vexation for 
 every housewife in the kingdom, by the king s petty 
 monopolies. The heavy links of Wentworth s im 
 perious despotism, filed and twisted by Archbishop 
 Laud s petty tyrannies into needles wherewith to 
 torture tender consciences, and wiry ligatures where 
 with to tie and bind every limb. " Regulations as 
 to the colours and cutting of vestments, worthy 
 (Aunt Dorothy said) of a court tailor, enforced by 
 cruelties minute and persevering enough for a ma 
 lignant witch." Dark stories, too, of private wrong, 
 wrought by Went worth in Ireland, worthy of the 
 basest days of the Roman emperors ; tales of royal 
 forests arbitrarily extended from six miles to sixty, 
 to the ruin of hundreds of gentlemen and peasants ; 
 disgraceful news of faith broken with Dutch and 
 French refugees welcome to the heart of England 
 since the days of Elizabeth, made secure with rights 
 confirmed to them by James and by King Charles 
 himself, now forbidden by Archbishop Laud to 
 worship God in the way for which their fathers had 
 suffered banishment and loss of all things, driven 
 to seek another home in Holland, and in their second 
 exile ruining the nourishing town of Ipswich, where 
 they had lived, and carrying over tho cloth-trade 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 1 1 j 
 
 which was the support of our eastern counties to 
 our rivals the Dutch. 
 
 " You have a copy of Fox s Book of Martyrs ?" 
 Dr. Antony asked of my Father, after he had been 
 speaking of these lamentable things. 
 
 "What good Protestant English household is 
 without one ?" exclaimed Aunt Dorothy ; " least of 
 all such as this, whose forefathers are enrolled in 
 its lists." 
 
 " Take good care of it, then," Dr. Antony replied, 
 " for the Primate hath forbidden another copy to 
 be printed, under the penalties the Star-Chamber 
 will not fail to enforce." 
 
 " The times are dark," he continued, " dark and 
 silent. I stood this spring by the grave of Sir John 
 Eliot, in the Church of the Tower ; as brave, and 
 loyal, and devout a gentleman as this nation ever 
 knew, killed by inches in prison for calmly pleading 
 the ancient rights of England in his place in Parlia 
 ment, and then his bod} refused to his family for 
 honourable burial among his kindred in his parish 
 church in Cornwall, and cast like a felon s into a 
 dishonoured grave in the precincts of the prison 
 where he died. And I thought how it might have 
 thrown a deeper shadow over his deathbed if he 
 could have foreseen how, during these six years, the 
 tyranny would be tightened, and the voice of the na 
 tion never once be heard in her lawful Parliaments." 
 
 " The voice of the nation is audible enough to 
 those who have ears to hear," said my Father. 
 
 " Yea, verily " said Dr. Antony, " if you had 
 journeyed through the country as I have, you would 
 
112 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 say so. When will kings learn that moans and 
 subdued groans between set teeth are more dangerous 
 from human lips than any torrents of passionate 
 speech ?" 
 
 " And," added my Father, " that there is a silence 
 even more significant and perilous than these !" 
 
 " But there are two points of hope," said Dr. 
 Antony. " One is the Puritan colony in New 
 England, where our brethren have exchanged the 
 vain struggle with human blindness and tyranny for 
 the triumphant struggle with nature in her primeval 
 forests and untrodden wilds. Four thousand good 
 English men and women, and seventy-seven clergy 
 men, have taken refuge there during these last 
 twenty years. Not poor men only, for they have 
 taken many thousand pounds of English money, or 
 money s worth, with them, forsaking country and 
 comfortable homes for the dear liberty to obey God 
 rather than man. And these plantations, after the 
 severest struggles and privations, are beginning to 
 grow. 
 
 " What they hope and mean to be is shown by 
 this, that two years since, while food was still hard 
 to win from the wilderness, and roads and bridges 
 had yet to be made, the plantation of Massachusetts 
 voted 400 for the founding of a college. Such an 
 act might seem more like the foresight of the fathers 
 of a nation than the care of a little exiled band 
 struggling for existence with the Indians, the wilder 
 ness, and a hostile Court at home. 
 
 " The other point of hope is the Greyfriars Church 
 in Edinburgh, where, on the 1st of last March, after 
 
THE DA VEX ANTS. 1 , 3 
 
 long prayers and preachings, the great congregation 
 rose, gathered from all corners of the kingdom, 
 nobles, gentlemen, burgesses, ministers, lifted their 
 hands solemnly to heaven, and swore to the Cove 
 nant." Then Dr. Antony took a manuscript paper 
 from the breast of his coat, and read : " * We abjure,* 
 they swore, c the Roman Antichrist, all his tyran 
 nous law made upon indifferent things against our 
 Christian liberty; his erroneous doctrine against 
 the written Word, the perfection of the law, the 
 office of Christ, and His blessed Evangel ; his cruel 
 judgments against iniants departing this life without 
 the sacraments; his blasphemous priesthood; his 
 canonization of men ; his dedicating of kirks, al: 
 days, vows to creatures; his purgatory, prayers 
 for the dead, praying or speaking in a strange 
 language ; his desperate and uncertain repent 
 ance ; his general and doubtsome faith ; his holy 
 water, baptizing of bells, conjuring of spirits, cross 
 ing, saving, anointing, conjuring, hallowing of God s 
 good creatures. We, noblemen, barons, gentle 
 men, burgesses, ministers, and commons, considering 
 the danger of the true Reformed religion, of the 
 king s honour, and of the public peace of the king 
 dom by the manifold innovations and evils generally 
 contained and particularly mentioned in our late 
 supplications, complaints, and protestations, do 
 hereby profess, and before God, his angels, and the 
 world, solemnly declare that with our whole hearts 
 we agree and resolve all the days of our life con 
 stantly to adhere unto and defend the foresaid true 
 religion, and forbearing the practice of all novations 
 10* 
 
1 1 4 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 already introduced in the matter of the worship of 
 God, or approbations of the corruptions of the public 
 government of the Kirk, till they be tried or allowed 
 in free Assemblies and in Parliaments, to labour by 
 all means lawful to recover the purity and liberty of 
 the Gospel. Neither do we fear the aspersions of 
 rebellion, combination, or what else our adversaries, 
 from their craft and malice, could put upon us, 
 seeing what we do is well warranted, and arisetii 
 from an unfeigned desire to mantain the true worship 
 of God, the majesty of our king, and the peace of 
 the kingdom, for the common happiness of ourselves 
 and posterity. And because we cannot look for a 
 blessing of God on our proceedings except with our 
 subscription we gave such a life and conversation as 
 becometh Christians who have renewed their cove 
 nant with God, we therefore promise to endeavour 
 to be good examples to others of all godliness, sober 
 ness, and righteousness, and of every duty we owe 
 to God and man. And we call the living God, the 
 Searcher of hearts, to witness, as we shall answer to 
 Jesus in that great day, under pain of God s ever 
 lasting wrath and of infamy ; most humbly beseech 
 ing the Lord to strengthen us with his Holy Spirit 
 for this end. And this," added Dr. Antony, " has 
 been sworn to not in the Greyfriars Church alone ; 
 but by crowds, signed with their blood on parchment 
 spread on the stones of the churchyards in Edin 
 burgh and Glasgow ; yea, in church after church, 
 in city, village, and 011 hill-side, from John o Groats 
 House to the Borders, from Mull to Fife, with tears, 
 and shouts, and fervent prayers." 
 
THE DA VENA NTS. 1 1 5 
 
 " And this means ? said my Father. 
 
 " It means that the Scottish nation will rather die 
 than submit to Archbishop Laud s ceremonies and 
 cifnons ; but that they mean neither to die nor to 
 submit ; that every covenanted congregation will 
 be a recruiting ground, if necessary, for a covenated 
 army ; that the oath sworn in the Kirk they are pre 
 pared to fulfil on the battle-field." 
 
 " And a goodly army they might soon discipline," 
 said my Father, " with the military officers they have 
 trained under the great Gustavus." 
 
 " It means," added Dr. Antony, lowering his 
 voice, " that they are ready to kindle a fire for reli 
 gion and liberty in Scotland which will not stop at 
 the Borders, and will find fuel enough in every 
 county in England." 
 
 * The Court had better, for its own peace, have 
 heeded Jenny Geddes folding-stool," said my Father. 
 
 "For his own peace," rejoined Aunt Dorothy, 
 " but scarcely for ours." 
 
 From that time (1638), through more than a 
 quarter of a century, public and private life were 
 so intertwined that no faithful history can divide 
 them. In quieter times, while the great historical 
 paintings are being wrought in parliament-houses 
 and palaces, countless small family-pictures are being- 
 woven entirely independent of these in countless 
 homes. But in times of revolution, national history 
 and private story are interwoven into one great 
 tapestry, from which the humblest figure cannot be 
 detached without unravelling the whole web. 
 
1 1 6 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 Such times are hard, but they are ennobling. Or 
 at least they are enlarging. Faults, and ordinary 
 virtues become crimes, or heroical virtues, by mere 
 force of temperature and space. Principles are 
 tested; pretences are dissolved by the fact of being 
 pretences. Such times are ennobling, but they are 
 also necessarily tragical. All noble lives all lives 
 worth living are expanded from the small circles 
 of everyday domestic circumstances into portions of 
 the grand orbits of the worlds. Yet, doubtless, there 
 by in themselves such lives must often become frag 
 ments instead of wholes, must seem in themselves 
 unfinished, must be in themselves inexplicable. 
 
 But, indeed, are not the histories of nations, and 
 revolutions themselves, even the grandest, but frag 
 ments of those greater orbits of which we scarcely, 
 even in centuries, can trace the movement ? Is it 
 any wonder then that national histories as well as 
 personal should often seem tragical ? As now, alas, 
 to us ! poor tempest-tossed fragments of the ship s 
 company which we deemed should have brought 
 home the argosies for ages to come, driven to these 
 untrodden far-off shores ; whilst to England, instead 
 of the golden fleece of peace and liberty, our enter 
 prise may seem but to have brought a tyranny more 
 cruel and a court more corrupt. Yet may there be 
 something in the future which, to those who look 
 back, will explain all ! 
 
 For England ; and perhaps even for these wild 
 shores which we fondly call New England ! 
 
 Can it be possible that we have won the Golden 
 Fleece, and have brought it hither ? 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 1 1 7 
 
 There is something, moreover, in having lived in 
 times of storm. The- temperature is raised at such 
 times ; all life is keener, colour more vivid, and 
 growth more rapid. 
 
 A nation in revolution is, in more ways than one, 
 like a ship in a storm. The dividing barrriers of 
 selfishness are dissolved for a time into a common 
 passion of patriotic hope, purpose, and endeavour. 
 We feel our common humanity in our common 
 throbs of hope and fear, in our common efforts for 
 deliverance. And we are (or ought to be) nobler, 
 and more large of heart for ever afterwards. And 
 I think the greater part are. Perhaps, in some 
 measure, all ; unless, indeed, it be the ship s cats, 
 who, no doubt, privately pursue the ship s mice 
 with undeviating purpose through the raging of 
 winds and waves, and look on the strife of the ele 
 ments as a providential arrangement to enable them 
 to fulfil their mousing destinies with less inter 
 ruption. 
 
 And what such times of revolution do for a na 
 tion, ought not Christianity, the great perpetual 
 revolution, to do for us always ? 
 
 The great hindrance seems to me to be, that it is 
 so much easier to be partizans than patriots, whe 
 ther in the Church or State. 
 
 If men would do for the country what they do 
 for the party, what a country we should have ! 
 
 If Christians would do for the Church what they 
 do for their sect, what a world we should have ! 
 
 For a quarter of a century, from the signing of 
 the Covenant in the High Kirk of Edinburgh, the 
 
! i g THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 long struggle went on. ISTor has it ceased yet, 
 though the combatants have changed, and the bat 
 tle-field. 
 
 The Scottish covenanted congregations grew 
 quickly indeed into a covenanted army, and ad 
 vanced to the border. The King, by Archbishop 
 Laud s counsel, disbelieving in the Covenant, pro 
 claimed that if within six weeks the Scotch did not 
 renounce it, he would come and chastise them (in a 
 fatherly way) with an army. The King and Arch 
 bishop Laud regarded the Covenant as a freak of 
 rebellious misguided children. The Scotch regard 
 ed it as the portion of the eternal law of God which 
 they then had to keep ; and would keep, or die. 
 
 A difference not to be settled by royal proclama 
 tion. 
 
 The Scotch had the advantage of being their own 
 army, ready to fight for their Divine law ; while 
 the king had to pay his army with the coin of the 
 realm, and never could inspire them to the end with 
 the conviction that they were fighting for anything 
 but coin of the realm. 
 
 The coin of the realm, moreover, lay in the keep 
 ing of those dragons called Parliaments, which his 
 majesty had termed " vipers " at their last meeting, 
 and in a letter to Strafford, had compared to " cats," 
 tameable when young, " cursed " if allowed to grow 
 old, and which he had therefore banished under 
 ground for eleven years into shadow and silence. 
 
 When, therefore, the king and the Covenanted 
 army met on the borders, it was found that the 
 Scotch, commanded, as my Father said, by old Gus- 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. , , g 
 
 tavus Adolphns s officers ; every regiment as in 
 that old Swedish army, also a congregation, meet 
 ing morning and evening round its banner of 
 " Christ s crown and covenant," for prayer was a 
 rock against which the English army might vainly 
 break; but from which, as the event proved, it pre 
 ferred to ebb silently away, the pay for which only 
 it professed to fight, being, moreover, exhausted. 
 
 The king took refuge in a treaty, promising to 
 leave Kirk affairs in the hands of the Kirk, and to 
 call a free assembly. Poor gentleman, his promises 
 were still believed to have some small amount of 
 truth in them, and a pacification was effected. 
 
 Then came the moment of hope for those who 
 had been watching those movements with the in- 
 tensest interest in England. 
 
 Of the two evils, a remonstrating Parliament in 
 London and a fighting Kirk in Scotland, the former 
 now appeared to the kingr the least. In the keeping; 
 of the Parliament, dragon-monster as it seemed to 
 him, lay the gold. And once more, after a silence 
 of eleven years, on the 15th of April, 1640, the 
 Parliament was summoned ; a weapon welded hy 
 the wrongs and the patience of eleven years into a 
 temper the king had done well to heed. 
 
 Pym and Hampden were the chief spokesmen, 
 and 3Ir. Cromwell sat for Huntingdon. 
 
 At the hist Parliament they, and brave men like 
 them, had wept bitter tears at the king s arbitrary 
 measures, and at his false dealing. 
 
 At this Parliament there were no tears shed. 
 There were no disrespectful or hasty words spoken. 
 
1 20 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 It was as if in spirit they met around the grave 
 of the martyred Sir John Eliot, and would do or 
 say nothing to dishonour the grave to which since 
 last they met he had been brought for liberty. 
 
 But no portion of the hoarded treasure could the 
 king force or cajole from their grasp. The court 
 insisted on supplies. The Parliament insisted on 
 grievances. 
 
 And on May the 5th, the king dissolved the Par 
 liament. 
 
 My Father wept with emotion when he heard it. 
 " They would have saved him !" he said. " They 
 would have saved the country and the king !" 
 
 Said Aunt Dorothy grimly, "The king prefers 
 armies to parliaments ; and 110 doubt he will have 
 his choice." 
 
 A second royal army was raised by enforcing 
 ship-money, seizing the pepper of the Indian mer 
 chants, and compelling loans, filling the towns and 
 cities with angry men who dared not resist, and the 
 prisons with brave men who dared. And to rouse 
 the country further, the queen appealed publicly 
 for aid to the Roman Catholics, whilst Archbishop 
 Laud demanded contributions of the clergy. Earl 
 Strafford, recalled from Ireland, was appointed com- 
 mander-in-chief. The court endeavoured also to 
 enkindle the fury of the old Border war-memories ; 
 but the Borderers were brethren in the faith, and, 
 refusing to hate each other, combined in hating the 
 bishops. 
 
 The second army melted like the first, after some 
 little heartless fighting in a cause they hated ; hav- 
 
THE DA VF.XAXTS. I 2 1 
 
 ing distinguished itself mainly by shouting its 
 sympathy with the Puritan preachers in the various 
 towns through which it passed; by insisting on 
 testing whether its commanders were Papists before 
 it would follow them to the field ; and by draining 
 the king s treasury, so that he could proceed no 
 further without once more looking to the dreaded 
 guardians of the gold. 
 
 " They meet in a different temper from the last," 
 my Father said, as we walked home from the Tillage, 
 where we had eagerly hastened to meet the flying 
 Post, who galloped from one patriot s house to an 
 other with printed sheets and letters containing the 
 account of the king s opening speech on the 3d of 
 November ; " as different as the sweet May days 
 of promise during which the Little Parliament de 
 bated, from the gray fogs which creep along the 
 Fens before our eyes to-day. Summer, and hope, 
 and restitution brightened before that April Parlia 
 ment. Over this lower winter, storms, and retri 
 bution ; slow clearing of the stubble-fields of centu 
 ries, stern ploughing of the soil for better harvests, 
 not to be reaped, perchance, by the hands that 
 sow." 
 
 For the six months between had been ill-filled by 
 the court party. 
 
 I remember now how one day during those 
 months my Father s hands trembled and his voice 
 grew low as a whisper as he read to us a letter 
 telling how a poor reckless young drummer lad, 
 who, when on leave from the army in the north, 
 had joined a wild mob of London apprentices in an 
 11 
 
l 22 THE J)KA rrcLVS AND 
 
 attack on Lambeth Palace, had been racked and 
 tortured in the Tower to make him confess his ac 
 complices ; and torture failing to make him base, 
 poor boy, how he had been hanged and quartered 
 the day after. 
 
 " They dared not torture Felton a few years since 
 for the murder of Buckingham," my Father said, 
 " and now they twist this boy s offence into treason, 
 because, forsooth, a drum chanced to be sounded by 
 the mob, that the poor misguided lad may suffer 
 the traitor s doom, and the honour of his Holiness, 
 their Pontifex MaximuH, their Archangel, as they 
 call him, be avenged." 
 
 (These were the things that silenced the plead 
 ings of pity in good and raerqjful men when, in 
 after years, the Archbishop was brought to the 
 scaffold. 
 
 Now that the crime and its avenging all are past, 
 and victim, slayer, avenger, all have met before the 
 great Bar, it is hard to recall the passion of indig 
 nation these deeds awakened in the gentlest hearts 
 when they were being done with little chance of 
 ever being avenged. But is not the most inflexible 
 judgment the offspring of outraged mercy ?) 
 
 All through that summer the king, the archbishop, 
 and Strafford went on accumulating wrongs on the 
 nation, too surely to recoil on themselves. 
 
 There may have been many tyrannies more terri 
 ble. Never could there have been one more irri 
 tating, more ingenious -in sowing discontents in 
 every corner of the land. 
 
 The archbishop in convocation made a new canon, 
 
THE DA VEXANTS. 
 
 123 
 
 requiring every clergyman and every graduate of 
 the universities to take an oath that all things 
 necessary to salvation were contained in the doc 
 trine and discipline of the Church of England, as 
 distinguished from Presbyterianism and Papistry. 
 
 I remember that canon especially, because it 
 brought Roger home from Oxford, where he had 
 been studying during the past two years, and was 
 about to take his degree, and led to results, sad in 
 deed for us, though not exactly among the miseries 
 to be set down to the archbishop. Roger would 
 not swear, he said, against the religion of half the 
 kingdom, at least without understanding it better. 
 
 From Northamptonshire, Kent, Devonshire, old 
 conservative Kent and the loyal TTest, came up 
 indignant petitions against this canon. London was 
 exasperated by the committal of four aldermen who 
 refused to set before the king the names of those 
 persons within their wards who were able to lend 
 his majesty money ; every borough in the kingdom 
 was aroused by the presence of its members ignomin- 
 iously dismissed from the dissolved Parliament ; 
 nine boroughs were still more deeply moved by the 
 absence of their members, imprisoned the day after 
 the dissolution in the Tower. Every day brought 
 reports of some fresh victim fined in the Star- 
 Chamber on account of the odious ship-money. 
 Especial complaints came from the North, which 
 Strafford was grinding with the steady pressure of 
 his presence in the council at York. 
 
 And meantime the friendly Scots were practically 
 
124 
 
 THE DRA TTONS AND 
 
 inculcating Presbyterianism and the advantages of 
 armed resistance in the four counties beyond the 
 Tees, where they had been left in possession until 
 they received the price wherewith the king had paid 
 them for rebellion. 
 
 There was much stir and movement in the land all 
 through those months. ISTetherby lay close to the 
 high road, and we had many visitors. Mr. Cromwell 
 once, on his way to Cambridge, brief in speeech and 
 to the point, hearty in look, and word, and gesture, 
 and also at times in laughter. Mr. Hampden, dig- 
 nitied and courtly as any nobleman of the king s 
 court. Mr. Pym, with firm, close-set lips and grave 
 eyes. He came more than once on horseback, and 
 put up for the night, on one of the many rides he 
 took at that time around the country to stir up the 
 patriots to act together. My father also was often 
 absent at meetings of the country party at Brough- 
 ton Hall, near Oxford, where Roger, being at the 
 university, sometimes met him. 
 
 So the summer passed on, its perishable things 
 fading, and its enduring things ripening into autumn. 
 Crop after crop of royal promises budded and 
 bloomed and bore no fruit, until the people grew 
 sorrowfully to understand that royal words, like 
 flowers cultivated into barrenness in royal gardens, 
 were never purposed to bear fruit, but only to at 
 tract with empty show of blossom. The nobles 
 petitioned for a Parliament ; ten thousand citizens 
 of London, in spite of threats, petitioned for parlia 
 ment ; and at last once more the king summoned it. 
 
THE DA VENA NTS. ! 2 5 
 
 A month afterwards, early in December, my Father 
 called the household around the great hall fire to hear 
 a letter from Dr. Antony : 
 
 u To my very loving friend, 
 
 " Roger Dray ton, Esq., 
 
 " November 28M. 
 "Present these. 
 
 " HOXOURED SIR, Let us rejoice and praise God 
 together. My occupation is gone. The prisons bid 
 fair to be cleared of all save their rightful tenants. 
 Parish after parish will welcome back faithful minis 
 ters, undone and imprisoned by Star-Chamber and 
 High Commission. Heaven send the prison perse 
 cutions have made their voices strong and gentle, 
 and not bitter and shrill ; for I have found the devil 
 not locked out by prison-bolls. And too surely al?o 
 he will tincl his way into triumphal processions such 
 as we have had in London to-day, on behalf of 
 Mistress Olive s old friends, Mr. Prynne, Mr. Bast- 
 wick, and Mr. Burton. But let me set my narrative 
 in order. 
 
 " A fortnight before the Parliament was opened 
 two thousand rioters had torn down the benches in 
 St. Paul s, where the cruel High Commission were 
 sitting, shouting that they would have no bishop, 
 no High Commission. Xow these disorders cease. 
 Once more the gag is off the lips of every borough 
 and county in Old England ; and the bitter helpless 
 moans and wild inarticulate cries which have vainly 
 filled the land these eleven years give place to calm 
 and temperate speech. Petitions and remonstrances 
 11* 
 
1 26 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 pour in from north, south, east and west ; some 
 brought by troops of horsemen. The calmest voices 
 are hi>ard more clearly. 
 
 " lie is a great stranger in Israel, said Lord 
 Falkland, who knoweth not that this kingdom hath 
 long laboured under great oppression both in reli 
 gion and liberty. Under pretence of uniformity 
 they have brought in superstition and scandal ; 
 under the titles of reverence and decency they have 
 denied our Church by adorning our churches. They 
 have made the conforming to ceremonies more im 
 portant than the conforming to Chistianity. 
 
 " Said Sir Edward Deering, in attacking the High 
 Commission Court, 
 
 " A Pope at Rome will do me less hurt than a 
 patriarch at Lambeth. 
 
 " Said Sir Benjamin Rudyard, 
 
 " Vfe have seen ministers, their wives, and fa 
 milies, undone against law, against conscience, about 
 not dancing on Suftidays. They have brought it so 
 to pass, that under the name of Puritans all our 
 religion is branded. Whosoever squares his actions 
 by any rule divine or human, he is a Puritan ; 
 whosoever would be governed by the king s laws, 
 he is a Puritan ; he that will not do whatsoever 
 other men will have him do, he is a Puritan. 
 
 "The Commons had not sate four days when, on 
 the 7th of November, by warrant of the house, they 
 sent for Mr. Pryne, Mr. Bastwick, and Mr. Burton, 
 from their prisons beyond the seas, to certify by 
 whose authority they had been mutilated, branded, 
 and imprisoned. 
 
TH /: DA VEX A XT*. ! 2 7 
 
 " And now after three weeks these three gentle 
 men, freed from their sea-washed dungeons in Jersey, 
 Guernsey, and the Scilly Islands, have this day ar 
 rived in the city. All the way from the coast they 
 have been eargerly welcomed, escorted by troops 
 of friends with songs and garlands, from town to 
 town. 
 
 " Five thousand citizens of condition rode forth 
 on horseback to meet them, among them many a 
 citizen s wife, and all with bay and rosemary in 
 their hats and caps, to do honour to those their 
 enemies had vainly sought to shame. I trow brave 
 Mrs. Bast wick, who stood tearless by her husband 
 at the pillory, and who hath not been suffered to see 
 him in his prison since, thought it no shame to 
 unman him by shedding tears of joy to-day. Old 
 gray-haired Mr. Heighten, moreover, bent with im 
 prisonment and torture, and young John Lilburn, 
 for whom Mr. Cromwell so fervently pleaded, were 
 there to share the triumph, all marked with honour 
 able scars from the Star-Chamber. This outside the 
 city. And within, at Westminister, another victory 
 not a triumph but a victory not festive, but 
 solemn and tragical, as victories on battle-fields are 
 wont to be. 
 
 "This day at the bar of the House of Peers, about 
 three of the clock in the afternoon, Mr. Pyrn, in the 
 name of all the Commons of England, impeached 
 Thomas, Earl of Strafford, of hi^h treason. And 
 
 CT 
 
 this night Lord Strafford lodges in the Tower. 
 
 "He is too stately a cedar that there should not 
 be something great in his fall. 
 
1 2 8 THE DRA YTONS AN if 
 
 " Scorning the Commons message, with a proud- 
 glooming countenance the earl made towards his 
 place at the head of the board. But at once many 
 bade him void the house. Sullenly he>had to move 
 to the door till he was called. There he, at whose 
 door so many vainly waited, had to wait till he was 
 summoned. Loftily he stood to hear the sentence 
 of the House. He was commanded to kneel, and on 
 his knees he was committed prisoner to the Keeper 
 of the Black Rod. He would have spoken, but he 
 who had silenced England for eleven years was 
 sternly silenced now, and had to go without a word. 
 In the outer room they demanded his sword. The 
 carl cried to his serving-man with a loud voice to 
 take my Lord-Lieutenant s sword. A crowd throng 
 ed the doors of the House as he stepped out to his 
 coach. No fellow capped to him before whom 
 yesterday not a noble in England would have stood 
 uncovered with impunity. One cried to another, 
 What is the matter ? A small matter, I warrant 
 you, quoth the earl. Coming to where he had left 
 his coach he found it not, and had to walk back 
 again through the gazing, gaping crowed. He was 
 not suffered to enter his own coach, but was carried 
 away a prisoner in that of the Keeper of the Black 
 Rod. 
 
 " And this night he lodges scarce, I trow, rests 
 or sleeps in the Tower. Will the memory of his 
 old companion in the clays before he turned traitor 
 to England and liberty, our noble jnurdered patriot 
 Eliot, haunt his memory there ? From his ghost the 
 earl is safe enough. Such ghosts are in other keep- 
 
THE DA VEXAXT8. 
 
 129 
 
 ing and other company. And for the earl s memory, 
 darker recollections than that of Eliot with all his 
 wrongs may well haunt it, if report speaks truth ; 
 recollections which the Old Tower itself, with all 
 its chambers of death, can scarce outgloom. 
 
 " But Lord Strafford is not a man to dream while 
 there is work to be done, or to look back when life 
 may hang on his wisdom in looking forward. 
 
 " The first stroke is struck, but the cedar is not 
 felled yet. Xor can any surmise what it may bring 
 down with it if it falls. 
 
 "Your faithful servant and loving friend. 
 
 "LEONARD AXTOXY. 
 
 " Roger will like to hear that his friend Mr. Crom 
 well presented the petition for poor John Lilburn, 
 (some time writer for Mr. Prynne) that was scourg 
 ed from Westminster to the Fleet prison. And 
 also that he hath warmly espoused the cause of 
 certain poor countrymen whom he knows near St. 
 Ives, robbed of their ancient pasture-rights on a 
 common tyrannously enclosed by one of the queen s 
 servants. 
 
 " Mr. Cromwell seemed to take these poor men s 
 wrongs sorely to heart, and spoke with a flushed 
 face and much vehement eloquence concerning them, 
 in a voice which certain courtiers thought loud and 
 untunable, clad in a coat and band they thought 
 unhandsome and made by an ill country-tailor, and 
 in a hat without a hatband. But the Parliament 
 hearkened to him with much regard, and gave great 
 heed to what he counselled." 
 
 Roger s eye kindled. 
 
1 3 o THE DRA YTONS A ND 
 
 "Mr. Cromwell will never forget the old friends 
 for the new," said my Father, " nor pass by little 
 duties in rushing to .great ends." 
 
 Then our household broke into twos and threes 
 debating the news. 
 
 Aunt Dorothy shook her head. "I do mourn 
 over it," said she. " Mr. Cromwell might do great 
 things. And here are the Church and State all on 
 lire, and the Almighty sending His lightnings on 
 the cedars of Lebanon and the oaks of Bashan, while 
 Mr. Cromwell keeps harping on these petty worldly 
 things ; on the wrongs of an insignificant servant 
 of Mr. Prynne s, which no doubt would get set 
 right of themselves when once the great battle is 
 fought ; and on whether some poor clpdpoles near 
 St. Ives get a few acres more or less to feed their 
 sheep on. And, meanwhile, the sheep of the Lord s 
 pasture wandering on the mountains without pas 
 ture or shepherd ! I do think it a pity, too, that 
 Mr. Cromwell does not change his tailor ; we ought 
 to provide things honest in the sight of all men. 
 3STot but that I will say," she concluded, "Mrs. 
 Cromwell and the maidens might take some of 
 these matters on herself." 
 
 I remember that night asking Aunt Gretel if she 
 thought it would be wrong to put Earl StrafFord s 
 name into my prayers. He was not exactly an en 
 emy of mine, or there would be a command to do so ; 
 and he certainly was not a friend, nor, now, any 
 longer " one in authority." But it went to my 
 
TllK DAKBATA&T& 131 
 
 heart to think how in a moment all his glory seemed 
 turned to dishonor, the crowd gaping on him, and 
 no man capping to him. 
 
 " What wouldst thou pray for, Olive ?" said Aunt 
 Gretel. " Certainly not that lie may have power 
 again, and set up the Star-Chamber, and send the 
 three gentlemen to the pillory once more." 
 
 "Would he do that if he got out of the Tower?" 
 said I. 
 
 " The wise and good men think so, or they would 
 not have him sent there," said she. 
 
 " But might he not be better always afterwards ?" 
 T asked. 
 
 " The people cannot trust that- he would," she 
 said. " Even if he promised ever so much and in 
 tended it, they could not at once trust him." 
 
 " Is it too late then for him to be forgiven ?" I 
 saicl. 
 
 " Too late, it seems, for men to forgive him," said 
 she, very gravely. 
 
 " But never too late for God ?" I said. 
 " No, never too late for God," said she, slowly. 
 " Because God knows when we really intend to give 
 up sinning, even when we can do nothing to show 
 it to men. So it is never too late for Him to take 
 His prodigals home to his bosom/ 
 
 " Then I can ask for that," said I. And I did. 
 But that night there sank down on iny heart for 
 the first time (the first time of so many in the sol 
 emn years that followed) the terrible words, " Too 
 late ;" the terrible sense that an hour may come 
 when, if repentance townivl- Gorl is still possible, 
 
I 3 2 
 
 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 reparation to man and mercy from man is possible 
 no longer. 
 
 This fervour of patriotic life which animated us 
 all at Netherby made us rather hard, I am afraid, 
 on Cousin Placidia. 
 
 Throughout the year, after our sojourn at Dave- 
 nant Hall, she had tried Roger and me (and I be 
 lieve also secretly Aunt Dorothy) very seriously by 
 becoming in her way exceedingly religious. One 
 winter morning when Roger and I were busy with 
 my father about our Italian lessons at one end of 
 the hall, the following discussion took place be 
 tween Placidia and Aunt Dorothy over their spin 
 ning near the hearth. Placidia had seen, she in 
 formed Aunt Dorothy, the vanity of all things un 
 der the sun, the folly of pride, and the wickedness 
 of all worldly pomp, and she wished decidedly to 
 take her place " on the Lord s side," to work out 
 betimes her own salvation, and to secure for herself 
 an abundant entrance into the kingdom. Aunt 
 Dorothy spoke of the heart being deceitful, and 
 hoped Placidia would make sure of her foundation. 
 Placidia rejoined with some slight resentment as to 
 any doubts of her orthodoxy, that she humbly trust 
 ed she knew as well as any one, that every onSs heart 
 was indeed deceitful above all things and despe 
 rately wicked, that is, every ungodly person s ; indeed 
 one only needed to look around in any direction to see 
 it. Aunt Dorothy replied that, for her part, she 
 found her own heart still very ingenious in deceiving 
 her, and in need of a great deal of daily watching. 
 
THE DAVEXAST8. 
 
 33 
 
 Placidia admitted the necessity. Indeed, she 
 said, that on a review of her life she felt that, al 
 though she had been mercifully preserved from 
 many infirmities which beset other people, (her tem 
 per being naturally even, and her tastes sober,) still 
 no doubt she shared in the universal depravity. 
 But she had, like Jacob at Bethel, she said, made 
 a solemn covenant with God, promising to give Him 
 henceforth His due portion of her affections and sub 
 stance ; she had signed and sealed it on her knees, 
 and she believed she was accepted, that she was on 
 the Lord s side, and that, as with Jacob, He would 
 henceforth be on hers. 
 
 Aunt Dorothy s spinning-wheel flew with omin 
 ous rapidity, but some moments passed before she 
 replied. Then she said, 
 
 " 3Iy dear. I trust that you know the difference 
 between a covenant and a bargain. The patriarch 
 Jacob, on the whole, no doubt meant well, but I 
 never much liked his ifs and thens with the Al 
 mighty. The best kind of covenants, I think, are 
 those which begin on the other side. As when the 
 Lord said to Abraham, Fear not, Abraham, I am 
 thy shield and thy exceeding great reward. Or, 
 4 1 am the Almighty God, walk before me and be 
 thou perfect. Then follow the promises, lavish as 
 His riches, which fill heaven and earth ; free as the 
 air He gives us to breathe. When God gives there 
 is no limit, no reserve, no condition. But, on the 
 other hand, neither is there reserve, or condition, or 
 limit when He demands. It is not so much for so 
 much, but all surrendered in absolute trust. It is, 
 12 
 
1 3 4 THE LRA Y TONS A ND 
 
 4 Be thou perfect ; it is, Leave thy country, and 
 thy kindred, and thy father s house ; it is, Give 
 me thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest. 
 Is this what you mean by a covenant with God ? 
 Think well, for He is not mocked. His hand is 
 larger than ours, as the sea is larger than a drink- 
 ing-cup; but He will not accept our hands half 
 full." 
 
 Said Placidia, 
 
 " Aunt Dorothy, I have no intention whatever of 
 being half for the world and half for God. I have 
 no opinion at all of the religion which can dance 
 round May-poles on the week-day, and attend the 
 worship of God on Sundays ; or fast and pray on 
 Fridays, wear mourning in Lent, and be decked out 
 in curls, and laces, and jewels, on feast-days. I 
 have made up my mind never to wear a feather, or 
 a trinket, or a bit of lace to my band, or a laced 
 stomacher, nor to use crisping-tongs, nor to indulge 
 in any kind of dissoluteness in hair, nor ever to 
 sport any gayer colour in mantle or wimple than 
 gray, or at the most liver colour. I have not the 
 least intention, Aunt Dorothy, of trying to serve 
 two masters. I know in that way we gain nothing. 
 But I do believe that those that honour Him He 
 will honour, and that godliness hath promise of 
 the life that now is as well as of that which is to 
 come." 
 
 "The Lord s honours are not often like King 
 Ahasuerus s," said Aunt Dorothy, gravely ; " the 
 crowns of those He delighted to honour have some 
 times been of fire, and their royal apparel of sack- 
 
THE DA TVAV-1 JVT.?. ! 3 5 
 
 cloth. There is such a thing," she continued, her 
 wheel whirling like a whirlwind, " as serving only 
 one master, vet that not the right one, though taking 
 His name. And we are near the brink of that pre 
 cipice whenever we seek any reward from the Mas 
 ter beyond His Well done. </am thy shield, " 
 she concluded, " /, the Lord Himself ; not what 
 He promises or what He gives, though it were to 
 be the half of His kingdom." 
 
 By this time my Father s attention had been 
 aroused to the discussion, and rising from the table 
 and approaching the spinners, he said, 
 
 " What yon say, sister Dorothy, reminds me of 
 some words I heard lately in a letter of Mr. Crom 
 well s. Truly no creature hath more cause, he 
 wrote, to put himself forth in the cause of his God 
 than L I have had plentiful wages beforehand, 
 and I am sure I shall never earn the least mite. " 
 
 "Yea, verily," said Aunt Dorothy, "Mr. Crom 
 well may wa>te too much thought on draining and 
 dyking ; but he is a godly gentleman, and he under 
 stands the Covenant." 
 
 Cousin Placidia, however, pursued her course, 
 and continued a living rebuke to Roger and me if 
 we indulged in too noisy merriment, and to any of 
 the maids who were tempted into a gayer kirtle or 
 ribbon than ordinary. On Sunday she was never 
 known to smile, nor on any other day to laugh, ex 
 cept in a mild moderate manner, as a polite con- 
 iou to any one who expected it in response to a 
 ions remark. 
 
 Her conversation meantime became remarkably 
 
1 3 6 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 scriptural. She did not allow herself an indulgence 
 which she did not justify by, a text ; if her dresses 
 wore longer than usual, so as to spare her purse, 
 she looked on it as a proof that she had been mar 
 vellously helped with wisdom in the choice. If she 
 escaped the various accidents which not unfrequent- 
 ly brought me into disgrace, and my clothes to pre 
 mature ruin, she regarded it as an interference of 
 Providence, like to that which watched over the 
 Israelites in the wilderness. 
 
 Indeed, it seemed to Roger and me that Placidia s 
 primary meaning of being " on the Lord s side " 
 was, that in a general way the Almighty should do 
 what she liked ; and that in particular the weather 
 should be arranged with considerate reference as to 
 whether she had on her new taffetas or her old 
 woolsey. Great therefore was our relief, although 
 great also our astonishment, when Aunt Dorothy 
 announced to us one day that Cousin Placidia was 
 about to be married to Mr. Nicholls, the vicar of 
 Netherby. 
 
 " Are you not surprised ?" I ventured to ask of 
 my Father. " Cousin Placidia is such a Precisian, 
 as they call it, and Mr. Nicholls thinks so much of 
 Archbishop Laud." 
 
 " Not much surprised, Olive," he said. " I think 
 Placidia s religion and Mr. Nicholls are a little alike. 
 Both have a great deal to do with the colour and 
 shape of clothes, and with the places and times at 
 which things are clone, and the way in which they 
 are said. . And both are prudent persons, desirous 
 of taking a respectable place in the world in a re- 
 
THE DA VEX A XTS. ! 3 7 
 
 ligious way. I should think they would agree very 
 well." 
 
 But Aunt Dorothy was at once indignant and 
 consoled. 
 
 "I never quite trusted Placidia s professions," 
 said she ; " but this, I confess, goes beyond my 
 fears. A person who never passes what he calls 
 the altar without making obeisances such as the 
 old heathens made to the sun and the moon, and 
 who, not six months ago, defiled the house of God 
 with Popish incense !" 
 
 But Cousin Placidia had explanations which were 
 quite satisfactory to herself. 
 
 " She had had so many providential intimations," 
 she said (one of the habits of Placidia that always 
 most exasperated Roger was her way of always doing 
 what she wished, because, she said, some one else 
 wished it ; and since she had become religious, she 
 usually threw the responsibility on the Highest 
 Quarter) " intimations so plain, that she could not 
 disregard them without disobedience, 3Ir. Nicholls 
 coming to Xetherby at all was the consequence of 
 a series of most remarkable circumstances, entirely 
 beyond his own control. The way in which the 
 prejudice against each other, with which they be 
 gan, had by degrees changed into esteem, and then 
 into something more, was also very remarkable. 
 And what was most remarkable of all was, that on 
 the very morning of the day when he proposed to 
 her, she had quite by chance, as it might seem, 
 but that there was no such thing as chance open 
 ed the Bible on the passage, Get thee out from thy 
 12* 
 
1 3 8 THE DRA YTONS A ND 
 
 country, and from thy kindred, and from thy father s 
 house, into a land that I will shew thee : and I will 
 bless thee. " 
 
 " But, my dear," remarked Aunt Gretel, to whom, 
 Aunt Dorothy being unapproachable, Placidia had 
 made this explanation " my dear, you are not going 
 to leave your country, are you ? and you do know 
 the land to which you are going." 
 
 "Of course," said Placidia, "there are always 
 differences. But the application was certainly very 
 remarkable. Mr. Nicholls quite agreed with me, 
 when I told him of it," 
 
 " No doubt, my dear, no doubt," said Aunt Gre 
 tel, retreating. " But there does seem a little dif 
 ference in your opinions." 
 
 "Uncle Drayton says we should look on the 
 things in which we agree, more than on those in 
 which we differ," said Placidia. " Besides, if Aunt 
 Dorothy would only see it, I really trust I have 
 been already useful to Mr. Nicholls. He said, only 
 yesterday, he thought there was a good deal to be 
 said in favour of some late ordinances of the Parlia 
 ment against too close approach to Papistical cere 
 monies. Mr. Nlcholls had never any propension 
 towards the Pope ; and he thinks now that, it may 
 be, his canonical obedience to Archbishop Laud led 
 him to some unwise compliances. But the powers 
 that be, he -says, must always have their due honour. 
 The great point is, to ascertain which powers be, 
 and which only seem to be. And now that the 
 Parliament has impeached Archbishop Laud,-and 
 sent him to the Tower, this is really an exceedingly 
 
THE D A VEX A XT3. ! 3 9 
 
 difficult question for a conscientious clergyman, who 
 is also a good subject, to determine." 
 
 Aunt Gretel did not pursue the subject, she being 
 always in fear of losing her way, and straying into 
 wildernesses, when English politics or rubrics came 
 into question. 
 
 And in due time Placidia became Mistress Nich- 
 olls, and removed to the parsonage, with a generous 
 dowry from my Father, and everything that by the 
 most liberal interpretation could in any way be 
 construed into belonging to her, down to a pair of 
 perfumed Cordova gloves which had been given her 
 by some gay kinswoman, and, having been thrown 
 aside in a closet as useless vanities, cost Aunt 
 Dorothy a long and indignant search. Everything 
 might be of use, said Placidia, in their humble 
 housekeeping. And she had always remembered a 
 saying she had once heard Aunt Gretel quote from 
 Dr. Luther, " that what the husband makes by 
 earning, the wife multiplies by sparing." 
 
 " An invaluable maxim," she remarked, " for peo 
 ple in narrow circumstances, who had married from 
 pure godly affection, without passion or ambition, 
 despising all worldly considerations, like herself 
 and Mr, Nicholls." 
 
 It was a strange Christmas to many in England, 
 that first in the stormy life of the Long Parliament. 
 Earl Stratford had been in the Tower since the 28th 
 of November. A week before Christmas day Arch 
 bishop Laud had been impeached and committed to 
 custody. There was no thought of the Parliament 
 
1 40 THE DRA YTONS A ND 
 
 dispersing. Mr. Pym and others of the patriot 
 members were occupied with preparing for Lord 
 Straiiord s trial, which did not begin until the 22nd 
 of the following March. 
 
 On the other hand, faithful voices, long silent in 
 prisons, were heard again in many pulpits through 
 out the land. 
 
 Judge Berkeley, who had given the unjust decis 
 ion in favour of ship-money, was seized on the 
 bench in his ermine, and taken to prison like a com 
 mon felon. 
 
 The great thunder-cloud of Star-chamber and 
 High Commission Court had dispersed. The Puri 
 tans and Patriots breathed once more, and the great 
 voice of the nation, speaking at Westminster the 
 words which were deeds, while it quieted the cries 
 and groans of the oppressed country, set men s 
 tongues free for earnest and determined speech by 
 every hall hearth, and every blacksmith s forge, 
 and ale-house, and village-green, and place of public 
 or social talk throughout the country. 
 
 The blacksmith s forge in Netherby village was 
 indeed a place well known to Roger and me. Job 
 Forster, the smith, a brave, simple-hearted giant 
 from Cornwall (given to despising our inland peas 
 ants, who had never seen the sea, and suspected of 
 being the mainstay of a little band of sectaries in 
 the. neighborhood), having always been Roger s 
 chief friend ; while Rachel, his gentle, sickly, saint 
 ly little wife (whom he cherished with a kind of 
 timorous tenderness, like something almost too 
 small and delicate for him to meddle with), had 
 
THE DA VEXAXTS. 
 
 141 
 
 always given me the child s place in her motherly 
 heart, which no child had been given to their house 
 to fill. Whenever we were missed in childhood, it 
 was commonly to Job Forster s forge we were 
 sought and found. And by this means we learned 
 a great deal of politics from Job s point of view, as 
 well as many marvellous stories of God s provi 
 dence by sea and land, which seemed to us to show 
 that God was as near to those who trust Him now, 
 as to the Israelites of old, which, also, Job and Ra 
 chel most surely believed, 
 
 But, meantime, while the clouds over England 
 seemed scattering, a heavy cloud gathered over us 
 at Xetherby. 
 
 The Davenant family had come to the Hall for 
 the Christmas festivities. We met often during the 
 time they were there, more than ever before. The 
 ties of friendship and of neighbourhood seemed to 
 prevail over the party strife which had so long kept 
 us apart. 
 
 Hope there was also that those party conflicts at 
 last might cease with the disgrace of the hated Lord- 
 Lieutenant. 
 
 His sudden abandonment of the patriot side, his 
 rapid rise, and his lofty, imperious temper, had not 
 failed to make enemies even among those of his 
 own party. Sir Walter Davenant said he had no 
 liking for turn-coats. They always over-acted their 
 new part, and commonly did more to injure the 
 party they joined than the party they betrayed. 
 The haughty earl once out of the way, the king 
 would listen to tru^r men aii. l better servants. 
 
142 
 
 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 The Lady Lucy held in detestation the earl s pri 
 vate character. The king, she said, was a high- 
 minded gentleman, an affectionate husband and 
 father, his presence and life had done much to re 
 form the court ; the earl was a man of commanding 
 ability, but his hands were not pure enough to de 
 fend so lofty a cause. Better men, she thought, if 
 in themselves weaker, would yet form stronger stays 
 for the throne of the anointed of God. If Lord 
 Strafford were displaced, she thought, the best men 
 of all parties would unite ; would understand each 
 other, would understand their king, and all might 
 yet go well. My Father, though less sanguine, was 
 not without hope, although on rather different 
 grounds. While Lady Lucy believed that Lord 
 Strafford s violence and evil life were a weakness to 
 the cause she deemed in itself sacred, my Father 
 thought that Lord Straiford s power of character 
 and mind were a fatal strength to the cause he 
 deemed in itself evil. The earl once gone, he be 
 lieved the king would never find such another prop 
 for his arbitrary measures, the lesser tyrant would 
 fall like an arch with the key-stone out, and the 
 king would yield, perforce, to the just demands of 
 the nation. 
 
 However, for the time, Lord Strafford s imprison 
 ment formed a bond of sympathy between, the two 
 families, to Roger s and my great content. Much 
 friendly rivalry there Avas in the Christmas adorn 
 ment of the two transepts with wreaths of ivy and 
 holly, ending in a free confession of defeat on our 
 part, as our somewhat clumsy bunches of evergreen 
 
THE DA VENANT8. 
 
 43 
 
 stood out in contrast with the graceful wreaths and 
 festoons with which Lettice had made the memory 
 of the Davenants green. 
 
 For a moment she enjoyed her triumph, and then 
 begging permission to make a little change in our 
 arrangements, with that quick perception of hers, 
 and those fairy fingers which never cojild touch 
 anything without weaving something of their own 
 grace into it, in an hour or two she had made the 
 massive columns and heavy arches of our ancestral 
 chapel light and graceful as the most decorated 
 monument of the Davenants, with traceries of glos 
 sy leaves and berries. 
 
 Lettice s birthday was on Twelfth Xight. She 
 was fifteen, nearly two years younger than I was, 
 and three than Roger. 
 
 There was great merry-making at the Hall that 
 day. In the morning distributings of garments to 
 all the maidens in the parish of Lettice s age, by 
 her own hands. She had some kindly or merry 
 word for every one, and throughout the day was 
 the soul of all the festivities. There was such a full 
 ness of life and enjoyment in her ; such a power of 
 going out of herself altogether into the pleasures or 
 wants of others. She seemed to me the centre of 
 all, just as the sun is, by sending her sunbeams 
 everywhere. "While every one else was full of the 
 thought of her, she was full only of shining into 
 every neglected corner and shy blossom, making 
 every one feel glad and cared for, down to Gammer 
 Grindle s idiot boy. 
 
 It was a wonderful joy for me to be Lettice s 
 
! 44 THE D RA YTONS A ND 
 
 friend. I had almost as much delight in her as Sir 
 Walter, who watched her with such pride, or Lady 
 Lucy, whose eyes so oft moistened as they rested 
 on her. She would have it that Roger and I must 
 be at her right hand in everything. 
 
 In the afternoon Harry Davenant came with Sir 
 Launcelot Trevor. Harry looked rather grave, I 
 thought, but he was naturally that; and Lettice s 
 gaiety soon infected him so that he became foremost 
 in the games, which lasted until the sun went down, 
 and the servants and villagers dispersed to kindle 
 up the twelve bonfires. But Sir Launcelot looked 
 sorely out of temper. His heavy brows quite low 
 ered over his keen, dark eyes, so that they flashed 
 out beneath like the stormy light under a thunder 
 cloud. He scarcely bent to my Father or to any 
 of us ; and although he was lavish as ever of com 
 pliments to Lady Lucy and Lettice, his brow scarce 
 ly relaxed to correspond with the lip-smiles with 
 which he accompanied them. 
 
 When the sun was fairly set, the twelve fires 
 were kindled, this time on the field in front of the 
 Hall, in honour of Lettice, instead of as usual on the 
 village green. 
 
 We waited to see them burn up, and then we 
 left. Roger stayed behind us. There was to be 
 songs and dances round the fires, and then feasting 
 in the Hall late into the night. But Roger only 
 intended to remain a little while to see the merri 
 ment begin. 
 
 I remember looking back for a last glimpse of the 
 fires as they leapt and sank, one moment lighting 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 1 4 ^ 
 
 up every battlement, of the turrets, and all tlie carv 
 ing of the windows with lurid light, and flashing 
 back from the glass like carbuncles ; the next sub 
 stituting for the reality their own fantastic light 
 and goblin shadows, so that not a corner or gable 
 of the old building looked like itself. And I re 
 member afterwards that close by one of the fires 
 were standing Roger and Lettice, and Sir Launce- 
 lot, near each other ; Roger piling wood on the fire 
 at Lettice s direction, and Sir Launcelot standing a 
 little apart with folded arms watching them. His 
 face looked red and angry. I thought it was per 
 haps because of the angry glare of the flames. Yet 
 something made me long to turn back and bring 
 Roger away with us. It was impossible. But in 
 voluntarily I looked back once more: the flames 
 leapt up at the moment, and then I saw Sir Laun 
 celot and Roger as clearly as in daylight, appa 
 rently in eager debate. 
 
 I lingered to watch them, but just then the fitful 
 flames fell, I could see no more, and I had to hasten 
 on to follow my Father and Aunt Gretel home. 
 
 Before we reached home the clouds, which had 
 been threatening all day, began to fall in showers 
 of hail. We had not been in an hour when, as we 
 were sitting over the hall fire, talking cheerily over 
 the doings of the day, Roger suddenly entered, his 
 face ashen-white, his eyes like burning coals, and, 
 in a low voice, called my Father out to speak to 
 him outside. For a few minutes, which seemed to 
 me hours, we sat in suspense, Aunt Gretel s knit 
 ting falling on her lap, in entire disregard of con- 
 13 
 
1 46 THE DRA YTONS A ND 
 
 sequence to the stitches Aunt Dorothy s spinning- 
 wheel whirling as if driven by the Furies. Then 
 ray Father returned alone, as pale as Roger. 
 
 He seated himself again, with his arms on his 
 knees and his hands over his face an attitude I had 
 never seen him in before. It made him look like 
 an old man ; and I remember noticing for the first 
 that his hair was growing gray. 
 
 No one asked any questions. 
 
 At length, in a calm, low voice, my Father 
 said, 
 
 " Roger and Sir Launcelol Trevor have quarrelled. 
 Roger struck Sir Launcelot, and he fell against one 
 of the great logs of the bonfires. He is wounded 
 severely, and Roger is going to ride to Cambridge 
 for a physician." 
 
 " In such a night !" said Aunt Gretel ; " not a 
 star ; and the hail has been driving against the 
 panes this half hour !" 
 
 "It is the best thing Roger can do," said my 
 Father, quietly. 
 
 The next minute we heard the ring of a horse s 
 hoofs on the pavement of the court, and then the 
 sound of a long gallop dying slowly away on the 
 road amidst the howling of the wind and the clat 
 tering of the hail. 
 
 But no one spoke until the household were gath 
 ered for family prayer. 
 
 There was no variation in the chapter read or in 
 the usual words of prayer ; only a tremulous depth 
 in my Father s voice as he asked for blessings on 
 the son and daughter of the house. 
 
THE DA VENANTS. ! 47 
 
 And afterwards, as I wished him good-night, he 
 leant his hand on my head, and said 
 
 " Watch and pray, Olive watch and pray, my 
 child, lest ye enter into temptation." 
 
 Then I knelt down, and hid my face on his knee, 
 and said 
 
 " O Father, Roger must have been sorely pro 
 voked- I am sure he was. I am sure it was not 
 Roger s fault I am sure ; so sure ! Sir Launcelot 
 is so wicked, and I will never forgive him." 
 
 " Roger said it was his fault, my poor little Olive," 
 replied my Father, very tenderly, " and that he will 
 never forgive himself. And whatever Sir Launcelot 
 said or did, you must forgive him, and pray that 
 God may forgive him ; for he is very seriously hurt, 
 and may die." 
 
 " Roger would be sure to say that," I said. " He 
 is always ready to blame himself and excuse every 
 one else. But, O Father, God will not let Sir 
 Launcelot die ! What can we do ?" 
 
 " Pray ! Olive," he said in a trembling voice 
 " pray !" and he went to his own room. 
 
 But all night long, whenever I woke from fitful 
 snatches of sleep, and went to the window to look 
 if the storm had passed, and if Roger were coming, 
 I saw the light burning in my Father s window. 
 
 The last time Aunt Gretel crept up softly behind 
 me, and throwing her large wimple over me, drew 
 me gently away. 
 
 "I have kept such a poor watch for Roger!" I 
 said ; " and see ! my Father s lamp is burning still. 
 He has been watching all night." 
 
148 
 
 THE DRA YTONS, ETC. 
 
 " There is Another watching, Olive," she said, 
 softly, night and day. The Intercessor slumbers 
 not, nor sleeps. It is never dark now in the Holiest 
 Place, for he is ever there ; and never silent, for He 
 is ever interceding." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 [jHEX I awoke again, the cheerful stir of 
 life had begun within and without the 
 house the ducks splashing in the pond 
 in the front court ; the unsuccessful swine 
 and poultry grunting and cackling out their bill of 
 grievances against their stronger-snouted or quicker- 
 witted rivals ; Tib s cheery voice instructing her 
 cows and calves ; and at intervals the pleasant 
 regular beat of the flail in the barn, where they were 
 thrashing the corn, striking steady time to all the 
 busy irregular sounds of animal life, and bringing 
 them into a kind of unity. 
 
 All these homely, quiet sounds seemed stranger 
 to me than the howling of the winds^ and fitful 
 clattering of the hail, through the night. They 
 made me feel impatient with the animals, and with 
 Tib, and with the inflexible every-day course of 
 things. TTas not Roger our own Roger in agony 
 Averse than mortal sickness, in suspense whether or 
 not his hand had dealt a death-blow. Were not we 
 in dreadful suspense whether his whole life might 
 
 14* (H9) 
 
1 5 o THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 not be overshadowed from this moment as with a 
 curse ? 
 
 And yet the calves must be fed, and the swine 
 snuff at their troughs and grudge if they be not 
 satisfied, and the ducks splash and preen themselves 
 as if nothing was the matter. 
 
 There are many seasons in life when the quiet 
 flow of the stream of every-day life, as it prattles 
 past our door among the familiar grasses and peb 
 bles, falls on the heart with a sense of inflexibility 
 more terrible than the storrn which ploughs the 
 waves of the Atlantic into mountains, and snaps 
 the masts of great ships like withered corn stalks. 
 
 But that morning was the first on which I learn 
 ed it. 
 
 The storm had quite passed. The dawn was still 
 struggling with the cold winter moonlight. Far off 
 the gray morning shone with a steely gleam on the 
 creek of the Mere, were I used to sit quite still for 
 hours while Roger angled, holding his fish-basket, 
 amply rewarded at last by his dictum that there 
 was one little woman in the world who knew when 
 to hold her tongue, and by the reflecting glory of 
 his triumph when he brought the basket of fish to 
 Tib for my father s supper. Only last autumn, and 
 now it seemed as if it had happened in another life. 
 
 Close to us in the high-road the moonlight still 
 glimmered on the pools. 
 
 Aunt Gretel was dressed and gone. My last sleep 
 had been sound. I reproached myself for my hard- 
 heartedness in sleeping at all. 
 
 It was still dusk enough to show the faint red 
 
THE DA VENA NTS. 1 5 1 
 
 light in my Father s chamber. Was he still watch 
 ing ? 
 
 My question was answered by the sound of the 
 psalm coming up from the hall, where the house 
 hold were gathered for family prayer. This re 
 minded me that it was the Sabbath-day, the only 
 day on which we used to sing a psalm at morning 
 prayers. I knelt at the window while they sang. 
 I heard my father s voice leading the psalm, and Aunt 
 Dorothy s deep second, and Aunt Gretel s tremulous 
 treble ; but not Roger s. I felt so strange to be 
 listening, instead of joining in the song. Such a 
 thing had never happened to me before. Aunt 
 Gretel must have thought it good for me to sleep 
 on, and have crept down stairs like a ghost. But 
 the feeling of being outside was terrible tome that 
 morning. It brought back my old terror about 
 being " on the wrong side of the tree." But not so 
 much for myself. For Roger ! for Roger ! What 
 if he should be feeling left outside like this ! outside 
 the prayers, outside the hymns, outside the holy 
 family gatherings, outside the light and the wel 
 come ! That morning I felt something of what 
 must be meant by the outer darkness. The darkness 
 outside ! Even the " darkness" did not seem to me 
 so terrible as the being outside! For it showed 
 there was a within a home ; light within, music 
 within, the Father s welcome within and we outside ! 
 Could it be that Roger was feeling this now ? 
 
 All this rushed through my heart as I knelt to the 
 music of th e family psalm. 
 
 Then, dressing hastily, I went down. 
 
1 5 2 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 " Roger has been here, Olive," said my Father, 
 answering my looks. " He brought the chirurgeom 
 to the Hall, and came home an hour since, and then 
 went back again to watch." 
 
 " Then Sir Launcelot is not out of danger," I 
 said. 
 
 " IsTo," he replied ; " but there is hope." 
 
 There was no, morning walk for us that day. My 
 Father went to his chamber, my aunts to theirs, and 
 I to the chamber where the dried herbs lay, partly 
 because it was Roger s and my Sunday parliament- 
 house, and partly because from it I could see the 
 towers of Davenant Hall. 
 
 In our Puritan household we were brought up with 
 great faith in the virtues of solitude. A very solemn 
 part of our ritual was, " Thou, when thou prayest, 
 enter into thy closet, and shut thy door, and pray 
 to thy Father which is in secret." " The one minute 
 and unmistakable rubric," my Father called it, " in 
 the New Testament." For he used to say, " not 
 only is the solitary place the place for the Redeemer s 
 agonies and the apostle s bitter weeping ; it is the 
 place of the largest assemblies. For therein passing 
 the barriers of the congregation, we enter into the 
 assembly and Church of the first-born, and into the 
 temple not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. 
 Any religion," said he, " whose secret springs do 
 not exceed its surface waters, will evaporate in the 
 burden and heat of the day." 
 
 We went to church as usual, and slowly and 
 silently we were coming away, avoiding as much as 
 possible the usual greetings with neighbours, and 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 
 
 153 
 
 I feeling especially anxious to escape Placidia s 
 sympathy. 
 
 But that was impossible. However, as she joined 
 us she looked really anxious ; too anxious even to 
 find an appropriate text. She took ray hand kindly, 
 and said 
 
 " We must hope for the best, Olive." 
 
 And there was something in the " we," and the 
 briefness of her words, which brought tears into my 
 eyes, and made me think I might still have been 
 keeping a hard place in my heart which would have 
 to be melted. 
 
 But we had only just left the church-yard, and 
 gone a few steps beyond the gate on the field-path 
 to Xetherby (I walking behind the rest), when a 
 soft hand was laid on my shoulder, and my face was 
 drawn down to Lettice Davenant s kisses, as in a 
 low voice she said 
 
 " Oh, Olive, I am sure Sir Launcelot will get well. 
 My Mother has been saying prayers all night. And 
 Roger is so good. Indeed, it was not nearly half 
 Roger s fault. Sir Launcelot did say terribly pro 
 voking things about the Precisians, and hypocrisy, 
 and your Father." 
 
 " What did he say, Lettice ?" I asked, passionately. 
 
 " My Mother says we ought to forget bitter 
 words," she said ; " and I think we ought at all 
 events, until he gets better." 
 
 " Oh, Lettice," I implored, " tell me, only me ! 
 That I may know, if he should not get better. Roger 
 told my Father it was all his fault ; but I know I 
 always knew it was not. I shall know this if you 
 
1 54 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 will not tell me another word, and perhaps think 
 even worse things than were said." 
 
 " It was not so much the words they were ordi 
 nary enough it was the tone," said she. " And, 
 besides, it is so difficult to repeat any conversation 
 truly ; and it was all in such a moment, I can scarcely 
 tell. It began about Lord Strafford, and about Mr. 
 Hampden and Mr. Pym being canting hypocrites, 
 and Mr. Cromwell being a beggarly brewer ; and 
 then Sir Launcelot muttered something in a whining 
 tone about wondering that Roger s Father permitted 
 him to indulge in such ungodly amusements as 
 bonfires ; and Roger said it was not fair to attack 
 when he knew there could be no retort (meaning 
 because I was there) ; and Sir Launcelot said he 
 believed the Precisians never thought it fair to be 
 attacked except behind some good city walls. And 
 then followed a fire of words about cowardice, and 
 hypocrisy, and treason ; and then something about 
 your father having taken care to leave the German 
 wars in good time fer his own safety. Then I saw 
 Roger s hand up, thrusting Sir Launcelot away, 
 rather than striking him, I thought. But the next 
 instant Sir Launcelot lay on the ground, with his 
 head against a jagged log, the other end of which 
 was in the bonfire, and Roger was pulling him back, 
 and Sir Launcelot swearing something about a 
 " Puritan dog" and being " murdered." And then 
 I saw the blood flowing from a wound in his head. 
 I gave Roger my veil to staunch it with. But it 
 would not stop. Sir Launcelot fainted ; and Roger 
 told me to run to my Mother. In five minutes all 
 
THE DA VEX ANTS. 
 
 155 
 
 the people were on the spot, and Roger was on 
 horseback riding of for the physician. There ! I have 
 told you all I know" she said, " whether I ought or 
 not. But don t tell Roger. For I tried to comfort 
 him by saying how he had been provoked. But it 
 did not comfort him in the least. He looked quite 
 fierce at nie at me !" said little Lettice, the tears 
 overflowing, " when he was always so kind ! And 
 he said there was no excuse for murder. He was 
 wild with trouble," she continued, sobbing, " not a 
 bit like himself, Olive ; and since that I cannot tell 
 what to say to him. Your ways and ours are not 
 exactly the same, you know. So I have been with 
 my Mother in her oratory. It is so liard to under 
 stand anybody. But I hope God understands us all. 
 I do hope He does. My Mother could not find one 
 of the church prayers that quite fitted. But she 
 joined two or three together, in the Collects, and 
 the Visitation of the Sick, and the Litany, which 
 seemed to say all she wanted wonderfully. I never 
 knew how much they meant before. And it does 
 seem as if God must hear ; and Roger always so 
 good. He may say what he likes, always so good, 
 to me and to every one!" 
 
 Lettice s tears opened the sluices of mine, and 
 were a great comfort ; and it was a comfort, too, to 
 think of those dear kind voices joining in Lady 
 Lucy s oratory. 
 
 When we reached home, the great table was 
 spread in the hail, and the serving-men and maidens 
 were standing round it. 
 
1 5 6 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 My Father moved to the head and asked the bless 
 ing on the meal, then he said, 
 
 " Friends, the hand of God is heavy on me -to 
 day, and you will not look that I should eat bread 
 while a life is in peril through deed of one who is 
 to me as my own soul. I might brave it out, and 
 put on a cheerful countenance. But I would have 
 you know I am humbled. The blows of an enemy 
 we may face as men. Beneath the rod of the Lord 
 we must bow like smitten children. And I would 
 have you know I do. Yet I cannot refrain from 
 telling you also that it was for bitter words against 
 good men that the blow was struck. So much I 
 must say for the boy, though God forbid I should 
 hide the sin." 
 
 He left the hall, and every eye was moist as it 
 followed him. 
 
 The general judgment was anything but harsh 
 against Roger, as was easy to see from the few low 
 broken words which interrupted the silence of that 
 sorrowful meal, and from the response of Tib, to 
 whom I secretly ventured to tell how sorely Roger 
 had been provoked. 
 
 " No need to tell me, Mistress Olive !" said she. 
 " That Sir Launcelot is enough to rouse a saint, his 
 groom told my Margery s Dickon. And they may 
 say what they like, but I wouldn t give a farthing 
 for any saint that can t be roused." 
 
 It was not the public verdict Roger had to fear. 
 Aunt Dorothy took my Father s place at the head 
 of the table, her face white and rigid, earring the 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 
 
 57 
 
 meat, but eating not a morsel, nor uttering a word. 
 Aunt Gretel moved about on one pretence and 
 another, holding half-whispered discourse with the 
 elder servants of the house, from the broken 
 snatches of which I gathered that she fell into 
 great historical difficulties in her double anxiety to 
 say nothing harsh of the wounded gentleman, and 
 at the same time to prove that Roger had meant no 
 harm. And I, meantime, could scarce have sat 
 through that terrible meal at all, but for Roger s 
 stag-hound Lion, who nestled in close to me, press 
 ing his great head under my hand, and calling my 
 attention by a soft moan, and from time to time 
 secretly relieving me of the food I could not touch, 
 bolting it in a surreptitious manner, regardless of 
 consequences, which said as plainly as possible, 
 "Thou and I. understand each other. Our hearts 
 are in the same place. I eat, not because I care a 
 straw about it, but to please thee and help him" 
 Only once, when my tears fell fast on his nose, as I 
 stooped over him to hide them, his feelings betrayed 
 him, and his great paws appeared for a moment on 
 the clean Sabbath cloth, as with an inquiring whine 
 he started up and tried to lick my lace, which I 
 supposed was his way of figuratively wiping away 
 my tears. But at the gentlest touch on his paws 
 he subsided, casting one anxious glance at Aunt 
 Dorothy, who, however, neither saw him nor the 
 brown foot-prints on the tablecloth. Always after 
 wards he maintained his gentlemanlike reserve, 
 limiting all further expression of his feelings to 
 spasmodic movements of his tail, and to his great 
 14 
 
1 5 8 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 soft wistful eyes, which he never took off from me. 
 For dogs always know when anything is the mat 
 ter. Their misfortune is they can never make out 
 what it is. Roger s ancient foe, the old gray cat, 
 meantime made secretly off with a piece of meat 
 which Lion had dropped. And I caught sight of 
 her slowly luxuriating over it in a corner, entirely 
 regardless of the family circumstances. 
 
 Every most trivial incident in that day glows as 
 vividly and distinctly in my memory, in the fire of 
 the passion that burned through it all, as every de 
 tail of the carving of Davenant Hall in the flames 
 of the twelve bonfires. 
 
 The meal passed in a silence so deep that every 
 whisper of Aunt Gretel s and every moan of Lion s 
 were clearly heard. But afterwards the men slunk 
 hastily away to the farm-yard and stables, and Tib 
 with bones and fragments to her hens and pigs, and 
 the maidens began to clear away the wooden 
 trenchers and our pewter dishes, the clatter and 
 rattle sounding singularly noisy without the cheer 
 ful talk which generally accompanied it. 
 
 Aunt Dorothy, Aunt Gretel, and I, went, at his 
 summons, into my Father s justice-room. " Where 
 two or three are gathered together," said he ; and 
 without further preamble we all knelt down while 
 lie prayed, in a few words and quiet (to the ear). 
 For he seemed to feel the great, loving, omnipotent 
 Presence ; not far off, where cries only could reach, 
 but near, close, overshadowing, indwelling, too 
 near almost for speech. And we felt the same. 
 
 When he ceased, it was some minutes before we 
 
THE DA VENA NTS. ! 5 9 
 
 rose. And the silence fell on me like an answer, 
 like an " Amen," like one of those " Verilys " which 
 shine through so many of the Gospel words, and 
 illumine them so that they may read in the dark ; 
 in the dark when we most need them. 
 
 Before we left, I told him of Lady Lucy and 
 Lett-ice praying the Collects for Roger in her 
 oratory. 
 
 My Father turned away with trembling lips to 
 the window. Aunt Gretel sobbed. Aunt Dorothy 
 said, with a faint voice, 
 
 " God forgive me if I said anything of Lady Lucy 
 I should not have said." 
 
 We had not left the room vrhen Lettice s white 
 palfry flashed past the door, and in another moment 
 she had met us in the porch. 
 
 " Sir Launcelot will live !" she said. " The phy 
 sician says there is every hope; and he sleeps. If 
 he wakes better, all will be right; and Roger waits 
 to see, because he still fears. But I am sure all 
 will be well. And I could not bear you should 
 wait ; so my mother let me come." 
 
 In his thankfulness my Father forgot the stately 
 courtesy with which he usually treated Lettice, and 
 stooping down, took her in his arms, as if she had 
 been me, and kissed and blessed her, and called her 
 " God s sweet messenger and dove of hope !" and 
 prayed she might be so all her life. And Aunt 
 Gretel disappeared to tell every one. But Aunt 
 Dorothy stood still where she was, and covered her 
 iace with her hands and wept unrestrainedly in a 
 way most uncommon with her. 
 
1 60 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 Lettice, with her own sweet instinct when to 
 come and when to go, was on the steps by the door 
 in a moment (anticipating her groom s ready hand), 
 on her white pony, waving her hand to us as we 
 watched her in the porch, and away out of sight, 
 escaping our thanks, and leaving us to our hope. 
 
 Slowly the dispersed household, who had all been 
 invisily bound to the centre they nevertheless would 
 not approach, gathered in the hall from stall, and 
 shed, and field. 
 
 And then my Father said, 
 
 " Friends, God has given us hope. Therefore let 
 us pray." And for a few minutes we all knelt to 
 gether while he prayed, in brief trustful words, end 
 ing with the Lord s Prayer, in which all the voices 
 joined, at least all that could, for there were many 
 tears. 
 
 Then my Father read Luther s Psalm, " God is 
 our refuge and strength, a very present help in time 
 of trouble." 
 
 And we felt it was true. And so the service 
 ended. And .once more the household scattered. 
 For Roger had yet to return, and we all felt a fam 
 ily-gathering would be a welcome he could ill bear. 
 So Aunt Dorothy went to her chamber, and Aunt 
 Gretel to her German hymn-book by the fireside, 
 and I to my place at her feet, and then to watch 
 from the porch. For my Father went out to meet 
 Roger. 
 
 And of that meeting neither of them ever 
 spoke. 
 
 They came back together, my Father s hand on 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 1 6 1 
 
 Roger s shoulder, half as on a child s for tenderness, 
 half as an old man s on a son s for support. 
 
 " Sir Launcelot is out of danger !" said my Fa 
 ther, when he came into the hall. 
 
 Roger kissed me and Aunt Gretel as he passed, 
 and took my hand and tried to say something; but 
 said nothing, only let me sob a minute on his shoul 
 der, and then went up to his chamber. 
 
 We were used rather to repress than to give ut 
 terance to feeling in our Puritan households. And 
 Lion was the only person who made much show of 
 what he felt, twisting and whining and fondling 
 round Roger in a way very unsuited to his giant 
 bulk. "We heard him pacing after Roger to the foot 
 of the great staircase. Upstairs no dog under Aunt 
 Dorothy s rule would venture, under the strongest 
 excitement ; so after lying expectant at its foot for 
 some time, Lion returned to express his satisfaction 
 in a more composed manner to me. 
 
 At family-prayer that night, my Father made one 
 brief allusion of fervent thankfulness to the mercy 
 of the day. More neither he nor Rog^r could have 
 borne. 
 
 And so that Sabbath of unrest ended. To us, but 
 not to Roger ; although I only learned this long af 
 terwards. For no lamp marked the watch of agony 
 he kept that night. And on his haggard counte 
 nance, when he came down the next morning, no 
 one dared question nor comment. 
 
 For while others rejoiced in the deliverance, he 
 writhed in agony under the burden and in the coils 
 of his sin. The accident of the log being at hand, 
 14* 
 
1 62 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 that might have made it murder, and the other ac 
 cident, that the wound had not been an inch nearer 
 the temple or a barley-corn deeper, made absolutely 
 no difference in the burden that weighed on him. 
 If Sir Launcelot had died, the punishment would 
 have been heavier ; but not the remorse. And al 
 though his living was the deepest cause of thankful 
 ness, yet it was no lightening of the sin. For it 
 was the fountain of the sin within that was Roger s 
 misery ; the fountain deep in the heart. 
 
 Now he began to feel the meaning of the words, 
 " Out of the heart." Now the old difficulties he 
 and I had discussed in the apple-tree and in the 
 herb-chamber rushed back on him. Now he began 
 to feel that it was no mere entertaining question 
 in metaphysical dynamics whether he was a free 
 agent or not, but a question of moral and eternal 
 life or death. 
 
 Could he have resisted the temptation to strike 
 Sir Launcelot ? Or could he not ? His hand had 
 stirred to deal that blow, at the bidding of the bit 
 ter anger in his heart, as instinctively and almost 
 as unconsciously as the indignant blood had rushed 
 to the cheek. What had stirred the sudden move 
 ment of anger in his heart ? Far bitterer words 
 from the lips of a stranger had not moved him 
 as those mocking tones of Sir Launcelot s. The 
 strength of that fatal impulse was but the accumu 
 lated force of the irritation of countless petty prov 
 ocations, not retaliated outwardly, but suffered to 
 ferment in the heart. Nor was that last sin alto 
 gether rooted in sin. Roger s search into his own 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. ! 63 
 
 heart was made with too intense a desire of being 
 true to himself and to God for him to fall into that 
 blind passion of self-accusing. It had been more 
 than half-rooted in justice, just anger against injus 
 tice, generous indignation against ungenerous slan 
 der, truth revolting against falsehood. And so 
 gradual (and in part so just) had been the growth 
 of deep-rooted detestation of Sir Launcelot s char 
 acter, that the last act which might have been 
 crime in the eyes of man, which was crime in the 
 eves of God, whose judgment is not measured by 
 consequences had become almost as irresistible 
 and instinctive as the movement of the eyelid to 
 sweep a grain of dust from the eye. 
 
 When, then, could he have begun to resist ? 
 When would it have been possible to stem the little 
 stream which had swollen into a torrent that had 
 all but swept his life into ruin ? Where was the 
 point where sin and virtue, hatred which leads to 
 murder, and justice which is the foundation of all 
 virtue, began to intertwine until they were ravelled 
 inextricably beyond his power to sever or distin 
 guish ? Had there ever been such a point ? Must 
 not all, he being as he w^as by nature, and things be 
 ing as they were, and Sir Launcelot being as he 
 was, have necessarily gone on as it had, and led to 
 the result it led to ? 
 
 But here came in the low inextinguishable voice 
 of conscience. 
 
 " This anguish is no fruit of inevitable necessity. 
 It was sin it was sin. I have sinned." And 
 then 
 
1 64 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 " I have sinned, because there is sin in me. Sin 
 in me; no mere detached faults,"no isolated wrong 
 acts, but a fountain of evil within me, from which 
 every evil thing proceeds. Out of the heart out 
 of the heart ; not from without, not something 
 merely in me. It is / myself that am sinful, that 
 have sinned. This one evil thing, which, unlike all 
 other seemingly evil things, storms or frosts, or 
 corruption and death itself, never produces good 
 fruit, but only evil fruit, is springing in an inex 
 haustible flow from the depths of my innocent 
 being." 
 
 " Free ?" I am not free ! I am in bondage. I 
 am a slave. I am tied and bound. Yet this bond 
 age is no excuse ; it is the very essence of my sin. 
 I cannot explain it ; but I feel it. I feel it in this 
 anguish which I cannot escape any more than we 
 can escape from anguish in the bones by writhing. 
 For this is not the anguish of blows ofof wounds, 
 but of disease within, growing from my inmost 
 heart, preying on my inmost life. O God, I have 
 sinned, I am a sinful man. In me is no help. Is 
 there none in the universe, none in Thee ?" 
 
 Then from the depth of the anguish came the re 
 lief. The thought flashed through him 
 
 " Unless one worse than the worst conception man 
 ever formed of the devil is the Maker of man and 
 the Omnipotent Ruler of the world, it is impossible 
 that we should be so powerless in ourselves to over 
 come sin, and so agonized in remorse for it, and yet 
 that there should be no deliverance." 
 
 That thought made a lull in his anguish for a 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 1 6 5 
 
 time, a silence ; that thought, and the mere exhaus 
 tion of the conflict. For his thoughts had whirled 
 him round until thought, with the mere rapidity 
 of motion, became imperceptible. In the centre of 
 the whirlwind there was stillness, and therein he lay 
 prostrate, dumb, and exhausted. 
 
 But not alone. 
 
 On his mind, wearied out with vain thinking, on 
 his heart, numb with suffering, fell in the pause of 
 the storm old sweet, familiar words, still small 
 voices, soft echoes of sacred hymns learned in child 
 hood ; those old familiar, simple words, wherewith 
 the Spirit, moving like a dove on the face of the 
 waters, knows how to win entrance into souls temp 
 est-tossed, when new words, though wise and deep 
 as an archangel s, would only sweep past its closed 
 doors undistinguished from the wail of the winds, 
 or the raging of the seas on which it tosses. 
 
 Old familiar words, 
 
 " Go in peace, thy sins are forgiven thee." 
 
 Words of healing to so many ! 
 
 Forgiveness ; not as a far-off result of a life of ex 
 piation, but free, complete, present. Peace; not 
 after years of doubtful conflict, but now, to strength 
 en for the conflict. Yet these were not the words 
 he most wanted then. It was not so much that 
 guilt pressed on him as a burden, as that sin bound 
 him like a chain. Kot peace he most wanted, but 
 power ; freedom to fight, power to overcome. It 
 seemed to him as if what he longed for was not so 
 much " Go in peace," as " Come ! and I will chasten 
 
1 66 THE DRA Y TONS A ND 
 
 thee, Smite thee low, humble thee in the dust ; but 
 make thee whole." 
 
 Not soft words of comfort, but strong words of 
 hope and promise, were what he needed, and they 
 did not seem to come. 
 
 He crept out of the house before dawn to obtain 
 tidings at the Hall of Sir Launcelot, and to quiet 
 the restlessness of his heart by outward move 
 ment. 
 
 On his way he passed the forge where Job Forster, 
 the blacksmith, lived alone with his wife at the edge 
 of the village opposite to ours, on the way to the 
 Hall. 
 
 There was a light in Job s window; a strange 
 sight in his orderly and childless home. The red 
 glare it cast across the road was struggling with 
 the growing dawn. As Roger approached, it was 
 put out ; and just when he reached the door it was 
 opened, and Job s tall figure issued forth. 
 
 Job strode forward and grasped Roger s hand. 
 
 " Thee had best not be roaming about the coun 
 try by theeself in the dark like a ghost," said he. 
 " It s wisht !" 
 
 " Is anything the matter ?" asked Roger, divert 
 ing the conversation from himself. 
 
 " There s nought the matter with us," said Job. 
 
 " There was a light in your window, so I thought 
 Rachel might be ill," said Roger. 
 
 " There s nought ailing with us," repeated Job ; 
 and after some hesitation lie added, " We were but 
 thinking of thee." 
 
THE DA VENANTS. . j6 7 
 
 " You used not to need a lamp to think by," said 
 Roger, touched more than he liked to show. 
 
 " Xo, nor to pray by," said Job. " But we 
 wanted a promise, she and I." (Job seldom called 
 his wife anything but she.) " We wanted a promise, 
 Master, for thee. For she thought the devil would 
 be sure to be busy with thee just now, and so 
 did I." 
 
 " Did you find one ?" asked Roger. 
 
 " They are as plenty as the stars," said Job, " but 
 we couldn t light on the one that would fit. And 
 it s bad work hammering them promises to fit if 
 they don t go right at first." 
 
 " As many as the stars, and not one that fits me !" 
 said Roger, unintentionally betraying the struggles 
 of the night. " Peace, and pardon, and everything 
 every one wants, but not what I want. You found 
 none, Job ! Then, of course, there was nothing 
 more to be done. You and Rachel wouldn t give 
 in easily." 
 
 "Well, Master Roger," said Job, "we didn t. 
 But we came to a stand, and for a while gave up 
 looking altogether. And I sat down on one edge 
 of the bed and she on the other, and we said noth 
 ing. But she wept nigh as bitter as Esau, for she 
 ever had a tender heart for thee, having none of her 
 own, and thee no mother. When all at once she 
 flashed up through her tears, and said, Why, Job, 
 we ve gone a-hunting for a promise, and we ve got 
 them all to our hand. All in Him ! Yea and amen, 
 in Him ! We ve forgotten the blessed Lord ! Then 
 it struck me all of a heap what fools we were ; and 
 
1 68 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 I could have laughed for gladness, but that she 
 might have thought I d gone mazed. So I only 
 said, Why, child, here we ve been chattering like 
 cranes, as if we d been all in the twilight, like poor 
 old Hezekiah. We ve been hunting for the promises, 
 and we ve got the Gift ! We ve been groping for 
 words, and we ve got w the Word. So we knelt 
 down again, and begged hard of the Lord to mind 
 how He was tempted and forsaken, and to mind 
 thee, Master Roger, and help thee any way He 
 could. And we rose up wonderful lightened, she 
 and I. And then the promises came falling about 
 us as thick as hail ; and uppermost of them all, If 
 the Son shall make you free, you shall be free in 
 deed ; Reconciled to God by His death ; saved by 
 His life ; and, c I am come that they might have 
 life: " 
 
 " Job," said Roger, " I think that will do ; I think 
 that will fit me." 
 
 " Maybe, Master Roger," said Job. " They re 
 mighty words. But, please God, thee and she and 
 I never forget what we learnt to-night. Words are 
 not so strong always the thousandth time as the 
 first. But His voice goes deeper every time we 
 hearken to it. And every sore needs a fresh salve. 
 But His touch is a salve for all sores. Never you 
 be such a fool as we were, Master Roger. Never 
 you go creeping back into the dark hunting for a 
 promise and forget that they are all, yea and amen, 
 in the Lord. No more if s or maybe s, or perad- 
 venture s, but yea and amen in Him for us all for 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 1 69 
 
 Roger grasped Job s hand in silence, and went on 
 to hear tidings of Sir Launcelot. 
 
 The night had been quiet ; the fever had subsided, 
 and the danger was over. And Roger came back 
 to his chamber at Xetherbv to give thanks to God. 
 For danger averted from others, for a curse averted 
 from himself, but above all, for the glorious promise 
 of freedom now and for ever freedom to overcome 
 sin, freedom to serve God. Freedom in the liberat 
 ing Saviour, life in the Life, sonship in the Son, 
 now and for ever. 
 
 The various streams of the various lives which 
 had been flooded into one by the common anxiety 
 about Roger and Sir Launcelot soon shrank back 
 into their various separate channels. 
 
 Ah ! if we could all keep at the point, "/ will 
 am?," or better still, at the place where the Father 
 meets us, how good, and lowly, and tender-hearted 
 we should be ! Xo, " thou never gavest me a kid ;" no, 
 11 this thy son, which, hath devoured thy substance!" 
 Strange that the memory of such moments (and 
 what Christian life can be without such ?) should 
 not keep the heart ever broken and open. The best 
 way towards this, no doubt, is to have such an 
 arising and such an embracing every day we live. 
 I am sure we need it. However, we did not exactly 
 do this at that time at Netherby. 
 
 Aunt Dorothy, on thinking matters over with her 
 
 " sober judgment," thought it a duty to warn us 
 
 against the " spirit of bondage," which, with all 
 
 her sweetness, had restrained poor Lady Lucy s 
 
 15 
 
, 7 o THE DRA YTOXS AXD 
 
 prayers to the limits of the Prayer-book. Cousin 
 Placidia, the immediate anxiety having subsided, 
 could not but feel that Roger s vehemence had 
 added another step to the distance which already 
 separated them. Once on that Pharisaic height, to 
 which, alas ! we so easily rise without any trouble 
 of climbing, being puffed up thither by windy sub 
 stances within and without, other people s falls 
 necessarily increase our comparative elevation above 
 them ; and whether this is caused by their descent 
 or by our ascent is difficult to determine ; just as in 
 the case of one boat passing another, it is difficult 
 by the mere sense of sight to ascertain which is 
 moving. Not that Placidia asserted this conscious 
 superiority by reproaches. Did she need to descend 
 to speech ? Was not her life a reproach ? That 
 placid life, unbroken by any movement deeper than 
 the soft ripples of an approving conscience ; or a 
 calm disapproval of any one attempting an en 
 croachment on her rights, which of course she 
 never permitted. Had she not heard of Archbishop 
 Laud s cruelties to the three gentlemen in the 
 pillory with no further emotion than a gentle regret 
 that the three gentlemen could not have held their 
 tongues ? Had she not, on the other hand, heard 
 the tidings of Lord Strafford s arrest, and the de 
 struction of the Star-Chamber Court, with no more 
 vehement feeling than a remark on the vanity of 
 human greatness, and a gentle hope that it might 
 lead to the abolition of the very inconvenient 
 monopolies on pepper and soap ? 
 
 Had she not always warned Roger and me against 
 
THE DA VEXAXTS. 1 7 1 
 
 severity on Sir Launcelot ? Had she not even gone 
 the length of pronouncing him a very fine gentle 
 man ? And what could be more striking than the 
 subsequent justification of her warnings by the re 
 vengeful act to which Roger had been betrayed ? 
 
 Under all these circumstances, Placidia s forbear 
 ance must have seemed to herself remarkable. She 
 uttered no rebuke, she pointed no moral, by remind 
 ing us of her prophetical sayings. She merely 
 towered above us on her serene heights, a little 
 higher, a little more severe a very little than be 
 fore. And she called me " Olive, my dear," and 
 Roger " poor Roger." But that was partly, no 
 doubt, on account of her being married. 
 
 Roger bore her superiority most meekly. Indeed, 
 I believe he felt it as much as she did. For Roger 
 did remain at that point of penitence and pardon 
 where the heart keeps sweet, and lowly, and tender. 
 "Which, most certainly, I very often did not. For 
 Placidia s condescension, especially to Roger, chafed 
 me often past endurance. 
 
 Only once I remember his being roused. 
 
 She had been saying (I forget in what connec 
 tion) that she hoped Roger would not be too much 
 cast down. " It was never too late to turn over a 
 new leaf; and then there was the consoling example 
 of the Apostle Peter. There w r as reason to believe 
 that the Apostle Peter was a wiser and better man 
 all his life from his terrible fall. And we know that 
 * all things work for good, " said she, " to them that 
 are called. " 
 Then Roger, sitting at the other end of the hall 
 
172 
 
 THE DRA7TONS AND 
 
 cleaning his gun, as we believed out of hearing, 
 suddenly rose, and coming to where we were sitting, 
 stood before Placidia Avith compressed lips and 
 arms folded tightly on his breast, 
 
 " Cousin Placidia," he said, " never, never say 
 that again. St. Peter was not wiser and better, or 
 even humbler for denying Christ. No doubt he 
 was wiser, and better, and tenderer for that look^ for 
 ever and ever ; and better for the bitter weeping ; 
 but not for the denial, not for the sin." 
 
 Said my Father, who came in behind Roger as he 
 spoke, laying his hand on Roger s shoulder, 
 
 " True, Roger, true ; but though sin can never 
 work for good, the memory of sin may ; and at any 
 point in the lowest depths where we turn our back 
 on the husks and our face to the Father s house, 
 God will meet us, and from that moment make the 
 consequences, bitter as they may be, begin to work 
 for good to us." 
 
 "To us! Father, to us," said Roger, "but to 
 others how to others ? To those our misdoing may 
 have misled or confirmed in evil ? We may stop a 
 rock hurled down a precipice. But who can stop 
 all it has set in motion, or undo the rum it has 
 wrought in its way ?" 
 
 " Nothing works for good," said my Father mourn 
 fully, " to those whose faces are turned from God. 
 But He can help us, and will, if we set our whole 
 hearts to it, to counter-work the evil we have 
 wrought. Counter-work, I say, not undo ; for to 
 undo a deed done is impossible even to Omnipo 
 tence. And that makes sin the one terrible and un- 
 
THE DA VENANTS. , 7 3 
 
 alterably evil and sorrowful thing in the world, and 
 the only one." 
 
 The words fell heavily on my heart. Was this 
 the gospel ? I thought. Evil never, never to be 
 undone, sin never to be the same as if it had not 
 been ? Placidia said no more until Roger and my 
 Father went out on the farm together, and we were 
 left alone with Aunt Gretel, and then she observed 
 in her deliberate way, with a slow shake of her 
 head, 
 
 " I hope Cousin Roger is not still in the dark. I 
 trust he understands the gospel " 
 
 " What do you mean by the gospel, Placidia ? " 
 said I, half roused on Roger s account and half 
 troubled on my own. 
 
 Placidia, always ready (at that time) with a the 
 ological definition, neatly folded and packed, enter 
 ed into a disquisition of some length as to what she 
 understood by " the gospel." In a deliberate and 
 business-like manner she undertook to explain the 
 purposes of the Almighty from the beginning, as if 
 she had, in some inexplicable way, been in the con 
 fidence of Heaven before the beginning, and com 
 prehended not only all the purposes of the Eternal, 
 but the reasons on which these purposes were found 
 ed. The effect produced on my mind was as if the 
 whole life-giving stream of redeeming love flowing 
 from the glorious unity of the living God, the Fa 
 ther, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, had been frozen 
 into a rigid contract between certain high sovereign 
 powers for the purchase of a certain inheritance for 
 their own use, in which the utmost care was taken 
 15* 
 
1 74. THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 on all sides that the quantity paid and the quantity 
 received should be precisely equivalent. It was as 
 if the whole living, breathing world, with its infi 
 nite blue heavens, its abounding rivers, its waving 
 corn-fields, its heaving seas, and all that is therein, 
 had been shrivelled into a map of estates, in which 
 nothing was of importance but the dividing lines. 
 These " dividing lines " of her system might, for 
 aught I knew, be correct enough, might be those of 
 the Bible itself; but the awful Omnipresence, the 
 real holy indignation against wrong, the love, the 
 life, the yearning, pitying, repenting, immutably 
 just, yet tenderly forgiving heart which beats in 
 every page of the Bible, had vanished altogether. 
 All the while she spoke, as it were in spite of my 
 self, the words kept running through my head, 
 " They that make them are like unto them." 
 At the close she said, turning to Aunt Gretel, 
 " I think I have stated the gospel clearly. I only 
 hope Cousin Roger understands it." 
 
 " I am sure I do not know, my dear," said Aunt 
 Gretel (for Aunt Gretel, being always afraid of in 
 some way compromising Dr. Luther by any confu 
 sion in her theological statements, seldom ventured 
 out of the text of Scripture). " I am sure, my dear, 
 I do not know. I am no theologian. And it is a 
 blessing that the Holy Scriptures provide what Dr. 
 Luther calls a gospel in miniature for those who are 
 no theologians : God so loved the world that He 
 gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever be- 
 lieveth in Him should not perish, but have ever 
 lasting life. That is my gospel, my dear. It is 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. ! 7 5 
 
 shorter, you see, than yours, and I think rather bet 
 ter news ; especially for the wandering sheep and 
 prodigal sons, and all the people outside, and for those 
 who, like me, trust they have come back, but still 
 feel, as I do, very apt to go wrong again." 
 
 "Mr. Xieholls always says I have rather a re 
 markably clear head for theology," said Placidia. 
 " But gifts differ, and we have none of us anything 
 to be proud of." 
 
 " Xo doubt, my dear," said Aunt Gretel. " At 
 least I am sure I have not. But I cannot say I 
 think the punishment, or at least the sad conse 
 quences of sin are all exactly taken away for us, at 
 least in this life. For instance, there is Gammer 
 Grindle s grandchild, poor Cicely, as pretty a girl 
 as ever danced around the May-pole, that people say 
 Sir Launcelot Trevor tempted away to London, and 
 left to no one knows what misery there. (If it was 
 not Sir Launcelot, may I be forgiven for joining in 
 an unjust accusation ; but he was seen speaking to 
 her the evening before she left.) Xow if Sir Launce 
 lot were to repent, as I pray he may, that would not 
 bring back the lost innocence to little Cicely ; nor 
 do I see how the thought of her could ever bring 
 anything but a bitter agony of remorse to him." 
 
 ( Ah," interposed Aunt Dorothy, who had join 
 ed us, " / did speak my mind, I am thankful to say, 
 about those May-poles.") 
 
 " What is forgiveness, then ? " resumed Placidia. 
 " And what is the good of being religious, if we are 
 to be punished just the same as if we were not for- 
 
1 76 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 " The blessing of forgiveness," said Aunt Doro 
 thy, " is being forgiven ; and the good of being godly 
 is, I should think, being godly. ; 
 
 " Forgiveness, my dear," added Aunt Gretel, 
 " What is forgiveness ? It is welcome back to the 
 Father s heart. It is the curse borne for us and 
 taken from us out of everything, out of death itself. 
 It is God with us against all our sins, God for us 
 against all our real foes. It is the broken link re- 
 knit between us and God. It is the link broken be 
 tween us and sin. What would you have better ? 
 What could you have more ? Once on the Father s 
 heart, can we not well leave it to Him to decide 
 what pain we can be spared, and what we can not 
 be spared, without so much the more sin, which is 
 so infinitely worse than any pain." 
 
 "My theology," Aunt Dorothy continued, " is the 
 doctrine Nathan taught when he said to David, 
 * The Lord hath put away thy sin, but the child 
 shall die, and to the Apostle Paul when he wrote, 
 God is not mocked ; whatsoever a man soweth that 
 shall he also reap : the theology our fathers taught 
 us ; no gospel of tolerating sin, but of forgiving and 
 destroying it. Christ has redeemed us from the 
 curse of the law, being made a curse for us. He 
 has brought us under the rod of the covenant, hav 
 ing Himself * learned obedience through the things 
 which He suffered. There is as much mercy and as 
 much justice in one as in the other. I hope, my 
 dear," she concluded, " you and Mr. Nicholls do in 
 deed understand the gospel. But, I confess, people 
 who get into the Covenant so very easily do puzzle 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 1 7 7 
 
 me. They say the anguish all but cost Dr. Luther 
 his life, and Mr. Cromwell his reason." 
 
 Placidia, from her double height of spiritual se 
 renity and semi-clerical dignity, looked mildly down 
 on Aunt Dorothy s suggestions. 
 
 "Aunt Dorothy," said she, "I have often thought, 
 you scarcely comprehend Mr. Xicholls and me. 
 But it is written, Woe unto you when all men 
 speak well of you. And as to Cousin Roger s Gos 
 pel, I should call it simply the Law." 
 
 Soon after Placidia rose to leave. But as she was 
 putting on her mufflers, she remarked, as if the 
 thought had just occurred to her, 
 
 " Aunt Dorothy, those three beautiful cows Uncle 
 Drayton gave me, I am a little anxious about them : 
 the glebe farm is on high ground, and the grass is 
 not so rich as they have been used to, and I was 
 saying to Mr. Xicholls yesterday morning that I 
 was sure Uncle Drayton would be quite distressed 
 if he saw how much less yellow and rich the butter 
 was than it used to be. And Mr. Xicholls said he 
 quite felt with me. And Uncle Drayton is always 
 so kind. So I said I thought I had better be quite 
 frank with Uncle Drayton. You know I always am 
 frank, and speak out what I think. It is no merit 
 in me. It is my nature, and I cannot help it. And 
 Mr. Xicholls said he thought I had. And yester 
 day evening it happened that we were passing the 
 meadow by the Mere, and there were no cattle on 
 it. And I said to Mr. Xicholls at once, what a pity 
 that beautiful grass should run to seed, and our 
 butter be such a poor colour. And Mr. Xicholls 
 
1 78 THE DRA YTOXS AND 
 
 saw it at once. And he advised me or I suggest 
 ed and he approved of it, I cannot be certain which 
 (and I am always so anxious to report everything 
 exactly as it happened) at once to go to Uncle 
 Dray ton and ask him if he would allow our three 
 cows just to stand for a little while in that meadow, 
 while there are no other cattle to put in it, just to 
 prevent the pasture running to waste, which I know 
 would be quite a trouble to Uncle Drayton if he 
 thought of it, only no one can be in every place at 
 once, and no doubt he had forgotten it." 
 
 " Very few people s eyes can be in every place at 
 once, certainly, Placidia," said Aunt Dorothy, with 
 point. " But it so happens that your uncle had not 
 forgotten that meadow. And this morning Bob 
 drove all our cows there." 
 
 " Oh," said Placidia, " that is quite enough. I 
 only felt naturally anxious that nothing should be 
 wasted, especially when we happened to be wanting 
 it. But, of course, a poor parson s wife cannot 
 expect such butter as you have at Netherby ; only 
 I always remember the twelve baskets, and how 
 important it is * nothing should be lost, and the 
 virtuous woman at the end of the Proverbs. I shall 
 always have reason to be grateful to you, Aunt 
 Dorothy, for making me learn so much Scripture." 
 
 " Thank you, my dear," said Aunt Dorothy, " you 
 always had an excellent memory. But it is very 
 important with the Holy Scriptures, at least the 
 English version, not to read them from right to 
 left." 
 
 So Cousin Placidia departed, leaving Aunt Dor- 
 
THE 1>A YENASTS. 
 
 79 
 
 othy with a comfortable sense of having defeated a 
 plot. 
 
 But half an hour afterwards my Father came in. 
 
 " Poor Placidia," said he, " I met her on her way 
 home, and I really was quite touched by her grati 
 tude for those few cows I gave her, and also by the 
 feeling she expressed about Roger. It seems the 
 glebe pasture does not agree with the beasts as well 
 as ours, and she had been rather troubled about the 
 butter, but had not liked to speak of it, especially 
 when we were in such anxiety about Roger. It 
 really shows more delicacy of feeling than I thought 
 Placidia possessed, poor child. And it shows how 
 careful we ought to be not to form uncharitable 
 judgments. So I ordered Bob to put those three 
 cows with ours in the Mere meadow for a little 
 while." 
 
 " Did Placidia mention the Mere meadow ?" said 
 Aunt Dorothy. 
 
 " Well, I cannot be sure, but I think she did ; 
 and I think it was a very sensible suggestion." 
 
 " What did Bob say ?" said Aunt Dorothy, grimly. 
 
 " Bob spoke rather sharply," said my Father ; " he 
 is apt to be very free-spoken at times ; he said he 
 had like to look well to our pastures if we were to 
 give change of air to all Mistress Nicholl s cattle. 
 It was not likely, Bob thought, they would be "in 
 any hurry to change back again." 
 
 " Well, there are men," murmured Aunt Dorothy, 
 " who are as harmless as doves, and there are women 
 who are as wise as serpents. And the less the two 
 meet the better. I don t care a rush who feed? 
 
1 80 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 Placidia s cows ; but it is almost more than I can 
 bear that she thinks no one sees through her 
 schemes." 
 
 But Placidia had triumphed. And the parsonage 
 cows never needed any further change of residence. 
 
 It irks me somewhat to intertwine these rough 
 dark threads with the story of those so dear to me, 
 but the whole would drop into unmeaningness 
 without them. Placidia and Mr. Nicholls made 
 many a calumny of the enemy s comprehensible to 
 me. For in later days it became the fashion to as 
 sert that characters of that stamp formed the staple 
 of our Commonwealth men and women. Characters 
 of this stamp win Naseby and Worcester ! save 
 the persecuted Vaudois ! make England the rever 
 ence of the world ! conceive the " Pilgrim s Pro 
 gress," the " Areopagitica," and the " Living Tem 
 ple!" sacrifice two thound livings for conscience 
 sake! 
 
 No ! Pharisees, doubtless, there were among us, 
 as, alas, doubtless there is the root of Pharisaism 
 within us. But they were of the make of Saul 
 the disciple of Gamaliel, not of those who tithed 
 the " mint, anise, and cummin." 
 
 At first it seemed to me that Placidia s " Gospel" 
 was more likely to be fulfilled in Roger s case than 
 his own forebodings. 
 
 Good seemed to come out of that hasty act of 
 his rather than evil. The feeling he, usually so self- 
 repressing, had shown about Sir Launcelot, revealed 
 him in a new light to Lady Lucy. 
 
THE DA VESA XTS. j g i 
 
 "I thought him rather stony, I must confess," she 
 said ; " but now I see it was only a little of your 
 Puritan ice, if I may say so without offence; and 
 that there is an ocean of feeling below. My dear, 
 now all has ended well, he really must not take it 
 so much to heart. He has grown too grave. We 
 cannot have precisely the same standard for young 
 men, with all their temptations and strong passions, 
 as for sweet innocent girls sheltered tenderly in 
 homes, with our softer natures. I should always 
 wish to be severe to myself. But young men ; ah, 
 my child, the king is a good man, but if you had 
 seen a little even of our Court, you would think 
 Roger an angel." 
 
 Compared with Sir Launcelot, I most sincerely 
 believed he was. But this double standard was 
 unknown in our Puritan home. One law of right 
 eousness, and purity, and goodness we knew, and 
 only one, for man and woman. And in this I learned 
 to think Aunt Dorothy s grimmest sternness more 
 pitiful than Lady Lucy s pity. I do not w^sh to set 
 down what seemed to me Lady Lucy s mistakes 
 to any sect or any doctrine. In theory all Christian 
 sects are agreed as to the moral standard. But I 
 believe in my heart it was the high moral standard 
 set up, in those days, chiefly (never only) in our 
 Puritan homes, which will be the salvation of 
 England, if ever that j>est-house, called the Court, 
 is to be cleansed, and if England ever is to be 
 saved. 
 
 Lady Lucy s religion was one of tender, devo 
 tional emotions, minute ceremonial, and gorgeous 
 16 
 
1 8 2 THE DRA YTOXS A ND 
 
 ritual. When braced up by Christian principle, it 
 was beautiful and attractive. The Puritan religion 
 was one of principle and doctrine. When inspired 
 by Divine love, it was gloriously deep and strong. 
 
 Meantime, with Sir Walter and his boys, Roger 
 had manifestly risen many degrees by his " spirited 
 conduct." Sir Launcelot s jests, they admitted, 
 could bite, and it was just as well he should have a 
 lesson, though rather a severe one. 
 
 Sir Launcelot himself, moreover, took a far differ 
 ent demeanour towards Roger. " Saints with that 
 amount of fire in their temper," he observed, 
 " might be dangerous, but were certainly not des 
 picable." 
 
 And as to Lettice, whose moral code was chival 
 rous rather than Scriptural, and to whom generosity 
 was a far more admirable virtue than justice, and 
 honour a more glorious thing than duty, she said 
 candidly she was delighted Roger had lost his temper 
 for once, just to show every one how much heart 
 and spirit ?ie had. 
 
 " You and I knew what he was, Olive," said she ; 
 " but I wanted the rest to feel it too." 
 
 And yet there was something lost. Slowly I 
 grew to see and feel it. 
 
 Firstly, in the relative position of Roger and Sir 
 Launcelot. Deeds of violence inevitably place the 
 one who does them morally below the one who suf 
 fers. There had been a real honour to Roger in Sir 
 Launcelot s previous mockery ; there was a real dis 
 honour in the assumption he now made that Roger 
 stood on his own level. Moreover, Roger s own 
 
THE DA VEX A^T*. 
 
 183 
 
 generous self-reproach deprived him of the power 
 of retort. 
 
 And secondly (but chiefly), in Lettice s altered 
 feeling about Sir Launcelot. Roger never spoke of 
 him ; but now that he had recovered, I felt that 
 I could not forget how, by Lettice s own ac 
 count, he had provoked the blow ; nor could I see 
 that the fact of his having received a blow which 
 he had provoked in any way made his character 
 different from what it had been. Many debates we 
 had on the subject, for we met often during those 
 weeks those weeks of winter and early spring, 
 when the whole nation was in suspense about Lord 
 Stratford s trial, watching during the ploughing 
 and sowing of the year the solemn reaping of the 
 harvest he had sown. One of these debates in par 
 ticular I remember, because of the way in which it 
 closed. 
 
 It was on Thursday, the 13th of May (1641). We 
 had met in the wood by the Lady Well. There 
 seemed a marvellous melody that day in the music 
 of the little spring, as it bubbled up into its stone 
 trough, and echoed back from the stone roof of the 
 little sacred cell the monks had lovingly made for 
 it seven hundred years ago. The inscription could 
 still be read on the front : 
 
 " Ut jucundas cervus undas 
 JEstuans desiderat, 
 Sic ad rivum Dei vivum 
 Hens fidelis properat." 
 
 Lettice and I knelt and listened to it. 
 
 " It is as if all the bells in fary-land were ring- 
 
1 84 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 ing," said she at length, softly ; " only hear how 
 the soft peals rise and fall, and go and come, and 
 how one sound drops into another, and blends with 
 it, and flows away and conies back, and meets the 
 next, until there is no following them." 
 
 " Then," said I, " there must have been choirs and 
 church-bells in fairy-land, for there is surely some 
 thing sad and sacred in the sound. It sounds to me 
 like those bells the legends tell us of, buried be 
 neath the sea, tolling up to us from far beneath the 
 dark waters of the past." 
 
 Then Lettice fastened back her long hair, and 
 stooped down and drank of the crystal water, bath 
 ing her face as she drank. 
 
 "Those Israelitish soldiers understood how to 
 enjoy water," said she, rising from her draught. 
 " That is delicious." 
 
 For we were tired and thirsty with gathering 
 lapfuls of the blue-bells, of which the woods were 
 full. 
 
 As she stood, her moist parted lips, the rich glow 
 on her cheeks, her eyes dancing with life, her arms 
 full of flowers, she said, 
 
 " It never seems enough to look at the beautiful 
 world, Olive. I seem to want another sense for it. 
 I want to drink of it like this spring ; to take it to 
 my heart, as I do these flowers. And I suppose 
 that is why I delight to gather them, just as when 
 I was a little child. Do you understand ?" 
 
 I did ; but I thought of the inscription on the 
 Lady Well. 
 
 " I suppose we do want to get nearer, Lettice," I 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. \ 8 5 
 
 said ; " we want to drink of the Fountain. We 
 want to rest on the Heart." 
 
 " Do you think that is what this strange unsatis 
 fied longing means," said she, " which all great joys 
 and all very beautiful things give me ?" 
 
 For a few moments she was silent. Then she 
 said, 
 
 " What life there is everywhere ! Everything 
 seems filled too full of joy, and brimming over the 
 birds into songs, the fields into flowers, and the 
 trees into leaves, the oldest and gayest of them. 
 And I feel just like them all, Olive. On such a 
 morning one must love every one and everything, 
 altogether regardless of their being lovable, just for 
 the sake of loving. Olive," she added, with one of 
 her sudden turns of thought, " to-day you must for 
 give Sir Launcelot from the very bottom of your 
 heart, once for all." 
 
 " Oh, Lettice," said I, " I do forgive him. I really 
 think I did, long since; at least for everything but 
 his forgiving Roger in that gracious way, as if Rog 
 er had nothing to forgive him. I have forgiven 
 him, but I cannot think him good." 
 
 " Ungenerous !" said she, half in jest and half in 
 earnest ; " you ought to think every one good on 
 such a morning as this. Besides, Sir Launcelot 
 always speaks so kindly and generously of you : he 
 says you are goodness itself." 
 
 " I cannot think what is not true, just because the 
 sun shines and the birds sing," said I, "and I cer 
 tainly cannot think any one good because they call 
 me good, or goodness itself. How can I, Lettice ? 
 16* 
 
1 86 THE DRA YTOXS AND 
 
 How can I believe a thing because I wish to be 
 lieve it ?" 
 
 "Truth, truth !" said she, a, little petulantly, 
 "truth and duty, and right and wrong, I wish 
 those cold words were not so often on your lips. 
 There are others so much warmer and more beauti 
 ful nobleness and generosity, and loyalty and de 
 votion, those are the things I love. Yours is a 
 world of daylight, Olive. I like sunshine, glowing 
 morning and evening like rubies and opals, veiling 
 the distance at noon with its own glorious haze. I 
 hate always to see everything exactly as it is, even 
 beautiful things ; and ugly things I never will see, 
 if I can help it." 
 
 " I love to see everything exactly as it is," said I ; 
 " I want, and I pray, to see everything as it is. And 
 in the end I am sure that is the way to see the real 
 beauty of everything in the world. For God has 
 made it, and not the devil. And therefore we need 
 never be afraid to look into things. And I shall 
 always think truth and duty the most beautiful 
 words in the world." 
 
 " Very pretty !" said she perversely ; " and under 
 all those beautiful words you bury the fact that you 
 will never forgive poor Sir Launcelot." 
 
 " I have long forgiven him," said I ; " but I can 
 not think him good, if I tried for ever, until he is. 
 I cannot help thinking of poor little Cicely, Gam 
 mer Grindle s grandchild, wandering lost in Lon 
 don." 
 
 " Hush, Olive, hush," said she passionately, " that 
 is ungenerous and unkind. I will not listen to vil- 
 
THE DA VEXAXTS. 
 
 187 
 
 lage gossip. My Mother says we must not be harsh 
 in judging those whose temptations we cannot es 
 timate. But she means to do all she can in London 
 to help poor Cicely." 
 
 " Oh, Lettice," said I, ; it is not a question of 
 more or less pity, but of who needs our pity most." 
 
 " You are all alike," she rejoined ; " yet I love 
 you all, and I love you, Olive, dearly. Without 
 your Puritan training, Olive, you and Roger would 
 have been the best people and the pleasantest in 
 the world ; but as my Mother says, all these severe 
 doctrines of law, and justice, and truth, do make 
 people harsh in judging others, and bitter in resent 
 ing wrong." 
 
 I could say no more. She had taken refuge un 
 der the shadow of Roger s hasty act, and the argu 
 ment was closed. 
 
 When we reached Davenant Hall an unusual 
 crowd was gathered at the front door a silent ea 
 ger throng around a horseman whose horse was 
 covered with foam, from the speed with which he 
 had come. It was Harry Davenant. And the 
 tidings he brought were that on yesterday morning 
 Lord Strafford had been beheaded on Tower Hill, 
 a hundred thousand people gathered there to see ; 
 but through all the silent multitude neither sighs 
 of sympathy nor sounds of triumph. 
 
 The servants silently dispersed. Harry s horse 
 was led to the stables, and we went in with Lady 
 Lucy, Sir Walter, and Sir Launcelot, into the hall. 
 
 " That is what they were doing in London while 
 we were gathering blue-bells !" saicl Lettice. And 
 
1 8 8 THE DRA YTONS A ND 
 
 she threw her flowers on the stone floor. " I will 
 never gather any more." 
 
 She buried her face in her hands and burst into 
 tears " Cruel, cruel," she said, " of the king, of the 
 queen, to let him die." 
 
 "It was the Parliament which hunted him to 
 death," said Harry, bitterly. "And the king did 
 try to save him." 
 
 " The Parliament is wicked, and hated him, and 
 I don t care what they did," said Lettice, looking 
 up with a flushed face ; " but the king, oh, Mother, 
 you said the king would never let Lord Strafford 
 die. What is the use of being a king if kings can 
 only try to do things like other people. I thought 
 kings could do the things they thought right. He 
 was faithful to the king, was he not, Mother ?" 
 
 " A devoted servant to the king Lord Strafford 
 surely was," said Lady Lucy, " whether a good 
 counsellor or no. I did not think the king would 
 have given him up. Did no one plead for him ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " He pleaded with a wonderful eloquence for 
 himself," said Harry Davenant, " that might well- 
 nigh have turned the heads of his bitterest enemies, 
 and did win the hearts of every one who heard 
 him." 
 
 " But the king did try to save him ?" said Lady 
 Lucy, clinging to this. 
 
 "The king called his privy council together," 
 said Harry Davenant, " last Sunday, when the bill 
 of attainder had passed through the Lords and Com 
 mons, and said he had doubts and scruples about 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. ! 89 
 
 assenting to it, and asked their advice. Dr. Juxon, 
 Bishop of London, counselled him never to consent 
 to the shedding of what he believed innocent blood. 
 But the rest of the council advised him to yield. 
 And the king yielded." 
 
 " Some people," he continued, " think the king 
 was justified by a letter the earl wrote him on the 
 Tuesday before, wherein he offered his life in this 
 world to the king with all the cheerfulness ; nay, 
 even counselled the sacrifice to reconcile him to his 
 people, saying, To a willing man there is no injury 
 done. " 
 
 " Oh, Harry," said Lettice, " the king could give 
 him up after that ?" 
 
 " It is said the earl scarcely believed it when he 
 heard it, and that he laid his hand on his heart and 
 exclaimed, Put not your trust in princes. " 
 
 " And well he might !" exclaimed Lettice, her 
 tears dried by the fire of her indignation. 
 
 " Hush, child, hush," said Lady Lucy. 
 
 " The king made another effort to save him," 
 H3rry continued ; " he wrote to the Lords recom 
 mending imprisonment instead of death; and at 
 the end of the letter he added a postscript : * If he 
 must die, it were charity to relieve him till Satur 
 day. " 
 
 A miserable, cold request !" exclaimed Lettice, 
 vehemently ; " more cruel than the sentence." 
 
 " I would have expected this from his father," 
 murmured Sir Walter, " but not from the king." 
 Then turning from a painful subject, he added, 
 " The carl died bravely, no doubt." 
 
l po THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 "As he passed the windows of the chamber where 
 Archbishop Laud was, he bowed to receive his 
 blessing, and he said, Farewell, my lord, God pro 
 tect your innocence. He marched to the Tower 
 Hill more with the bearing of a general leading his 
 army, than a sentenced man moving to the scaffold. 
 At the Tower Gate the lieutenant desired him to 
 take coach, fearing the violence of the people, but 
 the earl refused : I dare look death in the face, 
 said he, and I hope the people do. Have you a 
 care I do not escape, and I care not how I die, 
 whether by the hand of the executioner or by the 
 madness of the people. If that give them better 
 content, it is all one to me. And so, after protest 
 ing his innocence, saying he forgave all the world, 
 and sending a few affectionate words to his wife 
 and four children, he laid his head on the block. 
 There was no base triumphing in the crowd, I 
 will say that for them ; they behaved like English 
 men. The earl fell in silence. But in the evening 
 the brutish populace cried out in exultation, * His 
 head is off ! his head is off ! and the city was blaz 
 ing with bonfires. The people feel they have gain 
 ed the first step in a victory. The Court thinks it 
 has made the furthermost step in concession, and 
 that thenceforward all must be peace. Would to 
 heaven the king and the Court might be right ; but 
 it is hard to say." 
 
 It was dusk before all this converse was ended 
 and I left the Hall. Harry Davenant persisted in 
 guarding me across the fields to Netherby, until we 
 
THE DA VEX ANTS. 1 g i 
 
 came to the high road close to the house. There 
 he took leave. 
 
 " My Father would like to see you," I said. 
 
 " Mr. Drayton would be courteous to his mortal 
 enemy," said he. 
 
 " We are not enemies," I said, a little pained. 
 
 " Heaven forbid," he replied ; " but I had better 
 not come, not to-day. The fall of the earl scarcely 
 means the same thing in your home as in ours." 
 
 " There will be no mean triumphing over Lord 
 Strafford s death at Netherby," I said, with" some 
 indignation. 
 
 " There will be no low, or ungenerous, or mean 
 thing said by one of the Draytons !" he said, warm 
 ly. " But I had better not see Mr. Drayton this 
 evening." 
 
 And waving his plumed hat, he vaulted over the 
 stile ; and I felt he was right. Looking back at the 
 turn leading to the house, I saw he was watching 
 me from the field. But as I turned the corner and. 
 came in sight of the gables of the Manor, a forebod 
 ing came on me, as of siftings and severings to 
 come of a few pebbles, or a few rushes, gently 
 giving the slightest turn to the course of the two 
 little trickling springs, and their waters flowing, 
 ever after, by different banks, and falling at last 
 into the oceans which wash the shores of opposite 
 worlds. But not Lettice, never Lettice ; the whole 
 world, I thought, should be no barrier to sever us 
 from Lettice ! Nor should all the political or ec 
 clesiastical differences in the world ever check or 
 chill the current of our love and reverence to all the 
 
192 
 
 THE DRA YTONS, ETC. 
 
 true, and brave, and just, and good, and godly. 
 For politics, even ecclesiastical politics, are of time ; 
 but truth, and courage, and justice, and goodness, 
 and godliness, are of God, and are eternal. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 jHE six months of the year 1641, from 
 early May till November, shine back on 
 me beyond the stormy years which part 
 them from us, like a meadow bright 
 with dew and sunshine on the edge of a dark and 
 heaving sea. Beyond those months, in the farther 
 distance, stretches the dim Eden of childhood, with 
 its legends and its mysteries, and its gates of Para 
 dise scarcely closed. Bordering them, on the fur 
 ther side, glooms the broad shadow of Roger s 
 temptation and bitter repentance. On the hither 
 side heaves the great intervening sea of ciyil war. 
 But through all, that little sunny space beams out, 
 peaceful, as if no stormy waves beat against it; 
 distinct, as if no long space of life parted it from 
 us. 
 
 Did I say childhood was the Eden ? Then youth 
 is the " garden planted eastward in Eden," the Para 
 dise which " the Lord God plants " in the outset of 
 the dullest or stormiest life, where the river which 
 oompasseth the land flows over golden sands, " and 
 17 
 
194 
 
 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 the gold of that land is good." Not childhood, 
 surely, but early youth, " the youth of youth," is 
 the golden age of life. Childhood is the twilight. 
 Youth is the beautiful dawn. Childhood is the 
 dream and the struggling out of it ; youth is the 
 conscious, joyful waking. If childhood has its fairy 
 robes spun out of every gossamer, its fairy treasures 
 in every leaf; it has also its eerie terrors woven of 
 the twilight shadows, its overwhelming torrents of 
 sorrow having their fountains in an April shower, 
 as it steps uncertainly through the unknown world. 
 And neither its joys, nor its sorrows, nor its terrors, 
 nor its treasures, can it utter. 
 
 Childhood is the dim Colchis where the Golden 
 Fleece lies hidden ; youth is the Jason that brings 
 thence the " Argosy." Childhood is the sweet 
 shadowy Hesperides, lying dreamily in the tropic 
 sunshine, where the golden fruit ripens silently 
 among the dark and glossy leaves. Youth is the Hero 
 who penetrates the garden and makes it alive with 
 human music, and wins the fruit and bears it forth 
 into the free wide world. If childhood is the 
 golden age, youth is the heroic age, when the heart 
 beats high with the first consciousness of power, 
 and the first stir of half-conscious hopes ; when the 
 earth lies before us as a field of glorious adventure, 
 and the heaven spreads above as a space for bound 
 less flight; before we have learned how mixed 
 earth s armies are, how slow the conquests of truth ; 
 how seldom we can fight any battle here without 
 wounding some we would fain succour ; or win any 
 victory in which some things precious as those 
 
THE DA VENA NTS. 
 
 95 
 
 borne aloft before us in triumph, are not trailed in 
 the dust behind us, dishonoured and lost. 
 
 Not that the most vivid and golden hopes of 
 youth are delusions. God forbid that I should 
 blaspheme His writing on the heart by thinking so 
 for an instant ! It is but that the Omniscient, who 
 knows the glorious End that is to be, sets us in 
 youth on the mountain-tops to breathe the pure air 
 of heaven, foreshortening the intervening distance 
 from these heights of hope and by its sunny haze, 
 as eternity foreshortens it to Him ; that, forgetting 
 the things that are behind, and overspanning the 
 things that are between, every brave and trusting 
 heart may go down into the battle-field strong in 
 the promise of the End, of the Triumph of Truth 
 that shall yet surely be, and of the Kingdom of 
 Righteousness that shall one day surely come. 
 
 Such, at least, was youth to us ; to Lettice Dave- 
 nant, and Roger, and me. And, looking back, this 
 sunny time of youth seems all gathered up into 
 those six months before the beginning of the Civil 
 War. 
 
 For we were continually meeting through that 
 summer; and the land was quiet. At least so it 
 seemed to us at Xetherby. 
 
 The king had granted Triennial Parliaments ; had 
 granted that this Parliament should never be dis 
 solved like its predecessors by his arbitrary will, 
 but only with its own consent ; had seemed, indeed, 
 ready to grant anything. Strafford, the strong prop 
 of his despotism, had fallen ; Archbishop Laud, his 
 instigator to all the petty irritations of tyranny, 
 
1 96 THE DRA YTON8 AND 
 
 which had well-nigh driven the nation mad, lay 
 helpless in the Tower ; the unjust judges, who had 
 decreed the evil decrees about ship-money, had fled, 
 disgraced, beyond the seas. What then might not 
 be hoped, if not from the king s active good-will, at 
 least from his passive consent ? There had, indeed, 
 been an attempt to bring Pym and Hampden into 
 the royal councils, and if this had not quite suc 
 ceeded, at least the patriot St. John was solicitor- 
 general. 
 
 During much of the summer, after assenting to 
 everything the Parliament proposed, the king so 
 journed in Scotland. It was true that the reports 
 that reached us thence were not altogether satisfac 
 tory. There were rumours of army-plots encour 
 aged in the highest quarters ; rumours of some dark 
 plot called " The Incident," intending treachery 
 against Argyle and others ; of His Majesty going 
 with five hundred armed men to the Scottish Par 
 liament, to the great offence of all Edinburgh; 
 rumours that the English Parliament, hearing of 
 " The Incident," had demanded a guard against 
 similar outrages, if any " flagitious persons " should 
 attempt them. 
 
 But for the most part, hope predominated over 
 fear with us at Netherby. One thing was certain ; 
 a Parliament alive to every rumour stood on guard 
 for the nation at St. Stephen s, vowed together by 
 a solemn " Protestation " to do or suffer ought 
 rather than yield our ancient rights and liberties, 
 and until the note of warning came thence, the 
 nation might peacefully pursue its daily work ; not 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 
 
 97 
 
 asleep, indeed, and with arms not out of reach, but 
 for the present called not to contend, but to work 
 and wait. 
 
 There was just enough of stir in the air, and of 
 storm in the sky, to quicken every movement with 
 out impeding it ; to take all languor out of leisure, 
 to make moments of intercourse more precious, and 
 friendships ripen more quickly. 
 
 We were still one nation, we owned one law, one 
 throne, one national council. We were still one 
 national Church, gathering weekly in one house of 
 prayer; kneeling, at least at Easter, although with 
 some scruples, around one Holy Table ; together 
 confessing ourselves to have " gone astray like lost 
 sheep ;" together giving thanks for our " creation 
 and redemption ;" kneeling reverently, and with 
 one voice saying, " Our Father which art in heaven ;" 
 together standing as confessors of one Catholic 
 faith, and with one voice repeating the ancient 
 creeds ; together praying (in the words ordered in 
 King James reign) for our sovereign lord King 
 Charles, and (in the form his own reign first ap 
 pointed) for the High Court of Parliament, under 
 him assembled. 
 
 There were indeed words and postures and vest 
 ments which were not to the liking of all, which to 
 some were signs of irritating defeat and to others 
 of petty triumph ; but in general especially since 
 the Book of Sports had been silenced, and Arch 
 bishop Laud had been kept quiet (and Mr. Xicholls 
 had forsaken his more novel practices) there was 
 a strong tide of truth and devotion in the ancient 
 17* 
 
198 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 services, which swept all true and devout hearts 
 along with it. 
 
 And besides, there was, at this period, with some 
 of the Puritans, a hope of peacefully affecting some 
 slight further reformation, so that even Aunt Doro 
 thy was less controversial than usual; contenting 
 herself with an occasional warning against going 
 down to Egypt for horses, or against Achans in the 
 camp, and an occasional hope that, while his words 
 were smoother than butter, the enemy had not war 
 in his heart. But she did not distinctly explain 
 whether by these Achans and Egyptian cavalry she 
 meant Mr. Nicholls, Placidia, Lady Lucy, Lettice 
 or the king ; or, on the other hand, the little baud of 
 Separatists or Brownists whom we met from time 
 to time coming from their worship in a cottage on 
 the outskirts of the village, against whom she con 
 sidered my Father not a little remiss in his magis 
 terial duty. These apparently inoffensive people 
 were suspected of Anabaptist tendencies. Aunt 
 Gretel even associated* them in her own mind with 
 some very dangerous characters of the same name 
 at Miinster. It was, indeed, the utmost stretch of 
 her toleration, to connive at our Bob and Tib s 
 occasional attendance at their assemblies ; but the 
 consideration of Tib s discreet years, and Bob s 
 discreet character, and Aunt Dorothy s somewhat 
 indiscreet zeal, had hitherto induced her to do so, 
 her conscience being further fortified by my Father s 
 solemn promise to bring these sectaries to justice if 
 ever they showed the slightest tendency towards 
 polygamy or homicide. They consisted chiefly of 
 
THE DA VENANTS. ! 99 
 
 small freeholders and independent hand-workers, 
 the tailor, the village carpenter, and at the head, 
 Job Forster, the blacksmith ; Tib and Bob were, I 
 think, the only household servants among them. 
 They were few, poor, and quiet, doing nothing at 
 their meetings, it seemed, but read the Bible, listen 
 to one reading or explaining it, and praying : some 
 among them having scruples as to whether it might 
 not be a carnal indulgence to sing hymns. Occa 
 sionally they were strengthened by the visit of a 
 preacher of their way of thinking from Suffolk, 
 where the sect was more numerous. They were 
 good to each other ; not hurtful to any one else. 
 They would certainly, every one of them, have died 
 or gone into destitute exile for the minutest scruple 
 of their belief or disbelief, being satisfied that every 
 thread of the broidered work of their tabernacle 
 was as divinely ordered as the tables of the law 
 written with the finger of God. But as yet there 
 was nothing to show what their enthusiasm woull 
 do when it was enkindled to action, instead of 
 smouldering in passive endurance ; nothing to show 
 what germs of vigorous life lay dormant in that 
 little company, each holding his commission, as he 
 believed, direct from God. Yet from these, and 
 such as these, at the touch of Oliver Cromwell, 
 sprang into life that crop of Ironsides terrible as 
 Samsons, chaste as Sir Galahad, unyielding as 
 Elijah before the threats of Jezebel, unsparing as 
 Elijah with the prophets of Jezebel on Carrncl, 
 which overthrew power after power in the state ; 
 made England the greatest power in the world ; 
 
200 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 and if the only human hand that could command 
 it had been immortal, might have ruled England 
 and the world to this day. 
 
 So many hidden germs of life lie around us unde 
 veloped everywhere. In the primeval forests of 
 this, our New England, when one race of trees is 
 felled, a succession of another kind springs up self- 
 sown in their stead. If the first had not been felled 
 what would have become of the seeds of the second ? 
 Would they have perished, or waited dormant 
 through the ages, till their hour should come ? 
 
 But I am creeping back to Roger s ancient puzzle 
 of Necessity, wherewith he bewildered me of old 
 as we sat in the apple-tree at Netherby. 
 
 And after all, however these things be, it is only 
 the king s ministers that are changed in the univer 
 sal government of the nations. The King never 
 dies. 
 
 Meantime these sectaries were the only outward 
 schism in the unity of the Church and Nation, as 
 represented at Netherby. Korahs, Dathans, and 
 Abirams, Aunt Dorothy called them, or (when she 
 was most displeased) "Anabaptists," and would 
 (theoretically) have liked them to be made exam 
 ples of in some striking and uncomfortable way ; 
 harmless enthusiasts my Father called them, and let 
 them alone ; well-meaning persons with dangerous 
 tendencies, Aunt Gretel considered them, and made 
 them possets and broth when they were ill. In 
 Lady Lucy s eyes they were misguided schismatics ; 
 in Sir Walter s, self-conceited fools ; in Harry Dave- 
 iiant s, vulgar fanatics. Of all our circle, I think, 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 20 1 
 
 none cared to find out what they really meant and 
 wanted, except Roger, who, especially after his great 
 trouble, had always the most earnest desire not to 
 misjudge any one ; or, indeed, to judge any one as 
 from a judgment-seat above them. And Roger said 
 they believed they had found God, and were living 
 in His Presence, as truly as Moses, or Elijah, or any 
 to whom He appeared of old, which made every 
 thing else seem to them infinitely small in compari 
 son ; that they wanted, above all things, to do what 
 God commanded, whenever they knew what it was, 
 which made every homeliest duty on the way to 
 wards that end seem to them part of the " service 
 of the sanctuary," any mountain of difficulty but 
 as the small dust of the balance ; every obstacle as 
 the chaff before the whirlwind. Convictions which 
 gave an invincible power of endurance, and could 
 give a tremendous force of achievement, as events 
 proved. 
 
 To this better estimate of them, Roger was, no 
 doubt, partly led by his friendship for Job Forster. 
 Job, indeed, through the whole of these six months, 
 so calm and full of hope to us at Xetherby, con 
 tinued to forebode storms. " The weather was brew 
 ed," he said, " on the hills and by the sea ; and folks 
 who were bred on the flats, out of sight of sea and 
 hills, and who only knew one-half of the world, 
 could not reasonably be expected to understand the 
 signs of the sky. The Lord, in his belief, had plenty 
 of work to do on his anvil yet, before the swords 
 were beaten into ploughshares and the spears into 
 pruning-hooks. It was more likely the plough- 
 
202 THE DMA YTONS AND 
 
 shares would have to be beaten into swords, and 
 pruning-hooks into spears." 
 
 And the village coulters, spades, and mattocks, 
 received from Job s hammer treatment all the more 
 vigorous on account of the warlike figures they 
 supplied. 
 
 Moreover, Rachel, his wife, looking out from her 
 chamber-window one stormy night across the Fens, 
 had seen wonders in the heavens, black-plumed 
 clouds, marshalled like armies, rolling far away to 
 the east, till the rising sun smote them to a blood- 
 red ; while high above, from behind these, one 
 white-winged arm, as of an archangel swept across 
 the sky untouched by the red glow of battle, raised 
 majestically, as if to warn or to smite. 
 
 "There is something terrible going on some 
 where," she had said, " or else something terrible to 
 come." 
 
 And Job, to whom Rachel s words had always a 
 tender sacredness in them, woven of the old rever 
 ence of our northern race for the prophet- woman ; 
 of sacred memories of the inspired songs of Deb 
 orah and Hannah, interpreted by his belief that the 
 people of the Bible were not exceptional but typi 
 cal ; and of his own strong love for her believed 
 Rachel s visions with entire unconsciousness how 
 much they were reflections of his own convictions. 
 " How," he would say, " could a feeble creature 
 like her, nurtured and cherished like a babe, and 
 busy all her life in naught but enduring sicknesses 
 or doing kindnesses, know aught of wars and battle 
 fields, unless it was of the Lord ?" So Job fore- 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 203 
 
 boded, and we hoped, and the summer months 
 passed on. 
 
 Scarcely a day passed on which we and the Dave- 
 nants did not meet, especially Roger, and Lettice, 
 and I ; for Roger had taken his degree, and having 
 overworked at it, was constrained to be idle for a 
 while ; and the boy Davenants were most of the 
 time in London. At church, at the Hall, at the 
 Manor, riding, coursing, hay-making, nutting, boat 
 ing on the Mere ; on rainy days, hunting out won 
 derful old illuminated manuscripts in Sir Walter s 
 library, or by the organ in my Fathers, singing 
 glees and madrigals ; making essays at Italian poet 
 ry, generally resulting in translations, metrical or 
 otherwise, by Roger, for Lettice s benefit. Lettice 
 reigning in all things, by a thousand indisputable 
 royal rights ; as pupil ; as sovereign lady ; as the 
 youngest ; as the most adventurous ; as the most 
 timid ; by right of her need of care, and her cling 
 ing to protection ; by right of minority, she being 
 one, and we two ; by right of her true constancy 
 and her little seeming ficklenesses ; by right of her 
 brilliant, ever-changing beauty, and all her name 
 less, sweet, tyrannical, winning, willful ways ; by 
 right of all her generous self-forgetfulness, and de 
 light to give pleasure ; and firstly and lastly, by 
 right of the subtle power which, through all these 
 charms, stole into Roger s heart, and took posses 
 sion of it, unchallenged and unresisted, then and for 
 ever. 
 
 We spoke little of politics. Lettice never had 
 any, except loyalty to the king ; and at this time 
 
204 
 
 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 her loyalty was sorely tried by reason of her per 
 plexity and distress at what seemed to her the un 
 generous desertion of Strafford in his need. 
 
 There were no forbidden topics between us. 
 There was one, indeed, which by tacit mutual con 
 sent we always avoided, and that was all that con 
 cerned Sir Launcelot Trevor. Lettice, always scent 
 ing from afar the least symptom o*f what could 
 pain, never approached what had been the cause of 
 so much anguish to Roger ; and me she never freed 
 from the suspicion of a certain sisterly injustice in 
 my sentiments towards my brother s enemy. But 
 a very insignificant and unnecessary chamber indeed 
 was this to be locked out of the palace of delights 
 through which we three roamed at will together. 
 Nor can I remember one pang of vexation at my 
 own falling from the first place to the second in 
 Roger s thoughts. If I had not loved Lettice on 
 my own account as I did, there was nothing in 
 Roger s love for her that could have sown one mis 
 erable seed of jealousy in my heart. If he loved her 
 most, he was more to me than ever before. The re 
 flection of his tender reverence for her fell like a 
 glory on all women for her sake. He was more to 
 all for being most to her. Mean calculations of 
 more or less, better or best, could not enter into 
 comparison in affections stamped with such a sweet 
 diversity. All true love expands, not narrows; 
 strengthens, not weakens; anoints the eyes with 
 eye-salve, not blinds ; opens the heart, and opens 
 the world, and transfigures the universe into an en 
 chanted palace and treasure-house of joys, simply 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 205 
 
 by giving the key to unlock its chambers, and the 
 vision to see its treasures. 
 
 This was the innermost heart of the joy of those 
 onr halcyon days, that Roger and Lettiee and I 
 were together. We three made for ourselves our 
 new Atlantis. We should have made it equally in 
 the dingiest street of London city. Only, there the 
 joy within us would have had to transform our 
 world into a paradise. At Xetherby, riding over 
 the fields with the fresh air in our faces, or roaming 
 the musical woods, or skimming the Mere while 
 Roger rowed, and dipping our hands in the cool 
 waters, or talking endlessly on the fragrant garden 
 terraces of the Manor and the Hall, it had not to 
 transform, only to translate. 
 
 Outside this inner world of our own lay a bright 
 and friendly world all around us. First, our Fa 
 ther, sweet Lady Lucy, and Aunt Gretel scarcely 
 indeed outside, except by the fact of their not quite 
 understanding what we had within, regarding us, 
 as they fondly did, as dear happy children not yet 
 out of our paradise of childhood ; next Aunt Doro 
 thy, Job Forster, and Rachel, guarding us as fondly, 
 though anxiously, as on the unconscious eve of en 
 counter with our dragons and leviathans ; and be 
 yond, the village, of which we were the children ; 
 the country, which was our mother ; the world, of 
 which we were the heirs. For to us in those days 
 there were no harassing Philistines, no crushing 
 Babylon ; no Egyptians behind, nor Red Sea before. 
 The world was to be conquered, but not as a pros 
 trate foe, rather as a willing tributary to Truth and 
 18 
 
206 . THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 Right. The kings of Tarshish and of the isles were 
 to bring presents ; Sheba and Seba were to offer 
 gifts. The wilderness and the solitary place were 
 to be glad for us, and the desert was to rejoice and 
 blossom as the rose. 
 
 Meanwhile Lady Lucy came back to her old place 
 in my heart. Her sweet motherliness seemed to 
 brood like the wings of a dove over our whole hap 
 py world. 
 
 Harry Davenant came more than once to the 
 Hall, and stayed a few days, to Lady Lucy s per 
 fect content, and entered into our pursuits as keenly 
 as any of us. Only with him there was always an 
 undertone of sadness, a despondency about the 
 country and the world, a bitterness about the times, 
 a slight cynicism about men and women, inevitable, 
 perhaps, to a noble spirit like his, which (as it seems 
 to me) has lost its way, and strayed into the back 
 ward current, contrary to all the generous forward 
 movements of the age ; but strongly contrasted 
 with the steadfast, hopeful temper no danger 
 could daunt and no defeat could damp, which 
 characterized the n*obler spirits on the patriot side. 
 The noble Sir Bevil Grenvill had bitter thoughts of 
 his contemporaries ; the generous Lord Falkland 
 craved for peace and welcomed death. Eliot, Pym, 
 Hampden, Cromwell, Milton, looked for liberty; 
 believed in the triumph of truth ; thought England 
 worth fighting for, living for, if needful, dying for ; 
 they braved death indeed like heroes, they met it 
 like Christians, but they did not long for it like men 
 sick and hopeless of the world. If God had willed 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 207 
 
 it so, they had rather have lived on, because of the 
 great hopes that inspired them, because they be 
 lieved that not fate nor the devil were at the heart 
 of the world, or at the head of the nations ; but 
 God. 
 
 Yet about such men as Harry Daveriant there 
 was an inexpressible fascination. There is some 
 thing that irresistibly touches the heart in heroism 
 which, like Hector s of Troy, is nourished, not by 
 hope, but by duty ; which sacrifices self in a cause 
 which it believes no courage and no sacrifice can 
 make victorious, and bates no jot of heart when all 
 hope has fled. 
 
 And to me he was always so gentle a friend. 
 We had so many things in common ; our love for 
 his Mother, his reverence for my Father s goodness, 
 justice, and wisdom ; his generous appreciation of 
 Roger; a certain protecting, shielding tenderness 
 we both had for Lettice, who was, indeed, a crea 
 ture so tender, and dependent, and willful, so likely 
 to rush into trouble, so sure to feel it, that no wo 
 manly heart could help feeling motherlike toward 
 her. 
 
 Yet there always seemed a kind of half-acknowl 
 edged barrier between us, even from the first, more 
 distinctly acknowledged afterwards, which gave a 
 strange mixture of frankness and reserve, of near 
 ness and separation, to our intercourse; wherein, 
 perhaps, lay something of its charm. 
 
 And across this world of ours flashed from time 
 to time during those months lofty visions of noble- 
 
20 8 THE LRAYTONS AND 
 
 ness and wisdom from other spheres ; especially 
 during the last six weeks when the Parliament was 
 in recess, and many a worthy head found a night s 
 shelter in the guest-chamber at Netherby. 
 
 Mr. Hampden was in Scotland as Parliamentary 
 Commissioner, keeping watch over the king ; Mr. 
 Pym, at his lodgings in Gray s Inn Lane, keeping 
 guard for the nation. But Mr. Cromwell went 
 home in the recess to his family at Ely, and spent 
 some hours with us on his way back to London. 
 He was forty-two years old then, my Father said, 
 and his hair was not without some tinge of gray ; 
 tall, all but six feet in stature, and firmly knit. 
 Many things seemed to lie hidden in the depths of 
 his grave eyes ; a subdued fire of temper flashing 
 forth at times sufficiently to show that at the heart 
 of this gravity lay not ice but fire ; a hearty hu 
 mour, as of a soul at liberty, grasping its purpose 
 firmly enough to be able to give it play keen to 
 descry likenesses in things unlike, inner differences 
 in things similar, absurdities in things decorous, 
 and the meaning of men and things in general 
 through all seemings. Yet withal, capacities and 
 traces of heart-deep sorrow, as of one who had look 
 ed into the depths on many sides and found them 
 unfathomable. Moreover, above all, his were eyes 
 which saw; not merely windows through which 
 you looked into the soul. Aunt Gretel said there 
 was a look in him which made her think of a por 
 trait of Dr. Luther which she had seen in her youth. 
 He loved music, too, which was another resem 
 blance to Dr. Luther. He was always kind to us 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 209 
 
 children, and now he spoke fondly of his two " little 
 wenches" at home Bridget (afterwards Mistress 
 Ireton), a little beyond rny age, and Elizabeth (Mis 
 tress Claypole), then about eleven, his dearly-loved 
 daughter; and the two blithe little ones, Mary and 
 Frances, about five and three. Methought his eyes 
 rested with a sorrowful yearning on Roger; and 
 my Father told us, after he left, he had only two 
 years before, in May, buried his eldest son Robert, 
 about nineteen, which was Roger s age. This son 
 was buried far from home, at Felsted Church in 
 Essex ; a youth whose promise had been so great 
 that the parson of the parish where he died had in 
 serted a record of him in the parish register, which 
 reads like a fond epitaph amidst the dry unbroken 
 list of names and dates. Mr. Cromwell spoke also 
 with much reverence of his aged mother, who dwelt 
 in his house at Ely. 
 
 Mr. Cromwell was full of a firm confidence in the 
 future of the church and the country ; but, like Job 
 Forster, he seemed to think there was much to be 
 done and gone through before the end was gained. 
 On his way through the village he had held some 
 converse with Job Forster while having his horse 
 shod ; and he said something of such men as Job 
 being the men for a Parliament army, if ever such 
 an army should be needed. 
 
 Whilst Job, on his part, as he told us afterwards, 
 was deeply moved by his interview with Mr. Crom 
 well. " He was a man," said Job, " who had been 
 in the depths, and had brought thence the sacred 
 18* 
 
2 1 o THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 fire, which made two or three of his words worth a 
 hundred spoken by common men." 
 
 Then towards the close of that happy time there 
 was one evening in October which lingers on my 
 memory as its golden sunset lingered on the many- 
 coloured autumn woods. 
 
 We were standing on the terrace at Netherby, 
 overlooking the orchard, Roger, Lettice, and I, in 
 the fading light ; Lettice twining some water-lilies 
 Roger had just gathered from the pond. Through 
 the embayed window of the wainscoted parlour, 
 which stood open, poured forth the music of my 
 Father s organ, in chords rich and changing as 
 the colours of the sunset on wood, and meadow, and 
 Mere. 
 
 Mr. John Milton was the musician, and as the in 
 tertwined harmonies flowed from his hands 
 
 " In linked sweetness long drawn out, 
 His melting voice through mazes running, 
 Untwisted all the chains that tie 
 The hidden soul of harmony." 
 
 As we listened, enrapt by the power of the music, 
 which seemed 
 
 " Dead things with imbreathed sense, able to pierce, 
 And to our high-raised phantasy present 
 That undisturbed song of pure concent 
 Aye sung before the sapphire-coloured throne 
 To Him that sits thereon." 
 
 the lilies dropped from Lettice s fingers, and she 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 2 1 1 
 
 sat like the statue of a listening nymph ; the knit 
 ting fell from Aunt Gretel s lap, and the tears came 
 into her eyes, and, thinking of my mother, she mur 
 mured " Magdalene ! " Roger and I were leaning 
 .on the window-sill, and all of us were so uncon 
 scious of anything present, that Lady Lucy had ad 
 vanced from the other end of the terrace near 
 enough to touch me on the arm without my hearing 
 a footstep. 
 
 By her side stood a courtly-looking young clergy 
 man, with dark hair flowing from under his velvet 
 cap, and dark, meditative eyes, yet with much light 
 of smiles hidden in them, like dew in violets. Him 
 she introduced as " Dr. Taylor, one of His Majesty s 
 chaplains." He was not yet eight-and-twenty years 
 of age, but was in mourning for his first wife, but 
 lately dead. 
 
 Mr. Milton joined us soon with my Father. He 
 was a few years older than Dr. Taylor, but in ap 
 pearance much more youthful ; with his brown un- 
 Puritan love-locks, his short stature, his face deter 
 mined, almost to severity, yet delicate as a beautiful 
 woman s. 
 
 And then between these two, while we listened, 
 ensued an hour s converse, like the antiphons of some 
 heavenly choir. 
 
 Names of ancient heroes and philosophers 
 Egyptian, Assyrian, Greek, Latin dropped from 
 their lips like household words. Until at last they 
 rose into a chorus in praise of liberty, of conscience, 
 and of thought ; Dr. Taylor, I thought, basing his 
 argument more on the dimness of human vision, and 
 
2 1 2 THE DRA YTONS A ND 
 
 Mr. Milton on the inherent and victorious might of 
 truth. Dr. Taylor pleading for a charitable toler 
 ance for error, Mr. Milton for a generous freedom 
 for truth ; the which converse I often recalled when, 
 in after years, we read the Liberty of Prophesying, 
 by the one, and the Liberty of Printing by the 
 other. 
 
 As they spoke, the glory faded from the sky and 
 the golden autumnal woods, and when they ceased, 
 and we stepped from the terrace into the gloom of 
 the dark wainscoted parlour, it seemed to me as if 
 we had stepped out of a fragrant and melodious 
 elysium into a farm-yard, so homely and unmeaning, 
 like the cacklings or lowings of animals, did all 
 common discourse seem afterwards. 
 
 The next day, when Mr. Milton had left us, and 
 we were speaking together of this discourse, Aunt 
 Gretel said it was like beautiful music, only, being 
 mostly in a kind of Latin, was, of course, beyond 
 her comprehension. Aunt Dorothy only consoled 
 herself for what she regarded as the dangerous li 
 cence of their conclusions, by the thought that their 
 path to them was too fantastic and fine for any 
 common mortals to tread. And my Father said 
 afterwards that it seemed to him as if Dr. Taylor s 
 learning and fancy hung around his reason like the 
 jewelled state-trappings of a royal palfrey ; you 
 wondered how his wit could move so nimbly under 
 such a weight of ornament; whilst Mr. Milton s 
 learning and imagination were like wings to the 
 strong Pegasus of his wisdom, only helping him to 
 soar. When Dr. Taylor spoke of the learned 
 
THE DA YEN A NTS. 
 
 213 
 
 stories of the ancients, they seemed like a treasury 
 wherewith to adorn his fancies or to wing his airy 
 shafts. But to Mr. Milton they seemed an armory 
 common to him and to the wise men of whom he 
 spoke, and to which he had as free access as they ; 
 to draw thence weapons for his warfare and 
 theirs, and to add thereto for the generations to 
 come. 
 
 Yet brilliant and glowing as their speech was, 
 Roger would have it that Mr. Cromwell s brief and 
 rugged words had in them more of the red heat 
 that fuses the weapons wherewith the great battles 
 of life are fought. For we spoke often of that 
 evening, Roger, and Lettice, and I, in the few short 
 days that remained of our golden age of peace. 
 
 Scarcely a fortnight after that evening at Xeth- 
 erby, tidings of the Irish massacre thrilled through 
 all the land with one shudder of horror and helpless 
 indignation for the past ; awakening one bitter cry 
 for rescue and vengeance in the future. 
 
 On the 20th of October the Parliament had met 
 again. 
 
 It was a gray and comfortless evening early in 
 November when a Post spurred into the village of 
 Netherby, and stopped at Job Forster s forge to 
 have some slight repair made in the gear of his 
 horse. 
 
 Rachel was there immediately with a jug of ale 
 for the weary rider and water for his horse. The 
 horseman took both in silence. 
 
 " Thou art scant of greetings to-day, good-mas- 
 
214 THE D RA YTON8 A ND 
 
 ter," said Job, as he busied himself about the broken 
 bit, without looking in the rider s face. 
 
 But Rachel, who had caught in an instant the 
 weight of heavy tidings on the stranger s face, laid 
 her hand with a silencing gesture on her husband s 
 arm. 
 
 Then Job looked up, and meeting the horseman s 
 eye, dropped the bit, and said abruptly, 
 
 " What tidings, master ? We are not of those 
 who look for smooth things." 
 
 " Rough enough," was the reply. " A hundred 
 thousand Protestants,* men, women, and children, 
 surprised, and robbed, and massacred in Ireland, 
 scarce more than a sennight agoue. At morning, 
 met with good-days and friendly looks by the Pa 
 pists around them; before evening, driven from 
 their burning homes, naked and destitute, into the 
 roads and wildernesses. Thousands murdered 
 amidst their ruined homes ; happy those who were 
 only murdered, or murdered quickly ; no mercy on 
 age or sex, no memory of kindness ; treachery and 
 torture ; women and little children turning into 
 fiends of cruelty. Dublin itself only saved by one 
 who gave warning the evening before. But the 
 worst was for the women, and the little helpless 
 tortured babes." 
 
 " Softly, softly, master," said Job ; for Rachel had 
 fallen on his shoulder fainting. " She can bear to 
 
 * This was the number commonly believed among us at the 
 time. Since I have heard it disputed. But that the slaugh 
 ter and the atrocities were terrible, there can be no doubt. 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 2 1 5 
 
 hear any dreadful thing, or to see any dreadful 
 sight, if she can be of any help ; but this is too 
 much for her." 
 
 Gently he bore her in ancT" laid her on the bed, 
 and hesitated an instant what to do, not liking to 
 leave her. 
 
 " She always seems to know whether it s me or 
 any one else, even when she s clean gone like this," 
 -he said ; " but yet I dare not hinder the Post." 
 
 " Leave her to me, Job," I said ; " she ll not feel 
 strange with me." 
 
 And after a moment s further pause, lifting her 
 into an easier position, he went out. 
 
 Sprinkling water on her face and chafing her 
 hands, breathing on her lips and temples, as I had 
 seen Aunt Gretel do in such a case, I had the com 
 fort of soon seeing Rachel languidly open her eyes. 
 For a moment there was a bewildered, inquiring 
 look in them, but quickly it gave place to a mourn 
 ful collectedness. 
 
 " I knew it I knew it, Mistress Olive !" she said, 
 " I knew something must come. But I thought the 
 judgment would fall on the Lord s enemies ; and 
 Job and I have been pleading with Him for mercy, 
 even on them. I never thought the sword would 
 fall on the sheep of His pasture. Least of all on the 
 lambs," she added ; " on the innocent lambs. But 
 maybe, after all, that was His mercy. They are but 
 gone home by a cruel path, poor innocents only 
 gone home." Then a burst of tears came to her re 
 lief; a neighbour came in to help ; and I left to go 
 home without further delay. 
 
2 1 6 THE DRA YTONS AXD 
 
 The few minutes which I had spent at Rachel 
 Forster s bedside had sufficed to gather all the vil 
 lage around the forge ; women with babies in their 
 arms and little ones clinging to their skirts ; men 
 on their way home from the day s labour with 
 spades and mattocks on their shoulders ; the tailor 
 needle in hand ; the miller white from the mill ; 
 women with hands full of dough from the kneading- 
 trough ; none waiting to lay aside an implement, 
 none left behind but the bedridden, yet none asking 
 a question, or uttering an exclamation, as they 
 passed around the messenger, drinking in the hor 
 rible details of the slaughter. Only, in the pauses, 
 a long-drawn breath, or now and then a suppressed 
 sob from the women. 
 
 Job meanwhile continued, as was his wont, work 
 ing his feelings into the task he had in hand, so that 
 long before the villagers were weary of listening 
 while the Post told the cruel particulars, heighten 
 ing the excitement and deepening the silence, the bit 
 was mended, every weak point of hoof or harness 
 had undergrone Job s skillful inspection, and offer 
 ing the messenger another draught at the beer-can, 
 he said to him in his abrupt way, 
 
 " Whither next, master ? We may not delay 
 such tidings." 
 
 " I have letters for Squire Draytoii of Netherby 
 Manor," was the reply. 
 
 " Trust them to me," said Roger. 
 
 " The best hands you can trust them to," said 
 Job. 
 
 In consideration of the urgent need of haste, the 
 
THE DA VEXANTS. 
 
 217 
 
 Post gave us a letter in Dr. Antony s writing to 
 Roger, and in another minute was out of sight 
 beyond the turn of the village street. 
 
 A little murmur arose among the village-gossips. 
 " No need for breaking a Post short like that, good- 
 man Forster," said the miller s wife ; " sure he 
 knows his own business best." 
 
 " What did we need to hear more, goodwife ?" 
 was Job s reply. " All England has to hear it yet ! 
 Thousand of prayers have to be stirred up through 
 out the land before night. And haven t we heard 
 enough to make this night a night of watching? 
 Hearkening to fearful tales helps little ; and talking 
 less. For this kind goeth not out but with prayer 
 and fasting." 
 
 And Job turned away into his cottage. But as 
 Roger and I hastened up the street, the village had 
 already broken into little eager groups, and the 
 words, " the Irish Popish Army," and " the Popish 
 Queen," came with bitter emphasis from many 
 voices. 
 
 Deep Avas the excitement at home when we 
 brought the terrible tidings. Dr. Antony s letter 
 too dreadfully confirmed them, telling how the 
 House of Commons received the news, brought in 
 by one O Conolly, in an awe-stricken silence ; how 
 nearly all Ulster, the head-quarters of the Protes 
 tants, was still in the hands of the insurgents ; the 
 towns and villages in flames. 
 
 " Tilly and Magdeburg !" were the first words 
 that broke from my Father s lips. " The same strife, 
 the same weapons, the same fiendish cruelty, in the 
 19 
 
2 1 8 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 name of the All Pitiful. If such another conflict is 
 indeed to corne, God send England weapons as good 
 wherewith to wage it ; soldiers that can pray ; and, 
 if such can be twice in one generation, another 
 Gustavus !" 
 
 Fervently he pleaded that night together with 
 the gathered household for the robbed and bereaved 
 sufferers in Ireland. Far into the night Roger saw 
 the lamp burning in his window. No doubt he had 
 sought Job Forster s Refuge. 
 
 But the next morning, when we came in to break 
 fast, he had taken down the old sword he had worn 
 through the German wars ; and was trying its edge. 
 
 " The good God keep us from war, Brother !" 
 said Aunt Gretel, trembling at the thoughts that 
 old weapon recalled, " I was thinking we might 
 search out our stores for woolseys and linseys. 
 They will be sure to be sending such to the poor 
 sufferers, and they will be building orphan houses." 
 
 " Citadels have to be built and kept first !" said 
 my Father. " There are times when war is as much 
 a work of mercy as clothing the naked and feeding 
 the hungry." 
 
 "But war with whom, Brother?" said Aunt Do 
 rothy, pointedly. " It is little use lopping the 
 branches and sparing the tree. What has become 
 of the Irish Popish army the king was so loth to 
 dismiss ? Of what avail is it to smite a few poor 
 blind fanatics, when the Popish queen and her 
 Jesuits rule in the Palace ? It wearies me to the 
 heart to hear of honest men like Mr. Hampden, Mr. 
 Pym, and all of them, impeaching Lord Strafford 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 2 1 9 
 
 and imprisoning Archbishop Laud, who, I believe 
 (poor deluded man), thought himself doing God s 
 service ; and yet kissing the hand that appointed 
 Laud and Strafford, and would sign death-warrants 
 for every patriot and Puritan in the kingdom to 
 night, if it were safe." 
 
 " Mr. Hampden, Mr. Pym, and Mr. Cromwell are 
 doing their best to make it not safe, Sister Dorothy," 
 was my Father s reply. " And meantime there is 
 more strength in silence than in invective." 
 
 " A Parliament of women," said Aunt Dorothy, 
 " would have gone to the point months since, and 
 let the king understand what they meant." 
 
 "Probably," said my Father, "but the great 
 thing is to gain the point." 
 
 Unusually early in the day for her, Lady Lucy 
 appeared at the Manor, with Harry and Lettice 
 walking beside her horse. 
 
 She looked very pale as my Father led her into 
 the wainscoted parlour. 
 
 " Mr. Drayton," she said, " who ever could have 
 dreamed of such tidings ! The only ray of comfort 
 is that they may help to unite our distrscted 
 country. There can be but one mind throne hout 
 the land about such deeds as these. The king went 
 at once to the Scottish Parliament with the news, 
 to seek their counsel and aid. Xow at least the 
 king, parliament, and nation, will be one in their 
 indignation." 
 
 " It would be well if the king had dismissed 
 before this the Irish Catholic army which Lord 
 
220 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 Strafford raised for him," said my Father. "It is 
 well known that its officers have been in communi 
 cation with the assassins." 
 
 " The king did send orders to disband it long- 
 since," she said. 
 
 " Yes, public orders," my Father replied ; " but 
 there are rumours of secret instructions having ac 
 companied, not precisely to the same effect." 
 
 " Rumours !" she said eagerly ; " Mr. Drayton, 
 mere rumours ! You are too just and generous to 
 listen to a vulgar report, with the king s word 
 against it." 
 
 " Madam," he replied, very gravely, " it would 
 have been the salvation of the country long since if 
 the king s word had been a sufficient reply to at 
 tacks on his policy. There is nothing so revolution 
 ary as falsehood in high places." 
 
 " You call the king a revolutionist ?" she said. 
 
 " I call untruth the great revolutionist," he re 
 plied. " Without truth and trust all communities 
 must ultimately fall to pieces, with more or less 
 noise, according as they are assailed by a strong 
 hand from without, or simply crumble from within. 
 The ruin is certain." 
 
 " But all good men must be agreed in detesting 
 thest3 barbarous deeds," she said. " Even the Earl 
 of Castlehaven, a Catholic, has said that all the 
 water in the sea would not wash off from the Irish 
 the stain of their treacherous murders in a time of 
 settled peace." 
 
 " No doubt there are Catholics, madam, who speak 
 the truth and hate injustice," said my Father. 
 
THE DA VRNANTS. 2 2 1 
 
 "You are unjust, you are cruel to His Majesty, 11 
 she said, with tears in her eyes, "if you could be 
 unjust or cruel to any one." 
 
 " Lady Lucy," he replied, " this is a time for all 
 men who fear God and love England to be united. 
 TVoulfl Lord Stratford (could he come back among 
 us) contradict the words wrung from him when the 
 king signed his death-warrant ? Would he say, Put 
 your trust in princes ? 
 
 Plarry Davenant passionately interposed. 
 
 " It is too bad to drive the king to actions he de 
 tests, and then to reproach him for them. He would 
 have saved Lord Strafforcl, as all men know, if he 
 could. It is the distrust of the country that has 
 compelled the king to have recourse to subtleties 
 no gentleman would choose." 
 
 " Harry Davenant," said my Father, " I am con 
 fident no measure of unjust distrust would drive 
 you to the policy of making promises you never 
 meant to keep." 
 
 " My life is simple, sir," was the mournful reply, 
 " and it is my own. If I choose any evil to myself, 
 rather than go from my word, or imply the thing I 
 do not mean, I am at liberty to do so. But the 
 king s life is manifold. He stands before the Highest 
 with the nation gathered up into his single person. 
 He stands above the nation as the anointed repre 
 sentative of the King of kings. God himself is only 
 indirectly King of nations by being King of kings. 
 He stands between the past and the future with a 
 sacred trust of prerogative and right to guard and 
 19* 
 
222 THE DRA YTONS A ND 
 
 transmit. It is not for us to apply the standards of 
 our private morality to him." 
 
 " Apply the standards of Divine morality to all !" 
 said my Father. " Truth is the pillar of heaven as 
 well as of earth. There is no bond of society like 
 a trusted word." 
 
 " At least, sir," rejoined Harry Davenant, gently 
 but loftily, " it is not for me who eat the king s 
 bread to say or hear ought disloyal to him. Nor 
 will I." And he rose to leave. 
 
 My Father held out his hand to grasp his. 
 
 " One word more." he said, " disloyalty is a terri 
 ble word, and we may hear mtfre of it in these com 
 ing years. Let me say to you, once for all, the 
 question is not of loyalty or disloyalty, but to 
 whom our loyalty is due. I believe it is to England 
 and her laws ; to the king if he is faithful to these." 
 
 <; What tribunal can judge the king ?" Harry 
 Davenant replied. 
 
 " More than one," said my Father, solemnly. " The 
 English laws he has sworn to maintain ; the eternal 
 Lawgiver from whom you say he holds his crown, 
 whose laws of truth and equity are no secret, and 
 are as binding on the peasant as the prince." 
 
 Lady Lucy s manner had a peculiar tenderness in 
 it to me as she wished me good-bye. 
 
 " Very difficult times, Olive !" she said, kissing 
 me ; "but we will remember women have one 
 work at all times; to make peace and pour balm 
 into wounds." 
 
 And Lettice whispered to me and Roger, 
 
THE DA VENA NTS. 223 
 
 "Don t believe those .wicked things about the 
 king, or I shall not be able to come to Xetherby." 
 
 Roger looked sorely perplexed. 
 
 " But how can we help believing them," he said, 
 " if we find them true ?" 
 
 " I can always help believing things I don t like," 
 she said. " Wishing is half way to believing." 
 And she slipped away, leaving a very heavy 
 shadow on Roger s face as he turned back to the 
 
 O 
 
 house. 
 
 " Xot quite so clear, Olive," said Aunt Dorothy, 
 when I repeated to her Lady Lucy s words as a 
 proof of her good wilL " There are times when 
 Deborah is as necessary as Barak, and more so. 
 And then there was Judith, a valiant and godly 
 woman, .although she is in the Apocrypha. And 
 there are times when the knife is kinder than all the 
 balm in Gilead." 
 
 " Knives are never safe, however," added my 
 Father, "except in hands that use them for the 
 same purpose as the balms." 
 
 The intercourse of the two families did not cease 
 after that little debate. It rather became more 
 frequent. The uneasy consciousness of the many 
 public differences that might at any time sever us, 
 only made us cling the more tenaciously, although 
 with trembling, to the private ties that united us. 
 For a fortnight after the Irish tidings reached us, 
 Lady Lucy, Aunt Gretel, and even Aunt Dorothy, 
 found a practical bond of union in collecting all the 
 clothes and provisions they could send to the suffer 
 ers by the Irish massacre. 
 
22 4 
 
 THE DK AY TONS AND 
 
 Then came the news of divisions in the patriot 
 party in the Parliament, with reference to the fram 
 ing and printing of the Grand Remonstrance, voted 
 to be printed on the 8th of December, Lady Lucy 
 dwelt much on the conciliatory intentions of the 
 king, on the feastings and welcomes prepared for 
 him in the city of London, and especially on the 
 defection of the gallant Sir Bevil Granvill, Lord 
 Falkland, and Mr. Hyde, from the popular cause. 
 " All moderate men," she said, " felt it was becom 
 ing the cause of disorder, and were abandoning it ; 
 and my Father, the most moderate and candid of 
 men, would not, she was sure, remain with a little 
 knot of fanatics and levellers." 
 
 That Christmas-tide the Grand Remonstrance, 
 with its long list of royal and ecclesiastical oppres 
 sions, and its statement of the recent victories of 
 Parliament over evil laws and evil councillors, was 
 read and eagerly debated at every fire-side in the 
 kingdom. 
 
 " But what do they want ?" Lady Lucy would 
 say. " They seem, from their own statements, to 
 have gained all they sought." 
 
 " They want security for everything !" my Father 
 would reply, " security for what they have won ; a 
 guard of their own appointing to keep them free, to 
 secure them against the guard of his own appoint 
 ing, with which they believe the king is endeavour 
 ing to surround and make them prisoners." 
 
 " Will no promises, no assurances of good-will 
 satisfy them?" she said. " They have sent ten more 
 prelates to keep the archbishop company in the 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 225 
 
 Tower. What further guarantees would they de 
 mand ?" 
 
 " It is hard indeed," he said, sorrowfully, " for all 
 the concessions in the world to restore broken con 
 fidence. All the fortresses in England, or a stand 
 ing army of a million, would not be such a safe 
 guard to the king as his own word might have been. 
 There is no cement in heaven or earth strong enough 
 to restore trust in broken faith." 
 
 " It is not always so easy to be sincere," she said, 
 " and God forgives and trusts us again and again." 
 
 " God forgives because he sees," he said. " Xations 
 are not omniscient, and therefore cannot forgive, 
 nor trust when they have been betrayed." 
 
 " The Parliament is unreasonable," she said, with 
 tears in her eyes ; " they judge like private gentle 
 men. Statesmen and princes cannot speak with the 
 simple candour of private men. Politics are like 
 chess. You would not confide every move before 
 hand to your enemy." 
 
 " The King and the Parliament do not profess to 
 be on opposite sides of the game," he replied. " But 
 if, in tact, it has come to that, can you wonder at 
 any amount of mutual suspicion ? Yet our Puritan 
 faith is, that there is but one law of truth and 
 equity in heaven and earth for prince, soldier, peas 
 ant, woman, and child. And I believe that, even 
 with hostile nations, not all the diplomatic subtle 
 ties in the world would give us the strength there 
 is in a trusted word. Let it once be felt of man or 
 nation, They have said it, therefore they mean it ; 
 and they have a strength nothing else can give. 
 
22 6 THE 2) RA YTOXS A XD 
 
 There must be two threads to weave a web of false 
 policy. Withdraw one, and the other falls to pieces 
 of itself. I believe the ruler who could make the 
 word of an Englishman a proverb for truth, would 
 do more for the strength of England than one who 
 won her fortresses on every island and coast in the 
 world." 
 
 " But see how the king trusts the people, Mr. 
 Drayton," she said. "His presence in that very 
 tumultuous disorderly city ought to make them be 
 lieve him." 
 
 " I do not see that His Majesty has had reason to 
 distrust the people," my Father replied. 
 
 " Ah !" she sighed ; " if you had only seen His 
 Majesty amidst his family, his chivalrous tenderness 
 to the queen, his native stateliness all laid aside in 
 playful fondness for his children." 
 
 " It might have made it more painful to have to 
 , distrust him as a king," my Father replied. " It 
 could scarcely have made it more possible to 
 trust." 
 
 " Well," she said, " either the nation will learn, 
 ere long, to trust his gracious intentions as he de 
 serves, or will learn to their cost what a sovereign 
 they have distrusted !" 
 
 But scarcely a week afterwards the whole country 
 was set in a flame by the tidings that His Majesty 
 had gone in person attended by five hundred 
 armed men, many of them young desperadoes, 
 feasted the night before at Whitehall to arrest the 
 five members (Pyin, Hampden, Hazelrig, Denzil 
 
THE DA I XXAyrs. 227 
 
 lEollis, and William Strode) in the inviolate sanctu 
 ary of the nation, the Parliament House itself. 
 
 And after that my Father and Lady Lucy ceased 
 to hold any more political debates. 
 
 He simply said, when, on the evening of those 
 tidings, we met in the village, 
 
 "The meaning of His Majesty s promises seems 
 plain at last." 
 
 And she replied, 
 
 " But if all good men distrust His Majesty, will 
 he not be driven to trust to evil men ?" 
 
 " I am afraid the course of falsehood is ever 
 downward," he answered, very sadly, "and the 
 breaches of just distrust ever widening." 
 
 " But, for heaven s sake, Mr. Drayton," she said, 
 with an imploring accent, as we returned with her 
 to the Hall, " think before you plunge into these 
 terrible divisions." 
 
 " I have thought long, madam," he said, " for I 
 have fought in the Thirty Years War. and seen 
 how war can devastate." 
 
 " But that was easy," she said, " that was church 
 against church, state against state, prince against 
 prince. This will be the church divided against 
 itself, the nation divided against itself, subject 
 against king, one good man against another. Think, 
 if you join Mr. Hauipden and Mr. Pym what noble 
 and wise men you will have against you ! (for you 
 honour Sir Bevil Grenvill and Lord Falkland as 
 much as we do) ; what violent and fanatical men 
 with you !" 
 
 " If all good men were on one side," he said, sor- 
 
22 8 THE DRA YTONS A ND 
 
 rowfully, " there need be few battles in church or 
 state." 
 
 "It seems to me," she added, "there is no party 
 one would willingly join save that of the peace 
 makers." 
 
 " That indeed is the very party I would seek to 
 join," said my Father. " But that seems to me the 
 very party which, from ancient times, has been stig 
 matized as those who turn the world upside down. 
 Since the Fall peace can seldom be reached save 
 through conflict." 
 
 Meanwhile Roger had joined us, and Lettice, as 
 we were about to separate, whispered to me, clasp 
 ing my hands in hers, 
 
 " They may turn the world upside down, Olive, 
 but they shall not separate us ! How happy it is 
 for us," she said, turning to Roger, who was stand 
 ing a little apart, " that, as Harry says, women have 
 nothing to do with politics." 
 
 " I am afraid," he said, in his abrupt way, 
 " women have often more than any to suffer from 
 politics." 
 
 " You take things so gravely, Roger," she said. 
 " Everything would be right if you would not all 
 of you be so hard on people who have done a little 
 wrong ; and would only try and believe what we 
 must all wish, and so bring it about." 
 
 " Everything will be wrong" said Roger, with 
 melancholy emphasis, " if you will believe things 
 and people because we wish, and not because they 
 are true." 
 
THE DA VEXAXTS. 
 
 229 
 
 For Roger, true to every one, was truthful to 
 scrupulousness with Lettice; what she was, or be 
 came, being of more moment to him than even what 
 she thought of him. 
 
 But Lettice only laughed, and said, 
 
 " I am not sixteen, and I have seen the country 
 at the point of ruin, I cannot tell how many times. 
 Other clouds have blown over, and so will this." 
 
 And she sped away to rejoin her mother, only 
 once more turning back to wave her hand and say : 
 
 " To-morrow morning, Olive, at the Lady Well ! 
 The ice will be strong enough on the Mere for 
 skating. To-morrow ! " 
 
 But the next morning, when Roger and I went to 
 the Lady Well, no Lettice was there. 
 
 Snow had fallen in the night. 
 
 The frozen surface of the Mere was strewn with 
 it, except in places where it was sheltered by the 
 overhanging brushwood, where it lay black as steel 
 against the white banks. All the music was frozen 
 in stream and wood. The drops, whose soft trick 
 ling into the well beneath, had floated Lettice and 
 me into fairy-land last summer, hung in glittering 
 silent icicles around the stone sides of the welL 
 
 And Roger and I went silently home. 
 
 " The snow has detained her," I said. 
 
 " She is not so easily turned aside from a pro 
 mise," he said. 
 
 And when we reached home we found a messen 
 ger and a letter from Lettice, saying Lady Lucy had 
 been summoned to attend the Queen at Windsor, 
 that Lettice had accompanied her, and that Harry 
 
230 
 
 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 Davenant and Sir Walter, being engaged about the 
 king s person, Sir Launcelot Trevor had come to es 
 cort them. 
 
 " The Princess Mary is about to be married to the 
 Prince of Orange," Lettice wrote ; " and as the 
 queen is to accompany her to the Low Countries, 
 she wishes to see my mother before she leaves the 
 country." 
 
 " It would be a good service to us all if the queen 
 would stay away for ever," said Aunt Dorothy 
 and she expressed the feeling of a large part of the 
 nation " the king would lose the worst of his evil 
 counsellors." 
 
 "That depends," said my Father, sadly, "on 
 whether the king is not his own worst counsellor. 
 If the evil has its origin in others, the queen may 
 indeed injure him more by remaining here. But, on 
 the other hand, she may succour him more on the 
 Continent." 
 
 " Well, at all events," said Aunt Dorothy, " her 
 absence may be a blessing to Lady Lucy and Mis 
 tress Lettice. For that child is not without gra 
 cious dispositions. Last week she called when every 
 one else was out, and wishing to turn the time to 
 account, I set her to read aloud from the sermons of 
 good Mr. Adams ; and she read two and part of the 
 third, only twice going to the window to see if any 
 one was coming, and never even looking up, after I 
 once asked her if she was tired." 
 
 " Do you think she really enjoyed them, Aunt 
 Dorothy ? " I asked ; knowing how difficult it was 
 to ascertain Lettice s distastes, on account of her 
 
THE DA YEN AXIS. 
 
 231 
 
 predominant taste .of doing what pleased other 
 people. 
 
 " I think better of the child than to deem she 
 would seem pleased with aught she did not really 
 like," said Aunt Dorothy ; and, although unconvinc 
 ed, I rejoiced that Aunt Dorothy had fallen under 
 the spell. 
 
 " What did she say ? " I asked. 
 
 "The first sermon was The Spiritual Navigator 
 Bound for the Holy Land, about the glassy sea ; 
 and she said it was near as pretty reading as Spen 
 ser s Faery Queen a remark which, though it 
 showed some lack of spiritual discernment, was 
 something, in that it showed she was entertained. 
 The second was Heaven s Gate ; and when we 
 came to the place about the gate being in our own 
 heart, Great manors have answerable porches. 
 Heaven must needs be spacious, when a little star 
 fixed in a far lower orb exceeds the earth in quan 
 tity ; yet it hath a low gate, not a lofty coming in. 
 And she said she had thought the Gate of Heaven 
 was only opened when we die, not here while we live, 
 and it was a strange thing to think on. The third 
 sermon was Semper Idem, the Immutable Mercy 
 of Jesus Christ, and in that we did not read far; 
 for when she read the sun of divinity is the Scrip 
 ture, the sun of Scripture is the gospel, the sun of 
 the gospel is Jesus Christ. Xor is this the centre 
 of his word only, but of our rest. Thou hast made 
 us for thee, O Christ, and the heart is unquiet till it 
 iv.-t in thee ; seeking, we may find Him lie is 
 ready ; finding, we may still seek Him ; he is infi- 
 
232 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 nite, her voice trembled, and with tears in her 
 eyes, she looked up and said, I suppose that is 
 what the other sermon means by entering the Gate of 
 He i ven no v And I deem that a wise thing for a 
 child to say, brought up as she has been under the 
 very walls of Babylon. And the poor young 
 thing s ways pleased me so that I gave her the 
 three sermons to keep. And she promised to set 
 store by them, and treasure them in a cedarn box 
 she hath, together with some books by Dr. Taylor. 
 And although Dr. Taylor is an Arminian, I had not 
 the heart to cross the child. Especially as books 
 are not like us ; they are none the worse for being 
 in bad company." 
 
 But Roger made no comment. Only the next 
 Sunday, as we were walking home from church to 
 gether, he said sorrowfully 
 
 " Oh, Olive, so ready to be pleased with every 
 thing as she is, so pleased to please every one, so 
 sure to please, so true and generous, so ready to be 
 lieve good of every one ; that she should be launch 
 ed into that false Court ! I shall always dread to 
 hear any one say, To-morrow. If we could only 
 have known, there were so many things one might 
 have said or have left unsaid. The last thing I said 
 to her seems to me now so harsh. She will always 
 think of us as rebuking her. And her last look was 
 a defiant little smile ! If we could only know the 
 days, or what words, are to be the last. To-mor 
 row," he added, "she was to have met us at the old 
 well, and now she is at the king s Court ; and be 
 tween us lies a great gulf of civil war ; and the 
 
THE DA VEX ANTS. 
 
 2 33 
 
 whole country in such tumult, it seems a kind of 
 disloyalty to England to think of our own private 
 sorrows." 
 
 And Roger spoke but too truly. For it is impos 
 sible to say how deeply that act of the king s in in 
 vading the Parliament had incensed the whole na 
 tion. It showed, as nothing else could have done, 
 my Father said, that what was holy ground to the 
 nation was mere common soil to the king. Men 
 had borne to have soldiers illegally billeted on their 
 homes ; fathers torn, against law, from their fami 
 lies, and left to die in prisons. Each such act of 
 tyranny was exceptional or partial, and might be 
 redressed by patient appeals to our ancient laws. 
 ]Much of personal liberty might be sacrificed rather 
 than violate the order on which all true liberty is 
 based. But the Parliament House during the sit 
 ting of the Parliament was the sacred hearth of the 
 nation itself. Every man felt his own hearth vio 
 lated in its violation. Henceforth nothing was sa 
 cred, nothing was safe, throughout the land. And 
 from that day, my Father, dreading civil war as 
 only a soldier can who knows what the terrors of 
 war are, never seemed to have a doubt that it must 
 come. Xor, candid as he was, to the verge of weak 
 ness (as Aunt Dorothy thought), in his anxiety to 
 allow what was just to all sides, did he ever seem 
 after that to doubt, if the strife came, on which side 
 he must stand. 
 
 There was a strange mixture of rigid adherences 
 to ancient forms, with the boldest spirit of liberty, 
 20* 
 
234 THE DRA YTONS 
 
 in that scene in Parliament on the 3rd of January 
 1642. 
 
 Dr. Antony wrote us how all the members rose 
 uncovered before the king, how the speaker on his 
 knee beside his own chair, which the king had 
 usurped, refused to answer His Majesty s questions 
 as to the absence of the five members, whom his 
 eye vainly sought in their vacant places, saying : 
 "Please your Majesty, I have neither eyes to see, 
 nor ears to hear, nor tongue to speak in this place, 
 save as the House directs me." "Words," wrote 
 Dr. Antony, " respectful enough for a courtier of 
 Nebuchadnezzar, with a meaning as kingly as those 
 of any Ca3sar. Not a disrespectful word or gesture 
 was directed against the king as he retired baffled 
 from the House, saying, that he saw the birds had 
 flown, and protesting that he had intended no 
 breach of privilege. But before he descended the 
 steps of the Hall to rejoin the armed guard outside, 
 the civil war, my Father said, had begun. 
 
 The next day the king had returned baffled from 
 another attempt to arrest the five members in the 
 city. The aldermen, true representatives of the 
 great merchants of England, were as resolute as the 
 Parliament. They made His Majesty a great feast, 
 but no concessions. 
 
 Within a week a thousand seamen from the good 
 ships in the broad Thames had offered their servi 
 ces to guard the Parliament from their refuge in the 
 city by water to Westminster, and as many pren 
 tices had entreated to be permitted to render a sim 
 ilar service by land ; four thousand freeholders from 
 
THE DA VENANTB. 235 
 
 Buckinghamshire (Hampden s county) had entered 
 London on horseback with petitions against wicked 
 councillors, and (on the 10th of January) the king 
 had left Whitehall for Hampden Court. 
 
 But no man knew he would not return thither 
 until seven years later, on another January day, 
 never to leave it more. 
 
 So few last days come to us clothed in mourning 
 announcing themselves as the last. We step smil 
 ing into the ferry-boat which is to carry us for a 
 little while, as we think, across, the narrow stream, 
 and wave our hands and say to those who watch 
 us from the familiar shore, " To-morrow!" and be 
 fore \ve are aware the stream is a sea, the ferry-boat 
 is the boat of Charon, the familiar shore is out of 
 sight ; the window of the palace has become the 
 threshold of.the scaffold, and to-morrow is eternity. 
 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 JHEN I think of the months which passed 
 between the king s attempted arrest of 
 the five members and the first battle of 
 the Civil War, I sometimes wonder how 
 any one can ever undertake to write history. 
 
 In the little bit of the world known to us, parties 
 were so strangely intertwined, so strangely divided, 
 and so heterogeneously composed. The motives 
 that drew men to one side or the other were so 
 various and so mixed, that I think scarce one of 
 those we knew fought on the same side for the same 
 reason ; while the differences which separated many 
 men in the same party were certainly wider in many 
 respects than those which separated them from 
 others against whom they fought. 
 
 Plow world-wide the difference between Harry 
 Davenant and Sir Launcelot Trevor ! How nicely 
 balanced the scales that made my Father and John 
 Hampden " rebels," and Harry Davenant or Lord 
 Falkland " malignants !" 
 
 Yet the distinctions were real, at least so it seems 
 
 (236) 
 
THE DA YEN A NTS. 
 
 237 
 
 to me. Nor do I see how, if all were to be again start 
 ing from the same point, either could avoid coming 
 to the same issue. 
 
 Harry Davenant believed revolution to be ruin, 
 and chose the most arbitrary rule instead. 
 
 ]Nly Father, equally dreading revolution, believed 
 the king to be the great revolutionist ; by his arbi 
 trary will changing times and laws ; by his hopeless 
 untruth subverting the foundations of society. 
 Slowly he stepped down into the cold bitter waters 
 of civil war. having for his watch-word, " Loyalty 
 to England and her laws !" His chief hope lay in 
 Mr. Hampden. 
 
 Roger again, and others like him, hoping more 
 from liberty than he feared from revolution, and 
 believing the contest would be fiery, but brief and 
 decisive, plunged gallantly into the flood, with Li 
 berty blazoned on their banners ; liberty to do right 
 and to speak the truth. His chosen captain was 
 Mr. Cromwell, in whose troop he served from 
 the first. God only knew the bitter pang it cost 
 him (I knew it not till years afterwards) to take 
 his post on the field which must, he knew, make so 
 great a gulf between him and the Davenants. It 
 was seldom Roger spoke of what he felt ; scarce 
 ever of what he suffered. 
 
 Dr. Antony wrote, meanwhile, from London : 
 
 " Chirurgeons, like women, have indeed their 
 place on the battle-field, and not out of reach of the 
 danger. But their work is with the wounded, and 
 their weapons are turned against the enemy of all ; 
 the * last enemy, scarce to be destroyed in this war ! 
 
238 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 I hope to succour on the battle-field those I sought 
 to comfort in the prisons. God grant I find the air 
 of the fieldas wholesome to the spirits of my patients 
 as that of the dungeon." 
 
 Job Forster never hesitated for a moment as to 
 which was the right side. To him England was in 
 one sense Canaan to be conquered, in another the 
 Chosen Land to be kept sacred. The king was Saul ; 
 or, in other aspects, Sihon king of the Amorites, or 
 Og king of Bashan. The Parliament, at first, and then 
 the Lord Protector and the army, were the chosen 
 people, Moses, Joshua, David. His only hesitation 
 was whether he himself ought to fight on the field, 
 or to work at the forge and protect Rachel and the 
 village at home. " The Almighty," he said, " has 
 not given me this big body of mine for nought. God 
 forbid it should be said of Job Forster, Why abodest 
 thou amidst the sheep-folds to hear the bleatings of 
 the flocks ? that is, the ring of the hammer and 
 anvil, which is as the bleating of my flocks to me. 
 Yet there is Rachel ! And the old law was merciful ; 
 and if it forbid a man to leave his new-married 
 wife, how should I answer for leaving her who has 
 more need of me, and has none but me ? and she so 
 ailing, and I, to whom the Lord has said as plain 
 as words can speak, c Be thou better to her than ten 
 sons. " 
 
 It was perhaps the first perplexity he had never 
 confided to her ; and sorely Avas Job exercised, until 
 one morning in August he came to my Father with 
 a lightened countenance, and said, 
 
 " Mr. Drayton, she has given the word, as plain as 
 
THE DA VENA2TTS. 239 
 
 ever Deborah spoke to Barak. I ve got my com 
 mission, and I m ready to go this night." 
 
 Afterwards, in an intimate talk by a camp-fire, 
 he once told Roger how that morning, between the 
 lights, he woke up and saw her kneeling down 
 with her arms crossed upon the Book, and her eyes 
 raised up to heaven, and running fast with tears. 
 " I lifted myself," he said, " on my elbow, and 
 I looked at her. But I didn t like to speak; I 
 saw there was something going on between her 
 soul and the Lord. And last she rose and came to 
 rne with a face as pale as the sheet, but without a 
 tear in her eyes or a tremble in her voice, and she 
 said, Job, thou shalt have thy way ; the Lord has 
 made me ready to give thee up. And I said, 
 sheepish-like, How canst thee know what I willed ? 
 I never said aught to thee ! Then she smiled and 
 said, Thee never thinks thee says aught except 
 thee speaks plain enough for the town-crier. Have 
 not I heard thy sighs, and seen thy hankering looks 
 whenever any of the lads listed these weeks past ? 
 But I could not speak before ; now I can. For I ve 
 gotten the word from the Lord for thee and for me, 
 and woe is me if I hold my peace. The word for 
 me was : Xow I know that thou fearest God, see 
 ing thou hast not withheld thy son, thy only son, 
 from me. And that, said she, means thee, Job ; 
 for thou are more to me than that, said she, more 
 than that, only and all. I have no promise to hold 
 thee by, like Abraham had for Isaac, yet if the Lord 
 calls, what can I do ? And there her voice gave 
 way, but. she hurried on And I ve gotten a word 
 
240 THE DRA YTONS AXU 
 
 for thee, " Have not I commanded fl/ec? Be strong 
 and of a good courage, for the Lord thy God is with 
 thee wheresoever thou goest." " So," concluded 
 Job," I got my word of command ; and there was no 
 more to be said. We knelt down together and 
 gave ourselves up ; and as soon as it was fairly day 
 I came to give in my name." 
 
 That was Job Forster s motive. He believed ho 
 had the word of command direct from the King of 
 kings. And this was the motive, I believe, of 
 hundreds and thousand more or less like him ; men 
 who, as the Lord Protector said when the strife was 
 over, were " never beaten." Gloriously distinct 
 the two armies and the two causes seemed to him, 
 perplexed by no subtle perceptions of right on the 
 wrong side, or of wrong on the right. 
 
 To Aunt Dorothy also matters were equally 
 clear, although her point of view was not precisely 
 the same, and in the subsequent subdivisions she 
 and Job became seriously opposed. Aunt Dorothy 
 believed that she saw in the New Testament a 
 model of church ritual and government, minutely 
 defined to the last stave or pin or loop of the taber 
 nacle; and rather that abandon the minutest of 
 these sacred details she would willingly have suf 
 fered any temporal loss. The whole Presbyterian 
 order of church government she saw clearly unfolded 
 in the Epistles ; and that godly men like Mr. 
 Cromwell on the one hand, or learned men like Dr. 
 Jeremy Taylor on the other, should fail to see it, 
 also, was a miracle only to be accounted for by the 
 blinding power of Satan, especially predicted in 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 24 1 
 
 these last days. With regard to the Government 
 of the State also, her belief was equally definite, 
 derived, as she considered, from the same Divine 
 source. The king was " the anointed of the Lord." 
 In this, she said, Lady Lucy had undoubted insight 
 into the truth. His wicked councillors might be 
 put to death, as traitors at once against him and the 
 realm ; armies might by his Parliament be raised 
 against him ; but it must be in his name, with the 
 purpose of setting him free from those evil coun 
 cillors by whom he was virtually kept a prisoner ; 
 his judgment being by them enthralled, so that he 
 was irresponsible for his acts, and might quite law 
 fully by his faithful covenanted subjects be placed, 
 respectfully, under bodily restraint, if thereby his 
 mind might be disenthralled from the hard bondage 
 of the wicked. But beyond this no subject might 
 go. The king s person was sacred; no profane 
 hand could be lifted with impunity against him. 
 Any difficulty, disorder, or evil, must be endured, 
 rather than touch a hair of the consecrated head. 
 This also was a conviction for which Aunt Dorothy 
 was fully prepared to encounter any amount of con 
 tradiction or disaster. The narrow ridge on which 
 she walked erect, without wavering or misgiving, 
 was, she was persuaded, marked out as manifestly 
 as the path of the Israelites through the Red Sea 
 by the wall of impassable waters on either hand, 
 by the pillar of cloud and fire behind. To this nar 
 row way she would have allured, led, or if needful 
 compelled every human soul, for their good, and the 
 glory of God. No vicissitudes of fortune affected 
 21 
 
242 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 her convictions ; the sorrows of all who deviated 
 from this narrow path being, in her belief, from the 
 Sword of the Avenger, while the sorrows of those 
 who kept to it were from the Rod of the Comforter. 
 My Father s adherence to very much the same 
 course of conduct, from a belief of its expediency, 
 and Aunt Gretel s from the tenderness of sympathy 
 which inevitably drew her to the side on which 
 there was the most suffering, seemed to Aunt Do 
 rothy happy accidents, or special and uncovenanted 
 mercies, singularly vouchsafed to persons of their 
 uncertain and indefinite opinions. Not that Aunt 
 Dorothy s nature was in any way vulgar, small, and 
 narrow. Her heart w T as deep and high, if not always 
 wide. To her convictions she would have sacrificed 
 first herself, then the universe. Her convenience she 
 would have sacrificed to the comfort of the meanest 
 human being in the universe. She would not have 
 swerved from her ridge of orthodoxy for the dearest 
 love on earth. She would have stooped from it 
 to save or help the most degraded wanderer, or her 
 greatest enemy. 
 
 But the most dangerous conviction she held was 
 unfortunately one of the deepest. It was that of 
 her own practical infallibility. It was strange that, 
 Avith the profoundest and most practical convictions 
 of her own sinfulness, she never could learn the im 
 possibility that all error should be removed whilst 
 any sin remains ; that there should be no darkness 
 in the mind while there is so much in the heart. 
 Strange, but not uncommon. Her sin she acknowl 
 edged as her own. Her creed she identified entirely 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 243 
 
 with the Holy Scriptures. It was not her owu, she 
 said, it was God s truth to the miuutest point, and, 
 as such, she would have suflered or fought for every 
 clause. 
 
 Xevertheless, with advancing years Roger and I 
 grew into a deeper reverence for her character. If 
 in our childhood she represented to us Justice with 
 the sword and scales (often in our belief very ef 
 fectually blindfolded), whilst Aunt Gretel enacted 
 counteracting Mercy ; in after years we grew rather 
 to look on them as Truth and Tenderness, acting 
 not counter to each other, but in combination. And 
 in this imperfect world, where truth and love are 
 never blended in perfect proportions in any one 
 character, it is difficult to say on which we leant the 
 most. It was strange to see how often their op 
 posite attributes led them to the same actions. 
 " Speaking the truth in love," was Aunt Dorothy s 
 maxim; and if the love were sometimes lost in the 
 emphasis on truth, neither truth nor love were ever 
 sacrificed to selfish interest. " First pure then peace 
 able" was her wisdom ; and I cannot say she always 
 got as far as the "gentle, and easy to be entreated." 
 But it is something to be able to look back on a life 
 like hers, uuprofaned by one stain of untruthfulness, 
 or by one low or petty aim. It is only in looking 
 back that we learn what a rock of strength she was 
 to us all, or how the tenderest memories of home 
 often cling like mosses around such rocks ; the 
 more closely, sometimes, for their very ruggedness. 
 Thns our home at Netherby contained various ele 
 ments ecclesiastical and political as well as moral, 
 
244 
 
 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 all of which, however, at the commencement of 
 the civil wars were gathered together under the 
 watchword, Loyalty above all to the King of 
 kings. Liberty to obey God." 
 
 It was this indeed, that, with all our internal dif 
 ferences as to church government and secular go 
 vernment, united us into one party. Whatever 
 varieties of opinion as to church government our 
 party contained : Presbyterian, Independent, Mode 
 rate Episcopal, or Quaker; classical, republican, 
 aristocratic, English constitutional, or, finally, the 
 adherents of the Deliverer, chosen (they deemed) 
 as divinely and to be obeyed as implicitly as any 
 Hebrew judge all believed in the theocracy. 
 
 The liberty our party contended for was no mere 
 unloosing of bonds. It was liberty to obey the 
 highest law. It was no mere levelling to clear an 
 empty space for new experiments. It was sweeping 
 away ruins to clear a platform for the kingdom of 
 God. 
 
 And this was another point in which the recol 
 lections of my life make me feel how vast and com 
 plicated an undertaking it must be to write history. 
 
 In our early days we used to be given histories 
 of the Church and histories of the world. Profane 
 histories and sacred histories as neatly and definite 
 ly separated as if the Church and the world had 
 been two distinct planets. 
 
 But in our own times, at least, it seems to me 
 absolutely impossible thus to separate them. The 
 Battle of Dunbar was to Oliver Cromwell and his 
 army as religious an act as their prayer-meeting at 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 245 
 
 Windsor. The righting the poor folks who lost 
 their rights on the Soke of Somersham was, I be 
 lieve, as religious an act to Mr. Cromwell as the ap 
 pointment of the gospel-lectures. And as with the 
 actions so with the persons. Who can say which 
 persons of our time belong to ecclesiastical and 
 which to secular history ? 
 
 Does the history of the Convocation, of the Star- 
 Chamber, or of the Westminster Assembly, belong 
 to sacred history; and the history of the Long Par 
 liament, where decisions were made for time and 
 eternity, or of the battle-fields whence thousands 
 went to their last account, to profane? Is the 
 making of confessions of faith a religious act, and 
 the living by them or dying for them secular ? Are 
 Archbishop Laud, Bishop Williams, Mr. Baxter, 
 Dr. Owen, Mr. Howe, ecclesiastical persons ; and 
 Lord Falkland, Mr. Hampden, Mr. Pym, or Oliver 
 Cromwell, secular ? 
 
 In our times, as in my own life, it seems to me 
 absolutely impossible to say where sacred history 
 begins and where the profane ends. 
 
 My consolation is that it seems to me much the 
 same in the Holy Scriptures. We call Genesis sa 
 cred history ; and what is it, chiefly, but a story of 
 family life ? What is Exodus but a, record of na 
 tional deliverances ? What are the Chronicles and 
 Kings but histories of wars and sieges, interspersed 
 with pathetic family stories? What, indeed, are 
 the gospels themselves but the record, not of creeds 
 or ecclesiastical conflicts, but of a life, the Life, 
 coming in contact with every form of sickness, and 
 21* 
 
246 THE DRA YTON8 AND 
 
 sin, and sorrow in this our common everyday hu 
 man life ? What would the gospels be with noth 
 ing but the Sabbaths and the synagogues, and the 
 Sanhedrim, and the Scribes and Pharisees left in 
 them ? With the widow s only son left out of them, 
 and the ruler s little daughter, and the woman who 
 was a sinner, and the five thousand fed on the grassy 
 slopes of Galilee, and the one young man who de 
 parted sorrowful for he had great possessions? 
 Would it have been more truly Church history for 
 being the less human history ? 
 
 The Bible history seems to me to be a history of 
 all human life in relation to God. The sins of the 
 Bible are terribly manifest, secular sins ; injustice, 
 impurity, covetousness, cruelty. Its virtues are 
 simple homely, positive virtues ; truth, uprightness, 
 kindness, mercy, gratitude, courage, gentleness ; 
 such sins and virtues as make the weal or woe of 
 nations and of homes. Ordinary ecclesiastical his 
 tory seems to me too often a record of secular strug 
 gles for consecrated things, and names, and places, 
 and of selfish strivings for which shall be greatest. 
 The sins it blames, too often mere transgressions of 
 rules, mistakes as to religious terms, neglect of the 
 tithe of mint, anise, and cummin. The virtues it 
 commends, ala ! too often negative renunciations 
 of certain indulgences, scruples as to certain obser 
 vances, fasting twice in the week (things which, 
 done or undone, leave the heart the same), intoler 
 ance of differences, resulting in persecuting or be 
 ing persecuted according to the relative balance of 
 power. 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 24.7 
 
 But underneath all this a Church history like that 
 of the Bible is being silently lived on earth, is being 
 silently written in heaven. Little glimpses of it we 
 see here from time to time. What will it be when 
 we see it all ? 
 
 All through that summer the country was astir 
 with the enlistings for the king and the Parlia 
 ment. 
 
 These began about April. 
 
 On the 23d of February, Queen Henrietta Maria 
 had embarked at Dover for the Low Countries, with 
 the Princess Mary and the crown jewels. 
 
 From the time that she was in safety the king s 
 tone to the Parliament began (it was thought) to 
 change. Always chivalrously regardful of her, and 
 indifferent to danger for himself (for none of his 
 father s timidity could ever be charged to him), he 
 began to give more open answers to the popular 
 demands. He hoped also, it was said, much from, 
 the queen s eloquence and exertions in his cause on 
 the Continent. It was his misfortune, my Father 
 said, that any favourable turn in his affairs made 
 him unyielding ; and thus it happened that he only 
 came to terms when his cause was at the worst, so 
 that his treaties had the double disadvantage of 
 being made under the most adverse circumstances, 
 and with men who knew from repeated experience 
 that not one of his most sacred promises would be 
 kept if he could help it. Such virtues as he pos 
 sessed seemed always to come into action at the 
 wrong moment ; his courage when it could only 
 
2 4 3 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 kindle irritation; his graciousness when it could 
 only inspire contempt. 
 
 The queen being safely out of the country, and 
 the king safely out of the capital, from his refuge 
 at York came the renewal of the old irritating de 
 mand for tonnage and poundage, rooting the oppo 
 sition firmer than ever in the irrevocable distrust 
 of the royal word. 
 
 The demand of the king for the old usurpations 
 was met by the assertion of the Parliament of old 
 rights, with the demand for new powers to secure 
 these ; by the assertion of the power of the purse, 
 and the demand for power over the militia. 
 
 But to us women at Netherby all these negotia 
 tions and fencings between the king and the Par 
 liament sounded so much like what had gone on for 
 so long, everything was couched in such orderly 
 and constitutional language, that it was difficult to 
 think anything more than Protestations, Remon 
 strances, Breach of Privilege, and Protests for 
 Privilege, would ever come of it. 
 
 The first thing that roused me to the sense that 
 it might end not in words but in battles, was the 
 news that reached us one April evening that the 
 king had gone in person with three hundred horse 
 men to the gates of Hull, and had summoned Sir 
 Jojin Hotham to surrender the city ; that Sir John 
 had refused to surrender or to admit the king s 
 troops (offering all loyal courtesy at the same time 
 to the king himself) ; that the king and his three 
 hundred had thereon gone off baffled to Beverly, 
 and there proclaimed Sir John Hotham a traitor. 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 
 
 249 
 
 That night I said to Aunt Gretel, 
 
 " This seems to me altogether to introduce a new 
 set of terms and things. Instead of Protestations 
 and Remonstrances, we hear of Summonses and 
 Surrenders. The king and his cavaliers repulsed 
 from the closed gates of one of his own cities! 
 Aunt Gretel, these are new words to us"; does not 
 this look like war ?" 
 
 And she replied, in a tremulous voice, 
 
 " Alas, sweet heart, these are no new words to 
 me. Your people seem to arrange many things 
 others tight about, by talking about them. And it 
 is difficult for me to say what words mean with 
 you. But these words are indeed terribly familiar 
 to me. And in my country they would certainly 
 mean war." 
 
 And that night I well remember the perplexity 
 that crossed my prayers, whether in praying as 
 usual for the king I might not be praying against 
 the Parliament, and against my Father and Roger, 
 and the nation ; until after debating the matter in 
 my own mind for some time, I came to the conclu 
 sion that on whatever dark mountains scattered, 
 and by whatever deep waters divided, to Him 
 there is still " One flock, one Shepherd," and that 
 however ill I knew how to ask, He knew well what 
 to give. 
 
 LETTICE DAVEXAXT S DIABY. 
 
 (From another source.} 
 
 " York, April, 1642. It has actually begun at last. 
 The rebellion has begun. Sir John Hotham (Sir I 
 
250 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 hesitate to call him, for what knight is worthy the 
 name who turns his disloyal sword against the very 
 Fountain of knighthood and of all honor?) has closed 
 the gates of Hull against the summons against the 
 very voice and person of His Sacred Majesty. At 
 once the king withdrew to Beverley, and under the 
 shadow of the grand old Minster proclaimed the 
 false knight a traitor. 
 
 " The rebellion has begun, but every one says it 
 cannot last long. Next Christmas at latest must 
 see us all at peace again ; the nation once more at 
 the feet of the king. My Mother says like a prodi 
 gal child ; Sir Launcelot says likf a beaten hound. 
 Mobs, says he, like dogs, can only learn to obey by 
 being suffered to rebel a little, and then being whip 
 ped for it. (I like not well this talk of Sir Launce 
 lot. If the nation is like a hound, at what point 
 in the nation does the dog-nature begin, and the 
 human end ?) Speaking so, I told him, we might 
 include ourselves. But he laughed, and said, such 
 discerning of spirits required no miraculous gift. 
 Moreover, he said, the king himself had once com 
 pared the Parliaments to cats, to be tamed when 
 young but cursed when old; and had called his 
 sailors in the Thames who offered to guard the Par 
 liament water-rats. If the king said so, I confess 
 I think His Majesty might have chosen more court 
 ly similes. But I do not believe he did. I will 
 never believe any evil of His Majesty, whoever says 
 it, scarcely if I were to see it myself, for my eyes 
 might be deceived. 
 
 " Only I should be sorely vexed if they heard 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 
 
 251 
 
 these things at Netherby ; because they never said 
 rough tilings of any one. Especially now I am not 
 there to explain things. For I am not allowed to 
 write to them, nor to see them again, until things 
 are right again in the country; which makes me 
 write this. 
 
 " However, it cannot last long. Every one here 
 agrees in that. Every one except Harry, whom we 
 call II Penseroso. He sees such a long way, and 
 on so many sides, or at least he tries to do so ; and 
 he talks of the Wars of the Roses, and the Wars 
 in Germany ; as if there were any resemblance ! In 
 Germany there were kings and states opposed. In 
 the Wars of the Roses royal persons, with some 
 kind of claim to reign. But this is nothing but flat 
 rebellion. The family against the father; sworn 
 liegemen against their sovereign lord; the body 
 against the head. And how can any one think for 
 a moment there can be any end to it but one, and 
 that soon ? Yes ; at Christmas, I trust, we Dave- 
 nants shall be at the Hall again, and the Draytons 
 at Netherby, looking back to the end of this frantic 
 and unnatural outbreak. 
 
 " And I mean to be most generous to them all 
 about it. I do not mean even to say, I always told 
 you how it would end. They will see, and that 
 will be enough. The king will forgive every one, 
 I am sure, he is so gracious and gentle (he spoke 
 to me like a father the other day, and yet with such 
 knightly deference !) except, perhaps, a very few, 
 who will have to be made examples of, unless they 
 make examples of themselves by running out of 
 
2 5 2 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 the country, which I hope they may. For having 
 once re-asserted his rightful authority, the king will 
 be able to be forgiving without being suspected of 
 weakness. There need not be any more poor mis 
 taken people set in the pillory, which really seems 
 to do no one any good, as far as I can see, and to 
 make every one so exceedingly angry. The Puri 
 tans (that is, those among them who have any 
 sense) will see that it really can make no difference 
 whether the clergyman says the prayers in a white 
 dress or a black. Perhaps even the bishops and 
 archbishops might own "the same. Because, al 
 though it cannot be good management to give a , 
 naughty child its way for crying, if it stops crying 
 and is good, it is quite another thing. 
 
 " And then everything would go on delightfully. 
 The very troublesome and obstinate people (on both 
 sides, I think) might, perhaps, all go to America, 
 some to the north and some to the south. For the 
 American plantations are very wide, they say, and 
 by the time they met say in one or two hundred 
 years their great-great grandchildren might have 
 given up caring so much about the colours of the 
 vestments and the titles of the clergymen who do 
 the services in the church. So that by that time 
 everything would go on delightfully in America as 
 well as in England. And by next Christmas, from 
 what the gentlemen and ladies about here say, I 
 should think this might all have begun. Only just 
 now this little unpleasant contest has to be gone 
 through first. And I am very much afraid as to 
 what Mr. Drayton and Roger may do, or even 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 253 
 
 Olive. They are so terribly conscientious. They 
 will pick up the smallest questions with their con 
 sciences instead of with their common sense ; which 
 seems to me like watering a daisy with a fire-engine, 
 or weeding a flower-bed with a plough. Mistress 
 Dorothy is the worst of them (dear, kind, old soul, 
 I must now and then look at her sermons, in order 
 to make it quite clear to myself I was not a hypo 
 crite in listening to them all that time). But I do 
 not think any of them are quite safe in this way. 
 And yet I know, in my inmost heart, they are better 
 than any one in the world, except my Mother, and 
 perhaps Harry. (Of His Majesty it is not for ine 
 to speak.) And I love them better than any one- in 
 the world, which, I am afraid, they will not believe, 
 now I am not allowed to write to them. I love 
 them for their noble perverseness, and their heroic 
 conscientiousness, and their terrible truthfulness, 
 and everything that separates us. And these last 
 months at home have been the happiest of my life. 
 I felt growing quite good. And one thing I have 
 resolved. I will not say one word I should niind 
 their hearing, so that when we meet again I may 
 have nothing to explain or to unsay. For it is only 
 misunderstanding that will ever make any of them 
 take the wrong side ; nothing but misunderstand 
 ing. And facts will set that all right when they 
 see how things really are. As they will, I trust, 
 before Christmas. 
 
 " It is not so easy to be good here as at Xether- 
 by. People say so many pretty things to me. My 
 Mother says I must not heed them ; they are only 
 22 
 
254 
 
 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 Court ways of speaking, which mean nothing ; and 
 that rightly used, I might make them means of 
 mortification, saying every time I hear such pretty 
 phrases, as good Dr. Taylor recommended, My 
 beauty is in colour inferior to many flowers ; and 
 even a dog hath parts as well proportioned to the 
 designs of his nature as I have ; and three tits of 
 an ague can change it into yellowness and leanness, 
 and to hollowness and wrinkles of deformity. But 
 this I find not so easy. If I were a rose, I should 
 be pleased at being a rose, and at being thought 
 sweet and fair. And even a well-favoured dog, 
 meseems, has some harmless delight in his good 
 looks. And as to the ague, I see no likelihood of 
 it. And as to becoming yellow and lean, the more 
 I think of it, the gladder I am to think I am not. 
 And yet there is some little flutter in my pleasure 
 at these fair speeches which hardly seems to me quite 
 altogether good. And I do not think my Mother 
 quite knows what nonsense these young Cavaliers 
 talk. Perhaps no one did ever talk nonsense to 
 her. Or, if they did, I am sure she never liked it. 
 And I am afraid I do sometimes a little. Else, why 
 should it all come back into my mind at wrong 
 times ? in the Minster or at prayers. Heigh, ho ! 
 I wish I was at Netherby. No one ever called me 
 fair enchantress there, or my cheeks Aurora s rose- 
 garden, or my teeth strings of pearls, or my hands 
 lilies, or my hair imprisoned sunbeams, or my voice 
 the music of the spheres. Sir Launcelot talked 
 enough of that kind of poetry to me, between 
 Netherby and Windsor, to make a book of ballads. 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 
 
 2 55 
 
 (For ray Mother was in the sedan-chair, whilst I 
 rode most of the way with Sir Launcelot.) And yet, 
 I think, there is more honour in Roger Drayton s 
 telling me in his straight-forward way he thought 
 me wrong, as he so often did, than in all Sir Launce- 
 lot s most honeyed compliments. 
 
 " Not that I think Olive just to poor Sir Launce 
 lot. If she could have seen his debonair and court 
 eous ways to every clown and poor wench we met, 
 and how he flung his crowns and angels to -any 
 beggar, she must have felt there is much kindliness 
 in him, with all his wild ways. 
 
 " And when he saw I liked not so many fair 
 speeches, he gave them up in a measure. I must 
 say that for him ; and he has been as deferential to 
 me ever since at the Court, as if I were one of the 
 princesses. Only I wish he would not always see 
 when I drop my glove or my posy : at least, I think 
 I do. Yet it is rather pleasant, too, at times to feel 
 there is some one who cares about one among so 
 many strange people, and some one who is always 
 ready to talk about poor old Netherby, and who 
 honours the Draytons, moreover, so generously. I 
 wish Olive knew this. 
 
 " And I wish I were like my Mother, and had a 
 chapel built in my heart. Or else that I could live 
 at Xetherby. 
 
 " Sir Launcelot admires the beauty of holiness 
 in my Mother. He says, in all times, happily, there 
 have been these sweet exalted Saints, especially 
 among women, bright particular stars, celestial 
 beauties, and princesses, that all men must revere. 
 
256 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 Quite another kind of thing, he says, from the 
 Puritan notion of calling all men to be * saints, or 
 else consigning them to reprobation Us among the 
 wicked. 
 
 "Note. I am at a loss what -to call this writing 
 of mine. It is scarcely a Diary or Journal, for I 
 certainly do not anything as regular as write in it 
 every day. It is not i Annals ; for I hope to have 
 done with it before Christmas, when I shall have 
 met Olive and all of them again at home. Chroni 
 cles are more solemn still. Thoughts ? where 
 shall I find them ? Facts ? how is one to know 
 them, when people give such different accounts of 
 things ? Meditations ? worse again. Religious 
 Journals, Confessions, etc., always puzzled me. 
 I could never make out for whom they were written. 
 Especially the prayers I have seen written out at 
 length in them. They cannot be meant for other 
 people to read. That would be turning the closet 
 into the corners of the street. They cannot be 
 meant for the people themselves to read. For what 
 good could that do ? It would not be praying to 
 see how I prayed some years since. They cannot 
 surely be meant for God to read. He is always 
 near, and can hear, or read our hearts, which is 
 quite another thing from reading our Diaries. 
 
 " May 30, York. The birds begin to sing in the 
 trees around the Minster. Our lodging is opposite. 
 And the courtiers begin to gather once more around 
 the king. Many lords have come these last days 
 from London, with some faithful members of the 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 2 5 7 
 
 Commons House, and old Lord Littleton has come, 
 with somewhat limping loyalty, they say, after the 
 Great Seal, now in his right hand. So that this 
 grave old town begins to look gay. Cavaliers cara- 
 colling about the streets, doffing their hats to fair 
 faces in the windows. Troops mustering but slow 
 ly ; somewhat slowly. Xor can I make out if these 
 townspeople altogether like us and our ways. There 
 are so many Puritans among these traders. And 
 Sir Launcelot says they have great sport in the Pu 
 ritan household where he is quartered, in making 
 the Puritan lads learn the Distracted Puritan, and 
 other roystering Cavalier songs, and drink confu 
 sion to the Covenant ; and in making the host and 
 hostess bring out their best conserves, linen and 
 plate, for the use of the men. Sir Launcelot told 
 them, he said, that they should only Took on it as 
 the payment of an old debt the children of Israel 
 had owed to the Egyptians these three thousand 
 years. I do not think such jokes good manners 
 in any other person s house, and I told him so. 
 But he said their ridiculous gravity makes the 
 temptation too strong to be resisted. If they 
 would jest good-humouredly in return, he said, they 
 would soon understand each other. But would 
 they ? I am not quite sure how Sir Launcelot en 
 joys not having the best of a joke. And I could 
 not bear his calling the Puritans all canting, or ridic 
 ulous. He knows better. And I told him so. I felt 
 quite indignant, and the tears were in my eyes (for 
 I thought of them all at Xetherby). He seemed 
 penitent. Indeed, I hope it did him good. 
 22* 
 
258 THE DRA YTONS A ND 
 
 " June. The Parliament are growing more inso 
 lent every day ; they dared to say in one of their 
 ridiculous Remonstrances that ; the king is for the 
 kingdom, not the kingdom for the king, that 
 even the crown jewels are not His Majesty s 
 own, but given him in trust for the regal power. 
 However, they will soon learn their mistake about 
 that, for the crown-jewels are safe in Holland, and 
 have there purchased for the Crown good store of 
 arms and ammunition. These were all embarked 
 in a Dutch ship called the Providence. A great 
 Providence, my Mother says, attended her. For 
 although she was wrecked on the coast of York 
 shire, nevertheless, all her stores have this day been 
 safely brought into York. 
 
 " Now we shall see what gentlemen can do against 
 tapsters, and tailors and haberdashers prentices, 
 such as make up the wretched army they have been 
 mustering in London ! The citizens wives actually 
 brought their thimbles and bodkins, it is said, to 
 pay the men ; to such mean and ludicrous straits 
 are they reduced. The Cavaliers call it the Thim 
 ble and Bodkin Army. 
 
 " July 20. Sir John Hotham is said to be waver 
 ing back to loyalty. A day or two since, a gallant 
 little army of four thousand men rode forth hence 
 through the Mickle Bar, to demand the surrender 
 of that presumptuous city, Hull, and if refused, to 
 storm it. Better they had listened to His Majesty s 
 gentle summons with his three hundred. How gal 
 lant and brave they looked. Plumed helmets 
 gleaming, swords flashing, pennons flying, horses 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 
 
 259 
 
 looking as proud of the cause as the riders. Not a 
 cavalier among them who would not face battle as 
 gayly as the hunting-field. 
 
 " July 22. Those treacherous townspeople ! Not 
 a troop of them is to be relied on. Our gallant 
 Cavaliers came back in disorder. And all because 
 of the faithless train-bands, and those turbulent cit 
 izens of Hull. Lord Lindsay, with three thousand 
 men, was at Beverley, and on the lighting of a fire 
 on Beverley Minster, the gates of Hull were to be 
 opened by some loyal men inside. But five hundred 
 rebels within the town, hearing too soon of the in 
 tention of these loyal men, made a sortie under the 
 command of Sir John Hotham. The true Cavaliers 
 would have stood firm, every one says, but the 
 Yorkshire train-bands would not draw sword 
 against their neighbours, but ran away to Beverley, 
 and so the whole ended in disgrace and defeat. If 
 we could only have an army entirely composed of 
 gentlemen, and their sons, and retainers, the Par 
 liament could not stand a day. But the worst news 
 that has reached us lately, is the treachery of the 
 Earl of Warwick and the navy. They have all 
 gone over to the Parliament, in spite of the king s 
 offering them better pay than they ever received 
 before. Five ships stood firm at first, but the rest 
 overpowered them. I hope no one ever told them 
 about their being called water-rats, but there are 
 always some malicious people who delight to make 
 mischief by telling tales. I should think royal per 
 sons ought to be very careful about their jests. 
 
 " August. We are on the point of leaving York 
 
260 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 to spend a few days at Nottingham, where the 
 king s standard is to be set up. 
 
 " I am sorry to leave this old town. I miss the 
 pleasant walks at home. For here one dare scarce 
 venture much out of doors. If the Cavaliers are as 
 dangerous to their enemies as they are sometimes to 
 their friends, the Parliament has good cause to 
 tremble. The streets echo dismally at night with 
 the shouts of drunken revelry. But, I suppose, all 
 armies are alike. Only it is rather unfortunate for 
 us that gravity and the show of piety being the 
 badge of the Puritans, levity and a reckless dashing 
 carriage are taken up as their badge by many of 
 the young Cavaliers. 
 
 " I would they took example by the king. His 
 Majesty has been riding around the country lately 
 himself, calling his lieges to follow him. And his 
 majestic courtesy and grace, with his loving and 
 winning speeches, sucfh as he made at Newark and 
 Lincoln, showing his good intentions and desires 
 for their liberty and welfare, must, I am sure, be 
 worth him a mint of such money as the London cit 
 izens can coin out of their thimbles and bodkins. 
 
 " The North country is well disposed, they say ; 
 .and Lancashire, where the queen hath much hold on 
 the Catholic gentlemen of ancient lineage there ; 
 und the West country, where brave Sir Bevil Gran- 
 vill lives, is full of loyalty. Mr. Hampden has 
 done mischief in Buckinghamshire, and Mr. Crom 
 well (a brewer, Sir Launcelot says, rather than 
 a country-gentleman, though not of low parent 
 age) calls himself captain, and is disaffecting the 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 2 6 1 
 
 eastern counties, already disloyal enough with their 
 French Huguenot weavers, and their t Anabaptists, 
 Atheists, and Brownists, as His Majesty calls 
 them. 
 
 " The towns are the worst, however. I suppose 
 there is something in buying and selling, and tink 
 ering and tailoring, which makes people think more 
 of mean money considerations, than of loyalty and 
 honour. Then there are so many Puritans in the 
 town. Perhaps the narrow dark high streets make 
 them naturally inclined to be gloomy and strait- 
 laced. I think, however, the less our Cavalier sol 
 diers are quartered in the towns, the better, till they 
 mend their manners. It may make the citizens less 
 pleased than ever with the Book of Sports. 
 
 " Nottingham, August 23. This evening the king 
 himself set up his standard on the top of the field be 
 hind the castle. There was much sounding of 
 drums and trumpets. Several hundreds gathered 
 around the royal party, and \ve watched a little way 
 oft But I knew not how the act did not seem as 
 solemn as the occasion. The night was stormy ; 
 and the trumpets and drums, and then the A*oice of 
 the herald reading the royal proclamation, sounded 
 small and poor against the rush and howling of the 
 winds. The troops have not yet answered the 
 king s call as they should, and those present were 
 mostly the train-bands. Then His Majesty, on the 
 spot, made some alterations in the proclamation, 
 which perplexed the herald, so that he blundered 
 and stumbled in reading it. Altogether I wish I 
 had not been there. 
 
262 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 "The king s standard ought to be something 
 more than a pole no higher than a May-pole with 
 a few streamers, and a common flag at the top. 
 And the trumpets which are to rouse a nation, 
 ought to have a certain magnificence in them, alto 
 gether different from the trumpets they blow at the 
 carols at Netherby at Christmas. I am sure I can 
 not tell how. But I always pictured it so. The 
 words are grander than the things. 
 
 " Perhaps all our pomps and solemnities look poor 
 and mean under the open sky. We had better keep 
 them beneath roofs of our own making. The pomps 
 we are used to under the open sky are the purple 
 and crimson and gold of sunset and sunrise, great 
 banners of storm-clouds flung across the sky. And 
 the solemnities are the thunders, and the mighty 
 winds, and the rushing of rivers, and the dashing 
 of seas. 
 
 "The things are grander, infinitely, than any 
 words wherewith we can speak of them. 
 
 " But when I said so to my Mother, she said, 
 * And yet, my child, one soul, and even one human 
 voice, is grander, or more godlike than all the 
 thunders. It is their significance, Lettice, which 
 gives the grandeur to any solemnities of ours. If 
 we heard those trumpets summon our countrymen 
 by thousands to the battle, or saw that flag borne 
 blood-stained from the field, we should not think 
 the voice of the trumpet wanted terrible magnifi 
 cence, or the flag a common thing ever more. 
 
 "Perhaps, after all, it was only a little inward 
 depression that made me feel this disappointment. 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 263 
 
 For only three days before, Coventry had shut her 
 gates in the king s face, and the Earl of Essex is at 
 hand, they say, with a great army, and so few nock 
 ing loyally to the king. 
 
 " But worst of all, I think, is this Prince Rupert. 
 His mother s name, Elizabeth of Bohemia, has been 
 like a sacred name in the country for years ; a saint 
 and a heroine in courage and patience. But this 
 prince is so noisy and reckless, and takes so much 
 upon himself, that he angers the older gentlemen 
 and experienced soldiers sorely. My Father says 
 he is little better than a petulant boy. Yet he has 
 great weight with the king, his uncle, and takes the 
 command into his own hands ; so that the gallant 
 old Earl of Lindsay deems his own command little 
 better than nominal. And, meanwhile, the younger 
 Cavaliers take their colour from him, and use that 
 new low cant word of his, plunder, quite as a jest, 
 as if it meant some new sport or sword-exercise, 
 instead of meaning, as it does, scouring all over the 
 country, burning lonely farm-houses, robbing the 
 inmates, and sometimes hanging the servants at the 
 doors for refusing to betray their masters, sacking 
 villages, and I know not what other wickednesses. 
 In the fortnight he has been here, he has flown 
 through Worcestershire, Nottinghamshire, War 
 wickshire, Leicestershire, and Cheshire. And not 
 a night but we have seen the sky aglow with the 
 fires of burning villages and homesteads. I should 
 fear to hear how the people along his line of march, 
 coining back to their ruined homes, speak of the 
 king. 
 
264 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 " Moreover, it is said, the rebel troops are strictly 
 forbidden to take anything without paying for it, 
 a contrast worth them much. 
 
 " August 24. This morning, before I rose, my 
 Mother s waiting gentlewoman brought dismal 
 news. The royal standard, said she, has been blown 
 down in the night, and lies a wreck along the 
 hill. 
 
 "My Mother says it is heathenish to talk of 
 omens and auguries. And my Father says these 
 foreigners are the worst omen, and all would be 
 well enough if they would leave Englishmen to 
 fight out their own quarrels, like neighbours, who 
 exchange blows and are friends again, instead of 
 like wretched hired Lanzknechts or Free Compan 
 ions. 
 
 " But Sir Launcelot laughs, and says it is a good 
 thing to give the whining Puritans something to 
 cry for at last. And Harry sighs, and says he sup 
 poses it is necessary to make the rebels see we are 
 in earnest. 
 
 " Altogether, we do not seem in very good hu 
 mour with each other just now. However, a few 
 victories will no doubt set us all right again. There 
 can be no reasonable doubt that the king will bring 
 these rebels to their senses sooner or later ; in a few 
 months at latest. 
 
 " Only I had not understood at all how very 
 melancholy war is. I thought of it as concerning 
 no one but the soldiers. And men must incur dan 
 ger one way or another. And there is the glory, 
 and the excitement, and the exercise of noble cour- 
 
THE DA Vti&ANTS. 265 
 
 rage, making such men as nothing but such trials 
 can make. 
 
 "But the battles seem but a small part of the 
 misery ; the misery without glory to any one. 
 
 " On our way hither from York, my Mother was 
 faint and tired, and we stopped at a little farm-house 
 with an orchard. It was evening, and the woman 
 had just finished milking the cows by the door, and 
 she gave my Mother a cup of new milk while she 
 rested on the settle in the clean little kitchen. 
 There were two little children playing about, and 
 the father was at work in the orchard, and one of 
 the children called him, and he brought my Father 
 a cup of cider. And there was a Bible on the 
 table with wood-cuts ; and I found the eldest child 
 knew the meaning of them. He said his father had 
 told him. They were very kind and pleasant 
 to us. 
 
 " And a few days since Harry told me they had 
 passed a little farm with an orchard, and the man 
 was surly and a Puritan, and refused to tell the way 
 some fugitives had fled ; and Prince Rupert had 
 him hanged on his own threshold, and drove off 
 the cows for plunder. 
 
 " And from what Harry says I feel sure it is the 
 same. 
 
 " And I have scarcely slept since, thinking of 
 that poor man, and the silent voice that will never 
 any more explain the wood-cuts in the old Bible, 
 and the poor hands that will never show their will 
 ing hospitality again. 
 
 " But it is only one, Harry says, among hundreds ; 
 23 
 
2 66 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 and such things must be, and I must not think 
 of it. 
 
 " But every one of the hundreds is just that terri 
 ble only one, which leaves the world all lonely to 
 some poor mourner ! 
 
 " Those gentlemen in Parliament have dreadful 
 things to answer for. 
 
 "Why did not Mr. Hampden pay a thousand 
 times his miserable ship-money rather than lead the 
 country on to such horrors ? 
 
 " For the king cannot have his commands dis 
 obeyed. If he did, how could he be a king ? 
 
 " I do wish he could be more a king with his own 
 troops ; I am sure he hates this ravaging and ma 
 rauding. But so many of the gentlemen serve, and, 
 indeed, keep their regiments at their own cost, 
 which makes them difficult to control. 
 
 " October. Prince Rupert has been driven from 
 Worcester. If it were only a lesson in reverence 
 and modesty for the prince, it would not so much 
 matter, some think, that he left twenty good and 
 true men dead there. The Earl of Essex occupies 
 the city. He has been there a fortnight doing 
 nothing. Some remnants of loyalty, we think, 
 hinder him from coming to open collision. But 
 what the use of collecting an army can be unless it 
 is to fight, it is hard to see. The truth is, perhaps, 
 that he begins to feel the peril of setting his haber 
 dashers and grocers prentices, commanded by a 
 forsworn peer, against gentlemen s sons fighting 
 under their king ! Meantime, our army is gather 
 ing at last, and only too eager, they say, to give 
 
THE DA VEXANTS. 267 
 
 the rebels a lesson. Once for all, God grant it be a 
 lesson once for all. Although the battles do not 
 seem to me half so dreadful as these l plunderings. 
 But perhaps that is because I never came near a 
 battle ; nor, indeed, can the oldest man in England 
 remember any one thajt ever did on English soil." 
 
 OLIVE PRAYTOX S RECOLLECTIOXS. 
 
 All through the summer the armies were gather 
 ing. In our seven eastern counties Essex, Nor 
 folk, Suffolk, Cambridgeshire, Lincoln, Huntingdon 
 shire, and Hertfordshire called the associated 
 counties, because bound by Mr. Hampden and Mr. 
 Cromwell into an association for mutual defence, the 
 King s Commission of Array and the Parliament s 
 Ordinance of Militia clashed less than elsewhere. 
 In August Mr. Cromwell seized a magazine of arms 
 and ammunition at Cambridge. The stronghold of 
 the Puritans was in these eastern regions ; and ex 
 cept where a few Royalist gentlemen, like the 
 Davenants, led off their retainers, th* Parliament 
 had, amongst us, mostly its own way. All the 
 more reason, my Father said, for our men to risk 
 their persons, since our homes were safer than else 
 where. 
 
 My Father, from his old military experience, had 
 much to do with training and drilling the men. 
 Strange sounds of clanging arms and sharp words 
 of command echoed from the old court of the 
 Manor. Old arms, the very stories belonging to 
 which were well-nigh forgotten, were taken down ; 
 arms which had hung on the walls of manor-house 
 
2 68 THE DRA YTONS A ND 
 
 and farm-house since the Wars of the Roses. The 
 newest weapon we had at Netherby which had 
 seen service in England was a short jewel-hilted 
 sword the Drayton of .the day had worn at the 
 Battle of Bosworth Field, fighting, by a rare piece 
 of good luck for us, under Henry VII., on the win 
 ning side. Since then the Reformation had revolution 
 ized the Church, and gunpowder had revolutionized 
 the art of war ; so that instead of the sturdy bow 
 men, each provided with his weapon and ready 
 trained to the use of it, whom his ancestors brought 
 to the field, my Father could only muster a few 
 labourers and servants, without weapons and with 
 out training, with no . further preparation for war 
 than hands used to labour, wits ready to learn, and 
 hearts ready to dare. 
 
 My Father did not mean to lead his own men. 
 Having had experience of engineering in the Ger 
 man wars, he was employed here and there as his 
 directions were needed. Roger and th.se who 
 went from Netherby served from the first with Mr. 
 Cromwell s Ironsides ; my Father, as his contribu 
 tion, providing the armour, which, like that of Has- 
 elrigge s Lobsters, was complete and costly. Other 
 bands passed and repassed often, and shared the 
 hospitalities of the Manor, to join Lord Brook s 
 purple-coats, Lord Say and Lord Mandeville s blue- 
 coats. Hollis red-coats were London men, and Mr. 
 Hampden s green-coats all from his own county, 
 Buckinghamshire ; Avhile the badge of all was the 
 orange scarf round the arm the family colours of 
 Lord Essex, the general. Each regiment had its 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 269 
 
 own motto Hampden s, " Vestigia mtlli retwsvm ;" 
 Easel s (pointing many a cavalier jest, if seen in 
 plunder or retreat), " Cave adsum." On the reverse 
 of each banner was the common motto of all, " God 
 with us" the watch-word of so many a battle. 
 
 Money was not stinted ; the city of London head 
 ing the contributions in January with 50,000, and 
 the Merchants Companies with nigh as large a sum 
 (then intended to avenge tlie Irish massacre) ; whilst 
 Mr. Hampden gave 1000, and his cousin, Mr. 
 Cromwell, 500. 
 
 "Women brought their rings and jewels ; cherish 
 ed old family pfate was not held back. We in our 
 sober Puritan household had few jewels to bring, 
 but such as we had were disinterred from their 
 caskets, and the few silver drinking-cups which dis 
 tinguished our table from any farmers round were 
 packed up by Aunt Dorothy s own hands, and des 
 patched to the London Guildhall, not without sighs, 
 but without hesitation, with all the money that 
 could be spared. 
 
 Cousin Placidia also offered what she called her 
 <c mite, " when she heard that the poor citizens 
 wives in London had even offered their thimbles 
 and bodkins. 
 
 " I am but a poor parson s wife," said she, " but 
 I am thankful they will receive even such poor of 
 ferings as I can bring." 
 
 And she brought those embroidered Cordova 
 gloves, the search for which had so incensed Aunt 
 Dorothy. 
 
 " It is remarkable," she observed, " that I always 
 23* 
 
270 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 said one never knew what use anything might be 
 in a poor parson s household ; and now I have 
 found the use." 
 
 " What use, ray dear," said Aunt Dorothy ; " do 
 you think the Parliament soldiers will fight in em 
 broidered gloves ?" 
 
 " Spanish leather is dear," replied Placidia, " and 
 things will always sell. It is only a poor mite I 
 know, but so is a thimble. The Parliament soldiers 
 cannot, of course, fight in thimbles ; and the wid 
 ow s mite was accepted." 
 
 " A mite and the widow s mite, are some way 
 apart, my dear," said Aunt Dorothy ; f your widow s 
 mite, 1 I suppose, might be the parsonage and the 
 glebe, and those cows in your uncle s park and 
 meadow. Take care what you offer to the Lord. 
 He sometimes takes us at our word. And there are 
 plunderers abroad who take their own estimate of 
 people s mites, widows and others." 
 
 Said Placidia, never taken aback 
 
 " Aunt Dorothy, Mr. Nicholls and I regard the 
 glebe as a sacred trust, of which we feel we must 
 on no account relinquish the smallest fraction. And 
 as to the cows Uncle Drayton gave me, I wonder 
 you can suspect me of such ingratitude as to give 
 them up to any one." 
 
 " I did not, my dear," said Aunt Dorothy, qui 
 etly. " What shall I label your Cordova gloves ? 
 A parson s mite ? You know I cannot exactly say 
 widow s. " 
 
 " An orphan s perhaps, Aunt Dorothy." 
 
 " Very well, my dear," said Aunt Dorothy ; " I 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 2 7 1 
 
 should think that would affect the Parliament very 
 much. It may even get into history." 
 
 TTith which this little passage at arms closed. 
 
 Happily for the popular cause, the common in 
 terpretation of acceptable mites differed from Pla- 
 cidia s, so that in a short time a considerable army 
 was levied. 
 
 The navy ever remained true to the Parliament ; 
 irritated, some foolish persons said, by a report that 
 the king had called them " water-rats." As well 
 say the whole Parliament stood firm, because the 
 king once compared them to cats. The navy had 
 its own watchwords, better pointed than by the 
 sting of a sorry jest. English seamen were not 
 likely to trust too implicitly to the promises of the 
 Sovereign who had tried to sell them to aid in the 
 destruction of the brave little band of beleaguered 
 Protestants at Rochelle. 
 
 All through the summer the armies were being 
 levied, and the breach was silently widening. 
 
 In July an incident showed, my Father said, as 
 much as anything could, how entirely the king s 
 mind was unchanged, and how " thorough" would 
 have been the tyranny established in his hands, 
 though Laud, and Strafford, and the Queen, and 
 every violent councillor, had been removed. My 
 old friend, Dr. Bastwick, the physician, was seized 
 by the royal forces at Worcester while engaged in 
 levying men for the Parliament, under Earl Stam 
 ford, who retreated. It was with the greatest diffi 
 culty that one of the judges restrained the king 
 from, having him hanged on the spot, although 
 
272 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 there could be no reason why he should have been 
 sentenced with this exceptional severity except 
 the fact that he had already been scourged, pillo 
 ried, and maimed by the cruelty of the Star-Cham- 
 ber. 
 
 The deep distrust which such indications of the 
 king s true mind produced, cost him more than 
 many lost battles. 
 
 They tended to inspire such resistances as that 
 made a few weeks afterwards by the brave com 
 moners of Coventry, when, without garrison, with 
 out engineers, with no defence but their feeble an 
 cient walls, they shut their gates in the Sovereign s 
 face, defied the royal forces, and when the breach 
 was made by artillery in the old tottering walls, 
 barricaded the streets with barrows and carts, made 
 a sally, carried the nearest lines, seized the guns, 
 and turned them against the besiegers, compelling 
 them at last to retire baffled. 
 
 But it was Prince Rupert, " the Prince Robber," 
 who, perhaps, more than any, turned the hearts of 
 the people against the Sovereign who could use 
 such an instrument. Trained in the cruel school 
 of the Palatinate wars, he had read its terrible les 
 sons the wrong way ; having learned from the suf 
 ferings of his father s subjects not pity, but a sav 
 age recklessness of suffering. He brought home .to 
 hundreds of burning villages and plundered lonely 
 farms, which no Parliamentary remonstrances or 
 declarations would have reached, the conviction 
 that the king looked on his people, not as a flock, 
 but as mere live-stock on an estate, to be kept up if 
 
THE DA VBNANTS. 
 
 273 
 
 profitable and manageable, and if not to be sacri 
 ficed to any system of management which gave less 
 trouble and brought in more profit. 
 
 ; Whose own the shee}} are not" was written in the 
 ashes of every home ruined by Prince Rupert in the 
 king s service. 
 
 With these deeds the people contrasted the well- 
 kept orders of the Parliament to Lord Essex. 
 " You shall carefully restrain all impieties, profane- 
 ness, and disorders, violence, insolence, and plun 
 dering in your soldiers, as well by strict and severe 
 punishment of such offences as by all others means 
 which you in your wisdom shall think fit." 
 
 And we grew to think that whoever the true 
 shepherd and king of the people might be, it was 
 scarcely one who employed the wolf for a sheep 
 dog- 
 It was but slowly and reluctantly that this con 
 viction grew on the nation. Those who look back 
 on the king s life, hallowed by the shadow of his 
 death, little know how slowly and reluctantly. We 
 would fain have trusted him if he would have let 
 us. The nation tiled it again and again, and only 
 too much was sacrificed before they would believe 
 it was in -vain. Still there had been no battle. 
 The Earl of Essex, after following the Prince from 
 Worcester, lingered there three weeks, doing noth 
 ing No battle worth the name for nearly a hun 
 dred and seventy years, until Sunday the 23d of 
 October, 1642. 
 
 Then came the first great shock. All that Sun 
 day afternoon our countrymen, husbands, brothers, 
 
274 THE DRA YTONS 
 
 fathers, sons of the women left in the quiet villages 
 at home, were fighting in the desperate struggle for 
 life and death, until at night four thousand English 
 men lay dead on the slopes of Edgehill, or dying in 
 the villages around the day before as tranquil and 
 peaceful as ours. 
 
 I remember there was a peculiar quiet about that 
 Sunday at Netherby. So many of the men of the 
 village had gone to the war. Roger had been away 
 many weeks, and my Father had left some days be 
 fore to join Lord Essex at Worcester. In all our 
 household there were no men left except Bob the 
 herdsman. The church was strangely deserted. 
 Ths Hall pew empty. Scarcely one deep manly 
 voice in response or psalm. On the benches in the 
 village a few old men had an unwonted monopoly 
 of talk, and the lads on anything like the verge 
 of manhood strode heavily about with a new sense 
 of importance. One asked another for news. But 
 there was none, save rumours of mysterious -march 
 ings and counter-marchings of troops, without any 
 aim that we knew, or the echo of some far-off foray 
 of Prince Rupert s. There was a dreamy stillness 
 all around. Tib s voice came up alone from the 
 kitchen as she moved about some Sabbath work of 
 necessity, and sung rather uncertainly snatches of 
 the psalm we had sung at prayers in the morning. 
 From the slope where the house stood (which gave 
 us that wide range over the levels which I miss 
 everywhere else), I saw the cattle feeding far off in 
 the marshy lands, too far for any sound of their 
 voices to reach me. The harvest was over on the 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 
 
 2 75 
 
 nearer slopes, so that there was no music of the 
 wind rustling through the corn. The land lay half 
 slumbering in its autumn rest, like Roger s faithful 
 Lion in his Sunday afternoon sleep on the terrace 
 below. But, I knew not why, there seemed to me 
 a kind of expectancy in this calm. A waiting and 
 listening seemed to palpitate through this stillness 
 of the land such as pervaded Lion s gladness as he 
 couched, quivering at every sound, vainly waiting 
 for Roger s voice to summon him as usual at this 
 hour for a walk in the fields. 
 
 The feeling grew on me, till all this quiet seemed 
 not as the rest after a calm, but the calm before a 
 storm ; and the silence excited in me as if it were 
 the breathless hush of thousands of beating hearts. 
 
 Then I thought of Rachel Forster in her lonely 
 home. And it was a relief to rise at once and go to 
 her. Her door was open. She was sitting before 
 the old Bible. It was open, but she was not read 
 ing. Her hands were clasped on her knees. There 
 was a stillness on her face as great as that over the, 
 country. But in this calm there was something 
 that calmed me. 
 
 It seemed to me conscious and victorious, not 
 dreamlike, and liable at any moment to a terrible 
 waking. 
 
 I told her the restlessness I had been feeling. 
 
 " Can we wonder, Mistress Olive ?" said she. 
 " Do we not know what we might be giving them 
 up for ? " 
 
 " This quietness of the world seems awful to me 
 to-day, Rachel," said I, " but in you there is some- 
 
2 7 6 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 thing that quiets me. You find peace in prayer, 
 Rachel," said I. " Is it not that ? " 
 
 " I scarce know whether it is prayer, Mistress 
 Olive. It is nothing but going to the Rock that is 
 higher than I, and taking all that is precious to me 
 there, and staying there. It is just creeping to the 
 foot of the Cross, and keeping there." 
 
 " You feel, then, as if something terrible were 
 coming, Rachel," I said. 
 
 " I know something terrible must come," she said, 
 with a tremulousness in her voice which was more 
 from enthusiasm than from fear. " To-day, or to 
 morrow, or some day. For the Day of Vengeance 
 is come ; and the year of His redeemed is at 
 hand." 
 
 " Oh, Rachel," I said, " I cannot silently rest as 
 you do. I want words, entreaties for Roger, for 
 my Father, for Job, and also for the good men who, 
 if the battle comes, must die on the wrong side, 
 and for the king ; the king who, if he would but be 
 true, might set all right again." 
 
 And she knelt down and prayed in words brief 
 and burning, like the prayers in the Bible. 
 
 " You do not feel it too lonely here, Rachel ? " I 
 said as I left, " Why not come up to us ? Your 
 presence would be like a strong wall and fortress 
 to me." 
 
 " I am less lonesome here, Mistress Olive," said 
 she. " Job made so many little plans to spare me 
 trouble before he went. I see his hand everywhere. 
 There is the pile of wood close to the fire, and the 
 little pipe carrying the water to the very door. It 
 
THE DA V&NANT8. 277 
 
 would seem like making light of his work not to use 
 it all. And besides," she added, " there s a few poor 
 tried folk who used to look to Job for a good word 
 and a good turn, and now some of them look to me. 
 And I could not fail them for the world." 
 
 As I wished her good-bye, and walked home and 
 thought of her, a glorious new sense came on me of 
 the strength there is in waiting on God, of the pos 
 sibility of the feeblest who lean on him being not 
 only sustained, but becoming themselves strong to 
 sustain others. 
 
 When I went to see Rachel, the whole solid world 
 had seemed to me, in nay anxiety for the precious 
 lives I could do nothing to preserve, but as some 
 treacherous and quaking ground among our marsh 
 es, ready to sink down and overwhelm us, beneath 
 the weight of our passing footsteps. 
 
 As I returned, the world, though in itself as tran 
 sitory and uncertain as ever, was once more a solid 
 pathway to me, because underneath it stood the 
 foundation of an Almighty love, one word from 
 whom was stronger and more enduring than all the 
 worlds. 
 
 So we sang our evening psalm, and slept quietly 
 that night at Xetherby, knowing nothing of the four 
 thousand pale and rigid corpses that lay stretched 
 on the blood-stained battle-slopes at Edgehill. while 
 Lord Essex encamped on the silent battle-field, and 
 the king s watch-fires were kindled on the hill above, 
 where he began the day, and no ground was gained 
 on either side ; only the lives of four thousand men 
 lost. 
 
278 THE DRA YTONS, ETC. 
 
 If we may say " lost " of any life yielded up to 
 duty, and called back to God ! 
 
 In the tongues of men, we speak of lives lost 
 on battle-fields : perhaps in the tongue of angels 
 they speak of lives lost in easy and luxurious 
 homes. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OLIVE S RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 T was not till mid-day on Monday the 
 24th of October 1642, that the first 
 tidings reached us of Keinton Fight, or, 
 as some call it, the Battle of Edgehill. 
 Tidings indeed they scarcely were, only rumours, 
 as of far-off thunder faintly moaning through the 
 heat and stillness of a summer s noon, mysterious, 
 uncertain, scarcely louder than the hum of insects 
 in the sunshine, yet almost more awful than the 
 crash of the thunder-peal overhead. " Wars and 
 rumours of wars." Until that Monday I had no 
 conception of the significance of that word "ru 
 mours." I had anticipated the sudden shocks, the 
 ruthless desolations of war ; I had not thought of its 
 terrible uncertainties, its heart-sickening suspenses. 
 At noon, when the few men left in the village 
 were all away in the fields at work, a travelling 
 tinker passed by who that morning about daybreak 
 had done some work at a farm where the swineherd 
 
 (279) 
 
2 8 o THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 keeping his swine the evening before, on the edge 
 of a beech-forest some miles to the south, had heard 
 the sounds far off in the south-west, in the direction 
 of Oxford, like the thunder of great guns, and the 
 sharp cracking of musketry. 
 
 The tinker did what tinkering w as needed in the 
 village, in the absence of Job the village smith, 
 and went on his way. Just after he left, Aunt 
 Gretel and I went to take broken meat and broth 
 to two or three sick and aged people, and we found 
 all the women gathered around the black and silent 
 forge, or rather around Rachel, while she sat quietly 
 patching in the porch of the cottage ; the latticed, 
 narrow cottage-windows letting in too little light 
 for any work that required to be neatly done. 
 
 An eager excited crowd it was, the scanty mea 
 sure of the text only furnishing wider margin for 
 the commentary. Rachel, meanwhile, sat quietly 
 in the middle, like a mother among a number of 
 eager chattering children. 
 
 As we reached the group, poor Margery, Dickon s 
 young wife, with her child in her arms, half- 
 sobbed, 
 
 " I wonder, Rachel, thee can bear to go on stitch, 
 stitch. Since the news came I have been all of a 
 tremble thinking of my goodman, who went off 
 with yourn. I couldn t bring my fingers together 
 to hold a needle, do what T would." 
 
 " I don t know that I could well bear it without 
 the stitching, neighbour," said Rachel, softly. 
 " When trouble is come, we may well sit still and 
 weep. The Lord calls us to it. But in the waiting- 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS, 2 8 1 
 
 times I see nought for it but to brace up the heart 
 and work." 
 
 When we came, all turned to tell us of the dread 
 rumour. Aunt Gretel brought one or two cheering 
 stories of providence and deliverance out of the 
 eventful histories of her youth ; and then we went 
 .on our errands, Aunt G-retel thinking we should do 
 more to soothe and quiet these agitated hearts by 
 the example of steadily pursuing our task, than by 
 the wisest talking in the world. 
 
 " For," said she, " the true tidings have yet to 
 come ; and they are like to be sad enough to some. 
 And how will they bear it, if all the strength is 
 wasted before-hand in vain and mournful guesses ?" 
 
 The result proved her riajht, for when our baskets 
 were emptied, and Aunt Gretel returned home, while 
 I went to see Rachel again, the village was stirring 
 as usual with quiet sounds of labour in house after 
 house, and the excited group around the porch had 
 dispersed. Only poor Margery lingered, Rachel 
 having found her occupation in lighting the fire and 
 preparing supper, to save her returning to her lonely 
 cottage ; while the baby crowed and kicked on th6 
 ground at Rachel s feet. 
 
 " But, Rachel," I said, " would it not have quieted 
 the neighbours to pray together, you with them?" 
 
 " Maybe, sweetheart," she said. " But I did not 
 feel I could. If the news is true, the fight is over. 
 It s over hours since. The dead are lying cold, out 
 of the reach of our prayers. And the living are 
 saved and are giving thanks; and the wounded are 
 writhing in their anguish, and we know not who 
 24* 
 
2 8z THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 is dead, or wounded, or whole. And when we 
 look to the earth to think, it comes over us like a 
 rush of dark waters when the dykes are pierced. So 
 I can but look to heaven and work. It s light and 
 not dark where He sitteth. And beyoncl the thun 
 ders and the lightnings He is caring for us in the 
 great calm of the upper sky. Caring for us, sweets 
 heart, as the poor mother cares for this babe ; not 
 sitting on a throne and smiling like the king in the 
 picture, with both hands full of his sceptre and his 
 bauble ; but with both hands free, to help and to 
 uphold. So I try to do the bit of work He sets me, 
 and to look up to Him and feel, There is no fear 
 but that Thou wilt do the work Thou hast set 
 Thyself; and that is, to care for us all. And I told 
 the neighbours they had best try the same." 
 
 The words were scarcely out of her lips, when a 
 horseman came clattering down the village and 
 stopped at Job s well-known forge. 
 
 " What news ? asked a score of voices one after 
 another, as the women crowded round him. 
 
 " Dismal news enough for some, and glorious for 
 others," he said. " The king s army and Lord 
 Essex s met yesterday. Lord Essex below in the 
 Vale of the Red Horse, and the king on Edgehill 
 above. Prince Rupert charged down on the Par 
 liament horse, under Commissary-General Ramsay, 
 broke them in a trice, and pursued them to Keinton, 
 killing and plundering. I heard it from one of the 
 routed horsemen who escaped. Everything is lost, 
 he said, for Lord Essex, and I hasten to carry the 
 news to one who loves the king." 
 
THE DA VENA NTS. 283 
 
 Hastily draining Rachel s can of home-brewed ale, 
 lie was off in a minute, and out of sight. 
 
 All through the afternoon confused and contra 
 dictory news continued to drop in from one and 
 another. But it was not till the next day (Tuesday) 
 that we could collect anything like a true account 
 of the battle, how for hours, all through the noon 
 tide of that autumn Sunday, the two armies had 
 couched, like two terrible beasts of prey, watching 
 each other ; the king on the height, and Essex in 
 the plain as if loth to break with the murderous 
 roar of cannon our England s two centuries of 
 peace. 
 
 Prayers, no doubt, there were, many and deep, 
 breaking that silence, to the ear of God ; but few, 
 perhaps, better than that of gallant . Sir Jacob 
 Ashley, one of the king s major-generals : " Lord, 
 Thou knowest I must be busy this day ; if I forget 
 Thee, do not Thou forget me." 
 
 Who began the fight at last, we could not well 
 make out. The most part said Lord Essex, direct 
 ing a sally up the hill, which Prince Rupert an 
 swered by dashing down like a torrent, from the 
 royal vantage-ground to the plain, on the left wing 
 of the Parliament army. The men fell or fled on 
 all sides before his furious charge ; and he pursued 
 them to the village of Keinton, where Lord Essex 
 had encamped the day before. Deeming the day 
 won, his men gave themselves up to plundering the 
 baggage, and slaughtering the wagoners and un 
 armed labourers. But meantime Sir William Bal- 
 four, on the right wing, charged the king s left, 
 
284 
 
 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 broke it, seized and spiked many of the king s guns, 
 took the royal standard after a struggle which left 
 sixty brave men dead in sixty yards around it, and 
 drove nearly the whole royal army to their morning s 
 position up the hill. There they rallied. Prince 
 Rupert returned, laden with his blood-stained plun 
 der, to find the king s army in confusion. But 
 darkness was setting in ; it is said the Parliament 
 gun-powder began to fail ; so, no further pursuit 
 was made, and on Sunday night again both armies 
 encamped on the ground where they had begun the 
 battle. The king s camp-fires blazed on the hill, 
 and the Parliament s in the Vale of the Red Horse. 
 But between them lay four thousand dead English 
 men, that Sabbath morning full of life and courage, 
 now lying .stiff and helpless on the quiet slopes 
 where they had fallen in the -tumult of the mortal 
 conflict. 
 
 It is said, most of those who fell on the king s 
 side fell standing firm, and of ours running away ; 
 which means, I suppose, that they lost their bravest, 
 and we our co\vards. 
 
 I found my Father, and many of the soldiers I 
 know, always loth to speak much of the battle-field 
 after a battle. My Father and Roger would dis 
 cuss by the hour the handling of troops and the 
 strategy of the commanders, and all which related 
 to war as an art or a science, and regarded the 
 troops as pieces on a board. But of the after- 
 misery, when the terrible excitement and the skillful 
 manoeuvres of the day were over, and the troops 
 and regiments had again become only men, wounded, 
 
THE DA VEXAXTS. 285 
 
 weary, dead, I never heard them to speak save in a 
 few broken words. 
 
 The difference of language served a little to veil 
 the common humanity in the German wars, my 
 Father said; but to hear the fallen entreating for 
 quarter, or the dying calling on God and on dear 
 familiar names, or the wounded praying for help 
 which, in the rush of the battle, could not be given, 
 in the old mother-tongue, was enough, he said, to 
 take all the pomp and glory out of war, and to leave 
 it nothing but its agony and its horror. 
 
 Both sides claimed the victory, Lord Essex by 
 light of encamping on the field, and the king by the 
 weight of Prince Rupert s plunder. 
 
 However that mi^ht be, neither side pursued the 
 advantage they both boasted to have gained. 
 
 The king, who was between the Parliament army 
 and London, to the great anxiety of the city, did 
 not advance, but retired on Oxford, the Parlia 
 ment garrison of Banbury, however, surrendering 
 to him without a struggle. 
 
 Lord Essex made no pursuit, but withdrawing to 
 London, left the country open to Prince Rupert s 
 foragers. 
 
 But victory or defeat were scarcely the chief 
 questions to us women that day at Netherby. 
 
 Margery s anxieties were the first relieved. Her 
 husband Dickon being in the king s army, sent her 
 an orange scarf taken from a Parliament horseman 
 at Keinton, in token of his safety. 
 
 Then, on Wednesday, poor Tim, Gammer Grin- 
 die s half-witted grandson, who would, in spite of 
 
286 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 all that could be said, follow Roger to the war, 
 came limping into the village, emaciated and foot 
 sore, with his arm bound up in a sling. He stopped 
 at Rachel Forster s door, and began stammering a 
 confused account of Master Roger and Job lying 
 wounded at Keinton, and the prince s men murder 
 ing some of the wounded, and earring off Roger and 
 Job, pinioned, in a cart to gaol, and Tim s trying to 
 follow on foot, and having his arm broken by a 
 musket-shot, and his leg wounded, and so, being 
 left behind, having limped home to tell Mistress 
 Olive. 
 
 But where the gaol was, or how severe Roger s 
 wound was, or Job s, could in no way be extracted 
 from poor Tim s confused brain and tongue ! " Poor 
 Tim !" he said, apologising with broken words, as a 
 faithful dog might with wistful looks, for having 
 escaped without his master, " Poor Tim tried hard 
 to follow Master Roger tried hard ! Master Roger 
 knows Tim did not wish to leave him; Master 
 Rogert knows. Master Roger said, l Tim, you ve 
 done all you could. Go home. And tell them Mas 
 ter Roger s all right. When first he saw Rachel, 
 he said, " Poor Job said, ; Take care ! " And then 
 clenching his hand, with a smile, " Poor Tim took 
 care !" But he never repeated or explained it. It 
 was quite useless to question him. That one pur 
 pose of obeying Roger possessed the whole of his 
 poor brain. The poor creature was faint from pain 
 and weariness, and loss of blood. Rachel would 
 have made him a bed in the cottage, and not one 
 of us at Netherby but would have counted it an 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 287 
 
 honour to have nursed him for his love to Roger ; 
 but he shook his head : " Master Roger said, Tim, 
 you ve done all you could. Go home." And noth 
 ing would satisfy him but to go on to the hovel 
 by the Mere, were his grandmother lived. 
 
 Gammer Grindle was a poor, wizened, old woman, 
 soured by much trouble and by the constant fretting 
 of a sharp temper against poverty and wrong, until 
 few in the village liked to venture near her. Indeed, 
 there were dark suspicions afloat about her. Many 
 a labouring-man would have gone a mile round 
 rather than pass her door after dusk, and many a 
 yeoman-farmer and goodwife who had lost an un 
 usual number of sheep or poultry would propitiate 
 her by the present of a lamb or a fat pullet. And, 
 in general, in the neighbourhood she was spoken of 
 with a reverent terror much akin to that of the man 
 who, after hastily using the name of the devil, cros 
 sed himself, and said, " May he pardon me for tak 
 ing his holy name in vain." 
 
 But Roger and I happened to have come across 
 her on another and very different side. In our fish 
 ing expeditions on the Mere her grandson Tim had 
 often followed us with the fish-basket or tackle ; 
 and the rare contrast of Roger s kindly tones and 
 words with the jeerings of the rough boys in the 
 village, had won him in Tim s heart an affection 
 intense, absorbing, disinterested, and entirely free 
 from motives of return or hope of reward ; more 
 like that of a faithful dog than a human being with 
 purposes and interests of his own. 
 
 This had given us access to his grandmother s 
 
288 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 hovel, and many a time she had saved me from the 
 consequences of Aunt Dorothy s just wrath by kind 
 ling up her poor embers of fire to dry my soaked 
 shoes, and cleaning the mud from my clothes. Sim 
 ple easy services, but such as made it altogether im 
 possible for Roger and me to regard the poor, kind, 
 shrivelled hands that had rendered them as having 
 signed a compact with Satan. Besides, did we not 
 see how good she was, with all her scoldings, to 
 Tim, and know from broken words which had drop 
 ped now and then how she had loved her only 
 daughter, the mother of Cicely and Tim, and how 
 sore her heart was for the poor, lost girl, and what 
 a power of wronged and disappointed love lay 
 seething and fermenting beneath the sour sharp 
 words she spoke ? 
 
 Roger and I knew that Gammer Grindle was no 
 outlaw from the pale of humanity by seeing it ; 
 and Rachel Forster knew it, I believe, by seeing 
 Him at whose feet so many outcasts from human 
 sympathy found a welcome. And so it happened, 
 that of all the village no one but Rachel, Roger and 
 I sought access, or would have had it, to Gammer 
 Grindle s hovel, so that Rachel that day accompa 
 nied Tim home, and was permitted to share his 
 grandmother s watch that night. 
 
 For Tim s exhaustion soon changed to delirious 
 fever, as his wound began to be inflamed, and it 
 was as much as both the women could do to keep 
 him from rushing out of the hovel to " follow Mas 
 ter Roger." 
 
 All the time, they noticed he kept the hand of 
 
THE DA VENA NTS. 289 
 
 his un wounded arm firmly clenched over something. 
 But no coaxing or commands, even from his grand 
 mother s voice, which he was so used to obey, 
 would induce him to unclasp his hand or let it go. 
 
 All that night and the next day the two women 
 watched by the poor lad, bathing his head, and try 
 ing vainly to keep him still. But towards evening 
 his strength began to fail, and it was plain that the 
 fever, having done its work, was relinquishing its 
 hold to the cold grasp of Another stronger than it. 
 
 The poor lad s delirious entreaties ceased, and he 
 lay so still, that Rachel could hear the cold ripples 
 of the Mere outside plashing softly among the 
 rushes, stirred by the night wind ; and they sound 
 ed to her like the slow waters of the river of 
 Death. 
 
 Only now and then he said, in a low voice, like a 
 child crooning to itself, " Poor Tim, Master Roger 
 knows. Master Roger said, you have done all you 
 could. Go home." 
 
 Once also his eye brightened, and he said, "Cice 
 ly, sister Cicely ! Tell her to come soon soon. I 
 have watched for her so long ! " 
 
 Rachel tried to speak to him about Jesus, the 
 loving Master of us all; he did not object, but 
 whether he understood or not, she could not tell. 
 He did not alter the words which had been so en 
 graven on his poor faithful heart. Only they grew 
 fainter and fainter, and fewer and more broken, 
 until, with one sigh, " Master home," the poor 
 feeble spirit departed, and the poor feeble body was 
 at real. 
 
 25 
 
290 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 But Rachel said it seemed to her as if the blessed 
 Lord would most surely not fail to understand the 
 poor lad who could not understand about Him, yet 
 had served so faithfully the lest he knew. And she 
 almost thought she heard a voice from heaven say 
 ing, " Poor Tim ! the Master knows. You have 
 done the best you could. Come home ! " 
 
 It was not until the poor lad was dead that they 
 found what he had been so tightly clasping in his 
 hand. 
 
 It was a fragment of paper containing a few 
 words written by Job Forster, of which Tim had 
 indeed " taken care," as the clasp of the lifeless hand 
 proved too well. 
 
 The words were, 
 
 "Rachel, be of good cheer, as I am. I am hurt 
 on the shoulder, but not so bad. They are taking 
 me with Roger to Oxford goal. His wound is in 
 the side, painful at first, but Dr. Antony got the 
 ball out, and says he will do well. Thee must not 
 fret, nor try to come to us. It would hurt thee and 
 do us no good. The Lord careth." 
 
 Rachel read this letter, with every word made 
 emphatic, by her certainty that Job would make as 
 light as possible of any trouble, by her knowledge 
 that his pen was not that of a ready writer, and 
 by her sense of what she would have done herself 
 in similar circumstances. 
 
 " Rachel ! " the word, she knew, had taken him 
 a minute or two to spell out, and it meant a whole 
 volume of esteem and love ; and by the same 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 
 
 291 
 
 measure, " hurt " meant " disabled ; " and " not so 
 bad," simply not in immediate peril of life ; and 
 " thee must not come," to her heart meant " come if 
 thou canst, though I dare not bid thee." 
 
 It was not Rachel s way to let trouble make her 
 helpless, or even prevent her being helpful where 
 she was needed. God, she was sure, had not meant 
 it for that. She lived at the door of the House of 
 the Lord, and therefore, at this sudden alarm, she 
 did not need a long pilgrimage by an untrodden 
 path to reach the sanctuary. A moment to lay 
 down the burden and enter the open door, and lift 
 up the heart there within ; and then to the duty in 
 hand. She remained, therefore, with Gammer 
 Grindle until they had laid the poor faithful lad 
 in his shroud ; then she gave all the needful orders 
 for the burial, so that it was not till dusk she was 
 seated in her own cottage, with leisure to plan how 
 she should carry out what, from the moment she 
 had first glanced at her husband s letter, she had de 
 termined to do. 
 
 Half an hour sufficed her for thinking, or " taking 
 counsel," as she called it ; half an hour more for 
 making preparations and coming across to us at 
 Xetherby, with her mind made up and all her ar 
 rangements settled. 
 
 Arrived in the Hall, she handed Job s letter to 
 Aunt Dorothy. 
 
 "What can be done?" said Aunt Dorothy. 
 " How can it be that we have not hoard from my 
 brother or Dr. Antony? The king s forces must 
 be between us and Oxford, and the* letters must 
 
292 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 have been seized. But never fear, Rachel," she 
 added, in a consoling tone. " At first they talked 
 of treating all the Parliament prisoners as traitors ; 
 but that will never be. A ransom or an exchange 
 is certain. Stay here to-night ; it will be less lone 
 ly for you. We can take counsel together; and 
 to-morrow we will think what to do." 
 
 * I have been thinking, Mistress Dorothy ; and 
 I have taken counsel. I am going at day-break to 
 morrow to Oxford ; and I came to ask if I could 
 do aught for you, or take any message to Master 
 Roger." 
 
 " How ?" said Aunt Dorothy. " And who will 
 go with you ? Who will venture within the grasp 
 of those plunderers ?" 
 
 " I have not asked any one, Mistress Dorothy. I 
 am going alone on our own old farm-horse." 
 
 " You travel scores of miles alone, and into the 
 midst of the king s army, Rachel!" said Aunt 
 Dorothy. 
 
 " I have taken counsel, Mistress Dorothy," said 
 Rachel calmly, and, looking up, Aunt Dorothy met 
 that in Rachel s quiet eyes which she understood, 
 and she made no further remonstrance. 
 
 " We will write letters to Roger," she said, after 
 a pause. 
 
 In a short time they were ready, with one from 
 me to Lettice Davenant. 
 
 Neither my Aunts nor I slept much that night. 
 We were revolving various plans for helping Rachel, 
 each unknown to the other. 
 
 I had thought of a letter to a friend of my Fa- 
 
THE DAVENANTS. 
 
 2 93 
 
 ther s who lived half-way between us and Oxford, 
 and rising softly in the night, without telling any 
 one, I wrote it. For I had removed to Roger s 
 chamber while he was away ; it seemed to bring 
 me nearer to him. 
 
 Then, before daybreak, feeling sure Rachel would 
 be watching for the first streaks of light, I crept 
 out of our house to hers. 
 
 She was dressed, and was quietly packing up the 
 great Bible which lay always on the table, and lay 
 ing it in the cupboard. 
 
 " Happy Rachel !" I said, kissing her ; " to be old 
 enough to dare to go." 
 
 " There is always some work, sweetheart," said 
 she, " for every season, not to be done before or 
 after. That is why we need never be afraid of 
 growing old." 
 
 I gave her my letter. She took it gratefully ; but 
 she said 
 
 " Too fine folks for a plain body like me, Mis 
 tress Olive. God bless you for the thought. But 
 in one village I must pass there is a humble godly 
 man who has oft tarried with us for a night, and 
 has expounded the word to us, and no doubt he will 
 give me a token to another. And if not, the seven 
 thousand are always known to the Lord. The 
 prophet Elijah, indeed, did not know; but after he 
 was told about it once for all, none of us ought ever 
 to say again, I only am left alone. " 
 
 "But how will you manage when you get to 
 Oxford ?" I said. 
 
 " God forbid I should presume to say, sweet- 
 25* 
 
294 THE DRA YTONS 
 
 heart," said she. " Oxford is many steps off. And 
 the Lord has only shown me the next step. Job is 
 wounded and in prison and wants me, and will my 
 God, and his, fail to show me how to get to him ?" 
 
 As she spoke these last words, the force of re 
 pressed passion, and of faith contending in them, 
 gave her voice an unwonted depth, which made it 
 sound to me like another voice answering her. 
 
 At that moment Aunt Gretel arrived, laden with 
 a small basket containing spiced cordials and pre 
 served meats for Rachel s journey. 
 
 And not a quarter of an hour afterwards, Aunt 
 Dorothy, on horseback, bent on protecting Rachel 
 through some portion of her way. 
 
 And then Margery and the babe, who had come 
 at Rachel s request. 
 
 Before mounting her horse, Rachel said, 
 
 " You will have thought of being at poor Tim s 
 burying, Mistress Olive ?" 
 
 We promise all to be there. 
 
 And Rachel from the mounting-steps climbed up 
 on the patient old horse, and was gone, only turning 
 back once to smile at us as we watched her. 
 
 She was not a woman for after-thoughts, or last 
 lingering words. She had always said what she 
 wanted before the last. 
 
 She had left us the heavy key of the cottage-door, 
 that we might give away the little stores which 
 she had divided the night before into various por 
 tions for her poor neighbours. She had intended 
 committing them to Margery, but as we were there 
 first, we undertook the charge. How simply and 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 295 
 
 how unheralded events come which hallow our 
 common tables and chambers with the tender so 
 lemnity as of places of worship or of burial. The 
 sound of Rachel s horse-hoofs was scarcely out of 
 hearing when the empty cottage had become to us 
 as a sacred place. The little packets her neat hands 
 had arranged so thoughtfully were no common 
 loaves, or meat, but sacred relics hallowed by her 
 loving touch. And it was hard to look at the fire 
 wood Job had piled by the fire for her, and the lit 
 tle stone channel he had made to bring the water 
 near the door, without tears. 
 
 LETTICE DAVEXAXT S DIAET. 
 
 " Oxford, November 1, 1642. Victoria ! The first 
 step is gained; the first lesson given, though at 
 some cost of noble lives to us and to the king. 
 Lord Essex is fain to retreat to London to console 
 the affrighted citizens, leaving the whole country 
 open to the king. Yet my Father saith privately 
 to us, this victory of Edgehill might have been far 
 more complete had it not been for Prince Rupert s 
 rashness. Indeed, after the fight there had well- 
 nigh been a duel in the king s presence between the 
 prince and a gentleman who expressed his mind 
 pretty freely on the matter. The prince, after pur 
 suing the rebels to Keinton, lingered there, plund 
 ering the baggage, and returned with his horses 
 laden with the spoils to find the royal army not in 
 such order as it might have been had his troops 
 kept with it. We can give a good account of the 
 enemy s horse, your Majesty, he said. Yes, said 
 
296 THE BRA YTONS AND 
 
 this gentleman standing by, and of their carts too. 
 For which jest the haughty hot-blooded prince 
 would have had severe revenge, had not the king 
 with much ado brought them to an accommoda 
 tion. 
 
 " Note. The young Princes Charles and James, 
 of but ten or twelve years old, had a narrow escape. 
 Their governor, Dr. Harvey, a learned man, was 
 sitting quietly with them on the grass reading his 
 book, and never perceived anything was amiss until 
 the bullets came whizzing round him. I wonder 
 royal persons should be trusted to the care of peo 
 ple whose wits are always at the ends of the earth, 
 like philosophers. Who knows how different things 
 might have been in the world if Dr. Harvey and 
 the young princes had sat there a few minutes 
 longer ! 
 
 " However, the best fruits of victory are begin 
 ning to appear. Gentlemen, whose loyalty had 
 been somewhat wavering, are riding in from all 
 quarters, well accoutred, abundantly attended, 
 finely mounted, to offer their services to His Maj 
 esty. 
 
 "This grave and stately old city is gorgeous 
 with warlike array, and echoing with warlike 
 music. 
 
 " My Father, Mother, and I are lodged in Lin 
 coln College. A distant cousin of ours, Sir Wil 
 liam Davenant, who hath writ many plays and far 
 ces, and now fights in the army, being of this col 
 lege, and also others of our kindred from the north 
 country. I feel quite at home in the rooms with 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 297 
 
 their thick walls, and dull narrow arched windows 
 like those in the turret-chamber at the Hall, more 
 at home than the old quadrangles and walls them 
 selves can be with all this clamour and trumpeting 
 to arms. 
 
 " Xot that there is much to be seen in the great 
 inner court on which my chamber-window looks. 
 An ancient vine climbs up one side of the walls, 
 encircling the entrance arch, and its leaves, brown 
 and crimson with the autumn, stirred with the 
 breeze, are making a pleasant quiet country music 
 as I write. This vine is held in high honour in the 
 college, having illustrated the text of the sermon, 
 Look on this vine, which inspired good Bishop de 
 Rotheram, more than two hundred years since, to 
 become the second Founder of the College. 
 
 " Through this entrance-arch I look beyond its 
 shadow to the sunny street, crossed now and then 
 by the flash of arms, and gay Cavaliers mantles, 
 or the prancings of a troop of horse. That is all 
 the glimpse I have of the outer world. But I think 
 my Mother were content to live in such a place for 
 ever. Every day she resorts more than once to a 
 quiet corner of the new Chapel to pay her orisons, 
 taking delight in the stillness, and in the brilliant 
 colours of the painted windows Bishop Williams 
 (once the antagonist of Archbishop Laud, and now 
 with him in the Tower) had brought but a few 
 years since from Italy. 
 
 " Outside this chapel there is a garden, where we 
 walk, and discourse of the prospects of the king- 
 
29 8 THE DRA YTON8 AND 
 
 dom, and of those friends at Netherby from whom 
 we are now so sadly parted. 
 
 "For Roger and Mr. Drayton are in the rebel 
 army alas ! there is no longer doubt of it and 
 any day their hands and those of my seven broth 
 ers, all in the king s army, may be against each 
 other. 
 
 " November 8th. The king and the army are 
 away at Reading, with my Father and my broth 
 ers ; and the city is quiet enough without them. 
 
 " Sir Launcelot is now on service about the Cas 
 tle. I would he were on the field, and one of my 
 brothers here. However, I am not like to see 
 much of him at present. He will scarce venture to 
 come after what I had to say to him this morn 
 ing. 
 
 " He came in laughing, saying he had just seen 
 an encounter between an old rebel woman at the 
 gate and four of Prince Rupert s plunderers. She 
 was contending with them for the possession of a 
 sober Puritanical-looking old horse, said he. They 
 claimed it for the king s service. She said * that 
 might be, but in that case she chose to give it up 
 herself unto the care of one of His Majesty s court, 
 to whom she had a letter. 
 
 " Did you not give her a helping word ? said I. 
 
 " I am scarcely such a knight errant as that, 
 Mistress Lettice, said he ; I should have enough 
 to do, in good sooth. Moreover, the godly gene 
 rally make good fight for their carnal goods, and 
 in this instance the woman seemed as likely as not 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 299 
 
 to have the best of the debate, to say nothing of her 
 being wrinkled and toothless. 
 
 " That made rue flash up, as speaking lightly of 
 aged women always does. Poor chivalry, said T, 
 * which has not recollection enough of a mother to 
 lend a helping hand to the old and wrinkled. We 
 shall be wrinkled and toothless in a few years, sir, 
 and our imagination is not so weak but that we can 
 fore-date a little while, and transfer all such heart 
 less jests to ourselves. I have been used to higher 
 chivalry than that among the Puritans, said I. 
 
 " He laughed, and made a pretty pathetic depre 
 cation. His mother had died (quoth he) when he 
 was too young to remember. Some little excuse, 
 perchance. However, Roger Drayton s mother also 
 died when he was in infancy. But be that as it 
 might, I was in no mood to listen. And as we 
 were speaking, a serving-man came to tell me a 
 poor woman from Xetherby was in the ante-room 
 craving to see me or my Mother. 
 
 " It was Rachel Forster. 
 
 " Her neat Puritan hood, so dainty, I think, on 
 her pale worn-looking face, was rather ruffled, and 
 although her eyes had the wonted quiet in them, 
 (only a little loftier than usual,) she was trembling, 
 and willingly took the chair I offered her. 
 
 " You did not find it easy coming through the 
 royal lines, I said. 
 
 " Xothing but a few rude jests at the gate, Mis 
 tress Lettice, said she ; but I am not used to them, 
 or to going about the world alone. But I have 
 
3 oo THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 been taken good care of. And I am here? she added, 
 fervently ; which is all I asked. 
 
 " Did they try to take your horse from you ? I 
 said. 
 
 " They took him, she said. * But that matters 
 little. He was a faithful beast, and I am feared how 
 they may use him. But the beasts have only now, 
 neither fore nor after, which saves them much. 
 Then without more words she gave me a letter from 
 Olive. 
 
 " From this I found that Roger is a prisoner in 
 the Castle here, with Job Forster. 
 
 " I went into the other chamber, and asked Sir 
 Launcelot had he known of this. 
 
 " 4 1 learned it a day or two since, he replied, 
 hesitating, but I did not tell you or Lady Lucy, 
 because you are so pitiful, I feared to pain you 
 uselessly. 
 
 " We might have judged whether it was use 
 lessly or not, Sir Launcelot ! said I. 
 
 " Can I do anything for you ? he asked, in con 
 fusion. 
 
 " Nothing, said I. You might have helped an 
 aged woman, a friend of mine, whom you found in 
 difficulties at the gate this morning. But now, 
 excuse me, I have no time to spare I must go to 
 my Mother. And I withdrew to the inner room, 
 to bring my Mother out at once to see what could 
 be done; leaving him to retire through the ante 
 room, where Rachel Forster sat. 
 
 " I trow he will not be in a hurry to visit us again. 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 30 1 
 
 " My Mother and Rachel had always been friends. 
 They both live a good deal at the height where the 
 party-colours blend in the one sunlight ; and they 
 neither of them ever speak half as much as they 
 feel about religion. 
 
 " There was not much to say, therefore, when my 
 Mother understood her errand. My Mother s word 
 had weight, and in a few hours she had procured a 
 permit for Rachel to see her husband, provided the 
 interview was in her presence. 
 
 " It was a noisome place, she said many persons 
 crowded together like cattle in dungeons, with 
 scant light or air, and none to wait on them but 
 each other. Job was on some straw in a corner, 
 looking sorely altered his strong limbs limp and 
 emaciated, and his eye languid. But it was won 
 derful how his face lighted up when he saw Ra 
 chel. 
 
 " I thought thee would come , said he, * though 
 I bid thee not. I knew thee had learned how " all 
 things are possible." : 
 
 "My Mother s intercessions procured for them 
 the great favour of a cell, which, though narrow, 
 low, damp, and underground, they were to have to 
 themselves. And before she left, Rachel s neat 
 hands had made the straw and matting look like a 
 proper sick-bed, while her presence had lighted the 
 cell into a home. 
 
 " Then my Mother went to see Roger Drayton. 
 
 His wound was not so severe as Job s, and his 
 
 lodging was better, though wretched enough. Great 
 
 complaints were made about the prisons. But, I 
 
 26 
 
302 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 fear, all war-prisons, suddenly and not very tender 
 ly arranged, are hard enough. 
 
 " c Have you seen Job Forster ? was his first 
 question after greeting her. 
 
 " She told him what had been done. 
 
 " I begged hard to be allowed to share his pris 
 on. But they would not let me, said Roger. 
 
 "Roger, though far less suffering, looked less 
 tranquil than Job, my Mother said. He did not 
 ask for me until he had read Olive s letter, and then 
 he said abruptly, 
 
 " Olive says she has written to Mistress Lettice. 
 And his face flushed deeply as he added, Olive is 
 but a child in such things, Lady Lucy, and cannot 
 know the hard laws of war. You will not be 
 offended if she pleads, fancying you could do any 
 thing for us. You must not let anything she says 
 trouble you, you are so kind. For I know nothing 
 can be done. 
 
 " Only one thing troubles me, my Mother said, 
 evasively, I would give much if that could be 
 changed. 
 
 " She did not think it generous to say more, but 
 he understood, and answered, 
 
 " That can not be changed, unless all could be 
 changed. It makes me restless enough to be shut 
 up here, Lady Lucy, but it does not make me 
 doubC 
 
 " Those Draytons are like rocks as firm, and 
 almost as hard. JSTo, not hard. Nothing they 
 ought not to be, if only they were on the right 
 side ! 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 
 
 33 
 
 "And Roger called Olive a child. I wonder, 
 then, what he thinks me, who am two years 
 younger ! 
 
 " However, niy Mother thinks something can be 
 done for Roger. Exchanges can be made. Little 
 comfort in that. He is less dangerous to himself 
 and every one else where he is, than in the field 
 again. Yet my Mother says the air and food of the 
 prison are none of the most wholesome. And, of 
 course, Olive wants to have him free. These are 
 most perplexing times. One cannot even tell what 
 to wish. 
 
 " I would send him a message when my Mother 
 goes again, but that he scarcely even asked for me; 
 only defended himself against joining in Olive s 
 pleadings for himself. So proud ! I will send him 
 110 message, not a word. Xothing but a few sweet 
 autumn violets from the college garden; because 
 the air of the prison is so bad. 
 
 "February 10. Job Forster all but sank. He 
 must have died if my Mother had not pleaded hard 
 and got permission at last for him to be taken home 
 to Xetherby in one of our Hall wagons. She 
 thought it would scarce be more than to die. But 
 to-day we have had a letter from Rachel, saying, the 
 very sight of the forge and smell of the fields 
 seemed to work on him like a heavenly cordial, and 
 she doubts not he will rally. Dr. Antony hath 
 been to see him, and Olive, and Mistress Gretel, and 
 Mistress Dorothy, and brought him meats and 
 strong waters, and read him sermons, saith she, and 
 they say he could not be doing better. But, she 
 
34 
 
 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 adds, she hopes Lady Lucy will not think it thank 
 less that he should use his liberty to fight for the 
 Parliament, as no condition was made on his re 
 turn ; and he thinks the Covenant under which he 
 fights must stand good, and dares not break it. So 
 my sweet Mother hath on her conscience the guilt 
 of tenderly nourishing a viper to sting what she 
 loveth best ! 
 
 " But Roger Drayton is to be exchanged for one 
 of our Cavaliers, and is to leave Oxford to-morrow. 
 All these weeks he hath been here, and never a 
 word between us, except some cold thanks for those 
 violets. So proud is he ! And it was not for me 
 to begin. 
 
 "February 11. Roger Drayton had the grace to 
 pay us his devoirs before he left, at Lincoln College. 
 But he would scarce sit down. I trow he was 
 afraid of being vanquished if he ventured into de 
 bate concerning his bad cause. He did not say 
 anything to me. If he had, I felt tempted to say 
 something angry. But he did not begin ; and why 
 should I ? Until at last, as he was leaving, he 
 said, 
 
 " * Mistress Lettice, I am going to join Colonel 
 Cromwell at Cambridge. But I may see Olive by 
 the way. May I say a word to her from you ? Some 
 times a message is better than a letter. 
 
 " I could not think of anything to say. It took 
 me so by surprise after his silence. For it was just 
 like his old tone by the Mere, or in the woods, or 
 on the terraces at Netherby, and at the Hall. And 
 it so brought poor old Netherby back to me, and all 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 305 
 
 the old happy days, that I was afraid iny voice 
 would tremble if I spoke. I could only think of 
 Mistress Dorothy s sermons ; things come into one s 
 head so strangely. So, after a little while, I said 
 very abruptly, I sent Olive dear love and to tell 
 Mistress Dorothy I had read her sermons. 
 
 " But his voice trembled a little as he wished us 
 good-bye; I certainly think it did. And he was 
 not out of the door when I thought of ten thousand 
 messages to send to Olive. But I could not go 
 after him to say them. I could only go to the win 
 dow and watch him through the court. I was al 
 most sorry I did. For he looked up and saw me, 
 and seemed half inclined to turn back. But, in 
 stead, he made a strange little reverence, as if he 
 did not quite know whether to seem to see me or 
 not. I wonder if he also had thought of a few 
 things he would have liked to have said ! He was 
 always rather slow in speech ; I mean, his words 
 always meant about ten times as much as any other 
 man s. 
 
 " And so he strode across the court and under the 
 shadow of the archway into the sunny street out 
 side. To join Colonel Cromwell. Colonel, indeed ! 
 By whose commission ? Roger might at least have 
 spared us that. If it had been Mr. Hampden even, 
 or Lord Essex, it would not have been so bad. But 
 this fanatic brewer ! 
 
 " However, I am glad I said nothing angry. One 
 never knows in these days where or when the next 
 word may be spoken. And then alack, this Mr. 
 26* 
 
306 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 Cromwell, they say, is sure to be just where the 
 fighting is. 
 
 " He did not look amiss in that plain Puritan as- 
 mour. The cap-a-pie armour of the Ironsides, as 
 some begin to call them. It seems to me more 
 martial and more manly than the gay trappings 
 of our Cavaliers. Gallant decorations are well 
 enough for a dance or a masque ; but in real war 
 fare I thik the plainest vesture looks the noblest. 
 At Edgehill His Majesty must have looked most 
 stately in his suit of plain black velvet, with no or 
 nament but the George. 
 
 "March 1643. There is - a Dr. Thomas Fuller 
 lodging here at present, who is a great solace to my 
 Mother, and also to me, being a kind of cousin of 
 ours through his maternal uncle Dr. Davenant, 
 Bishop of Salisbury. 
 
 " He is tall and athletic, with pleasant blue eyes, 
 full of mirth, and withal of kindness, of a ruddy 
 complexion, with fair wavy locks. He hath wit 
 enough for a play-Wright, and piefcy enough, Iliad 
 almost said for a Puritan I should rather say for 
 an archbishop. 
 
 " He was in London a few weeks since, and preach 
 ed a sermon to incline the rebels to peace, which is 
 all his desire. But they did not relish it, and would 
 have him sign one of their unmannerly Covenants ; 
 which not being able to do, he has fled hither. Yet 
 am I not sure that he is more at home among our 
 rollicking Cavaliers. 
 
 " I would I could remember half the wise and 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 307 
 
 witty things he saith. I like his wit, because is 
 often cuts both ways against Puritan and Cava 
 lier ; and more especially at present against the 
 younger sort sort of the latter, whose reckless man 
 ners suit him ill. The poor Puritans are so hit on 
 all sides with the shafts of ridicule, that in fairness 
 I like to see some of the darts flying the other way> 
 especially against such as assume to themselves the 
 monopoly of wit. 
 
 " Harmless mirth, said Dr. Fuller" the other 
 dav, is the best cordial against the consumption of 
 the spirits, but jest not with the two-edged sword 
 of God s word. Will nothing please thee to wash 
 thy hands in but the font ? Or to drink healths in 
 but the church-chalice ? 
 
 a He is very busy, and is abstemious in eating 
 and drinking, and is an early riser. Sir Launcelot, 
 liking not, I ween, to feel the jest so against himself, 
 calls him a Puritan in disguise ; but Harry and he 
 are good friends, and to my Mother he behaveth 
 ever with a gentle deference, as all men, indeed, are 
 wont to do. With her his wit seems to change its 
 nature from fire to sunshine. So tenderly doth he 
 seek to brighten her pensive and somewhat self- 
 reproachful spirit into peace and praise. She on 
 her part hath her sweet returns of sympathy for 
 him, drawing him forth to discourse of his young 
 wife lately dead, and his motherless infant boy. 
 
 "Religion with my Mother is a life of aifections, 
 not merely a code of rules ; and, I suppose, like all 
 affections, brings its sorrows as well as its joys. 
 
3 o8 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 Otherwise I could scarce account for the heaviness 
 she so often is burdened withal. 
 
 " One day, when she was fearing to embrace the 
 cheering words of Scripture, Dr. Fuller encouraged 
 her by reminding her how in the Hebrews the prom 
 ise, c I will not leave thee, nor forsake thee, though 
 at first made only to Joshua, is applied to all good 
 men. All who trust the Saviour, and follow 
 him, said he, are heirs-apparent to all the prom 
 ises. 
 
 " But she, who being a saint (by any laws of ca 
 nonization) ever bemoaneth herself as though she 
 were a penitent weeping between the porch and the 
 altar, put off his consolation with 
 
 " True, indeed, for all good men. 
 
 " To which he, unlike most ghostly comforters I 
 have heard, replied with no honeyed commenda 
 tion, false or true, but said, 
 
 " In the agony of a wounded conscience always 
 look upward to God to keep thy soul steady. For 
 looking downward on thyself, thou shalt find 
 nothing but what will increase thy fear ; infinite 
 sins, good deeds few and imperfect. It is not thy 
 faith, but God s faithfulness thou must rely on. 
 Casting thine eyes down to thyself, to behold the 
 great distance between what thou desirest and what 
 thou deservest is enough to make thee giddy, stag 
 ger, and reel unto despair. Ever, therefore, lift up 
 thine eyes to the hills whence cometh thine help. 
 
 " The reason, quoth he afterwards, why so 
 many are at a loss in the agony of a wounded con- 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 309 
 
 science, is, that they look for their life in the wrong 
 place namely, in their own piety and purity. Let 
 them seek and search, dig and dive never so deep, 
 it is all in vain. For though Adam s life was hid in 
 himself, yet, since Christ s coming all the original 
 evidences of our salvation are kept in a higher office 
 namely, hidden in God himself. Surely many a 
 despairing soul groaning out his last breath with 
 fear to sink down to hell, hath presently been coun 
 termanded by God to eternal happiness. 
 
 " His words brought tears to my Mother s eyes, 
 but comfort, said she, to her heart. 
 
 "Yet, though she saw sunshine through the 
 clouds, she feared to find the cloud again beyond 
 the sunshine, whereon he heartened her further by 
 saying, Music is sweetest near or over rivers, 
 where the echo thereof is best rebounded by the 
 water. Praise for pensiveness, thanks for tears, 
 and blessing God over the floods of affliction, 
 makes the most melodious music in the ear of 
 heaven. 
 
 " Good and fit works for her who needs and de 
 serves such. To me these other words of his are 
 more to the purpose. 
 
 " How easy, saith he, is pen and paper piety. 
 It is far cheaper to work one s head than one s heart 
 to goodness. I can make a hundred meditations 
 sooner than subdue one sin in my soul. 
 
 " He gave my Mother also a sermon of his c on the 
 doctrine of assurance, which she much affects. 
 All who seek the grace of assurance, he writes, 
 4 in a diligent and faithful life, may attain it without 
 
3 io 
 
 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 miraculous illumination. Yet many there are who 
 have saving faith without it. And those who deny 
 this will prove racks to tender consciences. As the 
 careless mother killed her little child, for she over 
 laid it, so this heavy doctrine would press many 
 poor but pious souls, many infant faiths, to the pit 
 of despair. 
 
 "April 1643. Dr. Fuller hath left us to be chap 
 lain in the regiment of Lord Hopton, an honorable 
 man, who will honour him, and give him scope to 
 do all the good that may be to the soldiers. 
 
 "He took leave of us in the college-garden, and 
 gave my Mother a book of his imprinted last year, 
 when he was preacher at the Savoy in London. It 
 is entitled the Holy State and the Profane State, 
 and seemeth wise and witty like himself. As he 
 parted from us, he begged her to remember that 
 all heavenly gifts, as they are got by prayer, are 
 kept and increased by praise. 
 
 "Note. I like well what he writes of anger. 
 4 Anger is one of the sinews of the soul. He that 
 wants it hath a maimed mind. I would I had 
 known this saying to comfort Roger Dray ton 
 withal, when Sir Launcelot provoked him to that 
 blow. 
 
 " Yet another saying is perhaps as needful, at 
 least for me, Be not mortally angry for a venial 
 fault. He will make a strange combustion in the 
 state of his soul who at the landing of every cock 
 boat sets the beacons on fire. 
 
 " We miss Dr. Fuller sorely ; my Mother for his 
 words of ghostly cheer, and I for the just and gen- 
 
THE DA VENANT8. 3 1 1 
 
 erous things he dares to say of good men on the 
 other side, and saith with a wit and point which 
 leaves no opening for scornful jest to controvert. 
 
 " If Dr. Fuller had been the vicar of Xetherby, 
 and if the Draytons had known him, maybe many 
 things had gone otherwise. 
 
 " Xow, alack ! there seems less hope of accommo 
 dation by this Christmas than I had felt sure of by 
 the last. 
 
 "The Parliament Commissioners were here 
 through March, and have but now left. 
 
 " Some Lords and some Commons. But nought 
 could they accomplish. How, indeed, could aught 
 be hoped from subjects who presume to treat with 
 their leige lord as with a rival power ? 
 
 " My Lord Falkland (now the king s secretary) 
 comes now and then to converse with my Mother. 
 Those who knew him before this sad rebellion be 
 gan, say he is sorely changed from what he was. 
 Whereas his mind used to be as free and open to 
 entertain all wise and pleasant thoughts of others, 
 as his mansion at Great Tew, near this was free 
 and open to entertain their persons, so that they 
 called it a college of smaller volume in a purer air ; 
 now, they say, he is often preoccupied, and when in 
 private will sigh and moan Peace ! peace ! and 
 say he shall soon die of a broken heart, if this dire 
 war be prolonged. This especially since the royal 
 army was driven back from Brentford on its way to 
 London. 
 
 " But to us, who contrast him not with his former 
 self, but with other men, he seems the gentlest and 
 
3 1 2 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 most affable of Cavaliers, ever ready to give ear and 
 due weight to thought and wish of any, the least 
 or the lowest. 
 
 "We had not known him much of old, because 
 he leant to the Puritan party (being a close friend 
 of Mr. Hampden), and thought ill of Archbishop 
 Laud, and spoke not too well of bishops or episco 
 pacy. 
 
 " But in this conflict I think the noblest on each 
 side are those who are all but on the other ; not, I 
 mean, in affection for lukewarmness is never a vir 
 tue but in conviction and character. 
 
 " The queen is amongst us again, as graceful and 
 full of charms as ever. But some think the king 
 were liker to follow moderate counsels without her. 
 He holds her as ever in a perfect adoration, and it is 
 not likely to conciliate him that Parliament have 
 actually dared to impeach her. Blasphemy al 
 most, if it were not more like the folly of naughty 
 children playing at being grandsires and gran- 
 dames ! 
 
 " June 26. Mr. Hampden is dead ! By a singu 
 lar mark of the divine judgment (Mr. Hyde says), 
 he was mortally wounded on Chalgrove Field, the 
 very place where he began not many months since 
 to proclaim the rebellious Ordinance Militia. It 
 was in a skirmish with Prince Rupert. The same 
 night the rumour spread among us that something 
 beyond ordinary ailed him, for he was seen to ride 
 off the field in the middle of the fight (a thing never 
 before known in him), with his head low drooping, 
 and his hands on his horse s neck. Less than a 
 
THE DA YEXANTS. 
 
 313 
 
 fortnight afterwards, he died in sore agonies, they 
 say, but persevering in his delusion to the end, so 
 that his heart was not troubled. 
 
 " The king would have sent him a- chirurgeon of 
 his own, had it been of any use. 
 
 " He was much on my Mother s heart, since she 
 heard of his being wounded, for he was ever held 
 to be a brave and blameless gentleman. She 
 grieved sore that he uttered no one repentant word. 
 
 " (Yet the last word we heard he spoke was not 
 so ill a word to die with ; O God, save my bleed 
 ing country ! ) 
 
 " * But, said she, there are Papists who die 
 without ever seeing anything wrong in the mass, or 
 in regarding the blessed Virgin as Queen of Hea 
 ven, who yet die calling on the blessed Saviour 
 with such piteous .entreaty as he surely faileth not 
 to hear. And it may be trusted Mr. Hampden s 
 heresy is no worse. 
 
 " To most around us it is simply the rebels loss 
 in him that is accounted of. And that they say is 
 more than an army. For he was the man best be 
 loved in all the land. Some of us, however, speak 
 of the loss to England, and say that his and my 
 Lord Falkland s were the only right hands through 
 which this sundered realm might have met in fel 
 lowship again. 
 
 " I see nothing glorious in the glories of this war, 
 nothing triumphant in its triumphs, no gain in its 
 spoils. 
 
 "It makes my heart ache to see Prince Rupert 
 and his Cavaliers return flushed with success and 
 27 
 
3 1 4 THE JD KA YTOXS AND 
 
 laden with plunder from raids all over the country. 
 I cannot help seeing in my heart the poor farmers 
 wandering about their despoiled granaries and 
 stalls, and the goodwife bemoaning her empty 
 dairy, and the children missing the cattle and poul 
 try, which are not provision only to them, but 
 friends ; and soon, alack poor foolish babes, to miss 
 provision too and cry for it in vain. 
 
 " These are our own English homes that are rav 
 aged and wasted. What triumph is there in it for 
 any of us ? I would the hearts of these Palatine 
 princes yearned a little more tenderly towards their 
 mother s countrymen. 
 
 "The only hope is that all these horrors will 
 bring the end, the end, the Peace, peace, for which 
 my Lord Falkland groans. 
 
 " But I know riot ; I think of Netherby and the 
 Draytons ; and I scarce deem English hearts arc to 
 be won back by terror and plunder. 
 
 "August 28, 1643. Better hopes! Someihing 
 like a glimpse of the end, at last, 
 
 " Two memorable months. 
 
 " Everything is going prosperously for the king 
 and the good cause, north, and south, and west. 
 
 " In the north, on June the 3rd, the Earl of New 
 castle defeated Lord Fairfax and the rebels at 
 Atherton Moor. A few days afterwards York and 
 Gainsborough and Lincoln surrendered, and now 
 not a town remains to the Parliament between Ber- 
 wich and Hull. 
 
 " On the 13th of July, not a fortnight afterwards, 
 Sir William Waller was defeated and his whole 
 
THE DA VEX A XTS. 3 { - 
 
 army scattered on Lansdowne Heath, near Devizes ; 
 the only offset to this advantage being the death of 
 the brave and good Sir Bevill Grenvill, for whose 
 wife, Lady Grace, bound to him in the truest hon 
 our and love, my Mother mourned much. 
 
 " The West, they say, is loyal ; Cornwall fervent 
 for the kin or. 
 
 " And on July 22nd, not a fortnight after this, 
 Prince Rupert took Bristol, thus doing much to se 
 cure Wales, otherwise, moreover, well-affected. 
 
 " Our hopes are high indeed. In all the horizon 
 there seems but one shadow like a cloud, and that 
 so small I should scarce mention it but that an old 
 friend is there. Mr. Cromwell (or Colonel, as they 
 call him now, forsooth) gained some slight advan 
 tage at Grantham and Gainsborough, and stormed 
 Burleigh House. Indeed, wherever he is, they say, 
 he seems just now to bring good fortune. But this, 
 I think, bodes no ill. Little weight indeed can 
 these unsuccessful skirmishes have to counterbal 
 ance victories, and captured cities, and reviving 
 loyalty throughout the Xorth and West and South. 
 And if the rebels are to succeed anywhere, I had 
 rather it were where Roger Drayton is, because it 
 is in the nature of the Dray tons to be more yielding 
 in prosperity than in ill fortune. 
 
 " His Majesty has just set forth with the army, 
 all in high feather, to besiege the obstinate and dis 
 loyal city of Gloucester. 
 
 " Lord Essex, they say, is collecting an army to 
 meet him. But we could wish for no better. One 
 
3 1 6 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 decisive battle, my Lord Falkland and other wise 
 men think, is the one thing to end the war. 
 
 " September 22nd, 1643. I cannot make it out. 
 They say there has been a victory at Newbury, yet 
 nothing seems to come of it. The king is here 
 again, and the siege of Gloucester is given up, and 
 our people begin to quarrel among themselves, 
 treading on each other in their eagerness for places 
 and titles and honours. I think they might wait a lit 
 tle, at all events, till the Court is at Whitehall again. 
 
 " One good sign is that three rebel Earls Bed 
 ford, Holland, and Clare have returned to their 
 allegiance. The Earl of Holland raised the militia 
 for the Parliament, so that he hath somewhat to re 
 pent of. There is much discussion how they should 
 be received ; the elder Cavaliers recommending a 
 politic forgetting of their offence ; but we, who are 
 younger, desire they should be received as naughty 
 children, if not with reproaches, at most with a cool 
 and lofty indifference, to show we need them riot. 
 It would not look well to be too glad. And, more 
 over, they are three more claimants for the royal 
 grace, and the faithful like not that the faithless 
 should be better served than they who have borne 
 the burden and heat of the day. 
 
 " I thought prosperity would have made us one, 
 but it seems otherwise. 
 
 " And Harry says the noblest is gone. The no 
 blest, he says, always fall the first victims in such 
 conflicts as these, so that the strife grows more cru 
 el, and baser from year to year. 
 
 " The Lord Falkland was slain at Newbury. He 
 
THE DA VENAXTS. -317 
 
 was missing on the evening of the fight, but all 
 through the night they hoped he might have been 
 taken prisoner. On the morrow, however, they 
 found him among the slain, Only too glad to re 
 ceive his discharge, Harry said. On the morning 
 of the battle he was of good cheer, as was his wont ; 
 his spirits rising at the approach of danger. His 
 friends urged him not to go into the battle, he hav 
 ing no command, but he would not be kept away. 
 He rode gallantly on in the front ranks of Lord By 
 ron s regiment, between two hedges, behind which 
 the Roundheads had planted their musketeers. I 
 am weary of the times, he said to those who urged 
 him to withdraw ; I foresee much misery to niy 
 country, but I believe I shall be out of it before 
 night. 
 
 " And so he was ; and needeth now no more dole 
 fully to moan for Peace, peace ! as so often in 
 these last months. He is singing it now, we trust, 
 where good men understand all perplexed things, 
 and each other. 
 
 "Falkland and Hampden ! Alas! how many 
 more before the peace songs are chanted here on 
 earth ! 
 
 " The two right hands are cold and stiif through 
 which the king and the nation might have been 
 clasped together again in fellowship. 
 
 " Who, or what, will reunite us now ?" 
 
 27* 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HE winter of 1642-43 was one of un 
 easy uncertainty to us at Netherby. 
 The whole world seemed to lie dim 
 and hazy, as if wrapped in the heavy 
 folds of a November fog. The next villages seemed 
 to become far-off and foreign, in the unsettled state 
 of the country. There was no knowing the faces 
 and voices of friends from those of foes, in the 
 rapid shifting of parties. The comrade of yester 
 day was the opponent of to-day. "Who could say 
 what the comrade of to-day might be to-morrow? 
 Mr. Cupel, the Member for Hertfordshire, who had 
 been the first in Parliament to complain of griev 
 ances, had become Lord Capel, and was threatening 
 the seven associated counties with his plunderers. 
 
 Lord Essex (many thought) sceir.ecl as frightened 
 at success as at failure. Victories lulled him into 
 fruitless negotiations ; and the only thing that 
 rousecl him to action w r as imminent ruin. Some 
 murmured that "professional seldiers love long 
 wars as physicians love long diseases." Some 
 
 (318) 
 
THE DA VEXANTB. 3 { g 
 
 whispered of treachery, and others of Divine dis 
 pleasure. The explosion of battle had come ; but 
 the only consequence seemed to be the loosening of 
 the whole ground around, the crumbling away of 
 the nation in all directions. 
 
 Partly, 110 doubt, this sense of vagueness and 
 dimness was caused by the absence from most 
 homes and communities of the most capable and 
 manly men in each, in the garrisons, on the field, 
 taking counsel with the King at Oxford, or taking 
 counsel for the nation at Westminster. Thus events 
 were left to be guessed and debated by old men 
 despondent with the decay of many hopes ; or 
 women, draining in anxious imaginations the dregs 
 of every peril they could not share in fact ; or boys 
 delighting in magnifying the dangers they hoped 
 soon to encounter, therewith to magnify themselves 
 in the oyes of mothers and maids. 
 
 Rachel Forster, on whose gentle strength the 
 whole village was wont to lean, was away; and 
 Aunt Dorothy, the manliest heart left among us, 
 had a belief in the general wickedness of men, and 
 the general going wrong of things in this evil 
 world, which was anything but reassuring to those 
 whose fears were quickened with the life-blood of 
 more vivid hopes than hers. 
 
 Thus we were ripe for all kinds of credulities that 
 winter at Xetherby. 
 
 I can remember nothing rising prominently out 
 of the general hum and fog except two convictions, 
 which enlarged before us steadily, becoming more 
 solid instead of more shadowy as they came nearer. 
 
3 20 DRA YTON8 AND 
 
 The first was the impossibility of trusting the King. 
 The second was that everything went right where 
 Colonel Cromwell was ; for by this time he was 
 Colonel Cromwell, at the head of his regiment, 
 which he was slowly sifting and compressing into 
 the firm invincible kernel of his invincible army. 
 
 A dim, dreary time it was for us from the Edge- 
 hill Fight, in October, 1642, to the beginning of 
 February, 1643. Roger in prison at Oxford with 
 Job ; rny Father at Reading or in London with 
 Lord Essex and the army. 
 
 But in the beginning of February a new time 
 dawned on us. My Father came home to us for a 
 few days, to make the old house as tight as he 
 could against any assaults from Lord Capel, or any 
 straggling party of Prince Rupert s plunderers, 
 who were always making dashing forays into the 
 counties favourable to the Parliament, and appear 
 ing where they were least expected. The old moat, 
 which in front of the house had long been the 
 peaceful retreat of many generations of ducks, and 
 elsewhere had been partially blocked up with fallen 
 stones and trees, was carefully cleared out and filled 
 with water. The terraces which led to it on the 
 steep side of the house were scarped, all but the 
 uppermost, which was palisadoed, and had two 
 great guns planted on it. The drawbridge was re 
 paired, and ordered to be always drawn up at 
 night. We were provided with a garrison of four 
 of the farm-servants, drilled as best might be for 
 the occasion, and placed under the command of 
 Bob, which virtually placed the whole fortress under 
 
THE DAVENAXTS. 
 
 321 
 
 the command of Tib, whose orders were the only 
 ones Bob was never known not to disregard. 
 Ivleantime my aunts and I, with the serving-maids, 
 were instructed how to make cartridges, and pre 
 pare matches for the match-locks ; and Aunt Gretel 
 gave us the benefit of her experience in pulling 
 lint, preparing bandages, and other hospital work. 
 
 If an attack, however, were ever made, the gene 
 ral belief in the household was that Aunt Dorothy 
 would take her place as commandant, her courage 
 being of the active, rather than the passive kind. 
 Indeed, I think the sense of danger to ourselves 
 was a kind of relief to most of us. It seemed to 
 make us sharers in the great struggle, which we 
 believed to be for God, and truth, and righteous 
 ness. It took us out of the position of uneasy 
 listeners for rumours into that of sentinels on the 
 alert for an attack. And the whole spirit of the 
 household rose from dreamy disquiet into cheery 
 watchfulness and activity. 
 
 My Father brought us the story of the king s at 
 tempt to surprise London. "It was a treacherous, 
 unkingly deed," my Father said, " enough to quench 
 in the heart of the people every spark of trust left 
 in His Majesty." 
 
 He said it happened on this wise. On Thursday, 
 the llth of November, 1642 (my father told us), 
 the king received messengers from the Commons 
 with proposals of peace, declared his readiness to 
 negotiate, and his intention to remain peaceably in 
 the same neighborhood till all was amicably settled. 
 The Parliament, trusting him, ceased hostilities. 
 
322 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 Nevertheless, instantly after despatching this mes 
 sage, he set off in full march for London. On 
 Saturday he sent forces under Prince Rupert to 
 surprise Brentford under cover of a November fog, 
 and of his own too loyally trusted word. But Den- 
 zil Hollis, with part of his regiment, made a noble 
 stand, and stopped the Prince s progress. 
 
 Hampden came up first, and Lord Brook, to the 
 succour of Hollis imperilled regiment ; they tried 
 to fight through the royal troops, which had sur 
 rounded Hollis and his men in the streets of Brent 
 ford. This they could not effect. But Hollis little 
 band themselves fought to their last bullet, and then 
 threw themselves into the river, those who were 
 not drowned swimming past Prince Rupert s troops 
 to Hampden and his Greencoats. Lord Essex, 
 hearing the sound of guns in the Parliament House, 
 where he was at the time, took horse and galloped 
 across the parks and through Knight abridge to the 
 scene of action. Ater this, all through the Satur 
 day night, soldiers came pouring out* from the 
 roused city, until, on Sunday morning, four and 
 twenty thousand men were gathered on Turnhain 
 Green. 
 
 Then the tables were turned, and Hampden fell 
 on the king s rear. 
 
 " And then ?" asked Aunt Dorothy. 
 
 " And then," replied my Father, drily, " Lord 
 Essex recalled him, and so nothing further came of 
 it ; but things have gone on simmering ever since ; 
 always getting ready, and discussing how things 
 should be done, and never doing them." 
 
THE DA I L XA NTS* 325 
 
 " How do Mr. Hampden and Mr. Pym brook 
 these delays ?" said Aunt Dorothy. 
 
 " Mr. Hampden would have had my Lord Essex 
 invest Oxford, 1 said my Father, " but he is a sub 
 ordinate, and Lord Essex a veteran ; and Mr. 
 Hampden, I trow, deems military obedience the 
 best example he can give an army scarce six months 
 recruited from the shop or the plough." 
 
 " And meantime," said Aunt Dorothy, " I warrant 
 Prince Rupert is active enough. There is 110 end 
 to the tales of his devastations, seizing whole teams 
 from the plough, setting fire to quiet villages at. 
 midnight, with I know not what iniquities besides, 
 and carrying home the spoil from twenty miles 
 around to the king s quarters at Oxford. If Lord 
 Essex does not want to fight the king, why does 
 not he submit to him ? Keeping twenty-four thou 
 sand men armed and fed at the public expense, and 
 doing nothing, is neither peace nor war to my 
 mind !" 
 
 " True, sister Dorothy/ 7 said my Father, " I know 
 of no method by which war can be carried on in a 
 friendly way. And when Lord Essex has come to 
 the same conclusion, perhaps things will go a little 
 faster." 
 
 " Will they ever, under Lord Essex ?* said she. 
 
 " Time will show, said lie. " We have scarcely 
 found our Great Gustavus yet." 
 
 " Colonel Cromwell has been doing something 
 better than dreaming what to do, at Cambridge, 
 since he saved the magazine there and 2,000 of 
 plate for the Parliament last June." said Aunt 
 
324 HE V RA YTONS AND 
 
 Dorothy. "Troops are pouring up to him from 
 Essex and Suffolk, and all around, they say ; and 
 Cambridge is being fortified; and they say it is 
 owing to Colonel Cromwell we are so quiet in these 
 seven counties." 
 
 " Colonel Cromwell has a rare gift of sifting the 
 chaff from the wheat; finding out who can do the 
 work and setting them to do it," said ray Father, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " So strict with his soldiers too," said Aunt Doro 
 thy. " They say the men are fined twelve pence if 
 they swear a profane oath." 
 
 " Then," said my Father, " he is doing what he 
 told his cousin Mr. Hampden must be done, if ever 
 the Parliament army is to match the king s." 
 
 " What is that ?" said she. 
 
 " Getting men of religion," my Father replied, 
 " to fight the men of birth. You will never do it," 
 said Colonel Cromwell, " with tapsters and prentice 
 lads. Match the enthusiasm of loyalty with the 
 enthusiasm of piety !" 
 
 " It is strange," rejoined Aunt Dorothy, " that 
 Mr. Cromwell never discovered his right profession 
 before. A farmer till forty-three,. and then all at 
 once to find out he was made for a soldier !" 
 
 " What can make or find out soldiers but wars, 
 sister Dorothy ?" said my Father. " Moreover, I 
 warrant Colonel Cromwell has known what it is to 
 wage other kinds of war before this. It is only 
 taking up new weapons. It is only the same con 
 flict for the oppressed against the oppressor, in 
 which he contended for those of the Fen country 
 
THE DA VEXAXTS. 
 
 325 
 
 against Royal assumption, and for the poor men of 
 Soinersham against the courtiers who would have 
 ousted them from their ancient common-rights ; or 
 for the gospel lecturers whom Archbishop Laud 
 silenced. The same war, only a new field and new 
 weapons. At any rate, I am glad the lad Roger is 
 to serve under him ; and so you may tell him when 
 he gets his liberty and comes home, as I trust he 
 will in a fortnight." 
 
 This was said as my Father was taking an early 
 breakfast alone with us in the Hall, with his horse 
 saddled at the door, ready to take him back to the 
 Lord General s quarters. 
 
 Rachel and Job Forster came home before Roger, 
 in Sir Walter Davenant s wagon, stored with pro 
 visions and cordials, and soft pillows, by Lady Lucy. 
 
 I believe every one in Xetherby slept with a 
 greater feeling of security on the night after their 
 return. Poor Margery, Dickon s young wife, said 
 it was like the Ark coming back from the Philis 
 tines, regardless of the slur she thereby cast on the 
 Royalist army, in which Dickon fought. And yet 
 there was nothing very reassuring in Job s appear 
 ance. He looked like a gaunt ghost, and stumbled 
 into the cottage like a tottering infant, and rather 
 fell on the bed, which had been made up for him in 
 the kitchen, than lay down on it, so broken was 
 his strength. When the neighbours came in after 
 a while, however, he had a good word to hearten 
 each of them. As to Rachel, she settled in at once, 
 without more ado, to her old ways and plans, doing 
 28 
 
326 THE DRA YTONS A ND 
 
 everything with the purpose-like quietness which 
 so calms the sick. 
 
 Cheered by Job s greetings to the- neighbours, 
 she told me it was not until the place was still, and 
 she was making up the fire for the night, that she 
 knew how low his strength was. As she took the 
 wood from the pile he had made for her close to the 
 fire, she was startled, she told me, by a sound like 
 a stifled sob from where he lay. 
 
 " Art laid uneasy ?" said she, at his side in an in 
 stant. " Does aught ail thee ? Is the bed ill-made ?" 
 
 "Naught," said he. "It s better than the bed 
 of Solomon to me, with the pillars of silver and 
 the bottom of gold. But I am like to them that 
 dream, laughing and crying all in one. For I used 
 to think before thee come to the gaol, how I should 
 never see thee kindle a fire in the old place again, 
 and how every stick thee had to takke from where 
 I laid it for thee would go to thy heart like a stab. 
 And it shamed me not to have made a better shot 
 at the Lord s meaning for thee and me." 
 
 " How could thee tell His meaning," said Rachel, 
 " before He told thee ? He gave thee no promise 
 to bring thee out of prison, nor me." 
 
 " Nay," said Job, " but it s making very bold 
 with Him, and making fools of ourselves, to guess 
 at His words when they re half spoken, instead of 
 waiting to hear them out. And it grieves me I 
 should have suspected Him when He was meaning 
 us so well. Read me what the Scripture saith about 
 the forgiveness of sins." 
 
 " But, Mistress Olive," concluded Rachel, when 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS, 327 
 
 she told me this little history, " when Elijah, worn 
 out with trouble, misunderstod the Lord, the angel 
 comforted him, not with a text, but with a cake 
 bakeii on the coals ; so, when Job took to misun 
 derstanding the Almighty like that, thinking He 
 would be angered with svhat would not have fretted 
 one of the likes of us poor hasty creatures, instead 
 of the Bible I gave him a good cup of strong broth. 
 I knew it was the body, poor soul, and not the 
 spirit that was to blame, and that all those brave 
 words he spoke to the neighbours had cost more 
 than they were worth ; and, of course, I was not 
 going to profane the Holy Word by using it like 
 the spell in a witch s charm." 
 
 So for several days she kept every creature out of 
 the cottage, which deprived me of her counsel in a 
 moment of difficulty, which happened the week of 
 their return. 
 
 Lord Capel s troops continued to hover round, 
 and to keep the district in a state of suspense and 
 alarm, ripe for any marvellous stories of horror, or 
 for any acts of terrified revenge. For in stormy 
 times there are sure to be some cowardly spirits 
 ready to throw any helpless victim as an expiatory 
 sacrifice to the powers of evil. 
 
 One Saturday evening, late in February, I was 
 returning home through the village from Gammer 
 Grindle s cottage, which I had very often visited 
 since poor Tim s death. The old woman had seem 
 ed gentler in her way of speaking of her neighbours, 
 and once or twice had betrayed her pleasure in see 
 ing me by speaking sharply to me if I stayed away 
 
328 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 longer than usual, as if I had been one of her own 
 lost grandchildren. 
 
 I had made rather a long circuit in returning, not 
 liking to try the high road again, because, in going", 
 I had encountered a dozen or so of the king s 
 troopers, and as I was hurrying past them, they 
 complimented me in a way I did not like, arid came 
 after me. I recognized Sir Launcelot Trevor s 
 voice among them, and then I turned round and 
 spoke to him, and begged him to call his men away. 
 Which, when he recognized me, he did ; but not 
 without some more idle Cavalier jesting, which set 
 my heart beating, and made me resolve to come 
 back by a quiet path through- the Davenant woods, 
 which led round through the village by Job Fors- 
 ter s. 
 
 Poor old Gammer was very friendly. I suppose 
 I was trembling a little, though I did not tell her 
 why, for she declared I was chattering with cold, 
 and would have me drink a hot cup of peppermint 
 water, and kindled up the fire, and took off my 
 shoes, which were wet, and dried them, wrapping 
 up my feet, meanwhile, in her own best woolsey 
 whimple. Indeed, she was so gracious and ap 
 proachable, that I ventured to say something about 
 the benefit of coming to church, and mingling a 
 little more with her neighbours. 
 
 " Too late, too late for that ! " said she, firing up. 
 "This twenty year, come Lammas, my Joan, Cice 
 ly s mother, was buried, she and her man, Cicely s 
 father, in one grave. And the parson would do 
 nothing without his fee. So I sold the cover from 
 
THE DA VEX A NTS. 
 
 329 
 
 my bed to pay him. And I vowed I d never darken 
 his church-door again." 
 
 " But that parson is dead, Gammer," said I, " and 
 it was not his church after all." 
 
 " That may be," said she. " But a vow is a vow. 
 Besides, I could never bear the folks eyes spelling 
 at me. I m ugly, and lone, and poor, and they 
 make mouths at me, and call me an old hag and a 
 witch. But it s only natural. All the brood will 
 peck at the lame chick. All the herd will leave the 
 stricken deer. Didn t all the village hoot and jeer 
 at my poor, tender, innocent Tim?" 
 
 And then she poured forth the story of her life of 
 sorrow as I had never heard it before. A heart 
 trained to distrust and suspect through a childhood 
 of bondage under the petty tyrannies of a step 
 mother and her children. One year of happy mar 
 ried life, ending in a sudden widowhood, which 
 widowed her heart also of all its remnant of hope 
 in God, and left her to struggle prayerless and alone 
 with a hard world, for bread for herself and her or 
 phan babe. The growing up of this child to be a 
 stay and comfort, and, for three years, a second 
 home with her when she married. This second 
 home broken up as suddenly as^the first, by the 
 death of the daughter and her husband in one month, 
 from a catching sickness, leaving the grandmother 
 once more alone to toil with enfeebled strength for 
 two orphan babes ; the boy, poor, faithful Tim, half 
 witted and sickly; the girl, Cicely, wilful and high- 
 spirited, and the beauty of the village. Then the 
 terrible morning when Cicely was gone, and no ac- 
 28* 
 
33 
 
 THE DRAYTON8 AND 
 
 count could be got of her beyond Tim s confused 
 and exulting statement, that Cicely had cried, and 
 laughed, and kissed him, and told him to wish grand 
 mother good-bye for her, and she would come back 
 a lady and bring Tim a gun like Master Roger s ; 
 to Gammer Grindle tidings worse than bereavement 
 or all the misery she had known, for she came of an 
 honourable Saxon yeoman s house that had never 
 known shame. Tim, however, could never be 
 brought to look on his sister s disappearance in any 
 but the most cheerful light, and would watch for 
 hours at the corner of the path leading to the village 
 for Cicely and the " gun like Master Roger s," until, 
 as time passed on, the expectation seemed to fade 
 away, only to be awakened once again by the mys 
 terious touch of death. And since then not a word 
 of the poor lost girl. Tim in the grave, and the 
 vain longing that Cicely were there too. And all 
 the little world around her, as she believed, leagued 
 against her crushed but unconquered heart. She 
 ended with, 
 
 "But it s but natural. When the lightnings 
 have rent the trunk the winds soon snap the boughs. 
 They say the devil stands by me. If he did no one 
 need wish him for a friend. They say the Almigh 
 ty is against me. And most times I think belike 
 He is." 
 
 Then Aunt Gretel s words came back to me, 
 " Anywhere but there. Put the darkness anywhere but 
 there ;" and I said, 
 
 " Never, Gammer, never. The devil said that 
 thousands of years ago ; but the Lord Christ came 
 
THE DAVENAXTS. 
 
 33* 
 
 to show what a lie it was. He stood by the strick 
 en and wounded always. The lame and the blind 
 came to Him in the temple, and he healed them. 1 
 
 She listened as if she half believed, and then, after 
 a silence, she said, 
 
 " The devil is no easy enemy to deal with, mis 
 tress, but if I could be sure it was only him, maybe 
 I might look up and try again." 
 
 At last she was persuaded so far as to let me say 
 I might call for her the next Sunday on my way to 
 church. " It was as like as not she would not 
 go, but at any rate it would do her no harm to see 
 me." 
 
 And as T left I heard something like a blessing 
 follow me, and I saw the poor, bent old figure lean 
 ing out of the door and watching me. 
 
 But when I came back to Xetherby I found 
 the whole village at the doors in a ferment of eager 
 talk. 
 
 I thought at once of Sir Launcelot and the troop 
 ers, and asked if there had been another battle. 
 
 " Nay, nay," said the woman I spoke to, " it s 
 naught but folks going to reap their deserts at 
 last." 
 
 Then came a chorus of grievances. 
 
 " Three of Farmer White s finest milch kine gone 
 in one night !" " Good wife Joyce s best black hen 
 killed, and not a feather touched ; no mortal fox s 
 work it was too plain to see !" " The clous vellino- 
 
 O / 
 
 as if they were possessed, as belike they were, on 
 Saturday evening, seeing no doubt more than they 
 could tell, poor beasts, of what was going on in the 
 
332 THE DRA 1 TONS A ND 
 
 air ! " " Lord Essex and his army lying spell 
 bound, able to do nothing, while the Prince Uobber 
 was plundering the land far and wide ! " " Job and 
 Master Roger, the best in the village, the first 
 stricken; too clear where the blows came from ! " 
 " And to-day the squire s own cattle driven off the 
 meadow, with Mistress Nicholl s, by a troop of 
 plunderers, who came no one knew whence, and 
 had gone no one knew whither !" "And finally, 
 Tony Tomkin had been pursued by a headless 
 hound through the Davenant woods, where he had 
 only gone to take a rabbit or two he had snared, 
 and thought no harm, the family being away and 
 fighting against the country ! " " And," but this 
 was muttered under the breath, " there were those 
 who said they had seen something that was not 
 smoke come out of Gammer Grindle s chimney 
 something that flew away over the fens faster than 
 any bird. And this was only on last Saturday 
 night, and every one knew that Saturday was the 
 day of the witches Sabbath ever since the Jews 
 had brought the innocent blood on their heads ! " 
 
 Then suddenly it flashed on me what it all meant. 
 They were going to execute some dreadful ven 
 geance on Gammer Grin die, believing her to be one 
 of the witches who were causing all the mischief in 
 the land. 
 
 It was no use to set myself against the torrent of 
 fear and rage, so I said as quietly as I could, 
 
 " What are they going to do, and when ?" 
 
 " First," was the reply, " they re going to duck 
 her in the Mere before her own door. If she sinks 
 
THE DA VEFANTS. 3 3 3 
 
 they will pull her out if they can, as it mayn t be 
 her doings after all. If she swims she s a witch, 
 clear and plain." 
 
 "And what then?" I said. 
 
 " Nothing too bad, Mistress Olive, for the like of 
 them. But the lads 11 see when it comes to the 
 point. It isn t often their master helps the wretch 
 es out at last, they say. And if they don t sink 
 natural, as a Christian ought, belike the lads 11 
 make her." 
 
 " When did they go to do this ?" I asked. 
 
 " They re but just off," was the answer. " But 
 they 11 make short work of it, never fear. It s 
 time a stop could be put to such things, if ever it 
 was." 
 
 "If Rachel and Job had been among you this 
 would never have been," I thought. I longed to 
 have consulted Rachel, had it been possible. But 
 there was no time to hesitate. 
 
 My first impulse was to rush after the cruel boys ; 
 but I felt that in the maddened state of terror in 
 which the village was, they would most probably 
 keep me back. So, without saying a word or visi 
 bly quickening my pace, I walked quietly on to 
 wards home. 
 
 In the porch I found Aunt Gretel. She was 
 watching for me. 
 
 I took her arm, not violently, I was so afraid of 
 frightening her from doing what I had determined 
 must be done. And I said quite quietly, 
 
 "Aunt Gretel, we must go together this instant 
 to Gammer Grindle s." 
 
334 THE BRA YTONS AND 
 
 " What is the matter ?" she said. 
 
 " I will tell you as we go," I said. " There is no 
 time to be lost." 
 
 She came with me. I turned into the path by 
 the meadows. 
 
 " Not this way, Olive," she said. The plunder 
 ers have been there to-day. Your Father s best 
 cattle are taken, and Placidia s." 
 
 " If the cattle are gone, then belike so are the 
 plunderers," I said. " But if the king s whole army 
 were there we must take the shortest way." 
 
 And I told her the whole story. 
 
 She said nothing but, 
 
 " Then the good God guard us, sweetheart, and 
 don t waste your breath in words." 
 
 We went quickly on. 
 
 Only once I thought I heard shouts, and I said, 
 
 " Aunt Gretel, what do they do with witches at 
 the worst ?" 
 
 " They have roasted them alive," she said, under 
 her breath. And we said no more. 
 
 As we came to the creek of the Mere, on the op 
 posite side of which the cottage was, we heard yells 
 and shouts too plainly borne across the water in the 
 stillness of the evening, unbroken by the lowing of 
 the stolen cattle which had been feeding there that 
 morning. And in another moment we saw the re 
 flection of torches gleaming in the water, as we 
 stumbled along in the dusk among the reeds. I 
 listened eagerly for poor old Gammer s voice. But 
 I heard nothing. Indeed, my own heart began to 
 beat so fast, I could hear little but that. Until, 
 
TffE DA VEXAXTS. 
 
 535 
 
 just as we reached the cottage, there was a dull 
 splash, and then a silence. It was followed by a 
 low moan, but by no cry. They were drowning 
 the poor old woman, and the brave broken heart 
 would vouchsafe them the triumph of no entreaty 
 for mercy and no cry of distress ! I knew it as if I 
 saw it. And the next moment I had flown along 
 the shore and was in the midst of the crowd on the 
 brink of the water, clinging with one hand round 
 the stem of an alder, and stretching out the other 
 till it grasped the poor shrivelled hands which had 
 caught at the branches which drooped over the 
 water. 
 
 " Cling to me, Gammer ! to me, Olive Drayton ! 
 I am holding fast cling to me !" 
 
 I was scarcely prepared for the desperate tenacity 
 of the grasp which returned mine. I never felt till 
 that moment what it means to cling to Life. My 
 other arm held firm, but the bank was oozy and 
 slippery, and I felt as if I were losing my power, 
 when at that instant Aunt Gretel came and knelt 
 beside me, and clutching Gammer Grindle s dress, 
 between us we dragged her to land. 
 
 Then the second part of the work of rescue began, 
 and the hardest. 
 
 The men, or rather lads (for they were few of 
 them more), who formed the crowd, had been start 
 led into inaction by our sudden appearance among 
 them ; but now they began to mutter angrily, and 
 would have pushed us rudely away, saying " it was 
 no matter for women to meddle in. They had not 
 come there for nothing, and they would have it out. 
 
336 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 The whole country-side should not be laid waste to 
 save one wicked old witch, that no one had a good 
 word to say for." 
 
 By this time Gammer Grindle had recovered so 
 far as to rise out of that mere instinct of self-preser 
 vation with which she had desperately clung to me. 
 And disengaging herself from me, she said, stand 
 ing erect and facing her assailants, 
 
 " Let me alone, Mistress Olive. They say right. 
 They are all gone who would have said a good 
 word for me. Let me go to them." 
 
 Two of the men seized her again. 
 
 " Confess !" said one of them, shaking her rudely ; 
 " confess, and we ll leave you to, the justices. If 
 not you shall try the water once more to sink or 
 swim." 
 
 And they dragged her again to the brink. The 
 touch of the cold oozing water made the horror and 
 weakness come over her again. Her courage for 
 sook her, and she cried like the feeble old woman 
 she was, 
 
 " Have pity on me, neighbours. I ll confess any 
 thing, if you ll leave me alone anything I can. 
 I ve been a sinful old woman, and the Lord s against 
 me ; the Lord s against me !" 
 
 " Hear her, mistress," said the men with a cry of 
 triumph ; " she ll confess anything. She says the 
 Almighty s against her. It isn t fit such should 
 live." 
 
 They were forcing her on; her poor, patched, 
 thin garments tore in my hands as I clung to them. 
 Aunt Gretel, driven to the end of her English, as 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 3 3 7 
 
 usual with her in strong emotion, was pouring forth 
 entreaties and prayers in German, when I caught 
 sight of a Netherby lad well known as the pest of 
 the village, and the ringleader in all mischief. He 
 was carrying a torch. I caught his arm and looked 
 in his face. 
 
 " Tony Tomkin," I said, " Squire Drayton shall 
 know of this, and it shall not be unpunished. It is 
 your wickedness, and such as your s, that brings the 
 trouble on us all, and not Gammer Grin die s. God 
 is angry with you^ Tony, for breaking your little 
 brother s head, and idling away your time, while 
 your poor mother toils her life away to get you 
 bread. You will not give up your hearts to be good 
 like brave men, which is the only sacrifice God will 
 have ; and instead, like a pack of cowards, you are 
 sacrificing a poor helpless old woman to the devil. 
 Isn t there one man here with the heart of a man in 
 him ? What harm can the devil do you, much less 
 a witch, if you please God ? And which of you 
 thinks God will be pleased by a troop of you slink 
 ing here in the dark to murder a helpless old woman 
 at her own door ? Can none of you lads of Nether- 
 by remember poor Tim, and how he died for Master 
 Roger, and how good she was to him ? Or can t 
 you trust Squire Drayton to do justice, and leave 
 her to him ?" 
 
 Tony let his torch fall and slunk back. Then two 
 Netherby men came forward and said, 
 
 " She s right ; Mistress Olive is right ! Squire 
 Drayton 11 see justice done." 
 
 Two or three others joined them. The cry arose, 
 29 
 
338 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 " No one shall touch the old woman to-night, as 
 long as there s any Netherby lads to hinder it." 
 
 A scuffle ensued, during which Aunt Gretel and 
 I got hold of Gammer Grindle once more, and led 
 her back into the cottage. 
 
 Once there, we barricaded the door with the logs 
 and fagots which formed Gammer s store of fire 
 wood, and felt safe. 
 
 But it was not until the angry voices had quite 
 died away in the distance, and we heard again the 
 quiet plashing of the water among the rushes, that 
 we could quiet the poor old woman so that she 
 would let go her clasp of our hands. Then she let 
 us kindle a fire, and wrap her in warm dry things. 
 
 We wanted to lay her in a clean comfortable bed 
 which was made in the corner of the hut. But this 
 she would not suffer. " It is Cicely s," she said. 
 " It s not for me." So we had to pack her up as 
 comfortably as we could upon the heap of straw 
 and rags laid on an old chest, which was her hed. 
 
 There she lay quite still for a long time, while 
 Aunt Gretel and I sat silent by the fire, hoping she 
 would sleep. 
 
 But in about an hour she said, in a quiet voice 
 
 " Take away those logs from the door." 
 
 I went to her bedside. 
 
 " In the morning, Gammer," I said, " when it is 
 quite safe." 
 
 " This moment !" said she, starting up any trying 
 to walk. But the terrors of the night had made 
 her so faint and feeble, that she fell helplessly back. 
 
 " This moment, Mistress Olive !" she repeated, in 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 3 3 g 
 
 a faint querulous voice, very unlike her usual sharp 
 firm tones " this moment ! The poor maid might 
 come and try the door, and go away, and never 
 come again. I ve been sharp with her, I know, 
 and she might be afraid, not knowing, poor lamb, 
 how I watch for her." 
 
 Aunt Gretel went to the door and began to un- 
 pile the logs. 
 
 " God will care for us, Olive," said she with a 
 faltering voice. " He will know and care ; He who 
 never closes the door against us." 
 
 And gently we withdrew the logs which formed 
 our protection. 
 
 " Set the light in the window," Gammer said. 
 
 By the window she meant a rough crevice in the 
 wall, with a canvas curtain hung before it. 
 
 Aunt Gretel ventured a little remonstrance. 
 
 "Hardly that to-night," said she. "It might 
 guide any evil-disposed people here." 
 
 " It will guide her, and what does it matter for 
 anything else ?" said Gammer Grindle, almost 
 fiercely. " She knew there was always a light 
 burning, and if she saw none, she might think I 
 was dead, and turn away." 
 
 And the lamp was placed in the window. 
 
 Then another long silence, broken again by 
 Gammer. 
 
 " What ll they think s come to you, my mis 
 tresses ? What a selfish old woman I ve been. 
 Why didn t I let them do for me, and be quiet. I 
 never knew before what fear was. I ve wished to 
 die scores of times ; but when death came near, I 
 
3 4 o THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 clung to life like a drowning dog or cat, and never 
 cared who I pulled in to save myself. I never 
 thought I should live to be such a pitiful old cow 
 ard. But the Lord s against me," she cried, going 
 back to her old wail "the Lord s against me. 
 Everybody says so, and it must be true. He not 
 only leases me to be drowned; He leaves me also 
 to be as selfish and wicked as I will. The Lord s 
 against me. Why did you try to save me ? I must 
 fall into His hands at last !" 
 
 This was exactly what Aunt Gretel never could 
 hear with patience. 
 
 " You are a little better than those bad men, my 
 dear woman," said she. " You, none of you, can 
 see the difference between the good God and the 
 devil. You talk of falling into His hands, as if His 
 arms were hell. And all the while He is stretching 
 out His arms that you may foil on His heart. You 
 slander, grandmother, you slander God !" she added. 
 
 " He is not against you ; you are against Him." 
 
 " Much the same in the end," moaned poor Gam 
 mer, " if we re going against each other." 
 
 " It is not the same," said Aunt Gretel. " You 
 can turn and go with Him, and He will not have to 
 drive you home. You can bow under his yoke, and 
 you will not feel it heavy. You can bow under 
 His rod, and you will find it comfort you as much 
 as His staff." 
 
 " Not so easy, mistress," said Gammer, after a 
 pause. " I have turned from Him so long, how can 
 I know if I should have a welcome ?" 
 
 " That is what Cicely is waiting for, Gammer," 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 341 
 
 I whispered, kneeling down beside. " But the door 
 is open and the light is burning for her. If she 
 could only know ! if she could only have a glimpse 
 inside /" 
 
 " If she could only know !" murmured the poor 
 old woman, her eyes moistening as she turned from 
 the thought of her own sorrows to those of her lost 
 child. 
 
 And she said no more. But there was something 
 in the quiet of her face which made me hope that 
 she herself had got a " glimpse inside." 
 
 And soon afterwards she fell asleep. 
 
 Aunt Gretel and I were left to our watch. Then, 
 for the first time, when we ceased to watch for sleep 
 to come over the poor exhausted aged frame, I be 
 gan to watch the noises outside, and feel a creeping 
 horror as I listened to the slow cold plashing of 
 the water among the rushes, and the soughing, and 
 wailing, and whistling of the wind among the 
 leafless boughs of the wood behind us. There was 
 one gnarled old oak especially, just outside the 
 house, whose dry boughs creaked in the wind as if 
 they had been dead beams instead of living branches. 
 
 Often I thought I heard long sighs and wailings 
 as of human voices, and with difficulty persuaded 
 myself that it was fancy. But at last there came 
 sounds which could not be mistaken low whistles, 
 and short, peculiar cries, responded to by others, un 
 til we became sure that a number of men must be 
 moving about in the darkness around us. At first 
 Aunt Gretel and I thought it must be the witch- 
 
342 THE J) RA YTON8 AND 
 
 finders come again for Gammer Grindle, and very 
 softly we replaced the logs to barricade the door. 
 
 But other sounds began to mingle with those of 
 human voices, like the lowings of cattle forcibly 
 driven. Suddenly I remembered my encounter that 
 very morning with the royal troopers, which, with 
 all that happened since, seemed weeks distant. 
 
 " It is Sir Launcelot and the plunderers !" I ex 
 claimed. 
 
 " That accounts for their not sending after us," 
 said Aunt Gretel. " They have tried to reach us, 
 no doubt, and cannot." 
 
 And we listened again. 
 
 Then came something like a soft knock and a low 
 cry, which seemed close to the door, and a heavy 
 thud as of something falling. But, though we 
 listened breathlessly, no second sound came ; and 
 the old stories of supernatural horrors haunting the 
 place crept back to us, and kept us motionless. 
 
 By this time the dawn was slowly creeping in, 
 and making the lamp in the window red and dim. 
 
 We sat crouching close together by the embers 
 of the dying fire, and took eack others hands, and 
 listened. 
 
 The voices came nearer, till we could plainly dis 
 tinguish them, and with them the sound of tramp 
 ling feet of men and horses, and then of men 
 springing from the saddle and approaching the 
 hut. 
 
 " It s the old witch s den," a gruff voice said ; 
 " she s burning a candle to the devil. No one ever 
 got good by going near her." 
 
THE DA VENA NTS. 343 
 
 Then a laugh, and Sir Launcelot Trevor s mocking 
 voice, 
 
 " One would think you were a Roundhead, from 
 the respect with which you mention the old enemy s 
 name. At all events, witches don t live, like saints, 
 on air and prayers. We ll get some warmth and 
 comfort this bitter night out of the old hag s stores. 
 Some sack or malmsey, perchance, and a fat capon, 
 or two bewitched from good men s cellars and 
 larders. Stay here, if you are afraid. And I will 
 storm this witch s castle for you." And his long 
 heavy stride approached the door. We sat with 
 beating hearts, expecting the rickety door to be 
 shaken or forced in by a strong hand. But instead, 
 the steps suddenly ceased, and the intruder seemed 
 to start back as if struck by an invisible hand on 
 the threshold. 
 
 Then there was an exclamation of amazement 
 and horror, ending in a fearful oath in a low deep 
 tone, very different from Sir Launcelot s usual 
 bravado. Afterwards a few hasty retreating steps, 
 and as he rejoined his men, some words in the old 
 light tone, but hurried and wild as of one overact 
 ing his part. 
 
 " Belike you are right, lads. Black art or white, 
 better keep to beer of mortal brewing than seize 
 anything from a witch s caldron, or touch anything 
 of a witch s brood. Besides, the country will be 
 awake, and it s as well we were in safe quarters 
 with the booty. Steady, and look out for pitfalls 
 in this cursed place." 
 
 After which there was a splashing of horses feet 
 
344 
 
 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 on the reedy margin of the Mere. Then a heavy 
 trampling as they reached firmer ground, succeeded 
 by a sharp gallop across the meadow, until every 
 sound was lost in the distance, and we were left in 
 the silence to listen once more to the cold plashing 
 of the water among the rushes, and to the breath 
 ing of poor old Gammer in her heavy sleep, as we 
 watched the slow breaking of the morning. 
 
 We had not sat half an hour after the last tramp 
 of the horsemen had died away, when we heard a 
 faint sound as of something stirring on the thresh 
 old. 
 
 Aunt Gretel laid her hand on mine. 
 
 " What made Sir Launcelot turn back, Olive ?" 
 she whispered. "He is scarcely a man likely to 
 dream dreams or see visions." 
 
 By one impulse we softly removed the logs with 
 which we had barricaded the door, and opened it. 
 
 There was a rude porch outside to keep off the 
 beat of the weather, and under it a low seat where 
 Gammer used to sit in summer and carry on any 
 work that needed more light than could be had in 
 the hut. 
 
 Across this lay stretched, in a death-like swoon, 
 the form of a woman. She was half kneeling, half 
 prostrate, her head towards the door, resting on the 
 seat, one arm beneath it, the other fallen helpless 
 by her side, half hidden in a heavy mass of long 
 hair. A puny little child lay cuddled up close to 
 her, clasping the unconscious form with both arms, 
 asleep. 
 
 The features were sharp as with age, and pallid 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 345 
 
 as with the touch of death, and the long soft hair 
 was gray, but it was still easy to recognise in the 
 sharp and altered face what memories it had brought 
 back to Sir Launcelot, and why that poor faded 
 form had guarded her threshold from him better 
 than an army of fiends. 
 
 It was the flaming sword of conscience which had 
 guarded us that night. 
 
 Poor pallid wasted face, so terrible in its mute 
 reproach ! 
 
 We took her up between us. It w^as easy. She 
 was light enough to carry. We laid her on the old 
 bed which her grandmother had kept always ready 
 for her. Aunt Gretel loosened her dress and chafed 
 her hands, while I took the poor puny child to the 
 fire to keep it quiet while I made some warm drink 
 to revive the mother. 
 
 But the poor sickly little one was not easily to 
 be quieted. In spite of all my soothing it awoke, 
 and began wailing for mammy. Perhaps, after all, 
 the best restorative ! The sharp fretful cry aroused 
 the mother from her swoon, and the grandmother 
 from her heavy sleep. 
 
 In another instant the old woman was kneeling 
 by the poor girl s bedside, clasping and fondling 
 her, and calling her by tender, endearing, childish 
 names, such as no one at Netherby would have 
 dreamed could have poured forth from Gammer 
 Grindle s lips. The first words Cicely spoke when 
 she fully recovered consciousness and sate up (her 
 beautiful large gray eyes gleaming from her faded 
 
3 46 TH$! DRA TTONS AND 
 
 hollow cheeks like living souls among a pale troop 
 of ghosts), were, 
 
 " Gammer, I heard him I heard his voice. 
 Yv r here is h"e? I thought I saw his face. But it 
 was dusk, and faces change. But voices will be 
 the same, I think, even in heaven or in hell. And 
 I heard his voice, the same as when he called me 
 darling and wife." 
 
 " Wife !" said the old woman, starting and stand 
 ing erect. " Say that again, Cicely." 
 
 " All in vain, Gammer !" she said, with a slow 
 hopeless tone. " With the priest and the ring ! 
 But it was all false. He told me so when it was 
 too late. He said I must have known. But how 
 was I to know, Gammer ? I trusted him ; I trusted 
 him. Yet, perhaps, I ought to have known better, 
 Gammer ? I suppose it must have been wicked of 
 me. Every one seems to think it was." 
 
 " Not me, sweetheart !" the old woman cried ; 
 " never me ! Thank God, my lamb comes back to me 
 as pure as she went. Thank God, Cicely my darling, 
 thank God, sweetheart, and take courage. If all 
 the cruel world hunted my lamb to death and cried 
 shame on her, there s one in the world who knows 
 slic s as pure as the sweetest lady that ever trod 
 the church floor in her bride s white, with her path 
 strewn with roses." Then, taking the child in her 
 arms, and cuddling it to her, she added, "And thy 
 child s as much a crown of joy to thee and me, 
 Cicely, as to any lady in the land. Take courage, 
 sweetheart. What does all the world matter, if 
 
THE DA YF.NANTS, 3 4? 
 
 grandmother knows; and Him that s above, dar 
 ling," she added, in a voice faltering again into fee 
 bleness. "For He is above, Cicely, and He s not 
 against us, for He s brought thee home." 
 
 All this time the old woman and Cicely had 
 seemed quite unconscious of our presence, as we sat 
 in a shadowed corner of the dark old hut, keeping 
 as quiet as sobs would let us. But when the poor 
 girl was calmed by the long-forgotten relief of a 
 burst of tears on a heart that trusted her, she look 
 ed up and around with a quieter glance, and began 
 to ask again how it could be that she had heard the 
 voice. 
 
 Then I stepped forward to explain. 
 
 She started, and covered her face with her hands, 
 as if she would have hidden herself. 
 
 "It s only me, Cicely, Olive Drayton," I said, as 
 plainly as I could for weeping. " You ve come 
 back among those that know vou and trust you, 
 Cicely." 
 
 Then, after giving her such explanation as I could 
 of the events of the night, and after Aunt Gretel 
 had made up the fire, we bade them farewell, and 
 left the three together to go over the mournful 
 history that lay between their meetings; while 
 we hastened away to assure those at home of our 
 safety. 
 
 " What a night, Aunt Gretel !" I said, as we went. 
 " It seems like a life-time." 
 
 " Things come often thus in life," said she, " as 
 far as I have seen ; the fruits ripened through the 
 long silent year, reaped in a day." I scarcely un- 
 
348 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 derstood her then, but since, I have often thought 
 she was right. Sowing-times and growing-times, 
 long, silent, underground ; and then bursts of flow 
 ering days, reapings and gatherings ; a life-time in 
 a day ; a thousand long-prepared events bursting 
 into flower in a moment. A thousand ghosts of 
 forgotten deeds gathered together and confronting 
 us at one point. The probation thousands of years ; 
 the Judgment a day. 
 
 Aunt Dorothy was a little doubtful as to our 
 having too much commerce with Gammer Grindle 
 or Cicely. " If Gammer was not a witch," said she, 
 " which God forbid though that there are witches 
 who ill-wish cattle, and ride on broom-sticks, is as 
 certain as there are wandering stars and sea-ser 
 pents ; at all events it is a solemn warning to every 
 one on the danger of not going to church like your 
 neighbours. And if Cicely was not as bad as had 
 been feared for which God be praised she was 
 nevertheless an awful example of the danger of 
 dancing round May-poles, and wearing bits of rib 
 bons and roses on your head." 
 
 But when Job heard of it, his anger was greatly 
 kindled. 
 
 " One would think," said he, " the Book of Job 
 had been put into the Apocrypha, that men who 
 profess themselves Christians should go worrying 
 the afflicted like Zophar, Bildad, and Eliphaz, heap- 
 ino- coals on the devil s furnace. Witches there 
 
 O 
 
 were, no doubt, poor wretches, or they could not 
 have been hanged and buried, although for the most 
 part he believed the devil was too good a general 
 
THE DA TENANTS. 
 
 349 
 
 to let his soldiers waste their time in cavalcading 
 about on broom-sticks. But, be that as it might, it 
 was ill work piling wood on fires that were hot 
 enough already, especially when you could not be 
 sure who had kindled the flames. The only com 
 fort was, that after all the devil was nothing more 
 than the Almighty s furnace-heater. All his toil only 
 went to heating it to the right point to fuse the sil 
 ver. The Master would see that none of the true 
 metal was lost." 
 
 At the end of February, Roger came to us. He 
 was pale with prison-air and meagre from prison- 
 fare, and the hair had grown on his upper lip. In 
 my eyes he had gained far more than he had lost. 
 His eyes had a look of purpose and command in 
 them, pleasant to yield to ; though little enough of 
 command had he exercised during the last four 
 months, except, indeed, that command of himself 
 which is true obedience, and lie s at the root of all 
 true command. 
 
 He was even less given than of old to long nar 
 ratives or orations of any kind. 
 
 The history of what he had seen and heard drop 
 ped from him in broken sentences, as he went about 
 seeing to various little plans for strengthening the 
 defences of the house, or as he repaired or cleaned 
 his arms in the evening. Of what he had suffered 
 he said nothing, except to make light of it in an 
 swer to any questioning of mine. More than once 
 he mentioned, in a few brief words, Lady Lucy s 
 kindness. But he did not speak at all of Lettice 
 30 
 
3 5 o THE DEA YTONS AND 
 
 except once, when we were all sitting together 
 round the Hall fire Aunt Dorothy, Aunt Gretel, 
 and I when he said carelessly, as if he had just 
 remembered it by* accident, 
 
 " Mistress Lettice told me she had read the ser 
 mons you gave her, Aunt Dorothy. And she sent 
 you her love, Olive." 
 
 "There are gracious dispositions in the child," 
 said Aunt Dorothy. " I have been sure of it for a 
 long time." 
 
 And I ventured after a little while to say, 
 
 "She sent me her love, Roger, and was that 
 all ?" 
 
 " Her dear love, I think it was," said he dryly, as 
 if the adjective made little difference in the value 
 of the substantive. 
 
 " And she said no more, Roger ? Not one mes 
 sage ? " 
 
 " I only saw her for ten minutes, Olive," said he, 
 a little impatiently, " and most of the time she was 
 talking to a little French poodle, a little wretch with 
 wool like a sheep and eyes like glass-beads." 
 
 " You are hard on the poor child, Roger," said 
 Aunt Dorothy ; " consider her bringing up. I war 
 rant she never spun a web, or learned a chapter in 
 Proverbs through in her life. What can you ex 
 pect from a mother who is a friend of the Popish 
 queen, and, I am only too sure, wears false hair and 
 paint ? " 
 
 " Aunt Dorothy," said he, firing up, " the Lady 
 Lucy is as near a ministering angel as any creature 
 I ever wish to see. And if it were not so, it s not 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 3S I 
 
 for me, who have lived on her bread and on her 
 kind looks for months, to hear a word against her." 
 
 And Roger arose, and strode out of the hall and 
 across the court, whistling for Lion ; leaving Aunt 
 Dorothy in perplexity as to whether he were more 
 aggrieved with her for defending Lettice or for as 
 sailing Lady Lucy, and me in equal perplexity as 
 to how I could ever venture to introduce Lettice s 
 name again, longing as I did to hear more of her. 
 
 " You never saw Lettice after she gave you that 
 message ? " I ventured at last to say one day when 
 we were walking alone together. 
 
 " How could I, Olive ?" said he, " I went away in 
 stantly ; except indeed," he added, " when I hap 
 pened to look back, as I was leaving the court, I 
 saw her standing at the window with that poodle 
 in her arms.. But I did not look again, for at the 
 same moment Sir Launcelot Trevor came out of 
 another door, looking as if he were, as no doubt he 
 is, quite at home in the place with them all." 
 
 " O Roger," I said, " some of us ought to write 
 to Lady Lucy at once to say how wicked he is ! " 
 
 " What is the use, Olive ?" said he, sadly. " It 
 is not from us, rebels and traitors, she will believe 
 evil of a good Cavalier. Least of all from me or 
 mine about Sir Launcelot !" he added, in a lower 
 voice. 
 
 " But he may be deceiving them all," I said, pas 
 sionately. "It is a sin to let him. Can nothing 
 be done ? Have you never thought of it ?" 
 
 " You had better ask me could I think of nothing 
 else, Olive?" said he. "For I had to ask myself 
 
352 THE DRA YTON8 AND 
 
 that many times as I paced up and down in prison, 
 and knew about it all. And the more I thought, 
 the more helpless I saw we were about it." 
 
 " And what did you decide on at last ?" I asked. 
 
 "I decided that this was what the Civil War cost" 
 he replied; "not battles and loss of limb or life 
 only, but misunderstandings and loss of friends. 
 To have all we say and do reported to those we 
 love best through those who think the worst of us, 
 and to have no power of saying a word in justifica 
 tion or explanation. To be identified with the 
 worst men and the most violent acts on our side, 
 and, in loyalty to the principles of our party, not 
 to be able to disown them. To see often the peo 
 ple we love best estranged more and more from the 
 principles we hold dearest ; and to watch a great 
 gulf widening between us which no voice of man 
 can reach across." 
 
 " I feel sure nothing and no one could make Let- 
 tice think harshly of us, Roger," I exclaimed ; " I 
 feel as sure as if I had been speaking to her yester 
 day." 
 
 " How can it be otherwise, Olive ?" said he, " es 
 pecially when I am under Colonel Cromwell. You 
 should have seen the little start and scornful look 
 she gave when I mentioned his name. Colonel ! 
 said she, almost under her breath, as if she were 
 talking only to that poodle. But I heard her. 
 There is no one the Cavaliers hate like him." 
 
 " It seems almost a pity you must be with him !" 
 I said, thinking only of Roger and Lettice. 
 
 "A pity, Olive!" said he, flashing up. "The 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 
 
 353 
 
 Cavaliers hate Colonel Cromwell, because wherever 
 he is there is doing instead of debating. And for 
 what better reason can we hold to him ? If we 
 light at all, it is because we believe there is some 
 thing worth fighting for to be lost or won ; and 
 where Colonel Cromwell is, it is won. The coun 
 try he defends is defended ; the city he holds is 
 held ; the men he trains fight ; and, thank God,- my 
 lot is with him, to defend the old liberties under him, 
 Olive, or, if he fails, to find new liberty in the Xew 
 England across the seas." 
 
 The next day Roger went ofi to join his regi 
 ment at Cambridge, where Colonel Cromwell 
 was. 
 
 How silent and languid the old house seemed 
 when he left us, without his firm, soldier-like tread 
 clearing the stairs at a few bounds, and his whistle 
 to the dogs, and his voice singing with a firm preci 
 sion, like the tramp of a regiment, snatches of the 
 grave, grand old psalm tunes which the Ironsides 
 loved to march to ! 
 
 A fortnight afterwards, Job Forster followed 
 him. And ttien came again months of listening 
 imd waiting, and of contradictory rumours, ending 
 too often in ill-tidings worse than the worst we had 
 feared. 
 
 For that whole year brought little but disaster to 
 the Parliament troops. Day after day in that yel 
 low old Diary of mine is marked with black tidings 
 of defeat and death. 
 
 First comes 
 
 "June 18. Mr. Hampden wounded in trying to 
 30* 
 
354 THE I)RA YTONS AND 
 
 keep off Prince Rupert s plunderers, until Lord Es 
 sex came. Lord Essex did not come in time, and 
 Mr. Hampden went off the field sorely wounded. 
 They say he felt himself death-stricken, and turned 
 his horse towards the house of his first wife, whom 
 he loved so dearly, that he might die there. But 
 his strength failed. It was as much as he could do 
 to make one last effort, and spurring his horse over 
 a little brook which bounded the field, to find his 
 way to the nearest village, and home. 
 
 "June 24. Mr. Hampden died, thinking to the 
 last more of his country than himself. In the 
 midst of terrible pain he wrote (my Father tells us) 
 to entreat Lord Essex to act with more vigour, and 
 to collect his forces round London. He received 
 the sacrament, and spoke with affection of the ser 
 vices of the Church of England, although not alto 
 gether so of her bishops. He received the Lord s 
 Supper, and for himself looked humbly and peace 
 fully to God. But for England his heart looked 
 sorrowfully onward. And his last words were, 
 * Lord, have mercy on my bleeding country ; and 
 then another prayer, the end not heard by mortal 
 ears. My Father writes : His love for his country 
 will scarce fail in the better country whither he is 
 gone. But his counsel and all his slowly garnered 
 treasures of wisdom are lost to us for ever. r 
 
 The next death marked is 
 
 " September 20. A battle at ISTewbury, in Glou 
 cestershire. Lord Falkland killed. Once Hamp- 
 clen s friend, and now (must it not be ?) his friend 
 again. A good man, and gentle, and wise, they 
 
THE DA VEXAy 355 
 
 say. I wonder how it all looks and sounds there 
 where they are ajone." 
 
 And the next 
 
 Mr. Pym is dead. They have buri 
 ed him among the kings in Westminster Abbey. I 
 wonder how many of the people who began the war 
 will be fighting at the end of it, and whether they 
 will be fighting for the same things as when they 
 began." 
 
 TheD^ mixed up with these notices of the dead, 
 are long accounts of skirmishes and fights, which 
 every one thought all-important then, but which no 
 one thinks of now, save those who have their be 
 loved dead lying beneath the fields where they were 
 fought. 
 
 And through it all a steady going downward and 
 downward of the Parliament cause, from that fatal 
 June, 1643, when Hampden died, to near the close 
 of the following year. 
 
 "June 30, 1643. The Fairfaxes defeated at Ath- 
 erton Moor. 
 
 July 13. Sir William Waller (once vainly 
 boasted of as William the Conqueror) defeated, and 
 his army scattered, in Lansdowne. 
 
 " July 22. Prince Rupert took Bristol" 
 
 And so the war surged away to the Royalist 
 West and Royalist Xorth, until in all the West 
 Country not a city was left to the Parliament but 
 Gloucester ; and in the Xorth Country, not a city 
 but Hull, which the Hothams had been baffled in 
 an attempt to betray to the king ; whilst in the 
 counties between, Prince Rupert and the plunderers 
 
3 56 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 were having it much their own way. Very evil 
 times we thought them. And many different rea 
 sons were assigned for the failure of the good cause. 
 Aunt Dorothy feared it was a punishment for a li 
 centious spirit of toleration to zealots and sectaries, 
 and the sins of the Independents. The zealous 
 preacher who came from Suffolk occasionally to ex 
 pound at Job Forster s meeting, was sure it was 
 carnal compromise lording it over God s heritage, 
 and the sins of the Presbyterians. And Rachel be 
 lieved it was the sins of us all, and of herself in par 
 ticular, who had, she considered, been too much like 
 Ananias and Sapphira, in that she had professed to 
 give the whole price to God and then would fain 
 have kept back the half, having indulged the de 
 ceitful hope that Job was so wounded as never to 
 be able to go to the wars again. 
 
 Placidia and Mr. Nicholls were much " exercised." 
 Especially since the loss of the three parsonage 
 cows, which were (by what Aunt Dorothy con 
 sidered a very solemn warning to Placidia) swept 
 off with my Father s by the plunderers from the 
 meadow by the Mere. "There were two texts," 
 said Placidia, " which had always seemed to her 
 exceedingly hard to reconcile. One was, Godli 
 ness hath promise of the life which now is as well 
 as of that which is to come. And the other, 
 Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth. What 
 could be done with texts so exceedingly difficult to 
 reconcile as these ?" 
 
 To which Aunt Dorothy replied, 
 
 " Give up trying to reconcile them at all, my 
 
THE DA VENA NTS. 3 5 7 
 
 dear. Let them fight, as frost and heat do, fire and 
 water, sunshine and storm ; and out of the strife 
 come the flower and the fruit, spring-time and har 
 vest, which shall never cease. Xot that I see any 
 difficulty in it. The promise is not meadows or 
 cows, but grace and peace. The perplexity is over 
 when you make up your mind that what you want 
 is not to feel warm for a day or two, but to have 
 things grow; not a few sunny hours, but the har 
 vest." 
 
 Perhaps among us all, the person least perplexed 
 by these continued disasters was Aunt Gretel ; be 
 cause, leaving the whole field of politics as alto 
 gether too complicated for her to comprehend, she 
 continued to see only the links which bind every 
 day to the Eternal Day," and every event to the 
 hand of the merciful Father ; and thus her chief 
 wonders ever were the pity which forgave so many 
 sins, and the love which provided so many mercies. 
 Overlooking all the battles and skirmishes around 
 us, she saw but one Battle and one Battle-field, and 
 but two Captains. Overlooking all the subordinate 
 divisions of nations and parties, she saw only a 
 ilock and a Shepherd, and the Shepherd calling each 
 one by one, from the Great Gustavus to little Cicely 
 and poor Tim ; folded, one, in the heavenly fold of 
 which he knew nothing till he was in it, and the 
 other in the poor earthly house which she and her 
 child and her grateful love had made, once more, a 
 home and a refuge for poor old Gammer. For since 
 Cicely s return, Gammer s broken links with her 
 fellow-creatures began to be knit again ; and more 
 
358 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 than one at Netherby took Job s words to heart. 
 The broad shield of her love and welcome which 
 she threw around the wanderer had shielded her 
 self. 
 
 But side by side with the doleful records in my 
 Diary run two series of letters full of victory and 
 hope. 
 
 One was to my Father from Dr. Antony, who 
 spent most of that period in London. And there, 
 throughout all these disasters, the courage of the 
 citizens seemed never to fail. 
 
 When Lord Essex returned from Edgehill with 
 very doubtful success, which he had entirely failed 
 to convert into lasting gain by his hesitations and 
 delays, London, of as brave and generous a heart 
 as old Rome, voted him 5,000. 
 
 When Bristol fell before Prince Rupert, and every 
 city in the west save Gloucester fell into the hands 
 of the king, and Lord Essex timidly recommended 
 accommodation with His Majesty, and the Lords^ 
 would have petitioned him, the Commons, the 
 Preachers, and the citizens (knowing that no ac 
 commodation with the king could be relied on un 
 less secured by victory) rejected all such wavering 
 thoughts. The shops were all shut for some days, 
 not to make holiday, but for solemn fasting. These 
 days were spent in the churches, and the people 
 came forth from them ready for any sacrifice for 
 the eternal truth and the ancient liberty. It was 
 determined to surround London with entrench 
 ments. Knights and dames went forth, spade in 
 hand, to the beat of drum, to share in the digging 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 3 5 9 
 
 of the trenches, and to hearten others to the work. 
 And in a few days twelve miles of entrenchment 
 were dug. Whereof we heard His Majesty took 
 notice, and lost heart thereby. 
 
 Throughout all those adverse times London never 
 lost heart. Plate and jewels kept pouring into the 
 Parliament s treasury at Guildhall. Time spent by 
 the prentices in the Parliament army was ruled to 
 count as time served in their trades. And jests 
 against the courage of men bred in streets and 
 trained behind counters lost their point. Dr. An 
 tony s letters through all that dreary time had the 
 cheer and stir of a triumphal march in them, al 
 though he had no triumphs to relate, but only de 
 feats borne with the courage which repairs them, 
 and although he himself went to the battle-field 
 not to wound but to bind up wounds. 
 
 The other series of letters was from Roger. And 
 these cheered us, because they always told of vic 
 tory. They were brief, and mostly written from 
 the battle-field, to assure us at once of victory and 
 safety. They crossed the dark shadows of my 
 Diary like sunbeams. In June, when we were 
 mourning over the death of Hampden, and over 
 the slow debates of the Lord-General what to do 
 first for the bleeding country, wounded in every 
 part by the stabs of plunderers and reckless Cava 
 liers, came Roger s first letter, delayed on its way, 
 dated, " Grantham, 18th May, 1643." It spoke of 
 a glorious victory won that day against marvellous 
 odds of number, the enemy running away for three 
 miles, four colours taken, and forty-five prisoners, 
 
360 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 and many prisoners rescued. Again in July, when 
 we were bewailing the Fairfaxes defeated at Ather- 
 ton Moor in the north, Sir William Waller s army 
 routed at Lansdowne Heath in the west, and Bris 
 tol lost, Roger was writing us, on the 31st, news 
 from Gainsborough of a " notable victory with a 
 chase of six miles." 
 
 Mingled with these good tidings were sayings 
 which Roger had heard of Colonel Cromwell s. 
 Some of these sayings were like proverbs, so closely 
 did the word fit the thought. Others had in them 
 the ring of a war-song, as when he wrote to the 
 Commissioners at Cambridge. " You see by this 
 enclosed how sadly your affairs stand. It s no 
 longer disputing, but out instantly all you can. 
 Raise all your bands ; send them to Huntingdon ; 
 get up what volunteers you can ; hasten your horses. 
 Send these letters to Norfolk, Suffolk, and Essex 
 without delay. I beseech you, spare not. You must 
 act lively ; do it without distraction. Neglect no 
 means." Yet often it seemed, when you listened 
 to Colonel Cromwell, as if it were by some mar 
 vellous accident his thoughts did ever tumble into 
 their right clothes, so strangely did they come 
 lumbering out. But every now and then, if you 
 had patience, amidst the rattling of the rough 
 stones and pebbles, flashed a sentence, sharp cut 
 and brillian* as a diamond, although, apparently, as 
 unconscious of its polish and sharpness as the rest 
 of their uncouth ness. " Subtilty may deceive you, 
 integrity never will ;" " Truly, God follows us with 
 encouragements, who is the God of blessings ; and 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 3 6 1 
 
 I beseech you, let him not lose his blessing upon 
 us ! They come in season, and with all the advan 
 tages of heartening, as if God should say, Up and 
 be doing, and I will stand by you and help you ! 
 There is nothing to be feared but our own sin and 
 sloth." " If I could speak words to pierce your 
 hearts with the sense of our and your condition, I 
 would. It may be difficult to raise so many men 
 in so short time ; but let me assure you it s neces 
 sary, and, therefore, to be done." " God hath given 
 reputation to our handful (the Ironsides), let us en 
 deavour to keep it. I had rather have a plain, russet- 
 coated captain that knows what he fights for, and 
 loves what he knows, than that which you call a 
 gentleman and nothing else. I honour a gentleman 
 that is so indeed." 
 
 " Yet," said Roger in one of his letters, " it gives 
 you little knowledge of what the Colonel is to ex 
 tract these bits of his sayings, and make them em 
 phatic, as if he meant them for epigrams, when the 
 force is that they are said without force ; the 
 thought and purpose in him, which always go to 
 the point in deeds, from time to time flashing 
 straight to the point in words, which are then as 
 strong as other men s deeds. But this I know, 
 when he says of us, We never find our men so 
 cheerful as when there is work to do, or, God hath 
 given reputation to our handful, we all feel as if 
 we were dubbed knights, and were moving about 
 glorious with Royal Orders." 
 
 So, slowly as the year passed on, some of us be 
 gan dimly to feel that a kingly being had arisen 
 31 
 
THE DRA YTONS, ETC. 
 
 crowned, when he ruled in the hearts of the thou 
 sands %f Israel by right of the slain giant and the 
 secret anointing of the seer ; a mighty man, who 
 felt nothing impossible which he believed right, 
 with whom, if a thing was " necessary," it was " to 
 be done." 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 LETTICE DAVEXAXT S DIARY. 
 
 JXFORD, January SO;/;, 1644. Another 
 Christmas, and another birthday, shut 
 up within these monkish old stone walls. 
 To my mother the chapel, with the 
 painted windows, and the organ, and the daily ser 
 vices, makes up for much that we lose. But as to 
 me, when I hear the same sounds, and see the same 
 eights, from day to day, I scarcely seem to hear or 
 see them at all. They do not wake my soul up. 
 The sacred music of the woods and fields seems to 
 do me more good, at least on week-days. For it is 
 sacred, and it is never the same. And the choris 
 ters there, while they are singing their psalms, are 
 busy all the time building their nests, and finding 
 food for their nestlings, which make their songs all 
 the more tender and sacred to me. 
 
 " Xot a word from them at Netherby. And not 
 a step nearer to the end. 
 
 " Yet it is wrong to complain. It is something 
 to have my Father and my seven brothers still un- 
 
 (363) 
 
364 THE DRAYTON8 AND 
 
 touched, after being exposed during all this time to 
 the risks of the war. I dread to think what a gulf 
 would yawn between me and Olive, and all of 
 them, if once one very dear to either of us fell in 
 the strife. 
 
 " I have nothing to complain of, but that things 
 do not change ; and with what a passion of regret 
 I should long for one of these unchanging days, if 
 one of the terrible changes that might come, came. 
 
 " A wretched phantom of a Parliament appeared 
 here on the 22nd of January. I would the king 
 had not summoned it. We should leave it to the 
 rebels, I think, to deal with shows and phantoms 
 of real things, with their presumptuous talk of 
 colonels and generals. I would his Majesty had 
 not encountered their pretence of royal authority, 
 with this pretence of Parliamentary debate. Sixty 
 Lords and a hundred Commons, or thereabouts, 
 moving helplessly about these old University 
 streets, with no more power or life in them than the 
 effigies of the saints and crusaders in the churches. 
 Indeed far less, for the effigies are memorials of per 
 sons who once were alive, and this Parliament is 
 nothing but a copy of the clothes and trappings of 
 a power now living. The king does not consult 
 them, and the nation does not heed them, and they 
 only show how real the division is amongst us. 
 The king himself calls them the mongrel Parlia 
 ment. His Majesty is so grand and majestic when 
 he is grave, I feel one could give up anything to 
 bring a happy smile over his sad and kingly coun 
 tenance. But I would he did not make these jests. 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 
 
 365 
 
 Many grave persons, I have noticed, when they set 
 about jesting, are apt to do it rather cruelly. Their 
 jests want feathers. They fall heavily, weighted 
 with the gravity of their character, and instead of 
 pleasantly pricking and stimulating, they wound. 
 Therefore Jewish His Majesty would not jest. Es 
 pecially about Parliaments and the navy. People 
 are apt not to see the wit of being called cats, 
 or water-rats, or ; mongrel. They only feel the 
 sting. 
 
 " March. The Scottish General Leslie has led an 
 army over the Borders. Traitor ! When the king 
 was so gracious as to create him Earl of Leven but 
 a few years since. Oh, faithless Scottish men ! In 
 fatuated by a thing they call Presbytery, and treach 
 erous to their compatriot and anointed king ! 
 
 "June, 1644. Another summer within the walls 
 of this old city. Another summer away from the 
 woods at home. I am tempted sometimes to wish 
 the war would end in any way. Politics perplex 
 me more and more. So many people wishing the 
 same thing, for contrary reasons. So many people 
 wishing contrary things for the same reasons. So 
 many on our side whom one hates ; so many against 
 us whom we honour. The best menacing the 
 worst mischief by beginning the strife ; and then 
 dying, or doubting, and giving place to the worst 
 men, who finish it if ever it is to be finished. 
 Hampden gone, and Lord Falkland; and the names 
 one hears most of now, Prince Rupert and this 
 Oliver Cromwell. They call him General now. 
 What next ? A country gentleman, none of the 
 31* 
 
366 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 most notable or of the greatest condition, eking out 
 his farming, some way, with brewing ale, at Hunt 
 ingdon, until he was forty-two and at forty-five, 
 forsooth, General Cromwell, with men of condition 
 capping to receive his orders. A fanatic, moreover, 
 who preaches in the open-air to his rn^n between 
 the battles. 
 
 " A cheerful life for Roger Drayton, methinks ! 
 For commander, this fanatic brewer ; for comrades, 
 preaching tailors and fighting cobblers ; for recrea 
 tion, General Cromwell s sermons ; and for martial 
 music, Sir Launcelot says, Puritan Psalms, entoned 
 pathetically through the nose. A change for Roger 
 Drayton from Mr. Milton s organ-playing, or the 
 madrigals we sang at Netherby. And yet I ques 
 tion whether our Harry would not find even that 
 doleful Puritan music more to his taste than many 
 a mocking Cavalier ditty wherewith our men enter 
 tain themselves. The times are grave enough, and 
 I doubt sometimes but the Puritan music suits 
 them best. 
 
 " July 20. Terrible tidings, if true. Lord New 
 castle and Prince Rupert defeated at Marston Moor, 
 on the 2nd of July, by the Earl of Manchester and 
 Cromwell. A hundred colours taken, and all the 
 baggage ; the royal army scattered in all directions. 
 And ten days afterwards, York surrendered. Loyal 
 York, in the heart of the loyal North, His Majesty s 
 first retreat from his faithless capital ! 
 
 " Strange that men speak more of Oliver Crom 
 well than of the Earl of Manchester in this battle. 
 Strange, if it is true, as some say, that this firebrand 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 367 
 
 was already in a ship bound for flight to America a 
 few years since, when the king forbade him to go. 
 My Father says, however, that the man who really 
 won the victory for the Parliament was Prince Ru 
 pert, who, saith he, is no general, but a mere reck 
 less chief of fo raging-parties. It was he who hurri - 
 ed the Marquis of Newcastle into battle, against his 
 judgment. And now it is reported that my Lord 
 Newcastle, despairing of himself, with such associ 
 ates (or of the cause with such leaders), has taken 
 ship for France. I would it were the Palatine 
 princes instead. Their standard was taken at Mar- 
 ston Moor. 
 
 "Three of my brothers were there; one wounded, 
 but not severely ; the other two have gone north 
 ward we know not where. 
 
 " Harry is much with us, being about the king s 
 person. He will have nothing to do with the 
 prince s plundering parties. But he chafes at hav 
 ing missed this battle, and is eager for the king to 
 go westward to inspire and reward loyal Devon and 
 Cornwall by his presence, and to pursue my Lord 
 Essex, who has gone thither with the rebel forces. 
 
 "August. The queen embarked on the 14th of 
 July for France. I marvel she can bear to put the 
 seas between her and the king at such times as 
 these. But my Mother says she could not help it, 
 and sacrifices herself most, and most to the purpose, 
 by taking off the burden of her safety from His 
 Majesty, and going among her royal kindred, whom 
 she may stir up to fight. And indeed she did essay 
 to rejoin the king. After the birth of the little 
 
368 THE DRA YTONS 
 
 princess at Exeter, she asked ray Lord Essex for a 
 safe-conduct to the Bath to drink the waters ; but he 
 offered her instead a safe-conduct to London, where, 
 quoth he, she would find the best physicians. A 
 sorry jest I deem this, inviting her to run into the 
 very den of the disloyal parliament, which lately 
 dared to impeach her. 
 
 " Rebel galleys followed her from Torbay, but 
 she escaped safe to Brest, and I trow the king s af 
 fection for her is so true he had rather know her 
 safe than have her with him. Yet, methinks, in her 
 case I would not have left it to him to decide. The 
 more one I so loved cared for my welfare and safety, 
 the more I would delight to risk and dare all. 
 
 August. They are off to the West, the faithful 
 West the king, and my Father, and Harry, with an 
 army enthusiastical in their loyalty, and high in 
 hope and courage. Prince Rupert not with them, 
 and Oliver Cromwell not with the rebels. Surely 
 there must be great things done ! 
 
 " September. The glorious news has come : 
 
 "Lord Essex s army is ruined, gone, vanished. 
 Not routed in a hard fight, but steadily pursued to 
 Fowey, in a corner of loyal Cornwall, there cooped 
 up ingloriously, closer and closer, until the general 
 was fain to flee by sea, and the whole of the foot 
 had to surrender. The cavalry, indeed, fought their 
 way through, which, being Englishmen, I excuse 
 them. But never was ruin more complete. 
 
 " Harry writes from Tavistock, where His Majes 
 ty has retired, a small town nestled among wooded 
 hills at the foot of the wild moors. Mr. Pym was 
 
THE DA VEXANTS. 
 
 369 
 
 member for it ; nevertheless the place seems not 
 ill-disposed. 
 
 " November. Harry is with us. I have never seen 
 him so in spirits since the war began. 
 
 " The royal army received a slight check at Xew- 
 bury, a place fatal already with the blood of the 
 brave Lord Falkland. 
 
 " But Harry seems to think nothing of that in 
 comparison with the state of things this battle hath 
 revealed among the rebels. Rebellion, saith he, is 
 at last obeying its own laws, and crumbling away 
 by its own inherent disorganization. 
 
 ; After the second battle of Xewbury the quiet 
 of our life was effectually broken by a threatened 
 attack on Oxford. 
 
 " Artillery booming at our gates, bullets falling 
 in our streets. At last I had a little taste of real 
 war. I did not altogether dislike it. There was 
 something that made my heart beat firmer in the 
 thought of sharing my brothers and my Father s 
 danger. But then, T must confess, it did not come 
 very near. The walls were still between us and the 
 enemy. After a short cannonading the rebels drew 
 off, from a cause, Harry says, worth us many victo 
 ries. Lord Essex and Sir William Waller, their two 
 generals, could not agree, and between them the 
 attack on Oxford was abandoned ; and what was 
 more, the king, who was encamped outside the city, 
 with a force in numbers quite unequal to cope with 
 their combined forces, was suffered to retreat with 
 out a blow to Worcester. 
 
 " But better than all. Harry says the rebel gen- 
 
THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 erals are assailing each other with all kinds of re 
 proaches in the Parliament, accusing each other as 
 the cause of all the late failures. Lord Essex, Lord 
 Manchester, and Sir William Waller, none of them 
 cordially uniting with each other against us, but all 
 most cordially uniting in assailing Oliver Cromwell, 
 who is the only one among them we have cause to 
 dread. And to complete the melee, the Scotch 
 preachers are having their say in the matter, and 
 solemnly accuse Mr. Cromwell of being an * Incen 
 diary ! 
 
 " Which is quite plain to us he is. So that now, 
 when the Incendiaries themselves have set about to 
 fight each other, and to put out the flames, it is 
 probable the arson will be avenged, the flames will 
 be put out, and we quiet and loyal subjects shall 
 have nothing left to do but to rebuild the ruins. 
 
 " Then we will try to say as little as we can about 
 who began the mischief, and only see who can work 
 best in repairing it. 
 
 " The King and the Parliament throughout the 
 land, and the Dray tons and the Davenants at dear 
 old Netherby." 
 
 OLIVERS RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 At the end of July, 1644, we had a letter from 
 Roger : 
 
 " Marston Moor, July 3d. To my dear sister Mis 
 tress Olive Drayton. On the battle-field. A mes 
 senger going south will take these. 
 
 "Thank God we are here this day. And the 
 
THE DA VEX A X TS. 3 7 i 
 
 enemy is not here, but flying right and left, over 
 rnoor and mountain. No such victory has been 
 vouchsafed us before. 
 
 " Yesterday, the 2nd July, early in the morning, 
 we were moving off the ground Lord Manchester, 
 General Leslie, and General Cromwell. 
 
 " Prince Rupert had gallantly thrown provisions 
 into York, which we were beleaguering ; but the 
 generals thought he would not venture an attack 
 on our combined forces. 
 
 " But when we were fairly in order of march the 
 prince fell on our rear. 
 
 " It took us till three in the day to face round, 
 front them, and secure the position we wanted. 
 There is a rye field here with a ditch in front, 
 where the dead bear witness how we had to fight 
 for it. 
 
 " At three, Prince Rupert gave their battle-cry : 
 For God and the Iciny ; and we ours : God with us. 
 From three till five we pounded each other with the 
 great guns. But little impression was made on 
 either side. And at five there was a pause. Two 
 hours silence, confronting each other, from five to 
 seven. Such silence as may be where many are 
 wounded, and many are waiting in agonies for the 
 summons to die, while the rest were waiting for the 
 summons to charge. At last, at seven, it came. 
 
 " Our foot, under Lord Manchester, ran across the 
 
 ditch before that rye field for which they had fought 
 
 BO hard. Thus far was clear to all. The rest we 
 
 know only from comparing what we did, and seeing 
 
 what we had done afterwards. For immediately 
 
37 2 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 on the attack of the foot came the charges of the 
 horse. The left wing of the king s army on our 
 right they all but routed, driving the Lord Man 
 chester, Lord Fairfax, and the old veteran Leslie 
 from the field. Meantime our right that is, we, 
 the Ironsides" with the general charged their left. 
 We were not beaten. I trust we gave him no rea 
 son to be ashamed of us. But everywhere the fight 
 ing was hard. Having discharged our pistols, we 
 flung them from us and fell to it with swords. Then 
 came the shock, like two seas meeting, each man 
 encountering the foe before him, but few knowing 
 how the day was speeding elsewhere, till we found 
 ourselves with the whole front of the battle changed, 
 each victorious wing having wheeled round as they 
 fought, and standing where the enemy had stood 
 when the fight began. Then came up General 
 Cromwell s reserves with General Leslie s, and de 
 cided the day, sending Prince Rupert and his plun 
 derers flying headlong through the gathering dusk. 
 It was the first time they had encountered the Iron 
 sides. Their broken horse trampled, as they fled, 
 on the broken and flying foot, we spurring after 
 them, till within a mile of York. Arms, ammuni 
 tion, baggage, colours, all cast away in the mad 
 terror of the flight. To within a mile from York 
 we followed them, and then turned back, and slept 
 on the battle-field. 
 
 " Another silence, Olive ; not as before, in expec 
 tation of another fight, but with our work done, 
 and four thousand dead around us to be buried. 
 
 " Job Forster is safe, and would have you tell 
 
THE DA V1-:X- i XI > . 373 
 
 Rachel that J;he Lord has sent Israel a judge at last, 
 and all must go right now. 
 
 "He went about with Dr. Antony all night, see 
 ing to the wounded and the dying: 
 
 " When I awoke, the summer morning was shin 
 ing on the field, and I wondered how I could have 
 slept with all those sights and sounds around me. 
 But, thank God, I did, for there is more to be done 
 yet. York has to be taken. 
 
 " Tell Rachel, by using my military authority, I 
 got Job to lie down in my place, while I went round 
 with Dr. Antony. At first he wavered. But I 
 said : The general is sharp on any of us who neg 
 lect our arms or powder. And the body has to be 
 looked to as well as the powder. Whereon he lay 
 down in my cloak, and in, a minute was beyond the 
 reach of any rousing, short of a cannonade. 
 
 " N. B. Two young Davenants fought well a 
 few ^ards from me ; scarcely more than lads. 
 
 "God grant we gained yesterday a step towards 
 peace." 
 
 A fortnight after, another letter, dated : 
 
 " York, the lolh July. York has surrendered. 
 The North is ours. This moment returned from a 
 thanksgiving in the minster. The grandest music 
 of the organ scarce, I think, could have echoed 
 more solemnly among the old roofs and arches than 
 that psalm, sung by the thousands of rough soldiers 
 voices. King David was a soldier, and knew how 
 to make such psalms as soldiers need. Xor do I 
 think the old minster has often seen a congregation 
 more serious and devout. If some on the Cavalier 
 32 
 
3 74 TH % V R A YTONS AND 
 
 side had heard it, they could scarce have said after 
 wards, our Puritan religion lacked its solemnities. 
 Our solemnities begin indeed within ; but when the 
 tide of devotion is high and deep enough, no music 
 like that it makes in overflowing." 
 
 To Roger, as to any one borne on the chariot of 
 the sun, the whole world seemed full of light. To 
 us, however, meanwhile in the Fens, things seemed 
 verging more and more from twilight into night. 
 
 Not much more than a month after the letter of 
 Roger s concerning the surrender of York, came tid 
 ings which, it seemed to us, more than counterbal 
 anced these advantages. 
 
 The royal letter post, lately established on the 
 great North Road between London and Edinburgh, 
 and southward between London and Plymouth, had 
 been interrupted during the war. Netherby lay in 
 the line of one of the more recent branch-posts ; 
 and we missed at first the pleasant sound of the 
 horn which the postman was commanded to blow 
 four times every hour, besides at the posting- 
 stations. 
 
 At first Aunt Dorothy had rather rejoiced. She 
 had been wont to say it was a grievous interference 
 with the liberty of the subject, that we should be 
 compelled to send all our letters by the hands of 
 the king s messengers, instead of by any private 
 carrier we chose. And, moreover, she deemed it 
 highly derogatory to His Majesty to demean him 
 self to take a few pence each letter for such services. 
 But a few months of return to the old private mo- 
 
THE DA VENANT& 
 
 375 
 
 thod, with all its uncertainties and suspenses, made 
 her receive the public posts again as a boon, when 
 the Commonwealth government re-established them. 
 
 It was from Dr. Antony, therefore, that we first 
 heard the tidings of the Lord Essex s flight from 
 Fowey, and the ruin of his whole army. 
 
 This was not until November. 
 
 He brought two letters from my Fathei and Ro 
 ger. My Father s was sad ; Roger s was indignant. 
 Both spoke of divisions among the supporters of 
 the Parliament. They were written at different 
 times, but reached us together by Dr. Antony s 
 hand as the first safe opportunity. The first was 
 from Roger, dated late in September, speaking of 
 the surrender of Lord Essex s foot : " Marston 
 Moor with the four thousand that lie dead there," 
 *lie wrote, " was after all, it seems, not a step to 
 wards the end. Everything gained there is thrown 
 away again by the indecisions of noblemen who are 
 afraid to win too much ; and old soldiers who will 
 not move a finger except in the fashion some one 
 else moved it a hundred years ago. As if when, 
 war is once begun, there were any way to peace but 
 by the ruin of one party, except, indeed, by the 
 ruin of both ; as if a lingering war were a kind of 
 half peace, instead of being as it is, the worst of 
 wars ; the opening of the nation s veins at a thousand 
 points, whereby she slowly bleeds to death. Lieu 
 tenant -General Cromwell takes sadly to heart the 
 sad conditions of our army in the West. He saith, 
 had we wings we would fly thither. Indeed, winga 
 h hath at command, in the hearts of his men, 
 
3 76 THE DRA TTONS AND 
 
 * never so cheerful, he says, as when there is work 
 to do. But there are those whose chief business is 
 to .clip these wings, lest affairs fly .too fast. The 
 general saith, If we could all intend our own ends 
 less, and our ease too, our business in this army 
 would go on wheels for expedition. If he were at 
 the head of affairs, we should not, in sooth, lack 
 wheels or wings." 
 
 The second letter was from my Father written 
 early in November, after the second battle of New- 
 bury (fought on the 27th of October). 
 
 He wrote, 
 
 " It is the old story, I fear, of our Protestant lack 
 of unity. People do not seem able to see that the 
 military unity of the Roman Church being broken, 
 the only ecclesiastical unity possible for us is the 
 unity as of an empire, like that of Great Britain, 
 with different races and local constitutions under 
 one sovereign ; or the unity as of a family of grown 
 up children, in free obedience to one father. If Lu 
 therans and Calvinists, could have merged their less 
 er differences in their real agreement, probably that 
 terrible war, which is still crushing the life out of 
 Germany, need never have begun. If Prelatists, 
 Presbyterians, and Independents could agree now 
 to yield each other liberty, this war of ours might 
 end. But while they had power, Prelatists would 
 rather let the nation be torn asunder than tolerate 
 Presbyterians. And now the Presbyterians think 
 they have power, they had rather lose everything 
 we have gained than tolerate Independents. The 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 377 
 
 merit of the Independents and Anabaptists be 
 ing, perhaps, only this, that they never have had 
 the power to persecute. I cannot see whither it is 
 all tending. 
 
 " We have lost an army in Cornwall ; but that is 
 little. It seems to me some of us are losing all hold 
 of what we are fighting for. This success at Xew- 
 bury shows our weakness more than the ruin at 
 Fowey. Lord Manchester will not pursue the king, 
 lest our last army should be lost ; in which case, he 
 says, His Majesty might hang us all. As if the 
 block or the gallows had not been the alternative 
 of success from the beginning. In consequence of a 
 disagreement between him and Sir William Waller, 
 the combined attack on Oxford failed ; and eleven 
 days after our success at Xewbury, His Majesty s 
 troops were suffered quietly to withdraw their artil 
 lery from Donington Castle, in -face of our victori 
 ous army lying inactive. 
 
 "The indignation in the army is unbounded. 
 But all minor divisions bid fail to resolve them 
 selves into two great factions of Presbyterians 
 and Independents ; Lieutenant-General Cromwell 
 having addressed a remonstrance to the Parlia 
 ment against Lord Manchester, and Lord Man 
 chester, Lord Essex, and Hollis, with the Scotch 
 Commissioners, being set on crushing General 
 Cromwell. 
 
 " The quarrel is of no new origin. The affair of 
 Donington Castle did but set the tinder to the 
 train. It dates back to the first setting of the 
 Westminster Assembly, when the Presbyterians, 
 
3 7 8 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 not content with absorbing the Church revenues, 
 which would have been conceded to them, would 
 have had the magistrate imprison and confiscate 
 the goods of all whom they excommunicated. 
 * Toleration, said one of them, will make the king 
 dom a chaos, a Babel, another Amsterdam, a -Sodom, 
 an Egypt, a Babylon. Toleration is the grand 
 work of the devil; his masterpiece and chief engine 
 to support his tottering kingdom. It is the most 
 compendious, ready, sure way to destroy all relig 
 ion, lay all waste, and bring in all evil. As origi 
 nal sin is the fundamental sin, having the seed and 
 spawn of all sin in it, so toleration hath all errors 
 in it and all evils. They call toleration the * great 
 Diana of the Independents. Yet no one contends 
 for toleration to extend beyond the orthodox Prot 
 estant sects. These divisions set many of us think 
 ing what we are fighting for. It would be scarcely 
 worth so much blood-shedding to establish one hun 
 dred and twenty popes at Westminster, instead of 
 one at Lambeth. They are golden words of Gen 
 eral Cromwell s : All that believe have the real 
 unity, which is most glorious, because inward and 
 spiritual, in the Body and to the Head. For being 
 united in forms, every Christian will, for peace 
 sake, study and do, as far as conscience will per 
 mit. And for brethren, in things of the mind, we 
 look for no compulsion but that of light and rea 
 son. " 
 
 " What does my brother mean, Master Antony ?" 
 quoth Aunt Dorothy, when she came to this pas 
 sage. " And what doth General Cromwell mean ? 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 3 79 
 
 * No compulsion ! and light and reason ! Most 
 dangerous words. An assembly of godly divines 
 at Westminster to settle everything ! That is pre 
 cisely what we have been fighting for. Not for 
 disorder ; not for each man to think what is right 
 in his own judgment, and do what is right in his 
 own eyes. But for those who believe right to have 
 the power to instruct, or else to silence, those who 
 believe wrong. Light and reason indeed ! The 
 cry of all the heretics from the beginning. Why, 
 reason is the very source of all error. And light is 
 precisely what we lack, and what the Westminster 
 Assembly is providing for us ; and when they have 
 just kindled it, and set it up like a city on a hill, 
 does Mr. Cromwell, forsooth, think we are going to 
 let every tinker and tailor kindle his farthing can 
 dle instead, and lead people into any wilderness he 
 pleases ?" 
 
 Said Dr. Antony, 
 
 " There was a great light enkindled and set up 
 on a Sorrowful Hill sixteen hundred years ago. But 
 it has only enlightened the hearts of those who 
 would look at it. And if the Sun does not put out 
 these poor farthing candles, Mistress Dorothy, I am 
 afraid we shall find it a hard matter to do so with 
 our fingers." 
 
 " Well," said Aunt Dorothy, " I am sure I cannot 
 see whither things are tending." 
 
 And even Aunt Gretel remarked, 
 
 "That Independents and Presbyterians should 
 agree might indeed be easy enough. But Luther 
 ans and Calvinists are quite another question. In 
 
380 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 the next world well, it is to be hoped. Death 
 works miracles. But in this, scarcely. The dear 
 brother-in-law is one of the wisest of men. But it 
 cannot be expected that the wisest Englishman 
 should quite fathom the religious differences of 
 Germany." 
 
 Of toleration towards Papists, Infidels, or Qua 
 kers, no one dreamed. Infidelity, all admitted, 
 comes direct from the devil, and, of course, no 
 Christian should tolerate the devil or his works. 
 The Papists had within the memory of our older 
 men sent fetters to bind us, and fagots to burn us 
 in the Armada, which the winds of God scattered 
 from our coasts. In France they had massacred 
 our brethren in cold-blood to the number of one 
 hundred thousand in the slaughter which began on 
 St. Bartholomew s day. They had assassinated our 
 kindred by tens of thousands in Ireland in our own 
 times. And they were binding, and burning, and 
 torturing, and making galley-slaves of our brethren 
 still on the Continent of Europe. Not as heretics 
 we kept them under, but as assassins. And as to 
 the Quakers, they were reported to be liable to at 
 tacks of objections to clothes very perplexing to 
 sober-minded Christians, and were probably many 
 of them lunatics. These should not indeed be burn 
 ed, but they should at all events be clothed, and, 
 if possible, silenced, until they carne to their right 
 mind. 
 
 The third letter which Dr. Antony had brought 
 us was from Job Forster. I went with Dr. Anto 
 ny to take it to Rachel. In it Job spoke much of 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. . 38 1 
 
 Roger s courage and goodness, in a way it made 
 my heart beat quick to hear. 
 
 " Master Roger tights like a lion-like man of Ju- 
 dah," wrote Job, " and commands like one of the 
 chief princes. And at other times he can tend a 
 wounded man, friend or foe, or speak good words 
 to the dying, most as tender, Rachel, as thee." 
 
 Job s letter was by no means doubtful or de 
 sponding. He had the advantage of those in the 
 ranks. He saw only the rank and the step immedi 
 ately before him, and heard not the discussions of 
 the commanders but only the word of command. 
 " I think," he concluded, " we have come about to 
 1 Sam. xxii. 14. Some time back we were in 1 
 Sam. xxii. 1, in cave Adullam: Every one that 
 was in debt, and every one that was discontented, 
 gathered themselves unto them, and a sorry troop 
 they were. But that is over. The General saith 
 himself: I have a lovely company ; honest, sober 
 Christians ; you would respect them did you know 
 them. And respect us they do ; leastways the 
 enemy. And now David (that is, General Crom 
 well) is in Keilah. And they inquired of the Lord 
 and the Lord said, They will deliver thee up. 
 But God delivered him not. t The rest has to come in 
 its season." 
 
 Job wrote also of " the young gentleman the 
 cliirurgeon." " Of as good a courage as the best," 
 quoth Job. " For I hold it harder to stand about 
 among the whizzing bullets, succouring or remov 
 ing the wounded than to fight. It is always harder 
 to stand fire than to charge. And it is harder to 
 
382 THE DRA YTOXS AND 
 
 spend days and nights tending poor groaning suf 
 fering men than to suffer yourself. That is, if you 
 have got a heart. Which that doctor hath. But 
 every man hath his calling. And Dr. Antony hath 
 his. Straight from headquarters, as I deem." 
 
 It was curious that what struck me first in those 
 words of Job s was his calling Dr. Antony " young." 
 It set me wondering what his age might be ; and 
 as we walked home together I gJanced at him to 
 see. I had always thought of him as my Father s 
 friend, and therefore of another generation. Be 
 sides there was the doctor s cap, and a physician is 
 always, ex officio, an elder. But when I came to 
 consider his face, it had certainly nothing of old 
 age in it. His carriage was erect and easy; his 
 hair, raven-black, had not a streak of gray; his 
 eyes, dark as they were, had fire enough in them. 
 These researches scarce took me a moment, but his 
 eyes met mine, and it seemed as if he half guessed 
 what I was thinking of, for he said, 
 
 " You wondered at Job s talking of the courage 
 of a chirurgeon." 
 
 " Not at all," said I, somewhat confused. " I 
 was only thinking how it was you were always our 
 Father s friend instead of ours." 
 
 " Was I not yours ?" he said, half smiling. 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course," I said, " every one s." 
 
 "Every one s, Mistress Olive," he said inquir 
 ingly, " only, not yours ?" 
 
 " Mine, of course," I said, feeling myself becom 
 ing hopelessly entangled, " and every one s be 
 sides." 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 383 
 
 " Thank you," he said, gravely, " I should not 
 have liked the exchange." 
 
 "Is it easier, do you think, Dr. Antony," I said, 
 breaking hurriedly from the subject, " to fight, than 
 to be a chirurgeon on the battle-field ?" 
 
 " Easier, probably, to me," he said. " Fighting 
 is in our blood. My grandfather was a soldier, and 
 fought in the French war* of religion. He was as 
 sassinated at the St. Bartholomew with Coligny. 
 My father, then a child, was seized, baptized, and 
 educated in a Catholic seminary. But he escaped, 
 at the risk of his life, to England. In France we 
 had enough of wars of religion. I have thought it 
 better work to devote myself as far as I may to 
 succour the oppressed, and heal such as can be 
 healed of the wounds and sorrows of men. There 
 is enough of danger and of warfare in these days 
 in such a calling to satisfy a soldier s passion, and 
 not to let the blood stagnate or grow cold." 
 
 There was a subdued fire in his eye and a deep son 
 orous ring in his voice, which gave force to his words. 
 
 "But Antony is not a French name," I said. 
 
 " It was my father s Christian name, which he 
 adopted for safety. His name was properly An- 
 toine la Mothe Duplessis, from an estate our family 
 had held for some centuries. But, Mistress Olive," 
 he said, turning the discourse, as if it led to painful 
 subjects, or as if he shrank from continuing on a 
 theme so unusual with him as himself, " I under 
 stand you are accused of upholding witches." 
 
 Whereby I was led into an earnest defence of 
 Gammer Grindle. 
 
3 84 TEE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 " But even if she had been a witch," I ventured 
 to say, in conclusion, " would it not have been 
 more like the Sermon on the Mount to rescue and 
 then to instruct her, than to drown her ? And is 
 not the Sermon on the Mount the highest law we 
 have ? " 
 
 " It is the last edition of the Divine law yet is 
 sued, Mistress Olive," he said. " And one great 
 glory of it is, it seems to me, that it is not only so 
 plain itself as to need no commentary of lawyer 
 or scribe, but if we try to keep it, it has a won 
 derful power of making other things plain as we 
 go on." 
 
 At which point we reached the porch at Nether- 
 by. _ 
 
 Said Aunt Dorothy, as Dr. Antony was taking 
 leave the next day, 
 
 "You must not trouble yourself to be our letter- 
 carrier. Less useful men can be spared on such 
 errands. I wonder my brother should have burden 
 ed you therewith." 
 
 " I thank you, Mistress Dorothy," said he ; " but 
 it was my free choice to come. And I promise you 
 I will only come when it is no burden." 
 
 Said she, holding his hand, 
 
 " Pardon me ; but I am old enough to be your 
 mother. Suffer an figed woman to warn you against 
 new-fangled notions. Beware of light and rea 
 son, prithee, and such presumptuous pleas. The 
 light that is in us is darkness, and our reason is cor 
 rupt. The spiritual armour your fathers fought in, 
 Master Antony, is proof still." 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 38 5 
 
 " I believe it, Mistress Dorothy," he replied ; " and 
 if in new times and in new dangers I should need 
 new weapons, believe me, I will only go to my 
 fathers armoury for them." 
 
 I was provoked with myself when he had left, 
 that of all the wise discourse that had been held 
 since he came, the things that kept recurring to my 
 mind were what Job had said of Dr. Antony, and 
 how foolish I had been in the answers I gave him 
 on our way home from Rachel s, He must deem 
 me so unmannerly, I thought. And, besides, so 
 many fitting things now occurred which I might 
 have said. Nothing occupies one like a conversa 
 tion in which one has failed to say what one ought 
 to have said. It haunts one like a melody of which 
 you cannot find the end. 
 
 It was evident, moreover, that Aunt Dorothy 
 took the same view of Dr. Antony s age as Job. It 
 made Dr. Antony seem like some one quite new, 
 to think of this ; new, and. yet certainly not strange. 
 
 The next Christmas, the army being in winter- 
 quarters, my Father spent with us, which made it 
 a holiday indeed. 
 
 In February, 1645, he read us a letter which Dr. 
 Antony wrote to him, narrating what was going on 
 in London. At the beginning there was a consider 
 able piece which he did not read to us. He said it 
 related to family matters, which he could speak of 
 hereafter, and contained greetings to us. Thus the 
 letter proceeded it was dated January 21st, 1645 : 
 
 " Sir Thomas Fairfax is this day appointed by the 
 Commons House geueral-in-chief, in lieu of Lord 
 33 
 
3 S6 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 Essex ; Skipton major-general ; while the post of 
 lieutenant-general is left open. Most men deem 
 that he who fills it will fill more than it, as his name 
 and fame now fill all men s mouths. There have 
 been fierce debates, whisperings, conspirings, mys 
 terious midnight meetings at Essex House ; the aim 
 of the whole of these conspirings, the bond of all 
 these gatherings, being to * remove out of the way 
 General-Lieutenant Cromwell, whom, 5 said the Scot 
 tish Commissioners, ye ken very weel is no friend 
 of ours. This obstacle, this remoraj this INCEN- 
 DIAEY, as they called him (soaring high into Latin 
 in their vain endeavours to find words large enough 
 to express their abhorrence), had hundreds of grave 
 English and Scottish Presbyterian divines, soldiers 
 and lawyers, been labouring for months to remove 
 out of the way ; yet, nevertheless, on the 9th of De 
 cember, there he stood in the Commons House, as 
 immovable an obstacle and c remora as ever, and 
 about to prove himself an Incendiary indeed by 
 kindling a flame which should consume their elo 
 quent Latin accusations and their authority at 
 once. 
 
 k There was a long silence in the House. General 
 Cromwell broke it, speaking -abruptly, and not in 
 Latin. 
 
 " It is now a time to speak, he said, or for ever 
 hold the tongue. The important occasion now is 
 no less than to save a nation out of a bleeding, nay, 
 almost dying condition, which the long continuance 
 of this war hath already brought it into ; so that 
 without a more speedv, vigorous, effectual prosecu- 
 
THE DA VEXAXTS. 387 
 
 tion of the war casting off all lingering proceed 
 ings like those of soldiers of fortune beyond sea to 
 spin out a war we shall make the kingdom weary 
 of us, and hate the name of a Parliament. 
 
 " 4 For what do the enemy say ? Xay, what do 
 many that were friends at the beginning of the 
 Parliament ? Even this, that the members of both 
 Houses have got great places and commands, and 
 the sword into their hands, and what by interest in 
 Parliament, what by power in the army, will per 
 petually continue themselves in grandeur, and not 
 permit the war speedily to end, lest their own pow 
 er should determine with it. This that I speak here 
 to our own faces, is but what others do utter abroad 
 behind our backs. I am far from reflecting on any. 
 I know the worth of those commanders. Members 
 of both Houses who are still in power ; but if I may 
 speak my conscience without reflection on any, I do 
 conceive if the army is not put into another metho d, 
 and the war more vigorously prosecuted, the people 
 can bear the war no longer, and will enforce you to 
 a dishonourable peace. 
 
 " But this I would recommend to your prudence. 
 Not to insist upon any complaint or oversight of 
 any commander-iii-chief upon any occasion whatso 
 ever, for as I must acknowledge myself guilty of 
 oversights, so I know they can rarely be avoided in 
 mill tar ij affairs. Therefore, waiving a strict inquiry 
 into the issues of these things, let us apply our 
 selves to the remedy, which is most necessary. 
 And I hope we have such true English hearts, and 
 zealous affections towards the general weal of our 
 
3 8 8 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 mother-country, as no members of either House will 
 scruple to deny themselves and their own private 
 interests for the public good, nor account it to be 
 a dishonour done to them, whatever the Parliament 
 shall resolve upon in this weighty matter. 
 
 " Another member followed and said, 
 
 " Whatever be the cause, two summers are pass 
 ed over, but we are not saved. Our victories (the 
 price of blood invaluable) so gallantly gotten, and 
 (which is more pity) so graciously bestowed, seem 
 to have been put into a bag with holes ; what we 
 won one time, we lost another ; the treasure is ex 
 hausted, the country wasted, a summer s victory 
 has proved but a winter s story ; the game, how 
 ever, shut up with autumn, was to be played again 
 the next spring, as if the blood that had been shed 
 were only to manure the field of war for a more 
 plentiful crop of contention. Men s hearts have 
 failed them with the observation of these things. 
 
 " The cause General Cromwell deemed to be the 
 multiplication of commanders. The remedy, that 
 members of both Houses should deny themselves the 
 right to appoint themselves to posts of military com 
 mand. The Self-Denying Ordinance and the 
 New Model of the army were proposed, and soon 
 passed the House of Commons. The Lords debated 
 and rejected it ; but this day the Commons have ap 
 pointed Sir Thomas Fairfax Commander-in-chief, 
 superseding Lord Essex. And few doubt but they 
 will carry it through. 
 
 "Thus may, we trust, a few vigorous strokes 
 bring peace ; and peace, order. 
 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 3 89 
 
 " But meanwhile, during these dark January 
 days, another conflict has ended ; on Tower Hill. 
 
 " The fallen archbishop, whose name was a terror 
 for so many years in every Puritan home in Eng 
 land, there, on this 10th of January, laid down his 
 life heroically and calmly as a martyr, which he 
 surely believed himself to be. He read a prayer he 
 had composed for the occasion. I grieve to say, the 
 scaffold was crowded, not with his friends. He said 
 he would have wished an empty scaffold, but if it 
 could not be so, God s will be done ; he was more 
 willing to go out of the world than any could be to 
 send him. A helpless, forsaken old man, heavily 
 laden with bodily infirmities, four years a prisoner, 
 uneasily dragged from trial to trial, I never heard 
 that his courage failed. I would they had let him 
 die in quiet. But Sir John Clotworthy, over zeal 
 ous, as I think, asked him what text was most com 
 fortable to a man in his departure. Cupio dissolvi 
 et esse cum Christo, said the archbishop. ; That is 
 a good desire, was the rejoinder ; but there must 
 be a foundation for that desire, an assurance. No 
 man can express it, was the calm reply, it must 
 be found within. Yet it is founded on a word, 
 and that word should be known. It is the knowl 
 edge of Jesus Christ, said the archbishop, and that 
 alone ; and to finish the discussion, he turned to 
 the headsman, gave him some money, and said, 
 * Here, honest friend, God forgive thee, and do thy 
 office on me in mercy ; and so, after a short pray 
 er, his head was struck off at one blow. The crowd 
 dispersed, and the fatal hill was left once more 
 33* 
 
390 
 
 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 silent and deserted, with the scaffold and the Tower 
 facing each other, the weary prison of so many, and 
 the blood-stained key, which had for so many im- 
 barred its heavy gates, -and also, we may trust, 
 another gate, from inside which our whole earth 
 seems but a prison chamber. 
 
 u If we look at the world only as divided into 
 parties, truly this death of his were worth to those 
 who think with him, more than many victories in 
 Parliament or in the field. But if we think of the 
 One Kingdom, surely we may rejoice that one who, 
 as it seems to us, erred much in head and heart, and 
 did no little hurt, came right at last, and took ref 
 uge with Him who receives us not as Archbishops, 
 or Presbyterians or Independents, but as repentant, 
 weary, and heavy-laden men and women. 
 
 " Some few friends reverently buried him in Bark 
 ing Church to the words of the old burial-service, 
 prohibited by the Parliament a few days before. 
 All honour to them." 
 
 Said Aunt Gretel, when my Father had finished 
 reading this letter, 
 
 " It is a great pity the martyrs should not all be 
 on the right side. It would make it so very much 
 easier to know which is the right." 
 
 " Martyrs on the wrong side," exclaimed Aunt 
 Dorothy, indignantly ; " you might as well talk of 
 orthodox heretics." 
 
 But my Father replied, 
 
 " If obedience is better than sacrifice, then obe 
 dience is the best part of the sacrifice of martyr 
 dom ; and may we not trust that the Master may 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 391 
 
 accept the act of obedience even of some who mis 
 read the word of command ?" 
 
 The next day he left us for London, and we saw 
 him 110 more for many months. 
 
 On the 29th of January, commissioners of the 
 Parliament and of the king met at Uxbridge to ne 
 gotiate for peace. But they did not get on at alL 
 Dr. Stewart syllogistically defended the divine right 
 of Episcopacy, and Dr. Henderson the divine right 
 of the Presbyterial government. My Lord Hert 
 ford and my Lord Pembroke would have passed 
 this by, to proceed to the particular points to be 
 settled ; but the divines declined to be hurried, in 
 sisting on disputing syllogistically " as became 
 scholars." So, after twenty days, Dr. Stewart and 
 Dr. Henderson, being each confirmed in their con- 
 riction of his own orthodoxy, the commissioners 
 separated with no further result. 
 
 One evening, indeed, it is said, the king had con 
 sented to honourable terms ; but in the night a let 
 ter came from Montrose announcing Royalist victo 
 ries, and in the morning His Majesty retracted the 
 concessions of the evening. 
 
 Meanwhile the two armies continued fighting; 
 not in two large bodies, but in scattered skirmishes, 
 sieges, Surprises, all over the country, making well- 
 nigh every quiet home in England a sharer in the 
 misery and tumult of the war. 
 
 The moral difference between the forces of the 
 Parliament and the king became, it was said, more 
 obvious. It could scarce be otherwise. War must 
 make men firmer in virtues or more desperate in 
 
39 2 
 
 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 sin. Men must get worse with years of plundering, 
 and indulgence in every selfish sinful pleasure. No 
 good woman durst venture near the Royalist army, 
 my Father says, and vice and profaneness are 
 scarcely punished ; whereas in the Parliament camp, 
 as in a well-ordered city, passage is safe, and com 
 merce free. It is the armies of the great Gustav- 
 us and that of Wallenstein over again. 
 
 I think it would be blasphemy to deem such dif 
 ferences can have no weight in a world where God 
 is King. 
 
 I wonder if it can be that, after all, it leads to 
 more good to fight out the great battles of right 
 and wrong in this way, than syllogistically, in Dr. 
 Stewart and Dr. Henderson s way. The logical 
 battles making good men fierce, and not hurting 
 the bad at all ; the battles for life and death mak 
 ing good men nobler, at all events, if they make 
 the bad men worse. Making good men better 
 seems the end of so many things that God permits 
 or orders in this world. And as to war making 
 bad men worse, it seems as if that could not be 
 helped, because everything does that until they 
 change the direction they are going in, which great 
 troubles and dangers sometimes startle them to do. 
 If this be so, the pain and misery and deatn would 
 cease to be so perplexing. Aunt Dorothy used to 
 say, a Church without a rod in her hand is a Church 
 without sinews. But a Church with a rod seems 
 sometimes as blind and severe in using it as the 
 world. For which reason, I suppose, the best peri 
 ods of Church history seem often to be those in 
 
THE DA VENAXTS. 
 
 393 
 
 which the world holds the rod instead of the Church. 
 And a war may sometimes be as effectual an instru 
 ment of godly discipline as a synod. 
 
 "June 14^, 1645, Djvenant Hall, Three o clock in 
 the morning. We came home yesterday, and I 
 grudge to sleep away any of these first hours in the 
 old house. It is like travelling into some marvel 
 lous foreign country, to rise at an unwonted hour 
 in the morning. The sky looks so much higher be 
 fore the roof of daylight has quite spread over it. 
 For after all, daylight is a roof shutting us in to our 
 own green sunny home of earth. And that is partly 
 what makes the night so awful. We stand roofless 
 at night, open to all the other worlds, with no walls 
 or bounds on any side. And at dawn something of 
 the boundlessness and awfulness are still left. With 
 a majestical slow pomp the morning sweeps the 
 veil of sunlight over star after star, falling in grand 
 solemn folds of purple and crimson as it touches the 
 edge of our world, until the great spaces of the 
 upper worlds are all shut out, and we are shut in 
 with our own kindly sun, and our own many-col 
 oured fleeting clouds, and our own green earth. 
 
 " Then the other aspect of the dawn begins. 
 Her first steps and movements are all grand and 
 silent. But when the awful infinity beyond is shut 
 out, and we are left alone, face to face with her, she 
 changes altogether. 
 
 " The stars pass away in silence. But the day 
 
394 
 
 THE DRAY TONS AND 
 
 awakes with all kinds of joyful sounds. The clouds 
 are transformed from solemn purple banners in 
 some great martial or sacred procession to royal or 
 bridal draperies. They garland the earth with 
 roses, they strew pearls and diamonds ; they spread 
 the path of the new sun with cloth of gold. The 
 whole world, earth, and sky, seems to blossom into 
 colour, like a flower from its sheath. Every leaf of 
 the limes outside my window, every spike of tho 
 horse-chestnuts seems to awake with a nutter of 
 
 jy- 
 
 " It seems as if infinity came back to us in a new 
 way. For the infinite spaces of night, we have the 
 infinite numbers of day. Instead of the heavy 
 masses of foliage waving an hour or two dimly 
 since against the sky, there is a countless multitude 
 of leaves fluttering in and out of the sunlight, a 
 countless multitude of birds singiilg, chirping, twit 
 tering, among the branches, a countless throng of 
 insects hovering, wheeling, darting in and out 
 among the leaves; there are the infinite varieties 
 of colour on every blade of grass, on every blossom, 
 on every insect s wing. 
 
 "It is a wonderful joy to be here again. Every 
 creature seems to welcome me. I seem to long to 
 speak to every one of them, and just add a little 
 drop of happiness to the happiness of them all. 1 
 want to take all of them, in some way, like little 
 children, to my heart and kiss them. 
 
 " Olive said that feeling was really the longing 
 to be folded to the Heart which is at the heart of 
 all ; but nearer us than any other creature. 
 
THE I) A YEN ANTS. 395 
 
 " He fell on his neck and kissed hun. 1 
 
 " She thought it meant that. 
 
 " Leaning out of my window, looking down from 
 the slopes of the Wolds, as we do across the long 
 space of fens which stretches before us like a sea, I 
 see the gables of Netherby. 
 
 " Olive is there asleep. 
 
 " Olive, and Mistress Dorothy and Mistress Gretel. 
 
 " And here, my mother and I. 
 
 " Fathers and brothers all at the war. In sight, 
 yet how sadly out of reach ! This terrible war that 
 seems as if it would never end. Things have not 
 been going on quite so prosperously with us lately ; 
 although many strong places in the North are still 
 loyal ; and all the West is ours, and much of Wale?. 
 A new vigour seems to have come into the rebel 
 councils. They say the soul of them all is this 
 Oliver Cromwell, that he and his friends have 
 brought in some new regulation, called by some of 
 their unpleasant Parliament names. They call 
 everything a covenant or an ordinance, as if it were 
 all out of the Bible. They call this the Self-Deny 
 ing Ordinance. The meaning of it seems to be 
 that they are all to deny themselves to give Mr. 
 Cromwell the real command. At least, Harry 
 thinks so. And he looks gloomily on our affairs. 
 He was at home before we came, to make the place 
 ready for us. And he only left yesterday morning 
 to rejoin the king s army, which is in Leicester 
 shire. Not so very far on\ 
 
 " I wonder, if there were a battle, if we should 
 hear the sound of it ! 
 
39 6 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 " A few days since the troops stormed Leicester, 
 and sacked it. Harry would not tell us much about 
 it. He said it was too much after the fashion of 
 those dreadful German wars of religion, which 
 Prince Rupert has taught our men to imitate too 
 well. 
 
 " Poor wretched city ! We could not hear any 
 thing of that. Groans and even helpless cries for 
 pity do not reach far. At least, not on earth. I sup 
 pose nothing reaches heaven sooner. 
 
 " I wish that thought had not come into my head 
 about hearing the roar of a battle if there were one. 
 Since it came, I cannot help listening, through all 
 the sweet cheerful country-sounds, the twitterings 
 of the swallows under the eaves, the soft cadences 
 of the thrushes, the stirring of the grasses, for some 
 thing in the distance ! 
 
 " If we did hear anything, it would be very, very 
 far off, fainter than the fluttering of the leaves ; like 
 the moan of distant thunder. 
 
 " In summer days there are often mysterious, far- 
 off sounds one cannot account for. And now I can 
 do nothing but listen for it. 
 
 " For almost the last thing Harry said when ho 
 went away was, that there would be a battle, pro 
 bably, before long, and if a battle, probably a great 
 battle. 
 
 " The forces are gathering and approaching each 
 other. 
 
 " He took leave of us gayly, my Mother and me. 
 But ten minutes afterwards, he galloped back to 
 the place in the outer field where I was standing 
 
THE DA YEN A NTS. 
 
 397 
 
 looking after him (my Mother having gone to be 
 alone, as she always does when Harry leaves us). 
 His face had lost all the gaiety, and he said, 
 
 " * Lettice, if things were not to prosper with the 
 king, and the rebels were to attack this house, I 
 think it would be better not attempt to stand a 
 siege. The house extends too far to be defended, ex 
 cept with a larger garrison than you could muster. 
 And the country is against us. If it came to the 
 very worst, Mr. Dray ton is a generous enemy and a 
 gentleman, and would give you safe harbour for a 
 time. If all on their side or ours had been like the 
 Draytons, there need have been no war. You may 
 tell them that I said so, if you like, if it ever comes 
 to that. 
 
 " Comes to what, Harry ? I said, shuddering.. 
 
 " He tried to smile. But then, his countenance 
 suddenly changing, he said, 
 
 " Lettice, we must think of all possibilities. 
 You are young, and my Mother is used to lean 011 
 others. 
 
 " Only on yo?/, Harry, I said. 
 
 " Yes, he said, hurriedly ; too much, perhaps. 
 But trust the Draytons, if necessary, Lettice. They 
 will never do anything unjust or ungenerous. If 
 you ask their advice, they will advise you for your 
 good, though it cut their own throats or broke their 
 own hearts. 
 
 " Then, after a moment s pause, he said, 
 
 " It is never any good to try to say out a fare 
 well, Lettice. If one had years to say it in, there 
 would always be something left unsaid. Partings 
 34 
 
3 9 8 THE D RA YTONS AND 
 
 are always sudden, whether we are snatched from 
 each other as if by pirates in the dead of night, or 
 watch the lessening sail till it becomes a speck in 
 the horizon. The last step is always a plunge into 
 a gulf. But, Lettice, he added, lowering his voice, 
 death itself is not really a gulf, only to those on 
 this edge of it. Do not tell my Mother I came back. 
 If she asks you anything about it, tell her I never 
 went away with a lighter heart. For I see less and 
 less what the end will be, or what to wish for, and 
 I am content more and more to make the day s 
 march, and leave the conduct of the campaign to 
 God. 
 
 " And he rode off, looking like a prince, and I 
 watched him till he disappeared behind the trees. 
 He looked back once again and waved his plumed 
 hat to me, and then galloped out of sight in a mo 
 ment. 
 
 " I crept back by a side-door near the stable, that 
 my Mother might not see me ; and Caesar, Harry s 
 dog, made a dismal whining, and crouched and 
 fawned on me, so that it went to my heart not to be 
 able to grant him what he asked for so plainly in 
 his poor dumb way, and set him free to follow Harry. 
 
 " June 14, Ten o clock at night. Some men who 
 came from the North this evening, say there has 
 been fighting towards the North-west, somewhere 
 on the borders of Northamptonshire and Leicester 
 shire. The roar of the guns began early in the 
 day, and then there was sharp interrupted firing, 
 which went on till the afternoon, when it seemed 
 gradually to cease. 
 
THE DA VENAXTS. 
 
 399 
 
 " All day it has been going on. All this quiet 
 summer day. My Father there, perhaps, and Harry 
 certainly. And nothing to be heard until to-mor 
 row. 
 
 " My Mother will not seek rest to-night. I see 
 the lamp in her oratory-window. And far off across 
 the fields, another light in the gable of old Xether- 
 by, where Olive Drayton used to. sleep. It is some 
 comfort to think we are watching together. Olive 
 is so good. And she will be sure to remember us. 
 
 " June 20. We heard before the morrow. The 
 next morning, when the dawn began to break again, 
 a horseman galloped hastily up to the door. I was 
 in my mother s room ; we were both dressed. We 
 had neither of us slept. I looked out. It was Ro 
 ger Drayton. My Mother sat up on the bed, when 
 I had persuaded her to rest. 
 
 " I will go down and ask, I said. 
 
 " We will go together, Lettice, said she. 
 
 " Then came a cry from one of the maids. 
 
 " Perhaps it is poor Margery, I said. For Mar 
 gery had come to stay with us since we returned. 
 It comforted us to keep together, all of us who had 
 kindred at the field. 
 
 " My Mother shook her head. * 
 
 " She knelt down one moment, and drew me down 
 beside her, by the bedside, heart against heart, and 
 murmured, 
 
 " * Thy will, not mine ! Oh, help us to say it. 
 For His sake who said it first. 
 
 " Then she rose, and with a firm step went down 
 into the hall with me. 
 
4 oo 
 
 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 " She held out her hand to Roger when she saw 
 him. 
 
 " His face spoke evil-tidings only too plainly. 
 
 " There has been a battle, she said. 
 
 " l At Naseby, Lady Lucy, he replied. 
 
 " Was the victory for the king or not ? she ask 
 ed ; unable to utter the question uppermost on her 
 heart and mine. 
 
 " There was hard fighting on both sides, he re 
 plied. The king and Prince Rupert have gone 
 westward towards Wales. 
 
 " I could hear that his voice trembled. 
 
 " Then the king has lost, she said. But it was 
 not to tell us this you came. Who is hurt ? 
 
 " He hesitated an instant. 
 
 " It is Harry ! she exclaimed. You have come 
 to summon us to him. Is the wound severe ? Is 
 there hope ? Can we go to him at once ? 
 
 " There was a pause, and a dreadful irresponsive 
 silence between each of her questions. He answer 
 ed only the last, 
 
 " He will be brought to you, Lady Lucy. They 
 are bringing him now. 
 
 " At once the whole depth of her sorrow opened 
 beneath her. Not an instant too soon. For the 
 words had scarcely left Roger s lips when the heavy 
 regular tramp of men bearing a burden echoed 
 through the silence of the morning outside, and 
 paused at the porch. 
 
 " My Mother took my hand, and led me forward. 
 
 " He must not come home unwelcomed ! she 
 said. * 
 
THE DA VEX A NTS. 
 
 401 
 
 " For an instant I feared she had not yet grasped 
 Roger s meaning. For this awful burden they were 
 bearing was not Harry, I knew. Xo welcomes 
 would ever greet him more. But I had not fath 
 omed her SOITOW nor her strength. 
 
 " She met the bearers at the door. They stood 
 with uncovered heads, having laid down what they 
 bore on the stone seat of the porch. They were 
 mostly old servants of the family. 
 
 " My friends, I thank you, she said. You have 
 done all you could. But not there. On the place 
 of honour. He was worthy. 
 
 " And she motioned them to the dais at the head 
 of the Hall, where the heads of our house are wont 
 to receive the homage of their retainers. 
 
 " Silently they bore him there, and laid their sa 
 cred burden gently down. She thanked them again 
 for their good service. And then as silently they 
 withdrew. I saw many a rough hand lifted to 
 brush away the tears. But she did not w^eep. She 
 stood motionless, with clasped hands, beside the 
 bier, and murmured to herself again and again, in a 
 low voice, 
 
 " He was worthy. 
 
 " Then, turning with her own sweet, never-for 
 gotten courtesy to Roger, she held out her hand to 
 him again, and said, 
 
 " You did kindly to come and tell us. He al 
 ways honoured you. 
 
 " He held her hand, and said rapidly, as if uncer 
 tain of the firmness of his own voice, 
 
 " I was near him at the last, and he made me 
 34* 
 
402 
 
 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 promise to see you, r I could not have dared to 
 come. 
 
 " She looked up with trembling, parted lips, list 
 ening for more. 
 
 " { He made me promise to tell you he had little 
 pain and no fear, Roger said, in a low voice. And 
 he gave me this for you, and said, " Tell my mother 
 these words of hers have often helped me to believe, 
 through all these evil days, that God is living and 
 commanding still. But, more than all words, tell 
 her my faith in God has been kept unquenched by 
 the thought of herself." 
 
 " She took the packet from him. It was a little 
 book, with Scriptures and prayers written in it by 
 her own hand, given to Harry when he was a boy. 
 On the crimson silk cover she had embroidered for 
 it, was one stain of a deeper crimson. As she open 
 ed it, a little well-worn leaf dropped out, with a 
 child s prayer on it she had written for him when 
 first he went to school. 
 
 "When she saw it, the thought of the hero dying 
 on the battle-field for the good cause vanished, and 
 in its place came the memory of the little hands 
 clasped on her knees in prayer. 
 
 " And withdrawing her hand from Roger, a sud 
 den quiver passed through all her frame, and throw 
 ing her arms around me, she sobbed, 
 
 " My boy, my boy ! O Lettice, it is Harry we 
 have lost ! It is our Harry ! 
 
 " When I looked up again Roger was at the door. 
 It seemed to me, from the glance he gave he was 
 waiting to say something more. And I resolved, 
 
THE D A ] EX A NTS. 403 
 
 cost what it might, to hear it. We led rr.y Mother 
 into the nearest chamber, and tlfen leaving her with 
 the maidens, I went back to the Hall. 
 
 " Roger was still waiting in the porch. 
 
 " He came forward when he saw me. 
 
 " Did he say anything more ? I asked. 
 
 " He hesitated an instant. 
 
 " He said, The Draytons and the Davenants 
 might have to combat one another in these evil 
 times, but that we should never distrust each other, 
 and that he never had distrusted one of us. 
 
 " He said so to me, the last thing before he left 
 us. I said ; And that was all ? 
 
 " * The battle swept on ; I had to mount again, 
 he said, and I could not leave my men. 
 
 " You saw him no more, I said. You could 
 not even stay to watch his last breath ! 
 
 " The moment I had uttered them I felt there was 
 something like reproach in my words, and I would 
 have recalled them if I could. 
 
 " I saw him no more until the fighting was over, 
 he said. Then I came back and found him ; and 
 we brought him home. It was all we could do, he 
 added ; and it was little indeed. 
 
 " I am sure you did all you could, Roger, I said ; 
 for I feared I had wounded him. I should always 
 be sure you would do all you could for any of us. 
 
 " Should you, indeed! he said. God knows I 
 would. 
 
 " And there was a tremor and a depth of pleased 
 surprise in his tones that startled me, and I could 
 not look up. 
 
44 
 
 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 " * Would to God I could do anything to comfort 
 Lady Lucy or you, he said. 
 
 " i No one can comfort her, Roger, I said ; and 
 the tears I had been trying to put back choked my 
 voice, Harry was everything to her. He was every 
 thing to us all. No one will ever comfort her more. 
 
 " You will comfort her, Lettice, he said, with 
 that quiet commanding way he has sometimes. 
 * God gives it you to do ; and He will give you to 
 do it. 
 
 " And as he ceased speaking, and I went back to 
 my Mother, I felt as if there were indeed a strength 
 through which I could do anything that had to be 
 done. 
 
 11 July 1. Sir Launcelot Trevor has come with 
 tidings of my Father and my brothers. 
 
 " They are in the West, save the two younger, 
 who went across the Borders after the battle of 
 Marston Moor, and have joined Montrose in the 
 Scottish Highlands, deeming that the king s cause 
 will best rally there. 
 
 " The good cause is low ; lower than ever before. 
 Soon after that fatal day at Naseby the town of 
 Bridgewater surrendered to General Fairfax. 
 
 " Prince Rupert (with such courage as one might 
 expect, I think, from a chief of plunderers) thereon 
 counselled the king to make peace. But His Maj 
 esty, never so majestic as in adversity, said, That 
 although, as a soldier and a statesman, he saw no 
 prospect but of ruin, yet, as a Christian, he knew 
 God would never forsake his cause, and suffer rebels 
 to prosper ; that he knew his obligations to be, both 
 
THE DA VEX A X TS. 4 o 5 
 
 in conscience and honour, neither to abandon God s 
 cause, to injure his successors, or forsake his friends. 
 Nevertheless, for himself (he said) he looked for 
 nothing but to die with honour and a good con 
 science ; and to his friends he had little prospect to 
 offer, but to die in a good cause, or, what was worse, 
 to live as miserable in maintaining it as the violence 
 of insulting rebels could make them. 
 
 " What promises, or royal orders, could bind 
 men, with any soul in them, to their sovereign as 
 words like these ? Least of all those who, like us, 
 are bound to the cause by having given up our best 
 for it. Nothing, my Mother says, makes a thing 
 so precious to us as what we suffer for it. Indeed, 
 nothing now seems able to kindle her to anything 
 like life, save aught associated with that sacred 
 cause for which Harry died. 
 
 "Sir Launcelot saith, moreover, that the rebels 
 have been base enough to lay bare to the eyes of the 
 common people of London the private letters from 
 His Majesty to the queen, found in his cabinet on 
 the field at Naseby. And that these letters contain 
 things which have even lost the king some old loyal 
 friends. Pretty friendship, indeed, or loyalty, to be 
 moved by discoveries, made only through treachery 
 and breach of confidence, which no gentleman would 
 practice to save his life. 
 
 " But there is one thing Sir Launcelot hinted to 
 me which I dare not breathe to my Mother. He 
 said there was reason enough why Roger was near 
 Harry when he fell ; for it was by the hand of one 
 of the Ironsides, beyond doubt, that he died. 
 
406 THE DRAYTONS, ETC. 
 
 "But never by Roger s hand! Or. if possibly 
 such a curse could have been suffered to fall on one 
 like Roger, it must have been unknown to him. Of 
 this I am as sure as of my life. 
 
 " Sir Launcelot said that Roger s hand was wont 
 to be a little too ready to be raised. Ungenerous 
 of him to say it, and yet too true. Slowly roused ; 
 but once roused, blind to all results. 
 
 " How bitter his vain repentance would be if this 
 terrible thing were possible, and he once came to 
 know it. 
 
 " How bitter and how vain ! 
 
 " But even if it were possible, and he never knew 
 it, but we knew it, what a gulf from henceforth for 
 ever between us and him ! 
 
 " I cannot breathe this to my Mother. And yet, 
 if Sir Launcelot s fears could have any ground, it 
 would seem a treachery, if ever Roger came to us 
 again to let her touch in welcome the hand that 
 dealt that blow ! 
 
 " I know not what to do. It is the first perplex 
 ity I ever knew in which I could not fly to her for 
 aid and counsel. 
 
 " What a child I have been. 
 
 " What a child I am ! 
 
 " Can it be possible that our Lord thought of His 
 disciples being perplexed and bewildered at all, as I 
 am, when, just before He went away, He called 
 them little children ? Can it be possible that He 
 meant, Come to me, as little children to their moth 
 er ; when you want wisdom, come to Me I" 
 
C H APTE R X I. 
 
 OLIVE S STORY. 
 
 !HE first trustworthy tidings we had of 
 the battle of Xaseby were from Dr. An 
 tony. I saw him coming hastily across 
 the fields from the direction of Dave- 
 nant Hall. 
 
 It was very early in the morning. The village 
 had been stirring through the previous afternoon 
 with uneasy rumours, and I had not slept. I was 
 watching the light in the window of Lady Lucy s 
 oratory, and thinking how she and Lettice had 
 watched there together that terrible night so long 
 ago, saying collects for Roger, and how Lettice had 
 hastened to us in the morning, on her white palfrey 
 with the welcome tidings that Sir Launcelot would 
 recover. And now how far we were from each 
 other ! What a sea between us ! Two moats, (the 
 moonlight was shining on ours just below me,) 
 drawbridges, and fortifications. But deeper and 
 stronger than all the moats and walls in the world 
 lay between us the memories of those bitter years 
 
 (407) 
 
4 o8 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 of war, and ever-widening misconception and divi 
 sion. Yet I felt sure Lettice loved us still. 
 
 And as I was thus looking and thinking, I saw 
 Dr. Antony coming hastily down the road from the 
 stile which led across the fields to the Hall, where I 
 had parted from Harry Davenant that night when 
 he brought the tidings of Lord Strafford s execution, 
 and would not come in. 
 
 My first impulse was to rush down the stairs and 
 unbar the door. But many things held me back. A 
 presentiment that the news he brought might be 
 such as there was no need to fore-date by hurrying 
 to meet it ; an uncomfortable recollection of Job 
 Forster s letter, and of that conversation in which I 
 had said nothing right. 
 
 I went, therefore, to summon Aunt Dorothy as 
 head of the household. She had so many prepara 
 tions to make, that Dr. Antony s hand was on the 
 great house-bell long before she was ready. Nothing 
 so slow she said as hurry, besides its being a proof 
 of the impatience of the flesh. She would even 
 fold up scrupulously the clothes she took off, faith 
 ful to her maxim, that we should always leave 
 everything as if we might never return to it. 
 
 The bell rang again. 
 
 I went to see if Aunt Gretel was more capable of 
 being hastened. She, dear soul, was sympathizing, 
 excited, and agitated beyond my utmost desires, for 
 she could lay her hands on nothing she wanted. So 
 that I had to return to Aunt Dorothy, who, by that 
 time, was ready; and feeling how cold and trem 
 bling my hand was as she took it to lead me dowii- 
 
THE DA VEXANTS. 409 
 
 stairs, she laid her other oil it with an unwonted 
 demonstration of tenderness, and said, 
 
 " Child, we can* neither hasten the Lord s steps 
 nor make them linger. But He will do right." 
 There was strength in her words, but almost as 
 much to me in the tones, which were tremulous, 
 and in the cold touch of her hand, which showed 
 that the blood at her heart stood as still as mine. 
 
 We went down together in time to meet Dr. An 
 tony just as he entered the Hall. 
 
 My Father was wounded, not dangerously, only 
 so as to render him incapable of further service in 
 the field, at least at present. His right arm was 
 broken. Roger was coming home with him. 
 
 I wondered that Dr. Antony seemed so heavy at 
 heart, to bring tidings which made my heart leap 
 with thankfulness. What could be better than that 
 Roger was unhurt, and that my Father had received 
 a slight wound just sufficient to keep him at home 
 with us ? 
 
 Then it flashed on me in what direction I had 
 seen him coming. 
 
 " Dr. Antony !" I said, " there is sorrow for the 
 Davenants ! " And then he told us how Harry 
 Davenant had fallen. 
 
 We had little time for bewailing him, for the 
 household had to be roused, and refreshment and a 
 bed prepared for my Father. 
 
 I had scarce ever seen Roger so cast down as he 
 
 was about Harry Davenant s death. One of the 
 
 noblest gentlemen the king had on his side, he 
 
 thought so pure, and true, and brave. If all had 
 
 35 
 
4 1 o THE I)RA YTOXS AND 
 
 been like him there had been no Avar, and no need 
 for it. " And," said Roger, " I always looked for the 
 day to come when Harry Davenant would understand 
 us. For we were fighting for the same thing, 
 though on opposite sides for England and her old 
 laws and liberties ; for a righteous kingdom. And 
 I always thought one day he would see where it 
 could be found, and where it could not." 
 
 Roger could not stay with us long. But before 
 lie went, Harry Davenant was buried very quietly 
 in the old vault of the Davenants in Netherby 
 church. 
 
 It was at night, for the liturgy had been abolished 
 six months before, and was unlawful, and the Vicar 
 risked something in suffering it to be read even by 
 Lady Lucy s chaplain, as it was. And we honoured 
 him and Placidia for the venture. Roger had asked 
 to be one of the bearers. Aunt Gretel, Rachel For- 
 ster, and I, waited for. them in the church-porch. 
 Slowly through the silent summer-night came the 
 heavy tramp of the bearers, until they paused and 
 laid their burden down under the old Lych Gate, 
 Then, while they came up the churchyard, we 
 crept quietly back into the church, dark in all parts 
 except where the funeral torches lit up a little space 
 around the open vault, and threw strange flickering 
 shadows on the recumbent forms of the dead of 
 Harry Davenanfs race, knight and dame, priest 
 and crusader. It made them look as if they moved 
 to "meet him ; for none of the living men of his 
 house were there, although of all his race none had 
 fallen more bravely. 
 
THE DA \ r EXA XTS. 4 1 1 
 
 Behind the bier followed four women closely veil 
 ed. The first, by the height and movement, I knew 
 was his Mother, and at her side, as the sacred words 
 were read, knelt Lettice. I think in times of over 
 whelming joy or sorrow, when no words could fa 
 thom the depths of the heart, when almost every 
 human voice would fall outside it altogether, or jar 
 rudely if it reached within, there is a wonderful 
 comfort in the calm of those ancient immutable li 
 turgies. They are a channel worn deep by the joys 
 and sorrows of ages. Their changelessness links 
 them to eternity, and seems thus to make room for 
 the sorrow which overflows the narrow measures of 
 thought and time. 
 
 " Delivered from the burden of the flesh," " are 
 in joy and liberty," " not to be sorry as men with 
 out hope for them- that sleep in Him, that when we 
 shall depart this life, we may rest on Him as our 
 hope is, this our brother doth." How tranquilly 
 the simple words sank into the very depths -of the 
 heart. 
 
 All the more precious and sacred, doubtless, for 
 the tender sanctity which ever invests a proscribed 
 religion. 
 
 Xot that our Puritan faith is without its liturgies. 
 Older than England, and older than Christendom, 
 fused in the burning heart of the king of old, war 
 rior, patriot, exile, conqueror, and penitent. But it 
 is a perilous thing to make services like those of the 
 Church of England, dear enough already to every 
 faithful heart who lias used them from infancy, 
 dearer still by making them dangerous. I never 
 knew how I loved them till we lost them. 
 
4 1 2 THE DRA YTONS A ND 
 
 And as that night the sacred, simple, tima-hon- 
 oured words fell like heavenly music among the 
 shadows of the dim old church, I felt as if the de 
 cree which made them unlawful, and the grave of 
 the brother slain at Naseby, were slowly mining a 
 gulf which could never be crossed between the 
 Draytons and the Davenants. 
 
 Alas, alas for truth ! or at least for us who fain 
 would ever recognise and be loyal to her, when she 
 changes raiment with error, when the crown of 
 thorns is transferred to the brows of hx>r enemies, 
 and the martyrs are on the wrong side. But such 
 transformations have not hitherto lasted long, and 
 meantime the crown of thorns may imprint its les 
 sons even on those who wear it by mistake. 
 
 There was no sound of loud weeping. But when, 
 for the last time, before the coffin was lowered out 
 of sight, Lady Lucy knelt once more to embrace it, 
 she did not rise until Lettice went gently to lift her 
 thence ; when it was found that she had fainted, 
 and had to be borne away. But for this, Lettice 
 would probably never have known we were there. 
 I went at Roger s bidding to see if I could render 
 any assistance. And then for a moment Lettice 
 drew aside her veil, and with a suppressed sob 
 clasped my hands in hers, and murmured, 
 
 " Thank God, Olive. I knew you would all feel 
 with us. Pray for her and for me, Olive; we have 
 no one like him left." 
 
 Then she kissed me once, and hastened on after 
 the rest ; as they silently went back through the 
 fields, bearing instead of the corpse of the son the 
 almost lifeless form of the mother. 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 4 ! 3 
 
 The day after the funeral Roger left us to go back 
 to the army. I told him what Lett ice had said. 
 And he seemed more hopeful than he had been for 
 a long time about her not misunderstanding or for 
 getting us. 
 
 " We must never distrust her again, Olive," he 
 said. " She has trusted us all through." 
 
 It was strange that he should thus admonish me, 
 for it was only Roger who ever had distrusted her 
 caring still for us. But such little oblivions are the 
 common lot of sisters situated as I was. I was far 
 too satisfied with his conclusion to dispute as to the 
 way he reached it. 
 
 Yet for many weeks after he left we heard noth 
 ing from any one of the Davenants. 
 
 ^Sir Launcelot Trevor came and stayed there some 
 days at the beginning of July ; and again I was tor 
 mented with fears that he had been poisoning their 
 hearts with some evil reports of us. -And as I sat 
 watching by my Father s bed-side, many a time I 
 rejoiced that Roger was away, so that he could not 
 share my anxieties. 
 
 It so happened that most of the nursing fell on 
 me, to my great thankfulness. Aunt Dorothy s 
 sphere ,jvas governing every one outside, and Aunt 
 Gretel s more especially preparing food and cooling 
 drinks. Dr. Antony was pleased to say there was 
 something in my step which fitted a sick-room. 
 Quiet and quick, and not hasty. And in my voice, 
 he fancied, too ; cheerful, he said, as a bird singing, 
 yet soft and low. 
 
 Be that as it might, my Father naturally liked 
 35* 
 
4 1 4 THE DBA. YTONS AND 
 
 best to have me about him ; me and Rachel Fors- 
 ter, in whose presence he found that repose she 
 seemed to breathe on every one. As if she had 
 wings invisible, which enfolded a warm, quiet space 
 around her, like a hen brooding over her chickens. 
 Rachel Forster and Lady Lucy, of all the women 
 I ever knew, had most of this. And my Father 
 felt it. 
 
 One day Rachel had a letter from Job, written a 
 few days after the battle of Xaseby. 
 
 "We began marching at three o clock in the 
 morning of the 14th of June," he wrote. "The day 
 before we, the Ironsides, had conie with -General 
 Cromwell from the eastern counties to our army. 
 They had gathered after him like Abi-Ezcr after 
 Gideon. The horse already there gave a mighty 
 shout for joy of his coming to them. By five we 
 were at Naseby, and saw the heads of the enemy 
 coming over the hill. Such a thing as they call a 
 hill in these parts. A broad up and down moor. 
 AYe fought it out in a fallow field, a mile broad, 
 near the top, from early morning till afternoon. It 
 began somewhat like the day at Marston Moor. 
 They came on first up the hill. Prince Rupert and 
 the plunderers were on our left, charging swift and 
 steady, crying out: For God and Queen Mary. 
 God our strength, cried we. They broke our left, 
 though this we did notknow till afterwards. Our 
 right, that is we, General Cromwell s horse, fell on 
 their left and drove them back, flying down the hill 
 through the furze-bushes and rabbit-warrens. The 
 main body, horse and foot, fought hard, breaking 
 
THE DA VEX A NTS. 4 1 - 
 
 and gathering again, like the sea at Lizard at turn 
 of tide. This raging back and forward lasted till 
 Prince Rupert s horse and ours came back from the 
 chase. 
 
 " The difference between -keeping the Ten Com 
 mandments and breaking them tells in the long run. 
 Plundering, firing villages, and slaughtering inno 
 cents, shrinks up the courage of men after a time. 
 Prince Rupert s men could charge to the end like 
 devils, but they could not rally like ours. Neither 
 the prince s nor the- king s word can bind their men 
 together again to stand a second shock, as Oliver s 
 word can rally the Ironsides. This difference turn 
 ed the day. The difference between keeping the 
 Ten Commandments (as far as mortal men can) and 
 breaking them. The king rode about fearless as a 
 lion to the last. One charge more and we recover 
 the day, quoth he. But there was no power in his 
 word to rally them, and the sun was still high when 
 he and they fled headlong into Leicester, and we 
 after them. 
 
 "But the Ten Commandments fought against 
 them there too. l The stars in their courses fought 
 against Sisera." There was no night s rest for the 
 king in the houses he had seen rifled and dishon 
 oured but a few days before, and never lifted up his 
 voice to hinder it. And on and on he had to fly, 
 to Ashby- de-la-Zouch, Wales, and who knows 
 where? The plunder of Leicester lay strewn about 
 the fallow field at Xaseby, -.vhere we camped that 
 night, with six hundred of the plunderers dead. 
 Yet God forbid I slander the dead. They fought 
 
4 1 6 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 like true men. And brave, young Master Harry 
 Davenant was among them. Belike the true men 
 fell ; and the plunderers fled off safe, as such vermin 
 do. Until the Lord and the Ten Commandments 
 take them in hand and bring them to account, 
 whether in the body or out of the body. 
 
 " A hundred Irish Papist women were found hang 
 ing about the battle-field, armed with long knives, 
 and speaking no Christian tongue. Poor benighted 
 savages ! Very strange to think such have hus 
 bands, and children, and hearts, and souls. Yet 
 belike so had the Canaanites. These things are 
 dark to me. I have wrestled sore there about, but 
 can get no light on them. 
 
 " Two or three days after the battle a young gen 
 tleman, a preacher, aged some thirty years, came 
 amongst the army. His name was Richard Baxter, 
 a puny feeble body, marked with small-pox, and 
 bowed and worn at thirty like an old man. Yet 
 had the puny body good quality of courage in it. 
 Courage of the soul, burning out of his dark eyes. 
 Courage, surely, he had of his kind. For he came 
 amongst our men, flushed and strong from the vic 
 torious fight, and exhorted us as if we had been a 
 pack of school-boys. Called us the Ironsides, and 
 Whalley s and Rue s regiments of horse hot 
 headed, self-conceited sectaries, Anabaptists, Anti- 
 nomians, and what not us who had been fighting 
 the Lord s battles for him and the like of him these 
 two years ! Took our camp jokes ill, about Scotch 
 dryvinesj Dissembling men at Westminster, and 
 * priest by ters. Called us profane j us who had 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 4 1 ? 
 
 paid twelve-pence fine for one careless oath ever 
 since we came together. 
 
 " Argued with us, dividing his discourse into as 
 many heads as Leviathan, and using words from 
 every heathen tongue under the sun. If we had 
 the best of it, called us levellers and fire-brands. If 
 we were silent under his flood of talk, thought we 
 were beaten, as if to have the best in talk were to 
 win the day. As if an honest Englishman was to 
 change his mind, because he could not, all in a mo 
 ment, see his way out of 3Ir. Baxter s Presbyterial 
 puzzles. Scarcely grateful, I think, seeing our men 
 had once asked him to be their chaplain. Some of 
 us reminded him of it, and he said he was sorry he 
 had refused, or we should not have come to what 
 we are. And he rebuked us sore, and called us out 
 of our names in a gentlemanly way, in Latin and 
 Greek, as if we had been plunderers and malignants ; 
 us of General Cromwell s own regiment. Of his 
 courage there can after this, I think, be no doubt. 
 Xor forsooth of our patience. And he hath gone 
 back to Coventry and spoken slanders of the * sad 
 state of the army ! 
 
 "Sad state of the army indeed, where every 
 morsel we put in our mouths is paid for, through 
 which every modest wench, if she were as fair as 
 Sarah, can walk, if she had need, as safe as past her 
 father s door. An array which had just Avon Xase- 
 by, by the strength of the Lord and the Ten Com 
 mandments where not an oath is heard where 
 psalms and prayers rise night and morning as from 
 the old Temple and where a young gentleman like 
 
4 1 8 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 Mr. Richard Baxter, could come and go, and call 
 the soldiers what ill names he chose, without hurt. 
 For a godly young gentleman we all hold him to 
 be, and a scholar, and honour him in our souls as 
 such, and for the chastening hand of the Lord on 
 the poor suffering, puny, -brave body of him, al 
 though in some ways he and the likes of him cost 
 me more wrestlings than even the Irish Papist wo 
 men with their knives." 
 
 Wherever General Cromwell was throughout that 
 summer, there continued to be a series of successes. 
 Job s letters and Roger s were records of castles 
 stormed or surrendered, sieges raised and troops 
 dispersed, in Devonshire from Salisbury to Bovey 
 Tracey. 
 
 On the 4th of August, Roger wrote of the dis 
 persing of the poor mistaken Clubmen ; a new force 
 of peasants who had gathered to the number of two 
 thousand on Hambledon Hill, in Surrey. Blind, as 
 my Father says peasant armies mostly are. Aunt 
 Gretel turned pale when she heard of them, and 
 talked of dreadful peasant wars in Dr. Luther s time 
 in Saxofcy ; Dr. Luther dearly loving and fighting in 
 his way for the peasants, but not -being able to make 
 them understand him, like Oliver Cromwell now. 
 
 These poor fellows had gathered like brave men 
 in the "West to defend their homes from Lord Gor- 
 ing s band " the child-eaters " as some called them, 
 the most lawless and merciless among the Cavalier 
 troops, surpassing even Prince Rupert s, whom one 
 of their own called afterwards, " terrible in plunder, 
 and resolute in running away." 
 
DATEXAXTS. 
 
 " If ye offer to plunder or take our cattle, 
 Be you assured we ll give you battle," 
 
 was the clubmen s motto. A good one enough. 
 But in time they became hopelessly involved in 
 political plots, of which they understood nothing, 
 demanded to garrison the coast-towns, picked out 
 and killed peaceable Posts, fired on messengers of 
 peace sent by General Cromwell, who had much 
 pity for them, and finally had to be fallen upon and 
 beaten from the field. " I believe," the General wrote 
 to Sir Thomas Fairfax, " not twelve of them were 
 killed, but very many were cut, and three hundred 
 taken poor silly creatures, whom if you please to 
 let me send home, they promise to be very dutiful 
 for time to come, and will be hanged before they 
 come out again." So men and leaders were taken, 
 and the army dispersed, and came not out again ; 
 and the land all around had quiet. 
 
 But, as Job Forster said, it was the Ten Com 
 mandments that fought best for us. 
 
 The king s cabinet at Xaseby, with all the false 
 and traitorous letters found therein in his hand 
 writing, did more to undermine his power than a 
 hundred battles. For in it was shown how, while 
 solemnly promising to make no treaties with Pa 
 pists, and speaking words of peace at Uxbridge, 
 he was negotiating for six thousand Papist soldiers 
 from Ireland, and for more than ten thousand from 
 across the seas ; that he had only agreed to call the 
 Parliament Parliament " in the treating with them, 
 in the sense that it was not the same to call them 
 
420 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 so, and to acknowledge them so to be." He spoke, 
 moreover, of the gentlemen who gathered around 
 him loyally at Oxford, as " the mongrel Parlia 
 ment." So that many of his old friends were sore 
 ly aggrieved, and many neutrals began to see that, 
 call men by what titles you will, there can be no 
 loyalty where there is no truth. 
 
 In the North affairs went not so prosperously, 
 though there, too, reckless ravaging wrought its 
 own terrible cure in time. For six weeks Montrose 
 with his Irish, and Highlanders, and some English 
 adventurers, laid Argyleshire waste, killing every 
 man who could bear arms, plundering and burning 
 every cottage. It was not like the war in England, 
 save where Prince Rupert and Lord Goring brought 
 the savage customs of foreign warfare in on us. It 
 was a war of clans, bent on extirpating each other 
 like so many wild beasts, and of mountain-rob 
 bers set on carrying away as much spoil as they 
 could from the Lowland cities, and on inflicting as 
 much misery as they could by the way to inspire a 
 profitable terror for the future. Perth was sacked 
 by them, and Aberdeen, and Dundee. 
 
 At Kilsyth, near Stirling, Montrose and his men 
 killed ten times as many of a Covenanted army, 
 against which they fought, as fell of the Cavaliers 
 at Naseby. Six hundred lay slain at Naseby ; at 
 Kilsyth, six thousand. 
 
 And the king, meanwhile, speaking of this robber 
 chief as the great restorer of his kingdom and sup 
 port of his throne, with never an entreaty to spare 
 his countrymen and subjects. 
 
THE DA I EX A XTS. 42 j 
 
 Can any wonder that the sheep he commissioned 
 so many hirelings to fleece, robbers to plunder, and 
 wolves to slay, would not follow him? 
 
 In person, indeed, throughout that summer of 
 1645, His Majesty was pursuing a kind of warfare 
 too similar to that of Wallenstein or Montrose. It 
 was in the August of this year, scarce two months 
 after the victory of Xaseby, that the war surged 
 up nearer us at Xetherby, than at any other time. 
 
 The king had fled from Xaseby to Ragland 
 Castle, the seat of the Marquis of Worcester (an 
 ingenious gentleman who spent his living in seeking 
 out many inventions). There he held his court 
 for many weeks ; entertained with princely state 
 in the halls of the grand old castle, and hunting 
 deer gaily through the forests on the banks of 
 the Wye, as if his subjects were not themselves 
 in his quarrel hunting each other to death in every 
 corner of his kingdom. 
 
 Whilst there tidings came to him of the suc 
 cesses of Montrose, and he endeavored to go north 
 ward to join him in Scotland. From Doncaster, 
 however, he fell back on Xewark, turned from his 
 purpose by the Covenanted army of Sir David 
 Leslie, which threatened him from the Xorth. And 
 then he turned his steps to us, to the Fens and the 
 Associated Counties, which General Cromwell s 
 care, and their own fidelity to the Parliament, had 
 kept hitherto high and dry out of reach of the war, 
 save for some few stray foraging parties. During 
 tins August 1645 we learned, however, at His Ma 
 jesty s hands, the meaning of civil war. The 
 30 
 
422 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 eastern counties lay exposed to attack, having sent 
 their tried men westward with Cromwell and Fair 
 fax ; so that we had nothing but our own more re 
 cent foot-levies to defend us. 
 
 The king dashed from Stamford through Hunt 
 ingdonshire and Cambridgeshire, ravaging the 
 whole country as he passed, and detaching flying 
 squadrons to plunder Bedfordshire and Hertford 
 shire, as far as St. Albans. Several times he threat 
 ened Cambridge. 
 
 On the 24th of August, he took Huntingdon by 
 assault, and four days afterwards, by the 28th, was 
 safe again within the lines of Oxford, with large 
 store of booty seized from the very cradle and 
 stronghold of the Parliamentary army. 
 
 ISTo doubt the Cavaliers had fine triumphing and 
 merry-making over the spoils at Oxford. But to us, 
 around whom lay the empty granaries and roofless 
 homesteads, and the wrecked and burned villages 
 from which these spoils came, the lesson was not 
 one of submission or of terror, but of resistance 
 more resolute than ever. Prince Rupert had been 
 teaching this lesson for three years in every corner 
 of the realm. His Majesty taught it us in person. 
 A lesson of resistance not desperate but hopeful ; 
 for we could not but deem that a king who would 
 indiscriminately ravage whole counties of his king 
 dom, must look on it a an alien territory already 
 lost to his crown. 
 
 Many sins, no doubt, may be laid to the charge 
 of the Parliament and its army. But of two sins ter 
 ribly common in civil strife they were never guilty ; 
 
THE LA TENANTS. 423 
 
 indiscriminate plunder and secret assassination. 
 The ruins and desecrations the Commonwealth sol 
 diers wrought in churches and cathedrals, will tell 
 their tale against us to many a generation to come. 
 The ruins the Royalist troopers wrought were in 
 poor men s homes long since repaired. The dese 
 crations they wrought were also in homes, ruins 
 and desecrations of temples not made with hands, 
 and never to be repaired, but recorded on sacred 
 inviolable tables, more durable than any stone, 
 though not to be read on earth, at least not yet. 
 
 The village of Xetherby lay just beyond the edge 
 of the royal devastations. But the cattle all around 
 us were seized, with all the corn that was reaped. 
 And at night the sky was all aglow with the flames 
 of burning cottages, and corn and hay-stacks. Our 
 own barns were untouched, but my Father gave 
 orders at once to begin husbanding our stores by 
 limiting our daily food, looking on what was spared 
 to us as the granary of the whole destitute neigh 
 bourhood through the coming winter, and as the 
 seed-store for the following spring. Our sheds and. 
 out -houses, meantime, were fitted up for those who 
 had been driven from their homes. Ev^ry cottage 
 in Xetherby gave shelter to some homeless neigh 
 bour. Rachel Forster s became an orphan-house. 
 Yet it was the private lesson which was taught our 
 own family through this foray of His Majesty s that 
 is engraven most deeply in my memory. 
 
 Throughout the summer, Cousin Placidia had 
 been more than ever a subject of irritation and dis 
 tress to Aunt Dorothy. The successes of Montrose 
 
424 
 
 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 in Scotland, followed by the plunderings of the 
 king s troops in our own counties, had once more 
 caused her to feel much "exercised" as to which 
 was the right side. In February, after the execu 
 tion of Archbishop Laud, Mr. Nicholls had obedi 
 ently substituted the Directory of Worship for the 
 Common Prayer, sorely trying thereby Aunt Do 
 rothy s predilections for unwritten, or rather un- 
 printed prayers; Mr. Nicholls supplications not 
 having, in her opinion, either unction or fire, being 
 in fact, she said, nothing but the old Liturgy 
 minced and sent up cold. Her only comfort was 
 in the trust that sifting days were at hand. (The 
 Triers had not yet been appointee?.) But what 
 vexed Aunt Dorothy s soul even more than any 
 ecclesiastical " trimmings," was what she regarded 
 as the gradual eating up of Placidia s heart by the 
 rust of hoarded wealth. Placidia had at that time 
 an additional reason to justify herself for any amount 
 of straitening and sparing, in the expectation of the 
 birth of her first child. This prospect opened a new 
 field for her economies and for Aunt Dorothy s 
 anxieties. Even the general devastations of the 
 country, which opened every door and every heart 
 wide to the sufferers, only effected the narrowest 
 possible opening in Placidia s stores. Her health, 
 she said, obviously prevented her receiving any 
 strangers into the house ; and it was little indeed 
 that a poor parson, with a family to provide for, 
 and nothing but income to depend on, and the cer 
 tainty of receiving scarcely any tithes the next 
 season, could have to spare. Such as she had, said 
 
THE DA VEX ANTS. 42 5 
 
 she, she gave willingly. There was a stack of hay 
 but slightly damaged by getting heated. And 
 there was some preserved meat, a little strong per 
 haps from keeping, but quite wholesome and palat 
 able with a little extra salt. These she most gladly 
 bestowed. Aunt Dorothy was in despair, and 
 made one last solemn appeal. 
 
 "Placidia," she said, "a child will shut up your 
 heart and be a curse to you, if you let it shut your 
 doors against the poor ; until at last who knows 
 what door may be shut on you ? " 
 
 But Placidia was impregnable. 
 
 ; Aunt Dorothy," she said, with mild imperturba 
 bility, " everything may be made either a curse or a 
 blessing. But to those who are in the covenant 
 everything is a blessing." 
 
 u Sister Gretel," said Aunt Dorothy, afterwards, 
 " I see no way of escape for her. The mercies of 
 God s providence and the doctrines of His grace 
 freeze on that poor woman s heart, until the ice is 
 so thick that the sunshine itself can do nothing but 
 just thaw the surface, and make the next day s ice 
 smoother and harder." 
 
 Aunt Gretel looked up. 
 
 " Xevcr give up hope, sister," said she. " Our 
 good God has more weapons than we wot of, and 
 more means of grace than are counted in any of our 
 Catechisms and Confessions. Sometimes He can 
 warm the coldest heart with the glow of a new hu 
 man love until all the ice melts away from within. 
 And the touch of a little child s hand has opened 
 many a door, where the Master has afterwards come 
 36* 
 
426 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 in and sat down and supped. When the Saviour 
 wanted to teach the Pharisees, He set in the midst 
 of them a little child." 
 
 Aunt Dorothy shook her head. 
 
 " Children have dragged many a godly man back 
 again to Egypt," said she. u Many a rope which 
 binds good men tight to the car of Mammon is 
 twisted by very little hands." 
 
 And the proposition being unanswerable, the dis 
 cussion ended. 
 
 A few nights afterwards we were roused by a 
 suspicious glare in the direction of the Parsonage. 
 The next morning early we went to see if anything 
 had happened there. 
 
 As we passed through the village, we heard the 
 news quickly enough. 
 
 Just after dusk, on the evening before, a party of 
 Royalist troopers had appeared at the Parsonage 
 gates. The house stood alone, at some little dis 
 tance from the village, at the end- of the glebe- 
 fields. The captain of the little troop said they 
 were on their way to join His Majesty at Oxford ; 
 but seeing a light, they were tempted to seek the 
 hospitality of Mistress Nicholls, of which they had 
 heard in the neighbourhood. 
 
 Poor Placidia s protestations of poverty were of 
 little avail with such guests. They politely assured 
 her they were used to rough fare, and would them 
 selves render any assistance she required towards 
 preparing the feast. Whereupon they put up their 
 horses in the stables, supplied them liberally with 
 corn from the granaries, seized the fattest of the 
 
THE DAVSNAXTS. 
 
 427 
 
 poultry, and strung them in a tempting row before 
 the kitchen fire, which they piled into huge dimen 
 sions with any wooden articles that came first to 
 hand, chairs and chests included ; the contents of 
 these chests being meanwhile skillfully rifled, and 
 alf that was most valuable in them of plate, linen, 
 or silk, set apart in a heap " for the king s service." 
 
 The supper being prepared, they insisted on their 
 "host drinking His Majesty s health in the choicest 
 wines in his cellar. The captain had been informed, 
 he said, that Mr. Xicholls had been induced (reluc 
 tantly, of course, as he perceived from the fervent 
 protestations of loyalty) to disuse the Liturgy, and 
 even to contribute of his substance to the rebel 
 cause. He felt glad, therefore, to be able to give 
 him this opportunity of proving his unjustly suspect 
 ed fidelity, and of contributing, at the same time, of 
 his substance to His Majesty s service, by means of 
 the portion of his goods which they would the 
 next day convey to His Majesty s head-quarters in 
 the loyal city of Oxford, and thus save it from being 
 misapplied in this disaffected country, in a manner 
 which Mr. Xicholls loyal heart must abhor. This 
 we heard from one of the frightened serving- wench 
 es, who had escaped towards morning, and spread 
 the news through the village. 
 
 As the nisrht passed on, they grew riotous, and 
 were with difficulty roused from their carouse by 
 the captain, to see about getting their plunder to- 
 gether belore dawn. They poured on the ground 
 what wine they could not drink, set fire (whether 
 by accident or on purpose was not known) to the 
 
428 THE DRA YTON8 AND 
 
 large corn-stack whilst hunting about the sheds and 
 stables for cattle and horses ; till finally the inmates 
 were thankful to get them away early in the morn 
 ing, although they took with them all the beasts 
 they could drive and all the booty they could 
 carry. 
 
 The sympathy in the village was not deep, and 
 Aunt Dorothy and I went on in silence to the Par 
 sonage, to give what help and comfort we could. 
 Neither Aunt Dorothy nor I spoke a word as we 
 hastened up the rising ground towards the house. 
 
 The homely ruins of the farm-yard moved me 
 more than many a stately ruin. The remains of the 
 corn-stack, the flames of which had alarmed us in 
 the night, stood there black and charred ; the stables 
 were empty and the cattle-sheds; the house-dog 
 was hanged to the door of one of them ; the yard 
 was strewn with trampled corn, which the spar 
 rows and starlings, in the absence of the privileged 
 poultry, were making bold to pick up ; and the si 
 lence of the deserted court was made more dismal 
 by the occasional restless lowing of a calf, which 
 was roaming from one empty shed to another in 
 search of its mother. 
 
 We went into the house. The kitchen was full 
 of the serving- \venches, and of some of the more 
 curious and idle in the village, who were condoling 
 with each other, by making the worst of the disas 
 ter. The hearth was black with the cinders of the 
 enormous fire of the night before, and the floor was 
 strewn with broken pieces of the chairs and chests 
 which had helped to kindle it, and with fragments 
 
THE DA VEX A XTS. 429 
 
 of the feast. In a corner of the settle by the cold 
 hearth sat Placidia, as if she were stupified, with her 
 hands clasped and her eyes fixed upon them. 
 
 When she saw Aunt Dorothy, she turned away, 
 and said, 
 
 "Don t reproach me, Aunt Dorothy; I can t 
 bear it." 
 
 " Didst thou think I came for that ? " said Aunt 
 Dorothy. " But belike I deserve it of thee." 
 
 And with a voice a little sharpened by the feel 
 ing she strove to repress, Aunt Dorothy sent the 
 curious neighbours to the right-about, and disposed 
 of the two serving-wenches, by telling them the 
 very fowls of the air were setting such lazy slnts as 
 they were an example, and despatching them to 
 gather up the scattered corn in the yard. 
 
 Then she came again to Placidia, and taking her 
 clasped hands in hers, said, 
 
 " I ve learnt many things, child, this last hour. I 
 judged thee a Pharisee, and belike I ve been a worse 
 one myself. I ve sat on the judgment-seat this many 
 a day on thee. But I m off it now. And may the 
 Lord grant me grace never to climb up there 
 again. I ve wished for some heavy rod to fall and 
 teach thee. And now it s come, it can t smite thee 
 heavier than it does me. Forgive me, child, and let 
 us both begin again." 
 
 Placidia looked up, and meeting the honest eyes 
 fixed on her, not in scorn but in entreaty, she 
 sobbed, 
 
 " I shall never have heart to begin again, Aunt 
 Dorothy." 
 
43 
 
 THE DRA YTON8 AND 
 
 " To begin what again ? " said Aunt Dorothy. 
 
 " Contriving and saving to make up all the things 
 I have lost," replied Placidia. " I ve been years 
 heaping it together, and it s all gone in a night ! " 
 
 Aunt Dorothy looked sorely puzzled, between her 
 desire to be charitable and her horror of Placidia s 
 misreading of the dispensation. 
 
 " Begin that again, my dear," she said, at last. 
 " Nay ; thou must never begin that again. It will 
 never do to fly in the face of Providence like that." 
 
 Placidia uncovered her face, but as her eyes rest 
 ed on the desolation around her, she covered them 
 again, and sobbed, 
 
 " Just when there was to be one to save it all for, 
 and make it worth while to deny oneself." 
 
 " Nay," said Aunt Dorothy ; " that s the mercy. 
 That s precisely the mercy. The Lord will not let 
 the child be a curse to thee. He will have it a 
 blessing ; so He says to thee as plain as can be, I 
 give thee a treasure, not to make thee rage and 
 stint and grudge, but to teach thee to love and serve 
 and give, not to make thee poor, but to make thee 
 rich. And He will go on teaching thee till thou 
 openest thy heart and learnest, and thy burden falls 
 off, and thy heart leaps up, and thou shalt be free. 
 I know it by the way my heart is lightened now. 
 He s smitten me down for my sitting in judgment 
 on thee. Not that I m safe never to climb that seat 
 again. One is there before one knows, and the 
 black-cap on in a moment. Some one is always 
 near, I trow, to help us up." 
 
 And turning from Placidia, she proceeded to a 
 
THE DA 
 
 431 
 
 qniet survey of the ruins, which, under her brisk 
 and discriminating hands, with such help as I could 
 give, soon began to show some signs of order. 
 
 The fire was lighted ; the calf despatched to 
 Netherby to be fed; sundry fragments of chairs 
 and chests to the village carpenter, to be mended ; 
 the broken meat put into two baskets. 
 
 " This is for the household," said Aunt Dorothy, 
 " and that for the fatherless children at Rachel For- 
 ster s. One of the maids can.take it at once, Placi- 
 dia, when she leads away the calf." 
 
 Placidia was at length quite roused from her stu 
 por. She looked at Aunt Dorothy as if she thought 
 she were in league with the plunderers. 
 
 " Me send meat to Rachel Forster s orphans !" she 
 said faintly ; li a poor plundered, woman like me ! " 
 
 " Better begin at once, my dear," said Aunt Do 
 rothy ; " the fatherless are God s little ones. Better 
 give the treasure to them. You see our bags have 
 holes in them." 
 
 At that moment Mr. Nicholls returned. Placidia 
 appealed to him for his usual confirmation of her 
 opinions. 
 
 " Dear heart," he said ruefully, " Belike Mistress 
 Dorothy is right. It s of no use fighting against 
 God. Who knoweth if He may turn and repent 
 and leave a blessing behind Him." 
 
 " Xay, Master Xicholls," said Aunt Dorothy, 
 " not that way. It s of no use trying to escape in 
 that way. You must let go altogether first, or the 
 Almighty will never take hold of you. It s hoping 
 for nothing again. If thou and Placidia will send 
 
432 THE DRA YTONS A ND 
 
 this to the orphans, ye must send it because it has 
 been given to you, and because they want it more 
 than you do. Because thou wast an orphan, Placi- 
 dia," she added, tenderly, " and He has not failed to 
 care for thee. Take heed how ye slight His staff 
 or His rod. Both have been used plainly enough 
 for thee. I ll divide the stuff," she concluded, 
 " and you must settle what to do with it yourselves, 
 afterwards." 
 
 And insisting on Placidia s resting up-stairs while 
 she subjected the contents of the chests strewn 
 about the chamber-floor to the same process of divi 
 sion, she left the house before dusk restored to some 
 thing like order, with two significant heaps of 
 clothing on the bed-chamber, and two significant 
 baskets of provisions in the kitchen, to speak what 
 parables they might during the night to the con 
 sciences of Placidia and Mr. Nicholls. 
 
 But before the morning other teachers had been 
 there. Death and Anguish those merciful curses 
 sent to keep the world, which had ceased to be 
 Eden, from becoming a sensual Elysium, idle, self 
 ish, and purposeless visited the house that night. 
 Another life was ushered into the world under the 
 shadow of Death itself. In the morning Placidia 
 lay feebly rejoicing in the infant-life for which her 
 own had been so nearly sacrificed. Rejoicing in a 
 gift which had cost her so much, and which was to 
 cost her so much more of patient sacrifices, toil and 
 watching, sacrifices for which no one would especial 
 ly admire her, and for which she would not admire 
 herself j rejoicing as she had never rejoiced in any 
 
TILE DA VENANTS. ^ 3 
 
 possession before, Not by any supernatural effort 
 of virtue, but by the simple natural fountain of 
 motherly love which had been opened in her heart. 
 
 One of the first things she said was to Rachel, 
 who was watching with her through the next 
 night. Very softly, as Rachel sat by her bed-side 
 with the baby on her knee, Placidia said, 
 
 " Strange such a gift should have been given to 
 me and not to thee." 
 
 "And," said Rachel (when she told me of it), " I 
 could not answer her all in a moment, for there are 
 seas stronger and deeper than those outside our 
 dykes around our hearts. And it s not safe, even in 
 the quietest weather, opening the cranny to let in 
 those tides. So I said nothing. And in a few mo 
 ments Mistress Nicholls spoke again, For thou art 
 good and worthy, Rachel, said she, and it would 
 be no great wonder if the Lord gave thee the best 
 He has to give. 
 
 " Then I understood what she meant, and my heart 
 was nigh as glad as if the child had been given to 
 me. For I thought there was a soul new born to 
 God as a little child, meek and lowly. The Lord 
 had led her along the hardest step on the way to 
 Himself, the first step down. And she said no 
 more, I smoothed her pillow, laid the babe beside 
 her, and she and it fell asleep. But I sat still and 
 cried quietly for joy. And the next morning, when 
 the light broke in, Mistress Xicholls looked up and 
 saw those two heaps Mistress Dorothy had set apart, 
 and then she looked down on the babe, and mur 
 mured as if to herself, 
 37 
 
434 
 
 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 " Poor motherless little ones ! God has given 
 me thee and spared me to thee. The poor mother 
 less babes, they shall have the things. 
 
 "And then," pursued Rachel, "I turned away 
 and cried again to myself half for gladness, and 
 half for trouble. For I thought sure the Lord s a- 
 going to take her, poor lamb, if she s so changed as 
 that." 
 
 But Aunt Dorothy, when Rachel narrated this, 
 although she wiped her eyes sympathetically, at the 
 same time gave her head a consolatory shake and 
 said, 
 
 "Never fear, neighbour, never fear, not yet. 
 Depend on it, the old Enemy will have a fight for 
 it yet. Depend on it, there s a good deal of work 
 to be done for her in this world yet, before she s 
 too good to be left in it." 
 
 "ave?iant Hall, Twelfth Night, 1645-6. Only 
 four years since that merry sixteenth birthday of 
 mine, when all the village were gathered in the 
 Hall, and Olive and I gave the garments to the vil 
 lage maidens of my own age, and in the evening 
 Roger stayed to help kindle the twelve bonfires. 
 
 " And now we are walled and moated out from 
 the village and from the Manor as we were in the 
 old days of the Norman Conquest, when the Dave- 
 nants first took possession of these lands, and built 
 the old ruined keep, where the gateway is (whence 
 ffiey afterwards removed to this abbey), to overawe 
 
THE DA VEX AXIS. 
 
 435 
 
 the Saxon village, where the Draytons even then 
 lived in the old Manor. I wonder if there is any 
 thing left of the old contentions in Saxon and Xor- 
 nian blood now. The rebel army is so much com 
 posed, they say, both of officers and men, of the 
 stout old Saxon yeomanry, and the traders in the 
 towns ; whilst ours is officered from the old baronial 
 castles, by gentlemen with the old Xorman histori 
 cal names. How many of the higher gentry and 
 nobility are loyal has been proved these last six 
 months, since fatal Xaseby, by the sieges (and, 
 alas ! by the stormings and surrenders) of at least 
 a score of old castles and mansions, from Bristol, 
 surrendered on the llth of September by Prince 
 Rupert to Bovey Tracey in the faithful West. 
 Thank Heaven, they gave Oliver Cromwell and Sir 
 Thomas Fairfax much trouble, Basing Hall especi 
 ally. In future days, when the king shall enjoy his 
 own again (as he surely will), I hold such a black 
 ened ruin will be a choicer possession to a gentle 
 man s family than a palace furnished regally. The 
 rebels called Basing House Busting, for the mischief 
 it did them. And our men called it Loyalty. 
 
 " Roger Drayton hath shared, no doubt, in many 
 of these sieges. So stern in his delusion of duty, I 
 suppose, if this brewer of Huntingdon commanded 
 him, he would not scruple to plant his reble guiis 
 against us. Thine eye shall not spare, they say, 
 in their hateful cant. Sir Launcelot says they have 
 been chasing His Sacred Majesty from place to 
 place like a hunted stag ; that Mr. Cromwell, 
 whom Roger loves above king and friend, never 
 
436 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 sets on any great enterprise without having a ; texf 
 to lean on ! That before storming Basing Hall, he 
 passed the night in prayer, and that the text he es 
 pecially rested on for that achievement was Psalm 
 cxviii. 8 : They that make them are like unto them, so 
 is every one that trusteth in them / as if we Royalists 
 were Canaanites, idolaters, Papists, I know not 
 what. Fancy burning down a corn-stack to a 
 psalm-tune, or setting out on a burglary to a text. 
 Yet what is it better to burn down loyal gentle 
 men s houses about their ears, from one end of Eng 
 land to another. It is all Conscience ; this dread 
 ful Moloch of Conscience ! It was the one weak 
 point of the Draytons always. 
 
 " Sir Launcelot Trevor came here a week since to 
 see if anything can be done to strengthen the forti 
 fications. My Father was in Bristol when it was 
 stormed, and has followed the king ever since ; two 
 of my brothers are in Ireland, seeing what can be 
 done there ; two fled beyond the seas after the de 
 feat of the gallant Marquis of Montrose last Septem 
 ber at Philipshaugh, near Selkirk ; and two lie on 
 that fatal Rowton Heath, where on September the 
 23rd the king s last army, worth the name, was bro 
 ken and lost. 
 
 " We have made sacrifices enough to endear the 
 royal cause to us. I suppose this old house will be 
 the next. For Harry said it would never stand a 
 siege. But, oh, if I could only be sure Sir Launce 
 lot is mistaken in what he says about Roger giving 
 Harry his death-blow, much of the rest would seem 
 light. I have never yet told my Mother of this 
 
THE DA VENA NTS. 43 7 
 
 dread. Sometimes when I think how Roger looked 
 and spoke that morning, I feel sure it cannot be 
 true. But he always said it was so wrong to be 
 lieve things because I wished them true. And now 
 the more I long to believe this false, the less I seem 
 able. 
 
 " Only four years since that merry sixteenth 
 birthday, when I was a child. And then that hap 
 py summer afterwards, when the world seemed to 
 grow so beautiful and great, and it seemed as if we 
 were to do such glorious things in it. 
 
 "First the birthdays seem like triumphal col 
 umns, trophies of a conquered year. Then like 
 mile-stones, marking rather sadly the way we have 
 come. But now I think they look like grave-stones, 
 so much is buried for ever beneath this terrible year 
 that is gone. Not lives only, but love, and trust, 
 and hope. 
 
 " I said so to my Mother to-night, as I wished 
 her good-night. It was selfish. For I ought to 
 comfort her. But she comforted me. She said, 
 4 The birthdays will look like mile-stones again, by- 
 and-by, sweetheart. They will be marked on the 
 other side, " so much nearer home," and perhaps 
 at last like trophies again, marking the conquered 
 years. 
 
 " On which I broke down altogether, and said, 
 
 " Oh, Mother, don t speak like that, don t say 
 you look on them like that. Think of me at the 
 beginning of the journey, so near the beginning. 
 
 " I do, Lettice, said she. 1 1 pray to live, for 
 thy sake, every day. 
 37* 
 
438 THE DRA YTONS A ND 
 
 " For my sake ; only for my sake. For her own 
 she longs to go. And that is saddest of all to me. 
 
 "For, except on days like these, when I think 
 and look back, I am not always so very wretched. 
 It is very strange, after all that has happened. But 
 I am sometimes rather often a little bit happy. 
 There is so much that is cheerful and beautiful in 
 the world, 1 cannot help enjoying it. And pleasant 
 things might happen yet. 
 
 " I did love Harry, dearly ; nearly better than 
 any one. I do. But to my Mother losing him 
 seems just the one sorrow which puts her on the 
 other side of all earthly joys and sorrows, with a 
 great gulf between, so that she looks on them from 
 afar off, like an angel. 
 
 " I suppose there is just the one thing which would 
 be the darkening of the whole world to most of us, 
 making it night instead of day. Other people leave 
 that sepulchre behind. It is grown over, and in 
 years it becomes a little sacred grass-grown mound, 
 or a stately memorial to the life ended there. 
 
 " But to one, it has made the whole earth a sepul 
 chre, at which she stands without, weeping and 
 looking on. 
 
 " There is only one Yoice which can quiet the 
 heart there. 
 
 " The day after. Sir Launcelot and I have had 
 high words to-day. We were looking from the ter 
 race towards ISTetherby, and I said something about 
 old times, and that the Draytons would probably 
 resume the lands they had lost in old times at the 
 Conquest. 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 439 
 
 " I fired up, and said not one of the Draytons 
 would ever touch anything that did not belong to 
 them. * They were not of Prince Rupert s plunder 
 ers, said I. 
 
 " No doubt, said he, they hold by a better 
 right than the sword. And with nasal solemnity, 
 clasping his hands, he added, Voted, it is written 
 the saints shall possess the land ; voted, we are the 
 saints. 
 
 " Sir Launcelot, I said, you know I hate to 
 hear old friends spoken of like that. 
 
 " (When I had written bitter things myself of 
 them but yesterday ! But it always angers me 
 when people are unfair.) 
 
 " Here he changed his tone, and spoke seriously 
 enough. Too seriously, indeed, by far. He said 
 something about my opinion being more to him 
 than anything in the world. And when I went 
 back into the garden-parlour, not desiring such dis 
 course, he was on his knees at my feet, before I 
 could raise him, pouring out, I know not what pas 
 sionate protestations, and saying that I could save 
 him, and reclaim him, and make him all he longed 
 to be, and was not. And that if I rejected him, 
 there was not another power on earth or heaven 
 that could keep him from plunging into perdition, 
 which perplexed and grieved me much. For I do 
 not love him. Of that I am sure. But it is terrible 
 to think of being the only barrier between any hu 
 man soul and destruction. And I am half afraid to 
 tell my Mother, for fear she should counsel me to 
 take Sir Launcelot s conversion on me. Because 
 
440 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 she thinks everything of no weight compared with 
 religion. But I cannot think it would be a duty to 
 marry a person for the same reason from which you 
 might become his godmother. Besides, if I did not 
 love, what real power should I have to save ? 
 
 " At night (later). I have told my Mother, and 
 she says that last consideration makes it quite clear. 
 I could have no power for good, unless I loved. 
 And I do not love Sir Launcelot; and I never 
 could. 
 
 "At the same time, when I opened my heart to 
 her about this, I ventured at last to tell her what 
 Sir Launcelot had thought about Harry and Roger 
 Drayton. I wish I had told her weeks ago. 
 
 " For she does not believe it. She says Roger 
 would never have come and told us had it been so. 
 She has not the slightest fear it can be true. It 
 has lightened my heart wonderfully. Roger is 
 not quite just in saying I can believe in anything I 
 wish. 
 
 " March. A biting March for the good cause. 
 On the 14th brave Sir Ralph Hopton surrendered 
 in Cornwall. On the 22nd brave old Sir Jacob 
 Astley (he who made the prayer before Edgehill 
 fight, Lord, if I forget Thee this day, do not Thou 
 forget me ), was beaten at Stow in Gloucestershire, 
 as he was bringing a small force he had gathered 
 with much pains, to succour the king at Oxford. 
 You have now done your work and may go to 
 play, he said to the rebels who captured him, un 
 less you fall out among yourselves. Gallant sen 
 tentious old veteran that he is ! 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 44 1 
 
 " May. His Majesty has taken refuge with the 
 Scottish army at Newark. 
 
 " We marvel he should have trusted his sacred 
 person with Covenanted Presbyterians. But in 
 good sooth he may well be weary of wandering, 
 and may look for some pity yet in his own fellow- 
 countrymen. Not that they showed much to the 
 sweet fair lady his father s mother. 
 
 " We hear it was but unwillingly he went to them 
 at night, between two and three o clock in the 
 morning, on the 27th of April. A few days since 
 he left the shelter of Oxford, faithful to him so long ; 
 riding disguised as a servant, behind his faithful 
 attendant Mr. Ashburnharn. Once he was asked 
 by a stranger on the road if his master were a noble 
 man. No, quoth the king, my master is one of 
 the Lower House, a sad truth, forsooth, though 
 spoken in parable. It is believed amongst us that 
 he would fain have reached the eastern coast, thence 
 to take ship for Scotland, to join Montrose and the 
 true Scots with him. For his flight was uncertain, 
 and changed direction more than once to Henley- 
 on-Thames, Slough, Uxbridge ; then to the top of 
 Harrow Hill, across the country to St. Albans, 
 where the clattering hoofs of a farmer behind them 
 gave false alarm of pursuit ; thence by the houses 
 of many faithful gentlemen who knew and loved 
 him, but respected his disguise and made as though 
 they knew him not ; to Downham in Norfolk ; to 
 Southwell, and thence, beguiled by promises some 
 say, others declare throwing himself of his own free 
 will like a prince on the ancient Scottish loyalty, 
 
442 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 he rode to Newark into the midst of the Earl of 
 Leven s army. 
 
 "August, 1646. The civil war, they give out, 
 now is over. Every garrison and castle in the king 
 dom have surrendered. In June, loyal Oxford ; and 
 now, last and most loyal of all, on the 19th of Au 
 gust, Ragland Castle, with the noble old Marquis 
 of Worcester, who hath ruined himself past all 
 remedy in the king s service, and in this world will 
 scarce now find his reward. 
 
 " In June, Prince Rupert rode through the land, 
 and embarked at Dover. Well for the good cause 
 if he had never come. His marauding ways gave 
 quite another complexion to the war from what it 
 might have had without him. His rashness, Harry 
 thought, lost us many a field. His lawlessness in 
 fected our army. The king could not forgive him 
 his surrender of Bristol a few days after he was led 
 to believe it could be held for months. But in this 
 some think perchance he is less to blame than else 
 where. Cromwell and the Ironsides were there and 
 they stormed the city, for it seems as if this Crom 
 well could never be baffled. 
 
 " With Prince Rupert went three hundred loyal 
 gentlemen, some despairing of the cause at home, 
 others, and with them my Father, on missions to 
 seek aid from foreign courts. 
 
 "February, 1647. The Scottish army has yielded 
 him up ( Bought and sold, His Majesty said ; others 
 say the two hundred thousand pounds the Scotch 
 received was for the expenses of the war,) into the 
 hands of the English Presbyterians at Newcastle. 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 
 
 443 
 
 "March. "We have seen the king once more. 
 My Mother has heard for certain the true cause 
 why the king was given up by the Scotch to his 
 enemies. He would not sign their blood-stained 
 Covenant. He would not sacrifice the Church of 
 these kingdoms, with her bishops and her sacred 
 liturgy, though nobles, loyal men and true, nay 
 the queen herself, by letter, entreated him. My 
 mother saith he is now in most literal truth a 
 martyr, suffering for the spotless bride our dear 
 Mother, the Church of England and for the truth. 
 We heard he was to arrive at Holmby House in 
 Northamptonshire, and, weak as my Mother is, 
 nothing would content her but to be borne thither 
 in a litter to pay him her homage. I would not 
 have missed it for the world. Numbers of gentle 
 men and gentlewomen were there to welcome him 
 with tears and prayers and hearty acclamations. 
 It did our hearts good to hear the hearty cheers 
 and shouts, and I trust cheered his also. The rtbel 
 troopers were Englishmen enough to offer no hin 
 drance. And we had the joy of gazing once more on 
 that kingly pathetic countenance. He is serene and 
 cheerful, as a true martyr should be, my mother 
 says, accepting his cross and rejoicing in it, not 
 morose and of a sad countenance as those who feign 
 to be persecuted for conscience sake. He scorns no 
 blameless pleasure which can solace the weary hours 
 of captivity, riding miles sometimes to a good bowl 
 ing-green to play at bowls, and beguiling the even 
 ings with chess or converse on art with Mr. Har 
 rington or Mr. Herbert. 
 
THE DRA YTON8 AND 
 
 "He will not suffer a Presbyterian chaplain to 
 say grace at his table, and the hard-hearted jailers 
 will allow no other. 
 
 " Thank heaven the common people are true to 
 him still, as they took him from Newcastle to 
 Holmby House the simple peasants flocked round 
 to see him and bless him, and to feel the healing 
 touch of his sacred hand for the king s evil. Sir 
 Harry Marten, a rebel and a republican, made a 
 profane jest thereon, and said, The touch of the 
 great seal would do them as much good. But no one 
 relished the scurrilous jest. And the blessings and 
 prayers of the poor followed the king everywhere. 
 Yes ; it is the common people and the nobles that 
 honour true greatness. The Scribes and Pharisees, 
 I am persuaded, sprang from the middle-order yeo 
 men, craftsmen, chapmen. " Tithing mint and de 
 vouring widows houses," are just base, weeping, un 
 punishable middle-station sins. The troubles of this 
 middle class are wretched, low, carking money- 
 troubles. The sorrows of the high and low are 
 natural ennobling sorrows ; bereavement, pain, and 
 death. It is the sordid middle order that envies 
 the great. The common people reverence them 
 when on high places, and generously pity them 
 when brought low. My Mother says, belike the 
 sorrows of their king shall yet move the honest 
 heart of the nation to a reverent pity, and thus 
 back to loyalty, and so, as so often in great con 
 flicts, more be won through suffering than through 
 success. 
 
 "April, 1647. We are to pay our last penalty. 
 
THE DA VEX ANTS. 
 
 445 
 
 Our old hall is declared to be a perilous nest of 
 traitors and cradle of insurrection. A rebel garri 
 son is to be quartered on us. 
 
 " Our expedition to Holmby, has led to two re 
 sults ; it offended some of the people in authority 
 among the rebels, and thereby caused them to take 
 possession of the hall ; and it so taxed my mother s 
 wasted strength that she is unfit for any journey, 
 so that we must even stay and suffer the presence 
 of these insolent and rebellious men in our home. 
 
 " April, Davenant Hall. Mr. Drayton hath been 
 here to-day. He looked pale and thin from the 
 long imprisonment he has had, and he hath lost his 
 right arm a sore loss to him who ever took such 
 pleasure in his geometrical instruments, and played 
 the viol-di-gambo so masterly. 
 
 " He gave a slight start when he saw my mother, 
 and there was a kind of anxious compassionate rev 
 erence in his manner towards her which makes me 
 uneasy. I fear he deems her sorely changed, and 
 ofttimes I have feared the same. But then this 
 mourning garb which she will never more lay aside, 
 and her dear gray hair, which I love, put back like 
 an Italian Madonna from her forehead, in itself 
 makes a difference. Although I think her eyes 
 never looked so soft and beautiful as now. The 
 golden hair of youth, and all its brilliant colour, 
 seems to me scarcely so fair as this silver hair of 
 hers, with the soft pale hues on her cheeks. 
 
 " Mr. Drayton asked us to take asylum at Xeth- 
 erby Hall till such time as we join my father else 
 where. My mother knows what Harry thought, 
 38 
 
446 THE D>RA YTON8 AND 
 
 and seems not averse to accept his hospitality. I 
 certainly had not thought to enter old Netherby 
 again in such guise as this." 
 
 The old house seemed to gain a king of sacred- 
 ness when it became the refuge of that dear bereav 
 ed Lady and sweet Lettice. Lady Lucy was much 
 changed. Her voice always soft, was low as the 
 soft notes in a hymn ; her step, always light, was 
 slower and feebler ; her hair, though still abundant, 
 had changed from luxuriant auburn to a soft silvery 
 brown ; her cheeks were worn into a different curve, 
 though still, I thought, as beautiful, and the colour 
 in them was paler. Everything in her seemed to 
 have changed from sunset to moonlight. Her voice 
 and her very thoughts seem to come from afar; 
 from some region we could not tread, like music 
 borne over still waters. It was as if she had cross 
 ed a river which severed her far from us, which she 
 would never more recross, but only wait till the 
 call came to mount the dim heights on the other 
 side. Not that she was in any way sad or uninter 
 ested, or abstracted, only she did not seem to belong 
 to us any more. 
 
 I wondered if Lettice saw this as I did. And many 
 a time the tears came to my eyes as I looked at 
 those two and thought how strong were the cords 
 of love which bound them, and how feeble the 
 thread of life. 
 
 Aunt Dorothy welcomed Lady Lucy with as true 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. , 447 
 
 a tenderness as any one. The silvery hair in place 
 of those heart-breakers the hair silvered so sud 
 denly by sorrow softened her in more ways than 
 one. One thing, however, tried her sorely. And I 
 much dreaded the explosion it might lead to if 
 Aunt Dorothy s conscience once got the upper hand 
 of her hospitality. 
 
 The Lady Lucy always had a little erection close 
 ly resembling an altar, in her oratory at home, 
 dressed in white, with sacred books on it ; the Holy 
 Scriptures, A Kempis, Herbert, and others, and above 
 them a copy of a picture by Master Albert Durer, 
 figuring our Lord on the Cross, the suffering thorn- 
 crowned form gleaming pale and awful from the ter 
 rible noonday darkness. Before this solemn picture 
 stood two golden candlesticks, which at night the 
 waiting gentlewomen were wont to light. I shall 
 never forget Aunt Dorothy s expression of dismay 
 and distress when she first saw this erection, one 
 evening soon after Lady Lucy s arrival. She mas 
 tered herself so far as to say nothing to Lady Lucy 
 then, beyond the good wishes for the night, and di 
 rections as to some possets which she had come to 
 administer. 
 
 But the solemn change that came over her voice 
 and face she could not conceal. And afterwards 
 she solemnly summoned us into my Father s private 
 room to make known her discovery. 
 
 " An idol, brother ! " she concluded, " an abomi 
 nation ! At this moment, probably, idol-worship 
 going on under this roof, drawing down on us all 
 the lightnings of heaven ! " 
 
44 8 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 " I should not use such a thing as a help to devo 
 tion myself, Sister Dorothy," said my Father ; " but 
 what would you have me do ? " 
 
 " Help to devotion ! " she exclaimed, " 4 Thou 
 shalt not make any graven image, nor the likeness 
 of any thing. Sweep them away with the besom 
 of destruction, and cast the idols to the moles and 
 to the bats." 
 
 " Sister Dorothy," he said, " you would not have 
 me take a hammer, and axe, and cords, and drag 
 this piece of painted work from the Lady Lucy s 
 chamber before her eyes." 
 
 " Thine eye shall not spare," she replied, solemnly. 
 
 " But in the first place I must know that it is an 
 idol to Lady Lucy," he said, " and that she does 
 bow down to it." 
 
 " Subtle distinctions, brother ; traffickings with 
 the enemy. Heaven grant they prove not our ruin, 
 as of Jehoshaphat before us." 
 
 For Aunt Dorothy, although she had forsaken the 
 judgment seat for private offences, would still have 
 deemed it an impiety to abandon it in cases of heresy. 
 
 " Sister Dorothy," interposed Aunt Gretel, " in 
 my country good men and women do use such 
 things and do not become idolaters thereby in 
 their private devotion and in the churches." 
 
 "Belike they do, sister Gretel," rejoined Aunt 
 Dorothy, drily. " The hand that would have pulled 
 down the Epistle of St. James might well leave 
 some idols standing. An owl sees better than a 
 blind man. But it is no guide to those whose 
 eyes are used to day. 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 
 
 This profane comparison of Dr. Luther to an owl 
 dismayed Aunt Gretel, so as to throw her entirely 
 out of the conflict, which finished with an ordinance 
 from my Father that liberty of conscience should 
 be the order of his household ; and a protest from 
 Aunt Dorothy that, be the consequences what they 
 may, she would not suffer any immortal soul within 
 her reach to go the broad road to ruin without 
 warning. 
 
 Which threat kept us in anxious anticipation. 
 We took the greatest care not to leave the combat 
 ants alone ; one so determined and one so uncon 
 scious of danger. 
 
 At last, however, the fatal moment arrived. 
 
 It was early in April, a fortnight after Lady Lucy 
 and Lettice took shelter under our roof. 
 
 Dr. Anthony had arrived from London with tid<- 
 ings which made us all very uneasy. 
 
 The Presbyterian majority in the House of Com 
 mons, believing the civil war ended, were very 
 eager to disband the army which had ended it, but 
 which, being mostly composed of Independents, 
 they dreaded even more than the king. 
 
 In February, they had voted that no officer un 
 der Sir Thomas Fairfax should hold any rank higher 
 than a colonel, intending thereby to displace Oliver 
 Cromwell, Ireton, Ludlow, Blake, Skippon, and 
 Algernon Sydney, and, in short, every commander 
 whom the army most trusted, and under whom 
 their victories had been gained. 
 
 They were to be disbanded, morover, without re 
 ceiving their pay, now due for more than half a 
 38* 
 
4 5 o THE D RA YTONS 
 
 year. It was also proposed that such of the sol 
 diers as were still kept together should be sent to 
 Ireland to settle matters there, under new Presby 
 terian commanders, instead of those whom they 
 knew and trusted. 
 
 The indignation in the army was deep. But it 
 was as much under the restraint of law, and was 
 expressed in as orderly a way, as if the army had 
 been a court of justice. The regiments met, delib 
 erated, remonstrated, and drew up a petition, de 
 manded arrears of pay, and refused to go to Ireland 
 save under -commanders they knew. " For the de 
 sire of our arrears," they said, " necessity, especial 
 ly of our soldiers, enforced us thereunto. We left 
 our estates, and many of us our trade and callings 
 to others, and forsook the contentments of a quiet 
 life, not fearing nor regarding the difficulties of war 
 for your sakes ; after which we hoped that the de 
 sires of our hardly earned wages would have been 
 no unwelcome request, nor argued us guilty of the 
 least discontent or intention of mutiny." 
 
 No one, my Father said, could deny the truth of 
 this. The Parliament army had not eked out with 
 plunder their arrears of pay. 
 
 On the 3d of April three soldiers Adjutators (or 
 Agitators, as some called them) had been sent 
 with a respectful but determined message to the 
 House of Commons. General Cromwell (attending 
 in his place in the House in spite of the plots there 
 had been during the past weeks, as he knew, to com 
 mit him to the Tower) rose and spoke at length of 
 the danger of driving the army to extremities. 
 
THE DAVEXANTS. 
 
 45 
 
 And now Dr. Antony came with the tidings that 
 General Cromwell was at Saffron "\Valdcn, bearing 
 to the army the promise of indemnity and arrears. 
 He brought also a brief letter from Roger, saying 
 that now all was sure to go right. 
 
 This news drew us all together, and it was not 
 until she had been absent some time that it was dis 
 covered that Aunt Dorothy had left us. 
 
 Aunt Gretel was the first to perceive her depart 
 ure, and to suspect its cause. At once she repaired 
 to Lady Lucy s chamber, whence, in a minute or 
 two, she returned, and pressing me lightly on the 
 shoulder, she said, in a solemn whisper, 
 
 " Olive, it must be stopped ; the Lady Lucy is 
 looking like a ghost, and Mistress Lettice like a 
 damask rose, and your Aunt Dorothy is talking 
 Latin." 
 
 This was Aunt Gretel s formula for controversial 
 language. She said English was composed of two 
 elements ; the German she could understand ; we 
 used it, she said, when we were speaking of things 
 near our hearts, of matters of business, or of affec 
 tion, or of religion, in a peaceable and kindly man 
 ner. But the Latin was beyond her. There were 
 long words in ation, atical, or arian, which always 
 came on the field when there was to be a battle. 
 And then she always withdrew. In this martial ar 
 ray Aunt Dorothy s thoughts were now being cloth 
 ed. And Aunt Gretel thought I had better summon 
 my Father to interrupt the debate. 
 
 I went at once and indicated to him the danger. 
 He looked half angry, half amused. 
 
452 
 
 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 " Dr. Antony," he said, " your medical attend 
 ance is required up-stairs. My sister has recom 
 menced the Civil War." 
 
 I flew up to announce the coming of the gentle 
 men. 
 
 At the moment when I entered the room the 
 controversy had reached* a climax. Lady Lucy 
 was sitting very pale and upright, and on a high- 
 backed chair with tears in her eyes, and saying in a 
 faint voice, 
 
 " Mistress Dorothy, I am not a Papist, and hope 
 never to be." 
 
 Lettice, behind the chair, with her arm round her 
 mother, and her hand on her shoulder, like a cham 
 pion, stood with quivering lips and burning cheeks, 
 and rejoined that "there were worse heretics than 
 the Papists, worse tyrants than the Inquisition." 
 Whilst Aunt Dorothy, as pale as Lady Lucy, and 
 with lips quivering as much as Lettice s, faced them 
 both with the consciousness of being herself a wit 
 ness or a martyr for the truth struggling within her 
 against the sense that she was regarded by others 
 ill the light of an inquisitor and tormentor of mar 
 tyrs. 
 
 " An t please you, Lady Lucy," I said, " my Fa 
 ther thought Dr. Antony, who is down-stairs, might 
 recommend you some healing draught. He has 
 wonderful recipes for coughs." 
 
 And before a reply could be given, my Father 
 and Dr. Antony were^at the door, and Aunt Doro 
 thy was arrested in her testimony without the pos 
 sibility of uttering a last word. 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 45 3 
 
 Dr. Antony seemed to comprehend the position 
 at a glance. With a quiet courtesy which introduc 
 ed him at once, and gave him the command of the 
 field, he went up to Lady Lucy, and, feeling her 
 pulse, observed that it was slightly feverish and un 
 even, ordered the windows to be open, and recom 
 mended that as much air as possible should be ob 
 tained, by means of all but Mistress Lettice leaving 
 the room. He had little doubt then that some cool 
 ing medicines, which he had at hand, would do the 
 rest. As I was going Lettice entreated me to stay, 
 which I was ready to do. 
 
 And ere long we were all three quietly gathered 
 around Lady Lucy s chair, Lettice on a cushion at 
 her feet (where she best loved to be), I on the win 
 dow-seat near, and Dr. Antony leaning on the back 
 of her chair. She was discoursing to him in French, 
 which she spoke with a marvellously natural accent, 
 and which I had never heard him speak before. I 
 know not why, it seemed as if the language threw 
 a new vivacity and fire into his countenance, and I 
 felt very ignorant, and humbled, not to be able to 
 join. But this feeling did not last long, Lady Lucy 
 had a way of divining what passed in the mind, and 
 she called me near, and made me sit on a little 
 chair beside her, and drew my hand into hers, and 
 encouraged me to say such words as I knew, and 
 praised my accent, and said it had just that pretty 
 English lisp in it that some of the countrymen of 
 poor Queen Henrietta Maria had thought charming. 
 
 She made Dr. Antony tell us moving histories 
 still in French of his ancestors, their daring deeds 
 
454 THK I)RA YTONS AND 
 
 and hair-breadth scapes. So an hour passed, and 
 Ave were all friends, bound together by the easy 
 charm of her sweet gracious manner, and had for 
 gotten the storm and everything else, till we were 
 summoned to supper. 
 
 "Ah, Monsieur ! " said she, giving him her hand 
 as she took leave of him, with a smile, " re-assure 
 Mistress Dorothy as to my orthodoxy, and make her 
 believe my sympathies are on the right side with 
 the sufferers of St. Bartholomew s Day. And Olive, 
 little champion," said she, drawing my forehead 
 down to her for a kiss, and stroking my cheek, 
 " never think it necessary again to interpose in a 
 battle between your aunt and your Mother s friend. 
 I honour her from my heart for her fidelity to con 
 science. And if she is more anxious than necessary 
 about my faith we should surely bear one another 
 no grudge for that. I know it cost her more than 
 it did me for her to exhort me as she did. And I 
 am not sure," she added, smiling, " if after all she 
 does not love me better than any of you." 
 
 " Mistress Olive," said Dr. Antony, as we sat that 
 evening in the dusk, by the window of my Father s 
 room, while he wrote, " I would that Christian 
 women understood the beautiful work they might 
 do if they would take their true part in theology." 
 
 " What would that be?" I said, thinking, after 
 the experience of to-day, it might probably be the 
 part of the Mute. 
 
 " To see that Morals and Theology, Charity and 
 Truth, are never divorced," he replied. " To win 
 us back to the Beatitudes when we are straying 
 
THE DA VEXAXTS. 4 
 
 into the curses. To lead us back to Persons when 
 we are groping into abstractions. For Books full 
 of dogma, Orthodox, Arminian supra-lapsarian, or 
 otherwise, to give us a home, a living world, full 
 of the Father, the Son, and the Comforter, of angels 
 and brothers. To see that we never petrify the 
 thought of the Living God into a metaphysical for 
 mula, still less into a numerical term. Never to let 
 us forget that the great purpose of redemption is to 
 bring us to God ; that the great purpose of the Church 
 is to make us good. When we have clipped, and 
 stretched, and stiffened the living Truth into the nar 
 row immutability of our theological or philosophical 
 definitions, to breathe it back again into the unfathom 
 able simplicity of the wisdom that brings heavenly 
 awe over the faces of little children, and heavenly 
 peace into the eyes of dying men. To keep the 
 windows open through our definitions into God s 
 Infinity. To translate our ingenious, definite, un 
 changeable scholastic terms into the simple, infinite, 
 ever-changing because ever-living words of daily 
 and eternal life ; so that holiness shall never come 
 to mean a stern or mystic quality quite different 
 from goodness ; or righteousness, a mere legal qual 
 ification quite different from justice; or, humility, a 
 supernatural attainment quite different from being 
 humble ; or charity, something very far from simply 
 being gentle, and generous, and forbearing; and 
 brethren, an ecclesiastical noun of multitude totally 
 unconnected with brother. When women rise to 
 their work in the Church, it seems to me the Church 
 will soon rise to her true work in the world." 
 
456 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 "You speak with fervour," said my Father, rising 
 from the table, and smiling as he laid his hand on 
 Dr. Antony s shoulder ; " the womanhood you pic 
 ture is something loftier than that of Eve." 
 
 " Mary s Ave has gone far to transfigure the name 
 of Eve," he replied. " Ecce ancilla Domini shall 
 echo deeper and further and be remembered longer 
 than The serpent tempted me and I did eat. 
 But," he added, " we have a better type than Mary 
 for Avoman as well as man, in Him who came not to 
 be ministered unto but to minister. I was chiefly 
 thinking of the gifts most common, it seems to me, 
 to women, and least to controversialists, I mean, im 
 agination and common sense. Imagination which 
 penetrates, from signs to things signified, which 
 pierces, for instance, into the depth and meaning of 
 such words as * eternity and accursed which 
 also penetrates behind the adjective Calvinistic or 
 Arminian, to the substantive men and women 
 whose theology they define. And common sense, 
 which, when a conclusion contradicts our inborn 
 conscience of right and wrong, refuses to receive it 
 although the path to it be smoothed and hedged by 
 logic without a flaw. 
 
 " In other words," said my Father, " you would 
 say that, with women the heart corrects the errors 
 of the head oftener than we suffer it to do so with 
 us. We must remember, however, that the heart 
 and the conscience also are not infallible, and that 
 the same qualities which can make women the best 
 saints make them the worst controversialists. The 
 ology and morals being in their hearts thus closely 
 
THE DA VEX A NTS. 4 - 7 
 
 intertwined, they fight against a mistake as if it 
 were a sin. They quicken abstractions, and even 
 rites and ceremonies, into personal life, and are apt 
 to defend them with a blind and passionate vehe 
 mence as they would the character of a husband or 
 a son." 
 
 " Best gifts abused must ever be worst curses," 
 said Dr. Antony. 
 
 And I ventured to say, 
 
 " Is it not just the lowliness of our lot that makes 
 it high ? Can we help our voices becoming shrill, 
 if we will have them loud ?" 
 
 " Tu ae thine then, sweetheart, where first I learnt 
 how sweet it was," said my Father, stroking my 
 cheek " By sick-beds, or by children s cradles, or 
 in the house of mourning, or wherever good words 
 are needed only to be heard by the one to whom 
 they are spoken ; there women s voices are attuned 
 to their truest tones." 
 
 And the next morning I had that walk in the or 
 chard with Dr. Antony, when he told me the secret 
 which my Father would persist in declaring (most 
 unwarrantably, I think) lay at the root of his high 
 expectations as to the future work and destinies of 
 women. 
 
 And when, a few hours afterwards, after I had 
 been alone a while, and we had knelt together and 
 received my Father s blessing, and I began to un 
 derstand my happiness a little, and went and said 
 something about it to Lady Lucy, and especially 
 how strange it was that Dr. Antony said he had 
 39 
 
458 THE DRAYTONS, ETC. 
 
 thought of it so long, whilst I had not been dream 
 ing of it, she kissed my forehead, and said with a 
 smile, 
 
 " Very strange, my unsuspecting little Puritan. 
 For it crossed my thoughts the first hour I saw you 
 together, and that was yesterday evening. Ah, 
 Olive," she added, very tenderly, in a faltering 
 voice, " I had fond thoughts once that it might have 
 been otherwise. If my Harry had lived, and this 
 poor distracted realm had returned to her alle 
 giance, I had thought perchance some day to have 
 the right to call thee by the tenderest name. But 
 God hath not willed it so. And I try hard that his 
 will may be mine. He hath given thee the great 
 gift of ;i good man s heart. And I have no fear but 
 that thou wilt keep it." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LETTICE S DIARY. 
 
 ETHERBY, May, 1647. They have given 
 us the best upper chambers in the house, 
 one for a withdravring-chaniber, the other 
 for my Mother s and my sleeping-cham 
 ber. This last has a broad embayed window com 
 manding the orchard, at the bottom of which is the 
 pond where the water-lilies grow that Roger gath 
 ered for me on that night when Dr. Taylor and 
 Mr. Milton discoursed together on the terrace, in 
 speech like rich music, about liberty of thinking 
 and speaking. 
 
 Eiiglanct has been echoing another kind of mu 
 sic all these years since, on the same theme ; but it 
 seems as if we had drawn but little nearer a conclu 
 sion. The Presbyterians seem as convinced of the 
 sin of allowing any one else to think or speak freely 
 as the poor martyred Archbishop was. The Pres 
 byterians, it seems, are for the Covenant (meaning 
 Presbytery), King, and Parliament ; the Covenant 
 first. We for King without Covenant and with 
 
 (450) 
 
460 THE DRA YTONS AND - 
 
 Bishops. But the Presbyterians are against con 
 venticles and all sectaries (except themselves). 
 Herein, so far, we and they agree, and herein, some 
 think, may be a hope for the good cause. If we 
 could make a compromise, order might, it is thought, 
 be speedily restored. This, however, seems very 
 hard. They would have to sacrifice the Covenant, 
 which seems nigh as dear to them as the Bible. 
 We, the Church by law established; the sacred 
 links, my Mother says, which bind us to the Catho 
 lic Church of all the past, which the king will die, 
 she thinks, rather than do. The only chance, there 
 fore, of agreement seems to be, if the Presbyterians 
 ever reach the point of hating or fearing the Inde 
 pendents more than they love the Covenant. Then, 
 some think the King and the Presbyterians, Scot 
 tish and English, might unite and overpower the 
 Independents ; and what then ? 
 
 "I cannot at all imagine. Because, when the 
 common enemy is gone, Episcopacy and the Cove 
 nant still remain, and in the face of each other. Sir 
 Launcelot said the king thinks he has a very plain 
 1 game to play. He must persuade one of his en 
 emies to extirpate the other, and then come in easily 
 and put the weakened victor under his feet. This 
 he has in letters declared to be his intention. I 
 trust the royal letters haA r e been misread. For 
 such a game seems to me very far from paternal 
 or kingly ; and, except on far better testimony, I 
 will not credit it. But for me there is an especial 
 grief in all these matters. Olive, who takes her 
 politics mostly from Roger, seems to lean to the In- 
 
THE DA VF.XAXTS. 46 1 
 
 
 
 dependents, who constitute the strength of the army, 
 and to General Cromwell, who is their idol ; so 
 that whatever cause triumphs, nothing is likely to 
 bring peace between the Davenauts and the Dray- 
 tons. 
 
 " At present, however, our peace in this house is 
 much increased. My Mother and Mistress Dorothy 
 have concluded a treaty on the ground of their com 
 mon loyalty to His Majesty, and their common ab 
 horrence of * sectaries. 
 
 u Moreover, Mistress Dorothy is marvellous gen 
 tle and kind to us. Having delivered her con 
 science, she treats my Mother with a tender consid 
 eration and deference that go to my heart, although 
 sometimes I think it is only from the pity a benevo 
 lent jailer would feel for sentenced criminals. They 
 have been condemned. Justice will be satisfied. 
 And meantime, mercy may safely satisfy herself by 
 keeping them fed and warmed. 
 
 " She says little ; but she watches my Mother s 
 tastes, and supplies her with unexpected delicacies 
 in a way which tiinds my whole heart to her. 
 
 "I scarce know why; but I always liked her. 
 She is so downright and true ; manly, as a man may 
 be womanly. She is most like Roger in some ways 
 of any of them, only he, being really a man and a 
 soldier, is gentler. And when she loves you, it 
 seems to be in spite of herself, which makes it all 
 the sweeter. For she does love me. I am sure of 
 it, by the way she watches and exhorts, and con 
 tradicts me. Especially, since I read her those ser 
 mons that afternoon when we were waiting. I 
 39* 
 
462 THE DRA YTONS AND . 
 
 asked Olive, and she told me Mistress Dorothy said, 
 that afternoon, she thought I had gracious disposi 
 tions. That meant, I opine, that she liked me. She 
 wanted to excuse herself for liking so worldly and 
 Babylonish a young damosel as she believed me 
 to be. And, therefore, she has invested me with 
 gracious dispositions, and believes herself commis 
 sioned to bring me out of Babylon, and to be a 
 * means of grace to me, .which, I am sure, I am will 
 ing she should be. For my heart is too light and 
 careless, I know well. Except on one or two points. 
 And, meantime, I flatter myself I may be an e ordi 
 nance and means of grace in some little measure to 
 her, little as she might acknowledge it. It does 
 good people so much good to love (really love I 
 mean, not take in hand merely like patients) "people 
 who are not so good as themselves. It sets them 
 planning, praying for others, and takes them away 
 from looking within for signs, and forward for re 
 wards ; by filling the heart with love, which is the 
 most gracious sign, and the most glorious reward 
 in itself. 
 
 ft 
 
 "Sweet Mother, mine! we all have been great 
 means of grace to her in that way. 
 
 " Think what she may, she would not have been 
 a greater saint at Little Gidding, although she had 
 chanted the Psalter through three hundred and six 
 ty-five times in the year. 
 
 "I think she and Mistress Dorothy help each 
 other. They make me think of the two groups of 
 graces in the Bible. St. Paul s, < Love, joy, peace, 
 long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, 
 
THE DA VEXAXTS. 463 
 
 temperance. I picture these as street maidenly or 
 matronly forms white-robed, radiant, with low 
 sweet voices. They represent my Mother and the 
 holy people of Mr. Herbert s school. Then there 
 are St. Peter s, Faith, virtue, knowledge, tempe 
 rance, patience, godliness, brotherly-kindness, char 
 ity. These rise before me like a company of 
 knights in armour, valiant, true, and pure. In the 
 kind of plain, manly armour of the Ironsides, as 
 Roger looked in it that morning at Oxford, when 
 he turned back and waved farewell to me in the 
 court of the College. And these represent Mistress 
 Dorothy and the nobler Puritans. They are the 
 same, no doubt, essentially ; love and charity, the 
 mother of one group, the king and crown of the 
 other. Yet they seem to represent to me two di 
 verse orders of piety, the manly and the womanly. 
 Together, side by side, in mutual aid and service, 
 not front to front in battle, what a church and what 
 a world they might make. 
 
 "But the great event in the house now is the 
 bethrothal of Olive and Dr. Antony, which took 
 place on the very morning after Mistress Dorothy s 
 grand Remonstrance. 
 
 " Dr. Antony left a day or two afterwards. And 
 over since we have been as busy as possible prepar 
 ing for the wedding, which is to be in July. Xot a 
 long betrothal-time. But they needed not further 
 time to try each other. 
 
 " It is very pleasant to be all of us occupied for 
 her, who is so little wont to be occupied with her 
 self. She seems in a little tumult of happiness, as 
 far as any Puritan soul can be in a tumult. 
 
464 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 " Many of these Puritan ways seem to me won 
 drous innocent and sweet. 
 
 " They have their solemnities, I see, and their rit 
 ual, and ceremonial; and their symbolism and sa 
 cred art, moreover, say what Mistress Dorothy may 
 to the contrary. 
 
 " Tender sacred family rites and solemnities. 
 They have, indeed, no chapel or chaplain. But the 
 family seems a little church ; the father is the priest. 
 Not without sacred beauty this order, nor without 
 sanction either from the fathers of the Church (fa 
 thers older than Archbishop Laud s), the fathers 
 Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. 
 
 " For instance, when Olive and Dr. Antony were 
 betrothed, Mr. Drayton led them into his room, 
 and laid his hands on them, and blessed them. And 
 that was the seal of their betrothal. Every Sunday 
 morning, Olive tells me, when she and Roger were 
 children, after family prayers, they used to kneel 
 thus for their father s blessing. Sacred touches, 
 holy as coronation sacring oil, I think, to bear about 
 the memory of through life. But then there is this 
 to be remembered. When the consecrating touch 
 is from hands which work with us in dally life, they 
 need to be very pure. No pomp of place, and no 
 mist of distance glorifies the ministrant. He had 
 need, indeed, to be all glorious within. 
 
 " Family solemnities must be very true to be at 
 all fair. I can fancy Puritan hypocrisy, or a mere 
 formal Puritanism, the driest and most hideous 
 thing in the world. 
 
 " Then as to symbols and sacred art. What else 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 465 
 
 are these Scripture texts, carved over door-ways, 
 graven on chimney-stones, emblazoned on walls ? 
 They are not graven images, saith Mistress Doro 
 thy. But what are words but images within the 
 soul, or images, rightly used, but children s words ? 
 Xot that even as to holy pictures and images 
 they are quite destitute. What else are the paint 
 ings from Scripture on the Dutch tiles in Mr. Dray- 
 ton s room, where Olive and Roger learned from 
 Mistress Gretel s lips their earliest Bible lore ? It 
 is true, they are chiefly from the Old Testament. 
 But Adam and Eve delving, the serpent darting out 
 his forked tongue from the tree, Xoah and the ani 
 mals walking out of the ark, are as much pictures 
 as St. Peter fishing, or the blessed Virgin and the 
 Babe, on church windows ? What difference, then, 
 except that the Puritan pictures are on tiles at 
 home instead of 011 glass at church ? c They are for 
 instruction, and not for idolatry, saith Mistress 
 Dorothy. But did not the monks in old times paint 
 their pictures also for instruction, and not for idol 
 atry ? Centuries of abuse make the most innocent 
 things perilous, saith Mistress Dorothy. When 
 the brazen serpent had become an idol, Jehosha- 
 phat called it a piece of brass, and broke it in pieces. 
 I can see something in that. The sacrilege, then, is 
 the idolatry, not in the destruction of the idol. But 
 alas, if we set ourselves to destroy all things that 
 have been, or can be made into idols, where are we 
 to stop ? Some people made idols of the very 
 stones of their houses, without any scriptures there 
 on, or of their firesides without the sacred pictures. 
 
466 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 There are two things, however, which fill me with 
 especial reverence in these Puritan ways. First, this 
 sweet and sacred family piety. Second, or rather 
 first, for it is at the root of all, the intense conviction 
 that every man, woman, and child, in every word 
 and work, has to do directly with God, and that he, 
 by virtue of being divine, is nearer us than all the 
 creatures ; that to Him each one is immediately 
 responsible, and that, therefore, 011 his word only 
 can it be safe for each one to believe or do any 
 thing. Such conviction gives a power which ceases 
 to be wonderful only when you think of its source. 
 But alas, alas ! what if this Divine word be misun 
 derstood. 
 
 " July. Roger Dray ton has come, on a few days 
 leave, to be present at his sister s wedding. 
 
 " He hath brought the strange news that the 
 king is in the keeping of the army. We scarcely 
 know whether to mourn or rejoice. It came about 
 on this wise, as Roger told my Mother and me : 
 
 " It was reported in the army that the Presbyte 
 rian party in the Parliament designed to remove the 
 king from Holmby, where he was, to Oatlands, near 
 London, there to make a separate treaty, in which 
 the soldiers were not to be consulted or considered. 
 
 " On the fourth of June, therefore, Cornet Joyce, 
 without commission, it seems, from any one, but 
 simply as knowing that it would be agreeable to 
 the army ; and to prevent this design of. a separate 
 Presbyterian treaty, went, with some seven or eight 
 hundred men, to Holmby House, where His Majesty 
 bad remained since we saw him in April. 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 467 
 
 "The Commissioners of the Parliament, who 
 were His Majesty s jailers, were very indignant at 
 this interference of Cornet Joyce, and commanded 
 the gates to be closed, and preparations to be made 
 to resist an assault. Their own soldiers, on tho 
 contrary, were of the same mind with the army and 
 the Cornet, and threw open the gates at once to 
 their comrades. Xor was the king himself, it seems, 
 unwilling. When Cornet Joyce made his way to 
 the royal presence, the king spoke to him with 
 much graciousness. He asked the Cornet if he 
 would promise to do him no hurt, and to force him 
 to nothing against his conscience. Cornet Joyce 
 declared he had no ill intention in any way ; the 
 soldiers only wanted to prevent His Majesty being 
 placed at the head of another army, and that he 
 would be most unwilling to force any man against 
 his conscience, much less His Majesty. The king, 
 therefore, agreed to accompany him the next day, 
 this happening at night. I 
 
 " The next morning, at six o clock, His Majesty 
 condescended to meet the soldiers. 
 
 " He again demanded to know the Cornet s au 
 thority, and if he had no writing from the general, 
 Sir Thomas Fairfax. 
 
 " I pray you, Mr. Joyce, he said, deal ingenu 
 ously with me, and tell me what commission you 
 have. 
 
 Said Joyce, 
 
 " Here is my commission. 
 . " Where ? asked the king. 
 
 " * Behind me, said the Cornet, pointing to his 
 
468 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 troopers ; and I liope that will satisfy your Ma 
 jesty. 
 
 The King smiled. 
 
 " It is as fair a commission, he said, and as well 
 written as I have ever seen in my life ; a company 
 of as handsome and proper gentlemen as I have seen 
 a great while. But what if I should yet refuse to go 
 with you ? I hope you would not force me ! I am 
 your king. You ought not to lay violent hands on 
 your king. I acknowledge none to be above me but 
 God. 
 
 " Cornet Joyce assured His Majesty he meant him 
 no harm; and at length the king went with the 
 soldiers as they desired, they suffering him to 
 choose between two or three places the one he liked 
 best. 
 
 " So, by easy stages, they conducted him to 
 Childerley, near Newmarket. And it is said the 
 king was the merriest of the company. Heaven 
 send it to be a good augury. 
 
 " Roger said, moreover, that His Majesty con 
 tinues to be of good cheer, and the army to be 
 friendly disposed towards him. They have hope yet 
 that Sir Thomas Fairfax, General Cromwell, and 
 Ireton may make some arrangement to which His 
 Majesty may honourably accede. 
 
 " And, meantime, they allow him not only the at 
 tendance of his faithful servants, but his own chap 
 lains to perform the services of the Church, which 
 the Presbyterians refused him at Holmby. Eng 
 lishmen, especially the common people, and most of 
 all, I think, English soldiers, have honest hearts 
 
THE DA VEXAXT8. 469 
 
 after all ; safer to trust to than those of men armed 
 cap-a-pie in covenants, and catechisms, and confes 
 sions. Surely the king will yet win the hearts of 
 the army, and all will yet go right. Roger, mean 
 while, is as stately in his courtesy to me as a Span 
 ish hidalgo, listening and assenting to all I say in a 
 way I detest. For it means that he feels our dif 
 ferences too deep to venture on." 
 
 " July 2nd. Roger has begun to contradict and 
 controvert me again delightfully. This morning we 
 had our first serious,battle. 
 
 " Tester eve I said something about abhoring all 
 middle states of things. It was in reference to the 
 poor peasants flocking around the king. I said 
 there was no poetry in mid-way things, or times, or 
 states, in mid-day, mid-summer, middle-life, or the 
 middle-station in the state. 
 
 " He took this up earnestly after his manner, and 
 Aventinto a serious argument to prove me wrong. It 
 was but a weakling and half-fledged poesy, quoth he, 
 which must needs go to dew-drops, and rosy clouds, 
 and primroses, and violets, for its smiles and decor 
 ations, and could see no glory and beauty in sum 
 mer or in noon. Summer with its golden ripening 
 harvests, and all its depths of bountiful life in woods 
 and fields ; noon-tide with its patient toil or its rap 
 turous hush of rest ; manhood and womanhood with 
 their dower of noble work and strength to do it. 
 He could not abide (he said), to* hear the spring-tide 
 spoken pulingly of as if it faded instead of ripened 
 into summer, or youth as if it set instead of dawned 
 into manhood. And as to the middle station in a 
 40 
 
47 o THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 nation, its yeomanry and traders, nations must have 
 their heads to think and their hands to work ; but 
 the middle order was the nation s heart. If that 
 was sound, the nation was sound, if that was cor 
 rupt and base, the nation s heart was rotten at 
 the core. Which (ended he) he thought these last 
 years, with all their miseries, had proved the heart 
 of England was not. 
 
 " Roger Drayton has a strange way of his own in 
 discourse, of putting aside all your light skirmish 
 ing forces, and closing with tl^e very kernel and 
 core of the people he has to do with. The way of 
 the Ironsides, I suppose. I have been used to little 
 but skirmishing in discourse among the younger 
 Cavaliers ; light jesting talk whether the heart or 
 the subject be grave or gay. Even serious feelings 
 being hidden for the most part under a mask of lev 
 ity. But Roger seldom, perhaps never, exactly 
 jests. His mirth, like a child s laughter, is from 
 the heart, as much as his gravity. He will know 
 and have you know what you really honour, or love, 
 or want, or dread. 
 
 " So it happened that to-day on the terrace we 
 came on the very subject I had intended always to 
 avoid ; General Cromwell. 
 
 " I chanced to allude in passing to some of the re 
 ports I had heard against the General, some care 
 less words about his praying and preaching with 
 his men. 
 
 " I had no notion until then how Roger reveres 
 this man, like a son his fathef, or a loyal subject his 
 sovereign. 
 
THE DA VEX ANTS. 47 1 
 
 " Ha said, quietly, but with that repressed pas 
 sion which often makes his words so strong, that no 
 man who had ever knelt at General Cromwell s 
 prayers would jest at his praying, any more than 
 any man who had ever encountered him in battle 
 would jest at his fighting. That his word could in 
 spire his men to charge like a word from heaven, 
 and could rally them like a re-inforcement. That 
 after the battle his strong utterance of Christian 
 hope and faith could hearten men to die, as it had 
 heartened them to fight ; that after such a battle 
 as Marston Moor, while directing the siege-works 
 outside York, he could find time to go down into 
 the depths of his own past sorrows to draw thence 
 living waters of comfort for a friend (Mr. Walton) 
 whose son had been slain, writing him a letter of 
 consolation (which Roger had seen) containing 
 words deep enough l to drink up the father s sor 
 row. 
 
 " Then Roger spoke of the unflinching justice, 
 which was only the other side of this same sym 
 pathy and care ; how General Cromwell had two 
 of his men hanged for plundering prisoners at "Win 
 chester, and sent others accused of the. same offence 
 to be judged by the royal garrison at Oxford, 
 whence the governor sent them back with a gener 
 ous acknowledgment. 
 
 " It is loyalty you feel towards General Crom 
 well, I said, snch a disinterested, ennobling, self- 
 sacrificing passion as our Harry felt for the king. 
 
 " He paused a moment, 
 
 " If God sends us a judge and a deliverer what 
 
47 2 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 else can we feel for him ?" he said, at length ; * I be 
 lieve General Cromwell is the defender of the law, 
 and will be the deliverer of the nation, and if he 
 will suffer it, he added, in a lower voice, of the 
 king. 
 
 " Is it true, I asked, * that, as you once told us, 
 General Cromwell and the army are courteous to His 
 Majesty, and anxious to make good terms with him ? 
 Can it be possible that there may yet be an honour 
 able peace ? 1 1 believe, he replied, that all things 
 else are possible, if only it is possible for the king 
 to be true. But if a word, king s or peasant s, is 
 worth nothing, what other bond remains between 
 man and man ? Forgive my rough speech. I know 
 your loyalty is a sacred thing to you. If the king 
 will deal truly, I believe General Cromwell will 
 make him such a king as he never was before. But 
 who can twist ropes of sand ? For one who is un 
 true seems to me not to be a real substance at all, 
 not even a shadow of a substance, but simply a 
 dream or phantasm, simply nothing. 
 
 " I felt myself flush. We have sacrificed too 
 much for His Majesty, not to believe in him. Yet 
 I fear he has other thoughts as to the double-dealing 
 to be permitted in diplomacy than Harry had, or 
 many gentlemen who serve him. 
 
 " I could only answer Roger by saying, 
 
 " Adversity makes a king sacred if nothing else 
 can. If the king s cause were once more to prosper, 
 we might debate such things as these. But not 
 now, Roger. I dare not now. 
 
 " He looked as if words were on his lips, he could 
 
THE DA VEXAXTS. 473 
 
 scarcely, with all his reserve and courtesy, hold 
 back. But he turned away, and calling Lion from 
 the pend where he was chasing some wild-fowl, we 
 went into the house. 
 
 " July 4th. Dr. Antony has come for the wed 
 ding. He brought us a moving account of the two 
 days spent by the Royal children. James the Duke 
 of York, the Duke of Gloucester, and the Princess 
 Elizabeth, with His Majesty, at Caversham, near 
 Reading. The Independent officers of the army 
 permitted it. And they say General Cromwell him 
 self, having sons and daughters of his own, shed 
 tears to see the affection of the king and the inno 
 cent playfulness of the children, knowing so little 
 of the dangers around them. 
 
 " Jnlij 5th. Olive looked wondrous fair as a bride, 
 in her plain spotless dress, without an ornament, 
 partly from Puritanical plainness, and partly be 
 cause the family jewels went long since with the 
 thimbles and bodkins of the London danies into the 
 treasury at the Guildhall. So grave and serene, 
 pure and young, with her fair pale face, and her 
 smooth white brow and soft true eyes. 
 
 " She was married in the church, with some frag 
 ments of the marriage-service, the whole being for 
 bidden. 
 
 "It was sweet afterwards to see her kneel 
 while my Mother kissed her forehead, and placed 
 a string of large pearls round her neck, with a 
 jewel. 
 
 "They had always a singular love for each other, 
 Olive and my Mother. The bride and bridegroom 
 40* 
 
474 
 
 THE DEA YTONS AND 
 
 rode away together after noon-tide Cowards their 
 London home. 
 
 "July Qtk. This morning I rose early and went 
 down to the pond in the orchard, and being led 
 back by the sight of it to the thought of Olive and 
 old times, strayed on towards the Lady Well where 
 first we met. 
 
 " By the way I passed old Gammer Grindle s cot 
 tage, and finding the door open, early as it was, 
 went in to tell her about the bride. 
 
 " And there I saw Cicely and the child again ; 
 and heard her terrible story of wrong and sorrow. 
 
 "It made me very sad, and as I went on to 
 wards the Well, it set me thinking of many 
 things. 
 
 " Why did Olive never tell me ? But then I 
 thought how I had more than once wilfully refused 
 to believe evil of Sir Launcelot, choosing to believe 
 what I liked. And a cold shudder came over me 
 as I sat by the Lady Well, to think how near dan 
 ger I had been, and how terrible it would have been 
 if I had cared for him (not indeed that I ever could). 
 I meditated also whether it was not yet possible to 
 get right done to Cicely. And I resolved as far as 
 I could for the future never to believe anything be 
 cause I wished, but because it was true; that is, 
 to try not to wish about things being true, but 
 to search out honestly if they are. And I was 
 standing looking into the Well, sunk deep in these 
 thoughts, wondering if any one ever really did quite 
 do this, when I heard a footstep and glancing up 
 wards, I met Roger Drayton s eyes. 
 
THE DA VEXAXTS. 475 
 
 "And then he told me of his love. I cannot say 
 I had never thought of it before. I had sometimes 
 even thought it might one day come to something 
 like this, and had even imagined a little, what I 
 should say, or perhaps, not so much what, as how I 
 would say many wise things to him and manage it 
 so ingeniously that in some marvellous way all the 
 difficulties about the Civil wars would vanish, he 
 would see he had made some mistakes, and I would 
 acknowledge candidly that our side had not been 
 blameless, and then I might admit, that, perhaps, 
 one day he might speak to me again on the other 
 subject. At least I know these dreams of mine al 
 ways ended in my beijjg left in perfect certainty 
 that Roger would one day join in the good cause, 
 and Roger perhaps in a very little uncertainty as to 
 the rest. 
 
 "But everything went quite the other way. 
 Roger was so much in earnest about what he had 
 to say, that what I had to say about politics unfor 
 tunately went entirely out of my head. Roger has 
 left me with anything but a certainty or probability 
 of his ever being a Cavalier, as things are at pres 
 ent. And I have left him in no uncertainty at all 
 about the rest. 
 
 " I am afraid it was a golden opportunity lost. 
 But how could I help it ? When he showed all 
 his heart to me, how could I help his seeing mine ? 
 And since I am sure there is no one in the world to 
 be compared with Roger, how could I help his see 
 ing that I feel and think so? Besides, after all, 
 there is something base in such conditions. It 
 
476 THE DRA YTONS AXD 
 
 might have been trifling with his conscience. And 
 that would have been almost a crime. 
 
 " Wherefore, I am sure I could not have done 
 otherwise, and I think I have done right. 
 
 " Yet we made no promises. We know we love 
 each other. That is all. And I know he has loved 
 me ever since he can remember. And I know, with 
 such a heart as his, once is for ever ? 
 
 " And I know that now, if it were possible, that 
 the whole world could come between us ; a world 
 of oceans and continents, a world of war and pol 
 itics and calumnies, it would always be outside, 
 it would never come between our hearts. 
 
 " My Mother thinks so % too. I feel now, for 
 the first time, in some ways what it is to have a 
 Mother s heart to rest on. Although through all 
 her tender silence, I feel she sees more difficulties 
 in the way than I do. 
 
 July 10 th. A world of oceans and continents 
 no separation ! How boldly I wrote ! Roger is 
 gone ba ck to the army; gone not half an hour, 
 barely a mile away, scarcely out of sight. If I 
 listen I fancy I can almost hear his horse hoofs in 
 the distance. And it seems as if that mile were a 
 world of oceans and continents, as if these moments 
 since he left were the beginning of an eternity, 
 altogether beyond the poor counted minutes and 
 hours and days of time. But a minute since, his 
 hand in mine, and what may happen before I see 
 him again ? How do I know if I shall ever see him 
 again ? In love such as ours, ever and never so 
 terribly intertwine ! 
 
THE DA I EX A X TS. 47 7 
 
 " Unbelieving that I am. Xow I shall have to 
 learn if I understand really anything of what it is 
 to trust God and to pray. 
 
 " Prayer and trust must be as deep as this love, 
 or they are nothing. 
 
 " They must be deeper, or they are no support." 
 
 We began our home in London in troublous 
 times. 
 
 As we came near our house which was not far 
 from the river and from Whitehall, we saw some 
 thing which moved me not a little, a coach being 
 drawn to St. James s Palace, guarded by Parlia 
 ment soldiers. A few people turned and gazed as 
 it passed ; and two children were looking out of the 
 window. These were the Royal children being 
 taken back to St. James s Palace after their two 
 days with tne king at Caversham. There was 
 something very mournful in beholding these young 
 creatures, born to be children of the nation as well 
 as of the king, taken to their royal home as to a 
 prison, dwelling in their own land as exiles, their 
 Mother a fugitive in France, their Father a captive 
 among his own people. 
 
 There is a terrible strength in the pathetic majes 
 ty which enshrines a fallen king ; a well-nigh irre 
 sistible power in the crown which has become a 
 crown of thorns. A captive monarch is a more 
 perilous foe than a victorious army to the subjects 
 who hold him captive. How often during those sad 
 years, 1647 and 1648, 1 had to go over all the causes 
 
478 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 of the civil war again and again ; Eliot slowly mur 
 dered in his unlawful and unwholesome prison ; the 
 silenced Parliaments; the tortured Puritans; the 
 imprisoned patriots. How often I had to recall all 
 its course Prince Rupert s plundering ; the king s 
 repeated duplicity, slowly wearing out the nation s 
 lingering trust in him, and baffling all attempts at 
 negotiation. I had to repeat these things to my 
 self, by an effort of will again and again, in order 
 to keep true to our principles at all. 
 
 And the conflict with this rebound of instinctive 
 loyalty, which went on in my heart secretly, was 
 going on in the city openly at the time when we 
 took up our abode there. 
 
 So strong and general, indeed, was this rebound 
 of loyalty, that in that August, 1647, which was our 
 honeymoon, it seemed that the whole city of Lon 
 don at the beginning of the war the Parliament s 
 very strength and stay was panting "to return to 
 its allegiance, led by the Presbyterian majority in 
 the House of Commons. The conflict seemed alto 
 gether to have shifted its ground. The enemy now 
 dreaded by the city was not the king, but the army 
 which its own liberal contributions and persevering 
 courage had done so much to create. Like the Ger 
 man magician, Dr. Faustus, of whom Aunt Gretel 
 used to tell us, the city crouched trembling before 
 the untameable spirit it had evoked, as from mo 
 ment to moment it grew into more terrible stature 
 and strength. 
 
 Sunday the 1st August, 1647, my first Sunday in 
 London, was a memorable day to me. 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 479 
 
 Through all the hush of the Puritan Sabbath 
 there was a deep hum of unrest throughout the city, 
 a ceaseless stir of men walking in silent haste hither 
 and thither, or gathering for eager debate at the cor 
 ners of streets, in the squares, or in any public place. 
 It was a notable contrast to the cheerful stir of an 
 imal life and the deep under-stillness at Xetherby. 
 
 On the Friday before, the House of Commons had 
 been invaded, not as once in the beginning of the 
 strife by the king trampling on " Privilege " in quest 
 of five "traitors," but by a crowd of prentices with 
 hats on, clamouring for the king against the army. 
 
 Then the two Speakers of the Lords and Com 
 mons had fled to the army, with the inace, and all 
 the Independent members. 
 
 The eleven banished Presbyterian members had 
 returned ; among them Denzil Hollis (one of the 
 king s fated five traitors" who had afterwards 
 withstood the royal forces so gallantly at Brent 
 ford) and Sir John Clotworthy, whose zeal had pur 
 sued Archbishop Laud with theological questions 
 even on the scaffold. 
 
 Recruitings, gatherings of men and arms, and 
 drillings and gun-practice had been going on in all 
 quarters of the city on the Saturday. 
 
 On Monday these were renewed with the earliest 
 light of the summer morning. Drums beating, 
 trumpets calling, prentices hurrahing on all sides, 
 ; Xo peace with Sectaries." The London militia, 
 " one and all," against the factious army, then be 
 lieved to be couching tranquilly near Bedford. 
 
 But on Tuesday the army rose from its lair, and 
 
480 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 advanced to Hounslow. Then all Southward came 
 pouring in terrified throngs across London Bridge, 
 demanding peace with the army, and declaring they 
 would not fight. The Presbyterian General Poyntz 
 was indignant, and there was tumult and bloodshed 
 in the streets. 
 
 Closer and closer that defied but dreaded monster 
 of an army came, every step forward and every halt 
 watched with fluctuations of hope and fear in the 
 city. The army, meanwhile, strong in the presence 
 of the king, the speakers, the mace, and Oliver Crom 
 well, looked on itself as not only representing butfo- 
 ing all the three powers of the state combined, inspir 
 ed by an invisible power stronger than all states ; and 
 so it advanced majestically free from hurry or dis 
 order. Not a provision-cart or pack-horse was 
 stopped on its way into the city. And on Friday, 
 August the 9th, the army appeared in the city, 
 marching three deep through Hyde Park with 
 boughs of laurel in their hats, through Westmins 
 ter, along the Strand, through the City, to the Tow 
 er. In a day or two they were quietly established 
 in the villages around, the headquarters being at 
 Putney. The king was lodged the while at Hamp 
 ton Court. 
 
 Not an act of vengeance nor of disorder, as far as 
 I know, disgraced their triumph. Not that this was 
 any matter of wonder to us. Our wonder was that 
 sober and godly citizens should wonder at the so 
 berness and godliness of the army, every regiment 
 of which was a worshipping congregation, and the 
 soul of it Oliver Cromwell. 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 4 8 i 
 
 Job Forster was sorely vexed at the evil reports 
 spread concerning the soldiers. TV r e saw him often 
 during that autumn. 
 
 " Have they forgotten," he said, " that we have 
 won Marston Moor and Xaseby for them ? that we 
 have been marching through the land all these 
 years, and not left a godly homestead nor a family 
 the worse for us throughout the length and breadth 
 of the country ? A man might think it was we who 
 sacked Leicester and plundered and burnt villages 
 and farms far and wide. They should have heard 
 the prayers our poor men poured forth by the camp- 
 fires on the battle-fields where we shed our blood 
 for them. Such prayers as might well-nigh lift the 
 roofs from their great vaults of churches, and belike 
 the great stone also from their hearts. Men creep 
 ing easily among streets, praying safely as long as 
 they like behind walls, and sleeping every night on 
 feather-beds, might be the better for a good stretch 
 now and then in one of our Cromwell s marches, 
 and a hard bed on the moors, and a good sight 
 right up into the sky, beyond the roofs, and the 
 clouds, and the stars, and the Covenants and Con 
 fessions." 
 
 Roger also chafed much at the citizens, but most 
 of all at their misunderstanding of General Crom 
 well. All that autumn, said Roger, the General, 
 with Ireton, Vane, and Harry Marten, and other 
 faithful men, were labouring hard to establish 
 peace on a lasting foundation, as the proposals of 
 the army proved. They would have provided that 
 His Majesty s person, the queen, and the royal issue 
 41 
 
4 8 2 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 should be restored to honour and all personal rights ; 
 that the royal authority over the militia should be 
 subject to the advice of Parliament for ten years ; 
 that all civil penalties for ecclesiastical offences (for 
 instance, whether for using or disusing the Common 
 Prayer), should be removed ; that some old decayed 
 boroughs should be disfranchised, and the represen 
 tation be made more equal ; that parliaments should 
 last two years, not to be dissolved except by their 
 own consent, unless they had sat one hundred and 
 twenty days ; that grand jurymen should be chosen 
 in some impartial way, and not at the discretion of 
 the sheriff. But no man would have it so. The 
 Levellers in the army clamoured for justice on the 
 " Chief Delinquent," and declared that General 
 Cromwell had betrayed them to the king. The 
 Presbyterians would not give up the right to en 
 force the Covenant. The king carried on negotia 
 tions at the same time with General Cromwell, with 
 the Presbyterians, and with the Irish Papists ; in 
 tending, as was showed, alas ! too surely, from in 
 tercepted letters, to be true to none, except, per 
 chance, the last. 
 
 On November the 12th, early in the morning, the 
 news flashed through the city, cried from street to 
 street, that the king had fled from Hampton Court ; 
 and Roger, who was with us, that morning, said, 
 
 " Once more General Cromwell would have saved 
 the king and the country. But the king will not be 
 saved. Now he must turn wholly to the country." 
 
 " But what," replied my husband, " if the country 
 also refuses to be saved by General Cromwell ? " 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 
 
 483 
 
 " Then for a New England across the seas," said 
 Roger. " But we are not come to that yet." 
 
 For even after the king s flight Roger clung to 
 the hope of reconciliation, his hopes nourished by 
 secret fountains flowing from the very icebergs of 
 his fears. For with the bond which bound People 
 and King, might be snapped for him the bond, not 
 indeed of love, but of hope between him and Lettice. 
 
 Still throughout that dreary winter negotiations 
 went on between the Parliament and His Majesty 
 at the Castle of Carisbrook. More and more hope 
 less as more and more men became mournfully con 
 vinced of the kings untruth. Until, in April, 1648, 
 when, from the upper windows of our house, I could 
 see on one side the trees bursting into leaf in St. 
 James Park, and on the other the river shining with 
 a thousand tints of green and gold with the reflec 
 tion of the wooded gardens of the palaces and man 
 sions from Westminster to the Temple ; when the 
 fleets of swans began to pass by on their way to 
 build their nests in the reedy islets by Richmond 
 or Kew, the news came from all quarters that, 
 amidst all this sweet stir of natural life, the country 
 was stirring with fatal insurrections from Kent to 
 the Scottish borders. 
 
 The first outburst was in London itself. 
 
 A few prentices were playing at bowls on Sun 
 day, April 9th, in Moorfields, during church time. 
 The train-bands tried to disperse them. They 
 fought, were routed by the train-bands, but rallied 
 quickly to the old cry of " Clubs." All through 
 that night we heard the tumult surging up and 
 
484 THE DRA YTONS ARD 
 
 down through the city. The watermen, a powerful 
 body of men, joined them. The cry was, " For God 
 and King Charles." And not till the Ironsides 
 charged on them from Westminster was the riot 
 quelled. 
 
 Then came tidings that Chepstow and Pembroke 
 were taken by the royalists, and that a Scottish 
 army of forty thousand was coming across the bor 
 ders to undo all that had been done and to restore 
 the king. 
 
 About that time Roger came into the chamber 
 where I was busied with confections, and unlacing 
 and laying aside his helmet, he sat down in silence. 
 
 His face was fixed and very pale. 
 
 " No ill-tidings ? " I said. 
 
 " I ought not to think so, 1 " he replied. 
 
 And then he told me of a solemn prayer-meeting, 
 held throughout the day before at Windsor Castle, 
 by the army leaders. How some of them, being 
 " sore perplexed that what they had judged to do 
 for the good of these poor nations had not been ac 
 cepted by them, were minded to lay down arms, 
 disband, and return each to his home, there to suf 
 fer after the example of Him who, having done what 
 He could to save His people, sealed His life by suf 
 fering." But others were differently minded, and 
 striving to trace back the causes of their present 
 divisions and weakness, they came at last to what 
 they believed the root, those cursed carnal confer 
 ences which their own conceited wisdom had 
 prompted them to the year before with the king s 
 party. 
 
THE I) A T EXACTS. 
 
 485 
 
 Then Major Goffe solemnly rehearsed from the 
 Scripture the words, " Turn you at my reproof, and 
 I will pour out my Spirit unto you ; " and thereupon 
 their sin and their duty was set unanimously with 
 weight on each heart, so that none was able to 
 speak a word to each other for bitter weeping, at 
 the sense and shame of their sins and their base fear 
 of men." " Cromwell, Ireton, and his Ironsides 
 weeping bitterly ! It was a thing not to forget," 
 said Roger, pausing. 
 
 " Then, Roger," said I, trembling, " if this was 
 the sin- they wept for, what is the duty they see be 
 fore them?" 
 
 Roger bowed his forehead on his hands as they 
 rested on the table before him, and his reply came 
 muffled and slow. 
 
 " < To call Charles Stuart, that man of blood, to 
 an account for that blood he hath shed and mischief 
 he hath done to his utmost against the Lord s cause 
 and people in these poor nations. This is what 
 they deem their duty," he said. 
 
 " Call the king to an account, Roger !" I said, 
 "the king!" 
 
 I could scarce speak the word for horror. 
 
 " Kings have to be called to account," he said. 
 
 " Yes, in heaven," I said. " But on earth, Roger, 
 on earth never." 
 
 " Herod was called to account on earth, Olive," 
 said he. 
 
 " True, but it was by God, Roger," I said. " Not 
 by man ! never by man !" 
 
 41* 
 
486 THE DRA YTONS, ETC. 
 
 " By the law, Olive," he said ; " by God s law, 
 which is above all men." 
 
 " But what men can ever have right to execute 
 the law on a king ?" I said ; " on their own king ?" 
 
 " Woe to the men who have to do it," said Roger ; 
 " but bitterer woe to the man who does not the 
 work God sets him to do, whatever woe it brings 
 on the doing. Olive, who gave," he added, mourn 
 fully, " sanction to Laud and StrafFord s oppressions, 
 and to Prince Rupert s plunderings ?" 
 
 I could only weep. 
 
 " Oh, Roger," I said, " let the thunderbolt, or the 
 pestilence, or any of God s terrible angels do this 
 work in His time. They are strong and swift 
 enough. It is not for men." 
 
 He made no reply. 
 
 " What lies between this terrible resolve and its 
 execution ?" I asked at length. 
 
 " Chepstow and Pembroke to be besieged and 
 taken ; Wales to be reconquered ; the Scottish army 
 of forty thousand to be driven back over the bor 
 ders," he replied. 
 
 " Then there is a hope of escape for the king yet." 
 
 " There is an interval, Olive," he replied. " These 
 things must take time. But they must be done. 
 In a few days, General Cromwell is to lead us forth 
 to do them. The order is given for the army to 
 march to Wales." 
 
 I did not venture to mention Lettice s name to 
 him. We both knew too well what a gulf this ter 
 rible resolve, if ever it came to action, must create 
 between us. But before he left he said, 
 
THE DA VENA NTS. 487 
 
 " Olive, I don t think it is cowardice not to say 
 anything of this to Lettice yet. Her mother, she 
 writes to-day, is failing so sadly. And there are so 
 many chances in battle. If I fall, I need not leave 
 on her memory of me what would so embitter sor 
 row to her. 
 
 " And the king might escape," thought L " His 
 Majesty had all but succeeded in getting through 
 the bars of his chamber-window not a month since. 
 But I did not say this to Roger." 
 
 On the next day, the 3rd of May, the army march 
 ed forth, and with it Roger and Job Forster. And 
 my husband went with them 011 his work of mercy. 
 
 So that this summer of 1648 was a very anxious 
 and solitary one for me. I longed much to see my 
 Father, but he was occupied in quelling insurrection 
 in the Xorth. And the city was so unquiet, I 
 thought it selfish to send for cither of my aunts. 
 
 Xot that I was without friends. Xow and then 
 it fortified me greatly to have a glimpse of Mr. John 
 Milton in his^ small house at Holborn ; to hear his 
 strong words of determination and hope for the 
 English people; and, perchance, to catch some 
 strains from his organ. 
 
 But my chief solaces were, first the morning exer 
 cises, between six and eight of the clock, at St. 
 Margaret s Church near the Abby, where there was 
 daily prayer, and praise, and reading of God s word, 
 with comments to press it home to the heart, from 
 divers excellent and godly ministers. 
 
 And next, a friendship I had made with good Mr. 
 John Henry, a Welsh gentleman who kept the royal 
 
488 THE DRA YTONS A ND 
 
 garden and orchard at Whitehall, and lived in a 
 pleasant house close on Whitehall Stairs. His wife 
 had died scarce three years before, of a consump 
 tion, and it was edifying to hear him and his daugh 
 ters speak of her virtue and piety ; how she had 
 looked well to the ways of her household, had pray 
 ed daily with them, catechized her children, and 
 devoted her only son Philip to the work of the min 
 istry in his infancy, -and how a little before she died 
 she had said, " My head is in heaven, my heart is in 
 heaven ; it is but one step more and I shall be there 
 too." 
 
 This friendship solaced me for many causes ; pri 
 marily for three : in that Mr. Henry was a godly 
 gentleman ; in that he lived in a garden by fair wa 
 ter, which reminded me of ISTetherby ; and in that 
 he was a Royalist. For it did my heart good to 
 hear some good words spoken for the captive king, 
 poor gentleman ; and I have been wont ever to gain 
 benefit from good men who differ from us on party 
 points. With such we leave the party differences, 
 and fly to the common harmonies, which are deeper. 
 
 Many a delightsome hour have I spent in Mr. 
 Henry s house in the orchard by the river, watching 
 the boats, and gay barges, and the fishers, and the 
 white fleets of swans, and the flow of the broad 
 river sweeping by, always like a poem of human 
 life, set to a stately organ music, plying my needle 
 meanwhile beside the young daughters of the house, 
 with cheerful converse. But most of all I loved to 
 hearken to the father s discourse concerning the 
 king and the court in the days gone by. How the 
 
THE DA VEX ANTS. 
 
 489 
 
 young princes used to play with his Philip, and gave 
 him gifts, and had wondrous courtesy for him ; and 
 how Archbishop Laud took a particular kindness 
 for him when he was a child, "because he would be 
 very officious to attend to the water-gate (which 
 was part of his father s charge), to let the archbish 
 op through when he came late from council, to 
 cross the water to Lambeth ; and how afterwards 
 the lad Philip had been taken to see the fallen arch 
 bishop in the Tower, and he had given him some 
 " new money." 
 
 It was strange to think how the great River of 
 Time had borne all that stately company away, 
 king, court, archbishop, council, like some fleeting 
 pomp of gay barges beneath the windows, or like 
 the masques and pageants they had delighted in, of 
 which Mr. Henry told me. It was good, too, to 
 have such touches of simple kindness, as remember 
 ing a child s taste for bright new money, thrown 
 into the dark picture we Puritans had among us of 
 the persecutor of our brethren. It is good for the 
 persecuted to feel by some human touch that their 
 persecutors are human ; good while the persecuted 
 suffer, good beyond price if ever they come to rule 
 and judge. 
 
 Sometimes, moreover, Mr. Philip the son came 
 home from Christchurch, Oxford, where he was a 
 student, and his discourse was wondrous sacred and 
 pleasant for so young a gentleman. One thing I 
 remember he said which was a special solace to me. 
 He would blame those who laid so much stress on 
 every one knowing the exact time of their conver- 
 

 490 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 sion. "Who can so soon be aware of the day 
 break," quoth he, " or of the springing up of the 
 seed sown ? The blind man in the Gospel is our 
 example. This and that concerning the recovering 
 of his sight he knew not : But this one thing I 
 know, that whereas I was blind, now I see. " 
 Which words have often returned to my comfort. 
 In that, instead of sending me back into my past 
 life, and down into my heart to look for tokens of 
 grace, they set me looking up to my Lord, to see 
 his gracious countenance ; and in looking I am en 
 lightened, be it for the first time, or the thousand 
 and first. 
 
 Meantime the great tide of Time was flowing on, 
 bearing on its breast to the sea royal fleets, and 
 little row-boats such as mine. 
 
 In July the sailors of the fleet suddenly declared 
 for the king, landed the Parliament admiral, and 
 crossing the Channel, took on board the Prince of 
 Wales, acknowledging him as their commander. 
 
 At this news my heart beat as high with hope as 
 the fiercest royalist s. The Prince of Wales with a 
 fleet in the Downs ! the king his father in prison 
 close to the shore at Carisbrook ! what could hinder 
 a rescue ? But no rescue was attempted. Weeks 
 passed on the opportunity was lost ; the fleet 
 was won back to the Parliament, and ,the king re 
 mained at Carisbrook. I have never heard any at 
 tempt to explain why the prince neglected this 
 chance of saving the king. It made my heart ache 
 to think of the captive sovereign watching all those 
 weeks for rescue, (for he sent to entreat it might be 
 
THE DA VEX A XTS. 49 1 
 
 attempted) and listening for the sound of friendly 
 guns, and the appearance of a band of loyal seamen, 
 all in vain. 
 
 For all this time his doom was coiling closer and 
 closer round him. 
 
 Pembroke and Chepstow were retaken. General 
 Cromwell wrote from Nottingham for shoes for his 
 " poor tried soldiers," wearied with a hundred and 
 fifty miles hasty marching across the wild country 
 of Wales towards the north. In August came the 
 tidings of the total defeat of the Scottish army at 
 Preston. 
 
 I had just received the news of this in a letter from 
 my husband, and was sitting alone in my chamber, 
 tossed hither and thither in mind, as was my wont 
 during those anxious months, scarce knowing at 
 any news whether to rejoice or to mourn, in that 
 every victory of the army seemed but to bring a 
 step nearer the fulfillment of that dreadful purpose 
 of calling the king to account. By way of quieting 
 these uneasy thoughts, I rose to go to good Mr. 
 Henry s, when a little stir at the door aroused me, 
 and in another minute I was clasped to Aunt Gre- 
 tel s heart, sobbing out my gladness at seeing her. 
 
 " Hush, sweetheart, hush," she said, "that is the 
 worst of surprises. I meant to save thee suspense, 
 and to make as little disturbance as possible." 
 
 " I wanted thee so sorely," said I. " It is not 
 thy coming that has so moved me ; it was the try 
 ing to do without thee." 
 
 In half an hour she had unpacked her small bun 
 dle, and established herself in the guest-chamber, 
 
49 2 THE DRA YTOXS AXD 
 
 with everything belonging to her as quietly in its 
 place, as if it had never known another. Her pres 
 ence brought an unspeakable quiet with it. The 
 solitary house became home again. And in another 
 fortnight we were rejoicing together over my tirst- 
 born, our little Magdalene; the fountain of delight 
 opened for ns in the desert of those dreary times. 
 
 And in September my husband returned to me. 
 
 Preston was the last battle of that campaign 
 worthy the name. The Scottish royalist army was 
 broken np, and General Cromwell was welcomed in 
 Edinburgh, and by the Covenanters everywhere, as 
 the deliverer of the land. 
 
 Throughout September the king was holding con 
 ferences at Xe\rport with the Commissioners of the 
 Parliament. All bore witness to the ability and 
 readiness with which he spoke. His hair had turn 
 ed gray, his face was furrowed with deep lines of 
 care, but all the old majesty was in his port, and 
 even those who had known him before were sur 
 prised at his learning and wit. 
 
 But, alas, it was mere speech. The king wrote 
 to his friends excusing himself for making con 
 cessions, by the assurance that he merely did it in 
 order to facilitate his escape. 
 
 And more than that, all the actors in that drama, 
 sincere or not, were rapidly fading into mere per 
 formers in a pageant. The decisive conferences 
 were held, the true work was done. The doom was 
 fixed elsewhere. 
 
 By the middle of November the army, victorious 
 from Wale? and Scotland, and mindful of the prayer- 
 
THE DA I EX A XTS. 4.9 3 
 
 meeting at Windsor, was again at St. Albans, call 
 ing for justice on the Chief Delinquent. 
 
 On the 29th of November the king was removed 
 from Carisbrook to Hurst Castle, a lonely, bare 
 and melancholy fort opposite to the Isle of Wight, 
 whose walls were washed by the sea. 
 
 On December the 2d the quiet of Mr. Henry s 
 house and of the royal orchard was broken, by the 
 arrival of a portion of the Parliament army at 
 Whitehall, trampling down with heavy armed tread 
 the grass which had grown in the deserted palace- 
 court. 
 
 On Sunday there was much preaching in many 
 quarters, of a kind little likely to calm the storm. 
 In the churches the Presbyterian preachers declaim 
 ed fervently against the atrocity and iniquity of 
 seizing the person of the king. In the parks Inde 
 pendent soldiers preached on the equality of all be 
 fore the law <>f God. "Tophet is ordained of old," 
 one of them took for his text. For the king it is 
 prepared. A notable example, my husband said, 
 of that random reading of the Sacred Scriptures 
 which turns them into a lottery of texts to conjure 
 with, like a witch s charms. 
 
 In the Parliament my old hero Mr. Prinne, with 
 his cropped ears and his branded forehead, stood 
 up and boldly pleaded for the king, never braver, I 
 thought, than then. 
 
 On the 5th of December came another invasion 
 of the Parliament House, Colonel Pride and his sol 
 diers turning all the Presbyterian and Royalist 
 members back from the doors. " Pride s Purge." 
 42 
 
494 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 It was a sorely perplexed time. Had the very 
 act of despotism which first roused the nation to 
 the point of civil war now to be repeated in the 
 name of liberty for the ruin of the king ? 
 
 What are we fighting for? I used to ask myself. 
 The battle-cries, as well as the front of the armies, 
 had so strangely changed. For the king and Par 
 liament ? The king was in prison. The Parliament 
 was reduced to fifty members. For the nation ? 
 The nation was half in insurrection. For liberty ? 
 No party seemed to allow it to any other. 
 
 Roger and the Ironsides alone seemed clear as to 
 the answer. " We are fighting not under six hun 
 dred members of Parliament, nor under fifty, but 
 under one leader given us by God ; under General 
 Cromwell," he said. And he is fighting for the 
 country, to save it and make it free and righteous, 
 and glorious in spite of itself. When he has done 
 it, it will be acknowledged. Till then he must be 
 content to be misjudged, and we must content he 
 should be, as the heroes have been too often, and 
 the saints nearly always, until their work, perhaps 
 until their life, is done." 
 
 I lay awake much during those nights of Decem 
 ber. My little Magdalene was often restless, and I 
 used to listen to the flow of the river through the 
 silence of the sleeping city and think how the sea 
 was washing the walls of the king s desolate prison, 
 praying for him, and for General Cromwell, and all, 
 and thanking God that my lot was the lowly one 
 of submitting instead of that of deciding, in these 
 terrible times. 
 
THE DA VEX A XTS. ^ 5 
 
 But a sorer sorrow was advancing slowly on ns 
 all. On the 10th of December came an imploring 
 letter from Lettice, saying that her mother had fail 
 ed sadly during the last week, that she and her 
 mother longed for Dr. Antony, and her mother even 
 more for me and the babe. 
 
 The next day we were on the road to Xetherby, 
 Aunt Gretel, my husband, the babe, and I. 
 
 It was late in the evening of the second day when 
 we reached the dear old house. 
 
 We were met with a hush, which fell on me like 
 a chill. The Lady Lucy had fallen into one of those 
 quiet sleeps which of late had become so rare with 
 her, and the whole household was quieted so as not 
 to disturb her. 
 
 The subdued tone into which everything falls, in 
 a house in which there has been long sickness, and 
 where everything has been ordered with reference 
 to one sufferer, fell heavily on us, coming in from 
 the fresh autumn air with voices attuned to the 
 bracing winds, and hearts eager with expectations 
 of welcome. It was like being ushered into a church 
 hushed for some mournful ceremony ; and we step 
 ped noiselessly, and spoke under our breath, until 
 an unsubdued wail from the only creature of the 
 company unable to understand the change, the baby 
 waking suddenly from sleep, broke the dreary spell 
 of stillness. 
 
 The Lady Lucy heard the little one s cry, and 
 sent to crave a glimpse of us all that nigh* . 
 
 In her chamber alone, throughout the house that 
 anxious hush was absent. She spoke in her natural 
 
496 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 voice, though now lower than even its usual sweet 
 low tones, from weakness. She had a bright wel 
 coming word for each, and while gratefully heeding 
 my husband s counsel, declared that baby would be 
 her head physician. The very touch of the soft lit 
 tle fingers and the sound of her little cooings and 
 Growings had healing in them, she said. 
 
 She looked less changed than I had expected. 
 But my husband shook his head and would give lit 
 tle promise. Lettice seemed to me more altered 
 than her mother. Her eyes had a steady, deep, 
 watchful look in them, very unlike her wonted 
 changeful brilliancy. She said nothing beyond a 
 few words of welcome to me that night. But the 
 next morning the first moment we were alone to 
 gether she took my hands, and pressing them to her 
 heart, she said, 
 
 " Tell me Olive ; I have been afraid to ask any 
 one else, but I must know. What do they mean by 
 Petitions from the army for justice on the King ? " 
 
 I was so startled by her sudden .appeal, I could 
 not meet her eyes nor think what to say. I could 
 only murmur something about there having been so 
 many Petitions, Remonstrances, and Declarations, 
 which had ended in talking. 
 
 " True," said she, " but the army are like no other 
 party in the state. They do not end with talking. 
 They know what they want, and mean what they 
 say, and do what they mean. What do they 
 mean by Petitions against the Chief Delinquent ? " 
 
 "Many do think, Lettice,"! said," that the king him 
 self, and not only his counsellors, began all the evil." 
 
THE DA VEXAXTS. 4^7 
 
 I know," she replied. " But they have had jus 
 tice enough on the king, I should think, to satisfy 
 any one. They have deprived him of all power, 
 separated him from the queen and the royal chil 
 dren, and all who love him, and shut him up behind 
 iron bars. And now, they petition for justice on 
 him. What would they do to him worse, CHive ? 
 "What can he suffer more ? What has the king left 
 but life?" 
 
 I could not answer her. 
 
 " To touch that, Olive," she continued, looking 
 steadily into my eyes, and compelling me by the 
 very intensity of her gaze to meet them, " to touch 
 that would be crime, the worst of crimes. It would 
 be regicide, parricide." 
 
 " But how could it ever be, Olive ? " She went 
 on. " They have assassinated kings I know before 
 now. But a king brought to justice (as they call it) 
 like a common criminal ! Since the world was, such 
 a thing was never known. It can never be, Olive, 
 she added in a trembling voice, " I have heard the 
 king dreads assassination. Do you ? Could his 
 enemies descend to that depth ? " 
 
 "Never, Lettice," I replied, " never." And in 
 saying thus I could meet her eyes frankly and fear 
 lessly. 
 
 Her face lighted up. 
 
 " Never ! no, I believe not. Then there can surely 
 be little fear. There is no tribunal which can judge 
 the king. No bar for him to stand arraigned be 
 fore but the judgment-seat of God. A king was 
 never condemned and put to death deliberately and 
 42* 
 
498 THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 solemnly in the face of his own people, and of all 
 the nations. Never since the world was. And it 
 never could be. From assassination you are sure 
 he is safe. Be honest with me, Olive. There are 
 base men in all parties. You are sure ? " 
 
 " As sure as of my life," I said, "as sure as of my 
 father s word, or Roger s." 
 
 " Then there can be no reason to fear," she said. 
 " I will cast away this awful dread. Oh, Olive," she 
 exclaimed, bursting into tears, " you have brought 
 me new life. Do you know that sometimes during 
 these last few days, since I heard of those Petitions, 
 I have almost prayed that if such a fearful crime 
 and curse could be hanging over England, my 
 Mother might be taken to God first, and learn about 
 it first there, where we shall understand it all. But 
 you have comforted me, Olive. I need make no 
 such prayers. What I have so dreaded can never 
 be." 
 
 I felt almost guilty of falsehood in letting her 
 thus take comfort. Yet if my Husband s fears about 
 Lady Lucy were well-founded, there was little need 
 for such a prayer. And to Time I might surely 
 leave it to unveil the horrors that after all might 
 be averted. 
 
 But no intervention from above or from below 
 came to avert the steady unfolding of the great 
 tragedy on which the nation s eyes were fixed. 
 
 The king went on to his doom, as the doomed in 
 some terrible old tragedy of destiny, tremblingly 
 watchful for the storm to break from the side whence 
 
THE DA VENANTS. 499 
 
 there was no danger, but all the time advancing 
 with blind fearlessness to confront the lightnings 
 which were to smite him. 
 
 In the solitary sea-washed walls of Hurst Castle 
 he listened for the stealthy tread of the assassin. 
 And when at midnight, on the 1 7th of December, 
 the creak of the drawbridge was heard between the 
 dash of the waves, and then the tramp of armed 
 horsemen echoing beneath the castle-gate, the king 
 rose and spent an hour alone in prayer. Colonel 
 Harrison, who commanded these men, had been 
 named to him as one likely to be employed to assas 
 sinate him, " I trust in God who is my helper," 
 said the king to his faithful servant, Herbert ; " but 
 I would not be surprised. This is a fit place for 
 such a purpose," and he was moved to tears ; no 
 unmanly tears, and no groundless fears. He was 
 not the first of his unhappy race who had been the 
 victim of treacherous midnight murders. But when 
 on the morrow he recognized in Colonel Harrison s 
 frank countenance and honest converse one incap 
 able of such baseness, his spirits rose, and he rode 
 away almost gayly with his escort of gallant and 
 well-mounted men, courteous enough in their de 
 meanour to him. In the daylight, and in the royal 
 halls of Windsor, where they lodged him, he felt 
 strong again in the sacredness of the king s person, and 
 alas he fancied himself strong in those false schemes 
 of policy which, and which only, had divested his 
 royal person of its sacredness in the hearts of his peo 
 ple. " He had yet three games to play," he said, 
 " the least of which gave him hope of regaining all." 
 
$ oo THE DRA YTONS AND 
 
 On the 5th of January he gave orders for sowing 
 melon-seed at Wimbledon ; and dwelt on Lord 
 Ormond s work for him in Ireland. He made a jest 
 of the threat of bringing him to a public trial. 
 Kings had been killed in battle, treacherously put 
 to agonizing deaths in dungeons whose walls tell no 
 tales, and let no cries of anguish through, secretly 
 stabbed at midnight. But the rebels it seemed 
 plain were not foes of that stamp. Even the exam 
 ple three of his Cavaliers had lately given them in 
 treacherously assassinating Rainsborough, one of 
 Cromwell s bravest officers at Doncaster, kindled in 
 the most fanatical of the Roundheads no emulation, 
 but simply a burning indignation and contempt. 
 Save the sword of battle, or the dagger of the mur 
 derer, no weapon was known wherewith to kill a 
 king. The Roundheads did not number assassina 
 tion among their " instruments of justice." The 
 war was over. What then was there for His Ma 
 jesty to fear ? 
 
 Strafford, indeed, had been almost as confident up 
 to the last. And neither gray hairs or consecration 
 had saved the Archbishop s head from the scaffold. 
 But between an anointed king and the loftiest of 
 his subjects, according to the royal and the royalist 
 creed, the distinction was not of degree but of na 
 ture. 
 
 All the courts of Europe surely would rise and 
 interfere ere a king should be tried before a tribunal 
 of his lieges, of creatures who held honour and life 
 by his breath. 
 
 Nor only earthly courts. Would the One Tri- 
 
THE DA YEN ANTS. 5 o i 
 
 bunal before which a sovereign alone could be 
 summoned, suffer such an infringement of its 
 rights ? 
 
 So the king went on jesting at the thought of his 
 subjects bringing him to trial, playing his " three 
 games," and peacefully sowing seeds for more har 
 vests than one. 
 
 And meanwhile Cromwell came back slowly ad 
 vancing from Scotland to London ; Petitions for 
 Justice on the Chief Delinquent lay on the table of 
 the House of Commons not unheeded ; on the 6th 
 of January, Colonel Pride, with his soldiers, guard 
 ed the door of the House of Commons, and sent 
 thence every member who disposed still to prolong 
 treaties with the king ; in the afternoon of that same 
 Cth of January, General Cromwell was thanked 
 by the " purged " house, or* Rump, of fifty mem 
 bers, for his services, and the High Court of Justice 
 was instituted for the trial of " Charles Stuart, for 
 traitorously and .tyrannically seeking to overthroAV 
 the rights and liberties of the people." And on the 
 20th of January, not three days after he had been 
 tranquilly planning at Westminster for his summer 
 garden crops, and sowing seed for other harvests in 
 Ireland, the king was sitting in Westminster Hall 
 arraigned before this Court as a "tyrant, traitor, 
 and murderer." 
 
 And still only were the heavens unmoved, but 
 not a word of remonstrance or of generous pleading 
 had come from one crowned head in Europe. 
 
 But meantime over our little world at Xetherby, 
 
502 
 
 THE DRA YTOSS AND 
 
 that awful Presence was hovering to which all the 
 outward terrors that may, or may not surround it, 
 the midnight dagger, the headsman s axe, the crowds 
 of eager gazers around the scaffold, are but as the 
 trappings of the warrior to his sword, or the glit 
 ter of the axe to its edge. Death was silently wear 
 ing away the little remaining strength of Lady 
 Lucy Davenant. 
 
 There was one amongst us nearer the beginning 
 of the new life than any of us knew, so near that 
 the roar of the political tempest around us was 
 hushed ere it reached her chamber, and she lay 
 on the threshold of the other world almost as 
 unconscious of the storms of this as our little infant 
 Magdalene, whose cradle she used to delight to 
 have beside her. 
 
 I can remember, as if it were yesterday, the dim 
 tender smile with which she used to watch the babe 
 asleep beside her. 
 
 Once she said to me, 
 
 "There seems to me something -strangely alike, 
 Olive, in the darling s place and mine, though to all 
 outward seeming so different. I lie and look at 
 her and think of the angels in the Percy Shrine at 
 the Minster at Beverly, how they bear in their 
 arms to Jesus a little helpless new-born soul, and 
 He stretches out His hands to take it to His bosom 
 a soul new-born from death, to the deathless life 
 with Him. 
 
 " Sometimes it seems like that, Olive, what is 
 coming to me; so great and perfect the change. 
 Sometimes so easy and simple; more like laying 
 
THE LA T IXAXTS. 503 
 
 aside garments we have worn through the night 
 bathing in the water of life, and stepping refreshed, 
 strong, and clothed in raiment clean and white 
 into the next chamber, to meet Him who awaits us 
 there. So little the change, for we have in us the 
 treasure we shall bear with us. The new eternal 
 life is in our Lord, and not in any state or time ; 
 and since we have him with us, both here and there, 
 it seems only like stepping a little further into the 
 Father s house from the threshold to the inner 
 chambers and hearing Him nearer and seeing Him 
 more clearly. Tell Lettice I had these comforting 
 thoughts, Olive," she would say ; " I cannot speak 
 to her, she is too much moved ; and she wants 
 me to say I long to stay on earth, and I cannot, 
 Olive. I cannot feel at home any more here since 
 Harry is gone. And I am so weak and sinful, I 
 may do harm as well as good by staying longer, 
 even to Lettice, poor tender child. The world at 
 least the world here in England is very dark to 
 me. And sometimes I think it will all soon end, 
 not this war only, but all wars, and the kingdom 
 come for which the Church prayed so long, and the 
 glorious Epiphany." 
 
 One thing I remarked with Lady Lucy, as with 
 others whom since I have watched passing from 
 this world of shadows into the world of real things. 
 The lesser beliefs which separate Christians seemed 
 forgotten, fallen far back into the distance and the 
 shade, in the light of the great truths which are our 
 life which are Christianity. The spontaneous utter 
 ances of such Christian deathbeds as I have watched, 
 
5 o 4 
 
 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 have had little of party-beliefs, and of party-politics 
 nothing. As Lady Lucy herself once said, 
 
 " Oh, if all could only see Him as He is ! We are 
 divided because we are fragments ; the whole race 
 is fallen and broken into fragments. But in Him, 
 in Christ, all the broken fragments are one again 
 and live. Truth is no fair ideal vision : it is Christ." 
 
 And again she would speak of her death with in 
 finite comfort. " He died really really as I must," 
 she said ; " the flesh failed, the heart failed, but he 
 overcame. He offered Himself up without spot to 
 God, and me, sin-stained as I am, in Him the Son, 
 the Redeemer, the Lord. And the Father was in 
 Him, reconciling the world to Himself. And we 
 are in Him, reconciled, for ever and ever." 
 
 Now and then she would ask if we had heard 
 news of the king. And we gave her such general 
 and vague accounts as we dared, deeming it unmeet 
 to distress her with perplexities which would so soon 
 be unperplexed to her. And this was easy, her atten 
 tion being seldom now fixed long on any subject. 
 
 On the 6th of January Roger came on his way to 
 London from the North on the old Christmas day, 
 which Lady Lucy had continued to keep. 
 
 In the morning Lettice had read her the gospel 
 for the day. 
 
 In the afternoon when she saw Roger, connecting 
 him with the army and the king, she asked at once 
 for his Majesty. 
 
 " The king is at Windsor," Roger said. 
 
 " At home ! " she said with a smile ; " at home 
 again for the Christmas. That is well." 
 
THE D A VEX A XTS. 505 
 
 Roger made no reply, and, to the relief of all, 
 her mind passed contentedly from the subject. She 
 took Lettice s hand and Roger s in hers, and pressed 
 them to her lips, and murmured, " My God, I thank 
 Thee." And then, as a faintness came over her, 
 we all withdrew "but Lettice. 
 
 Roger and I were alone in the ante-room. He 
 was waiting to bid Lettice farewell. When she 
 came out of her mother s chamber she sat down on 
 the window seat, her eyes cast down, her trembling 
 mute lips almost as white as her cheeks. 
 
 Roger went towards her, and stood before her; 
 but she made no movement and did not even lift 
 her eyelids, heavy and swollen as they were with 
 much weeping. 
 
 "Lettice," he said, "let me say one word befbre 
 I go. Let me say one word to comfort you in this 
 sorrow, for is not your sorrow mine ?" 
 
 "Of what avail? "she said. "You are taking 
 the king to London to die. The greatest crime 
 and curse is about to fall on the nation, and you 
 will go and share and sanction it, and make it your 
 own. No word of mine will move you how can 
 word of yours comfort me ? You will, if you are 
 commanded by him you have chosen for your priest 
 and king, keep guard by the scaffold while the king 
 is murdered. Did not you tell me so two hours 
 since ? Did not I entreat and implore and tell you 
 you were digging a gulf, not only between me and 
 you, but between you and heaven ? " 
 
 He stood for a few moments silent and motion 
 less, and then he said : " And did I not tell you, 
 43 
 
5 o6 
 
 THE DRA YTOXS AND 
 
 that, as a soldier I could do no otherwise unless I 
 deserted my chief, nor as a patriot unless I betrayed 
 my country ? It is the king who has betrayed us, 
 Lettice ; who has refused to let us save him and 
 trust him. The hand that could have stopped all 
 the oppression and injustice at the source from the 
 beginning and did not, must be the guiltiest hand 
 of all. It is falsehood that is leading the king to 
 this end, not the country, nor the Parliament, nor 
 General Cromwell." 
 
 At last she looked up, " Do not try to persuade 
 me, Roger," she said, " God knows I am too willing 
 to be persuaded. I cannot reason about it any more 
 than about loving my Mother or obeying my Father. 
 I dare not listen to you. I am untrue," she added, 
 bursting at length into passionate tears, " I have 
 been a traitor, to let my Mother be deceived toilet 
 her thank God for what can never be ! " 
 
 " Lettice," he said in a tone of anguish, " if you 
 reproach yourself, if you call yourself a traitor, what 
 ami?" 
 
 " You are as true as the Gospel, Roger," she said, 
 her sobs subsiding into quiet weeping ; " as true as 
 heaven itself. You would never have done what I 
 did. You would break your OW T II heart and every 
 one s rather than utter or act one falsehood, or neg 
 lect one thing you believe to be duty. That is what 
 makes it so terrible." 
 
 His voice trembled as he replied, " You trust me, 
 and yet you think me capable of a terrible crime." 
 
 " I know that to lay sacrilegious hands on the 
 king is an unspeakable crime," said she ; " but to 
 
THE DA VF.XAXTS. 507 
 
 trust you is no choice of mine. I cannot tear the 
 trust of my heart from you if I would, Roger, and 
 God knows I would not if I could." 
 
 A light of almost triumphant joy passed over his 
 face, as, standing erect before her, with folded arms, 
 he looked on her down-cast face, 
 
 " Then the time must come when a delusion that 
 cannot separate us in heart can no longer separate 
 us in life," he said, in tones scarcely audible. 
 " Your Mother said the truth, Lettice, when she 
 joined our hands. Such words from her lips at 
 such a time are surely prophecy." 
 
 Lettice shook her head. 
 
 " My Mother saw beyond this world," she said, 
 mournfully ; " where there are no delusions, and no 
 divisions, and no partings." 
 
 He bent before her for an instant, and pressed her 
 hand to his lips. And so they parted. 
 
 That night Lettice and I watched together by 
 Lady Lucy s bedside. And all things that could 
 distract and divide seemed for the time to be dis 
 solved in the peace of her presence. 
 
 She revived once or twice and spoke, although it 
 seemed more in rapt soliloquy than to any mortal 
 ear. 
 
 " Everything grows clear to me," she said once ; 
 " everything I cared most to see. The divisions 
 and perplexities which bewilder us here are only 
 the colours the light puts on when it steps on earth. 
 On earth it is scarlet and purple and bordered work ; 
 in heaven it is fine linen, clean and white, clean and 
 white." 
 
5 o3 THE DRAYTONS AND 
 
 Often she murmured in clear rapid tones, very 
 awful in the silence of the sick-chamber at night, 
 the words, 
 
 " The king, the king ! " 
 
 Lettice and I feared to go to her to ask what she 
 meant, dreading some question we dared not an 
 swer. We thought belike her mind was wandering, 
 as she did not seem to be appealing to us or look 
 ing for an answer. 
 
 But at length the words came more distinctly, 
 though broken and low, and then we knew what 
 they meant, 
 
 " The King ! King of kings ! Faithful and true. 
 Mine eyes shall see the King in His beauty. He 
 shall deliver the needy Avhen he crieth, King of the 
 poor, King of the nations, King of kings, Faithful 
 and true. I am passing beyond the shadows. I 
 begin to see the lights which cast them. Beyond 
 the storms I see the angels of the winds. Beyond 
 the thunders they are music, from above. Be 
 yond the clouds they are the golden streets, from 
 above. Mine eyes shall see the King as He is ; 
 as thou art ; no change in Thee, but a change in 
 me. In Thy beauty as Thou art." 
 
 All the following day the things of earth were 
 growing dim to her, but to the last her courtesy 
 seemed to survive her strength. No little service 
 was unacknowledged ; even when the voice was 
 inaudible, the parched lips moved in thanks or in 
 prayer. 
 
 And on the early morning of the 21st of Janua 
 ry she passed away from us, her hand in Lettice s, 
 
THE DA VEXAXTS. 509 
 
 her eyes deep with the awful joy of some sight 
 we could not see. 
 
 On the evening of that very day came the tidings 
 that the king had been brought, on the 19th of Jan 
 uary, as a criminal, before the High Court of Jus 
 tice in Westminster Hall, to be tried for his life as 
 the " principal author of the calamities of the na 
 tion." 
 
 When Lett-ice heard it, the first burst of tears 
 came breaking the stupor of her sorrow, as she sob 
 bed on my shoulder, " Thank God she is safe, be 
 yond the storms of this terrible distracted world. 
 She is gone where she will never more be perplexed 
 what to believe or what to do." 
 
 " She is gone," said my Father, tenderly taking 
 one of her hands in his, " where loyalty and love 
 of country, and liberty and law are never at vari 
 ance ; where the noblest feelings and the noblest 
 hearts are never ranged against each other. And 
 we hope to follow her thither." 
 
 " But oh," sobbed Lett-ice, " this terrible space 
 between ! " 
 
 " Look up and press forward, my child," he re 
 plied, " and the way will become clear. Step by 
 step, day by day ; the space between is the way 
 thither." 
 
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