THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Mary Randall 
 
/ 
 
'IF I CANNOT HAVE FAIR ROSAMOND, I*LL HAVE NONE.'" 
 
 [Page 189- 
 
TO RIGHT THE WRONG 
 
 H 1Ro\>el 
 
 BY 
 
 EDNA LYALL 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 "IN THE GOLDEN DAYS " "DONOVAN" ETC. 
 
 " But were it the meanest under-service, if God by His secretary 
 conscience enjoin it, it were sad for me if I should draw back" MILTON 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 1894 
 
Copyright, 1893, by HARPER & BROTHERS. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 GIFT 
 
In one sense, indeed, what is gained by any great religious movement ? 
 What are all reforms, restorations, victories of truth, but protests of a 
 minority : efforts clogged and incomplete, of the good and brave, just enough 
 in their own day to stop instant ruin the appointed means to save what is 
 to be saved, but in themselves failures ? Good men woi'k and suffer, and 
 bad men enjoy their labours and spoil them ; a step is made in advance 
 evil rolled back and kept in check for a while, only to return perhaps the 
 stronger. But thus, and thus only, is truth passed on, and the icor Id pre- 
 served from titter corruption. DEAN CHURCH (" Ansel 'HI "). 
 
 M354J.59 
 
PREFACE 
 
 THE attempt made in these pages to sketch the character of John 
 Hampden has been a task of much difficulty, owing to the scanty 
 memorials of the great patriot which have been left Nugent's 
 Life of Hampden, Forster's short Biography in his Statesmen of the 
 Commonwealth, and the brief character-sketches of Clarendon, 
 Echard, and others, leave one hungering for more. Having 
 learned from Professor Gardiner that the accounts of Hampden's 
 last moments given in almost all histories are now found to be 
 incorrect, as they were based on Clough's untrustworthy pamphlet, 
 I have ignored them, and have ventured to assume that his friend 
 Arthur Goodwin was, as he himself imagined, the last to speak 
 with him. In Webb's Civil War in Herefordshire the following 
 letter is given from Arthur Goodwin to his daughter, Lady Whar- 
 ton : " I am now heere at Hampden in doinge the last duty for the 
 deceased owner of it, of whome every honest man hath a share in 
 the losse, and therefore will likewise in the sorrowe. All his 
 thoughts and endeavours of his life was zealously in for this 
 cause for God's, which he continued in all his sickness, even to 
 his death ; for all I can heere the last words he spake was to 
 mee, though he lived six or seven bowers after I came away as 
 in a'sleepe: truly, Jenny (and I know you may easily be persuad- 
 ed to it), he was a gallant man, an honest man, an able man, and take 
 all, I know not to any man living second. God in mercy hath re- 
 warded him. ... I have writ to London for a blacke suite. I pray 
 lett mee begg of you a broad black ribbon to hange about my 
 standarde. ... I would we could all lay it to heart, that God 
 takes away the best amongst us." 
 
 The Earl of Buckinghamshire (who kindly showed me many 
 things connected with his ancestor) still has in his possession a 
 sixteenth-century chalice bearing the inscription, " From this cup 
 John Hampden received the consecrated wine at the hands of Robert 
 
VI 
 
 Lenthall, Rector of Great Hampden," and as it appears from the 
 Church Register that Lenthall was not formally inducted till the 
 3oth November, 1643, but was apparently in charge of the parish in 
 June, it may, perhaps, be fairly conjectured that the inscription on 
 the chalice refers to Hampden's last sacrament. 
 
 Through the kindness of the Bishop of Durham and of Colonel 
 Waller I have been able to study the Letters, Aphorisms, and 
 Sermons of Whichcote, and the I/indication and Divine Meditations 
 of Sir William Waller ; of these memorials I have made free use 
 for the conversations in which the two writers take part. I am 
 also much indebted to Mr. Hyett, of Painswick House, for his in- 
 teresting pamphlet, Gloucester and her Governor during the Great Civil 
 War, and for the kind loan of Bib/iotbeca Gloucestrensis ; while to 
 Canon Venables I owe much information about Lincoln in olden 
 days. The fresco, named "The Ladder of Salvation" or the 
 "Ladder of Life," mentioned in chapter xxxix, may now be seen 
 in Chaldon Church, near Katterham, the whitewash having some 
 years ago been removed ; and the pamphlet, quoted in the same 
 chapter, was published anonymously in the time of the Common- 
 wealth. 
 
 I should like to add that, in common with all students of the 
 seventeenth century, I feel under the deepest obligation to Pro- 
 fessor Gardiner for his History of the Great Civil War, and own 
 him, indeed, my special thanks for a book which cheered many 
 tedious hours of illness. 
 
 EDNA LYALL. 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " ' IF I CANNOT HAVE FAIR ROSAMOND, I*LL HAVE 
 
 NONE.'" Frontispiece. 
 
 "'WILL YOU GIVE ME YOUR HELP AND ADVICE AS TO 
 
 THESE DIAMONDS?'" Facing p. 24 
 
 "TO DICK'S UNBOUNDED ASTONISHMENT, HE SOBBED 
 
 LIKE A CHILD" " 32 
 
 "'THEN KLSS ME, MOTHER,' HE SAID. 'FOR THIS IS 
 
 OUR LAST MEETING'" " 48 
 
 "STOLE NOISELESSLY UP TO ONE OF THE WINDOWS" . " 60 
 "THEY PROCEEDED TO DISCUSS VARIOUS HOUSES WHERE 
 
 ARMS MIGHT POSSIBLY BE OBTAINED*' " 88 
 
 "A GLORIOUS PLAIN LAY BENEATH HIM" " Q2 
 
 "WE BOTH LISTENED INTENTLY" " IOO 
 
 "'HELP, HELP,' MOANED A WOUNDED MAN" .... " 130 
 
 "A BULLET STRUCK JOSCELYN*S HORSE" " 152 
 
 "'CLUTCHING FOR SUPPORT AT THE MANE OF THE 
 
 HORSE" " 156 
 
 "'THEY SAID THEY WERE NOT TORTURING ME'" . . " 166 
 
 "'YOU SHALL HAVE A PLACE IN MY TROOP '" ... " 1 70 
 
 "'BARNABY, I AM WEARY OF TROUBLES'" 182 
 
 "SHE JOGGED ALONG THE COUNTRY ROADS ON HER 
 
 PILLION" " 184 
 
 "SHE CLUNG TO HIM, TREMBLING" " 188 
 
 " HE ENCOUNTERED MORRISON HIMSELF FULLY DRESSED " " 204 
 
"'YOU CURSED REBEL! HOW DARE YOU SET FOOT IN 
 
 MY HOUSE?'" Facing p. 2O8 
 
 "'NO VAGABOND MINSTRELS SHOULD BE ADMITTED*" . " 2l8 
 "JOSCELYN TALKED EAGERLY TO THE QUAINT LITTLE 
 
 MESSENGER" " 222 
 
 "'WHAT CAN SUCH A DAY BE LIKE?"' " 266 
 
 "'EVERY ONE FOR HIMSELF AND GOD FOR US ALL*". " 278 
 
 "SEEMED HARDLY ABLE TO KEEP IN THE SADDLE". . " 292 
 
 "HE STOOD FOR A MOMENT WITH BENT HEAD". . . " 3O2 
 " FOR A MINUTE THE TUTOR FAILED TO RECOGNIZE HIS 
 
 FORMER PUPIL" " 306 
 
 "AFTER SUPPER HE TOOK HIM INTO HIS STUDY" . . " 310 
 
 "DICK'S FACE, GHASTLY PALE" " 318 
 
 "WITH AGONY HE CRAWLED UP THE STEEP SLOPE" . " 322 
 
 "'NOT STRONG ENOUGH!* HE SAID" " 346 
 
 "CHARLOTTE EMPTIED HER PAIL OF WATER OVER IT*' . " 360 
 
 "DREAMING OF A FAIR, GIRLISH FACE" " 376 
 
 "ORIGINAL SMITH AIMED DELIBERATELY AT HIM". . " 406 
 "ORIGINAL SIN HIMSELF KNEELING ON THE GROUND 
 
 BEFORE A LARGE TOMBSTONE" " 422 
 
 " ' I AM NOW GOING TO WORK IN ANOTHER FASHION '" . " 440 
 
 "HE RODE DOWN CASTLE STREET" " 464 
 
 "DICK ARDENTLY DECLARING HIS LOVE" "488 
 
TO RIGHT THE WRONG 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Two lads, that thought there was no more behind 
 But such a day to-morrow as to-day, 
 And to be boy eternal. SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 THE hot rays of a July sun were beating down upon two 
 riders who, with tired and foam-flecked steeds, were mak- 
 ing their way along a ridge of country overlooking the fens 
 of Lincolnshire. All about them lay the wide green ex- 
 panse, gleaming here and there with the watery tracks 
 which divided the few reclaimed fields, for in Lincolnshire, 
 as a wit once remarked, " the very hedges are ditches." 
 
 Apparently, however, neither the heat nor the monotony 
 of the landscape affected the spirits of the travellers, who 
 were talking and laughing merrily enough. They were both 
 young standing that day, as it were, at the threshold of 
 manhood for they had just taken their degree at Cam- 
 bridge, and now " the world lay all before them," and to 
 each the prospect with its unknown chances and opportuni- 
 ties seemed good. 
 
 Although there was no striking likeness between the two, 
 it was easy to tell by their voices and by certain tricks of 
 expression and bearing that they were brothers, and pos- 
 sibly on account of the essential unlikeness of their charac- 
 i 
 
ters they were also the closest friends. Joscelyn Heyworth, 
 the elder of the two by a year, was the more striking and 
 original ; he was also, on account of his bonhomie and his 
 ready wit, the more popular ; while a sort of latent strength 
 and unexpected force of character, which showed itself now 
 and then beneath his light-hearted sociability, attracted to 
 him almost invariably those of the highest type. The 
 younger brother, Dick, though possessing much of Josce- 
 lyn's charm, was lacking in the strength as well as in the 
 brilliancy so noticeable in the elder brother. He was less 
 to be depended on drifting sometimes from sheer good- 
 nature into dangers from which the other's less pliable 
 nature ran no risk whatever. On the other hand, in even- 
 ness of temper the younger was far superior to the elder, 
 and if Dick needed on occasion to be helped out of some 
 scrape, or prevented by Joscelyn from sowing his wild oats, 
 Joscelyn needed very often indeed to be roused from the 
 fits of deep melancholy to which, in common with most 
 high-spirited people, he was liable. The two were like 
 David and Jonathan, being all the more dependent on each 
 other because circumstances had thrown them together 
 almost constantly, and on this summer morning there was 
 nothing to warn them of coming changes, nothing to make 
 them realize how important a date this i3th day of July, in 
 the year 1642, was to prove for each of them. 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! there is Lincoln Minster at last !" ex- 
 claimed Joscelyn, as he perceived far in advance the grand 
 central tower, and the smaller towers of the west front with 
 their lead-covered spires glittering in the sun. 
 
 "Hurrah for the jolly Spread Eagle and a draught of 
 good ale 1" said Dick, pushing back the hair from his fore- 
 head. " This sun is grilling ! We will put up our horses 
 below hill, and go up in the cool of the day to pay our re- 
 spects to your old godfather." 
 
" I hate the thought of coming to this place no more," 
 said Joscelyn, looking over the green plain to the towers of 
 the lower city, and to the hill beyond, cross-crowned by its 
 glorious cathedral. 
 
 "Who knows that we shall come no more?" said Dick, 
 lightly ; " Mr. Gainsborough may live to be a hundred years 
 old for aught we know." 
 
 Joscelyn shook his head. 
 
 " Now that our Cambridge days are over the visits here 
 will no longer be a saving of money, but an expense. We 
 shall be kept down in the south. You will see, we shall 
 settle down at Shortell and turn into Hampshire hogs !" 
 He stifled a sigh and laughed. 
 
 "A Hampshire hog, a Surrey dog, or a Sussex boor," 
 said Dick, with a grimace. " We are near enough to the 
 boundaries of all three counties to leave us some choice. 
 Do you guess our father's intentions towards us ?" 
 
 Joscelyn shook his head. 
 
 " Naught has been said ; in my last letter I told him of 
 our wish to travel. Maybe at Lincoln he will send us some 
 reply." 
 
 " He did not grudge it to Jervis, but he will grudge it to 
 us," said Dick, with an oath. " Would to God you were 
 the first-born instead of Jervis ! I might then have stood a 
 chance of receiving something better than snubs. 'Tis a 
 wretched lot to be merely second and third fiddle all one's 
 born days." 
 
 " Nay, you have little cause to grumble," said Joscelyn. 
 " Was it not ever the youngest son who proved successful 
 in all the nursery tales ? But I the prosaic middle one in 
 a family of five have nothing before me but mediocrity to 
 the end of the chapter. Jervis must be home again from 
 the grand tour by now. I wonder if he is at Shortell, or if 
 he has already joined my father at York ?" 
 
"At Beverley, you should say. The court has left York 
 by this. Great Heaven ! Just look yonder ! Why, the road 
 is black with people !" The two brothers, who had jour- 
 neyed that morning from Grantham, were now approaching 
 the Eleanor Cross, just outside the city, the first of the long 
 series of monuments marking the resting-places of King 
 Edward's wife, and terminating at the village of Charing, 
 near London. 
 
 At this point a road from the southwest joined the one 
 they had been travelling on, and it was clear that from this 
 western quarter some great arrival was expected, for on 
 either side the way was lined with people in holiday trim. 
 
 Joscelyn, who loved excitement and delighted in crowds, 
 urged on his steed till, on reaching the Eleanor Cross, he 
 paused to ask an old countryman what was the meaning of 
 the unusual stir. 
 
 " Marry, God bless your heart, master, his Majesty the 
 King be a-coomin' from Newark," replied the man, lifting 
 a wrinkled and weather-beaten face to his questioner. 
 " Oh, aye, it be true as gospel, and I've left my be-usts 
 [cattle] that I may clap eyes on him." 
 
 "The King coming here!" exclaimed Joscelyn. "I 
 wonder if my father will be in his train ? If so, Dick, 
 good-luck for us. We will do what we can to get leave to 
 travel, and who knows but my godfather may put in a word 
 for us ?" 
 
 " Perchance my father will wish us to join the King's 
 army," said Dick, whose heart stirred strangely within him 
 at the sight of the people's enthusiasm. "After all, 'tis 
 somewhat churlish to set off travelling to foreign parts 
 when our swords might be of use in defending both Church 
 and King in upholding the divine right of " 
 
 " For God's sake let us have no politics !" said Joscelyn, 
 with an air of impatience and distaste. " As for me," and 
 
he laughed a hearty, boyish laugh, " I hold with Sir Andrew 
 Aguecheek, and had as lief be a Brownist as a politician. 
 What do you say, shall we wait here and see the entry ?" 
 
 " Better push on," said Dick ; " we shall get no stabling 
 for the horses else. The city is certain to be crowded." 
 
 " True. That's a prudent thought," replied Joscelyn. 
 " What good-fortune to come in for such a pageant ! 'Tis 
 a good omen that our manhood opens with such a stroke of 
 luck." 
 
 With keen interest he watched the busy preparations and 
 the eager people, making laughing comments to his brother 
 as they passed by. Many glances were turned upon him, 
 for, as one old gossip remarked to another, he was indeed 
 " a sight for sair een " as he rode that day into the city of 
 Lincoln. 
 
 His face was a powerful as well as a handsome one ; 
 there was power in the square jaw and prominent chin, 
 power in the low broad forehead, and both intellect and 
 humor in the far-seeing, dark -blue eyes, which, with his 
 sunny and laughter-loving nature, had been the bequest of 
 his Irish grandmother. As though to soften the rather 
 stern features, his complexion was unusually fair, while the 
 thick wavy mass of hair reaching to his shoulders was of 
 so golden a color that one might have dropped guineas 
 among it. He wore the picturesque costume of the time in 
 light gray cloth, a broad gray felt hat with blue plumes, and 
 high riding-boots. 
 
 Richard Heyworth was also a handsome fellow, his hair 
 and coloring several shades darker than his brother's, and 
 his honest gray eyes full of good-humor. But whereas Jos- 
 celyn was broad-shouldered, lean, and sinewy, evidently a 
 born athlete, Dick was small made, long-necked, and rather 
 inert-looking, so that naturally one would have expected the 
 warlike spirit to animate the elder brother, and the desire 
 
to visit the cities of the Continent to have filled the mind of 
 the younger. While, however, Dick at Cambridge had in- 
 variably been ready to drink confusion to the Roundheads 
 and to argue with all the heat and ignorance of youth, Jos- 
 celyn had always turned a deaf ear to the question of the 
 day. He hated strife and loved merriment, politics bored 
 him, and though the country seemed to stand on the very 
 brink of war, he still held aloof from all consideration or 
 discussion of the problem that was dividing England. He 
 was one of those who cannot see matters of this sort in the 
 abstract, one of those who sleep calmly on till wakened by 
 the actual presence of the problem incarnate till some in- 
 dividual case of wrong clutches hold of them and shakes 
 them from a pleasant dream-land into the light of truth. 
 
 Lincoln in those days must have been one of the most 
 striking cities in England, and to Joscelyn Heyworth it 
 was a place full of pleasant associations, for happy as his 
 life had been, and much as he loved the old Hampshire 
 home, yet it was here, at Lincoln, that he had first tasted 
 the delights of freedom. At Shortell Manor he was for- 
 ever being reminded that he was merely one of the younger 
 sons, and though the Heyworths were a singularly united 
 family, with a strong feeling for the ties of blood, yet Lady 
 Heyworth ruled somewhat sternly, and Sir Thomas treated 
 all but Jervis and Isabella, the eldest daughter, with a 
 good deal of kindness, but with scant consideration. At 
 Lincoln, naturally enough, all was different, and it was 
 with "a gay heart and friendly eyes that Joscelyn glanced 
 up at the great Bargate, the first of the gate-houses pro- 
 tecting the city on the south. With something of the pride 
 of an actual citizen, too, he looked at the beautiful Church 
 of St. Botolph, and, fording the great Gowt a watercourse 
 which at that time traversed the High Street rode past 
 the old Saxon towers of St. Peter-at-Gowts and St. Mary- 
 
le-Wigford on the right hand, the more modern churches of 
 St. Mark and St. Benedict on the left, and with no small 
 difficulty forced a passage through the great crowd of peo- 
 ple on the High Bridge. 
 
 " Let us see if there is stabling to be had at the Spread 
 Eagle," said Dick. 
 
 But one of the hostlers promptly assured them that there 
 was no room at all in the inn, many of the gentry having 
 come to the city that day to do honor to his Majesty. 
 Finding the same state of things at the Saracen's Head, 
 the brothers betook themselves to the George Inn, a quaint 
 old timber building with an upper story overhanging the 
 narrow High Street and gaining a fine view of the Stone- 
 bow, another of the ci'ty gate-houses. 
 
 By the time they had donned their best suits, and made 
 as good a meal as might be obtained from the excited 
 people of the inn, the crowd without had enormously in- 
 creased, and though Joscelyn was not without a desire to 
 be down in the thick of it, he yielded to his brother's as- 
 surances that they would see all that was to be seen far 
 better from the window of the George. So with the case- 
 ment flung wide they established themselves comfortably 
 on the broad window-seat, and with a dish of strawberries 
 within easy reach idly awaited the event of the day, chatting 
 as comfortably and unconcernedly as though beneath this 
 popular gathering there lurked no grim shadow of coming 
 strife. 
 
 " Look ! look !" cried Dick; " here come whole troops of 
 clergy filing through the Stonebow ! We shall see your 
 godfather among them. How far do they go- to meet his 
 Majesty?" 
 
 " There walks the Dean," said Joscelyn, " and good 
 Lord ! what hosts of them ! why, the place is all a-crawl 
 with parsons. They can push their way no farther ; they 
 
8 
 
 mean to wait here. And see ! from the other quarter 
 comes our jolly old herdgroom that we met at the cross ; 
 he is determined to clap eyes on the King from the best 
 possible point." 
 
 He turned back to the room for a fresh handful of 
 strawberries, then leaned out once more, his eyes full of 
 merriment, for to an acute observer a crowd will generally 
 furnish plenty of fun. He was intent on throwing down 
 strawberries to a child just below in its mother's arms, 
 when shouts from the distance warned them that his 
 Majesty was at length coming. The dense throng in 
 the street cheered lustily, cries of " A King ! a King ! 
 a King !" echoed on all sides, and the general enthusiasm 
 touched Joscelyn- it even brought the tears to his eyes. 
 " What a thing it must be to have such love as this thrown 
 at one's feet !" he thought. " A king must surely be 
 moved by such a sight, must burn to serve his people." 
 And with an eager desire which he had never before felt 
 he longed to see the face of his sovereign, realizing through 
 the loving welcome of the crowd something of the strength 
 of the King's position, something, too, of its dread respon- 
 sibility. 
 
 And now, indeed, the procession was actually in sight, 
 and looking down the High Street he could see the frantic 
 waving of hats, the drawn swords of the gentry eager to 
 swear their readiness to fight, and, surrounded by the guard, 
 his Majesty himself, the one unmoved person in the whole 
 vast assembly. With reverent loyalty fast changing to a 
 sort of dread curiosity, Joscelyn gazed fixedly at the ap- 
 proaching King. Charles, unfortunately, had none of the 
 genial bearing and habit of courting popularity which had 
 stood the Tudors in such good stead, and without which 
 their despotic government would never have been toler- 
 ated ; his affections were strictly limited to his domestic 
 
circle, and in no sense of the word could he be called the 
 father of his people ; cold, indifferent, reserved, he had 
 nothing to give in return for all the devotion of this multi- 
 tude. 
 
 " Vivat Rex ! Vivat Rex !" shouted the hundreds of 
 clergy ranged on either side of the street ; and in the words 
 of a pamphleteer of the day, an eye-witness of the scene, 
 " his Majesty vouchsafed a princely recognition of this duti- 
 ful expression." 
 
 So narrow was the street, so overhanging the upper story 
 of the inn, that the two brothers at their window were on a 
 level with the King and quite near to him. Dick Heyworth 
 stood, sword in hand, huzzaing with all the strength of his 
 lungs, but Joscelyn seemed like one struck dumb ; he forgot 
 himself altogether, and merely stood there in the window 
 watching, as though his very life depended on it, the cold, 
 handsome face and dignified bearing of the King. 
 
 At that moment a cry was raised which overpowered by 
 its strange contrast the shouts of welcome. To the right of 
 the Stonebow, from the Prison Lane, a man came elbowing 
 his way through the crowd. 
 
 "Justice!" he cried, "justice!" and the word rang out 
 with a passionate pain indescribable. 
 
 Joscelyn's heart gave a bound ; he looked at this daring 
 unit in the throng who had ventured to uplift his voice. For 
 an instant he saw him distinctly, and all his life he could 
 recall the sight. A bloodless face lined with suffering, dark 
 hair closely cropped after the fashion of the extreme section 
 among the Puritans, a nose slit by the shears of the execu- 
 tioner, ghastly scars where there should have been ears a 
 mere wreck of a man, in fact, a living witness to the bar- 
 barous intolerance of the age, for he was clearly no crim- 
 inal ; the face, though tinged with fanaticism, was never- 
 theless a good face. It was only for a minute that he was 
 
10 
 
 visible, for the people turned upon him in fury, and with 
 oaths and blows he was hustled off the scene. The King, 
 no more affected by the incident than he would have been 
 by the hum of a wasp or the drone of a bee, turned to Sir 
 John Monson and commanded him to read the speech 
 prepared by his Majesty for the occasion. This ceremony 
 ended, the city delivered its congratulations by the Recorder, 
 Sir Charles Dalison, and the King, returning a gracious ex- 
 tempore answer, passed through the Stonebow, and bowed 
 to the Corporation, which awaited him with a full appear- 
 ance of their trained bands. 
 
 Meanwhile, Joscelyn Heyworth had awakened from his 
 dream ; he had realized that there were grievances which 
 called for redress, and he had learned that the King was 
 utterly unmoved by these grievances. His heart was all in 
 a tumult. He turned hastily to the old landlady, who had 
 been looking from one of the other windows at the King's 
 entry. 
 
 " Who was that Roundhead fellow that cried out for jus- 
 tice ?" he asked. " Doth he belong to these parts ?" 
 
 "Why, yes, master," said the good dame, wondering at 
 the question. " He be well known in Lincoln. 'Tis John 
 Drake, the school-master he was sent to prison in foreign 
 parts. The Parliament they released him." 
 
 " Why was he imprisoned ?" asked Joscelyn. 
 
 " He wrote a book against the bishops," said the land- 
 lady, " and the Star Chamber condemned him for it to the 
 pillory ; and that was how he lost his ears and the shape of 
 his nose, to say nothing of his money ; and when he coom 
 back from prison, why, he found his wife and children had 
 died, and it's my belief that half turned his brain, for though 
 before he was a peaceable, harmless man, yet now he be 
 always, as you saw him to-day, wildlike and crying for jus- 
 tice." 
 
II 
 
 Joscelyn thought of the people who had kicked and hus- 
 tled him out of sight, and he thought of the King's cold in- 
 difference. Had they treated a dog even in such a way, 
 surely one might have expected a shade of pity or concern 
 on the face of a good and compassionate man ; and this 
 fanatic, this mutilated school-master, was one of the King's 
 own subjects. 
 
 " Where doth the fellow live ?" he asked, filled with an 
 unaccountable desire to make up to the poor man for the 
 ill treatment he had received. 
 
 "Well, I've heard folks say that he lodges at the Jew's 
 house on Steep Hill," said the landlady. " Not the one 
 opposite the Bull Ring, but what they call the House of 
 Aaron the Jew, wellnigh at the top o' the hill." 
 
 The conversation was interrupted by an exclamation from 
 Dick. 
 
 " Good-luck, Joscelyn ! good-luck !" he cried. " See, here 
 rides my father." 
 
 Joscelyn returned to the window, and the perplexity died 
 out of his face as he burst into a hearty laugh. 
 
 "Why, as I'm a living man, "he cried, "there's Jervis rid- 
 ing beside him, wearing a lovelock a yard long, tied with 
 sky-blue ribbons." 
 
 "The grand tour has changed him mightily," said Dick. 
 "Was there ever such a dandy ? See how my father defers 
 to him. There's after all little hope for us, I fear." 
 
 But Joscelyn had ceased to think of the future ; he was 
 only intent on catching his father's eye, and bluff Sir Thom- 
 as, presently perceiving him, called out a hearty greeting, 
 and bade him hasten below and meet them. 
 
 Both Joscelyn and Dick hurried down to the door, and 
 Sir Thomas, dismounting, embraced them, looking them 
 over from head to foot not without a good deal of fatherly 
 pride. 
 
12 
 
 "Glad to see you, my sons; glad to see you," he said. 
 "Why, Jervis, it's an age since you set eyes on them." 
 
 Jervis's greeting was decidedly flavored with patronage, 
 and Joscelyn was glad to turn again to his father. 
 
 " You have ridden straight from Newark, sir ?" he asked. 
 
 "Aye, right away, and we are wellnigh broiled," said the 
 baronet, taking off his beaver and wiping his red face as 
 they mounted the stairs. 
 
 He was a fine-looking man of about fifty, but appearing 
 older on account of his gray hair and shaggy gray eye- 
 brows. His eyes, rather small and deep-set, were of a 
 clear light blue, utterly unlike the Irish blue of Joscelyn's ; 
 his mouth betrayed an irritable temperament, but in other 
 details he was not unlike his second son : there was the 
 same rather stern profile, the same tall, broad-shouldered 
 frame, and the same strange attractiveness which made 
 him, with all his faults, a most lovable man. 
 
 "We left Cambridge but yesterday, sir," exclaimed Jos- 
 celyn, as they entered the parlor once more ; " slept last 
 night at the Angel, at Grantham, and rode on here just in 
 time to see the King's entry. We had no notion his Maj- 
 esty was expected." 
 
 " It was but a hastily devised plan," said Sir Thomas, 
 setting down his tankard of ale and calling for a plate of 
 beef. " We have had naught but chopping and changing of 
 late ; first from York to Beverley, where his Majesty hath 
 a fine set of troops ready to fight the parliamentary villains ; 
 thence to Hull, which is still held by the traitor Hotham ; 
 after that to Newark, and so here. Jervis and I must re- 
 turn with the court to-morrow to Beverley, but as for you 
 two lads you had best return to Shortell at once and help 
 to execute the commission of array. On your way down 
 you can stop to consult with your uncle at Bletchingley, 
 and erelong I shall be at home to see to matters myself." 
 
13 
 
 " Do you mean, sir, that you intend to raise a troop ?" 
 asked Joscelyn, all his old perplexity returning. 
 
 " Why, of course, lad, of course ; what else would you 
 have me do ? Things would be come to a pretty pass in- 
 deed if an English gentleman hesitated to put all he had at 
 the disposal of his King. I thank God that he has given 
 me wealth and health and three stalwart sons to join with 
 me against the foe." 
 
 Jervis, who had taken a place at the table just opposite 
 to Joscelyn, watched him critically during this speech. 
 
 " Methinks Cambridge is somewhat behind the times," 
 he said, with a smile. " Joscelyn has the air of one roused 
 from the land of books to the workaday world. In the 
 words of the proverb, ' This cock will not fight.' " 
 
 Joscelyn flushed angrily and turned to his father. 
 
 " I have kept aloof from politics, sir," he said ; " and this 
 certain news of war, this active preparation, bursts on me 
 as a surprise. I had always thought some peaceful settle- 
 ment would be made. For the rest, if war indeed come, I 
 can fight for the right as well as any other Englishman." 
 
 " Bravely spoken," said Sir Thomas. " Come, boys, let 
 us have a toast : Confusion to the King's enemies !" 
 
 " Confusion to the King's enemies !" echoed the three 
 sons ; but as Joscelyn drank there darted into his mind an 
 uncomfortable question 
 
 " And who are his true enemies ?" 
 
 It was exactly as though a voice spoke the words into his 
 ear, and indeed the question was the last that would have 
 naturally occurred to him. Startled and agitated, he pushed 
 back his chair, and crossing the room, gazed out of the win- 
 dow again at the crowded street. The motley gathering, 
 however, had no longer any charms for him ; like one in a 
 dream he watched the people fighting their way through the 
 three arches of the Stonebow, while above them, carved on 
 
14 
 
 the old gate-house in strange contrast of repose, he could 
 see the representation of the Virgin Mary trampling under- 
 foot the dragon as she received the message of the Archan- 
 gel Gabriel. His peace-loving nature turned with relief to 
 the calm picture in stone. At least of this he was sure, that 
 in the end evil was to be overpowered by good. Whatever 
 else was uncertain, there remained the one great certainty, 
 that peace and good -will should ultimately reign among 
 men. For Joscelyn had a sort of vigorous faith which had 
 grown with his growth and strengthened with his strength ; 
 and the vague discomfort that had now seized upon him 
 came solely from his dread of doing wrong through his po- 
 litical ignorance. An unexpected call had come to him to 
 help his father in executing the commission of array, and 
 but a few minutes before he had become conscious that the 
 question at issue was a painfully complicated one, and that 
 for him at any rate it was now impossible to rush into the 
 King's service without trying to gain a true understanding 
 of the actual quarrel. 
 
 And yet how was this possible for him ?" With the best 
 intentions, how could he now all at once gain the knowl- 
 edge he so sorely needed ? In a miserable state of unrest, 
 with a suppressed dread which he failed to understand, he 
 tried desperately to see where his duty lay, and while still 
 making as though he were absorbed in contemplation of 
 the crowd, he was really praying with the passionate fervor 
 of one who sees himself encompassed by perils. Then he 
 stood still and waited in expectancy, but all that came to 
 him was the trampling of feet and the buzz of tongues from 
 the street below, while from within came the sound of Jer- 
 vis's voice, singing, not too soberly, a mocking song of the 
 
 day: 
 
 "Come, let the state stay 
 
 And drink away, 
 There is no business above it ; 
 
15 
 
 It warms the cold brain, 
 
 Makes us speak in high strain, 
 He's a fool that does not approve it. 
 
 The Macedon youth 
 
 Left behind him this truth, 
 That nothing is done with much thinking ; 
 
 He drank and he fought, 
 
 Till he had what he sought ; 
 The world was his own by good drinking." 
 
 The words fell jarringly on his ear. Was this devil's 
 argument to be shouted out so clearly, and was no help to 
 come to him in his perplexity ? All at once he remembered 
 his old godfather. If he could not see a way out of his 
 difficulties, there was at any rate something he ought to do 
 at the present moment ; and finding Dick little disposed to 
 go with him, he set forth alone, relieved to get out of the 
 inn parlor into the gay, crowded High Street. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 It is curious to observe the triumph of slight incidents Over the 
 mind what incredible weight they have in forming and governing our 
 opinion, both of men and things ! that trifles light as air should waft a 
 belief into the soul, and plant it so immovably within it that Euclid's 
 demonstrations, could they be brought to batter it in breach, should not 
 all have power to overthrow it ! STERNE. 
 
 THE fresh summer air and the bright sunshine soon re- 
 stored Joscelyn's mind to its usual happy content. Passing 
 the churches of St. Peter-at-Arches, St. Lawrence, and St. 
 Martin, he entered the Strait, a gloomy, narrow thoroughfare 
 leading from the High Street to the foot of Steep Hill. 
 Here he overtook some old friends, Henry Barrington and 
 his pretty sister, and what with their merry talk and the 
 bright eyes of Mistress Anne, future cares were driven still 
 further into the background. 
 
 "You must come to us this evening," she said, gayly. 
 " We are to have a dance in honor of his Majesty's visit. 
 How lucky that you should have arrived in time for this 
 gala-day !" 
 
 "Nay, come and stay with us altogether," said Henry 
 Barrington ; " for, as no doubt you have heard, old Mr. 
 Gainsborough is taken ill, and you will have but a dull time 
 of it there." 
 
 " Is he ill ?" said Joscelyn, anxiously. " I had heard 
 naught of that. I must go on at once and ask how he 
 does. And for your invitation to the dance, Mistress Anne, 
 I gladly accept it." 
 
 She gave him a bright, mischievous glance, for Joscelyn 
 
Heyworth was one of the three admirers who she favored, 
 and stood quite apart from a score or so of less fortunate 
 adorers. At present, however, he was not so much in love 
 with her as he had once fancied was the case, merely regard- 
 ing her as the prettiest girl he had as yet seen and the pleas- 
 antest to talk with. 
 
 Having parted with them towards the top of the hill, and 
 watched the last glimpse of Anne's blue skirt as it turned 
 the corner, he suddenly came back to his perplexities with 
 a pang of remembrance, at sight of the Jew's house which 
 he was just approaching. In a moment the scene at the 
 Stonebow flashed back into his mind, and once more that 
 unwelcome voice spoke to him with startling clearness : 
 " Go, see him at once he was unjustly used." 
 
 Not without a certain reluctance he approached the old 
 stone house, and, pausing at the Norman doorway, knocked 
 for admittance. 
 
 " What is your will ?" said a pale-faced woman, opening 
 to him. 
 
 " I came to inquire after a Mr. John Drake ; they told me 
 he lodged here," said Joscelyn. 
 
 The woman looked doubtfully at his dress and at the 
 mane of golden hair ; she seemed half inclined to shut the 
 door in his face, but the kindly look in his blue eyes dis- 
 armed her. 
 
 " If you wish him well, sir, step in," she said ; " but he 
 has not long to live, and I will not have him pestered at the 
 last." 
 
 " What !" cried Joscelyn. " You don't mean that he was 
 seriously injured by the crowd ?" 
 
 " No," she replied. " 'Twas not the crowd that killed 
 him ; 'twas his own excitement. He had been ill in bed 
 for a se'nnight or more, but to-day, when my back was 
 turned, he dressed himself and went downhill, being fran- 
 
i8 
 
 tic-like at news of the King's entrance. I'm naught but his 
 landlady; yet, sir, I care for him as though he were my own 
 kin." 
 
 She led the way into an inner room, where, in the some- 
 what dim light, Joscelyn presently descried the face that 
 had haunted him, almost as white now as the pillow it lay 
 upon. John Drake fixed his dark eyes on the stranger for 
 a minute, then turned to his landlady. 
 
 " I would see none but the godly in my last extremity," 
 he said. 
 
 " Nay, sir," said the good woman ; " but this gentleman 
 hath a kind heart, and would know how you fare. Maybe 
 he is, after all, a godly youth." 
 
 " His clothing is too bright, and his hair is not of the 
 godly cut," said the Puritan. 
 
 At any other time Joscelyn would have laughed aloud, 
 but in the near presence of death a sort of awe stilled even 
 his keen sense of humor. He felt nothing but a desire to 
 help in some way this man who had been slowly done to 
 death. 
 
 " Don't heed me," he said ; " I am only one who saw the 
 doings just now at the Stonebow, and would fain have shel- 
 tered you from the rough usage. Is there aught I could do 
 for you now ?" 
 
 The dying man did not speak for some minutes, he only 
 looked steadfastly at his visitor ; it was as if he now saw 
 something beyond the fashionable clothes and the gay col- 
 ors and the long hair. 
 
 " I misjudged you, sir," he said at length. " ' Blessed 
 are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.' Nay, there 
 is little I need now; the prison life sowed the seeds of death 
 in me, and sorrow and want have finished the work." 
 
 His very lack of complaint touched Joscelyn ; he looked 
 down on the poor, marred face with infinite pity. What a 
 
19 
 
 life this man had led ! what misery he had endured ! how 
 cruel had the world been to him ! and now he was dying, 
 and the time for " kindly deeds and offices of good " was 
 over. 
 
 " I wish your life had been less sad, sir," he said, with a 
 sort of break in his voice, " and I wish there were aught I 
 could do for you." 
 
 The dying man started up with sudden energy, and caught 
 his hand with an eager, almost convulsive grasp. 
 
 " Too late for me," he said, " but in God's name think of 
 the thousands in like case. Give your life for England and 
 her liberties. Fight for justice for justice !" 
 
 With that word on his lips the first word and the last 
 that Joscelyn heard him speak John Drake fell back upon 
 the pillow. His troubled life was over. 
 
 Joscelyn staggered back from the bedside, feeling as if 
 some one had dealt him a stunning blow. Within a couple 
 of hours there had come to him a call to arms from either 
 side. His father bade him help to prepare a troop in Hamp- 
 shire, this dying Puritan solemnly adjured him, in the name 
 of God, to fight for the liberties of England. It seemed to 
 him the very irony of fate that this should have happened 
 to one whose tastes were wholly peaceful, and he wondered 
 impatiently why he could not return to his old, comfortable, 
 easy-going life. But his sleep was over, his dream ended ; 
 already his boyhood seemed far behind, and life hard, per- 
 plexing, baffling life lay before him. 
 
 Then he remembered that he must hasten on to see old 
 Mr. Gainsborough, if possible ; and full of anxiety to find 
 out the truth about his illness, he took a hurried leave of 
 the landlady of the Jew's house, and, mounting the rest of 
 the hill, made his way through the Exchequer Gate into the 
 Close, or, as it was usually called, the Minster Yard. 
 
 From the northwest tower Great Tom of Lincoln rang 
 
20 
 
 solemn welcome to the King, and in the sunshine of that 
 summer afternoon the rich Norman work of the west front 
 seemed to Joscelyn more perfect than ever ; he wondered 
 whether John Drake had grudged the beauty of the cathe- 
 dral, and whether, if he and his like had their way, all the 
 noblest buildings in England would be levelled to the ground. 
 Walking past the beautiful Galilee porch, and the still more 
 beautiful south doorway, he imagined to himself an army of 
 John Drakes at work with hammer and axe, not for their 
 legitimate use, but for destruction for sawing off, perhaps, 
 the exquisitely chiselled head of the Christ in the centre of 
 the south doorway, or for dragging the stone saints from 
 their niches. This side of Puritanism revolted him ; and 
 yet the memory of the dead man, of his poor mutilated face, 
 of his pitiful story, kept returning to- him till his wrath 
 against the image-breakers turned to wrath with the cruel- 
 ties of Laud, and in resenting the defacing of human beings 
 he forgot to think of the foolish attacks on art. 
 
 Mr. Gainsborough lived in an old red-tiled house facing 
 the east end of the cathedral, and near the chapter-house. 
 It was long and low, with curious old windows dating from 
 the reign of Edward III. Joscelyn noticed that the cur- 
 tains of his godfather's bedroom were closely drawn, and 
 the moment the old serving-man opened the door to him he 
 saw that Henry Barrington had not exaggerated the news 
 of the illness. 
 
 " The master will never be out again," explained the old 
 servant, in reply to his question. " He may linger on for a 
 time, they say, but can never be better any more." 
 
 " Will he see me ?" asked Joscelyn. 
 
 "Yes, sir, yes; come in. No fear but that he'll see 
 you." And entering a dark passage, Joscelyn followed the 
 man up a strange twisting staircase, built in the thickness 
 of the wall, till he reached the sick-room. Here, lying on 
 
21 
 
 a quaintly-carved bedstead with a heavy oak canopy, he 
 found his old friend, and his heart sank within him as he 
 saw how wan and changed he was. The invalid looked 
 him over from head to foot, with something of the pride of 
 a father, his eyes lighting up and his strength and energy 
 returning as he questioned him about his success at Cam- 
 bridge. Joscelyn told all gladly enough. But presently 
 there came a pause, which was broken at length by the old 
 man. 
 
 "And now, my son," he said, "what will you do with 
 your life ?" 
 
 "Ah, sir," cried Joscelyn, "that is the question that is 
 haunting me. What can I do ? What ought I to do ?" 
 
 Then with perfect frankness he told all the story of that 
 day, and of the strange way in which its events had im- 
 pressed him. " Only counsel me," he prayed, " and I will 
 gladly follow your counsel." 
 
 " Nay," said the old man, shaking his head, " how can I 
 do that, lad, when I, too, am sorely perplexed ? God in His 
 mercy will take me away from these troubled times in which 
 we see but through a glass darkly. And as for you why, 
 you must seek for wisdom where only it can be found." 
 
 " Yet if you do not know, sir, how can I hope to do so ?" 
 said Joscelyn. 
 
 "We can always see as far as the next needful step," 
 said the dying man. " The days of my pilgrimage are over, 
 but yours are only beginning therefore be sure light will 
 come." 
 
 "But there is no time," said Joscelyn, his voice full of 
 distress. " To-morrow I must go back to Hampshire, must 
 set actively to work in the King's cause. My father has 
 already commanded me." 
 
 " Lad," said the old man, starting up eagerly, " do noth- 
 ing in this matter till you can do it with your whole heart 
 
22 
 
 and soul. You can serve neither King nor country till you 
 have the consciousness of right. Let your motto through 
 life be Mens conscia recti without that your work will be 
 worthless." 
 
 "I am full of ignorance," said Joscelyn, despondently. 
 " How can I judge how even search into all these vital 
 questions ? And besides, as I said, there is no time, I must 
 set out to-morrow. And to speak of examining into the 
 rights of the case would almost madden my father, who 
 deems the King irresponsible, and of necessity in the 
 right." 
 
 "True, and as yet you do not know but that you may 
 come to see with him," said the invalid, musingly. Then 
 after a silence : " But see, lad, you commit yourself to noth- 
 ing by riding home to Shortell Manor, and, as you ride, pray 
 for guidance. There is only one help for a man in your 
 plight. ' Where shall wisdom be found ? And where is 
 the place of understanding ? God understandeth the way 
 thereof, and He knoweth the place thereof. For He look- 
 eth to the ends of the earth, and seeth under the whole 
 heavens.' " 
 
 He lay back again on the pillows exhausted, and for 
 many minutes there was unbroken quiet in the room. 
 After a while the servant entered with a message. 
 
 " Sir Thomas Heyworth was below, come to inquire after 
 Mr. Gainsborough's health ; also he wished Mr. Heyworth 
 to come with him at once, as there was a likelihood that he 
 could be presented to the King." 
 
 Joscelyn rose reluctantly. 
 
 "Yes, lad, you must go," said his godfather; "yet come 
 back to me again. Come to me by nine of the clock, and 
 watch with me through the night. 'Tis the last time I shall 
 see you in this world." 
 
 Joscelyn sighed heavily. In his miserable perplexity he 
 
23 
 
 would gladly have changed places with the dying man, 
 and with infinite unwillingness he left the quiet room, and, 
 joining his father below, walked with him to the bishop's 
 palace, where the King had taken up his quarters. 
 
 Sir Thomas talked fast and cheerfully, and as they 
 crossed the Minster Green, Dick met them, full of excite- 
 ment at the prospect of his presentation. But Joscelyn 
 had the strangest feeling of unreality, for the weight of the 
 problem upon which he must so soon decide overpowered 
 all else, and afterwards he had the most indistinct recollec- 
 tion of what had passed. He could merely remember the 
 entrance into the stately palace, the first sight of the grand 
 banqueting-hall thronged with the Lincolnshire gentry who 
 had flocked into the city to show their loyalty, and the 
 extreme sadness of the King's eyes as they met his at his 
 presentation. 
 
 All was over very quickly, and he found himself once 
 more in the open air with Dick talking and laughing beside 
 him, glad that the ceremony was ended and full of the 
 King's praises. Joscelyn hardly heard him. He was lost 
 in thought. Was it, he wondered, the death of Strafford 
 that had brought the melancholy look to those eyes that 
 haunted him ? Was it the thought of the threatened re- 
 bellion ? Was it distrust of his own advisers? Stories that 
 he had heard at Cambridge about the King's lack of honor 
 and trustworthiness returned to him now, forming an odd 
 contrast to the known purity and strictness of his life in 
 other matters. And then he thought of his cold indiffer- 
 ence to the harsh treatment of poor John Drake at the 
 Stonebow, which seemed to accord so ill with his prover- 
 bially religious character. Yet, spite of the chilling effect 
 of the King's want of geniality, Joscelyn was far from har- 
 boring any enmity against him. Only the baffling question 
 returned to him again and again, " Who were his Majesty's 
 
24 
 
 true enemies ?" And how was he to fight for that justice 
 for which the dying victim of a hateful tyranny had so 
 eagerly pleaded ? 
 
 " You look melancholy, Mr. Heyworth," said pretty Anne 
 Barrington, greeting him with her brightest smile, as he en- 
 tered the ball-room a little later on. " Is it the thought of 
 the war that makes you so grave ?" 
 
 " Maybe," he replied, smiling a little, yet sighing too. 
 
 " For my part," said Anne, looking down complacently 
 at her little pink shoes, " I think it is a delightful prospect. 
 We shall no longer die of dulness and ennui, there will be 
 stirring news-letters about sieges and battles and heroism. 
 It will be like living in a French romance." 
 
 They were standing together in an oriel-window, the 
 shutters had not been closed, the casement was wide open. 
 Joscelyn turned away from the brightly lighted room and 
 looked out into the summer evening ; glowing sunset hues 
 still lingered in the west. 
 
 " Do you call it romance ?" he cried, bitterly. " Why, 
 war is the desolater the divider !" 
 
 " I do not see that," she replied. " Of course we shall 
 all be on the right side ; all people of birth will follow the 
 King." 
 
 " I do not know how that may be," said Joscelyn, " but 
 in any case, there are the rest. Do you make no account 
 of them ? You are a woman, and cannot realize what it 
 will be actually to fight your own fellow-countrymen to 
 fight, perhaps, for a cause that you can't even understand." 
 
 " You spoil my pleasure," said Anne, pouting. " What 
 business have you to indulge in a fit of the dismals on this 
 gala-day ? Come, the music begins, we must linger here 
 no longer." 
 
 Joscelyn, with a sigh, turned away from the open win- 
 dow, and in a few minutes more was leading Anne through 
 
2$ 
 
 the stately minuet. How he wished that life was as simple 
 an affair as this dance, and that one could master its in- 
 tricacies by unmistakable rules ! Yet, after all, were there 
 not first principles upon which he could fall back ? There 
 was, at any rate, the clear duty of doing all that in him lay 
 to study the question, though how it was to be done, and 
 what the results would be, he could not imagine. 
 
 The minuet was followed by a coranto to Whitelocke's 
 music one of the most popular tunes of the day. Josce- 
 lyn watched Anne dancing with one of her two other 
 favored admirers without a single pang of envy. Past 
 and present seemed curiously lifeless, blotted out by the 
 looming shadow of the future. He danced mechanically, 
 wondering to himself that so gay a scene could seem to 
 him so strangely sad. Everything he had once enjoyed 
 was there good music, a good floor, general popularity, 
 Anne's pretty face and fascinating smile ; yet his heart felt 
 like lead, and he was glad when nine o'clock sounded the 
 hour of his release ; glad even to bid Anne good-by, and to 
 find himself outside in the cool twilight. On reaching the 
 sick-room once more he found Mr. Gainsborough rather 
 worse, yet somehow the suffering and discomfort of the 
 dying man accorded better with his feelings than the 
 gayety of the dance. He was glad to be here glad to 
 wait on his godfather, and to watch by him through the 
 silent hours of the night. 
 
 At intervals they talked ; sometimes of their mutual 
 friend, Mr. Whichcote, Joscelyn's Cambridge tutor, some- 
 times about the King and the state of the country, some- 
 times of the hope of a speedy reconciliation with the Par- 
 liament. 
 
 Towards midnight the old man broke a long silence. 
 
 " I feel strangely drowsy," he said, trying, in the dim 
 light, to make out his godson's features. " Do you get to 
 
26 
 
 sleep, too, lad, or you will be weary for your journey to- 
 morrow." 
 
 He motioned him nearer, looked at him searchingly, and 
 embraced him with a murmured blessing. 
 
 " Do you know the meaning of your name, Joscelyn ?" he 
 said, a smile hovering about his wan lips. " It means 
 Justice." 
 
 Having said that, he turned his face to the wall, and al- 
 most immediately dropped asleep. 
 
 Joscelyn returned to the huge dimity-covered arm-chair 
 by the window and sat listening to the deep breathing of 
 the old man, and watching the streak of light from the 
 night-lamp where it fell athwart the great beam supporting 
 the ceiling. Perhaps it was only now that he fully realized 
 all that he owed to Mr. Gainsborough. The old man had, 
 indeed, done much to train his mind, to implant in him cer- 
 tain vigorous first principles, and to show him by his own 
 life the power of gentleness and liberality. He had, in fact, 
 taught him all that it was in his power to teach, and the 
 time had come when the two were to be parted the old 
 man to go to his rest, the young man to step forth alone 
 into the battle of life. In the quiet of the summer dawn 
 both slept heavily, but the old Prebendary's face was full 
 of peace, while Joscelyn's knitted brow and flushed cheek 
 showed that even in his dreams he wrestled with the griev- 
 ous problem which he had to solve. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 It is the law of Heaven that you shall not be able to judge what is 
 wise . . . unless you are first resolved to judge what is just, and to do 
 it. RUSKIN. 
 
 " You have already breakfasted ?" asked Sir Thomas, as 
 the next morning he was ushered into Mr. Gainsborough's 
 study, where his son had just risen from the table. " Warm 
 beer ? Eh ? No, I am heated with walking up the hill. I'll 
 take nothing; and while we speak of it, Joscelyn, you'll do 
 well in this matter to keep an eye on Dick. Thank God, 
 I'm a sober man myself, and would have my sons the same, 
 but Jervis hath gained no good in foreign parts, and Dick 
 from sheer good-nature will follow his lead unless you have 
 a care. How is your godfather ?" 
 
 " Still sleeping heavily," said Joscelyn ; " and the doctor 
 thinks, sir, he will never regain consciousness, but will last 
 a few days in this state and then die." 
 
 He spoke very quietly, but his face was full of sadness. 
 
 " Poor man !" said Sir Thomas. " Is it indeed as bad as 
 that ? Poor man !" 
 
 Joscelyn could almost have smiled. It did not seem to 
 him that his godfather was to be pitied ; surely he was in 
 far better case than those who were left below in this mis- 
 erably perplexing time left, not knowing where to turn for 
 advice. The thought of his own position returned to him 
 with double force. He sighed. 
 
 " Poor lad !" said Sir Thomas. " You were ever fond of 
 him and he of you. But courage, boy ; your life lies before 
 
28 
 
 you, and in these stirring times even you younger sons may 
 reasonably hope to gain a good position. I could almost 
 wish you were the eldest, for you are more to my taste now 
 than Jervis." 
 
 " I scarce knew him, he was so changed, sir ; but doubt- 
 less a few weeks in England will bring him to other ways.''* 
 
 Sir Thomas shook his head. 
 
 " He's not to my liking at all," he said, with a touch of 
 pathos. " He has grown dissolute, extravagant, godless 
 unlike a Heyworth. But you, Joscelyn, you must be my 
 right hand. I look to you now, for I can't deny I'm disap- 
 pointed in my first-born sorely disappointed." 
 
 " It was the first time his father had ever spoken to him 
 confidentially, and the evident sadness and pain in his face 
 touched Joscelyn to the heart ; he spoke the eager words of 
 comfort and affection that rose naturally to his lips. 
 
 " God bless you, lad !" said Sir Thomas, with one of the 
 bright, genuine smiles which made the father and son so 
 much alike. " I look to you to do me credit, to prove your- 
 self a true Heyworth. But I must not stay longer. His 
 Majesty will by this have spoken with Lord Willoughby of 
 Erebie, who brought him a promise of six hundred horse 
 from the gentlemen of Lincolnshire, and when that is ended 
 the court will leave for Beverley." 
 
 " You wish us to start for Shortell this day, sir ?" asked 
 Joscelyn. " It would not be possible for me to wait on my 
 godfather ?" 
 
 " Nay ; better start at once," said Sir Thomas. " He 
 may linger long in this unconscious state, and what is there 
 you could do for him ? All being well, Jervis and I shall 
 also come to Shortell in two or three weeks' time, but do 
 you go and begin the work, and let drilling be the order of 
 the day. Farewell, my son ; a safe journey to you !" 
 
 He embraced him with more warmth than usual, and 
 
29 
 
 Joscelyn, going with him to the front door, watched him as 
 he crossed the green and disappeared though the gateway 
 leading to the bishop's palace. It was not until he lost 
 sight of the well-known figure that, with a sudden pang, he 
 remembered that before he again met his father he must 
 have made the search into the great question of the day 
 upon which so much depended. What if he found it im- 
 possible conscientiously to join the King's side and make 
 war upon the Parliament ? What if his study of the just 
 liberties of England should against his very wish divide him 
 from his father ? The very thought tortured him ; and as 
 though to escape from it he left the house, turning his steps 
 by a sort of instinct towards the cathedral, and finally en- 
 tering his favorite south doorway. 
 
 Outside there had been the glare and heat of the summer 
 day, and the uncongenial crowd of idlers waiting about in 
 hopes of catching a glimpse of the King; within all was 
 quiet and cool, and full of that beautiful repose which Nat- 
 ure herself cannot always give, but which is seldom want- 
 ing in a nobly designed church. He sat down on one of 
 the stone ledges in the south aisle, and looked up at the 
 exquisitely carved angels in the triforium. The great build- 
 ing was empty, and its quiet stilled for a time his troubled 
 thoughts. Where the light was to come from which should 
 lighten his ignorance he had no notion ; he only knew that 
 it was bound to come. With his whole heart he desired to 
 do right ; the rest lay with God. But presently, with a sud- 
 den revulsion, all his old torments returned. It was true 
 that the ordering lay with God, but the pain of it lay with 
 him. What if the consciousness of right brought him ruin 
 in this world, the bitter condemnation of all he loved? 
 Worse still what if it brought him into actual conflict with 
 his father and Dick ? His very heart sickened as the vision 
 rose before him of a battle-field and the faces he loved con- 
 
30 
 
 fronting him as foes. Could even this be borne ? Could 
 duty lead any man in so cruel a path ? He sprang up and 
 paced to and fro in the aisle, wrestling with the horrible 
 imagination, praying with desperate earnestness the prayer 
 of David : " Lead me, O Lord, in Thy righteousness, be- 
 cause of my enemies : make Thy way plain before my face." 
 
 And after a while the beautiful silent cathedral, standing 
 so peacefully in the midst of a troubled land, calm amid 
 all the rage of the people, once more became a parable to 
 him. He wondered whether perhaps it had witnessed just 
 such a conflict as his in the past, and thought of all the 
 strife and contention it must have looked down on, all the 
 long years of civil war and desolation that had been in 
 England since first it was built. But this led his thoughts 
 back to the contentions of the present, the wretched sense 
 of his own ignorance alternating with hopes that after all 
 war might be averted at the last, or that he might be able 
 honestly to side with his father. Again the words of the 
 dying Puritan rang in his ear, " Fight for justice, for 
 justice !" Again his godfather's eyes met his, reminding 
 him that his very name meant Justice. The dread of doing 
 wrong began to drive out every other thought, in utter 
 misery he fell on his knees and prayed more desperately 
 than ever for light. Then it suddenly occurred to him that 
 only yesterday he had prayed for guidance, that no answer 
 had apparently been given, yet that in doing his duty he 
 had first come across John Drake, and then had received 
 the last advice of his godfather. 
 
 Surely, light would come. 
 
 He rose to his feet comforted. Even the anguish of pos- 
 sible family division faded away before the perception that 
 now came to him of a Higher Union which outer things 
 were powerless to break ; and leaving the cathedral, he 
 stepped forth once more into the world, strong with the one 
 
thought which could help him through his strangely perplex- 
 ing life. " I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me." 
 
 The two brothers left Lincoln early that morning ; left it 
 with old Mr. Gainsborough lying unconscious in the house 
 in Minster Yard ; with John Drake's body just placed in its 
 coffin ; with King Charles courteously thanking the gentle- 
 men of Lincolnshire and the mayor, John Beck, for the 
 troops they had promised to raise; with the old "herde- 
 groome " contentedly minding his cattle near the Eleanor 
 Cross; and the sun shining down on minster and castle and 
 clustering houses as though, spite of the coming desolation, 
 he would cheer the hearts of men. 
 
 Riding all through that Thursday, all through Friday, 
 though not a little tried by the dust and heat, Joscelyn and 
 Dick having stopped at Croydon about noon on Saturday 
 to bait their horses, set forth once more at three o'clock, in- 
 tending to reach their uncle's house at Bletchingley before 
 night. In the first place they bore a letter to him from Sir 
 Thomas, and in the second place they counted on getting a 
 good deal of help and advice from him, since he was an old 
 soldier, too much maimed for fighting, but with a large ex- 
 perience, upon which these two intended to draw. 
 
 Things were different in those days, and the brothers hav- 
 ing begun their Cambridge career at the ages of fifteen and 
 sixteen, were now, at its close, but nineteen and twenty. 
 Young, inexperienced, and ignorant of the world, they had 
 the great merit of being aware of the fact, and Joscelyn was 
 not without hope that his soldier uncle might be able to 
 solve his difficulties for him, and give him that knowl- 
 edge of the state of affairs which he so greatly desired to 
 have. 
 
 " The best of all would be if we could persuade him to 
 come on with us to Shortell," said Dick, as they slowly 
 
32 
 
 mounted a long hill. " He would do more with the train- 
 ing in a week than you and I in a month." 
 
 "True," said Joscelyn, plucking a bit of traveller's joy 
 from a bush as they rode past. " My mother would like it, 
 too, and little Rosamond will bless us, for she is mighty 
 fond of my uncle. Good Lord ! what will that poor child 
 say to the news of the war ? She is too tender for such 
 times as these. " 
 
 " Yes ; she will not be so full of gay excitement as Mis- 
 tress Anne Barrington," said Dick, stealing a glance at his 
 brother. " Were we all chopped into mince-meat she would 
 but say that it made life like a romance." 
 
 Joscelyn shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " The novelty of war will soon wear off, and she will long 
 for peace ; or perchance, while the rest of the world is fight- 
 ing, she will marry some cathedral dignitary." 
 
 "With your benediction ?" said Dick, teasingly. 
 
 " Oh, entirely," said Joscelyn, with a laugh. " ' She is 
 pretty to walk with, and witty to talk with, and pleasant, 
 too, to think upon,' but having said that you have said all." 
 
 They had now, by winding lanes, reached a country 
 church, and the wide, open expanse of Coulesdon Common 
 lay before them ; it was a fine place for a gallop, and by the 
 time they had reached the little village of Katterham they 
 were all glowing with the exercise, and were glad to slack- 
 en their pace as they rode past the pretty thatched cottages 
 with their trim gardens, the village ale-house standing su- 
 perior to all the other houses in the glory of red brick and 
 tiled roof, the comfortable old rectory sheltered by a fine 
 oak-tree, and then, after a space, with a gentleman's park 
 on one side of the road and enclosed fields on the other, 
 the little church with its rustic spire and peaceful grave- 
 yard. Just at this point the lane turned sharply round to 
 the right, running along the brow of a hill and overlooking 
 
33 
 
 a most beautiful valley one of those sweet, wild, wooded 
 valleys that form the great charm of Surrey. The road a 
 mere track, forming an old right of way through private 
 property was in a disgraceful state, and its ruts, almost as 
 deep as ditches, baked hard by the sun, contrasted ill with 
 Coulesdon Common, where riding had been keen enjoy- 
 ment. Just at this point they saw approaching them a 
 family coach, a large lumbering vehicle which swung from 
 side to side as the fine bay horses ploughed their way 
 through the rough lane. The two brothers drew up close 
 to the hedge which skirted the road on the one side. The 
 way was very narrow, and a little in advance it was made 
 narrower still, for some one had left a wheelbarrow near 
 the garden wall which formed the other boundary. Now 
 what gives horses their inveterate dislike to wheelbarrows 
 it would be hard to say, but both the horses belonging to 
 the coach shied as they passed the hated object, and the 
 coachman losing for a time his control over them, they 
 plunged violently to the other side of the road. An ex- 
 traordinary minute of confusion followed, the cob Joscelyn 
 was riding reared and kicked wildly, and in the end the 
 horse and rider went over together, to the great consterna- 
 tion of Dick, who, being behind his brother, had escaped 
 the danger. Instantly dismounting, he hastened to the res- 
 cue , the coachman managed to quiet down his frightened 
 horses, while the coach door was thrown swiftly open, and 
 a young girl sprang out, paused to give her arm to an old 
 man who followed her, and approached just as Joscelyn, 
 freed from the weight of the cob, began to raise himself 
 and to look round in a bewildered way. 
 
 " I fear, sir, that you must be hurt ?" said the old gentle- 
 man, with courteous anxiety. He was small, shrivelled, and 
 wiry-looking, with a clean-shaven face and white hair almost 
 as long as Joscelyn's. 
 3 
 
34 
 
 " It was the fault of our horses, grandfather," said a sweet 
 girlish voice at his elbow. 
 
 Joscelyn turned round that he might see the speaker. 
 She must have been about his own age, and beside the little 
 old man she looked very tall ; she was dressed in white, with 
 a hood of black velvet, but the strings were untied because 
 of the heat, and the hood did not altogether hide the dark 
 chestnut curls which alone could have fitly framed such 
 lovely features. It was rather a grave face, with a delicate 
 glow of color about it, with long, delicately arched eyebrows, 
 and well-opened brown eyes, full now of awe and concern 
 altogether as tender, as womanly a face as you could wish 
 to see. Joscelyn was at once seized with a burning desire 
 to save her all possible trouble. 
 
 " Do not, pray, be troubled about me," he exclaimed. " It 
 is nothing I was but stunned for the moment." 
 
 But as he rose to his feet an involuntary exclamation 
 escaped him, and he was obliged to clutch at his broth- 
 er's arm. 
 
 " Something wrong, I fear," said the old man. " The 
 knee, if I mistake not. On no account stand, sir. Here, 
 Matthew, help the gentleman into the coach. Nay, sir, I 
 must really insist upon it ; you are in no state to mount, and 
 might greatly increase your injury. My house is within a 
 stone's-throw, and we will do all that we can to make you 
 comfortable. 
 
 Joscelyn politely protested, but the old gentleman was in- 
 exorable, and before many minutes had passed he found 
 himself on the back seat of the family coach, with his host 
 and the pretty granddaughter sitting opposite. Driving 
 through a gateway close by, they approached a well-built 
 Tudor house, whose massive walls and mullioned windows 
 looked as if they might very well stand a siege. 
 
 " Bid them prepare a bedchamber on the ground-floor, 
 
35 
 
 Clemency," said the grandfather, "and in the meantime our 
 guest shall rest in my library, and the surgeon, who by good 
 chance came this day from Croydon, and is at the dower- 
 house, shall be called in to see what is amiss." 
 
 " Clemency," mused Joscelyn ; " what a strange name ! 
 It has a Puritanical sound, yet spite of that I think it 
 suits her. I never saw so gentle a face that was yet so 
 strong." 
 
 He began to wonder who his host could be, and per- 
 haps the old man had the same thoughts about him, for 
 he asked if they had intended making a long journey that 
 night. 
 
 " We had but a few miles still before us," said Joscelyn. 
 " We were to lie at the house of my uncle, Sir Ralph Whit- 
 field, of Bletchingley. If the surgeon, indeed, forbids me to 
 travel, my brother must go on alone." 
 
 " I have long known Sir Ralph. Are you then a Whit- 
 field ?" 
 
 " It was our mother's name. We are Heyworths, of 
 Shortell, in Hampshire." 
 
 " What, sons of Sir Thomas Heyworth ?" 
 
 " Is it possible you know him ?" said Joscelyn. 
 
 " Nay, he would not remember me," said the old man ; 
 " but many years ago, when I was imprisoned in Hampshire, 
 I recollect seeing him. Now, sir, my man shall help you 
 into the house. Take your time." 
 
 Not without considerable pain, Joscelyn was led through 
 a square entrance-hall into a most comfortable room, where 
 the servants helped him on to a sort of couch of carved oak 
 and cane-work. The words, " imprisoned in Hampshire," 
 kept ringing in his ears. What did they portend ? And 
 who was this brisk, wiry old gentleman ? 
 
 His question was answered by almost the first thing his 
 eyes fell on. Close by the couch stood a small table, and 
 
36 
 
 on this lay a letter directed in handwriting which could be 
 read at a glance: 
 
 "To Sir Robert Neal, 
 
 At the Court House, Katterham, 
 In the County of Surrey." 
 
 At that moment Sir Robert himself entered with Dick, 
 and while they were still talking together about the accident 
 and the state of Joscelyn's horse, which had luckily escaped 
 without any serious injury, the surgeon was announced. 
 
 It proved that Joscelyn, like the cob, had escaped better 
 than could have been expected ; but his knee was injured, 
 and would need absolute rest for at least three weeks. 
 
 "Three weeks!" he exclaimed, with a curious sound of 
 relief in his voice rather than of dismay. 
 
 Dick, on the other hand, turned away in high disgust, 
 swearing vehemently, so that he did not see the look of sat- 
 isfaction in his brother's face ; but Sir Robert saw it, and 
 was puzzled as to its meaning. 
 
 Joscelyn seemed to have fallen into a deep reverie. The 
 fact was he had just realized that here was the help he so 
 sorely needed ; here the time for thought and study ; here 
 the means of keeping him from Shortell and the active 
 preparation for war. He had believed all his life in prayer, 
 and yet he was awed and startled by this direct answer, 
 and something of this expression showed in his face, min- 
 gling with the deep relief. Sir Robert watched him search- 
 ingly ; he felt strangely drawn to his guest, all the more so 
 because he could not quite understand him. 
 
 " But, sir," exclaimed Joscelyn, coming to himself again, 
 " since I am to be laid up so long, I cannot consent to be a 
 burden on you. If you would be so good as to lend me 
 your coach, I will go back to the village inn." 
 
37 
 
 To this, however, Sir Robert would not listen for a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 "The accident was caused entirely by my horses," he 
 said, " and I could not think of allowing you to move to 
 the village. Entire rest for three weeks will no doubt quite 
 cure you, and we shall be most happy to have you as our 
 guest. And you, sir," turning to Dick, "you will, at any 
 rate, spend the night here, I hope." 
 
 Dick thanked him for his courtesy, but would not con- 
 sent to stay. " For my brother there is, I fear, little that I 
 can do," he said. " My father has intrusted us with pre- 
 paring a troop for the King's service, and since the stand- 
 ard is to be raised next month, there is no time to be lost." 
 
 Joscelyn fancied he saw a queer little elevation of Sir 
 Robert's brows. The old man, however, made no com- 
 ment on the words, but merely summoned the servant, and 
 bade him bring in cakes and ale at once. Dick, having re- 
 freshed himself, took leave, and promising to make light of 
 the accident at home, he parted with his brother, murmur- 
 ing not a little that fate should have marred their plans 
 and left him to work single-handed. Sir Robert went with 
 him to the door, and on returning to the library a little 
 later was struck by the extreme sadness in his guest's 
 face. 
 
 " I fear this accident is a great inconvenience to you," he 
 remarked, drawing up an arm-chair towards the couch, de- 
 termined to understand this youth a little better. 
 
 Joscelyn started as though recalled from painful thoughts. 
 
 " I was wondering how my brother and I should meet 
 again," he said. " But in truth the accident itself is a god- 
 send to me and no inconvenience. It was time that I 
 needed time to think, to try at least to see the rights of 
 the case before taking up arms." 
 
 Sir Robert's eyes kindled. 
 
38 
 
 "Yours is the right spirit," he said, warmly. " Too many, 
 I fear, on either side will rush blindly into the fray before 
 they have truly weighed the matter in their own minds. 
 Tis hard for the young not to yield to the first impulse, not 
 to follow the lead of their friends and companions." 
 
 "That is true," said Joscelyn, with a heavy sigh. "To 
 stand aloof from all that one's own set, one's own family, 
 hold by, to be looked on as a traitor, a foe ! God grant it 
 may not come to it ! But I must, at any rate, try to under- 
 stand something of the state of the country, and here in 
 this three weeks' quiet lies my sole chance." 
 
 " How is it," said the old man, " that you are so unlike 
 the rest of your generation ? I should have expected you 
 at your age to be a hot partisan." 
 
 " It is because I have never gone into these matters, sir," 
 replied Joscelyn. ' 
 
 " Neither does your fiery partisan, as a rule," said Sir 
 Robert. " He merely echoes the views of his set ; you will 
 rarely find him seriously studying politics." 
 
 " It may be," said Joscelyn, " because I hate all strife and 
 division." 
 
 Sir Robert mused for a few minutes. Then he looked up 
 kindly at his guest, and said : 
 
 " Your position interests me greatly. But I cannot alto- 
 gether fathom it till I know what has been your life in the 
 past. 'Tis from no curiosity I ask, but only because it may 
 perchance lie in my power to help you if we fairly under- 
 stand one another." 
 
 " My life is soon disposed of, sir," said Joscelyn ; " never 
 surely was there a less eventful one. We were all brought 
 up at Shortell Manor, in Hampshire, and had a happy 
 enough childhood. As to what was happening in the coun- 
 try, we knew nothing whatever about it. The sole thing 
 relating to public affairs which I can remember is the stir 
 
39 
 
 in the village when the communion-table was moved by the 
 archbishop's orders from the middle of the nave, where it 
 had stood since the Reformation, to the east end of the 
 chancel. I was eleven years old then, and well remember 
 how our old coachman groaned aloud and declared it meant 
 bringing in the papists. To me it seemed a vast improve- 
 ment, for before the men of the village used to pile up their 
 greasy hats on it in a way which would not have been toler- 
 ated on any gentleman's dining-table. Later on I remem- 
 ber, too, that we were bidden, though not forced, to bow to 
 the communion-table on entering or leaving the church, and 
 my mother took it ill that I could not be brought to do this, 
 not rightly seeing the sense of the practice. As for school- 
 ing, my brother and I went to Winchester. I was there till 
 I was fifteen, and then was at home for a year with sore 
 eyes, which for the best part of a twelvemonth kept me 
 prisoner in a darkened room. 'Twas at that time I first 
 learned to think ; there was naught else to do. My eyes 
 cured, I went to Cambridge with my brother. We were at 
 Emmanuel, and our tutor was one Mr. Whichcote." 
 
 "Whichcote!" exclaimed Sir Robert. "I have heard 
 much of him ; a noble-minded man, and as fine a scholar as 
 any in the land. You were fortunate, sir, to be under the 
 tuition of such a one." 
 
 " From him," said Joscelyn, " I learned the answer to the 
 doubts and thoughts which had assailed me in my year of 
 illness. Some men deem him a Puritan ; but that must be 
 a mistaken notion, for a man less dogmatic and narrow, less 
 given to gloomy fanaticism, never existed." 
 
 Sir Robert laughed a little ; his shrewd, humorous face 
 lighted up with keen enjoyment. 
 
 " I am a Puritan myself," he said, " yet would I not for 
 the world force all men to agree with me. 'Tis enough if 
 we agree upon the duty towards God and the duty towards 
 
40 
 
 our neighbor. Let me persuade you, Mr. Heyworth, that 
 all Puritans are not sour, cross-grained, melancholy, and 
 ignorant, as the stage-plays and the songs of the day would 
 have you think ; 'tis but a few of a fanatical turn that per- 
 sist in cropped hair and ostentatious piety ; the bulk of us 
 desired only to see temperance and godliness and a just 
 liberty in our country. I'll be bound you think no Puritan 
 could play a game of tennis, or sing a song, or enjoy the 
 chase. Is it not so ?" 
 
 Joscelyn hesitated, not a little confused, for Sir Robert 
 had rightly guessed his thoughts. John Drake was precise- 
 ly his idea of a Puritan, and that Sir Robert, with his genial 
 laugh, his long hair, his air of good -breeding, should be 
 classed among Roundheads (the derisive name now in 
 vogue for those who held with the Parliament) seemed to 
 him laughable. 
 
 Just then Clemency returned to the library. 
 
 " Your room is prepared, sir," she said to Joscelyn ; 
 " 'tis the one adjoining this, so that you will not have far to 
 move." 
 
 " And let us have supper presently in here, my child," 
 said Sir Robert. " Where is your sister Faith ?" 
 
 " She is in the park with the children. The hay is to be 
 carried this evening, sir, and the children were promised to 
 ride in the wagon." 
 
 " Then, unless you desire to be with them, dear, stay and 
 cheer Mr. Heyworth with a song. He hath till this fully 
 believed that we Puritans could sing naught but psalms, 
 that we forever showed our piety by upturned eyes and 
 nasal voice, and were in fact the hypocritical and melan- 
 choly folk that the wits represent." 
 
 Clemency laughed as she took her guitar and sat down 
 near the window; for a moment a sort of shyness stole over 
 her, but a glance at Joscelyn's eager face dispelled it, and 
 
she thought to herself that he would prove no very severe 
 critic. Perhaps it was on purpose that she selected Ariel's 
 song from the " Tempest," the most joyous of all the songs 
 in her collection, and the old panelled room rang with the 
 sweet tones of her fresh young voice. As she finished, and 
 as Joscelyn poured out compliments and thanks, Sir Robert 
 crossed the room to the window. 
 
 " See," he said, " there goes the last wagon-load, and the 
 children following it." 
 
 Clemency stood up, one hand still resting on the guitar 
 as she looked out into the sunny, peaceful park. They 
 could hear the hay-harvest song in the shrill voices of the 
 children, and in the loud, uncouth tones of the hay-makers. 
 But somehow the merry sounds brought tears to her eyes. 
 
 " Why do you weep, child ?" said her grandfather, turning 
 towards her. 
 
 She hastily wiped away her tears, blushing to think that 
 he had called attention to them. 
 
 "I was thinking," she said, "of the changes that must 
 have come by next hay -harvest. Faith married and gone 
 to Gloucester, and the country, very like, full of war and 
 bloodshed, this very house, perchance, destroyed." 
 
 The old man put his hand upon her shoulder tenderly. 
 
 " Child," he said, " troubles there will be, you may be 
 sure ; nevertheless, go not half-way to meet them. If you 
 look forward, then look beyond them, and think of the hap- 
 piness and freedom bought for the generations to come by 
 the strife of to-day." 
 
 Joscelyn saw her smile through her tears as she looked 
 forth once more at the peaceful landscape; the heavily load- 
 ed wagon was just disappearing from view, and the children 
 came running towards the house, their little wooden rakes 
 and forks carried over their shoulders, and the words of the 
 song growing more and more distinct as they approached. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 New occasions teach new duties ; 
 
 Time makes ancient good uncouth ; 
 They must upward still and onward 
 
 Who would keep abreast with truth. 
 
 LOWELL. 
 
 CLEMENCY CORITON'S life had been in some respects a 
 sad one ; it was not, as Joscelyn had at first fancied, her 
 Puritanical training which had brought the serious look 
 into her beautiful face and the thoughtful depth into her 
 eyes. Her mother, the only child and heiress of Sir Rob- 
 ert Neal, had married a neighboring squire, Mr. Coriton, 
 but had died when Clemency was only a year old. A year 
 later her father married again, and for some time Clemen- 
 cy's life had been serene and happy. Not all the foolish 
 gossip of the servants could induce her to distrust one so 
 tender and loving as her step-mother, or to feel the slightest 
 jealousy of the little sisters as one by one they came to 
 gladden her lonely nursery. But when she was nearly 
 seventeen, growing day by day more of a companion to 
 her step -mother, a terrible shadow fell over the happy 
 home. 
 
 In one day two of the children fell ill of the plague. 
 Clemency, with Faith, Hester, Prudence, and little Hal, 
 were at once sent away to Sir Robert Neal's house, a few 
 miles off, and that hurried departure proved their final fare- 
 well to the home that had grown so dear to them. For, 
 first, Molly and little Robert died, then their father sickened 
 and died after only a day's illness, and, last of all, the poor 
 
43 
 
 mother, worn out by grief and watching, sank from exhaus- 
 tion, after giving birth to a little girl who seemed too puny 
 and frail to live. By the mother's wish she was baptized at 
 once by. the strange name of Admonition, "for," said the 
 dying woman, " God hath taught me to look for lasting 
 joys not in this world, but elsewhere." 
 
 The nurse bade her keep up her heart, for she would yet 
 live and be spared to her children. But she herself knew 
 better, and after lingering a day or two between death and 
 life, she passed away quietly in her sleep. The last words 
 she had spoken were for Clemency. 
 
 " Tell her," she said to the nurse, " to love and tend my 
 babe for me as I loved and tended her for her dead mother. 
 Tell her I bless God for giving me so sweet a step-daughter, 
 and my children so good a sister for an example." 
 
 A month later, little Admonition, still very frail and tiny, 
 was brought to Katterham Court, and Clemency, in her sor- 
 row, found her best comfort in striving to obey to the ut- 
 most her step-mother's dying message, repaying to the best 
 of her powers the love and care which had made her own 
 childhood so bright. This terrible visitation had happened 
 four years ago, and since then Chaldon Manor had been 
 closed, and old Sir Robert's house had become the home, 
 not only of his own granddaughter, but of all the Coritons. 
 To become mistress of so large an establishment, and to be 
 at once elder sister and second mother to so many children, 
 taxed Clemency's powers not a little, and though at times 
 she was merry and light-hearted, yet, as a rule, there was 
 about her a sort of sweet seriousness which made her seem 
 older than she really was. Joscelyn had ample opportuni- 
 ties of noticing this, and unconsciously fell into the habit 
 which prevailed in the household of leaning on Clemency, 
 looking up to her for counsel, and waiting on her words 
 with a curious deference, as though she had been his senior. 
 
44 
 
 Beautiful and winsome as she was, he nevertheless remained 
 perfectly heart-whole; she seemed to him a sort of guardian 
 angel ; there was a far-away look in her face sometimes as 
 if she were seeing what was invisible to other people ; and 
 though when she^waited on him her eyes were gentle and 
 full of sympathy, they were totally lacking in the deliberate 
 witchery that made the glances of Anne Barrington able to 
 inthrall every man she came across, and to hold him her 
 prisoner for days or weeks even occasionally for months. 
 
 Clemency, it is true, had received many offers of mar- 
 riage, but they had been formal affairs, with very little pre- 
 amble of courtship, for she was shy and rather distant in 
 manner to outsiders, rarely revealing her true self save to 
 those who actually shared her home. It was now pretty 
 well understood in the neighborhood that Mistress Coriton 
 intended to follow good Queen Bess in the path of single 
 blessedness ; her lovers or servants, as they were then 
 called bemoaned their hard fate, and protested that it was 
 a cruel thing for the heiress to Sir Robert NeaPs estate to 
 show so singular an aversion to the holy estate of matri- 
 mony ; but her refusals were always so very decided that 
 they seldom approached her a second time, and Sir Robert 
 never sought in any way to influence her choice. Her half- 
 sister Faith had behaved far more reasonably, and had ac- 
 cepted the first man who had proposed to her worthy Mr. 
 Christopher Bennett, of Gloucester and Joscelyn was not 
 a little dismayed to learn that her marriage was to take 
 place in a week's time. 
 
 " You will at least let me be removed to the village, then," 
 he said. "At such a time as a wedding the Good Samar- 
 itan himself would not have housed a sick stranger." 
 
 Clemency laughed a little. 
 
 " But, indeed, you will not be in the way," she protested. 
 "Both Faith and Mr. Bennett refuse to hear of a public 
 
45 
 
 wedding. All will be quite quiet, and we expect only two 
 guests a brother of Mr. Bennett's, and a friend of my 
 grandfather's, Mr. John Hampden. It is even a little un- 
 certain whether Mr. Hampden will be able to come, since 
 his duties in Parliament and the preparations for war oc- 
 cupy him much." 
 
 " I have read of him in these pamphlets which Sir Robert 
 has given me," said Joscelyn, laying his hand on a great 
 stack of printed papers beside him. 
 
 Clemency looked up sympathetically. 
 
 "They must be weary reading," she said. "Methinks 
 one hour's talk with Mr. Hampden will do more to tell you 
 the true state of the country than many months' study of 
 those." 
 
 "At least he is true to his own convictions," said Joscelyn, 
 musingly. " He has endured imprisonment and obloquy. 
 Is he much soured by it all ?" 
 
 Clemency laughed aloud a ringing, girlish laugh, full of 
 mirth. 
 
 " Why, he is the most sweet-natured and courteous man 
 you ever set eyes on," she exclaimed. " His health has 
 never been the same since he was imprisoned in the Gate 
 House, but he himself can only have been ennobled by it. 
 My grandfather always says that he is the greatest man in 
 England, and, indeed, I believe it. He is to me like the man 
 whom David described in the fifteenth Psalm. And though 
 he is much sought and full of affairs, yet he will spend time 
 and trouble on the least and the poorest." 
 
 She crossed the room to a curious tortoise-shell cabinet, 
 and, unlocking the inner compartment, drew forth a letter 
 and handed it to Joscelyn. 
 
 " This will show you in some degree what sort of man he 
 is. He wrote it to me when I was but a girl, barely seven- 
 teen. Yet he a man overwhelmed with work took time 
 
46 
 
 to think of the granddaughter of one who had been kind to 
 him as a boy." 
 
 Joscelyn read the letter ; it unveiled to him the sad trag- 
 edy of the Coriton family, but it revealed, too, as Clemency 
 had guessed it would reveal, the beautiful nature of the 
 writer his wide sympathies, his perfect faith, his delicate 
 chivalry. He began to look forward very eagerly to meet- 
 ing this resister of ship money, this champion of liberty, 
 who, to judge by his letter, was entirely free from the 
 pharisaic pride and the narrow exclusiveness which he had 
 always fancied must characterize the opponents of the 
 King. 
 
 As Clemency had remarked, the study of the pamphlets 
 of the day was weary work. He read the Third Remon- 
 strance, the various declarations, the general accounts of 
 the kingdom published by the Parliament; he read the 
 King's answers, and also the Observations made on the 
 King's answer to the Lords and Commons of the igth May, 
 1642 ; his answer to the Somersetshire petition, and a 
 pamphlet on some " of his Majesty's late answers and ex- 
 presses." In the bewildering maze of strife he wandered 
 to and fro, miserably seeking some sort of conviction in 
 which he might find anchorage, while Sir Robert said little, 
 but merely kept him supplied with the literature of both 
 sides. He used to turn away with relief sometimes to the 
 busy wedding preparations which were beginning to make 
 a stir in the quiet country household. Faith, the pretty 
 bride-elect, would come and talk with him about her new 
 home in Gloucester, or her wedding gifts ; little Admonition, 
 or Monnie as she was always called, would trot up to his 
 couch and tell of the great bride-cake which cook had made, 
 and of the sweetmeats and comfits prepared for the day ; or 
 Clemency would sit in the window-seat working hard at a 
 piece of embroidery to be worn by her sister at the marriage, 
 
47 
 
 and would talk of the separation she so much dreaded, and 
 of the woful distance between Katterham and Gloucester. 
 
 Nothing, however, could banish for long the haunting 
 question upon which Joscelyn was bound to decide , he 
 grew very grave and thoughtful, even little Monnie could 
 seldom rouse him fr6m his anxious and harassed musing. 
 The child was very fond of him, and on the evening before 
 the wedding, finding the rest of the world too busy to take 
 much notice of her, she sat for more than an hour beside 
 him, her fat little fingers busily working at a daisy chain. 
 An artist would have loved to paint her quaint little babyish 
 face with its air of intent preoccupation, her sunny curls, 
 and her demure little white frock reaching almost to the 
 ground. And perhaps no greater contrast could have been 
 found than Joscelyn, stretched on the old oak settle with 
 his books and his pamphlets round him, bearing on his face 
 the same look of intent preoccupation, save that where the 
 child's expression was calm and happy, his was full of pain 
 and perplexity. The contrast between the two struck John 
 Hampden as he was shown into the room. Sir Robert had 
 told him beforehand of his invalid guest, and of the di- 
 lemma in which he was placed, and since Joscelyn was ab- 
 sorbed in what he was reading the searching yet deeply 
 sympathetic gaze of the new-comer had rested on him for 
 some moments before he was roused by a movement from 
 little Monnie, who sprang up from her stool to curtsey to 
 her grandfather and the visitor. 
 
 " One hour's talk with Mr. Hampden will do more for 
 you than many months' study of those," Clemency had re- 
 marked to him, and the words came back to his mind as he 
 looked up into the stranger's face from the dry, dreary 
 arguments through which he had been toiling. 
 
 He saw a powerfully built man of about eight-and-forty, 
 with an abundance of crisp wavy hair falling almost to his 
 
48 
 
 shoulders, but brushed away from the forehead, so that it 
 did not conceal the height and breadth of a very striking 
 brow. The features were good, the upper lip very short, 
 the mouth firm but sweet-looking, the jaw square and mas- 
 sive, the eyes singularly thoughtful. 
 
 Sir Robert introduced Joscelyn, and after making kindly 
 inquiries as to the invalid, Hampden sat down and took 
 little Monnie on his knee. 
 
 " And what is Mistress Monnie making so happily ?" he 
 asked, stroking the child's bright curls. 
 
 " Chains, sir," said Monnie, holding up in triumph a long 
 string of linked daisies. 
 
 " Chains, Monnie ?" he said, smiling. " Why, England has 
 too many already !" 
 
 " Then it shall be a crown for you, sir," she answered, 
 twisting the two ends together, and with the loving confi- 
 dence of a child stretching up her chubby little hands that 
 she might crown the "greatest man in England." 
 
 Running to a little distance to see the effect of her work, 
 she seemed not wholly satisfied with the result. Hampden 
 laughed at the seriousness of the little face. 
 
 " 'Tis not great enough for you, sir," she said; "I will 
 put more daisies." 
 
 " Nay," said Hampden, stooping to kiss her as she took 
 off the wreath, " keep it as it is, and crown the bride. See, 
 here she comes." And he rose to greet Faith and her 
 future husband, Mr. Bennett, of Gloucester, a somewhat 
 austere-looking Puritan of five-and-thirty, whose extreme 
 gravity contrasted curiously with Faith's sunny brightness. 
 Joscelyn wondered that his choice had not fallen upon the 
 much more serious Clemency, and could only hope that 
 Faith had enough cheerfulness for the two, and that she 
 would not be overpowered by her sombre bridegroom. 
 However, even quiet Christopher Bennett could not resist 
 
" 'THEN KISS ME, MOTHER,' HE SAID. 'FOR 
 
 THIS IS OUR LAST MEETING.'" 
 
 [Page 80. 
 
49 
 
 the magic of Hampden's genial presence ; before long he 
 was actually laughing at the description of a rustic wedding 
 in Buckinghamshire, where a countryman having been ad- 
 dressed by the minister in the usual form, " Wilt thou have 
 this woman," etc., had replied, to the great consternation of 
 all present, " Well, sir, now you put it so solemnlike I don't 
 reckon I will," and there and then walked out of the church. 
 
 When the laughter which greeted this tale had died away, 
 Hampden produced his wedding gift, two beautifully chased 
 silver flagons, and by the time these had been admired by 
 all present supper was announced, and Joscelyn, who was 
 not allowed to adjourn to the entrance-hall, where meals 
 were served, found himself left to his own thoughts. Every 
 now and then, when the servant came in bearing him food 
 or wine, he could hear through the open door the merry 
 talk at the supper- table, and the mellow voice and hearty 
 laugh of Hampden, which made him long to be at table 
 with them all. But by-and-by his turn came, for when the 
 rest of the party had gone to the withdrawing-room to dis- 
 cuss certain matters connected with the marriage, Hamp- 
 den returned to the library. He glanced from the invalid 
 to the books and pamphlets surrounding him, and smiled a 
 little. 
 
 " Sir Robert keeps you well supplied with literature," he 
 remarked. 
 
 " Tis of a kind that is hard of digestion, sir," said Josce- 
 lyn: " I have been struggling to-day with Lord Brooke's 
 treatise on Episcopacy." 
 
 " Beware how you abuse him, for he is my very good 
 friend," said Hampden, unable to help laughing at the young 
 man's expression. " Yet I grant you the book is not easy 
 reading, specially the first part. Nevertheless, it contains 
 the true solution of our chiefest difficulty, and would to God 
 that the people of England were fit to grasp the notion !" 
 
 4 
 
5Q 
 
 "The notion of granting liberty to the sects?" asked 
 Joscelyn. 
 
 " Yes ; of toleration, of entire religious freedom," said 
 Hampden. "But the spirit of retaliation is abroad, and 
 for the tyranny of the bishops men will strive to substitute 
 the tyranny of a presbytery. Brooke has here set forth the 
 only true remedy, the only lasting way of peace, the right 
 of every individual to liberty of conscience, the utter folly 
 of trying to force all into one groove." 
 
 " Do you speak, sir, as a Puritan ?" asked Joscelyn. 
 
 " I speak as a member of the Church of England, yet as 
 a member who would fain see the abuses of the Church re- 
 formed, who would have the bishops caring for the souls of 
 their people, not interfering with matters of State. Person- 
 ally attached to the Book of Common Prayer, yet I am 
 averse to thrusting it on those who prefer a simpler worship ; 
 the nation is not at one on religious matters, and there 
 never can be peace until there is perfect liberty. Yet, mind 
 you, Lord Brooke is far in advance of his times. Only 
 through blood and tears will the bulk of the people come to 
 see this truth he now sets forth. Could they but see it now, 
 the coming war would lose half its horrors." 
 
 " You mean that there would be less bitter division ?" 
 
 " Yes, for few Englishmen would join the King only to 
 uphold his despotic rule, but many, seeing the existence of 
 the Church imperilled, will join the royal army aye, many 
 of our best and noblest." He sighed heavily. 
 
 " And you will fight them, sir ?" cried Joscelyn. " You 
 will do all that may be done to kill these men whom you 
 own to be partly in the right ? You will help on what may 
 bring the destruction of the Church of which you are a 
 member? Will help to set up another, perhaps a greater 
 and more distastefill tyranny ?" 
 
 " You are right to face these questions," said Hampden, 
 
quietly. " Believe me, I have faced them for many a year ; 
 have tried, as so many others have tried, all that patience 
 and moderation and waiting and slow reform can do. But 
 the time is now come to draw the sword and throw away 
 the scabbard. England must be saved. The just liberties 
 of the nation must be preserved , not only preserved, but 
 enlarged for where there is no growth there is no life. 
 The King and those who join him will drag the nation 
 back, will reduce it to the slavery of the other nations of 
 Europe. Will you give your life for such work as that ? 
 Nay, throw in your lot with those whose watchword is ' For- 
 ward '; come and help on the march of freedom, and thank 
 God on your knees that He allows you to suffer in such a 
 cause." 
 
 " If only matters were less strangely mixed," said Jos- 
 celyn, his face full of weary perplexity. " If only all that 
 one cared for and reverenced were on the one side, and all 
 that one would fain abolish on the other !" 
 
 " Since the world began that has never been the case," 
 said Hampden. "Wheat and tares grow together among 
 both Royalists and Parliamentarians. If you wait for a 
 perfect set of workers you may wait forever. Your duty is 
 to look which side most truly promotes the progress and 
 healthy growth of the national good. Its ways may not be 
 your personal ways, its blunders may cut you to the heart, 
 yet still through all you will be able to discern that, spite of 
 many imperfections, it is pressing on to better things." 
 
 "At any rate," exclaimed Joscelyn, "by the refusal of 
 Hotham to allow the King and his soldiers to enter Hull 
 the hostilities seem to have been begun by your side." 
 
 "Nay," said Hampden, "but what is the true state of 
 the case ? Before Hotham came on the scene at all the 
 King had already appointed the Earl of Newcastle gov- 
 ernor, and had plotted to introduce into Hull the Danish 
 
52 
 
 troops, which he had once thought to employ in Scotland 
 during the bishops' war. 'Twas not until this plot was re- 
 vealed to Pym that Sir John Hotham was ordered to secure 
 Hull, and not to yield it until summoned to do so by the 
 King's authority, signified unto him by the Lords and Com- 
 mons." 
 
 And then with impassioned earnestness, which yet never 
 descended into bitter invective, Hampden began to speak 
 of what had passed in the country since the King's acces- 
 sion. He described to Joscelyn the foreign policy of the 
 Government and its disastrous results; spoke of the cruel 
 way in which ship-owners and mariners pressed into the 
 King's service had been treated ; enlarged on the miseries 
 which must' always follow when a king plunges into foreign 
 wars against the will of the nation ; showed how Charles 
 had again and again broken the law, and how the country 
 was reduced to its present state of misery and oppression 
 at home, and utter friendlessness abroad, through the King's 
 incapacity. 
 
 With the graphic language of one who had been an act- 
 ual participator in the struggle he told the story of the third 
 Parliament, of the Petition of Right and its apparent fail- 
 ure, of the pathos of a Parliament broken-hearted and in 
 tears at the desperate condition of the country, of the con- 
 sent to the Petition at last wrung from the King and of the 
 joy throughout England, how bells had pealed and bonfires 
 burned, and how they had all tried with a last effort of 
 loyalty to believe that the King was free from blame, and 
 that the disasters of the past came from Buckingham's evil 
 counsel. 
 
 Then he told how after Buckingham's 'death, and in spite 
 of the King's promise, illegal taxes were yet continued, and 
 how judges, solely dependent on the Crown, had profaned 
 justice. With tears in his eyes he told of Eliot's imprison- 
 
53 
 
 ment and death ; he showed how the bishops, neglecting 
 their true work, had, to the undoing of the country, med- 
 dled with the government of the State, even proving the 
 principal promoters of the war with Scotland ; how the un- 
 conquerable spirit of the nation struggled desperately for its 
 just liberties ; and how at last they had come to see that 
 with a King who believed himself to be above law a King 
 whose rule had reduced England to such a desperate condi- 
 tion a King who clung to the notion of sovereign power of 
 the monarch and passive obedience of the subject, there 
 never could be anything but oppression and ruin. He ar- 
 gued that for those who loved their country the question 
 now was, Would they leave her to the unregulated rule of 
 one who had trampled her honor in the dust ? or would 
 they fight for the supremacy of Parliament, aiming a dead- 
 ly blow at that authority which the King had so fatally 
 abused, and making it forever impossible for England to 
 be at the mercy of one incompetent and irresponsible 
 ruler ? 
 
 When he paused there was for some minutes perfect si- 
 lence in the room ; then, irresistibly drawn to this wonder- 
 ful man, Joscelyn began to urge his objections, to raise 
 difficulties, and Hampden, with the most winning gentle- 
 ness and patience, fully entered into and met every one of 
 them. 
 
 With marvellous tact, with the rare modesty which spe- 
 cially characterized him, he listened, now and then sug- 
 gesting a question, hinting a doubt, throwing in a phrase 
 which seemed to flood his companion's mind with new 
 light. He was full, moreover, of sympathy for Joscelyn's 
 difficult position, but it was a strong sympathy which nerved 
 to endurance and made inaction seem impossible. 
 
 After a time the door was opened, and Clemency stole 
 softly in, glancing a little nervously at Joscelyn. 
 
54 
 
 " I came to see if you would like lights," she said, " but 
 do not let me disturb your talk." , 
 
 " Nay, our talk is ended," said Hampden, rising to meet 
 her, " and we want one of your songs, Clemency, to raise us 
 out of sad thoughts." 
 
 " I will gladly sing," said she ; " but first, sir, for fear I 
 have no other opportunity of speaking to you quietly, will 
 you give me your help and advice as to these diamonds." 
 
 She opened a case of red leather, and even in the fading 
 evening light Joscelyn could see how the beautiful necklace 
 within flashed and sparkled. 
 
 Hampden took the case in his hand, looking at the dia- 
 monds with admiration. 
 
 " My advice," he said, smiling, " is to wear them ; and my 
 help " he took the necklace up and fastened it round her 
 neck. 
 
 Clemency laughed and blushed. 
 
 " They were my mother's," she said, " and now they are 
 mine to do what I like with. When I heard how people 
 were sending money and plate to the Guildhall to help in 
 defending the country, how the poor women were even 
 bringing their wedding-rings, then I thought of these dia- 
 monds, and my grandfather says I may send them if I wish. 
 Would you take them back with you to-morrow ?" 
 
 " But I think it will be hard for you to part with what was 
 once your mother's. The thing is most beautiful, too, and 
 of such great value," he glanced inquiringly into the lovely 
 girlish face. 
 
 " It is because I do care for it very much that I want to 
 send it," she said, her voice faltering a little. " I want to 
 help, and there is but little I can do ; men can give their 
 lives for the country, but women can only stay at home and 
 grieve." 
 
 " Nay, you will do something better than that if I mistake 
 
55 
 
 not," said Hampden, gently. " You will pray ; you will 
 bring up the children intrusted to you to love truth and jus- 
 tice and freedom ; you will, perhaps unknown to yourself, 
 influence some of the men who go forth now to fight. As 
 to the diamonds, I will take them to the Guildhall if you 
 indeed wish it." 
 
 " I do," she said, earnestly. " My grandfather says they 
 are worth much money because they are cut in the new 
 Dutch fashion with many facets." 
 
 She made as though she would unclasp the necklace and 
 give it to him there and then, but Hampden checked her. 
 
 "Wear it to-night, and to-morrow at the wedding," he 
 said. " Let it once more fulfil its natural function before 
 it is converted into the defences of the country." 
 
 And then before long they were all laughing at an elab- 
 orate calculation made by Hampden as to the number of 
 soldiers who might be comfortably shod if the diamonds 
 were converted into boots, or the number that might be fed 
 if they were converted into loaves. A servant at this mo- 
 ment brought in two candles in massive silver candlesticks, 
 but Clemency would not have the shutters closed. 
 
 "The night is calm," she said. "See, the red of the 
 sunset still lingers , it will surely be fair weather to- 
 morrow." 
 
 A silence fell upon them ; Hampden stood by the open 
 window looking out into the peaceful stillness of the summer 
 evening; his face, bright with humor only a few minutes 
 before, was now full of ineffable sadness, yet beneath the 
 sadness one could read an unconquerable hope. He was a 
 man whose heart had been wrung by private sorrows, and 
 now the thought of the coming war which must bring deso- 
 lation to so many homes had been brought to him very 
 vividly and freshly, first by his talk with Joscelyn Heyworth 
 and the realization of his difficult position, and then again 
 
56 
 
 by Clemency and her offering of the diamonds. He who 
 felt so powerfully the necessity of drawing the sword and 
 flinging away the scabbard was yet a man of the gentlest 
 tastes, a man of the tenderest heart, and he suffered as only 
 the strong can suffer. 
 
 Joscelyn watched him with a sort of fascination ; he knew 
 that for the first time in his life he was in the presence of a 
 leader of men ; every word, every gesture, every look of 
 Hampden's seemed to him invested with an extraordinary 
 power and influence. From the fine old beech-tree on the 
 lawn a thrush flooded the twilight with exquisite song. 
 Within, Clemency silently arranged some red and white 
 roses in a china bowl, her diamonds flashing with radiant 
 light at each breath she drew. All was strangely calm, yet 
 all seemed hushed and awed by the coming strife. Pres- 
 ently Hampden recrossed the room. 
 
 " You promised us a song," he said ; " may we not have 
 it when your roses are arranged ?" 
 
 She handed him the finest rose from her posy. 
 
 " Tis not often that this striped York and Lancaster rose 
 has so fine a blossom," she said. " I am fond of them ; 
 they seem full of sad tales with happy endings." 
 
 He fastened the flower in his doublet. 
 
 " The emblem of peace after strife, of union after divis- 
 ion," he said, musingly. " How many of us, I wonder, will 
 live to see righteousness and peace meeting again in a rec- 
 onciled England ?" 
 
 Clemency was silent, something seemed to rise in her 
 throat and choke her. She turned away, and passed her 
 fingers lightly over the strings of her guitar. 
 
 " Do you sing that newly composed song to the words of 
 George Herbert, * Sweet Day ' ?" asked Hampden. " I am 
 told it begins to be much spoken about. 'Tis a favorite of 
 mine." 
 
57 
 
 " Tis also a favorite of my grandfather's," said Clem- 
 ency; and at Hampden's request she began to sing. To 
 Joscelyn it seemed that music and words were alike fitted 
 for this still summer evening with its strange underlying 
 sadness. 
 
 " Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
 
 The bridal of the earth and sky, 
 The dews shall weep thy fall to-night, 
 For thou must die. 
 
 " Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave 
 
 Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, 
 Thy root is ever in its grave, 
 And thou must die. 
 
 " Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, 
 
 A box where sweets compacted lie, 
 My music shows ye have your closes, 
 And all must die. 
 
 " Only a sweet and virtuous soul, 
 
 Like seasoned timber, never gives ; 
 But though the whole world turns to coal, 
 Then chiefly lives." 
 
 Afterwards, Joscelyn and Clemency remembered the long- 
 drawn sigh which escaped Hampden as the last soft chords 
 died away into silence. 
 
 The next day pretty Faith Coriton was married in the old 
 church of Katterham, and Mr. Bennett, being eager to reach 
 Gloucester as soon as might be, carried her off that very 
 afternoon in defiance of custom, protesting that it was far 
 better to make the first stage of their journey as early as 
 might be, since there was no saying how soon hostilities 
 might begin, and the roads become dangerous. The part- 
 ing between the sisters was a sad one, but Clemency did not 
 altogether break down ; she only went about looking pale 
 and stunned, and with the strange far-away look in her eyes 
 that Joscelyn had more than once noticed. 
 
58- 
 
 Hampden did not long outstay the bride and bridegroom. 
 While his horse was being saddled he waited in the library 
 with little Monnie on his knee, and Prue, Hal, and even 
 shy Hester clustered round his chair. Genial and kindly 
 and full of rare sympathy, it seemed to them all, when he 
 rose to go, as if the sunshine were going out of the house. 
 Clemency's tears, bravely kept back so long, rose now. He 
 stooped to kiss her. 
 
 " Farewell, dear child," he said, tenderly. " May God 
 bless you. I will not forget your gift to the country." 
 
 Then, turning to Joscelyn, who had instinctively risen to 
 his feet, though under orders to keep his knee absolutely 
 still, he grasped his hand warmly, looking full into his eyes 
 with kind, earnest inquiry. 
 
 " Farewell, Mr. Heyworth," he said. " I do not yet give 
 up the hope that we may meet again and fight beneath the 
 same banner. If ever I can be of service to you, let me 
 know." 
 
 The others followed him out to the door, and Joscelyn, 
 with a sigh, fell back again on his couch. 
 
 Should he meet this king of men again, he wondered ; 
 and, if so, would it be as friend or as foe ? 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 A man has as much right to use his own understanding in judging 
 of truth as he has a right to use his own eyes to see his way. WHICH- 
 COTE. 
 
 SHORTELL PARK had now for nearly three weeks been 
 the scene of daily drilling. By slow degrees the little troop 
 had increased in numbers, and what with Dick's persuasive- 
 ness, the zeal of good old Sir Thomas, who had returned 
 from Yorkshire, the threats of Jervis, and the excitement 
 and novelty of receiving instructions from a grim old vet- 
 eran who had served in more than one foreign war, the vil- 
 lagers were stirred up into a most warlike spirit, and con- 
 tributed their men willingly enough. To watch the drilling 
 was little Rosamond Hey worth's great delight ; and one 
 Friday evening she might have been seen in her usual nook 
 under the ash-tree near the park gates with her usual com- 
 panions Cymro, a Welsh collie belonging to her brothers, 
 and old Barnaby, the gate-keeper. 
 
 It was easy to tell that Rosamond was Joscelyn's sister ; 
 the two were curiously alike, and in spite of a certain fragile 
 look about the little girl's face, it was quite clear that though 
 there might be physical weakness, there was an unusual 
 force of character and a vigorous intelligence in this twelve- 
 year-old maiden. Rosamond was the youngest of the family 
 by several years. No one had specially welcomed her ad- 
 vent; she had always been kept sedulously in the back- 
 ground, and from a very early age she had learned to live 
 her own life to herself and to expect little from outsiders. 
 The servants snubbed her, the chaplain who acted as tutor 
 
6o 
 
 set her wofully long tasks, her mother rarely spoke except 
 to chide, and her father was so wrapt up in his daughter 
 Isabella that he seemed to have little love to spare for this 
 shy, silent child, who had never been encouraged to show 
 her love for him, and would not have dared to speak unless 
 spoken to. Favoritism in parents has worked mischief ever 
 since the days of Jacob ; and Sir Thomas, though he little 
 thought it, had wrought no small harm by his blind devotion 
 to Isabella. The elder daughter ruled the whole house ; 
 her every wish was gratified, and she was so completely 
 spoiled by the process that her punishment was already be- 
 ginning to affect her and to render her peevish and discon- 
 tented. To the outside world her faults were only too 
 apparent ; she was far from popular ; and this to one of her 
 exigeant nature was a never-ceasing annoyance. 
 
 Sir Thomas was responsible, too, for Rosamond's shy 
 reserve, and for many a heartache never confessed save to 
 Cymro, her safe confidant. For Rosamond knew that she 
 loved her father and mother quite as well as Isabella did, 
 and though she accepted her lot in life quietly, nothing 
 could make her see the justice of the way in which she was 
 treated. 
 
 " For you see, Cymro," she would say, burying her hot 
 face in the dog's soft neck and hugging him closely, " when 
 Isabella is ill even a very little ill the whole household 
 is all in a stir, and she is cockered up with all the comforts 
 you can think of, and perhaps taken away to Tunbridge or 
 Epsom, which must alone be enough to cure folks just with 
 the happiness of the journey.; but if I am ill they do but 
 blame me and bid me not to complain, or, if past that, they 
 leave me to lie in bed all day alone, and give me vile 
 draughts by way of cure, and will not even let me have you 
 up-stairs." 
 
 Then Cymro would lick the hot little face with his soft 
 
"STOLE NOISELESSLY UP TO ONE OF THE WINDOWS." 
 
 [Page 85. 
 
6i 
 
 comforting tongue, and the child would lavish on the dog 
 the ardent, clinging love which nature had intended to be 
 bestowed on the parents. 
 
 But fortunately there came intervals when life was much 
 brighter for Rosamond. The boys came home from school 
 or college ever)'' now and then, and with Joscelyn and Dick 
 the little sister was on the happiest terms ; she loved them 
 both dearly, but her love for Joscelyn almost amounted to 
 worship. He had always been kind to her tender where 
 others were rough, and, above all, just where others were 
 unjust. Moreover, Joscelyn was her mediator , though he 
 himself was one of the despised youngers of the family, yet 
 there was something -about him an undefined charm of 
 manner, or perhaps a latent strength of will which gave 
 him, in spite of his birth, a position of his own in the 
 household. He could hardly fail to be popular, and he was 
 often able to win slight concessions from the authorities 
 for poor little Rosamond, who envied his fearless courage, 
 and looked up to him with boundless admiration. The 
 only other person who was really fond of her was old Bar- 
 naby, the gate-keeper ; he was her great ally, and on this 
 August evening the two were, as usual, talking away very 
 comfortably to each other. 
 
 " Barnaby," said the child, looking up into the broad, 
 honest face of the gate -keeper, with its ruddy, weather- 
 beaten skin and bushy, grizzled hair " Barnaby, I wish 
 they would go on drilling for ever and ever. I like very 
 much to watch them here, but it will be terrible when they 
 have gone off to the war; it will be horrible, Barnaby." 
 
 Barnaby cleared his throat and began to sing in a quaver- 
 ing old voice a rhyme which he much affected 
 
 " There was an army went into Spain, 
 When it got there it came back again." 
 
62 
 
 Rosamond laughed ; she knew that the song was a 
 satire on the unlucky Spanish expedition which had so 
 greatly enraged the English against the late Duke of Buck- 
 ingham. 
 
 " Do you think, Barnaby, that it will be like that with 
 this army ? Do you think, perhaps, after all, there will be 
 no fighting ?" 
 
 " Maybe, maybe not," said Barnaby. " Nobody can say 
 beforehand. But it's my belief that this here dispute will 
 devilup into the biggest war England has ever seen." 
 
 Rosamond, who never could resist a smile at Barnaby's 
 pronunciation of the word " develop," turned aside and be- 
 gan to gather the buttercups within her reach. 
 
 " I tell you what I wish, Barnaby," she said, after a 
 pause. " I do wish women could go to the war and men 
 stay behind." 
 
 " Mercy on us !" cried Barnaby, shaking his head. " Why, 
 mistress, that is a strange wish! How should the likes of 
 you go out killing and being killed ?" 
 
 " I am only a child and should stay at home," said Rosa- 
 mond decidedly, " but I would much rather that my father 
 and the boys stayed at home, and that my mother and my 
 sister and cross old nurse and the rest of the maids went 
 away." 
 
 Barnaby's broad shoulders shook, and he laughed quietly 
 as he protested that it would never do. But Rosamond, as 
 she watched the villagers being drilled, went on carrying 
 out her plan in her own mind. * 
 
 " Men are always nicer than women," she reflected. " It 
 will be very dreary at home without the boys, but without 
 Isabella it would be delightful" She clinched her hands 
 at the thought, for though to all outward appearance the 
 most gentle and submissive of children, within she was 
 often enough like a little volcano, and Isabella's real un- 
 
63 
 
 kindness and injustice had stirred up a smouldering jealousy 
 into active hatred. She was startled back to the present by 
 a sudden movement on the part of Cymro, who bounded 
 towards the gate with curious little whines of gladness. 
 Rosamond sprang to her feet. 
 
 " Tis Joscelyn !" she cried, running at full speed across 
 the grass and flinging open the gate long before old Bar- 
 naby could reach it. Joscelyn dismounted as soon as he 
 caught sight of the little flying figure ; his face, which had 
 been strangely grave, brightened into a smile as the child 
 gave him a rapturous greeting. 
 
 " Well, Fair Rosamond," he said, stroking her golden 
 curls, " as usual, you are the first to welcome me. How are 
 you, Barnaby? What, drilling going on in the park? Is 
 Dick there ?" 
 
 " No," said Rosamond, clinging to his arm, " they are all 
 at supper, and there are guests. They were playing bowls 
 till late, but now they are gone into the house. Isabella 
 said I was not to be seen because my gown is shabby. 
 But you " with a sigh " you are hungry, doubtless, and 
 will go in to them." 
 
 " No, I will stay with you," said Joscelyn. " Have my 
 father and Jervis returned ?" 
 
 He sighed as she replied in the affirmative. They began 
 to walk slowly up the carriage-drive, and Joscelyn glanced 
 from the men at drill to the familiar red-brick manor with 
 its clustering ivy, its comfortable homelike look. Rosamond 
 was startled by the sorrowful gravity of his face. She be- 
 gan to feel uneasy. 
 
 " Oh, Joscelyn," she said, " how I do wish there was no 
 such thing as war ! Why must you fight against the Par- 
 liament ? Why must you ?" 
 
 " I cannot fight against the Parliament," he said, gravely. 
 
 Rosamond's brain seemed to reel. 
 
6 4 
 
 " You mean," she gasped " you mean that " 
 
 He finished the sentence for her. 
 
 " That in these three weeks I have come to see things as 
 I never saw them before, and it is no longer possible for me 
 to fight on the side my father has chosen." 
 
 Rosamond was silent, because she saw one of the grooms 
 approaching them ; but when he had led away the horse she 
 spoke in a low, almost terrified voice. 
 
 " You will take the opposite side to our father ?" she 
 cried. " You will fight against the King ? Oh, Joscelyn 
 why?" 
 
 By this time they had reached the terraced garden ; he 
 led her down one of the sheltered paths into a little arbor 
 at the far end. 
 
 " 'Tis not against the King as king that I would fight, 
 but against his tyranny, against a despotism that must bring 
 ruin upon England," he said, gravely. "Till October, how- 
 ever, I am not of age, and if my father wills it I can go out 
 of the country until peace is restored. Do you think I will- 
 ingly differ from him and from Dick ?" 
 
 The terrible pain in his face cut her to the heart. She 
 threw her arms round his neck. 
 
 " I know you will do what is right," she said, vehe- 
 mently. 
 
 Her childlike trust seemed to comfort him. He began 
 to tell her the details of his stay at Katterham Court, of 
 Hampden's visit, and of his gradual change of views, or 
 rather of his first dawning of any sort of political knowl- 
 edge ; and Rosamond, spite of her youth, was able to un- 
 derstand to a great extent the position he had taken up, 
 though her thoughts would turn back, in spite of her patri- 
 otic efforts, to the perception of the grievous way in which 
 Joscelyn's views must affect their home life. 
 
 "Tell Dick, as you have told me, alone," she pleaded. 
 
65 
 
 " Tell him before you tell the others, for he will grieve over 
 it more because he so greatly loves and admires the King." 
 
 Joscelyn sighed heavily. There was a silence ; only the 
 splashing of a fountain on the lawn close by broke the still- 
 ness. Presently Rosamond gave a start of fear. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" asked Joscelyn. 
 
 " Hush !" she whispered. " I am sure I hear voices. Yes. 
 Hark ! it is Isabella and Sir Toby Blount. Oh, where shall 
 I go ? She will be so angry if this shabby gown is seen." 
 
 " I will go to meet them and inveigle them into the other 
 path," said Joscelyn, getting up. " Then when we are out 
 of hearing you can escape unseen." 
 
 Rosamond, still trembling, yet with a happy conscious- 
 ness that with Joscelyn as helper no harm could come to 
 her, peeped out cautiously through the leafy bower to see 
 the meeting. Isabella, in her white satin gown, was glanc- 
 ing up coquettishly at little Sir Toby, with his faultless 
 features and his eager eyes and his scented lovelocks. 
 Rosamond wondered what she could see to like in him, 
 and contrasted him in her mind with her father's fine, manly 
 figure, with Dick's frank, boyish looks, and with Joscelyn's 
 goodly presence and noble face. The lovers both started 
 at the sudden apparition that blocked their way ; but Isa- 
 bella, though excessively annoyed at the interruption, was 
 obliged to smile sweetly and give her brother a sisterly 
 greeting, with many inquiries after his injured knee. And 
 after a little manoeuvring, all the time talking with the ut- 
 most cheerfulness, and explaining how he had been told on 
 his arrival that they were at supper, Joscelyn contrived to 
 lead them away from the arbor, not leaving them until Ros- 
 amond had had ample time to escape. 
 
 Then he made his way to the house, and with a very sore 
 heart received his father's delighted welcome; but fortu- 
 nately the guests occupied Sir Thomas a good deal, and 
 5 
 
66 
 
 when later on Joscelyn, having supped and changed his 
 clothes, made his way into the withdrawing-room, he found 
 every one playing cards, and was glad enough to take a 
 hand and forget for a while the cloud that hung over him. 
 
 " You are not looking well," said his mother, glancing at 
 him across the card-table. 
 
 " Tis doubtless the effect of three weeks within-doors," 
 said Joscelyn. 
 
 " Then Dick will soon effect your cure," said Lady Hey- 
 worth, laughing. " He will have you out at drill from morn- 
 ing to night, I warrant you." 
 
 Joscelyn's color rose a little ; he changed the subject 
 abruptly. " Is it Sir John's deal or mine ?" he asked. The 
 question recalled Lady Heyworth to the game, and the even- 
 ing passed without any further contretemps. 
 
 It was not until the guests rose to go that Joscelyn was 
 once more conscious of a terrible sense of loneliness and 
 separation, for Sir John Winton made some allusion to the 
 war, and the others caught it up, so that for a few minutes 
 the whole room seemed full of that all-absorbing subject. 
 He stood listening in silence, then, unable to endure his iso- 
 lation, left the room on the pretext of seeing whether the 
 coaches had come up to the door. When at length the last 
 of the guests had gone, he realized that, after all, they had 
 been a protection, that they had at least helped to defer the 
 evil day, and that the time had now come when he must tell 
 Dick. The only comfort was that from Jervis's sharp eyes 
 and tongue he had nothing to fear, since the heir to Shor- 
 tell Manor lay drunk on the floor of the dining-room. Sir 
 Thomas, with a sigh and a shrug of his broad shoulders, 
 gave orders that he should be carried to his room, and then, 
 turning to Joscelyn with the air of perfect confidence and 
 affection that had wrung his son's heart at Lincoln, bade 
 him a kindly good-night. 
 
6? 
 
 "'Tis the greatest relief to me to have you at home once 
 more," he said. " I have sorely needed you. Good-night, 
 my lad ; to-morrow there are many matters I must discuss 
 with you." 
 
 Joscelyn went up the broad staircase with dim eyes, and, 
 to Dick's unbounded astonishment, had no sooner reached 
 their bedroom than he broke down altogether, and sobbed 
 like a child. With his own pain he had been face to face 
 for the last week, but the pain he was about to give to oth- 
 ers had only been faintly imagined. Now he knew what lay 
 before him. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 Those whom God will single out for the greatest trials, He will fit 
 aforehand with the best enablements. 
 
 RALPH BROWNING, 1592-1659. 
 
 ROSAMOND slept little that night. " The boys," as they 
 were still called, had always occupied the room next to hers, 
 and with feverish anxiety she heard them talking on and on 
 for hours when all the rest of the household slept. At first 
 they seemed to be arguing with some heat, but soon the 
 voices grew quieter, the sentences longer, the tone, she fan- 
 cied, sadder. When the family all met together the next 
 morning, Rosamond looked anxiously towards her brothers. 
 They seemed on perfectly good terms with each other, but 
 still there was no mistaking the trouble in both faces, or the 
 endeavors that each made to keep the conversation in safe 
 channels. Joscelyn had planned to ask for an interview 
 with his father when breakfast was over, and then, alone 
 and free from interruption, to tell him the whole truth. 
 Dick had promised to keep Jervis out of the way, and they 
 had intended to give Rosamond a hint to occupy her moth- 
 er's attention^ if possible, for as long as might be. But the 
 best-arranged plans are often frustrated, and, unluckily, Jer- 
 vis, with an aching head and irritable temper after his ca- 
 rouse of the preceding night, was eager to find fault with 
 something or some one, and speedily became aware of the 
 boys' depression. 
 
 " You two look as gloomy as mutes at a funeral !" he said, 
 impatiently. "A pretty pair of soldiers you will make if you 
 have no better spirit than this." 
 
69 
 
 "Dick has shown more ardor in the cause than you," 
 said Sir Thomas, shortly, " and as for Joscelyn, I warrant 
 he will fight for the King as boldly as any man. Eh, my 
 son ?" 
 
 There was dead silence. Rosamond saw the color rush 
 into Joscelyn's face ; she made a desperate attempt to help 
 him. 
 
 " Is it not fortunate," she began, " that his knee is " 
 
 But her mother checked her sharply. 
 
 " Rosamond," she said, " you forget yourself. How often 
 must I tell you that you are not to speak until you are 
 spoken to ?" The child's head drooped ; she waited in an 
 agony of suspense to see what would happen. 
 
 "Did I not tell you, sir, at Lincoln," said Jervis, with a 
 grating laugh, "this cock will not fight ? Joscelyn will take 
 his ease at home with his books while we go out to battle. 
 At heart he is a Puritan." 
 
 The father looked from one to the other, annoyance and 
 perplexity in his honest old face. At Lincoln, Joscelyn had 
 fired up indignantly at a similar reproach , now he sat silent 
 with downcast eyes. 
 
 " Come, my lads, don't quarrel," he said. " We need all 
 our strength against the enemy, and cannot afford to dis- 
 pute among ourselves. Why don't you speak, Joscelyn ? 
 Let us have done with this nonsense. Tell him that you 
 will fight for the King aye, and die for him if need be." 
 
 Joscelyn glanced hurriedly round, conscious of a desper- 
 ate wish to see once more the faces of his family before 
 they were forever changed to him. The look of pain in his 
 eyes startled Sir Thomas as it had startled little Rosamond 
 in the arbor. 
 
 " It cuts me to the heart, sir, to grieve you," said Josce- 
 lyn, speaking with great effort, " but I cannot fight against 
 the Parliament." 
 
;o 
 
 Sir Thomas neither spoke nor moved ; the blow had 
 fairly stunned him. 
 
 Jervis broke into a laugh. 
 
 " So the murder is out at last," he said, mockingly. 
 " Does your extremely sensitive conscience allow you to 
 handle the sword at all ? And shall we have the pleasure 
 of fighting against you ? I trow not. You will stay at 
 home like the coward that you are." 
 
 But this was more than flesh and blood could stand. 
 Joscelyn sprang to his feet, and in an instant had drawn his 
 rapier. " Liar !" he cried, furiously. 
 
 Dick, however, flung himself between the two, and amid 
 shrieks from Lady Heyworth and Isabella, Sir Thomas 
 thundered out a command that they should desist, and lest 
 words should not suffice, wrenched the sword from Josce- 
 lyn's hand. 
 
 " You are no coward," he said ; " I grant you that. But 
 you are worse you are a traitor. Great God ! to think that 
 a son of mine should be disloyal to his King !" 
 
 He broke off in speechless wrath and grief. Joscelyn's 
 anger cooled a little ; he forgot Jervis, and began to think 
 only of his father. 
 
 " Sir," he said, " you cannot think that I willingly pain 
 you. And if you wish it I will not stir in this quarrel, but 
 will go to France or Italy till the country is at peace once 
 more." 
 
 " Go to the devil !" said Sir Thomas, passionately. " Do 
 you think I shall spend another penny on you? What! 
 send you to foreign parts to enjoy yourself as a reward for 
 your disloyalty ? Nay, in truth, I will arrest you rather, and 
 save his Majesty from one dastardly traitor. You would 
 not scruple to fight against your King, and I do not scruple 
 to put you under arrest. Would to God you had never 
 been born !" 
 
" Sir !" pleaded Joscelyn, " at least hear me ; let me tell 
 you how " 
 
 But Sir Thomas, who was now in a towering rage, inter- 
 rupted him with a volley of oaths. 
 
 " Let me neither hear your traitorous tongue nor see 
 your face till you have repented, till you have returned to 
 your allegiance. Wife, let me have the key of the tapestry- 
 room. 'Twill at least serve as a prison, and may bring this 
 fool to his senses." 
 
 Lady Heyworth drew forth a key from her cabinet. 
 
 " Let the chaplain first argue with him," she urged. " He 
 does not, perchance, understand how in fighting against the 
 King he fights against the Church too." 
 
 " Nay," said Sir Thomas, vehemently, " I will have him 
 under lock and key first, and you can try your arguings 
 afterwards. Now, boy, either swear this minute to fight 
 against the rebels, or else I arrest you as a traitor." 
 
 Joscelyn's face suddenly changed. The sorrowful, down- 
 cast expression was chased away by a flash of enthusiasm. 
 
 " To the Parliament I vow my service !" he cried. "And 
 may God preserve the liberties of England !" 
 
 " Let this traitor be removed !" shouted Sir Thomas. 
 " Jervis, fetch in the men and let him be taken at once." 
 
 "There is no need to use force, sir," said Joscelyn, quietly. 
 " I shall submit to your word better than to a pack of serv- 
 ants." 
 
 He gave one glance towards poor Rosamond, and then 
 followed his father out of the room, while Jervis and Dick, 
 from different motives, hurriedly closed up the rear. 
 
 For a minute Rosamond remained at table, tears stream- 
 ing down her face, though her sobs were restrained in a 
 curious unchildlike fashion, the result of her severe train- 
 ing. But when she found that her mother and Isabella 
 were far too much absorbed in discussing Joscelyn's unfortu- 
 
72 
 
 nate views to notice her, she slipped quietly from the room, 
 crossed the square entrance -hall, and flew up the broad 
 staircase and along the corridors till she came to the wing 
 in which was situated the tapestry-room, long disused, be- 
 cause it was said to be haunted. Her father was just un- 
 locking the door, and with a sort of shuddering curiosity 
 mingled with her grief she stole up on tiptoe and peeped 
 in as well as she could between Dick and a shabby old 
 curtain hanging before the oriel-window in the passage. 
 
 At rare intervals the haunted room was swept out, but 
 the windows were boarded up, and it had never been used 
 since the latter part of Queen Elizabeth's reign, when a cer- 
 tain John Heyworth, the young orphan heir to the estate, 
 had been murdered by his guardian in the very same old 
 four-post bed which Rosamond now caught sight of. 
 
 Into this dread abode Joscelyn found himself securely 
 locked and bolted ; he flung himself into the first chair he 
 came to, far too much agitated by all that had passed to 
 give a thought as yet to his surroundings. That his father 
 was a hot-tempered man he had always known, but he had 
 never before seen him so deeply wounded, so full of grief 
 as well as of wrath. Had it not been for his love for Sir 
 Thomas, his perception of the stanch faithfulness of his 
 father to that idea of the divine right of the King to receive 
 the passive and unreasoning obedience of the subject, he 
 would, perhaps, have found time to be indignant with the 
 way in which he was treated. But the ignominy of his im- 
 prisonment did not greatly affect him ; it was of deeper 
 things that he thought of the hopelessness of the separa- 
 tion that had arisen between him and all he loved best ; of 
 the dark mysterious future awaiting not himself alone, but 
 the whole country ; of the strangely mingled good and evil 
 on either side. The thought of the war brought him back 
 to his own situation. He had vowed his service to the Par- 
 
73 
 
 liament, but he knew well enough that his father's vow to 
 keep him in durance till he would swear to change sides 
 had been registered just as firmly and with just as strong a 
 consciousness of right. Heyworths were not in the habit 
 of yielding, and he built nothing on the chance that either 
 of them might think of relenting. 
 
 He knew that Sir Thomas was quite capable of keeping 
 him a prisoner for weeks if necessary, and that the war 
 should last longer than a few weeks was a contingency that 
 had as yet occurred to no one in the country. All thought 
 that one great battle would settle the dispute. 
 
 But Joscelyn had no intention of occupying the haunted 
 room longer than he could help ; he had not been in it an 
 hour before he was calculating the chances of escape. Fort- 
 unately the sun was full on the room, so that in spite of 
 the boarded windows a fair amount of light stole in through 
 cracks and crevices, the knots in the wood gleaming out 
 ruddily. He wondered whether escape in that direction 
 were possible, but he had no sort of weapon with which to 
 work at the closely nailed boards. He then lifted the tap- 
 estry on each side of the walls, hoping that by chance there 
 might be some secret door or sliding panel leading into the 
 adjoining room ; the process half choked him with dust, but 
 his search was useless. He began to fear that he could 
 not get out unless he had the help of some accomplice in 
 the household, and from this idea he shrank, dreading lest 
 he should bring trouble on others. All at once the only 
 available way of escape occurred to him. With hurried 
 steps he crossed the room to the fireplace, and looked 
 anxiously up the wide old chimney. If his knee did not 
 play him false he thought he could manage it ; the part he 
 felt uncertain about was the possibility of descent from the 
 outside, till suddenly, as he was musing over the position of 
 the chimney-stack, he recollected that it also contained the 
 
74 
 
 chimney of the room immediately below. This room had 
 recently been fitted up as a private study for the chaplain, 
 who, not being of a superstitious frame of mind, had no ob- 
 jection at all to the ghostly rappings and scufflings over- 
 head. If, then, Joscelyn could climb up the chimney of 
 the tapestry-room and down the chimney of the chaplain's 
 study, he might, if he chose his time carefully, walk out of 
 the house with the greatest ease. Throwing himself back 
 in the chair once more, he thought out by degrees his plan 
 of action. To attempt the escape at once was out of the 
 question, for it was a Saturday, and on that day the chap- 
 lain was sure to be writing his sermons. He must wait 
 until Sunday ; then, in the evening, when the family were 
 at church and the chaplain safely in the pulpit, he would at 
 any rate make the attempt. There was only one part of 
 this plan from which he shrank : he could not endure to go 
 away without a word of farewell to Dick and Rosamond, 
 yet he dared not take them into the secret of his escape, lest 
 afterwards they should be questioned by Sir Thomas. At 
 last he resolved on a compromise ; he would write Rosa- 
 mond a note asking her to be in the arbor in the garden on 
 Sunday evening while the rest were at church, and to in- 
 duce Dick to stay with her. He knew that the child never 
 went to the evening service, and that Dick could very well 
 stay at home without provoking any remark, while as to 
 Jervis, it was highly improbable that he would be sober. 
 
 Having once determined upon this plan, he set his wits 
 to work as to the letter itself. He thought it possible that 
 either Dick or Rosamond would contrive to steal up to 
 speak to him before night, and he could easily slip a letter 
 under the door to them, but the worst difficulty would be 
 to find anything to write on. After some little trouble he 
 managed to wrench from the wall a nail which supported 
 an ill-drawn picture of poor John Heyworth ; this would 
 
75 
 
 serve both to draw blood from his wrist and to scrawl fairly 
 legible characters ; he then hunted all over the place for 
 something upon which it was possible to write ; at last, and 
 not without a shudder of distaste, he came to the bed itself 
 and drew back the dingy old hangings. Tradition had 
 handed down the story of the murdered boy, and the details 
 flashed back now into Joscelyn's mind. It was just fifty 
 years ago that the treacherous guardian, who had been next 
 heir to the estate, had stolen into this tapestry-room in the 
 dead of night and had attempted to strangle his ward ; John 
 Heyworth had, however, been roused, and a desperate strug- 
 gle had ensued ; finally he had been stabbed. But the 
 guardian had managed to deceive every one, and to make it 
 appear that the youth had broken a blood-vessel. He suc- 
 ceeded to the estate, but the ghost of his victim left him no 
 peace ; and although he had the tapestry-room entirely closed, 
 the visitant from another world pursued him wherever he 
 went, and the matter so preyed on his mind that he fell sick 
 and died within a year, making full confession in his last mo- 
 ments. The estate had then passed to quite another branch 
 of the family, the Lincolnshire Heyworths. Sir Thomas's 
 father had lived for'two-and-twenty years at Shortell, and 
 in 1615 Sir Thomas had come into the property. Curiously 
 enough, the ghost still continued to haunt the tapestry- 
 room, and Joscelyn as a child had often heard, with shud- 
 dering awe, the blows, the scuffling of feet, and the piercing 
 cries which at times penetrated to the rest of the house. 
 
 The murderer had decreed that the room should be left 
 precisely as it was at the time of John Heyworth's death. 
 Joscelyn perceived as he drew aside the rotten old curtains 
 that the very bedclothes were still there. Shivering a little, 
 he drew back the mouldy coverlet and blanket the sheets 
 had been removed, but even in the dim light he could see a 
 dark stain on the bed beneath. A feeling of chill horror 
 
76 
 
 crept over him ; he would have turned away had it not been 
 for a strange sense of expectancy for which he could not ac- 
 count. He lifted aside the pillow, and slightly raised the 
 bolster under it. To his surprise, he saw a small brown 
 volume, and taking it up found that it was a psalter, and 
 that in many places the edges of the leaves and even the 
 margins were stained, as though blood had trickled over 
 them. Somehow the sight of it made the past curiously 
 vivid to him, and a sense of deep compassion for his young 
 kinsman took possession of his heart. He crossed the room 
 to look once more in the uncertain light at the picture 
 which he had just taken from the wall ; he even fancied a 
 sort of likeness between himself and the youth with the fair 
 hair and broad Elizabethan ruff, whose eyes looked back at 
 him from the picture with such curious sadness. 
 
 Beside the bed there was a sconce for a candle, which he 
 had not before noticed. He pictured to himself how John 
 Heyworth had read the psalms for the evening, had put out 
 the light, had drawn those very curtains, and had fallen 
 asleep at peace with God and man ; how he had been 
 roused to find the foul treachery of his guardian, and to 
 make a desperate but ineffectual effort' to save himself. He 
 wondered why he had never before thought with strong 
 sympathy of his dead kinsman, and had been content to 
 regard " The Ghost " with trembling awe and vague dislike. 
 This book under the pillow had made John Heyworth 
 human to him, and it was with a sort of apology to the 
 murdered boy that he tore the fly-leaf from the psalter, and, 
 while the light still lasted, traced upon it the message for 
 Rosamond. This done, he wiped the mould from the 
 covers of the book and put it in the pocket of his doublet, 
 rearranged the bed, drew the curtains, and retired once 
 more to the big high-backed chair by the hearth. 
 
 Slowly and wearily the hours dragged by. He heard the 
 
77 
 
 sounds of drilling in the park, he heard Rosamond practis- 
 ing Whitelocke's coranto on her lute, he heard his father's 
 voice and the chaplain's in the room below. But no one 
 came near him, and at last it became clear to him that his 
 imprisonment was to be rendered as hard as possible, and 
 that he need not look for food or water before the morrow. 
 Towards evening for very weariness he fell asleep, but 
 the straight-backed chair, though possessing old-fashioned 
 high sides to it, which had seemed comfortable enough at 
 first, proved but a chilly couch, and Joscelyn's sleep was 
 uneasy, and broken by horrible dreams. Just at midnight 
 he was roused by the most appalling noise in the room. 
 The well-known sounds which in the distance had often 
 made his blood run cold were now in his very ears ; his 
 heart beat wildly, it seemed to him that evil spirits filled 
 the room, he could hear the flapping of their wings, could 
 hear their hideous cries, and before that awful dread of the 
 mysterious and unseen his Courage fled. He cowered back 
 in the depths of the chair, cursing the fate that had con- 
 demned him to pass a night in the midst of such horrors. 
 A deadly fight was going on close to the bed, there could 
 be no manner of doubt as to that ; but blackest darkness 
 filled the room, and he could see nothing whatever. That 
 the spirit of John Heyworth was uttering those fearful 
 shrieks he somehow could not any longer bring himself to 
 believe. Possibly he might have been permitted to haunt 
 the guilty conscience of his murderer, but now, surely, 
 " after life's fitful fever " he rested well. Could it, he won- 
 dered, be the torment of the faithless guardian to re-enact 
 that ghastly tragedy with the roles reversed, and to struggle 
 against demons for his life ? The thought was hardly cal- 
 culated to lessen his terror, and an overmastering desire 
 for light possessed him. He thought of the sconce behind 
 the bed, but the remains of the candle had long ago mould- 
 
78 
 
 ered away. Then he remembered that the tinder-box had 
 stood on a rude bracket close by it, and trembled at the 
 thought of crossing the room to fetch it. Angry with him- 
 self when he found that his knees smote together, he forced 
 himself to get up and cautiously to grope his way by the 
 wall in the direction of the sconce. The combatants were 
 far too much absorbed in their deadly strife to heed his 
 movements, and with throbbing heart he drew nearer and yet 
 nearer, till at last he had seized the box, and drawing forth 
 the flint and steel, struck them with desperate energy. The 
 tinder flared up, and Joscelyn, glancing round eagerly, saw 
 to his amazement that all this ghastly and terrifying noise 
 had been produced by three bats who were engaged in a 
 desperate fight. At the sudden light they dispersed with 
 shrill screams, two of them instantly making for the fire- 
 place, the other retreating with flapping wings to the bed 
 tester, where, doubtless, it had long found a home. In his 
 relief he laughed at the thought that such harmless things 
 had, with the help of darkness and tradition, driven him 
 almost out of his senses with fright. Then returning once 
 more across the dark room, he settled himself for the night 
 in the depths of the old chair, and, falling asleep, dreamed 
 that John Heyworth stood beside him bidding him take 
 courage, telling him that in all his loneliness he was not 
 forsaken, but compassed by great hosts of witnesses ; re- 
 minding him that earthly existence with its pain and strife 
 was but " as a dream when one awaketh," and that beyond 
 lay the real life which alone could satisfy the heart of man. 
 His night in the haunted room taught him forever to dis- 
 believe in the vulgar tales of noisy and terrifying ghosts, 
 but to believe more than he had ever done before that the 
 world of the seen and the world of the unseen were really 
 as closely united as the body and the spirit of man himself. 
 In truth, he needed all the comfort that could be brought to 
 
79 
 
 him in sleep, for it was painful enough to wake the next 
 morning to the recollection of his father's anger, and to the 
 thought that he must this day go forth into exile, penniless, 
 unarmed, and alone. As the clock struck five he heard a 
 low tap at the door; some one called him by his name; it 
 was Rosamond. 
 
 " Joscelyn," she whispered, as he drew close to the key- 
 hole, " I could not come before ; they watched me too 
 closely. Did the ghost harm you ? I hardly slept for fear- 
 ing it." 
 
 " On the contrary, he has done me good service," said 
 Joscelyn, " But do not stay here, lest they find you out. 
 See, I have written you a letter. Do not fail me." 
 
 He pushed the fly-leaf of the psalter under the door, 
 and Rosamond stole away to read it in secret, then to 
 discuss it with Dick, who was quite unable to guess in 
 what way escape from the tapestry-room could be effected. 
 However, it was agreed that they should keep their own 
 counsel, and, as Joscelyn wished, wait for him in the arbor 
 that evening. 
 
 In the tapestry-room the hours passed heavily enough. 
 Shortly after the usual breakfast hour Joscelyn heard the 
 bolts of his door withdrawn, and, somewhat to his surprise, 
 his mother entered, bearing in her own hands a loaf and a 
 jug of water. Most of Lady Heyworth's love had been lav- 
 ished on her two elder children, but Joscelyn had always 
 got on well with his mother, and his love for her was very 
 great. When he saw the cloud on her brow his heart sank 
 within him. 
 
 " Have you thought better of your folly ?" she asked, 
 coldly. 
 
 " I have not changed my mind, mother," he replied. And 
 then, an odd giddiness seizing him, he took up the jug of 
 water which she had set down on the floor, and drank thirst- 
 
8o 
 
 ily. She stood watching him intently, and as she watched 
 the cloud on her face darkened and her brown eyes grew 
 hard and pitiless. 
 
 " I am glad you do suffer," she said. " You have brought 
 misery enough to your father and to me at a time when 
 there was need of comfort rather than of fresh trouble." 
 
 " Mother !" he cried, desperately, " do not let these mat- 
 ters come between us. After all, how can they touch my 
 love to you my duty ? I will be content not to fight will 
 stay here at Shortell. It is not fit that you should be left 
 alone in this country-house in war-time." 
 
 " I am very sensible of your kindness," she said, mock- 
 ingly. " But I should prefer to have in the house any loyal 
 yeoman or peasant. What ! do you think I would have as 
 protector, or own as my son, one of the King's enemies ? 
 Nay, indeed, until you change your mind I will see you no 
 more !" 
 
 She turned as though to go, but he strode forward and 
 stood in front of the door. Something in his face frightened 
 her ; perhaps it was the grief, perhaps the resoluteness of 
 his expression. 
 
 " Then kiss me, mother," he said. " For this is our last 
 meeting." 
 
 The conviction with which he spoke the words, and per- 
 haps a faint return of motherly pride in the tall strong figure 
 blocking the way, and almost commanding a farewell, sud- 
 denly broke down her pride. She kissed him, and went 
 from the room weeping. The sight of her tears was almost 
 more than he could endure , he paced to and fro in hopeless 
 misery. After all, had John Heyworth's fate been so sad ? 
 Would not death an early death solve all these miserable 
 problems, and end the worst of the separation ? It is a mis- 
 take to think that it is only the aged who look forward to 
 death with longing; there are moments in youth when the 
 
8i 
 
 sick distaste for life, the fierce craving for freedom from 
 pain, work upon the mind much more actively, though, 
 doubtless, in a healthy nature, they are soon conquered. 
 Stretched on the floor of the deserted room, his face hidden, 
 his frame shaken with sobs, Joscelyn Heyworth fought his 
 way through his first great trouble, and presently, exhausted 
 by want of food and by strong emotion, sleep fell upon him, 
 and once more the spirit of his dead kinsman brought him 
 comfort. It spoke of the shortness, yet of the vast impor- 
 tance, of the life on earth the sole time in which it is given 
 to man to suffer for the truth; and when, before long, Josce- 
 lyn awoke, he rose with a strange new energy of endurance, 
 a sense that he was needed, and called and intrusted with 
 a part in the great struggle for freedom. It was well for 
 him that he could not look on into the future, could not tell 
 how slowly, how painfully, with what dire checks, liberty 
 would gradually advance well for him that he thought a 
 few months would bring in the reign of peace and justice. 
 For most truly "we are saved by hope," and the disappoint- 
 ments and griefs, which would be intolerable were they 
 foreseen as a whole, can be borne as they come to us one 
 by one. 
 
 Refreshed by sleep and food, he began to feel eager to 
 attempt his escape, and the hours of waiting seemed long 
 to him. Sometimes he read in the psalter, sometimes stud- 
 ied the picture of John Heyworth, or the quaint designs 
 on the tapestry, and then again he would pace to and fro 
 trying to plan out his future life, and wondering where and 
 how he should again meet Mr. Hampden. At last, to his 
 relief, he heard the bells of Shortell Church ringing for 
 evening service , later on, listening intently, he heard the 
 closing of the great front door, and the steps and voices of 
 those who were going to church. When the bells ceased 
 chiming, and the process of tolling-in began, he knew that 
 6 
 
82 
 
 his time was come. With one more look round the haunted 
 room where he had passed through so grievous a struggle, 
 he turned away, and with some difficulty worked his way 
 up the wide old-fashioned chimney, where the two bats had 
 disappeared on the previous night. At length, breathless 
 and half choking, he reached the place where the other 
 chimney opened into the shaft. Here he paused for a 
 minute or two, thankful to find a ledge that would sup- 
 port him. The ascent had been manageable, but about the 
 descent of the chaplain's chimney he did not feel quite so 
 easy in his mind. Luckily he had a steady head, and was 
 well used to athletics, and though the descent was difficult 
 and dangerous, and the prospect of lying on the hearth be- 
 low with broken bones more than once flashed across him, 
 as with every muscle strained he cautiously made his way 
 down, yet in the end he found himself standing safely on 
 the floor of the study, giddy and shaken, with strained and 
 bleeding hands, but- otherwise none the worse for the ad- 
 venture. 
 
 Opening the door, he listened for a minute, but the house 
 was perfectly still. The servants were far away in the north 
 wing, and even if they heard steps would merely think that 
 Dick had come in from the garden. So he quietly walked 
 along the corridor into the hall, and-up-stairs to his room, 
 and having washed off the soot and dust with which he was 
 begrimed, and hastily changed his clothes, he snatched up 
 his hat and cloak and stole down again, going by a side 
 door into the garden. In three minutes he had gained the 
 shrubbery, and striding along the paths by which he had 
 only two days before conducted Isabella and Sir Toby, 
 he hurried towards the arbor, where Dick and Rosamond 
 greeted him with exclamations of surprise and delight. 
 
 " How did you manage to get out ?" cried Rosamond. 
 " And oh, look at your hands ! How you have hurt them !" 
 
83 
 
 "The brickwork of the chimney is rough. But that is 
 nothing," he replied, sitting down between them. "I am 
 out and free, and can breathe again. The air of that room 
 is like a vault." 
 
 " But what will you do ?" said Dick, whose merry, care- 
 less face had grown strangely grave. " You have no money." 
 
 " Not a farthing," said Joscelyn. " But I have a good pair 
 of legs, at any rate, and it will go hard with me if I cannot 
 contrive to reach Mr. Hampden and claim his promise of 
 help, which help, I take it, will be a post in his regiment." 
 
 " I lost what little I had at play last night," said Dick, 
 ruefully, " or it should have been yours." 
 
 " And I have but these few pennies," said Rosamond ; 
 "but they will be better than nothing." And amid protests 
 and some laughter she succeeded in putting them into the 
 pocket of his doublet. Soon, however, the sense of the 
 parting that must come in a few minutes sobered them. 
 
 " There is one thing, Dick, which you will do for me," 
 said Joscelyn, huskily ; " be to my father what Jervis can 
 never be, what I would fain have been." 
 
 " I can never make up to him for you," said Dick ; " but 
 I will not leave him, I promise you. Oh, Joscelyn ! is there 
 no help for it ? Must you indeed go ?" 
 
 " There is no help," said Joscelyn, gravely. " Did we 
 not talk it all out the other night ? Neither of us can go 
 against his conscience. Better to be opposed to each other 
 than to be false to the sense of right." 
 
 He rose to go, but Rosamond clung to him with such 
 bitter sobs that he was almost unnerved. 
 
 " Oh, why must it be ?" she cried. " If only it could have 
 been Jervis ! Why why is there war at all ?" 
 
 That was the question going up from thousands of hearts 
 in England on that peaceful August evening, and many 
 households were as cruelly divided as this one father 
 
84 
 
 against son, and brother against brother. There was a 
 painful silence in the arbor. Dick, with a choking feeling 
 in his throat, looked across at poor little Rosamond as she 
 clung to her favorite brother, and he knew that for his sake 
 Joscelyn would say no more as to the necessity of war and 
 the reasons for it. The silence was eloquent of love trium- 
 phant over all differences of view. 
 
 " Rosamond," said Joscelyn, at last, " you will trust us 
 both, aye, and pray for us both, I know." 
 
 She checked her tears with an effort. 
 
 " Always, always !" she said, fervently. 
 
 " We cannot tell what may happen," he went on ; "but 
 whenever it is possible I will send word to Barnaby, and he 
 will tell you and Dick, and hold his tongue to the rest of 
 the household. You must tell him I trust to him, for I will 
 not risk going to his house now. Time is getting on, and I 
 ought not to linger." 
 
 The terror lest her father should by chance encounter 
 Joscelyn came as a help to Rosamond's courage, and car- 
 ried her through the parting. 
 
 " Yes, go," she said, with a last kiss. " The service may 
 be shorter to-night than usual, and you might be seen and 
 taken." 
 
 Anxiety now drove out every other feeling, and she was, 
 in fact, the only clear-eyed one when, with a last embrace, 
 Joscelyn tore himself away from Dick and in silence left 
 the arbor. He would not let them come with him ; but when 
 his steps had died away in the distance they stole down to 
 the edge of the shrubbery and watched him as he crossed 
 the park in the direction of a small wicket-gate at the south- 
 eastern corner. 
 
 " Dick," said Rosamond, her voice faltering a little, " I 
 believe he means to look in at the church, that he may at 
 least see the others once more." 
 
85 
 
 Her instinct was right. Joscelyn left the park, walked 
 hurriedly along the deserted road, passed through the church- 
 yard gate, and strode up the bricked pathway which led be- 
 tween a narrow avenue of lime-trees to the north porch. 
 He did not enter the building, but crossed the grass to the 
 south side and stole noiselessly up to one of the windows. 
 The old Norman church, whose curiously bowed pillars rep- 
 resented the sides of a ship, the familiar round - headed 
 arches, the little side chapel where from his childhood he 
 had come Sunday by Sunday with his parents, were all 
 clearly revealed to him ; he could even see the newly 
 erected brass to one "John Eager 20 March 1641," with 
 its quaint design of a skeleton, and below the solemn 
 warning, 
 
 " Ye earthly impes which here behold 
 
 This picture with your eyes, 
 Remember the end of mortal men 
 And where their glory lies." 
 
 Close by, in the manor pew, with their backs to him, he 
 could see his mother and Isabella, but his father's side face 
 was visible as he knelt with closed eyes, and though sobs 
 rose in Joscelyn's throat as he watched the old man's de- 
 vout face, he was glad that he could take away a happier 
 remembrance of his father than the remembrance of that 
 last sight of him in fierce anger on the Saturday morning. 
 The chaplain's voice reached him distinctly, and with all 
 his heart he joined once more in the words hallowed by the 
 use of so many centuries, " Fulfil now, O Lord, the desires 
 and petitions of Thy servants as may be most expedient 
 for them ; granting us in this world knowledge of Thy truth, 
 and in the world to come life everlasting." 
 
 As the words of the grace were spoken he looked his last 
 on his father's face, and moving out of sight, leaned for some 
 minutes against the church- wall, face and attitude alike tell- 
 
86 
 
 ing of the grievous pain which tore his heart. Presently the 
 sound of music roused him, and through the open windows 
 there floated out to him the quaint words of one of the met- 
 rical psalms : 
 
 " The Lord doth reign, whereat the earth 
 
 May joy with pleasant voice, 
 And eke the Isles with joyful mirth 
 
 May triumph and rejoice. 
 Both clouds and darkness eke do swell 
 
 And round about Him beat : 
 Yea, right and justice ever dwell 
 
 And bide about His feet." 
 
 Before the next verse was ended the graveyard was once 
 more deserted ; the lime-trees rustled sadly in the evening 
 breeze ; the ruddy sunset light cast a glow over the old gray 
 church and softened the more modern brickwork of the 
 tower, and touched with glory the tomb of John Heyworth. 
 But within the church remained loyal old Sir Thomas, and 
 without a solitary wayfarer passed swiftly along the rough 
 high-road. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 Both Heaven and Hell have their foundations within us. Heaven 
 primarily lies in a refined temper, in an internal reconciliation to the 
 nature of God, and to the rule of righteousness. The guilt of conscience 
 and enmity to righteousness is the inward state of Hell. 
 
 WHICHCOTE. 
 
 JOSCELYN had turned his steps in the direction of the lit- 
 tle town of Farnham, his road lying for part of the way 
 through the Holt Forest, which at that time was of greater 
 extent than at present. It was not exactly a road which one 
 would have chosen to travel alone and unarmed, but he was 
 too sad-hearted to give a thought to the possible dangers of 
 the way, and he passed on unmolested in the summer twi- 
 light beneath the dark oaks and beeches. The loneliness, 
 the semi-darkness, the utter dreariness of the walk, accorded 
 only too well with his feelings, and it was a relief when he 
 had left the forest behind him and had reached the out- 
 skirts of the town. By this time night was closing in ; he 
 paused for a minute, looking back towards his home. A 
 cold light still lingered in the west, dappled with dark 
 clouds ; the sky looked, to his fancy, like the side of an 
 iron-gray horse. 
 
 With a heavy heart he turned away and walked wearily 
 on through the familiar little town. As he passed along 
 West Street and the Borough it crossed his mind how, not 
 so very long ago, his greatest treat had been to come in 
 with Dick and old Barnaby to see the Farnham horse-fair. 
 A great gulf seemed to lie between those past times and 
 this dreary present ; he seemed to himself like some other 
 being, and nothing perhaps but the sharp pain of those old 
 
88 
 
 memories as they contrasted with his loneliness could have 
 convinced him that he was in truth the same Joscelyn Hey- 
 worth. Lights still lingered in many of the windows, and 
 from the celebrated Bush Inn there came a cheerful glow 
 and a sound of eager voices. He reflected that although 
 he could not afford to pass the night anywhere except in 
 the open air, yet that Rosamond's pence would at any rate 
 pay for a manchet of bread and a tankard of ale, and his 
 walk had served to remind him that during the last two 
 days his fare had been but scanty. So he crossed the well- 
 known court -yard, and receiving a respectful recognition 
 from the landlord, was ushered into the parlor whence the 
 babel of tongues had proceeded. 
 
 Mr. Giles Graham, of Guildford, and a party of friends 
 had ridden over that evening and were supping, the land- 
 lord explained, and he proceeded to offer his guest all that 
 the house would afford : a cut from an excellent saddle of 
 mutton, a fat capon, deviled kidneys, or toasted cheese. 
 Why any one should be ashamed of poverty, and especially 
 of poverty voluntarily incurred for the sake of a principle, 
 it is hard to say. But undoubtedly this human weakness is 
 almost universal, and Joscelyn, as he declined the dainties 
 offered by his host, colored up like a girl, and was con- 
 vinced that the man could see that of silver and gold he 
 had none. However, he soon recovered his equanimity, 
 and forgot himself in the interest of the talk going on 
 around him. Apparently Mr. Giles Graham had been 
 drinking rather freely ; he was a burly, thick-set man, and 
 looked the soul of good-nature , he was talking to a sallow 
 and rather surly-faced man at his right, and Joscelyn speed- 
 ily discovered that the war was the subject under discus- 
 sion. 
 
 " Surrey for the Parliament, do you say ?" roared Mr. 
 Graham. " I tell you the knaves are counting their chick- 
 
89 
 
 ens before they are hatched. There are plenty of loyal 
 hearts in Surrey, I'll be bound." 
 
 "Of course, of course," said the sallow man, with a 
 frown. u The very business we are met upon shows that. 
 But already the rebels are beginning to attack the houses 
 of the Catholic gentry, and to take all the arms they can 
 lay hold of, and it behooves us to be as active. What 
 chances are there in your neighborhood, Sir Andrew?" 
 
 The young man appealed to was invisible to Joscelyn, be- 
 ing far up on the same side of the table. 
 
 "There is only one, to the best of my belief," he replied, 
 " but that would be worth trying. A fine strong Tudor 
 house in a picked position, commanding three valleys, and 
 close to the road, with a good store of old arms, and, what 
 is better, with plenty of spoil, for the place belongs to one 
 of the richest men in the county." 
 
 " But doubtless it will be well defended," said Mr. Graham. 
 
 " I don't think it," said Sir Andrew. " Old Sir Robert 
 Neal is too easy-going and unsuspicious." 
 
 " Good. Then that house shall head our list, and the 
 sooner it is attacked the better," replied the other. 
 
 They proceeded to discuss various houses where arms 
 might possibly be obtained, but the talk gradually became 
 less coherent and more noisy ; and presently, taking advan- 
 tage of a boisterous drinking chorus to cover his retreat, 
 Joscelyn slipped quietly from the room. Either the supper 
 party had not noticed him at all, or in their noisy merri- 
 ment had laid aside the prudence which would have sug- 
 gested the possibility that this youth might belong to the 
 Parliamentary party. 
 
 Having parted with the very last of Rosamond's pence, 
 Joscelyn left the Bush and wandered out into the summer 
 night. It was clearly now his duty to go to Katterham at 
 once, and acquaint Sir Robert with what he had heard, but 
 
9Q 
 
 he was too tired to walk any farther that night, and having 
 reached the outskirts of the town, he bethought him that 
 the park would prove a tolerably safe sleeping-place ; and 
 turning up past a way-side inn named the Six Bells, he 
 scaled the park fence, and soon found a sheltered nook, 
 where, with a sloping bank behind him and a thick growth 
 of brake-fern by way of covering, he made himself a toler- 
 ably comfortable bed. Yet it was long ere he could sleep, 
 for his brain was over- excited by the suffering he had 
 passed through. He lay listening to the sighing of the 
 wind in the tall elm-trees above him, and as the church 
 clock struck the hours it seemed to him as if the great bell 
 were tolling for the death of his old life. " Gone, gone, 
 gone !" it seemed to say. He wondered if his whole future 
 was to be passed now in shadow; whether the brightness 
 and light-heartedness which had hitherto buoyed him up 
 through the slight troubles and disappointments he had 
 met with could ever return to him. The stars were shining 
 gloriously, and from the place where he lay he could clearly 
 see Charles's Wain ; he looked up at it, finding a sort of 
 comfort in what for so long had been familiar to him. And 
 presently the dark sky and the faint starlight brought back 
 to his mind the words of the psalm which had been sung 
 that evening in Shortell Church. Was it not possible even 
 now " to triumph and rejoice " ? Was it not possible even 
 in this distracted England to trust in the eternal " right and 
 justice " of the One who ruled all things, One who in the 
 right way, at the right time, would disperse the clouds and 
 darkness that had gathered? This night of misrule and 
 oppression was, after all, only a night, and even in the 
 midst of it there were not wanting many witnesses, shining 
 forth like stars in the surrounding gloom, to remind all men 
 that justice and truth and liberty were sacred and lasting 
 realities, and that the dawn must break. 
 
With this thought in his mind he fell asleep, and it was 
 not until the early morning that a herd of deer passing by at 
 a few yards' distance roused him. He started up from his 
 bed of fern and looked about him, the cavalry of his dream 
 resolving itself into the noble creatures with their branching 
 antlers and soft brown eyes and beautifully dappled skin. 
 He thought he had never seen anything so exquisite, as at 
 sight of him they bounded lightly down the soft green slope, 
 over which there rested a white veil of dew. The tall elms 
 with their masses of dark green August foliage reared their 
 heads solemnly into the clear blue sky; here and there 
 fleecy white clouds floated, and something in the general 
 stillness and peace something, too, in the balmy freshness 
 of the atmosphere made Joscelyn for a moment almost 
 ready to fancy that he had left the world which but last 
 night had been so grievously at wrongs, and had waked in 
 Paradise. 
 
 Then, gradually coining to himself, a great hopefulness 
 took possession of him; the perfect morning seemed to 
 breathe into him a different spirit. True, strife and pain 
 and effort awaited the whole country, but he, for one, would 
 ever keep before him that ideal of the reign of righteous- 
 ness after the pattern of which all earthly governments 
 should as far as possible strive to mould themselves. It 
 seemed to him that he had never before realized the truth 
 that, though men may hinder and mar the gradual progress 
 of good, they are unable to overcome it in reality, and with 
 his whole heart he thanked God that he had been able to 
 give up all, and to devote his will to the service of One to 
 whom he owed more than either to king or father. Often 
 afterwards he was obliged to pass through times of grievous 
 depression and perplexity, yet he never lost for long the 
 glad sense of working in unison with a Higher Will, which 
 had first come to him in the beauty and peace of that early 
 
92 
 
 morning in Farnham Park. A penniless, disgraced exile, 
 he nevertheless set forth with that best of possessions, the 
 happiness which endures through sorrow. 
 
 Recollecting that both on account of taking the warning 
 to Katterham and also because pursuit from Shortell was 
 still a possibility, he must not linger, he started off while it 
 was still quite early and began his walk along the high ridge 
 of country known as the Hog's Back, to Guildford. Then, 
 having rested for half an hour in the outskirts of the town, 
 he struck across country, and avoiding the neighborhood of 
 his uncle's house at Bletchingley, where his views were 
 little likely to meet with sympathy, he mounted the wooded 
 height to which he had directed his course. 
 
 The sun was setting, and knowing that he was scarcely a 
 mile from Katterham Court, he paused for a minute or two 
 to rest at the top of the long hill. A glorious plain lay be- 
 neath him, bounded in the distance by three distinct chains 
 of downs, while to the right, all flooded with a crimson 
 glow, he could see the beautiful outline of Leith Hill. He 
 was not sorry to think that his day's work was nearly over, 
 and the final tramp over the old Roman Stane Street seemed 
 long to him, but at last the common was crossed, the rough 
 country lane was ended, and the gates and lodge of the 
 Court-house rose before him in the twilight. He rang and 
 was speedily admitted, receiving a friendly greeting from 
 the gate-keeper. A road bordered by a close shrubbery led 
 towards the house, and turning sharply to the left, soon 
 brought him within sight of the red brick mansion, with its 
 gables and picturesque chimneys and moss-grown roof. It 
 was with a sense of keen pleasure that Joscelyn perceived 
 Sir Robert Neal sitting in his elbow-chair at the open door; 
 and the old man, catching sight of him, started up with a 
 welcome so hearty and so kind that it was no longer possi- 
 ble for Joscelyn to feel himself alone in the world. 
 
93 
 
 At the sound of his voice the children came running out, 
 delighted to see him once more, and Clemency was sum- 
 moned from the withdrawing-room, where she sat with two 
 distant kinswomen, Mrs. Arbella and Mrs. Ursula Neal, 
 who, through the kindness of Sir Robert, had for many 
 years lived rent free in the dower-house hard by. Joscelyn, 
 who had been describing to Sir Robert the way in which 
 he had heard of the possible attack on the Court-house, 
 broke off abruptly as Clemency and the two maiden ladies 
 from the dower-house approached, for during his previous 
 visit he had learned that Mrs. Arbella and Mrs. Ursula 
 were stanch Royalists. 
 
 They were, into the bargain, apt to regard ordinary mem- 
 bers of the male sex with little favor, and Joscelyn, though 
 sincerely respecting them, somewhat resented the patroniz- 
 ing tone of Mrs. Arbella and the seeming indifference of 
 Mrs. Ursula. That the latter should be Clemency's greatest 
 friend puzzled him much ; he had not yet learned to see the 
 unselfish, devoted nature, the rare humility, which lay be- 
 neath Mrs. Ursula's rather cold countenance. 
 
 " Mr. Heyworth has kindly come out of his way to bring 
 me important news," said Sir Robert. " By-the-way, I hope 
 your horse is being seen to ? Did one of the men take it ?" 
 
 " I came on foot, sir," said Joscelyn, coloring in a way 
 which revealed both to Sir Robert and to Clemency much 
 of his story. 
 
 " On foot !" exclaimed Mrs. Arbella, with an expression 
 of strong disapproval on her comely though wrinkled face. 
 " It was extremely rash to walk such a distance when your 
 injured knee is but recently restored ! It was absolute 
 madness !" 
 
 " It was necessity, madam," said Joscelyn, with a touch 
 of irritation in his voice. " As the proverb hath it, ' If 
 wishes were horses beggars would ride '; but at present, 
 
94 
 
 those who are turned adrift on the world with empty 
 pockets find wishing but an idle pastime, and must tramp 
 it as they best may." 
 
 A kindly expression dawned in Mrs. Ursula's quiet face. 
 Though far from sympathizing with the views which Jos- 
 celyn had adopted, she could not but respect his courage 
 and regret his pain. 
 
 " I trust the knee will be none the worse," she said, pleas- 
 antly. " But you must be weary with your journey, and I 
 think, sister," she added, turning to Mrs. Arbella, "that 
 we had better make our farewells, or the darkness will over- 
 take us." 
 
 She wished Joscelyn good-night kindly, and gathering up 
 her black silk skirt in a way which revealed a pair of small 
 feet and shapely ankles, prepared for the short walk across 
 to the dower-house. 
 
 Mrs. Arbella followed her, commenting as they went in 
 her rapid, energetic way on the return of Joscelyn Hey- 
 worth. She was a lady who dealt out patronizing judg- 
 ments on the faults and failings of mankind with extraordi- 
 nary volubility. Yet, in spite of this, there was something 
 lovable about her which took the sting from her most 
 sweeping condemnations. 
 
 " Oh, he is a handsome stripling, I grant," she said ; " but 
 I'll warrant that he is lacking in all reverence for authority. 
 He must be headstrong, self-willed, and opinionated to run 
 counter to his home surroundings after this fashion. And I 
 am not at all sure that he has not already an eye to the 
 pretty heiress and these broad acres, and that his so-called 
 love of the land is not love of this land we walk on. Doubt- 
 less the important news Sir Robert mentioned was but an 
 excuse to get back to the Court-house." 
 
 "Nay, nay," said Mrs. Ursula, "there I believe, sister, 
 you wrong the poor lad. I am persuaded he has too much 
 
95 
 
 dignity and right feeling to dangle round an heiress. One 
 who was capable of that would not speak in the tone he 
 used but now of being in the position of the penniless 
 tramp. In respect for authority he may be lacking, but I 
 cannot credit him with mercenary thoughts touching Clem- 
 ency's inheritance." 
 
 " Poverty is a strong temptation," said Mrs. Arbella, not 
 without a pathetic thought of the shabbiness of her sister's 
 gown. 
 
 " Only to the weak," said Mrs. Ursula, with decision ; 
 " and, if I mistake not, Mr. Heyworth is strong, and does 
 not lack proper pride." 
 
 Mrs. Arbella was silent. Pride and poverty appealed to 
 her, for there was much of both in her own life. 
 
 " I am not prepared to say," she remarked, as the sisters 
 entered their sparsely furnished house, "that his family 
 have done wisely in treating him with such severity. How- 
 ever mistaken his opinions, it is a dangerous thing for one 
 of his age to be cast adrift without money, and it is well 
 that he has fallen in with such a worthy man as Sir Robert, 
 who must be esteemed even by his opponents. As for our 
 good kinsman's political errors, why, he is a man, and, like 
 all men, easily misled by his own vain prejudices. Had he 
 been born a woman, now, I venture to assert that he would 
 have been as loyal to Church and King as we are our- 
 selves." 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Heart, my heart, what is this feeling, 
 That doth weigh on thee so sore ? 
 
 What new life art thou revealing, 
 That I know myself no more ? 
 
 GOETHE. 
 
 "THE COURT-HOUSE, KATTERHAM, 
 
 "Friday the 12th August, 1642. 
 
 " MY DEAR FAITH, Your letter in reply to the first I 
 wrote after hearing of your safe arrival has just been deliv- 
 ered to me by your brother-in-law's man, and since he goes 
 on to London to-morrow, and returns within a week to 
 Gloucester, I shall give up the day to writing you all that 
 has passed. 
 
 " But first let me tell you how I rejoice that we can write 
 thus each to each, as we once talked, and that Christopher 
 does not demand a sight of the letters. For as three is dull 
 company, so also is a correspondence which is enforcedly 
 not betwixt writer and reader, but for a third eye and mind. 
 How greatly would our chat weary him ; as much methinks 
 as the reading of his letters on business would weary us ! 
 In saying that the unity of husband and wife does not 
 demand the laying bare of the confidences of kinsfolk or 
 friends, but best proves its reality by its trust, he seems to 
 me to show his wisdom and nobleness, and I feel able to 
 spare you to him with a less grudging heart. But oh, 
 Faith ! there are times when I feel sick for one more sight 
 of you, and the house is sorely changed by the lack of your 
 voice and the want of your face ; indeed, it is scarce like 
 home any more. You see how I need you to drive away 
 
97 
 
 my doleful thoughts, and I will waste no more of the paper 
 with idle repinings, but make the most of this talk from 
 shire to shire, the chance for which does not come every 
 day. I told you in ^my last that Mr. Joscelyn Heyworth 
 had through his talk with Mr. Hampden come to see that 
 he could not, as his father wished, serve in the King's 
 army. Well, he took leave of us on Friday the 5th, but on 
 the Monday evening unexpectedly returned, much spent 
 with the journey from Farnham, which he had made on 
 foot, and bringing with him sad news. His parents had 
 taken his change of views grievously to heart, had treated 
 him with great severity, and he had escaped from a sort of 
 home imprisonment, making his way to Katterham pen- 
 niless and unarmed. He had intended to journey to 
 London, there to seek Mr. Hampden, but at Farnham he 
 chanced to hear the intention of Mr. Giles Graham and 
 others to bring a force to the attack of certain wealthy 
 houses of our county, and among others of Katterham 
 Court. Hester and the children were not told of it, for we 
 thought it would but frighten them to no good purpose. 
 But grandfather let me sit by whilst he and Nat Tamplin, 
 the new steward, whom we all greatly like, talked till late 
 in the evening, planning what steps had best be taken. 
 They agreed that Tamplin should order several of the farm 
 men to sleep on the premises, and as we had but little 
 powder, it was arranged that Mr. Heyworth, attended by 
 Jack Morrison, should ride over to Croydon the next morn- 
 ing at sunrise to bring back a supply, and also to acquaint 
 the Committee of Public Safety with the plot he had heard. 
 None of the servants but Charlotte knew there was any 
 danger, and she, dear soul, made light of it lest I should 
 be anxious, though all the same I could see, when in the 
 early morning she brought me my bowl of new milk, that 
 her face was careworn and as if she had not slept. 
 7 
 
98 
 
 " ' Did you think they would murder us all in our beds ?' 
 I asked, laughing for it was easy to laugh with the dark- 
 ness past and the sunshine streaming in at the window, and 
 the lowing of the oxen and the bleating of the sheep and the 
 singing of the birds just as we have heard it every morning 
 of our lives. 
 
 " ' I'm not thinking they would trouble us in the house,' 
 protested Charlotte. ' It's the harvest I'm thinking of, for 
 they do say that foraging parties are wandering over the 
 country and reaping the corn by stealth in the night, and 
 off with it before the owner is well awake, to store the gar- 
 risons.' 
 
 " But though she made much of the corn, I know her 
 real care was for us children; and, Faith, I truly think that 
 if it had come to it dear old Charlotte would have laid 
 down her life to protect us without so much as a thought 
 that she was doing anything unusual. And neither would 
 it have been unusual, for when one thinks of it she is 
 giving herself up to other people and serving others all 
 day and every day. What should we have been without 
 her! 
 
 " I had just made an end of the house-keeping and was 
 in the garden with Monnie cutting off the withered roses, 
 when up came Original Smith with a long face and a long 
 story ; he had heard of the report brought back by Mr. 
 Heyworth, and saw fit to complain that he had not been 
 the one to be sent over to the Committee of Public Safety. 
 Why did we put so much confidence in a stranger, and not 
 allow one who had known us all our lives to be of service ? 
 I told him it was natural that Mr. Heyworth should have 
 been chosen to go since he was the one who had heard the 
 talk at Farnham. To which he made answer, ' I see you 
 prefer new friends to old, but 'tis seldom they prove the 
 most faithful.' 
 
99 
 
 " I said it was not a question of friendship at all, but of 
 what grandfather thought best to arrange, and then to give 
 the talk a turn asketf if the children had been good and 
 whether their lessons were done. He answered shortly and 
 went off much in the dumps, and I think I must somehow 
 have offended him, for his manner has been strange ever 
 since. I would not have him think that we do not value 
 old friends. His father seems to me as fine a specimen of 
 a yeoman as one could wish, and his mother is one of the 
 saints of the earth, and though Original himself would be 
 more to my liking if he did not crop his hair and anathema- 
 tize all whose views square not with his own, yet I have al- 
 ways respected him, and he is the best tutor the children 
 could have. When, at eleven o'clock, we met again in the 
 hall at dinner, he was still in his dumps, but of course no 
 more could be said because Hester and the children were 
 present. In the afternoon Mr. Heyworth and Mr. Morrison 
 rode back from Croydon, and with them came Captain John- 
 ston and half a dozen men, whom we had to entertain as 
 best we could for the night. The children were told that 
 they had come to beat up recruits in the neighboring vil- 
 lages, which was indeed true, and I made a pretext to send 
 them over to the homestead to see the cows milked and to 
 order Mrs. Purnell to send over an extra supply. Then, 
 when they were gone, Captain Johnston and grandfather 
 and Mr. Heyworth and the new steward, Nat Tamplin, 
 went over the house, and planned how it had best be 
 defended in case of attack, and somehow with the coming 
 and going, and the excitement, and the having so many 
 orders to give as to the food, I had no time to feel afraid 
 until after supper that night, when, having left the men-folk 
 talking with grandfather in the study, I went up to our bed- 
 room, which seems lonesome always without you, though I 
 have little Monnie for company. 
 
100 
 
 " It was a dark, cloudy night, and when I looked from the 
 window I felt for the first time afraid of the stillness, and 
 could have blessed Monnie for waking as she did and beg- 
 ging me to sing her to sleep again. I shut the casement 
 and drew the curtain, still with that sort of creeping terror 
 of what might be out there in the darkness ; and to feel 
 nearer the rest of the house I set the bedroom door ajar 
 and felt a cowardly relief at hearing steps on the stair, and 
 knowing that either Mr. Heyworth or Captain Johnston must 
 have come up to his room. Monnie kept saying, * Sing, Clem- 
 ency, sing,' and as much to comfort myself as to soothe her, 
 I began : 
 
 " 'The Lord is both my health and light, 
 
 Shall men make me dismay'd? 
 Sith God doth give me strength and might, 
 Why should I be afraid?* 
 
 " When I got to the verse about ' My parents both their 
 sonne forsook,' I fell to thinking of Mr. Heyworth. It is 
 strange how the Psalms always do fit in with our life of to- 
 day, and that what David said long ago should be just what 
 I wanted to say in this seventeenth century. But the sing- 
 ing cheered me as nothing else could have done, in especial 
 those last verses : 
 
 " 'Teach me, O Lord, the way to Thee, 
 
 And lead me on forth right, 
 For fear of such as watch for me 
 To trap me if they might. 
 
 ' My heart would faint but that in me 
 
 This hope is fixed fast, 
 The Lord God's good grace shall I see 
 In life that aye shall last. 
 
 * Trust then in God whose whole thou art ; 
 
 His will abide thou must ; 
 And He shall ease and strength thy heart, 
 If thou on Him do trust.' 
 
" WE BOTH LISTENED INTENTLY." 
 
 [Page 101. 
 
101 
 
 " Monnie was sound asleep by the time the psalm was 
 sung, and the last words had scarcely left my lips when 
 some one knocked from without ; throwing the door wider 
 open I saw Mr. Heyworth standing there, and he, with many 
 apologies, asked me to sing no longer, but to listen with him 
 for a moment at the open window of the passage. I knelt 
 on the old oak chest, and we both listened intently ; this 
 time there was something more terrible than the intense 
 stillness the sound of horses' hoofs on the road from Wil- 
 ley Farm, the quarter from which we had fancied the enemy 
 would come. I think if Mr. Heyworth had not been so quiet 
 my fears would have all returned, but if panic is apt to prove 
 infectious, so, I think, is calmness. 
 
 " * The unwelcome visitors, if I mistake not,' he said. 
 ' Sir Robert must be told.' 
 
 " We ran down-stairs to the study, where grandfather and 
 Captain Johnston sat smoking their pipes ; they flung open 
 the side window, and more clearly than ever we heard the 
 beat of the horse-hoofs on the road. I heard Captain John- 
 ston discussing with Mr. Heyworth as to how they should 
 rouse Tamplin and the men from Croydon, and how reach 
 Morrison at the gate-house. Before it was settled, however, 
 grandfather had insisted that I should go ur>stairs, and I 
 had promised to stay in the upper part of the house and to 
 keep the great oak door at the head of the front stairs 
 closely barred. Having drawn both the upper and lower 
 bolts, I went again to the passage window, and, kneeling 
 once more on the chest, looked out into the night. Some 
 one was let out at the front door. I supposed it was Cap- 
 tain Johnston going across to the gate-house ; and as I 
 heard his steps crunching the gravel in the court-yard I 
 thought to myself, ' If it were a man one cared for, how one 
 would fear for his safety !' And then, oh, Faith ! I saw that 
 it was not Captain Johnston at all, but Mr. Heyworth, and 
 
102 
 
 my heart seemed to stand still, and when it went on again 
 it was no longer my own. I saw him plainly, for the light 
 streamed out from the open door and shone upon his hair, 
 and though he and Captain Johnston are of much the same 
 height, yet there was no mistaking that. He was gone in a 
 minute, and I was left to look and look till my eyes ached 
 at the inner gate of the court, and the two pillars with their 
 round balls, and to listen in an agony to the horrible tramp 
 coming steadily nearer and nearer. I do not know how the 
 time went ; I heard the front door being locked and bolted, 
 and steps hurrying hither and thither, and after a while 
 Charlotte came and insisted on closing the casement and 
 fastening. the shutters, though I begged hard to keep watch 
 still. She would not hear of it; yet when the horsemen 
 seemed actually to be just outside the court-yard her anxi- 
 ety for grandfather got the better of her, and she let me un- 
 fasten the bolts of the oak door, and stole quietly down- 
 stairs to see how matters were going. I waited with the 
 door partly open, straining my ears to hear what passed. 
 There were steps on the gravel, and then a loud knocking 
 at the front door. I heard Charlotte and grandfather 
 speaking together, and then the grille was opened, and 
 grandfather asked : * Who is there ? And why do you seek 
 admittance at this hour of the night ?' 
 
 "'Open, in the King's name,' was the summons from 
 without. 
 
 " * I refuse to open,' said grandfather, with a ring in his 
 voice which made it sound like the voice of a young man. 
 
 " ' We have forces here enough to storm your house and 
 burn it about your ears, said the voice from without. 
 * Open, in the King's name, and yield your arms and your 
 plate in the King's service.' 
 
 " For all answer grandfather sharply closed the grille. 
 
 " The spokesman had scarcely moved a couple of steps 
 
io 3 
 
 on the gravel when I heard a gun fired and another and 
 another, and in my sickening anxiety to know how matters 
 were going I think I niust have broken my word and thrown 
 back the shutters to look out, or even run down-stairs to 
 grandfather, had not Monnie waked with a cry of terror ; 
 and, fastening the bolts of the door again, I ran back to my 
 room, and sat on the bed beside her singing the psalm 
 through once more, and as lustily as I could, that my voice 
 might drown the sound of the guns and the cries and shouts 
 from without. I thought my brain must have given way 
 with the strain of the fearful anxiety for those without, and 
 for grandfather below and for all the children, when one re- 
 membered that hateful threat of firing the house. Yet there 
 were times when I knew that One was soothing me much 
 as I soothed Monnie, and stilling the storm of fears that 
 again and again tried to rise in my heart. After what 
 seemed a long time the firing ceased and the shouts and 
 cries died down to a confused murmur, and Gyp and Rover, 
 who had been barking furiously, grew less excited. To my 
 relief Monnie fell asleep too, and, hearing steps ascending, 
 I went to unbolt the door at the head of the stairs, yet 
 paused for a moment in deadly terror at the thought that 
 the quiet without might after all mean our defeat, and that 
 the footsteps might be those of the enemy. 
 
 " ' Who is there ?' I cried, as some one knocked ; and the 
 answer came back in a clear ringing voice, * It is I, Jos- 
 celyn Heyworth.' Then I flung back the door, and in one 
 breath we both cried, 'Are you safe?' and there and then 
 I felt thankful that Hal was not by to cry out, as he as- 
 suredly would have done, * Hook fingers and wish, for you 
 spoke the same words.' 
 
 " I seem still to feel his hands grasping mine, still to see 
 his eyes striving, as they did that night, to read my very 
 soul. Oh, Faith ! tell me, is it my fancy that he had feared 
 
104 
 
 for me as I feared for him that to him, too, it had been a 
 night of revelation ? 
 
 " We went down to the entrance-hall, and there I heard 
 how the enemy had ignominiously retreated, being utterly 
 surprised and routed by a sudden attack made from the 
 shelter of the nut-trees beside the bowling-green by Cap- 
 tain Johnston and his men. Mr. Heyworth and Morrison, 
 with some of the farm men who had been sleeping in the 
 gate-house, followed up the advantage and pressed them 
 hard from the other side, and having doubtless expected to 
 find us unprepared with any defence, they were the more 
 easily disheartened and repulsed. Several were wounded, 
 among others young Sir Andrew Grey, who this time last 
 year, you remember, asked grandfather for my hand in mar- 
 riage, and was for many months one of my most wearisome 
 and importunate servants. Methinks Original Smith is 
 wrong, and that new friends are sometimes more desirable 
 than old ! Morrison got a slight cut on the head, which, 
 however, has only enamoured him of war and fighting, and 
 two of Captain Johnston's men were hurt, yet not severely. 
 Charlotte made much of them and bandaged their wounds, 
 and we had a second supper somewhere in the small hours 
 of the night, at which I felt merrier far than at your wedding- 
 feast, so great was the relief after the fears of the evening. 
 
 " But now we are sober and sad enough. There is not 
 much fear that the house will be attacked again, and Kat- 
 terham being off the main road we do not hear much of 
 what is passing, and Mr. Heyworth started yesterday at sun- 
 rise for London. 
 
 " There must be thunder in the air, or else I am going to 
 be seized with a fit of the spleen, for there seems an intol- 
 erable weight on everything; I must write no more, but take 
 the dogs and go to Whitehill and, as Charlotte would say, 
 blow the cobwebs from my brain with the fresh air from the 
 
downs. Do an you love me write ere long. Oh, Faith, why 
 do half a dozen men for whom one cares naught protest that 
 they are ready to die for you, while one other man witches 
 the very heart out of you without so much as a ' By your 
 leave,' and rides off to the wars with never a word but just 
 ' Farewell ' ? In truth I fare anything but well, yet could 
 beat myself for acknowledging it even to you. Burn this 
 when read. And, dear Faith, write soon. 
 
 " I am your affectionate sister, 
 
 " CLEMENCY CORITON. 
 
 "POSTSCRIPT. Charlotte hopes you do not over -weary 
 yourself with your new household. All here are well, and 
 grandfather has suffered no ill effects from the commotion 
 of Tuesday night." 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 Not stirring words, nor gallant deeds alone, 
 
 Plain patient Work fulfilled that length of life ; 
 
 Duty, not Glory Service, not a Throne, 
 Inspired his effort, set for him the strife. 
 
 CLOUGH. 
 
 JACK MORRISON had, as Clemency expressed it, become 
 so enamoured of fighting from his brief experience during 
 the attack on Katterham Court, that the very next day he 
 had asked Sir Robert's permission to join the Parliamentary 
 troops. In the end it had been arranged that he should ac- 
 company Joscelyn, for Sir Robert insisted on furnishing his 
 guest with horse, arms, money, and all necessaries, overcom- 
 ing Joscelyn's scruples by making much of the service he 
 had been to them as a protector. Morrison, a sturdy fellow 
 of five-and-twenty, broad-shouldered, sinewy, and of Scotch 
 descent, promised to be a first-rate soldier, and was already 
 as good a groom and servant as could be wished for ; more- 
 over, he had become much attached to Joscelyn, whose gift 
 of winning hearts stood him now in good stead. Morrison 
 wondered a little at his silence and his grave set face as 
 they rode to London ; he himself was full of excitement at 
 the prospect of the new life which was that day to begin, 
 and had no suspicion that his new master had received a 
 far more serious wound during the attack on that Tuesday 
 night than his own insignificant sword-cut. 
 
 But Joscelyn as he rode saw nothing of the landscape, 
 thought nothing of the war. He saw instead a staircase with 
 a half -opened door at the head of it, and a slight, white- 
 robed figure with chestnut curls against a white neck and 
 
round white throat. He saw a face of loveliest outline, and 
 hazel eyes whose glance changed from consuming anxiety 
 to rapturous relief, eyes which seemed but the windows 
 from which a spirit of purity and love looked forth. 
 
 And now, after the manner of lovers, he alternated be- 
 tween joy and pain, at one moment ready to deem that brief 
 meeting of soul with soul enough to content him for years, 
 at another distracted at the thought of the hopeless gulf 
 which separated them, and counting it the most cruel turn 
 of fortune's wheel that he should have been robbed of home 
 and kindred, and then as a penniless tramp should have 
 fallen in love with the best, the most beautiful, and as ill- 
 luck would have it the richest girl in Surrey. He wondered 
 whether, had he foreseen this, he could have adopted so un- 
 flinchingly the course of conduct which had cost him his 
 inheritance, but was glad that on reflection he honestly 
 could feel that even had he known all that lay before him, 
 love of Clemency could not have induced him to temporize. 
 The bare thought of it was intolerable. As it was, the only 
 course he could rightly take was that of honorable silence. 
 Yet the prospect was far from cheerful, and accounted fully 
 enough for the gravity of expression which had surprised 
 his servant. He went to offer his services to his country 
 without Morrison's gay alacrity, but soberly and thought- 
 fully, having counted the cost, and deliberately chosen to 
 sacrifice himself. They rode straight to Mr. Hampden's 
 London house, where Joscelyn asked to deliver in person a 
 letter from Sir Robert Neal. Learning, however, that the 
 member for the County of Buckingham was in the House 
 of Commons, Joscelyn dismounted, leaving Morrison to 
 take the horses to the nearest inn, and made his way past 
 the Abbey, the towers of which were plainly seen in the 
 distance enclosed, as in a frame, by the high gabled houses. 
 
 Crossing Palace Yard, where several coaches and sedans 
 
io8 
 
 were in waiting, he entered Westminster Hall, and was 
 making his way past the stalls where booksellers and mil- 
 liners vied with each other in trying to tempt customers with 
 the latest pamphlet or the newest thing in gloves and rib- 
 bons, when he was accosted by one of his old Cambridge 
 companions. 
 
 " Why, Heyworth," exclaimed his friend, " what are you 
 doing here among the lawyers ? I thought you had started 
 on the grand tour ?" 
 
 " I am passing through London, and am charged with a 
 letter for Mr. Hampden," explained Joscelyn. 
 
 " What, old Ship-money ?" replied his friend. " I saw him 
 pass into the House but now. Folk say some report will 
 be made upon the late doings at Cambridge. Come and 
 let us see if we can get into one of the galleries and hear 
 the rights of the business." 
 
 The two passed through the entrance leading from West- 
 minster Hall to the House of Commons, the door which 
 then as now was usually employed by members of Parlia- 
 ment. Not without heart-stirring emotion and a thrill of 
 excitement Joscelyn glanced round the plainly fitted room 
 where, of late, scenes of such absorbing interest had been 
 enacted. He was amazed to find a place of such vast im- 
 portance so small and insignificant. The wainscoted walls 
 were unadorned by tapestry or hangings of any sort; the 
 galleries at the sides and at the west end rested on plain 
 iron pillars with ugly gilt capitals ; there was a wide open 
 space in the centre of the House flanked by rows of uncom- 
 fortable-looking seats for the members, and some way from 
 the wall, surmounted by the royal arms, was the Speaker's 
 chair, the only richly decorated object in the place. 
 
 It was not a very full House, for many of the members 
 were absent in their respective counties furthering the prep- 
 arations for the war. Joscelyn soon descried Hampden, 
 
io 9 
 
 and as he looked down at the noble face and lofty brow of 
 the patriot he felt once more that he was indeed in the pres- 
 ence of the greatest man of the day. Pym, with his vigor- 
 ous intellect and shrewd astuteness, might be the more 
 practical statesman of the two, but there was a breadth, a 
 completeness, a geniality about Hampden which was not 
 even approached by any other leader of those times. 
 
 To the satisfaction of the two Cambridge graduates, they 
 were in time to hear the member for Aldborough, Sir Philip 
 Stapleton, one of the Committee for Defence of the King- 
 dom, make his report. It appeared that Mr. Cromwell had 
 taken possession of the magazine in the castle at Cambridge, 
 and had hindered the carrying away the plate from that 
 university, "which, as some report, was to the value of 
 ^"20,000 or thereabouts." 
 
 When the House adjourned, Joscelyn, taking leave of 
 his companion, made all speed to deliver his letter, and 
 overtook Hampden just as he had entered Westminster 
 Hall. 
 
 " So you have come," said the patriot, grasping his hand 
 with a warmth of welcome which made the young man's 
 heart bound. " To tell the truth, I have been expecting 
 you, for I had not much doubt which way your studies 
 would lead an unbiased mind." 
 
 He paused for a minute, hastily reading Sir Robert's let- 
 ter, and gathering from it the facts of Joscelyn's story. 
 
 " You must be my guest," he said, putting his arm within 
 Joscelyn's as they walked down the Hall to the great door- 
 way. " Is it true that you have a special wish to be in my 
 regiment ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Joscelyn, eagerly ; " let me be but with 
 you and I will be content to be a private, a servant what 
 you will." 
 
 "You shall carry our colors," said Hampden. "It so 
 
no 
 
 happens that young Wilmot, our ensign, or cornet, has been 
 forced to send in his resignation owing to ill-health. To- 
 morrow you and I will ride down to Buckinghamshire to- 
 gether, and you shall begin work in good earnest. But al- 
 ready, Sir Robert tells me, you have been under fire. I 
 hope the children and pretty Mistress Clemency suffered no 
 ill effects ? She is a brave maid, but over-delicate for times 
 like these." 
 
 " She is brave indeed, sir," said Joscelyn. " I asked her 
 what she did during the attack, and she made answer, very 
 simply, * I sang to Monnie very loud and cheerfully lest she 
 should be frightened by the firing.' " 
 
 Something in his voice made Hampden glance at him 
 searchingly, and the heightened color in his face and the 
 light in his eyes told their own tale. The statesman smiled 
 a little, but sighed too, thinking to himself that "war, death, 
 and sickness " would but too probably turn this opening 
 love-tale to a tragedy. His face grew sad as they left the 
 Hall and walked together to his house. 
 
 " The true spirit of womanhood breathes in those words 
 of hers," he said. " How many wives and mothers and sis- 
 ters will try their best to sing ' very loud and cheerfully ' for 
 the sake of those they love ! God grant this war may be 
 sharp and short not a protracted struggle !" 
 
 "Have there been many of these attacks on private 
 houses, sir ?" asked Joscelyn. 
 
 " I have heard of some on either side," replied Hampden. 
 " Indeed, I myself was concerned in one but a short time 
 since. We were mustering the Buckinghamshire and Ox- 
 fordshire men on Chalgrove field, when word was sent us 
 by Mr. Whitelocke that the Earl of Berkshire with a con- 
 siderable following of gentlemen had come to Watlington 
 to make proclamation for troops in the King's name under 
 the Commission of Array. So we left the bulk of the levies 
 
Ill 
 
 still on Chalgrove, and set off promptly with a company of 
 my own regiment and a troop of Goodwyn's horse. The 
 commissioners, however, got wind of the muster and re- 
 tired in consternation to Ascott, took refuge in Sir Robert 
 Dormer's house, pulled up the drawbridge, and stood upon 
 their defence. I verily think they fancied the moat with 
 the stout walls of the house and a few shots they fired from 
 within would scare us away; but as soon as they saw us 
 making ready for the assault they yielded upon quarter, and 
 the earl and Sir John Curzon and three of the chief com- 
 missioners were sent prisoners to London. This, I take it, 
 with our success at Oxford, will leave us unmolested in get- 
 ting matters forward in Buckinghamshire, and has, I am 
 told, greatly vexed and disconcerted the Royalists." 
 
 The evening passed by only too quickly for Joscelyn, who 
 was intensely interested by the glimpse it afforded him into 
 the busy life of Hampden, with its countless demands for 
 help, counsel, orders, and directions. Like all really great 
 men, he had the capacity for taking infinite pains, and his 
 way of making time to help other people was very remark- 
 able. With all the cares of his double position as soldier 
 and statesman thronging upon him, to say nothing of his 
 private anxieties, he nevertheless contrived to throw him- 
 self heart and soul into the affairs of his protege, and the 
 next day, during their ride to Buckinghamshire, learned both 
 the strong and the weak points of Joscelyn's character. 
 
 Friendship is generally the result of a certain similarity of 
 taste between two natures, or of a very striking contrast. 
 In this case it was the similarity of disposition which drew 
 into close relationship the middle-aged leader of men and 
 the young ensign who had just made his first perilous plunge 
 into independent life. Perhaps, too, it was the lad's solitari- 
 ness which made Hampden treat him in so fatherly a fash- 
 ion. For it was not difficult to see that Joscelyn was one 
 
112 
 
 of those who stand in special need of the presence of a 
 companion whom they can revere. Genial by nature and 
 keenly appreciating the popularity which he usually evoked, 
 there was yet in him a vein of strong reserve; cut off from 
 a wise sympathy, he might either develop into a self-con- 
 tained, stern man, or, on the other hand, might neglect the 
 higher side of his nature, and fall a prey to the love of 
 pleasing and the love of pleasure, which unless held in 
 check might altogether wreck his life. 
 
 By the time they had reached the Chiltern Hills and the 
 welcome shade of the green beech woods of Buckingham- 
 shire, the two were better known to each other than many 
 people find themselves after years of intercourse. A per- 
 ception that at twenty he had been much like his young 
 companion gave Hampden the clew to Joscelyn's thoughts 
 and feelings, and with all the rare tact and the gentle kindli- 
 ness of his noble nature he set himself to help in every 
 possible way. 
 
 It was not till the cool of the evening that they entered 
 the park and came into sight of Hampden House. The 
 setting sun lighted up the somewhat gloomy battlemented 
 walls and the heavy mullioned windows, and made the old 
 red brickwork glow with that warm mellow color which the 
 most skilful of artists cannot reproduce. To the left stood 
 a square-towered church, and the shade of sadness that had 
 passed over Hampden's face was quickly chased away by a 
 glad cry which greeted him from the church-yard. 
 
 " Father ! father !" exclaimed a chorus of voices. And, 
 looking round, the riders saw a pretty group of girls and 
 boys, the younger members of Colonel Hampden's family 
 by his first wife. In a minute they had flocked out into the 
 road with the spontaneous demonstrative welcome which 
 children only know how to give, and Hampden, dismount- 
 ing, stooped to embrace them with less ceremony and more 
 
eager warmth than the stiff conventionality of those times 
 usually permitted. 
 
 Joscelyn looked with special interest at the two youngest 
 children, Richard and William, auburn-haired, bright-faced 
 boys of eleven and nine, who were besieging their father 
 with eager petitions. 
 
 " Let me lead your horse to the stable, sir, do let me ?" 
 cried Richard. 
 
 " I could, father, I truly could," pleaded the little one. 
 
 " Come, there is a horse apiece for you," said Hampden. 
 "Let Will take Mr. Heyworth's. This is my daughter 
 Ruth, Mr. Heyworth, and this is Judith, and this Mary." 
 
 The three maidens greeted him charmingly, having in- 
 herited much of their father's genial and kindly nature; the 
 little twelve - year - old Mary specially delighted Joscelyn, 
 perhaps because in height and bearing she much resembled 
 Rosamond. She seemed also to have rather a special place 
 in her father's heart, being the youngest girl, and bearing 
 the name of another little daughter who had died years be- 
 fore in infancy. 
 
 Judith ran on to the house to announce her father's arri- 
 val, so that when they reached the old porch, with its stone 
 shield bearing the cross and eagles of the Hampdens, the 
 Lady Letitia, Hampden's second wife, stood at the head of 
 the steps to welcome them, and beside her one of the mar- 
 ried daughters, Anne, and her husband, Sir Robert Pye. 
 
 The house, which dated back to the time of King John, 
 had a delightful air of antiquity about it, while many addi- 
 tions and restorations, made in the reign of Elizabeth, added 
 greatly to its comfort as a dwelling-place. Owing to the 
 troubled times, there had been of late very few guests at 
 Hampden House, but this perhaps served to make it all the 
 more peaceful and homelike. Indeed, as Joscelyn sat that 
 night at supper in the old hall, and listened to the family 
 
H4 
 
 talk, he found it hard to believe that so calm and restful a 
 bit of life was being lived in the midst of divided England. 
 The supper table, with its silver candlesticks, made a little 
 oasis of light in the dim vast hall; faint features gleamed 
 out in ghostly fashion from the portraits hanging upon the 
 wainscoted walls ; the heavy balustrades of the galleries 
 which ran around the place on all sides were revealed by 
 four small lamps at each corner, while from the gallery 
 above the entrance some one made soft music on the organ 
 which had lately been built there. Never surely had there 
 been an interval so quiet a pause so strangely peaceful in 
 the heart of a storm ! 
 
 The next morning, after a turn in the park, Hampden 
 took Joscelyn into the brick parlor, a small snug room open- 
 ing by a Gothic doorway into the dining-hall ; its square 
 windows looked upon a sunny pleasance called King John's 
 Garden, laid out with rose-bushes and fountains. 
 
 " One would fain see from here that vista through the 
 beech-trees which you showed me from the park, sir," said 
 Joscelyn. 
 
 Hampden leaned his arms on the window-sill for a minute, 
 and a smile played on his lips as he looked forth at the roses. 
 
 " We owe that view to Queen Elizabeth," he said. " She 
 stayed here once, and with excellent judgment remarked to 
 my grandfather how vastly the place would be improved by 
 a vista cut through the beeches. That very night all the 
 retainers were summoned by my grandfather, and in the 
 morning when the Queen rose, behold, the avenue was cut." 
 
 "That showed great devotion to the Queen," said Joscelyn. 
 
 " You see we are, after all, no disloyal family," said 
 Hampden, laughing, " but can sacrifice noble beeches for 
 such a ruler as Good Queen Bess, though refusing to pay 
 thirty -one shillings and sixpence to King Charles for an 
 unjust tax." 
 
"5 
 
 "And yet surely, sir, by resisting, you were more truly 
 serving the King than those who encouraged the tyranny ?" 
 
 " In truth I think so," said Hampden. " It was in this 
 very room, by-the-bye, that they summoned me. 'Tis no 
 fiction that those on our side fight .for King and Parliament. 
 But 'tis true that we war to the death against the false no- 
 tion of the sovereign's divine right to govern wrong. Ever 
 since the time of the coronation, when Laud tried to alter 
 the form of the King's engagement by leaving out the ac- 
 knowledgment of the legislative power of Parliament and 
 attempting to put in the phrase, l salvo prerogative regalij 
 there has been a steady conspiracy to destroy the liberties 
 of the English people. Every effort at a peaceable settling 
 of the matter having failed, there is nothing for it now but 
 war. You and I are happy in having a chance of serving 
 in the cause of justice, in offering our lives for the safe- 
 guarding of the country's freedom." 
 
 Joscelyri remembered the vista through the beech-trees, 
 and thought of the destruction that had been necessary to 
 open out the wider view, and Hampden's words, "offering 
 our lives for the country's freedom," returned to him with a 
 force and significance and breadth of meaning indescribable. 
 He looked back into the study and thought of all that had 
 passed there, and he looked at the patriot himself. There 
 are some scenes which, without any apparent reason, fix 
 themselves indelibly on the memory, and to the end of his 
 life Joscelyn could always call up a distinct vision of Hamp- 
 den's look and bearing as he stood opposite him that August 
 morning, his thoughtful eyes full of light and animation, his 
 winning face aglow with earnestness, his long waving hair 
 stirred by the breeze which came through the open case- 
 ment, and his hand laid caressingly on the shoulder of his 
 little daughter Mary who had stolen up to him. 
 
 During the next week Joscelyn found his time fully occu- 
 
u6 
 
 pied ; his host put him to the study of D'Avila's history of 
 the civil wars in France a work which was popularly termed 
 "Colonel Hampden's Prayer- Book," as it was so great a 
 favorite with him that he never travelled without it. Then, 
 too, a great part of each day was spent in drilling and active 
 preparation for the war, while old Madam Hampden, the 
 patriot's mother, loved to talk with him about her son, and 
 the children were always ready to dance attendance on him 
 when he was disengaged. At length the day came on which 
 the regiment was to march. Joscelyn, clad in his green uni- 
 form, with the tawny orange scarf worn by the Parliamen- 
 tarians, and proudly bearing in his hand the regimental 
 colors, felt that now at last the work of his life had begun. 
 A crowd of country people, and many of the more wealthy 
 neighbors, gathered to see the soldiers as they set out on 
 their march to Northampton, at which place Hampden was 
 to take the command. Accompanying the infantry and some 
 guns was a cavalry regiment, under the command of Hamp- 
 den's colleague, Arthur Goodwin, and all the on -lookers 
 cheered them as they mustered in the park. 
 
 Joscelyn 1 s heart beat high as the inspiriting sound fell on 
 his ears, yet a great sadness stole over him as he watched 
 his leader. The colonel's face was pale and stern, for his 
 heart was wrung by the painful farewells he had just made, 
 but his voice rang out clear and strong when he gave the 
 word to advance, bidding the men sing the i2ist Psalm as 
 they marched. And to these words the Parliamentarians 
 set forth. Joscelyn took one glance back at the battle- 
 mented walls of Hampden House, and at the peaceful 
 church and church-yard ; then he looked up at the blue flag 
 which he bore and thought of the words inscribed on it 
 upon one side Hampden's own motto, "Vestigia nulla re- 
 trorsum" on the other the motto of the whole Parliamentary 
 army, " God with us." 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 Let Liberty, the chartered right of Englishmen, 
 Won by our fathers on many a glorious field, 
 Enerve my soldiers. BLAKE. 
 
 A TIME of waiting and preparation always seems long, 
 and to Joscelyn those summer days at Northampton 
 seemed endless. The suspense was most trying to all, and 
 the anxiety and the great heat made both men and offi- 
 cers irritable. They were longing to test their strength, to be 
 brought face to face with the enemy, to strike an effective 
 blow for the cause on whose behalf they had risked so 
 much. Joscelyn began to wonder whether, after all, they 
 would be cheated out of their share in the struggle, and 
 left to defend a place which would never be attacked. 
 Like most people in England, he fancied that one great 
 battle would decide the whole war, and he felt that to 
 have lost all for the cause and then to be denied a share 
 in the actual conflict would be intolerable. The novelty 
 of military life wore off in a few days, and in itself per- 
 haps it was the very last life he would have chosen; it 
 was actual and effective service for which he craved, and 
 an intense restlessness consumed him as night after night 
 passed and found him still in the lodging which he shared 
 with two of his brother officers in the Northampton market- 
 place. Rumors of the King's doings at Nottingham had 
 of course reached them, but it was not till early in Sep- 
 tember that they heard from an eye - witness what had 
 passed. 
 
 It chanced one evening that Joscelyn was sitting with 
 
Hampden, acting, as he was often allowed to do, as the 
 colonel's private secretary, when a servant knocked at the 
 door to ask whether Mr. John Hutchinson could be ad- 
 mitted. The colonel gave orders that he should be shown 
 up at once. 
 
 " 'Tis a son of the member for the County of Notting- 
 ham Sir Thomas Hutchinson," he remarked. "I trust 
 he has come to join us." 
 
 Joscelyn, looking up, saw a very well dressed man of 
 about six - and - twenty, of medium height and fair com- 
 plexion, with an unusual amount of long light-brown hair, 
 and a pair of keen gray eyes which seemed in admirable 
 keeping with his firm and slightly underhung mouth. 
 
 He greeted Hampden respectfully, asking whether Lord 
 Essex had yet arrived. 
 
 " He is expected in a few days' time," replied the colo- 
 nel. Then, as Joscelyn rose to go : " Nay, do not leave us, 
 Mr. Heyworth ; let me present you to Mr. Hutchinson. Mr. 
 Heyworth is a new adherent to the good cause, and has 
 sacrificed much to join us." 
 
 " He is happy to have had a clear call," said John Hutch- 
 inson, attracted, as most people were, by the straight look 
 of Joscelyn's clear blue eyes and by the mingled frankness 
 and modesty of his manner and expression. " As for me, 
 though I have declared for the Parliament, yet I have not 
 fully made up my mind to join the army." 
 
 " There is much need of such men as you," said 
 Hampden. " Your moderation, your education, both alike 
 are wanted. Is it true, the report that reached us that al- 
 ready you have been in some little danger from the King's 
 party ?" 
 
 " 9 Tis quite true," said John Hutchinson. " There is a 
 warrant out to seize me because I thrust the quartermaster- 
 general from my father's house at Nottingham when he 
 
would have taken possession of it the other day for the use 
 of my Lord Lindsey. When my lord himself came he was 
 civility itself, used but one room, and was pleasant enough 
 to the household ; but the quartermaster, having taken 
 umbrage, would be revenged upon me, and being warned 
 by a friend I left home and took refuge in Leicestershire. 
 However, a warrant was sent to the sheriff to seize me 
 there, and so escaping with the help of my servant, I 
 came to the house of an honest fellow at Kelmarsh, in 
 this county." 
 
 " And what is the true account of the setting up of the 
 royal standard ?" asked Hampden. " Many conflicting ru- 
 mors have reached us." 
 
 " The truth is this," said John Hutchinson. " At six 
 o'clock on the evening of the 23d August his Majesty, 
 attended by some of the militia and about eight hundred 
 horse, mounted the hill overlooking Nottingham, and or- 
 dered his proclamation to be read. But after the herald 
 had begun, the King, with his customary changeableness, 
 caused him to stop, and, sitting there with the paper on 
 his knee, wrote some corrections, and gave it back to the 
 herald, who, they say, bungled horribly at the hastily 
 scrawled amendments. Then came a great blowing of 
 trumpets, and the standard was unfurled, with the motto 
 broidered on it, ' Render unto Caesar the things which are 
 Caesar's,' not one would have thought a well-chosen 
 watchword, all things considered. No one seemed to know 
 what to do or where to set up the standard, and heavy 
 clouds gathered, throwing a gloom over the scene, and the 
 wind blew in such gusts that the cavaliers could scarce 
 stand against it. At last they agreed to set the standard 
 on one of the towers of the castle, but the wind blew it 
 down the following day. They next set it up in the park, 
 but found the ground little but rock, so the heralds dug 
 
120 
 
 out a hole with their daggers, but could not get the staff to 
 stand firm, and for hours had to support it with their hands." 
 
 " An ominous beginning," said Hampden, thoughtfully. 
 " What is going on down below, Mr. Heyworth ? I hear a 
 great tumult of voices." 
 
 Joscelyn looked from the open casement into the mar- 
 ket-place. The shades of evening were falling, and already 
 lights shone from some of the windows. 
 
 " The people are all crowding round a rider, sir, who 
 seems to be asking his way," said Joscelyn. " His horse is 
 covered with foam, and he himself turned copper -colored 
 with the heat. Ah ! he draws rein at your door, sir ; he 
 bears despatches." 
 
 In another minute the weary messenger was led into the 
 room. 
 
 " Do you come from London ?" asked Hampden, eagerly. 
 
 " Nay, sir, from my Lord Brooke, at Warwick," said the 
 messenger, handing in the despatches which had been in- 
 trusted to him. 
 
 With eagerness indescribable Joscelyn watched his colo- 
 nel, his heart giving a great bound when upon the stillness 
 of the room there fell at length the welcome news, in 
 Hampden's clear, inspiriting voice : 
 
 " Lord Brooke sends word that intelligence has reached 
 Warwick that the Royalists, under the Earl of Northamp- 
 ton, are in full march towards Northamptonshire, and begs 
 that we will, if possible, hasten to his support." 
 
 In but a few minutes Joscelyn was speeding across the 
 market-place with messages from his chief, and before long 
 the bugles sounded to arms, and the whole population of 
 Northampton turned out to see the Parliamentary troops 
 muster, and to cheer them with all the strength of their 
 voices as, in the cool summer night, they started on their 
 march. 
 
121 
 
 With a leader whom he loved nay, almost worshipped, 
 with that inspiriting motto on the standard he bore, sur- 
 rounded by men of courage and even in that early stage of 
 the war admirably disciplined, Joscelyn could hardly have 
 been more favorably placed, and he did not wonder that 
 John Hutchinson, as he bade him farewell, regarded him al- 
 most enviously. In after-days he used to look back to this 
 beginning of his career as to a sort of paradise. Yet it was 
 a stiff march, all through the night, and with but a brief rest 
 all through the following day, and he was tired out when, the 
 next evening, they joined Lord Brooke, who, with about 
 three thousand men, had taken up his quarters at Southain. 
 With the men from Northampton there were altogether 
 nearly six thousand infantry and three hundred cavalry, so 
 that the town was severely taxed to accommodate them all. 
 
 Joscelyn, after a good supper, supplied by one of the 
 townsfolk, was glad enough to avail himself of a makeshift 
 bed on the floor of his host's parlor, and, thanks to the long 
 hours he had spent in the open air and to the fatigue of the 
 march, he was asleep in five minutes, notwithstanding the 
 lights and the buzz of eager talk in the room. 
 
 For three hours his sleep was unbroken, then a stir and 
 commotion without began to make him restless ; he dreamed 
 that he and Dick were boys again ; they stood with Barnaby 
 at the corner of Castle Street, watching the trial gallops of 
 the horses at the Farnham horse-fair ; over by the market- 
 place a cheap Jack, mounted on his car, harangued the 
 crowd, relieved at intervals by a man who beat a drum and 
 blew a trumpet at the same moment. " Look, look !" cried 
 Dick, shaking with laughter, " the fellow blows as if he 
 would burst." 
 
 Joscelyn started up on his elbow ; the vision of Farnham 
 faded, only the ghost of Dick's laughter seemed to fill the 
 strange room, and a very real sound of horse-hoofs without 
 
122 
 
 in the street, of drums beating to arms all through the town, 
 and of bugles sounding the alarm, made the blood dance in 
 his veins. He sprang to his feet, and in a few minutes had 
 joined his comrades, the host, whose face had a scared look 
 in the dim candlelight, unbolting the door for them and 
 wishing them good speed. Men with lighted torches were 
 hurrying along the street. " What news ?" shouted Wag- 
 staffe, the lieutenant-colonel of Hampden's regiment, as, 
 with Joscelyn at his side, he pressed on. " The enemy is 
 at hand," came back the reply. "The Earl of Northamp- 
 ton with all his forces is but two miles off." 
 
 So eager were the soldiers to try their powers, so enthusi- 
 astic were they for the cause, that their great shouts of joy at 
 hearing these tidings made the whole place ring ; hats were 
 thrown into the air, arms clattered on the stones, and in 
 the highest spirits the little army led by Colonel Hampden 
 and Lord Brooke marched into the fields near the town, 
 where till daybreak they waited in battle array. In the first 
 line, posted on some rising ground, was Hampden's brigade 
 with the guns ; with the second line was Lord Brooke, and 
 the cavalry was in reserve,,sheltered by the brow of the hill. 
 Standard in hand, Joscelyn stood through the long weary 
 waiting-time, and at length, as day broke, the enemy, who 
 had been afraid to attack Southam in the night, having 
 heard that the Parliamentarians were on the qui vive, ap- 
 peared on the Dunsmore road and began to form opposite. 
 Then, in dead silence, the two armies faced each other for 
 some three hours. At length, about eight o'clock, Lord 
 Brooke moved up his cavalry on the right and the Parliamen- 
 tary cannon opened fire, Hampden charging with his infantry 
 the instant the King's artillery had taken up their ground. 
 
 What passed in the sharp skirmish that followed Joscelyn 
 would have found it difficult to describe. He was conscious 
 only of pressing on with his standard, of the strange con- 
 
123 
 
 tagion of enthusiasm which made the regiment like one 
 man, of the thunder of the guns, then of a confused and des- 
 perate hand-to-hand combat, amid the clash of steel, the 
 shouted watchwords, the groans of the dying, the ghastly cry 
 of wounded horses. The Parliamentarians were outnum- 
 bered, but by the promptness with which they had opened 
 fire they had gained an advantage. On and yet on they 
 pressed against the living wall opposed to them, Hampden, 
 the very ideal of a leader, urging them forward, and himself 
 ever in the forefront of the struggle. So complete was the 
 melee that Joscelyn made prisoner with the greatest ease 
 a Royalist captain, named Legge, who had actually mis- 
 taken Hampden's green-coated men for his own. 
 
 At length the King's troops utterly gave way, and were 
 hotly chased by Brooke's cavalry as far as the river. Beyond 
 this, however, pursuit was impossible, for the Royalists 
 formed behind it and showed a force quite four times as 
 strong as their opponents. But the day had clearly been 
 won by the Parliamentarians, and the country-folk of the 
 district rose upon the retreating forces, harassing the strag- 
 glers with cudgels and staves, but making much of the vic- 
 torious troops under Hampden and Brooke, and bringing 
 them a welcome supply of provisions. 
 
 In a few days' time they found themselves in their old 
 quarters at Northampton, the towns-people receiving them 
 with open arms, for not only were they inspirited by the 
 news of the victory at Southam, but they had been seri- 
 ously apprehensive of an attack during their absence ; the 
 petition of Withers, the mayor, for troops from London to 
 garrison Northampton had unavoidably been refused by the 
 Parliament, and the sturdy inhabitants, left to their own 
 devices, had employed the time to good advantage, both 
 men and women working day and night at earthworks and 
 fortifications. 
 
124 
 
 The good news that Portsmouth had capitulated to Sir 
 William Waller, and that almost the whole of the south of 
 England, with the exception of Cornwall, was now in pos- 
 session of the Parliament, made further matter for rejoicing 
 at Northampton ; but about the middle of September, Lord 
 Essex having taken the command there, Joscelyn had once 
 more to leave the place, marching with his regiment to 
 Aylesbury, where Hampden had been despatched to take 
 the command, guarding the Buckinghamshire magazines, 
 and protecting the London road in Essex's rear, which was 
 threatened by the Earl of Northampton. 
 
 At Aylesbury another sharp skirmish took place, Hamp- 
 den's well -disciplined regiment, combined with that of 
 Holies, again overcoming the Royalists ; many were made 
 prisoners, many were killed, and the darker side of war be- 
 gan to unfold itself to Joscelyn. There were scenes dur- 
 ing the hot pursuit of the retreating Royalists to Oxford 
 which never left his memory; scenes which he recalled 
 whenever he thought of that first sight of the university 
 town, its calm, impressive grandeur contrasting strangely 
 with the miserable, exhausted soldiers, chased by Hampden 
 as by an avenging angel, dislodged from Oxford with Lord 
 Byron, the Royalist commander, followed relentlessly into 
 the vale of Evesham, and there hopelessly routed and scat- 
 tered. 
 
 Aylesbury had, in the meantime, been garrisoned by a 
 fresh detachment of the Parliamentary forces, and Hamp- 
 den, with his gallant greencoats, pressed on to Worcester, 
 there to join the main body of Essex's army. 
 
 Then followed a weary three weeks of inaction, and grave 
 anxiety began to fill the minds of all, for both money and 
 arms were grievously needed. Much satisfaction was caused 
 by the successful capture, on behalf of the Parliament, of a 
 ship at Yarmouth, laden with arms which the Queen had 
 
125 
 
 purchased in Holland, and the feeling against the King 
 deepened inexpressibly when it was discovered that he had 
 sent two commissioners to the King of Denmark asking him 
 to send arms for twelve thousand men, twenty-four cannon, 
 money to the amount of ^"100,000, some ships of war, three 
 thousand infantry, and one thousand horse. The notion of 
 this foreign aid almost maddened the people, and the King's 
 orders that Roman Catholics should be admitted to his 
 army greatly prejudiced his cause. An idea gained ground 
 that he was but a tool in the hands of the pope, and that a 
 great papist conspiracy was being fomented by the Queen 
 a suspicion natural enough to a generation whose fathers 
 had told them of the martyrdoms they had witnessed at 
 Smithfield. Matters were not mended by the publication 
 of a protestation in which the King declared Essex and his 
 followers to be traitors, Brownists, Anabaptists, and atheists. 
 About the middle of October the King, who had shown 
 great skill in the manoeuvres round Worcester, managed to 
 join his forces with those of Lord Northampton. He was 
 now at the head of about twenty thousand men, and had 
 cut off Essex's retreat to London. A battle became impera- 
 tively necessary, and at length, on the i8th, to Joscelyn's 
 inexpressible relief, Hampden's regiment received orders to 
 march, and once more active work lay before them. After 
 a night's rest at Stratford- on- Avon they found they had 
 but just arrived in time to hold the town and the bridge 
 against a severe attack on the part of the Royalists. The 
 passage of the river secured, the regiment and the excited 
 townsfolk who had lent their aid were glad enough of a 
 brief rest, but it was prolonged in a most unfortunate 
 way. Not until the evening of Saturday, the 22d, were 
 Hampden's greencoats able to leave Stratford, for they had 
 been ordered to take charge of the greater part of the Par- 
 liamentary artillery, which had been left behind by the main 
 
126 
 
 body of Essex's army, owing to the negligence of their en- 
 gineer, who had forgotten to provide horses. 
 
 The delay chafed Hampden almost beyond endurance, 
 for though neither army knew exactly where the other was, 
 there was every reason to apprehend a speedy meeting, and 
 when at last the necessary horses had been procured he 
 pushed forward in desperate haste, grudging every moment 
 of wasted time. 
 
 The march was a terrible one ; thick clouds shut out even 
 the faint starlight, and through the black night, guided by 
 a few flickering lanterns and the uncertain glare of torches, 
 the four regiments composing the rear-guard of the Parlia- 
 mentary army struggled on. In all there were about three 
 thousand infantry, and their leaders, Colonel Hampden, 
 Lord Brooke, Colonel Grantham, and Colonel Barkham, 
 rode to and fro, cheering them on and superintending the 
 desperate exertions necessary to get the guns through the 
 deep lanes, almost impassable by reason of the thick mud 
 and the ditch-like ruts. The autumn wind was piercingly 
 cold ; at intervals heavy showers drenched the men to the 
 skin, and Joscelyn, tired and depressed, found the hours 
 drag by with intolerable slowness. 
 
 He thought of Clemency, and recalled her sweet voice as 
 he had heard it on the night of the attack on the Court- 
 house. Toiling painfully along the weary way, he tried to 
 march to the psalm tune he so well remembered, and to 
 cheer himself in the darkness with the recollection of the 
 hazel eyes which he so greatly longed to see again. 
 
 At last the clouds dispersed, the sun rose, and with the 
 beginning of that clear cold morning came fresh vigor, and 
 the chill depression of the all-night march passed away. 
 Just as the men had halted at a little way-side village, and 
 were making a hasty breakfast, a trooper galloped up with 
 a message from Essex to Hampden. In a few minutes the 
 
127 
 
 news spread through the ranks. It appeared that the main 
 body of the Parliamentary army had occupied Kineton on 
 the previous afternoon, and when day dawned had been 
 astonished to find the King, with all his forces, confronting 
 them on the top of Edge Hill. A great cheer rose from the 
 men of the rear-guard when they heard these tidings ; fa- 
 tigue was forgotten, and with renewed zeal they forced their 
 way on. No Sunday's rest was possible for them, though 
 the bells rang from the tower of every village church, and 
 the laborers in clean smocks, and the countrywomen in 
 their scarlet cloaks and best beaver bonnets, all told of the 
 weekly holiday. At about half-past two in the afternoon 
 the first dull roar of cannon shook the ground and echoed 
 among the hills again a ringing cheer broke from the in- 
 fantry; the battle had begun, and they made almost super- 
 human efforts to press on. Hampden, with his inspiring 
 presence and stimulating voice, urged them ever forward, 
 and it was he himself who seized the bridle of one who was 
 galloping desperately past them, and forced the terrified 
 man to give an account of what was happening. 
 
 Joscelyn saw with an indescribable pang that the run- 
 away soldier, who looked like a hunted cur, wore the orange 
 ribbons of Essex's army in his hat. 
 
 " Speak," said Hampden ; " how goes the battle ?" 
 
 " Lost, lost !" said the man, in a panic-stricken, breathless 
 voice. "Lost through foul treachery." 
 
 " Tell the whole truth," said Hampden, sternly. 
 
 " Before God, sir, 'tis true," cried the man. " 'Twas at 
 the very first charge. One regiment was in the left wing, 
 behind that of Sir Faithful Fortescue, and we were charg- 
 ing the King's right, when Sir Faithful ordered his men to 
 fire on the ground, and galloping forward, presented himself 
 and his troop to Prince Rupert deserted on the field, sir, 
 and turned and charged upon us. We were thrown into 
 
128 
 
 utter confusion and scattered, and most of us pursued and 
 cut down." 
 
 Hampden's brow contracted. 
 
 " Turn about, my good fellow," he said, " and save your 
 reputation. March on, boys ! Hasten to the rescue. Me- 
 thinks Sir Faithful Fortescue needs rechristening." 
 
 With a shout of enthusiasm the soldiers pressed forward, 
 the dull roar of the cannon, the sharp rattle of musketry, 
 and the wretched sight of runaways becoming more and 
 more frequent. 
 
 At last Kineton came into sight, and about a mile to the 
 northeast of the little town Prince Rupert, who had wasted 
 nearly an hour in plundering the baggage-wagons which the 
 Parliamentarians had left in the street, rallied his cavalry 
 for a fresh charge. With rapture Hampden's greencoats 
 found themselves just in time. Hastily forming, they threw 
 themselves into the breach between the prince and the dis- 
 organized and flying troops from Edge Hill, while the guns 
 which they had dragged with such infinite difficulty through 
 the heavy lanes opened a deadly fire. Joscelyn saw at least 
 a dozen of Prince Rupert's men killed by the first volley; 
 he was watching the mad plunging of a dying horse in the 
 opposite ranks, when a sudden shock for a moment half 
 paralyzed his arm; a bullet had cloven the staff of his 
 standard in two, and he knew that he had narrowly escaped 
 death. By the time he had picked up the colors the con- 
 fusion in Prince Rupert's troops had increased ; more and 
 more men and horses fell under the vigorous fire of the 
 Parliamentary guns, and at length the Royalists turned and 
 fled across the plain in great disorder. It was impossible 
 for the infantry to pursue them, but Hampden and Gran- 
 tham pressed forward as fast as might be with their regi- 
 ments, and were relieved to find that the battle which had 
 at first seemed hopelessly lost was still in progress, and that 
 
I2 9 
 
 the advantage now lay with the Parliamentarians, who had 
 rallied with great vigor, and during Prince Rupert's absence 
 in Kineton had totally changed the aspect of affairs. 
 
 The two colonels were soon summoned to a council by 
 Essex, and they eagerly pressed him to continue the attack, 
 to force the King's position and secure the London road, 
 but the over-cautious Essex was not to be persuaded ; he 
 represented that the night was approaching, and that the 
 men were worn out. 
 
 Joscelyn, looking into his colonel's face as he left the 
 council, knew by its expression the disappointment that 
 awaited the men. They received orders to remain as they 
 were on the field, and amid much grumbling preparations 
 were made for the night. Food there was none. Utterly 
 spent with exertion, and no longer sustained by the hope of 
 active work, Joscelyn threw himself down on the trampled 
 grass on which but a short time before the battle had raged. 
 The twilight just revealed the horrors of the plain, strewn 
 with hundreds of the dead ; here and there little groups of 
 helpers moved to and fro removing the wounded or giving 
 them such rough aid as was possible on the field. With a 
 sick feeling of dread he wondered whether his own father 
 might be lying among the heaps of slain, or whether Dick's 
 voice mingled in the faint groans which rose from all sides. 
 At last he could endure the miserable suspense no longer ; 
 groping his way as best he could, he stumbled on in the dim 
 light, seeing many a sight which in after- times haunted 
 him in his dreams, but coming to no familiar face, and in 
 time gaining a sort of relief from the non-fulfilment of his 
 fears. 
 
 Suddenly the sound of a voice which he seemed to know 
 startled him into an agony of apprehension. 
 
 " Help, help !" moaned a wounded man, lying half stifled 
 under the weight of a dead horse. Joscelyn, stooping over 
 9 
 
130 
 
 him, saw that it was the youngest son of honest old Barna- 
 by, the gate-keeper, one of the grooms at Shortell Manor. 
 
 " Why, Robin !" he cried, " is it you, my poor fellow ?" 
 
 With some difficulty he succeeded in freeing him from the 
 dead weight of the horse, and kneeling down, raised him into 
 a less painful position. 
 
 " God bless you, sir," said the groom. Then straining his 
 dim eyes to scan the face of his rescuer, he all at once rec- 
 ognized him. 
 
 " Is it you, sir ?" he exclaimed , " I made sure 'twas Mas- 
 ter Dick." 
 
 "Is he safe ?" cried Joscelyn, with a choking feeling in his 
 throat. " For Heaven's sake, tell me, Robin. And my fa- 
 ther ? was he in the battle ?" 
 
 "Aye, sir, Master Dick and Master Jervis and Sir Thomas 
 himself all here, and unhurt as far as I know." 
 
 Joscelyn made an exclamation of relief. " But you are 
 sorely hurt, and I waste moments which might save you from 
 bleeding to death !" he cried the next instant. 
 
 " Nay, sir, I'm past saving," groaned Robin. " But if you 
 would give me just a drink of water." 
 
 " There is not a drop to be had !" cried Joscelyn, in de- 
 spair. " Our men are parched with thirst after their march. 
 Nay, but you shall be saved. I'll have you carried to Kine- 
 ton, Robin, if only I can stanch this wound first. See," and 
 he tore off his orange scarf and used it not unskilfully as a 
 bandage. " You must change sides for the nonce, and wear 
 Parliamentary colors." 
 
 "You were ever one for a jest, sir," said the groom, smil- 
 ing faintly as he looked into the resolute face of his helper. 
 
 " I shall assuredly not find you again," said Joscelyn, in 
 perplexity," if I go to fetch my servant to help lift you ; and 
 if I lift you alone I shall probably half kill you with pain. 
 Which will you have, Robin ?" 
 
HELP, HELP,' MOANED A WOUNDED MAN." 
 
 [Page 129. 
 
" Don't leave me, sir," pleaded the groom. " I'll trust 
 you with anything, but in this darkness how could you find 
 me again ?" 
 
 " You are but slightly built, and I have often carried 
 heavier weights in the sports at home," said Joscelyn. And 
 in a few minutes he had triumphantly landed the groom 
 among the greencoats, and with the help of Morrison and 
 two of the other men laid him on a horse-cloth and bore 
 him to a barn near Kineton, where with much trouble they 
 were able to get him the food and drink of which he stood 
 in such grievous need. 
 
 Hearing that a surgeon was attending to some of the 
 wounded in a neighboring cottage, Joscelyn left Morrison 
 in charge, and knocking at the door of the poor-looking 
 house to which he had been directed, was admitted into a 
 bare and forlorn room, where, to his surprise, he found 
 Hampden, Sir William Balfour, and three or four other 
 Parliamentary officers. They were gathered round a dying 
 man who lay on a heap of straw, the only bed the cottage 
 could afford. Hampden, perceiving his entrance, crossed 
 the room to speak to him. 
 
 " They told me a surgeon was to be found here, sir," said 
 Joscelyn. " I did not know you were present." 
 
 " I came from the general to ask after his prisoner 'tis 
 my Lord Lindsey, the general of the King's army, and dy- 
 ing, I fear. The surgeon could not be fetched to him soon 
 enough." 
 
 " Who is the one who supports him ?" asked Joscelyn, in 
 an undertone. 
 
 " His son, who, endeavoring to rescue his father, was also 
 taken prisoner. I hear, too, that my old neighbor, Sir Ed- 
 mund Verney, the King's standard-bearer, is slain a brave, 
 true man whose heart I believe was with the country, though 
 from some private scruple of having eaten the King's bread 
 
132 
 
 he thought it his duty to oppose us now. Who wants the 
 surgeon's aid ?" 
 
 " 'Tis a poor groom of my father's, whom I found on the 
 field sorely wounded and carried here." 
 
 " Wait but a few minutes, and one of these will be at 
 liberty," said Hampden. " And when you have played the 
 good Samaritan I will return with you to the regiment. 
 There is naught to be done for yonder poor man, and as 
 long as we are here he will but exhaust himself with re- 
 proaching us. One cannot argue with a dying prisoner he 
 would be best left in peace with his son." 
 
 For the first time Joscelyn began to listen to the words of 
 the dying earl, who, while the servants dressed his wounds, 
 poured forth vehement remonstrances to the Parliamentary 
 officers who had come to inquire after his welfare. 
 
 " Rebels every one of you ! accursed rebels !" he cried, 
 looking from one to the other. " Go and tell my Lord Essex 
 that he ought to cast himself at the King's feet and crave 
 his Majesty's pardon, or speedily he will find his memory 
 odious to the nation. And you, too, Mr. Hampden, if you 
 would not have the ancient name you bear execrated by 
 every Englishman, repent and turn while yet there is time." 
 
 " I will not harass you at such a moment with words, my 
 lord," said Hampden, with grave courtesy, " nor thrust my 
 opinions upon you. I wish I could get you better accom- 
 modation than this poor hut, but the surgeons will not risk 
 moving you, I fear." 
 
 The earl protested that he wanted nothing but to con- 
 vince them of the error of their ways, and grew so increas- 
 ingly vehement that the Parliamentarians thought it better 
 to withdraw, leaving the prisoner with his son, Lord Wil- 
 loughby. Hampden signed to one of the surgeons to follow 
 them. 
 
 "A virulent, bitter-tongued malignant as I ever saw," said 
 
133 
 
 one of the officers, as the door closed behind them. His 
 somewhat harsh-looking face and rasping voice inspired 
 Joscelyn with strong dislike, while a rough jest which fol- 
 lowed disgusted him yet more. 
 
 " He is dying, cousin, so let us not take his words in ill 
 part," said Hampden, quietly. u Mr. Heyworth, I should like 
 to present you to my kinsman, Colonel Cromwell." 
 
 Joscelyn was amazed to feel a sort of strange magnetic 
 attraction when, slightly lowering a torch that he might 
 the better see, this unkempt -looking colonel grasped his 
 hand. 
 
 " I have heard of you, Mr. Heyworth," said Cromwell, 
 genuine kindliness lighting up his keen gray eyes and soft- 
 ening his rugged features. " God grant that, having volun- 
 teered in the service of your country at much cost to your- 
 self, you may be permitted to serve throughout this struggle 
 and to witness the establishment of righteousness and peace 
 in our borders." 
 
 There was a fervor, a contagious enthusiasm, a depth of 
 sincere devotion, in this man's beliefs, both religious and 
 political, which exercised an extraordinary influence on 
 those about him ; and Joscelyn, though sensitive, fastidious, 
 and with a young man's tendency to judge severely any 
 offence against good taste, found his prejudices melting 
 away beneath the force of Cromwell's wonderful zeal like 
 snow beneath the mid-day sun. 
 
 When Robin, the groom, had been placed in the surgeon's 
 hands, Joscelyn, having charged him with many messages 
 to Dick and little Rosamond, walked back to the battle-field 
 with Hampden and his kinsman, listening with keen interest 
 to the conversation between them. As they approached 
 the place where the greencoats were encamped, Cromwell 
 bade them good -night, and walked briskly on, Joscelyn 
 watching his powerful figure as it disappeared into the dark- 
 
134 
 
 ness, and listening to his vigorous footsteps ringing sharply 
 on the frosty ground. 
 
 "Come, boy, you will freeze if you stand still much long- 
 er," said Hampden, laughing. " What do you think of my 
 cousin Cromwell ?" 
 
 " Is he indeed your cousin, sir?" said Joscelyn, dubiously. 
 " If only he were somewhat more like you one is ashamed 
 to think of externals when there is such wonderful power 
 such a grand nature, but but " 
 
 " But," interrupted Hampden, smiling, " as some one re- 
 marked to me once on the Parliament stairs, ' he is a sloven.' 
 That is what you would say. Never mind, my boy; a rough 
 diamond, I grant you, but the finest you and I shall ever 
 look on. Mark my words ! that sloven will be the greatest 
 man in England." 
 
 Joscelyn was silent ; he looked sadly over the dim battle- 
 field with its heaps of slain, at the fires burning here and 
 there to warm the weary and shivering soldiers, at the pur- 
 ple sky where the stars shone brightly in the frosty atmos- 
 phere. If Cromwell were indeed the greatest man in Eng- 
 land, the true leader to steer the nation through these stormy 
 times, he hoped that Hampden might be at hand to help 
 his kinsman with that broad, tolerant spirit, that mingled 
 zeal and wisdom, that deep sympathetic insight which char- 
 acterized him. 
 
 Glancing round, he saw that his colonel had already 
 wrapped a cloak about him and thrown himself down on the 
 turf, where a few low bushes offered a slight shelter from 
 the cold night wind. His long hair waved in the breeze, 
 and the ruddy glow from the nearest fire fell athwart his 
 shoulder and across the grass and daisies on which his head 
 was pillowed. Joscelyn thought of little Monnie's daisy 
 chain which had proved too small to crown the patriot, and 
 then, with a shudder, a terrible fancy crossed his mind. 
 
135 
 
 " You look scared," said Hampden, glancing up at him 
 with a smile. " Do ghosts walk abroad ?" 
 
 " It it is nothing, sir," he faltered. " But I seemed to 
 see down there a great pool of blood." 
 
 "You are overtired, and the horrors you have been 
 through prey on your mind," said Hampden. " Lie down 
 here by the bushes and sleep, my son. You and I may per- 
 chance lie in a pool of blood to-morrow if God sees 'tis best 
 for the country, but at present let us take comfort in the 
 red firelight." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 A benediction was her face, 
 Her heart a very tender place 
 Where love conceived the potent rule 
 To ache for others, merciful 
 Beyond the boundaries of race. 
 
 NORMAN R. GALE. 
 
 CLEMENCY had found during those trying autumn months 
 that the best remedy for the anxiety which constantly bur- 
 dened her lay in a vigorous attention to the needs of other 
 people. What with her household duties and the oversight 
 of the children, a good deal of writing and reading with her 
 grandfather, and the visiting of sundry old or sick neigh- 
 bors, her time was well occupied. Gayeties she had none ; 
 the few merrymakings that had been wont to take place at 
 the country-houses within reach had all been put a stop to 
 by the war; some friends were alienated from them, some 
 were mourning for relatives slain in battle, and all were im- 
 poverished and anxious not in the mood for social gather- 
 ings. 
 
 One afternoon about the middle of November she had 
 walked with Hester to the farm, nearly a mile from the 
 Court-house, where the parents of Original Sin Smith, the 
 children's tutor, lived. Willey Farm, with its red-tiled roof, 
 its picturesque gables, and its quaint round pigeon-cote, 
 stood close to the summit of the ridge of curiously rounded 
 downs known as White Hill ; but Clemency thought little 
 of the beauty of the glorious plain which it commanded 
 from its windows, or of the triple chain of downs in the dis- 
 
137 
 
 tance; what she cared for was the comfort and snugness of 
 the delightful old kitchen with its blazing logs and its ex- 
 quisite neatness. Leaving Hester to see the live-stock with 
 their master, the fine old yeoman, she sat cozily and con- 
 tentedly in the chimney-corner listening to the homely 
 wisdom of Salome Smith, the mistress of the house, who, 
 with her dark gown, white cap and neckerchief, and strong 
 pure face, was perhaps as good a specimen as could have 
 been found of a Puritan dame. 
 
 Stern indeed was the Calvinism of this old Englishwom- 
 an. A short day of grace, a few ultimately saved, a vast 
 majority to be everlastingly enthralled by a triumphant devil, 
 who, oddly enough, proved stronger than the Saviour of the 
 world such were the articles of her belief. 
 
 " But, as is so often the case, she was very unlike her 
 creed : the love to God and man which filled her heart left 
 no room for the dark doctrines she had been taught to 
 work harm ; but the intense earnestness of purpose which 
 was the special feature of Puritanism, the individual conse- 
 cration of the will to God, gave her a wonderful force.. She 
 seldom said anything remarkable, and yet those who tatked 
 with her came away braced and strenghtened. 
 
 "And what news have you of your sister ?" asked Salome, 
 twisting the flax on her distaff with deft fingers. 
 
 " I had a letter yesterday," said Clemency, " and Faith 
 writes that all is well, but that they are anxious lest the way 
 to London be cut off. She says that but lately Prince 
 Rupert's troopers seized some wagon-loads of cloth on their 
 wa) from Gloucestershire to the London market, and that 
 the country-folk groan under his devastations." 
 
 " He is well named Prince Robber," said Salome Smith. 
 " 'Twas he that spent so much time in robbing the baggage- 
 wagons in Kineton Street." 
 
 " Yes," said Clemency. " Or, as they say, in 'plundering' 
 
138 
 
 a new-fangled word which some do say was expressly in- 
 vented for this practice of Prince Rupert's ; but my grand- 
 father says 'twas brought over some years back by those 
 that served in the Swedish war." 
 
 " Has Sir Robert heard again from Mr. Heyworth ?" 
 
 " Not since the account of Edge Hill," said Clemency. 
 " That was written the end of October at Northampton, and 
 he was expecting to march, but spoke of suffering again 
 with his knee, which was injured here last summer." 
 
 "That would be hard for him in the long marches," said 
 Salome, thoughtfully. " And often there is marching hither 
 and thither with little seeming use or profit. But I take it 
 there's service in it all the same. 'Tis like our comings and 
 goings in the house ; it don't seem that I help on the Lord's 
 Kingdom just by sweeping away the dust and redding up 
 the furniture, and all to do over again in a few hours' time, 
 but yet I know 'tis serving somehow." 
 
 "I should sometimes like to see how it serves," said 
 Clemency, with a sigh. 
 
 "Well, dear, and so you shall see and ' be satisfied '; but 
 not' here, I take it not here." 
 
 Just then there entered a sombre-faced man with dark 
 hair cropped close to his head, and wearing the smallest 
 and plainest of white bands between his scraggy throat and 
 his ill -cut suit of rusty black. Clemency, who by nature 
 hated all extremes, could scarcely look at Original Sin 
 Smith without a feeling of irritation, and though she tried 
 hard to respect him and to see his good points, she was 
 conscious of a perpetual desire to escape from his presence. 
 She soon contrived to take leave, dexterously planning a 
 call at one of the cottages near the " Harrow," in order to 
 have an excuse for refusing the escort which Original was 
 not slow to offer. 
 
 The short afternoon was beginning to close in and the 
 
139 
 
 western sky glowed red through the trees as the two sisters, 
 with Gyp, the deer-hound, bounding along in front of them, 
 passed through the little wood or shaw which bordered the 
 lane after they had crossed Stansted Heath. Clemency 
 paused beneath an old yew-tree of which she was specially 
 fond, and broke off a little branch which was covered with 
 ripe red berries. Then they walked briskly on, crossing a 
 stile into the park, and entering the garden by a long path 
 bordered by shrubs, commonly known as the Ghost Walk, 
 owing to the trunk of an old oak covered with ivy, which in 
 the twilight assumed grotesque shapes and had scared many 
 a wayfarer. 
 
 " See," said Hester, as they crossed the small court-yard, 
 " some visitor must have ridden to the door since we left ; 
 there are hoof-prints on the ground." 
 
 " One of the Evelyns, from Godstone or Wotton, maybe," 
 said Clemency, entering the hall, and with some little curi- 
 osity turning towards the study. The lamp was already 
 lighted, and the blazing fire dazzled her eyes ; for a minute 
 she could not see distinctly. 
 
 " I am glad you have returned, Clemency," said her grand- 
 father. " Here is a welcome guest just arrived." 
 
 Her color deepened and spread as with a sudden rapture 
 of surprise she perceived not one of the Evelyns, but Josce- 
 lyn Heyworth. 
 
 In the first minute of confusion she scarcely realized any- 
 thing, only knew that once more there passed between them 
 that glance from soul to soul, that strange consciousness of 
 union which during the night of the attack on the house 
 had changed her whole life. When the greetings were over, 
 and with her fur-bordered cloak and hood thrown aside she 
 had taken her place by the hearth, she was able to note 
 more quietly the changes that had come over her lover. 
 
 For Joscelyn was changed, as every thoughtful man is 
 
140 
 
 changed by the first entrance upon a great struggle. He 
 had looked death in the face many times ; he had seen 
 strife and bloodshed, had borne hardship and weariness 
 and pain, had chafed under injustice and treacherous be- 
 trayal, had been stirred to enthusiasm by the courage and 
 devotion of others. He looked years older, and there was 
 a strength and steadfastness in his expression which did not 
 quench its humorous brightness, but greatly mellowed it. 
 
 " Has peace been declared ?" asked Clemency, a great 
 hope filling her heart. 
 
 " Alas, no," said Joscelyn. " There were hopes of peace 
 at the end of last week, but little likelihood of it now. The 
 indignation against the King's conduct has waxed greater 
 than ever. His needless insult to your friend Sir John 
 Evelyn was seen to be only an excuse to put off the ne- 
 gotiations till the city had been attacked. No one had 
 heard that Sir John was a proclaimed traitor, and it is 
 thought the proclamation was antedated." 
 
 " Aye, aye," said Sir Robert, dryly, " such craft is possi- 
 ble enough to those who deem themselves above law." 
 
 " Then, too," continued Joscelyn, "all London was furious 
 at the King's treachery in ordering Prince Rupert to attack 
 Brentford when the Parliament had proclaimed a cessation 
 of hostilities, and while his own message calling God to 
 witness his great desire of peace and offering to treat in 
 order to avoid further blood - shedding was actually being 
 read at Westminster." 
 
 " What passed at Brentford ?" asked Sir Robert. " Were 
 you there ?" 
 
 " Our regiment was quartered at Uxbridge, sir," replied 
 Joscelyn, "and Brentford was occupied only by Colonel 
 Denzil Holies and his brave redcoats who did so nobly at 
 Edge Hill. The early morning was foggy, and the men 
 were resting under the security of the flag of truce, when 
 
Hi 
 
 suddenly they were surprised by eight regiments of the 
 King's foot and some twenty troops of horse. Colonel 
 Holies, though so vastly outnumbered, held out bravely, 
 and as soon as Colonel Hampden heard the firing he hur- 
 ried to the rescue with his greencoats, and Lord Brooke did 
 the same with his purplecoats." 
 
 " But you must still have been greatly outnumbered ?" 
 said Sir Robert, bending eagerly forward, his shrewd old 
 face full of intense interest. 
 
 " Yes, sir, desperately. Five times we charged the 
 streets, trying to open a retreat for Colonel Holies and 
 his men, but the King's troops attacked us on all sides 
 we could but just hold out till my Lord Essex and the 
 trainbands of the City were in sight, and before they 
 arrived our ammunition was spent, and all we could do 
 was to fling ourselves into the Thames. Many brave fel- 
 lows were drowned , many swam to the other bank ; some 
 crossed in barges, some in boats ; and those that survived 
 joined my Lord Essex, and, returning to Brentford, man- 
 aged to beat the Royalists through the town and take pos- 
 session again." 
 
 "Did the trainbands all turn out?" asked Sir Robert. 
 
 "Yes, sir; 'twas a grand sight. The feeling against the 
 King was most bitter, and all through the night the train- 
 bands poured out of the City to block his road. On Sunday 
 morning there were twenty-four thousand men drawn up on 
 Turnham Green, and if only prompt action had been taken 
 the war might perchance have been brought to a success- 
 ful close. Colonel Hampden and his regiment were de- 
 spatched to Acton in order to sweep round the King's army 
 and put it between two fires, but we had but just got there 
 when we received the general's orders to return. There 
 was much murmuring among the men. London was saved 
 from the attack planned by the King, his army retiring to 
 
142 
 
 Kingston and Reading ; but it was like the day after Edge 
 Hill no decisive blow was struck a great opportunity 
 was just cast away." 
 
 " Colonel Hampden is much dispirited, I fear," said Sir 
 Robert. 
 
 " He is very patient, and full of loyalty to those in com- 
 mand," replied Joscelyn, " but he is sorely tried by the 
 lack of energy and promptitude. On Sunday, at Acton, he 
 looked for a moment almost heart broken when we were 
 recalled." 
 
 " But is there an armistice ?" asked Clemency. " How 
 is it you could leave your regiment?" 
 
 " Alas !" said Joscelyn, " I have been forced to leave it 
 and to exchange into a cavalry regiment ; the old injury to 
 my knee has been giving me much trouble ever since the 
 march to Edge Hill, and the surgeons say I shall never be 
 fit to be in the infantry." 
 
 " But I thought the officers rode ?" 
 
 " Only the senior officers. I was but a cornet. Had 
 there been a vacancy in Goodwin's horse, I would not 
 regret the change so sorely, for that is generally in com- 
 pany with Colonel Hampden's regiment. But there was 
 none. And now, through Colonel Hampden's good offices, 
 I have been appointed lieutenant to his friend Sir William 
 Waller a piece of promotion, but one which I would gladly 
 have renounced had there been a chance of staying in the 
 infantry." 
 
 "Are you on your way to join him now?" asked Sir 
 Robert. 
 
 " No ; I am to return to London by Friday night to take 
 leave of Colonel Hampden and bear him news of you, sir, 
 and then at Westminster to receive despatches for Sir Will- 
 iam Waller, and to set off westward." 
 
 " I am heartily glad Colonel Hampden persuaded you to 
 
143 
 
 come here," said Sir Robert. " If you knew how we had 
 thirsted for something more trustworthy and complete than 
 the vague reports and the news-letters, you would have 
 needed no persuasion." 
 
 "The letter I brought from the colonel will perhaps ex- 
 plain my hesitation," said Joscelyn, coloring. 
 
 " Well, well," said the old man, cheerfully, " I will read 
 it ; and meantime you will find your way to your former 
 room, for you will be glad to prepare for supper." 
 
 Clemency, having given sundry orders to the servants, re- 
 turned slowly to the parlor, glad of a moment's solitude in 
 which to enjoy her happiness. That sober talk about treach- 
 ery and fighting and bloodshed could not quench the rapt- 
 ure which made her eyes shine with a strange new lustre, 
 and wreathed her lips in smiles, as she crossed the deserted 
 hall, pausing for a shy glance at the steel cap which hung 
 on the wall, and running away with a mixture of shame and 
 amusement from the sight of her own face mirrored in it. 
 
 In the parlor she found her grandfather alone, trying in 
 vain to decipher Hampden's hastily written letter. 
 
 " 'Tis of no use," he said. " My eyes are failing, child, 
 and that is the truth. Read it aloud an you will." 
 
 Kneeling by the oaken table, that the lamplight might 
 the better fall on the paper, Clemency read the following 
 lines : 
 
 " ' DEAR SIR, I have taken upon me to persuade our 
 young friend Joscelyn Heyworth to visit you again at Kat- 
 terham Court, and to bring you the latest news of the war. 
 It is with, great sorrow that I part with him from my regi- 
 ment, but this is rendered necessary by his health. He has 
 to-day learned that he is not, as he deemed, a penniless ad- 
 venturer, for we chanced in the Strand to meet an acquaint- 
 ance of his from Lincoln, who gave him the news that his 
 
144 
 
 godfather, the late Mr. Gainsborough, had bequeathed to him 
 all he possessed; and so he finds himself possessed of com- 
 fortable means just that which Solomon desired of the 
 Lord, " neither poverty nor riches." 'Tis not this source of 
 income, I take it, that commends him either to me or to you, 
 but his nobility in sacrificing home and kindred and the 
 comfortable allowance he would otherwise have had from 
 his father. I have learned thoroughly to know him during 
 these months, and 'tis a great hazard, methinks, to see one 
 of so sweet a disposition cast alone upon the world with no 
 natural ties. He needs a home in this distracted land, and 
 the assurance that there are those who care for his welfare, 
 and pray for the right guiding of his career. I am so per- 
 fectly acquainted with your clear insight into the disposi- 
 tions of men that I doubt not you have long ere this dis- 
 covered all of which I write, and perchance you have already 
 perceived though he assures me this is impossible his 
 passion for your granddaughter ' " 
 
 Clemency broke down in utter confusion. Sir Robert laid 
 his hand tenderly on her shoulder. 
 
 " Do not blush in that fashion, dear child. Are we not 
 alone ? Has Mr. Heyworth spoken of love to you ?" 
 
 " Never, grandfather ; never a word !" said Clemency. 
 
 " He is an honorable, brave man," said Sir Robert. " But, 
 child, though 'tis hard to ask you to read this, yet I must 
 hear the rest of the letter. Better that you should read it 
 than any other person, and my eyes are too dim." 
 
 " There is little more," said Clemency. " Mr. Hampden 
 adds: 
 
 " * I am one who owes much to an early and happy mar- 
 riage, and would fain hope that my friend Mistress Clem- 
 ency may treat this servant less severely than the many she 
 has dismissed. God, who only knows the periods of life and 
 
H5 
 
 opportunities to come, hath designed Joscelyn Heyworth (I 
 hope) for His own service betime, and whether happy in the 
 possession of the love he craves or not, he will, I am well 
 assured, find in his need Him that Joseph found in Egypt, 
 under whose wing alone is perfect safety. Concerning pub- 
 lic events, Mr. Heyworth will be able fully to inform you. 
 Time is not mine now. Present my service to fair Mistress 
 Clemency and her sisters. And let me ever be honored with 
 the style of, 
 
 " * Your affectionate friend and servant, 
 
 "'Jo. HAMPDEN.' 
 " 'WESTMINSTER, Nov. 14, 1642,'" 
 
 " Well, my dear, Mr. Heyworth shall speak to you to-mor- 
 row," said Sir Robert, " and to-night I will myself broach the 
 subject with him. You will doubtless be glad of a brief time 
 in which to think the matter over." 
 
 He kissed her forehead, and Clemency was thankful to 
 be spared any reply, Hester and Prue at that moment en- 
 tering. 
 
 Joscelyn's patience was sorely taxed the next day; Sir 
 Robert had willingly consented that he should speak to 
 Clemency, but everything seemed to combine to hinder 
 them from having five minutes' uninterrupted talk. Mrs. 
 Arbella paid a lengthy morning visit, servants appeared at 
 awkward moments to ask for orders, and as for Original 
 Sin Smith, he seemed to be ubiquitous, appearing in the 
 hall, in the Ghost Walk, in the park, in the withdrawing- 
 room, always with a specious excuse, profound apologies, 
 and a sanctimonious solemnity of manner which made Jos- 
 celyn feel inclined to kick him. But when the twelve-o'clock 
 dinner was over, Sir Robert kindly took matters into his own 
 hands. 
 
 " Clemency," he said, the children and their tutor having 
 
 10 
 
146 
 
 left the table, "you might take old Noah Snelling that 
 cure for the rheumatism of which we were speaking last 
 night, and maybe Mr. Heyworth would enjoy a walk this 
 bright day and would escort you." 
 
 So the two set out, shyly enough now that the long- 
 awaited time had come, and though no one interrupted 
 them, they talked of every subject but the one which was 
 rilling their hearts. 
 
 Noah's mud hovel was not far from the southeast boun- 
 dary of the park, a little below the brow of the hill, in a 
 wilderness of brambles and brake-fern. The old man was 
 so stiff and crippled that he could hardly stir from his seat 
 by the peat fire, but his eyes gleamed with excitement as 
 he listened to Joscelyn's tale of the war. 
 
 "You have a fine country to fight for, young sir," he 
 said, as they bade him farewell. " And may the Almighty 
 grant you a good wife that will keep your heart tender 
 through the strife." His eyes rested so curiously on Clem- 
 ency that her cheeks began to burn, and she was glad to 
 feel the fresh outside air as they left the close little hovel. 
 
 " How beautiful it is here !" she said, pausing on the 
 steep bridle-path which led up the hill. " See, over yonder 
 is War Coppice and the Pilgrim's Way, as they call it the 
 path the Canterbury pilgrims went. I like to fancy Chau- 
 cer's folk passing along the 'veray parfit gentil knight,' 
 and the clerk who spent all his money on books, and the 
 young squire of twenty years of age, * as fresh as is the 
 month of May,' with his'lockes crull ' and his 'flower- 
 broidered clothes.' " 
 
 " And the prioress," said Joscelyn, " with her brooch of 
 gold, on which was writ * Amor vincit omnia.' But best of 
 all," he added, offering his hand to help her over the rough 
 ground, " I like to think of two latter-day pilgrims on a 
 longer and more serious pilgrimage. Tell me, do you think 
 
U7 
 
 you could be willing to fulfil old Noah's prophecy and keep 
 my heart tender through the strife ?" 
 
 " It needs it not," said Clemency, glancing up into the 
 eyes that were eagerly regarding her ; " 'tis tender already." 
 
 " 'Twill not be long so without your help," he said. " You 
 little know from what already you have guarded me, or how 
 unworthy I feel to offer you my heart. 'Tis presumptuous 
 to hope where so many have failed yet 
 
 " Do not speak of the others !" said Clemency, her eyes 
 flashing with a scorn which astonished him. " There was 
 not one disinterested lover among them all ! Most of them 
 loved my inheritance, perchance two or three loved my face, 
 not one loved me ! Not one !" 
 
 " How can I prove that my love is true ?" said Joscelyn, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " You cannot prove it," she replied. 
 
 There was a silence; they walked together over the 
 springy turf, picking their way among the brake-fern. Jos- 
 celyn, not understanding those last words, had grown grave ; 
 when they passed into the lane, and there was no longer 
 any excuse for helping her, he relinquished her hand. 
 
 Then quickly, yet with a gentle grace indescribable, she 
 deliberately stretched out her hand again and put it in his. 
 
 " You cannot prove it," she repeated. " But I do not 
 want proof." 
 
 He bent over the hand that had put itself so trustfully in 
 his, and kissed it with a reverence and devotion which no 
 words could have expressed. And Clemency, weary of 
 suitors who did " protest too much," gave her whole heart 
 to this wordless lover, and was at rest. 
 
 It was a late season, and a few crimson and gold leaves 
 still lingered on the overarching trees. Away in the dis- 
 tance framed by the elms and oaks one could see the roofs 
 and chimneys of the little village. Close by, an old yew- 
 
148 
 
 tree stood out darkly above a bank covered with sun-dried 
 moss. 
 
 " Let us rest here," said Joscelyn, loath to leave the quiet 
 little wood. " Why should we hasten home ?" 
 
 " Yes, let us stay," said Clemency. " I love this old tree. 
 Only yesterday I gathered a spray from it covered with ber- 
 ries, little thinking how light my heart would be when I 
 again passed by." 
 
 Joscelyn wrapped a fold of his cloak about her as they 
 sat hand in hand on the bank. " You were not light- 
 hearted then ?" he asked. 
 
 She gave him a sweet shy glance which clearly said, 
 " How could I be when I knew not what was befalling you? 
 I was thinking of war and death," she added, aloud, " and 
 of this old tree as the symbol of both. But now 'tis the 
 symbol of love and joy to us." 
 
 " And yet a reminder that our love and joy begin in 
 troubled times," said Joscelyn, thoughtfully. " My beloved, 
 are you wise to give your heart to one pledged to serve the 
 country ? Pledged to fight till liberty be gained ?" 
 
 " Could I love you were you not pledged ?" said Clem- 
 ency. " Surely not so well, Joscelyn. Was it not the good 
 cause that first taught us to know each other?" 
 
 " 'Tis true. Yet to love you and to leave you " 
 
 He broke off his whole face shadowed. Then with an 
 effort he called back his cheerfulness. " We will not spoil 
 the present with forebodings," he said, resolutely. " This 
 yew-tree shade makes one think of church-yards, and of the 
 old Britons who, they say, planted the yews for making 
 their bows. But what do we care for omens ?" 
 
 " Nay," said Clemency, " let it be our good omen the 
 sign of that which outlasts time and change, the sign of im- 
 mortality." Her thought seemed to fill him with light and 
 comfort. Love had but just begun for them, and it was 
 
149 
 
 eternal ; the perils and wars, the strife and separation of 
 time, could not cast more than a passing shadow over their 
 pure happiness. And while overhead the robins sang their 
 autumn song, and the golden leaves floated silently down to 
 the ground, these two in the rapture of Love's spring-time 
 began to understand something of the true meaning of life. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 It is the glory of Puritanism that it found its highest work in the 
 strengthening of the will. S. R. GARDINER. 
 
 ON the following Sunday, early in the morning, a little 
 party of horsemen might have been seen in another part of 
 Surrey making their way from London to the headquarters 
 of Sir William Waller's army. In front rode Joscelyn, ac- 
 companied by no other than Original Sin Smith ; behind 
 came Jack Morrison and three new recruits who had joined 
 them at Westminster. Original had suddenly received what 
 he termed " a divine call " to enter the Parliamentary army, 
 and Joscelyn, willing to do anything for one connected with 
 Katterham, had taken some pains to procure him an outfit 
 and the necessary introductions, at the same time trying to 
 conquer a certain prejudice against the man which he felt 
 but could not explain. 
 
 " The Almighty has highly favored you," said Original, 
 in his sanctimonious voice. " Not only have you received 
 many choice blessings, but you are intrusted with these im- 
 portant missives from the Close Committee to Sir William 
 Waller, in itself an honor for one so young a sign, too, of 
 the trust you inspire." 
 
 " Nay," said Joscelyn, who could appreciate praise, but 
 had a contemptuous loathing for flattery. "I was merely 
 the messenger most ready to hand. Honest Jack Morrison 
 would have borne them just as well." 
 
 " They would scarce have told a common soldier the key 
 to the cipher," said Original. And then he launched into a 
 
discussion on writing in cipher, not without a veiled attempt 
 to discover from his companion the key to the packet he 
 bore to Sir William. 
 
 Joscelyn was not responsive, however ; he seemed much 
 more interested in studying the country than in discoursing 
 of ciphers, and Original began to rally him on his fit of ab- 
 straction. 
 
 "Well, well," the ex-tutor remarked, "'tis natural enough 
 for one in love to be deaf to questions." 
 
 Joscelyn smiled. " In truth I was thinking rather of old 
 times," he replied. "Do you see the trees over yonder? 
 That is Farnham Park we are in the neighborhood of my 
 home. What do you say shall we bait our horses at the 
 Bush in Farnham ?" 
 
 Original thought it would be a good plan, and they 
 entered the little country town, and were just turning their 
 horses under the archway of the inn, when Joscelyn sud- 
 denly drew back, for in the square yard of the Bush 
 he perceived, to his dismay, a number of his father's 
 troop of horse, and, worst of all, caught sight of Jervis 
 himself standing booted and spurred at the entrance to 
 the bar. 
 
 If only it had been Dick, there would have been little 
 risk of a disturbance, but from the bitter hostility of Jervis 
 no truce was to be expected. Hastily retreating, Joscelyn 
 gave the word to make all speed to the Holt Forest; and 
 the men, aware that they were vastly outnumbered, urged on 
 their tired horses and galloped up the quiet street, startling 
 the inhabitants, who came hurrying to their doors and win- 
 dows to see what caused the excitement. The bells were 
 ringing for morning service, and as they approached the 
 opening called Church Passage, Joscelyn glanced back 
 along the street they had traversed to see if there were 
 signs of pursuit. To his dismay, he found that the Borough 
 
152 
 
 was already crowded, and in the sunlight could see the 
 flash of helmets and pikes and the flutter of red ribbons. 
 
 He shouted to his men to push onward ; faster and yet 
 faster they galloped up the long length of West Street, past 
 red-tiled houses, past a row of pollarded elms, past thatched 
 cottages, but ever with the despairing consciousness that 
 the Royalist troop was fast gaining on them. Two or three 
 shots were fired ; the bullets whizzed past them. If they 
 could but get clear of the town and gain the open country 
 there was yet a chance of escape. Just, however, as they 
 reached the Plough an inn on the outskirts of the town a 
 bullet struck Joscelyn's horse; it plunged, struggled wildly 
 for a minute, and finally fell beneath him. Then the true 
 character of Original Sin Smith all at once revealed itself. 
 He glanced from his captain to the Cavaliers, drove the 
 spurs into his steed, and bounded over the hedge of the 
 nearest hop-ground. 
 
 When Joscelyn gained his feet he found that the four 
 other men had formed in front of him, and summoning up 
 all his resolution, he gave the word to fire on the attacking 
 party. His voice sounded hoarse and unlike his own. Had 
 it not been for the thought of the despatches he bore and 
 his duty to deliver them safely at all costs, no power on 
 earth could have dragged the words from his lips. The 
 men fired; but the next minute they were engaged in a 
 hand-to-hand fight, and Sir Thomas shouted to them to 
 yield on quarter. 
 
 The three recruits, seeing that resistance was hopeless, 
 allowed themselves to be taken ; Joscelyn, on foot, with his 
 back to the wall of the inn, resisted to the last, and Morri- 
 son did not fail his master until his horse was killed beneath 
 him, and in the confusion he was made prisoner. 
 
 " Yield, in God's name !" cried Sir Thomas. 
 
 But Joscelyn showed no signs of yielding. Perhaps the 
 
~^ n. 
 
153 
 
 Hampshire Volunteers, who all knew him and loved him, 
 were not overskilful in their attack, for he parried every 
 thrust, until Jervis, with an oath, pressed forward and dealt 
 him a terrific blow on the head. With a stifled groan he 
 fell to the ground, and Dick flung himself from his horse 
 and rushed towards him. 
 
 " You have killed him !" cried the boy, in an agony of grief. 
 
 Sir Thomas did not speak a word; he dared not trust 
 his voice, neither could he trust himself to dismount, for he 
 was trembling like a palsied man ; he looked enviously at 
 Dick as the boy removed Joscelyn's helmet and bent over 
 the still, white face. 
 
 " He is no more dead, sir, than the devil," said Jervis, 
 scornfully; "a blow like that could only stun him. Bring 
 forward the prisoners. Where were you going this Sunday 
 morning in such hot haste ?" 
 
 " We were going to join Sir William Waller's army, sir," 
 said one of the recruits. 
 
 "Where did you come from?" 
 
 " From Westminster," said one of the men. 
 
 " Doubtless they bear despatches," said Jervis, with a 
 look of satisfaction. " This day's work, sir, will prove use- 
 ful, an I mistake not," he observed to his father. " The 
 men's faces bear out my idea. Stand back, Dick, and let 
 me search this cock-a-hoop young captain." 
 
 " You shall not touch him," protested Dick ; " 'tis un- 
 fair." 
 
 " A plague on your scruples all's fair in love and war. 
 Stand back, I say." 
 
 But Dick did not stir. " He is coming to himself. Wait 
 till he can answer a question. Are you much hurt, Jos- 
 celyn?" 
 
 " My head," said Joscelyn, confusedly. " What startled 
 the horses? Where is Clemency? She was here but now." . 
 
154 
 
 " You are thinking of that day at Katterham," said Dick, 
 " before this accursed war began. Look up we are in 
 Farnham street." 
 
 With a dawning recollection Joscelyn opened his eyes, 
 caught sight of the party of horsemen, caught sight of Jer- 
 vis in the fore-front regarding him with an expression of 
 scornful curiosity, caught sight of his father waiting with 
 averted face at a little distance. This last sight gave him 
 so sharp a pang that even Jervis was struck by the sudden 
 look of pain which could not be hid. 
 
 " He is more hurt than I thought for," he remarked, 
 drawing nearer. " Dick, you fool, I tell you he is my pris- 
 oner, not yours," and disregarding Joscelyn's half -con- 
 scious effort at resistance, Jervis deliberately unfastened 
 his armor and his buff coat, and in triumph drew forth a 
 pocket -case and promptly opened it. " Despatches for Sir 
 William Waller; just as I thought!" he cried. "But in 
 cipher of which, no doubt, Captain Heyworth holds the 
 key." 
 
 Joscelyn with Dick's help had now struggled to his feet. 
 He looked appealingly towards his father. 
 
 " Come," urged Jervis, impatiently. " Do you intend to 
 keep us all day here ? What is the key to this cipher ? Say 
 but that, and you are free to go." 
 
 " Do you expect me to turn traitor ?" asked Joscelyn, in- 
 dignantly. 
 
 " You are a traitor already," said Sir Thomas, passion- 
 ately. " Here is an opportunity to return to your allegiance 
 and to serve your king." 
 
 " Why did not you let me die ?" said Joscelyn, turning to 
 Dick. " It would have saved us from this." 
 
 Dick with a look of utter misery approached his father. 
 
 " Sir, he has surely suffered enough. For God's sake let 
 him pass. You have the despatches now let him go." 
 
155 
 
 " What !" cried Sir Thomas, all the more vehemently 
 because Dick's words coincided with his own desire. 
 " Would you have me favor my own son when he is false 
 to his king ? Nay, indeed, let me rather follow the ex- 
 ample of Brutus. Jervis, these prisoners had best be 
 taken to Farnham Castle, and Sir John Denham will know 
 how to deal with with the bearer of this treasonable 
 packet." 
 
 Jervis assented. 
 
 " Sir John may bring him to reason," he said, " and he 
 appears to enjoy showing off the split in the family. Come, 
 Joscelyn, you shall have it to your liking, and be made a 
 spectacle to men and angels. Buckle all five prisoners to 
 your stirrup-leathers, my men, and let them walk in the 
 usual way ; but lest the good folk of Farnham should be 
 scandalized, their officer had best not be stripped." 
 
 "Sir," protested poor Dick, almost broken-hearted at 
 this speech, "you cannot permit Joscelyn to be dragged 
 through the town in such a fashion. He is still suffering 
 from the blow and unfit for it." 
 
 But Sir Thomas had steeled his heart to resist any 
 tenderness to the culprit, and Dick only met with a rebuff. 
 All he could do was to get a few words aside with Jos- 
 celyn. 
 
 " Here is your sword," he said, returning it to the scab- 
 bard. " No one has yet ordered you to yield it ; and see 
 what a dint Jervis made in your helmet !" 
 
 " I cannot bear the weight of it," said Joscelyn, faintly ; 
 " my head aches too much. Give the helmet to my serv- 
 ant." 
 
 " If I could only save you from this suffering !" 
 
 " You cannot," he replied. " But it is good to see you, 
 dear old Dick. There is much I would ask you were my 
 head but clear." 
 
156 
 
 " Now, sir," said a burly soldier, approaching him ; and 
 Joscelyn had to submit to be strapped to the stirrup of a 
 man whom he recognized as the son of the Shortell black- 
 smith. At any other time he would have perceived with 
 satisfaction and some amusement the man's intense dislike 
 to the work he was set to, but now he was too miserable in 
 mind and body to observe it. Bareheaded, with pale, stern 
 face, his right hand clutching for support at the mane of 
 the horse, he walked down the street. The way was lined 
 with people ; every gibe, every rough word, reached him, 
 and he heard all, as it were, with Dick's ears as well as with 
 his own. 
 
 " Good Lord, 'tis one of the Heyworths !" " Aye, aye, the 
 one that turned traitor !" " Dragged his father's name in 
 the mud !" " A pestilent Roundhead !" " A sneaking hypo- 
 crite !" " Look at him now !" " He's not gained much by 
 his treason !" " Down with all rebels !" 
 
 Joscelyn turned a shade paler, but as the horrible hooting 
 and groaning grew more clamorous he shook back the long 
 hair from his face and drew himself up with an unconscious 
 dignity of demeanor which was not lost on Sir Thomas. 
 
 " All the time he is the best of the lads," thought the poor 
 old father. Then, as Jervis rode up to him, he inquired 
 what was amiss, for the procession had come to a halt. 
 
 " Sir John Denham has been seen to pass on horseback 
 from the Borough to Downing Street," said Jervis. " They 
 say he goes by the eastern gate to church. If we dismount 
 here and go up this passage we shall doubtless meet him in 
 the church-yard." 
 
 The six bells had ceased chiming ; only the big bell tolled 
 solemnly as the strange cavalcade walked up the narrow 
 alley and along the flagged pathway between the graves. 
 Sir John Denham was just disappearing into the north door 
 as the Heyworths came into sight. 
 
157 
 
 But Jervis was not to be balked. " There will be time to 
 make over the prisoners before service begins," he said, 
 hurrying into the church. " I will prepare Sir John." 
 
 The congregation was already assembled , but talking 
 was not then considered unsuitable in the nave, and Jervis 
 found no difficulty in explaining all to the governor of the 
 castle, a middle-aged man with a sensual mouth and a high 
 intellectual forehead. He was sitting in one of the front 
 seats, near the pulpit, and came out into the middle aisle to 
 speak to Jervis, watching with some interest the strange 
 procession that had entered the church and was now ap- 
 proaching him Sir Thomas trying to seem unconscious 
 and disdainful ; Dick, miserable and haggard, looking as if 
 he wished the ground would open and swallow him- and 
 behind them the unwilling soldier leading the young Parlia- 
 mentary officer, whose buff-coat, tawny orange scarf, and 
 wealth of golden hair only served to make his pallor the 
 more noticeable. 
 
 That he should be dragged into the presence of this 
 peaceful congregation that the bitter hostility of his father 
 and brother should be carried even into the house of God 
 seemed to Joscelyn the last drop in his cup of bitterness. 
 Farnham Church, moreover, was full of memories to him. 
 It was here that he and Dick had been confirmed five years 
 before, and the contrast of the present sharp division struck 
 both of them very painfully. Then, although the people 
 here did not hoot him as those in the street had done, their 
 silent surprise and their looks of scorn and disapproval were 
 almost more hard to endure. For Joscelyn was no seasoned 
 warrior ; neither was he clothed with that utter self-forget- 
 fulness which makes some men practically invulnerable. He 
 was very young, very sensitive, very fond of popularity; 
 the ordeal by fire would have pained him infinitely less than 
 this walk up the middle aisle of the church. The people 
 
158 
 
 in the transepts and the chancel stood up on the benches 
 that they might stare the better ; the occupants of the side 
 aisles craned their necks forward to see this unusual sight. 
 Joscelyn was conscious of it all, yet the worst pang awaited 
 him. 
 
 " Sir John, as the Governor of Farnham Castle, I deliver 
 to your hands five prisoners of war," said Sir Thomas, in a 
 voice which betrayed nothing of his real emotion. " Four 
 of them wait without. Their captain formerly my son, 
 but now a disinherited rebel will yield up his sword to 
 you." 
 
 A wave of burning color surged over Joscelyn's face ; the 
 more generous among the congregation felt genuine pity 
 for him as he unfastened his sword, and in silence, with the 
 look of one cut to the heart, handed it to Sir John Den- 
 ham. 
 
 " The rector comes, gentlemen," said the clerk, bustling 
 up and motioning them to their places. 
 
 Joscelyn glanced at his father ; their eyes met, but there 
 was no relenting in Sir Thomas's face, though all the time 
 his sympathy was with his son whom in words he had dis- 
 owned, and probably he had never loved him better than at 
 this moment. As for the prisoner, having met that cold 
 gaze, he saw nothing clearly for some time. He staggered 
 a little as he stood ; the floor of the church seemed to rise 
 and fall like the deck of a ship. Then he felt a strong 
 hand grasping his arm. 
 
 "Come to a seat," whispered Dick; "the service is be- 
 ginning. At least we are together in this." 
 
 " Dick is still faithful to me," thought Joscelyn ; yet, nev- 
 ertheless, the cruel words "formerly my son" rankled bit- 
 terly in his heart. He knelt down in the place to which 
 Dick had guided him, conscious of a sort of relief in being 
 able to bury his face in his hands. 
 
159 
 
 Then, in strange contrast to what had passed before, the 
 voice of the rector of Farnham rang through the old 
 church: "To the Lord our God belong mercies and for- 
 givenesses, though we have rebelled against him; neither 
 have we obeyed the voice of the Lord our God, to walk 
 in his laws which he set before us. ... Dearly beloved 
 brethren " 
 
 Joscelyn heard no more of the exhortation. Still kneeling 
 with hidden face, he had passed beyond the thought of the 
 present distress and separation, and had firmly grasped the 
 idea of an eternal kinship which was absolutely indestructi- 
 ble a kinship against which the passing blows of envy, 
 hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness were powerless to 
 prevail. 
 
 Sir Thomas and many of the people were much surprised 
 when the prisoner, who had knelt from the beginning of the 
 service like one too miserable and crushed to heed what 
 was passing, stood up promptly the moment the " Venite " 
 was given out, singing as if he did indeed " heartily rejoice 
 in the strength of our salvation." They were utterly puzzled. 
 Dick alone understood, and realized that it was just what 
 might have been expected of Joscelyn. 
 
 It is to be feared that very few paid much attention to 
 the rector's dry dogmatic sermon. The people were occu- 
 pied in staring at the prisoner. Old Sir Thomas mused 
 sadly over his son's political views, and wondered how it 
 could have come to pass that a child of his should make 
 the disastrous mistake of fighting for that misleading will- 
 o'-the-wisp called liberty and freedom of conscience, when 
 Church, father, and self-interest all would have urged him 
 to think only of the divine right of kings. With bitterness 
 of soul he watched the resolute face of the prisoner, and 
 asked himself what he had done that this grievous trial 
 should be laid upon him by one of his own children. 
 
i6o 
 
 "I have been no Eli, weakly spoiling the lads," he thought. 
 " I have been loyal to my God and to my King, and yet the 
 flower of the flock has left my fold." 
 
 Jervis, on the other hand, was absorbed in plans for his 
 brother's further humiliation -, Dick was wondering how he 
 could best secure a talk with Joscelyn at the castle ; and 
 Joscelyn himself sat rigidly still, hearing no single word 
 that was said, but living over again a hundred past scenes. 
 When the rector ceased and the congregation rose he start- 
 ed up in confusion, returning to a very miserable conscious- 
 ness of all that awaited him. Jervis's unbrotherly plan was, 
 however, frustrated. Sir John Denham took no heed of his 
 suggestion, but motioning to a young officer of his party, 
 who had watched the proceedings with considerable inter- 
 est, spoke a few words in his ear, and then introduced him 
 courteously to Joscelyn. 
 
 " My kinsman Mr. Arthur Denham will take charge of 
 you, Mr. Heyworth," he said. 
 
 No one could have desired a more pleasant jailer, and 
 Joscelyn ran the gantlet of the spectators both in church 
 and church-yard with but little discomfort, for he walked 
 between Dick and the governor's young kinsman, who 
 seemed bent on making things easy for him. At the east- 
 ern gate of the church -yard there was a brief pause; he 
 suddenly remembered that he might not see Dick again, 
 and passing his hand over his aching forehead, tried hard 
 to collect his thoughts. 
 
 " I am losing what may be our last moments together," he 
 said, miserably. " Yet for the life of me, Dick, I can't talk." 
 
 " You are still feeling the effects of the blow, and no won- 
 der," said Dick. "You look fit for nothing but bed. As 
 for talking, we may yet, with Mr. Denham's permission, get 
 time for that presently at the castle, to which, if I can pre- 
 vent it, you shall not be dragged on foot." 
 
" Faith, I should think not !" said Arthur Denham, his 
 brown eyes kindling, and his dark face flushing at the re- 
 membrance of Sir John's hurried account of Jervis Hey- 
 worth's malice. " My horse is at your disposal," he said, 
 looking with mingled curiosity and sympathy at the prisoner. 
 "Or, stay, here is my brother William, who will be glad 
 enough to lend his." 
 
 William Denham, a clever-looking lad of seventeen, was 
 only too happy to be released from attendance on his kins- 
 man, the governor. He cared nothing for politics, being a 
 keen naturalist, and far more intent on securing moths and 
 butterflies than prisoners of war. With much satisfaction 
 he received his brother's permission to go down to the river 
 after some specimens he was bent on finding ; and Joscelyn, 
 mounting his horse, was taken through the town, past the 
 familiar market-place, and up the broad picturesque Castle 
 Street. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 And there is a frown of hate, 
 And there is a frown of disdain, 
 
 And there is a frown of frowns 
 Which you strive to forget in vain. 
 
 BLAKE. 
 
 FARNHAM CASTLE, which had been built during the civil 
 wars in the reign of King Stephen, had for some time been 
 the residence of the bishops of Winchester, but at the be- 
 ginning of the war it had been turned into a garrison by the 
 King's Commissioners of Array. It was a most imposing 
 building, with its old gray walls, its more modern entrance- 
 tower and keep of red brickwork ornamented with lozenges 
 of blue, and its gate-house, where a practised eye could have 
 discovered a vulnerable point of attack. The afternoon had 
 clouded over, and the place looked gloomy and forbidding 
 enough ; Joscelyn's heart sank as he passed up the stone 
 steps which led under a porch to the main entrance, and 
 glanced at the warders and the men-at-arms, and wondered 
 whether the castle was strongly garrisoned. 
 
 Sir John Denham, who had entered first with Sir Thomas 
 Heyworth and Jervis, turned towards his prisoner as he 
 came into the old banqueting- hall, addressing him very 
 pleasantly. " I am sorry," he said, " to be in the position 
 of jailer to you, Mr. Heyworth ; but we will endeavor to 
 make your confinement as little irksome as may be if you 
 will give us your word not to attempt to escape." 
 
 Joscelyn thanked him, and gave the necessary promise. 
 
 " I see you are much spent," said Sir John. " Let us dine 
 at once, and afterwards I will put a few questions to you." 
 
" Pardon me, Sir John," said old Sir Thomas, his color 
 rising and his voice trembling, " but I must decline to sit 
 down to table with that rebel. I beg you will examine him 
 at once as to the treasonable correspondence, and then I 
 and my two sons will go on to Shortell." 
 
 Joscelyn winced. The speech made him feel as if he 
 were a sort of leper. 
 
 " Pray do not think of continuing your journey to-day," 
 said Sir John. " I will, if you please, question Mr. Hey- 
 worth at once, and he can dine elsewhere ; but I cannot 
 permit you to leave us so hastily. You will all, I hope, be 
 my guests, at any rate, till the morrow." 
 
 Sir Thomas was fain to consent to the arrangement. 
 Dick brightened a little, foreseeing that he was now secure 
 of some hours with his brother; but Joscelyn was too 
 wretched to take any comfort from the thought. His fa- 
 ther's persistent enmity weighed heavily on him. More- 
 over, something in the great hall, with its old windows and 
 its dark oak galleries, made him think of Hampden House, 
 and he felt a sick longing for his leader's genial face and 
 winning manner and strong, wise sympathy. A sense of 
 utter loneliness overpowered him, as, obeying a signal from 
 Sir John Denham, he followed him across the flagged floor 
 to the open hearth, where, upon the brass dogs, lay a heap 
 of blazing wood. On the chimney-piece was traced the 
 legend, A Dieu foi, aux amis foyer. Sir Thomas and the 
 governor took their places on the oak settle drawn up to 
 the left side of the fire ; Jervis was behind them, and a lit- 
 tle in the background near a low side gallery were Arthur 
 Denham and Dick. Facing them all stood Joscelyn alone. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Heyworth," said the governor, taking up the 
 small letter-case which Jervis had discovered, " this commu- 
 nication, which, I see, is in cipher, is directed to Sir William 
 Waller, and was found upon your person. I know that 
 
1 64 
 
 you and your men came yesterday from Westminster ; from 
 whose hands did you receive this ?" 
 
 "From the hands of Mr. Pym," replied Joscelyn. 
 
 At the hated name of Pym the faces of all present 
 changed. Sir Thomas swore a great oath, and Sir John 
 Denham's manner became a little less urbane. 
 
 " King Pym !" he ejaculated, glancing towards Jervis, 
 who, with scarcely veiled triumph, stood watching Josce- 
 lyn's troubled face. 
 
 " Was any one else present ?" 
 
 " Mr. John Hampden." 
 
 " No one besides ?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 "Were you made acquainted with the contents of the 
 missive ?" 
 
 " I was not." 
 
 " Do you know the key to this cipher ?" 
 
 Joscelyn made no reply. 
 
 " I repeat, were you intrusted with the key-word ?" 
 
 Still Joscelyn kept silence. His eyes were fixed on the 
 flagged floor ; his face had grown set and stern. 
 
 " Your silence gives consent," said Sir John, irritated by 
 the prisoner's obstinacy. " I fully understand that you can 
 read the despatch." 
 
 " Sir, that is precisely what I cannot do," said Joscelyn, 
 looking up, and speaking emphatically. 
 
 " Yet you know the key-word ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "And cannot read the letter?" said Sir John, sarcas- 
 tically. 
 
 "No, for 'tis against my honor and conscience to do so." 
 
 " Honor !" broke in Sir Thomas. " Oh, ye gods ! That 
 such as you should dare to speak of honor !" 
 
 Sir John turned with a laugh to Jervis. " Your good 
 
165 
 
 brother Zeal -of -the -land Busy is indeed 'zealous for the 
 cause.' " 
 
 "As a dog for a bone," retorted Jervis, readily taking up 
 the quotation from " Bartholomew Fair." 
 
 " I wish, my good fellow," said the governor, turning with 
 his mocking smile to the prisoner, " that you would think 
 less of your own honor, and instead obey the Bible precept, 
 ' Honor the King,' by furnishing us with this key-word." 
 
 Indignation lit up Joscelyn's face. With dilated eyes and 
 a voice whose vibrating tones wakened responsive echoes 
 in Dick's heart, he turned passionately to the governor. 
 
 " I will try, sir, to ; honor all men,' but it is hard to 
 honor those who deliberately tempt a messenger to be false 
 to a trust." 
 
 Sir John looked uncomfortable. " You forget, Mr. Hey- 
 worth," he said, after a brief pause, " that we are living 
 in times of war. In most countries one in your position 
 would be tortured for refusing to read this despatch. Even 
 now there are some who would perchance employ torture." 
 
 " Certainly," said Jervis ; " worthy men employed it but a 
 few years since. Time is saved, valuable information gained, 
 and no one is the worse the prisoner merely suffers for a 
 few minutes instead of dragging through weeks or months 
 of imprisonment." 
 
 "Yes, I would have you consider the thought of impris- 
 onment," said the governor. " For although I will certainly 
 do my best for you here, yet elsewhere you will meet with 
 less lenient governors, and months or years of imprison- 
 ment at your age will be no light punishment." 
 
 Then Dick suddenly sprang forward. " Joscelyn," he cried, 
 " for God's sake, yield ! Don't you see that you are in their 
 power, that they can do anything with you ?" 
 
 " What, you, Dick even you ?" said Joscelyn, reproach- 
 fully. His face grew whiter, his lips quivered with pain. 
 
1 66 
 
 "We do but waste time," said Jervis, impatiently. " Really, 
 Sir John, 'tis hard that loyal gentlemen should be kept wait- 
 ing for dinner. Will you not order the roast from the kitchen 
 and the thumb-screw from the armory ?V 
 
 He laughed at his own pleasantry, but no one else even 
 smiled. Old Sir Thomas, however, started to his feet and 
 fixed his keen blue eyes on Joscelyn. 
 
 " Torture is illegal," he said, in a voice which trembled 
 with strong feeling, " but I understand that it is still lawful 
 for a father to curse his son. May the Almighty desert you 
 in the day of judgment as you have deserted your King ; 
 may He turn from you as you have turned from me ; may 
 my curse 
 
 He was interrupted. 
 
 " Do you say that torture is illegal ?" cried Joscelyn, in a 
 voice that rang through the hall. " Do you think you are 
 not torturing me ?" 
 
 The silence that followed was broken by a gasping sound 
 like the sob of a hunted animal, and Sir Thomas Heyworth's 
 curse was never completed, for the prisoner staggered, then 
 fell heavily to the ground, where he lay like one dead. 
 
 The old baronet, assuming an air of indifference, dropped 
 back to his former position on the oak settle, and made a 
 show of warming himself at the fire. But his thoughts were 
 all the time with Joscelyn, and not a detail of the scene es- 
 caped him when the men-at-arms roughly lifted up the 
 prisoner and bore him out of the hall. He saw the helpless 
 droop of the head, the deathly face ; he saw, too, with a 
 pang of wrath, the ends of the orange scarf, the symbol of 
 their division, sweeping the white flag- stones as the men 
 moved towards the door. Arthur Denham followed, and 
 Dick clearly longed to follow too, but this was more than 
 Sir Thomas could endure. He would fain have gone him- 
 self, but that Dick should enjoy what he felt bound to fore- 
 
167 
 
 go was intolerable. He called him sharply back, and the 
 boy, with a look of misery which moved Sir John Denham's 
 compassion, was forced to obey. 
 
 " Bide your time," said Sir John, in a good-natured aside. 
 " You shall see your brother later on. Pity that so gallant 
 a youth should be on the wrong side." 
 
 In the meantime Joscelyn began to be dimly conscious 
 that he was being carried up a winding staircase, then along 
 a passage. Finally above the tramp of his bearers he heard 
 a voice saying : 
 
 " To the inner room. Lay him on my bed." 
 
 There seemed to be some question about keeping guard, 
 for the same voice replied : 
 
 " No need ; he is on parole. You may go." 
 
 Then the door closed, and he thought himself alone, till 
 he felt a hand deftly unfastening his corselet and untying 
 the strings of his collar. 
 
 " Dick," he murmured, without opening his eyes. 
 
 " You shall see him by-and-by," said the same voice. 
 
 Joscelyn looked up, and met the gaze of a pair of kindly 
 brown eyes, which lighted up a thoughtful, refined face 
 shaded by dark curls. 
 
 For a minute he was perplexed, then all that had passed 
 flashed back into his mind, and a spasm of pain convulsed 
 his face. 
 
 " I remember now," he said, with a shudder. " This is 
 Farnham Castle. They said they were not torturing me. 
 What" he gave a short laugh, much like a sob "what 
 do you think ?" 
 
 "I thought it was worse than the thumb-screw," said 
 Arthur Denham. " But don't speak of it. It is over, and 
 some amongst us honored you for your resistance, though it 
 made us wish all the more that you were on our side. But 
 you are faint I will tell them to bring you food and wine." 
 
1 68 
 
 " I could not eat," said Joscelyn ; " my head aches too 
 much." 
 
 Arthur Denham went into the adjoining room, and, filling 
 a goblet of water, brought it to his charge. Then promis- 
 ing to bring Dick at the first opportunity, he left the pris- 
 oner and returned to the banqueting-hall, where he was 
 beset by questions. 
 
 " As for his head, I am responsible for that," said Jervis. 
 " It would have been more to the purpose had I hit a trifle 
 harder. In a brain-fever he might easily have parted with 
 the secret of this damned key-word." 
 
 " Well, well," said Sir John, " leave him to me. If you 
 invoke the aid of Bacchus, who knows but the hospitality 
 of Farnham Castle may bring about the discovery? He is 
 not the sort of lad to yield to threats." 
 
 Jervis laughed. But Sir Thomas looked ill-pleased, and 
 hardly spoke throughout the meal. By-and-by, when the 
 servants had withdrawn, and both Sir John and Jervis were 
 far from sober, he made an excuse to leave the table, and 
 beckoning Arthur Denham to the end of the hall, asked to 
 be taken to the prisoner. 
 
 " After all, perchance Sir John is right, and we went the 
 wrong way to work with the lad ; I have been perhaps over- 
 harsh with him," he said. " I will try what argument will 
 do." 
 
 " Heaven help the poor fellow !" thought Arthur Den- 
 ham. " I would as lief argue with a mule as with Sir 
 Thomas." 
 
 But it was impossible to make any objection to the pro- 
 posal of the old baronet; and having taken him to the door 
 of the outer room, the young man left him to his own de- 
 vices, and returned to the gallery to talk things over with 
 Dick. 
 
 Sir Thomas closed the door of the anteroom behind 
 
him, and listened for a moment. All was still. The door 
 of the inner room had been left open ; he passed quietly in 
 and looked round. On the bed in the corner lay Joscelyn. 
 Worn out with all he had gone through, he had fallen fast 
 asleep, and he lay now in that absolute calm which smooths 
 out of the face all care, anxiety, and distress ; he looked the 
 veriest boy, utterly unlike the harassed man who had stood 
 but an hour ago in the banqueting-hall. 
 
 " His youth is an excuse," thought Sir Thomas. " He 
 has been led astray by wily deceivers. I shall surely con- 
 vince him by patient argument. If I can but be patient ! 
 Wake, my son, wake !" he cried. 
 
 But Joscelyn did not stir. 
 
 " So soundly asleep," thought Sir Thomas. " Only a 
 boy could sleep like that ! What would I not give for the 
 power ! Sir John shall not try to corrupt him ; I will not 
 hear of it ! Not that he could succeed. Joscelyn has too 
 much self-control with Jervis it would be easy enough. 
 Great God ! Why was it not Jervis who forsook me ? Why 
 was it the best of the lads the very best ? But I will con- 
 vince him yet. I will show him his error. Wake up, Josce- 
 lyn," he repeated, laying a hand on his shoulder. " Wake 
 up, my son." 
 
 Joscelyn opened his eyes, caught sight of his father's 
 softened face, felt the pressure of his hand, and with a rapt- 
 urous sense of relief thought their estrangement was at an 
 end. " Father," he cried, springing up, " I knew it could 
 not separate us ! Thank God, you have come !" 
 
 " You see your mistake ?" asked Sir Thomas, eagerly. 
 "You will join me in fighting for the right?" 
 
 The light died out of Joscelyn's face. Overwhelmed with 
 disappointment, he turned away. " Alas !" he said, " that 
 is the very point on which we differ." 
 
 " But how is it possible to differ as to actual right and 
 
170 
 
 wrong ?" said Sir Thomas, with a desperate effort at pa- 
 tience. "All truth-loving, God-fearing people must think 
 alike as to the duty of loyalty to the King and to the 
 Church." 
 
 " But when they see the King and the Church false to 
 their trust abusing their position then they must defend 
 the right," said Joscelyn. 
 
 "False to their trust, do you say?" cried Sir Thomas, 
 furiously. " You presumptuous, arrogant fool ! The pow- 
 ers that be are ordained of God. Do you not remember 
 the words of the Apostle ?" 
 
 "Nevertheless, God brought to an end the rule of the 
 very emperors of whom the Apostle wrote," said Joscelyn. 
 
 " Would you compare our most Christian Sovereign to 
 the Caesars ?" cried Sir Thomas. " Our most religious and 
 gracious King ! I tell you, your views are abominable ! 
 The King can do no wrong." 
 
 " You say so," said Joscelyn, bitterly. " Yet had we 
 been as untruthful, even as mere lads, you would have 
 flogged us. His Majesty keeps faith neither with friends 
 nor foes." 
 
 Sir Thomas strode up and down the room, making heroic 
 efforts to restrain his anger. " I must be calm I will be 
 calm," he thought. " He is deceived ; I must try to reason 
 with him. Others are more to be blamed who have filled 
 his head with these false notions of liberty. I will entreat 
 him to turn while yet there is time. The boy loves me. 
 He will surely see his error and turn if I can but humble 
 myself to entreat him." 
 
 He glanced towards the window. The room was in an 
 angle of the tower above the entrance, and Joscelyn stood 
 looking out over the battlemented walls and across the bare 
 hop-grounds to the green hills beyond. In the valley be- 
 tween lay the picturesque little town of Farnham, the white 
 
stone tower of the church rising high above the red-tiled 
 houses. The bells were ringing for afternoon service ; their 
 cheerful sound fell strangely and sadly on the prisoner's ear. 
 The dreary conviction that nothing would ever make men 
 of one mind in this world, that to the end of time there must 
 be divided households, took strong possession of him. For 
 a while he lost sight of the deeper truth and forgot the 
 uniting bond of eternal kinship. 
 
 " Josceyln," said his father, speaking very gently, " I 
 have been, perchance, over-harsh with you. At home in the 
 heat of the moment I treated you with much severity. I 
 came up here thinking to argue quietly with you, but we 
 Heyworths are ill at that sort of work and are betrayed by 
 our hot tempers. There yet remains one way which, with 
 God's blessing, may move you to repent and take the right 
 side. I empty myself of all pride, and entreat you, my son. 
 If you have any reverence, any love for me, I beg you to 
 show it by giving up your rebellious schemes, by refusing 
 to fight any longer with these blind leaders of the blind. 
 By the love I have shown you all these years, I implore 
 you, my son." 
 
 Once more the tortured, hunted look came back to Josce- 
 lyn's eyes ; he sank down on the window-seat and buried 
 his face in his hands. 
 
 Sir Thomas could see that tears were dropping slowly 
 down between his fingers ; the sight encouraged him. " I 
 thought you would respond to that," he said, laying his 
 hand kindly on the bent head. " I thought you were not 
 wanting in loyalty and in love to me. Let us forget the past. 
 You shall have a place in my troop. We will work to- 
 gether." 
 
 Joscelyn started to his feet, and dashed the tears from 
 his eyes. " Wait ! wait ! You mistake me, sir. For God's 
 sake, father, believe me when I tell you that I love and 
 
172 
 
 honor you, and, as far as may be, will always serve you. 
 But I cannot prove it by being false to my conscience. I 
 cannot give up my most firm convictions." 
 
 There was a painful silence. Once more the big bell of 
 the church tolled sadly and solemnly, as it had tolled when 
 Joscelyn was brought a prisoner through the church-yard. 
 
 The glow of hope faded from Sir Thomas's face, a hard 
 look dawned in his eyes. " I have tried to save you," he 
 said, hoarsely, " but you persist in your wilful opposition. 
 It is useless to say more. Don't talk of love and reverence. 
 Give me deeds, not words. You cannot care for me, or you 
 would not persist in this wicked, headstrong rebellion." 
 
 Joscelyn stood absolutely silent. Of what use were fur- 
 ther protestations ? The bitterness of death seemed to 
 surge over him, while down below the great bell in the valley 
 tolled with solemn, heavy monotony. Sir Thomas, torn 
 with conflicting emotions, looked despairingly at the daunt- 
 less face opposite him, at one moment constrained to admi- 
 ration, at the next filled with wrath and grief, and, above all, 
 with his strong family pride mortally wounded. 
 
 " I have humiliated myself for naught," he said at length, 
 with intense bitterness. " I now finally disown you. From 
 henceforth you are no more my son." 
 
 Joscelyn choked back his .emotion. His voice rang 
 strangely ; there was a touch of triumph in his tone. 
 
 "You may disown me in words, sir," he said, "but kin- 
 ship is just the one thing that never can in truth fail." 
 
 Sir Thomas could endure no more. With a curse, inar- 
 ticulate from its very vehemence, he strode out of the room, 
 banging the outer door behind him. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Yet deem not, on such parting sad 
 Shall dawn no welcome dear and glad : 
 
 Divided in their earthly race, 
 Together at the glorious goal, 
 Each leading many a rescued soul, 
 
 The faithful champions shall embrace. 
 
 KEBLE. 
 
 A MINUTE later the door was reopened by William Den- 
 ham. 
 
 " What on earth can have put Sir Thomas in such a rage ?" 
 he exclaimed to himself. " He well-nigh overturned me in 
 his blind fury, and then what would have become of these 
 newts I've been at such pains to catch ? Ho, Arthur, are 
 you stirring in there ?" 
 
 He flung back the half-opened door of the inner room, and 
 started a little on rinding himself confronted by Joscelyn. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," exclaimed the lad. " They did not 
 tell me you were here." 
 
 The prisoner looked so unapproachable that Will Den- 
 ham's sole thought was to beat a hasty retreat, to flee from a 
 trouble which he could not understand, to escape somehow 
 from the stern almost haughty gravity of the Parliamenta- 
 rian. But it was a case of more haste less speed, for he 
 slipped on the polished floor, and came down with an igno- 
 minious crash, breaking to bits the wide-necked bottle he 
 held in his hands. 
 
 " Good Lord !" he cried in great disgust as he struggled 
 up, soaked with water and covered with bits of glass. 
 " There seems to be a fate against these creatures." 
 
174 
 
 His frantic dashes after the newts, which darted off in all 
 directions, utterly broke down Josceyln's gravity; the sud- 
 den reaction was too strong, and he burst out laughing, 
 entering with spirit into the newt-hunt, and not resting till 
 they were all recaptured. By that time the ice was com- 
 pletely broken between the two. 
 
 " Where did you get them ?" he asked. 
 
 " In the meadows. Do you know the river here ?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; Dick and I have fished there many a 
 time." 
 
 " Did you ever find newts there ?" 
 
 " No. What do you get them for ?" 
 
 " I want to experiment on them. They say you can work 
 miracles with them." 
 
 " How can that be ?" said Joscelyn, interested with this 
 new idea. 
 
 " Why, they say you can freeze them solid and keep them 
 frozen any time you like, and then by just the right amount 
 of heat bring them to life again." 
 
 " Do you try many of these experiments ?" 
 
 " As many as there is time for," said Will Denham. 
 "But this hateful war spoils most of my chances of col- 
 lecting. I have some fine spiders, though ; come here and 
 see them ; you've no idea till you have lived with them 
 what a lot of character there is in a spider. See this one 
 to the left. We call him Pym, because he is crafty. That 
 lean fellow in the web in the corner we call Falkland, be- 
 cause he is such a recluse ; and this handsome one in the 
 right-hand window-pane is Prince Rupert, because he is 
 daring and makes many prisoners. I have a cage full of 
 mice in the anteroom. Arthur won't have them in here ; 
 declares they smell ; such nonsense. I don't know what he 
 will say to them to-night if he has to sleep in the outer 
 room." 
 
175 
 
 " Better put all your prisoners in here together," said 
 Joscelyn, with a smile. 
 
 " I forgot you were our prisoner," stammered the boy. 
 " I I wish you had been on the right side. When they 
 said in church that they were bringing in a Roundhead 
 captain to the governor, I looked to see some sour-faced, 
 cropped, canting hypocrite, and could scarce believe my 
 eyes." 
 
 " We have some cropped hypocrites," said Joscelyn, with a 
 wrathful remembrance of Original's desertion. " And you 
 Royalists have some licentious, effeminate cavaliers with 
 scented lovelocks, but the bulk of each party is made up of 
 brave and honorable men." He was interrupted by the 
 entrance of Arthur Den ham. 
 
 " I have brought your brother to see you," he said ; and 
 the words were hardly out of his mouth before Dick had 
 rushed impetuously past him and thrown himself on Josce- 
 lyn's neck. 
 
 "At last I can get to you !" said the boy. " What on earth 
 did you say to my father ? He is walking to and fro in the 
 hall like a madman, cursing you till the very serving-men 
 are aghast. 'Tis horrible to hear him." 
 
 " He urged me to change sides. When I showed him that 
 it was an impossibility, he disowned me and cursed me. 
 And you ? Have you come to argue ?" 
 
 " Heaven forbid !" said Dick. " For God's sake, don't look 
 at me like that, Joscelyn, or you'll break my heart. Surely 
 you can trust me ?" 
 
 For a minute Joscelyn could not reply ; his whole face 
 quivered. 
 
 " I do, Dick I can," he said, huskily. For some little 
 while nothing more passed between them. They just sat 
 there side by side in the fading afternoon light of that No- 
 vember afternoon, heedless of their differences, mindful 
 
1 7 6 
 
 only that they were together after months of separation. 
 Presently they told each other of all that they had been 
 through, and Dick heard with keen interest of the march to 
 Kineton, of the night on the battle-field, and the rescue of 
 Robin the groom. 
 
 " We had given the poor varlet up for dead," said Dick. 
 " But maybe after all he will have reached Shortell in safety 
 before us." 
 
 " You were on your way home ?" asked Joscelyn, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 " Aye ; we shall have to go on to-morrow ; to-night 'tis 
 impossible, for Jervis is dead-drunk. My father intends to 
 stay at home to keep Christmas, but Jervis and I shall but 
 stay two or three days, and perchance another few days at 
 Bletchingley, before joining Sir Ralph Hopton's army at 
 Winchester." 
 
 Home ! Christmas ! Winchester ! The happy old school- 
 days ! A crowd of bitter-sweet memories filled Joscelyn's 
 mind, and with them a wretched sense of isolation. Had it 
 not been for the thought of Clemency he could have wished 
 to die then and there, so hateful to him was the thought of 
 being ranged against his own kith and kin. But there was 
 Clemency to cheer his loneliness ; there was a brave wom- 
 an's heart to strengthen him in the terribly painful life 
 which, from a sense of duty, he had chosen. 
 
 " Dick," he said, " if you go to Bletchingley, will you do 
 something for me ? 'Tis not concerned with our unhappy 
 differences. I would not ask you to do aught that was not 
 honorable. Do you remember Sir Robert Neal's grand- 
 daughter ?" 
 
 " What, pretty Mistress Clemency ? Could any man for- 
 get her ?" 
 
 " You will forgive me when I make her your sister-in- 
 law?" 
 
1/7 
 
 "Ho, ho!" laughed Dick, "is that the way the land 
 lies ?" 
 
 "We were betrothed but four days since," said Joscelyn, 
 pausing a little as though to enjoy the sound of the words. 
 But the happy light in his eyes soon faded. " I parted 
 from her only yesterday morning," he said. " Great God ! 
 only yesterday, and it seems like half a lifetime. How 
 shall we ever endure the waiting ?" 
 
 "Courage! 'Twill pass better than you think," said 
 Dick. 
 
 "You speak as if you knew all about it," groaned Josce- 
 lyn, half amused, half angry. 
 
 "Well, well," said Dick, "one can draw upon one's im- 
 agination at times ; 'tis all a matter of the imagination, you 
 know, according to the play, which says the lover and the 
 lunatic and the poet are all birds of a feather." 
 
 " Then, since you with your imagination affect to be 
 neither poet nor lover, you must be the lunatic," said Jos- 
 celyn, laughing. " But look, Dick, an you love me, ride over 
 to Katterham when you are at Bletchingley 'tis but a 
 matter of a few miles and bear Clemency the latest news 
 of me." 
 
 " Now, by my troth," said Dick, " I will do no such thing, 
 unless you give rne a letter to deliver to her. Would you 
 have me say, * Fair lady, I fell foul of your true-love in 
 Farnham Street, took him prisoner, and clapped him into 
 the castle, where he now remains eating his heart out ?" 
 
 "The arrest was none of your doing," said Joscelyn. 
 " But if they will let me have pen and paper I will only too 
 gladly give you a letter to take to her. Oh, Dick ! Dick ! to 
 think that you are free to go to her, while I stay chafing 
 here ! 'Tis enough to madden a man ! But you must not 
 let her think me impatient. You must make light of it all. 
 Do you understand ? Say that I am in comfortable quar- 
 
 12 
 
178 
 
 ters, courteously treated, and with the kindest of jailers, or 
 she will be picturing dungeons and chains and horrors un- 
 told. Dick, I must show you her picture." 
 
 Unfastening his vest, he drew forth a miniature set in 
 pearls which was fastened by a ribbon round his neck. 
 
 " It was painted but a few months ago," he said. " Sir 
 Robert gave a similar one to Faith, the sister who was 
 married in July, and this one he gave me when I left Kat- 
 terham yesterday." 
 
 Dick looked in silence for some minutes at the strangely 
 beautiful face ; there was about it an expression of strength, 
 of repose, and the uplifted eyes seemed to be looking right 
 into heaven, so pure, so calm, so full of satisfied desire 
 were they. 
 
 " She is" The word " beautiful " trembled on his lips, 
 but he hesitated, for after all it was not the beauty of feat- 
 ure which had specially appealed to him. " She is divine !" 
 he said, with a long breath. 
 
 " You will bless me for giving you the chance to serve 
 her," said Joscelyn, his face aglow with happiness as he felt 
 the comfort of his brother's sympathy and the rapture of 
 possessing Clemency's love. 
 
 "That will I," said Dick. "But at all costs we must 
 keep the knowledge of this from Jervis. 'Twas a mercy 
 he did not come across this miniature when he searched 
 you for the despatches. Why did you not tell me of this at 
 Shortell ?" 
 
 " There was nothing at that time to tell," said Joscelyn. 
 
 " What, you did not fall in love with her during those 
 weeks at the Court - house ? Impossible ! St. Anthony him- 
 self would have succumbed." 
 
 " I marvel myself how it was," said Joscelyn. " But I 
 think I looked on her then more as if she were an angel. 
 'Twas she who helped and served me ; she who had that 
 
179 
 
 love of our country which I had not then grasped ; she was 
 my heavenly messenger, and I never once dreamed of her 
 as my wife. But when my turn came to serve and shield 
 her, when I knew that she needed my strength and that a 
 great danger threatened her, then then I loved her. It 
 was the night of the attack on the Court-house, and I 
 thank God that my baptism of fire was in defending her." 
 
 Dick listened with a sort of envy to the whole story, un- 
 derstood what Joscelyn must have suffered during those 
 months of silence, heard of old Mr. Gainsborough's bequest 
 with keen satisfaction, listened with sympathy to all that 
 Joscelyn could tell of those last happy days at Katterham. 
 The room had gradually grown dark, but they neither of 
 them cared for that, talking all the more freely, perhaps, 
 in consequence. So absorbed were they that they found it 
 hard to bring themselves back to the present when Arthur 
 Denham entered, lamp in hand. 
 
 " Will you not come down to supper ?" he said, address- 
 ing his prisoner. " Sir Thomas will take nothing more to- 
 night, and has already gone to his bedchamber, but the gov- 
 ernor hopes you will both join us in the banqueting-hall." 
 
 Joscelyn, cheered by his interview with Dick, began to 
 remember that he had tasted nothing since early morning, 
 and ended by making a hearty meal. Afterwards, what 
 with writing his letter to Clemency and talking with Dick, 
 the hours of the night passed quickly away, so that it was 
 not until day was breaking that either of the brothers slept, 
 and Arthur Denham had much ado to rouse them at eight 
 o'clock, when Sir Thomas insisted on leaving the castle. 
 
 "Will you bid your father farewell? 1 ' he asked, doubt- 
 fully, as he ushered the two down the winding stair and 
 into a corridor which ran parallel with the great hall. 
 
 " I will, await his wishes," said Joscelyn. " But I do not 
 think he will see me. Dick, do not forget the message with 
 
i8o 
 
 which I charged you for Rosamond. You and I had best 
 part here." 
 
 " Here in this prison !" cried Dick, impatiently. " 'Tis 
 hateful to part here, leaving you in such a plight. When 
 and where shall we meet again ?" 
 
 " In better times, let us hope, or maybe in another world," 
 said Joscelyn, choking back his emotion, as he saw that 
 Dick was on the verge of breaking down. In silence they 
 embraced each other, conscious of a dread likelihood that it 
 was for the last time,- then Dick followed Arthur Denham, and 
 Joscelyn, turning away, paced the long corridor with a heavy 
 heart. A sound of voices roused him from his sad thoughts. 
 
 " And pray why should I see him ?" said Sir Thomas. " I 
 have disowned him he is naught to me now !" 
 
 Joscelyn drew back the piece of tapestry hanging in the 
 corridor, and found himself standing by a wooden balus- 
 trade raised a few feet above the level of the great hall, 
 and not far from the hearth. In bitterness of soul he 
 watched the group standing below on the white flag-stones 
 Sir John, courteous, bland, a trifle sarcastic ; Arthur Den- 
 ham, doing his best to console poor downcast Dick ; Will, 
 absorbed in watching the gambols of a pair of spaniel 
 pups , Jervis, just visible through the open door, kissing a 
 rosy-cheeked kitchen wench ; and his father, standing hat in 
 hand, thanking the governor of the castle for his hospitality. 
 
 The courteous thanks, however, broke off abruptly, for as 
 he took a last glance round the old hall Sir Thomas sud- 
 denly perceived that the tapestry hanging representing the 
 reconciliation of Joseph and his brethren was partly drawn 
 aside, and in the place where Joseph should have been, 
 stood the vigorous, muscular form so familiar and, spite of 
 all, so dear to him. His rugged old face began to work, a 
 mist stole over his eyes ; in dead silence he turned and left 
 the castle, moving like a man in a dream. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 There is no true potency but that of help ; nor true ambition but 
 ambition to save. RUSKIN. 
 
 BEHIND the stables at Shortell Manor, and looking down 
 a broad glassy slope to the moat, there stood a wood-shed 
 where fagots were stored and logs chopped for the house- 
 hold fires. Barnaby, the gate-keeper, too old and rheumatic 
 for much work, took his daily exercise in this shed, an$ 
 Rosamond loved to steal down and keep him company. She 
 loved the smell of the wood, and she liked watching the old 
 man's vigorous strokes and listening to his cheery talk be- 
 tween whiles. On this particular November day she had 
 come to him, as so often before, for comfort, and the old 
 man partly understood the reason that her face was wan 
 and tear-stained, and her eyes inclined to fill every now and 
 then as she sat on the last remains of the trunk of an old 
 oak-tree, playing with Cymro's long, soft ears. 
 
 " You are wishing that Master Dick could have stayed 
 longer?" said Barnaby, resting his hatchet on the block for 
 a minute and glancing at his little companion. 
 
 " Yes," said Rosamond. " And that his stay had not 
 been spoiled. I thought at least his return would have 
 been happy, yet you see he brought us this heavy news 
 of Joscelyn. Barnaby, I am weary of troubles; I should 
 like to be just altogether happy, if it were but for one 
 day." 
 
 " To be free from trouble altogether is not for us here, I 
 take it," said Barnaby. "The dumb beasts seem often 
 
182 
 
 without trouble, and maybe the angels, but we betwixt and 
 between folk must take things mixed." 
 
 " 'Twould not be so hard if I could travel about like the 
 rest of them. Everybody goes save me. There are Dick 
 and Jervis gone to Bletchingley, and my father riding over 
 to see Sir Toby and arrange about Isabella's betrothal ; and 
 my mother and Isabella gone in the coach to my lady 
 Blount's. They will not return till Friday, and 'tis so lone- 
 some at the house." 
 
 " And on the morrow even I shall have to be leaving," 
 said Barnaby. " I must go to Farnham Market to sell the 
 spotted cow." 
 
 " To Farnham !" cried Rosamond. " Oh, Barnaby, take 
 me with you ! Dear Barnaby, pray do. I could ride there 
 on a pillion, and there is no one to say me nay." 
 
 " But you would be no nearer Master Joscelyn there than 
 here," said Barnaby. " For is he not a prisoner ?" 
 
 " He is not kept a close prisoner, Dick said. I might 
 perchance see him in the park which is so close to the 
 castle. Barnaby, I think I shall die if you don't take me 
 I truly do think it." 
 
 Her look was so beseeching that it would have needed a 
 much more unyielding man than the gate-keeper to resist her. 
 
 " I do not know what my lady would say to it," he ob- 
 jected. " A market-day is not the day for a young maid 
 like you to be seen in the town. And how am I to wait on 
 you, when I have the spotted cow to sell ?" 
 
 " Let Robin ride over with us," said Rosamond, her face 
 lighting up as if some happy inspiration had just come to 
 her. " Robin is quite strong enough now to ride, and you 
 know that he would do anything to pleasure me just from 
 gratitude to Joscelyn. While you go to the cattle-market, 
 Robin can take me to the park, and who knows but we may 
 see Joscelyn there ? Now, Barnaby, say you will take me." 
 
1 83 
 
 After some little protesting, and a good deal of cajoling 
 on the child's part, Barnaby consented, and Rosamond 
 with dancing eyes ran off in search of Robin, the groom, 
 who about a week ago had arrived at Shortell. His wound 
 was healed, but he still looked white and haggard with all 
 that he had been through, and his wife, who kept house for 
 Barnaby, protested that she was glad enough he did look 
 "peaked," otherwise Master Jervis would have taken him 
 off again to the wars. " Whereas now, Mistress Rosamond, 
 his father and me will keep him here through the winter, 
 thanks to the ball that hit him at Edgehill and to Master 
 Joscelyn's saving of him." 
 
 " Robin," said Rosamond, as the wife retired to the house 
 to finish her washing, " do you think for love of my brother 
 Joscelyn you would run some little risk ?" 
 
 " Aye, mistress, that would I," said Robin. " I would cut 
 off my right hand for him if 'twould serve his turn." 
 
 "Then listen to my plan," said Rosamond. " Early to- 
 morrow your father starts for Farnham Market; he has 
 promised to take me with him. I want you to ride over 
 with us ; my pillion had best be on your horse. Then while 
 Barnaby drives his bargain over the cow you shall take me 
 to the park, fastening the horse up at one of the gates. I 
 will rest under the trees for a while ; and you, being a 
 wounded soldier fresh from Edgehill, will surely contrive 
 by hook or by crook to make friends with some of the gar- 
 rison at the castle, and either to get speech with my broth- 
 er or send him word to come without fail to the great haw- 
 thorn nigh to the southwest gate of the park." 
 
 Robin thought the idea might well be carried out. But 
 Rosamond had more to follow. 
 
 " Will you keep a secret, Robin ? Listen ! That is not 
 all I want. If it should happen that the horse disappeared 
 from the park gate disappeared in a good cause, I mean 
 
1 84 
 
 could you bear a little blame, do you think ? I would take 
 the worst share, but some might perchance fall on you." 
 
 " Never fear for the blame, mistress," said Robin, look- 
 ing perplexed. " But how would you get home again ? Be- 
 sides, the town be far too quiet for horse-stealers and such 
 like." 
 
 Rosamond laughed with delight at having mystified him. 
 
 " Never fear, Robin. I could walk if need be, or ride 
 behind Barnaby; as long as you are willing to risk the 
 blame, all will be well ; and who knows but the horse may 
 come home safe and sound ? You undertake to get that 
 message to the castle, and I will contrive the rest." 
 
 Rosamond slept little that night ; for once in her life she 
 really was unfeignedly happy ; for was she not planning 
 Joscelyn's rescue ? And surely, surely such a well-arranged 
 scheme could not miscarry. Warmly wrapped in her blue 
 pelisse and velvet hood, she jogged along the country roads 
 on her pillion, steadying herself by Robin's belt, and ex- 
 changing many a joke with Barnaby, who rode beside them, 
 while behind them the herdgroom drove the spotted cow to 
 market. It was a mild, still autumn day; the morning mist 
 had lifted, and the soft blue sky made a lovely background 
 for the delicate tracery of branch and twig as they rode un- 
 der the bare trees in the forest. Rosamond sang for sheer 
 happiness, now crooning to herself the "Bailiff's Daughter," 
 now breaking out gleefully into "Under the greenwood 
 tree." Even when they came to Farnham, and she remem- 
 bered Dick's description of the struggle outside the Plough 
 Inn, she was too much excited to look with anything save 
 curiosity at the gabled house, with its quaint entrance steps 
 and balustrade ; and in realizing her nearness to Joscelyn 
 she forgot to shudder at the thought of the way in which he 
 had been dragged along West Street only a few days before. 
 Parting with Barnaby at the market-place, they rode quietly 
 
SHE JOGGED ALONG THE COUNTRY ROAUS ON HER PILLION. 
 
 [Page 184. 
 
up Castle Street and turned along the quiet alley which led 
 to one of the park gates. Here Robin lifted her off the 
 horse, and Rosamond, trembling with eagerness, made her 
 way up the grassy slope till she came to the old thorn-tree 
 which she had chosen for a trysting-place. Cymro stretched 
 himself out on the turf beside her, and in an agony of im- 
 patience she waited for about an hour, her eyes fixed on 
 that part of the castle which was visible from the park. At 
 length the dog started up from a doze, raised his head in 
 the air, pricked up his ears, and finally bounded up the hill, 
 uttering short barks of. delight. Rosamond sprang to her 
 feet; she was stiff and aching in every bone, but what did 
 that matter? For Joscelyn was coming Joscelyn, whom 
 she had not seen since that summer evening when he had 
 bidden her farewell in the arbor at Shortell. 
 
 "Rosamond!" he cried, amazed, as he strode down the 
 hill to meet her. " How in the world did you get here ?" 
 
 For a minute she could not speak, but clung to him, 
 trembling from head to foot. 
 
 " You dear little sister !" he said, kissing her again and 
 again. " What good fairy sent you here to cheer me, just 
 when I was in the depths of despair ?" 
 
 "'Twas no fairy," said Rosamond, beginning to laugh. 
 "'Twas I that planned it all, and Barnaby and Robin that 
 brought me. But we must not lose time. No one knows 
 the rest of the plan save me. I have come to set you free, 
 Joscelyn. You must take the horse you will find yonder at 
 the gate ; do not stay to talk to me, but fly while there is 
 time ! Go now at once before any one disturbs us !" 
 
 With softening eyes Joscelyn looked into the eager child- 
 ish face raised to his. 
 
 " You dear little soul !" he said, tenderly ; " did you in- 
 deed plan all this for me ?" 
 
 "Nothing ever made me so happy," said Rosamond. 
 
1 86 
 
 "But, oh, Joscelyn, do not linger. Come now come at 
 once. You can unfasten the pillion, and Barnaby can put 
 that by-and-by on his horse. Come !" Snatching his hand, 
 she tried to draw him down the grassy slope, but Joscelyn 
 drew her back, and spreading his cloak on the turf, made 
 her sit down beside him. 
 
 " Wait," he said, putting his arm round her. " How can 
 I make you understand? Your plan was so well thought 
 out ! I hate to think of the risks you have run for me, yet 
 I love you a thousand times more for your courage and 
 your loving little plot." 
 
 "Pray pray come," urged Rosamond. "Why do you 
 linger why do you hold me so fast ?" 
 
 " It is because I am grieved to disappoint you, dear. 
 But I cannot escape." 
 
 Her face fell so terribly that he paused to kiss her with 
 a reverence which he had never before felt for his little 
 playfellow. "You see," he continued, "it is impossible, 
 for I am on parole; otherwise, of course, I should not be 
 allowed to walk in the park." 
 
 " But prisoners always try to escape. Could it be wrong 
 to try ?" she pleaded. " King Richard escaped when Blon- 
 del found him." 
 
 " He had not given his word had not made any promise 
 not to get free ; there's the difference. Were it not that it 
 would be against my honor, I would do as you wish. But 
 you no longer wish it for me. You would not have me 
 break my word." 
 
 Rosamond burst into tears. " I would !" she said, pas- 
 sionately. " What is a word a promise compared to 
 your safety ? I don't know what you mean by honor ; 'tis 
 nothing real 'tis but a name." 
 
 "Tis the most real thing within us," he said, quietly, 
 "the most divine. 'Tis the sense of perfect justice." 
 
1 87 
 
 " True," said a voice behind him ; he looked up and saw 
 Arthur Denham. 
 
 " In good time, here is my jailer," said Joscelyn, smiling. 
 " Denham, allow me to present you to my little sister Rosa- 
 mond." 
 
 Rosamond sprang to her feet in great alarm, catching 
 sight through her tears of some one tall and dark towering 
 above her. 
 
 " Oh !" she cried ; " do not be angry with him ; it was 
 no plan of his. It was mine, all mine. The horse is wait- 
 ing at the gate, and I begged him to escape ; but he will 
 not. Pray, pray believe me he quite refused to go." 
 
 For answer Arthur stooped and kissed her wet cheeks. 
 
 " You see, he is the last man to do a dishonorable 
 thing," he said. " You had not thought of the right and 
 wrong of the case." 
 
 Rosamond wiped away her tears, that she might see this 
 gentle- voiced jailer. 
 
 " But," she urged, " Jervis says that all is fair in love and 
 war." 
 
 "Yes," said Arthur Denham, "and apparently he thinks 
 so. But the truest men on either side do not think that, 
 and if my prisoner had taken your suggestion and escaped 
 just now, he would most likely have ceased to be your hero." 
 
 " He could not have done it," said Rosamond, in a sad, 
 meek little voice. "I see now I begin to understand 
 about the justice. But," with a rising sob, " oh, Joscelyn, 
 I'm so dreadfully tired !" 
 
 " You dear, brave little maid, what can I do for you ?" 
 said Joscelyn, in perplexity. "The fewer that know of 
 your being here the better, or I would beg the governor's 
 hospitality for you but " 
 
 " Let me fetch food and wine for her," said Arthur Den- 
 ham. 
 
1 88 
 
 "I am not hungry," said Rosamond. "And there is 
 food in the saddle-bags three venison pasties and a man- 
 chet. They were for your journey, and now you will not 
 want them." 
 
 " We will eat them together here, then," said Joscelyn, 
 cheerfully. " Who ever heard before of a prisoner picnick- 
 ing in a park ?" 
 
 She was soon coaxed back to serenity, and the three 
 ended by having a very merry luncheon under the hawthorn. 
 
 " I shall have pleasant memories of Farnham Park," said 
 Joscelyn, laughing. "At the other end of it I spent my 
 first night in the open that August Sunday when I left 
 you. Who would have thought that in four months' time 
 you and I should be together here?" 
 
 " And, oh, how surprised the others would be could they 
 see us !" said Rosamond. " They are all away to-day, stay- 
 ing at my lady Blount's, for Isabella is to be betrothed to 
 Sir Toby, and my father has gone to arrange about the set- 
 tlements." 
 
 " Ho ! that affair has come off, has it ?" said Joscelyn. 
 
 " Nurse says that my lady Blount was set on his marry- 
 ing a Heyworth, and I am right glad that I was too young." 
 
 " Will you wait for me ?" said Arthur Denham, looking 
 half mirthfully, half tenderly, at the winsome little face, 
 with its halo of golden hair. 
 
 Rosamond looked him over from head to foot with a 
 child's innocent scrutiny. 
 
 " Sir Toby is dressed up and finikin, but I think I could 
 like you ; only you are Joscelyn's enemy it would not do 
 for us to marry." 
 
 " I am not his enemy save on questions of state ; other- 
 wise we are good friends," said Arthur. " Remember, I 
 shall expect you to wait for me. And in the meantime you 
 must give me a keepsake." 
 
"SHE CLUNG TO HIM TREMBLING." 
 
 [Page 185. 
 
1 89 
 
 " But I have naught to give you," said Rosamond, with 
 profound gravity. 
 
 " You might spare one of these," said Joscelyn, drawing 
 the sunny curls from under the hood. "And now we 
 speak of it, I, too, would have one. Come, Denham, out 
 with your sword ; you must be executioner. Steady, Rosa- 
 mond ; I will hold both ends, and he shall not behead you. 
 There ! mine shall be placed with Clemency's picture." 
 
 " Oh, Joscelyn, show me do show me her miniature. 
 Dick told me !" cried Rosamond, far more intent on her 
 brother's marriage than on her own possible future. 
 
 Arthur Denham wandered off, leaving the brother and 
 sister to an uninterrupted talk about Clemency and all that 
 had passed at Katterham. When he rejoined them he 
 found Joscelyn already persuading the child not to risk a 
 longer stay. 
 
 " How long will you be kept prisoner?" she asked, falter- 
 ingly, as they led her down the steep slope to the gate. 
 
 " Till the fortune of war releases me," said Joscelyn. " It 
 may be for weeks or for months or But when I am free 
 I will come and see you, never fear. Barnaby will house 
 me, doubtless, and bear a message to you. Why, there he 
 is, and Robin too. May I speak with them ?" 
 
 Arthur Denham gave permission, and tried hard to win a 
 smile or a word of recognition from Rosamond. But she 
 had no thoughts save for Joscelyn, and it was on him that 
 her blue eyes rested with a long wistful gaze as she looked 
 back from her pillion before passing out of sight of the park 
 gate. 
 
 " Heyworth," said Arthur, as they went back to the cas- 
 tle, " as surely as you and I climb this hill now together, I 
 have seen my future wife. If I cannot have fair Rosamond, 
 I'll have none other." 
 
 " Why, man alive ! How can you tell yet ?" said Jos- 
 
190 
 
 celyn, smiling. " She is a mere child of twelve nay, just 
 thirteen." 
 
 " What of that ? I can wait. And, after all, by the time 
 she is seventeen I shall be but five-and-twenty. By then 
 our unhappy differences may be at an end, and you, per- 
 haps, will be willing to put up with such an alliance." 
 
 " Faith, I could wish nothing better for the child," said 
 Joscelyn ; " she has always been neglected and harshly 
 treated at home, and an early marriage will be the best 
 hope for her. I only hope this journey to Farnham will 
 not get her into trouble ; if it should ever reach my mother's 
 ears, Rosamond will be severely punished." 
 
 Arthur looked troubled. 
 
 " It was certainly a rash plan," he said. " Yet I cannot 
 regret her attempt. Nothing could more plainly have re- 
 vealed her character. Think of the courage, the daring, 
 the love, that was needed for it ! You are a dangerous 
 rival to me, I fear." 
 
 " Well, well !" said Joscelyn, with a sigh. " We talk of 
 love and marriage, you and I, but, ten to one, before the 
 war is over we shall be laid low. Do you remember the 
 look of the battle-field last month at Edgehill, with its thou- 
 sands of dead ?" 
 
 " You expect more fighting," said Arthur Denham, "while 
 I have a conviction that this cannot last long; the peace 
 we ardently desire will surely soon come. My lord Falk- 
 land is for peace, and so are most of the best men on our 
 side. Yet the best on your side, such as Mr. Hampden, 
 seem ever for war. I don't understand the reason of 
 that." 
 
 Joscelyn was about to reply, but he checked himself, feel- 
 ing with Arthur, as he did with Dick, that discussion was 
 better avoided, and being well assured that they were each 
 convinced they were fighting for the right. 
 
" There is a fine thought in your kinsman's play which he 
 lent me yesternight to read," he observed. 
 
 " What ! in the ' Sophy ?' " said Arthur. " There are some 
 fine passages in it, though methinks the father's harsh treat- 
 ment of the son is unnatural." 
 
 " I don't know that," said Joscelyn, bitterly. " Recollect 
 that he was a Mohammedan, a Turk of by-gone and more 
 cruel times. There be Christian fathers not over-tender." 
 
 " But what was the line you speak of ?" said Arthur, re- 
 gretting his inconsiderate speech. 
 
 " 'Tis spoken by one of the good courtiers entreating the 
 King to pause before condemning his son : 
 
 " 'Till time produce her wonted offspring Truth.'" 
 
 "Have you finished the play?" asked Denham. "If not, 
 let us go in now and read together in the long gallery ; or, 
 better still, let us persuade the governor to read it to us 
 himself to-night; that will save us from having out the 
 cards. I wish he were less of a gamester. Will and I 
 shall be as poor as church mice if this garrison life goes on 
 much longer, for he detests our playing for low stakes." 
 
 " You should turn Puritan," said Joscelyn, with a smile. 
 "In Mr. Hampden's regiment no unlawful games were al- 
 lowed, and a soldier caught swearing was bound to pay his 
 twelvepence, and for drunkenness they were set in the 
 stocks ; as for the officers, they were men who had never 
 been heard to swear at all, save in a court of justice. At 
 first it was hard work to rein in one's tongue, I can tell you. 
 But truly his regiment was worth far more when it came to 
 fighting than those where the discipline was less strict." 
 
 " I would there were more of such discipline among us," 
 said Arthur. " But 'tis hard to keep to moderation. Our 
 side tends to lust and license, and yours, methinks, to nar- 
 rowness and fanaticism. Maybe from the conflict betwixt 
 
192 
 
 us will spring that truth and temperance which you and I 
 both desire. Here comes the governor. Let us ask him 
 about the * Sophy.' " 
 
 Sir John Denham was pacing the terrace in front of the 
 castle ; his good-natured eyes scanned the two young men 
 from head to foot as they approached. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Heyworth," he exclaimed, in his hearty voice, 
 " I am glad to see you in better case to-day methought 
 yesternight you somewhat resembled my hero the prince, 
 who could 
 
 " ' As well endure a prison, as a wild bull the net.'" 
 
 " We were but now speaking of the * Sophy/ sir, and were 
 about to entreat you to read us the fifth act to-night, if you 
 would be so good." 
 
 " The fifth act is not the best," said the poet, candidly. 
 " Yet it opens with a passage on happiness which you might 
 well lay to heart. How say you, gentlemen, if we keep our 
 Christmas here, why should we not act the play in the hall ? 
 I dare swear that Mr. Heyworth, though a Parliamentarian, 
 is no precisian following in the steps of Prynne, the crop- 
 eared attacker of the drama. Let us cast the parts ; 'twill 
 pass the time, which, to tell the truth, goes devilish slow 
 both to freemen and prisoners." 
 
 This plan occupied them harmoniously enough during the 
 following week ; and Joscelyn, who had been chosen as the 
 representative of the prince, always connected the * Sophy ' 
 with those long days of imprisonment, with their terrible 
 craving for freedom, their sense of helplessness and lost 
 time, their sickening anxiety for news. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 The first thing you have to see to in becoming soldiers is that you 
 make yourselves wholly true. Courage is a mere matter of course 
 among any ordinarily well - born youths, but neither truth nor gentle- 
 ness is matter of course. RUSKIN. 
 
 ONE bright frosty morning the prisoner was pacing de- 
 jectedly to and fro on the terrace, watching the sparrows 
 flying happily in and out to their nests in the castle porch, 
 and from time to time looking at the two sundials fixed on 
 the side of the entrance-tower. The one near to the win- 
 dow of his bedchamber bore the motto "Pretereunt" (they 
 pass by); that above the doorway bore the word " Impu- 
 tantur" (they are reckoned to us). He thought drearily of 
 the slow passage of time, remembering with indescribable 
 wretchedness that this was but the first day of December, 
 and that his arrest had taken place on the 2oth of the pre- 
 vious month. If 'ten days seemed so intolerably long, what 
 would months or years of imprisonment be like ? And in 
 what way could these tedious hours of imprisonment be im- 
 puted be reckoned to him? How was he serving the 
 country by dragging through a weary time of inaction in 
 Farnham Castle? Was it that only in this particular way 
 his character could be trained, his powers of patience and 
 endurance and self-control developed ? Was his friendship 
 with the Denhams needful in some far-distant period of life ? 
 Could it possibly bring good to those who should come 
 after ? He was musing over these dim possibilities when 
 the sound of approaching horsemen roused him. Looking 
 down from the lofty terrace, he could see the whole length 
 13 
 
i 9 4 
 
 of Castle Street, and his heart began to throb wildly when 
 he caught sight of the blue banner of the Parliament head- 
 ing a goodly column of steel-capped cavalry, whose glitter- 
 ing armor and orange ribbons made a glowing streak in the 
 wide road between the red-tiled houses. 
 
 Instantly the garrison of the castle was all astir. Sir 
 John Denham, who had not in the least expected an attack, 
 and was far more of a poet than a soldier, gave hurried 
 orders as to the defence of the gate-house. 
 
 " The rebels have no ordnance," he observed to Arthur ; 
 "never fear but we shall be able to withstand them. A 
 hundred men within walls such as these are surely a match 
 for a crew of beggarly Roundheads." Then catching sight 
 of Joscelyn, who stood close by : " Your pardon, Captain 
 Heyworth ; I had not observed you ; and, as you know, I 
 have always maintained that your * valor deserved a better 
 fortune,' like the captive bashaws. However, since you 
 have irrevocably cast in your lot with the King's enemies, I 
 will ask you now to retire to your room, and there to await 
 what comes to pass." 
 
 It was hard to turn tamely into the castle, and impossible 
 to wait patiently. Joscelyn rushed up the winding staircase, 
 and, with what Arthur Denham would have called his "bull- 
 in-the-net " expression, flung wide the windows of the inner 
 room, letting in the sharp exhilarating air. The room was 
 in the angle of the tower, and commanded from one side a 
 view of the town, from the other a view of the gate-house. 
 Joscelyn, looking eagerly forth, could see the glittering pikes 
 and helmets of the Parliamentarians, and when the bugle 
 was sounded and the summons made, his excitement be- 
 came intense. At first he had no idea whose troop it could 
 be, but presently he caught the name which was being 
 passed from one to another of the men-at-arms just below 
 the window "Waller," " Sir William Waller!" Then in- 
 
195 
 
 deed his spirits rose. Want of ordnance would not hinder 
 one so resolute and skilful as the conqueror of Portsmouth, 
 and he wondered at Sir John Denham's scornful speech 
 and rash confidence. Meanwhile it had apparently been 
 recognized by the Royalists that the gate-house was weak, 
 for dozens of men were hurrying to and fro, bringing logs 
 and planks and every conceivable obstacle they could lay 
 hands on, till a great pile was made against the gate to 
 strengthen it from within. Scarcely, however, was this com- 
 pleted, when Joscelyn, keenly watching the proceedings, was 
 startled by a sudden flash of light, quickly followed by a 
 violent explosion. Sir William Waller had fastened a pe- 
 tard to the castle gate, and instantly it was broken to 
 pieces, so that had it not been for the great pile of wood 
 which the besieged had just placed against it, the Parlia- 
 mentarians would at once have entered. As it was, they 
 had to remove this barrier, during which a few shots were 
 exchanged, and one of the Parliamentary officers fell mor- 
 tally wounded. He had been the first to scale the barrier, 
 and lay face downward in the dust, the soldiers being far 
 too busy in clearing the road to pay any heed to him, till all 
 was ready for the onward rush of the besiegers ; then he 
 was dragged aside, and apparently being recognized as a 
 person of distinction, some one came to his aid. In the 
 meantime the governor and the whole of the garrison had 
 retired into the castle, and before long it was agreed that 
 they should yield upon quarter. The defence had been 
 slight and bad, and Sir John, who would have fought bravely 
 enough, but was lacking in all that was essential to the 
 governor of a fortress, looked greatly depressed and crest- 
 fallen. Waller had, it is true, been very nearly killed by 
 one of his own men in a narrow passage after he had en- 
 tered the castle, but he had just escaped, to the intense 
 joy and relief of the Parliamentarians. 
 
196 
 
 Meanwhile in his room in the tower Joscelyn suddenly 
 realized that he was free to come and go as he liked, that 
 he was no longer bound to obey Sir John's directions, but 
 could go down below and see what was passing. With an 
 indescribable sense of relief, he threw open his door and 
 hurried down the stairs, making his way with all speed to 
 the banqueting -hall, through the crowd of soldiers who 
 thronged the broad entrance-passage. 
 
 Beside the hearth, talking to Sir John Denham, stood a 
 dark-eyed, alert-looking officer, whose brisk yet courteous 
 manner and quietly humorous expression somehow reminded 
 Joscelyn of Sir Robert Neal. Sir William Waller was of 
 course many years younger, being at this time about five- 
 and-forty, but the slight likeness to Clemency's grandfather 
 at once attracted Joscelyn to him, and he felt confident that 
 he should be happy under his new commander. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Heyworth," said Sir John, "the tables are 
 turned, you see, and, lo ! I am your prisoner. Thus * the 
 whirligig of time brings in its revenges.' This, Sir William, 
 is my sometime prisoner, captured on the highway ten days 
 since, as he was bearing despatches to you." 
 
 Sir William's brow clouded, and he greeted Joscelyn with 
 a marked coldness and reserve. Arthur Denham, who was 
 standing close by, looked on in amazement, and clearly 
 Joscelyn felt the rebuff very keenly, for he crimsoned to the 
 roots of his hair. Waller looked at him for a few moments 
 in silence. 
 
 " I have heard of you, Mr. Heyworth," he said, " and of 
 the despatches which you were to have delivered to me 
 despatches received by you from Mr. Pym, and known to 
 be of special importance. I understand that in the neigh- 
 borhood of your home you allowed yourself to fall into the 
 hands of your father's troop, that family feeling got the bet- 
 ter of your sense of duty, and that you surrendered the de- 
 
*97 
 
 spatches to our enemies. It rests now with you to clear 
 yourself of a charge of the worst form of treachery." 
 
 At the word treachery Joscelyn's eyes flashed with a dan- 
 gerous light. " If," he said, in a voice which trembled with 
 suppressed anger, " those of my own party distrust me and 
 deem me a traitor, my assurance will carry little weight. I 
 will ask my honorable foes to tell truthfully what passed on 
 the 2oth of last month." 
 
 " Great God !" broke in Arthur, impetuously. " Is it 
 treacherous, sir, to fight when others fly, to refuse to yield 
 on quarter, to struggle single-handed against many, to be 
 struck down and stunned, robbed while but half conscious 
 of despatches, and dragged through the town a prisoner 
 bound to the stirrup-leathers of the Royalist troop ? Do 
 you deem it treachery to resist threats and bribes when 
 urged by all to explain the cipher ? Is he to be called a 
 traitor now by you, sir, who, standing a few days since 
 in that very place, was called traitor and recreant, made 
 to endure moral torture, cursed and disowned by his 
 father ?" 
 
 Waller listened attentively to this outburst; it was impos- 
 sible to read his face. He turned to Sir John and asked 
 for his version of the story, and the ex-governor, in a quiet 
 fashion, with here and there a touch of wit or a veiled sar- 
 casm, briefly related what had happened. 
 
 " Andrew, gentlemen," he added, " to settle all disputes, 
 let me hand over to Sir William these much-talked-of de- 
 spatches, which I presume he is as unable to read as I am 
 myself till Captain Heyworth explains the cipher." 
 
 Joscelyn would hardly have been human had he not felt 
 a momentary sense of triumph. He thought he detected a 
 latent gleam of amusement in Sir William Waller's astute 
 face as he beckoned him aside and asked him for the key. 
 Having furnished this, he withdrew again to the hearth, and 
 
stood talking in a low voice to Arthur Denham until Waller 
 once more rejoined them. 
 
 " Mr. Heyworth," he said, offering his hand, " I ask your 
 pardon. I have greatly misjudged you, and have been 
 misled by your former comrade, Mr. Original Smith. Tis 
 much against my practice to make tale-bearers by listening 
 to misreports, and though the man's story seemed coherent 
 enough, I blame myself for too easily giving him credence. 
 There may be a slander in hearing and listening as well as 
 in speaking." 
 
 Turning to an officer who stood near, he desired him to 
 summon Original Smith, and erelong the ex-tutor appeared, 
 glancing quickly from one to the other of the group near 
 the fire, and with much shrewdness instantly grasping the 
 situation. 
 
 "Your tale, Mr. Smith, does not tally with facts," said 
 Sir William, with much sharpness of manner. " You seem 
 to have leaped hastily to the conclusion that Mr. Hey- 
 worth intended to betray his trust, and though your former 
 comrade will not breathe a word against you, and has not 
 himself told me of your proceedings, I gather from others 
 that your chief thought was to save yourself, and that you 
 ran off without striking a single blow. Was it not so, Mr. 
 Heyworth ?" 
 
 The sight of Original Sin Smith's cropped head and prig- 
 gish face had instantly awakened in Joscelyn the old sense 
 of repulsion, but, conscious of his own prejudice, he tried 
 hard to be just. 
 
 " The word had been given, sir," he replied, " to escape 
 to the Holt Forest, for we were greatly outnumbered, and it 
 seemed the sole chance of saving the despatches. When my 
 horse fell beneath me the other men instinctively made a 
 stand against the enemy, but Mr. Smith was doubtless within 
 his rights in escaping to the forest, and in a moment of 
 
199 
 
 panic many would have done as he did. I confess it seems 
 to me that he had no call to cast so vile an imputation on 
 my honor." 
 
 " I have greatly erred," said Original Sin, " and I humbly 
 crave your forgiveness, Mr. Heyworth. Believe me 'twas 
 naught but a mistake." 
 
 " Well, well, let by-gones be by-gones, gentlemen," said 
 Sir William. " The important point is that through Captain 
 Heyworth's faithfulness we have been able to secure this 
 important castle with extraordinarily small loss of life. Had 
 he consented to read this missive when pressed to do so, 
 Sir John Denham would have known that the Close Com- 
 mittee counselled a speedy assault, and would doubtless 
 have made great preparations to receive us." 
 
 " Sir," said Joscelyn, " there is one thing I would beg of 
 you, and that is that Sir John, Mr. Denham, and the other 
 prisoners be treated with as much courtesy and kindness 
 as I by them have been treated." 
 
 " Tis well spoken," said Sir William. "And in truth 'tis 
 my constant endeavor to express all the civilities I can to 
 those of the adverse party. For are there not good men on 
 both sides ? and those so divided that, like parallel lines (the 
 both right and straight), they cannot be brought to meet." 
 
 This simile lingered ever after in the minds of Joscelyn 
 Heyworth and Arthur Denham. They parted regretfully 
 enough, having formed one of those rare and stimulating 
 friendships which can sometimes exist between those most 
 opposed to each other. We may go through life in two 
 ways, either as lovers of uniformity, jealously shrinking from 
 all that offends our taste and shocks our views of truth, or 
 as lovers of unity holding fast through evil report and good 
 report to that love of humanity that great reality of broth- 
 erhood which will outlast all differences in religion and 
 in politics. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 Ah, Life, that dost begin so fair, 
 
 With eager heart and tender kiss 
 And strokings of love's golden hair, 
 
 That thou shouldst come to this 
 This that a broken man should watch 
 
 And pray for just one day one more 
 While Death is trifling with the latch 
 
 And fumbling at the door. 
 
 NORMAN R. GALE. 
 
 THE prisoners were sent early the next day to London, 
 and Joscelyn entered upon his new duties ; he was promoted 
 to a captaincy in Sir William Waller's regiment, the rela- 
 tions between them proving specially cordial on account of 
 their mutual friendship for Hampden, and also perhaps on 
 account of the brief misunderstanding, which Waller greatly 
 regretted. As for Original Sin, he played the role of peni- 
 tent most creditably, and Joscelyn with ready generosity 
 quickly forgave, stifling the doubts which now and then rose 
 in his mind with the remembrance that his comrade had 
 been known and apparently trusted all his life by a man as 
 shrewd and wary as Sir Robert Neal. 
 
 There was much to be done in forming the garrison, and 
 Original, who showed no very keen desire for active fight- 
 ing, proved very useful as a clerk to the newly appoint- 
 ed governor of the castle, George Wither, the poet, who, 
 strangely enough, succeeded his rival, Sir John Denham. 
 
 One evening, just as the officers had met together in the 
 hall for supper, the whole castle was roused by the most 
 unearthly sound of howling and piteous wailing. 
 
201 
 
 " Some banshee must surely haunt the place," said Josce- 
 lyn. 
 
 "The ghost of poor Colonel Fane," suggested a young 
 officer, and all present thought of the unburied corpse of 
 the son of the Earl of Westmoreland lying at that mo- 
 ment in the castle, the one victim of the siege, who had 
 just succumbed to the wound in the cheek which Joscelyn 
 had seen him receive during the capture of the gate-house. 
 
 " Vain, popish superstitions," muttered Original Sin. 
 " Scripture saith that dead men sleep in their graves till the 
 last trump." 
 
 " On the contrary," said Sir William, " I think you will 
 find that Scripture saith the spirits of just men made perfect 
 are with God, the great judge of all, and that they compass 
 us about, forming a great cloud of witnesses." 
 
 " Scripture also saith, ' Thou fool, thou sowest not that 
 body that shall be,' " observed Joscelyn in a low voice, for 
 Original Sin's ghastly view of the actual living self sleeping 
 in the mould was in the last degree repulsive to him. . 
 
 " My worthy friends," said Sir Arthur Hazlerigg, bluntly, 
 " 'tis no banshee, but a dog, that makes this pitiful howling. 
 A hound baying the moon, belike." 
 
 Sir William smiled a little at the abrupt turn given to the 
 talk, and bade one of the men go without and inquire into 
 the matter. Meanwhile, Original Sin returned to his argu- 
 ment about the resurrection, and the talk waxed eager 
 again, till it was suddenly checked by an exclamation from 
 Joscelyn. 
 
 " 'Tis Cymro !" he cried, and started back from the table 
 with a look of amazement and distress ; " 'tis our dog at 
 Shortell Manor. Something must be wrong, or surely he 
 would never have found his way here." 
 
 The tawny collie called forth many a word of praise from 
 the officers, and it was touching to see his rapture of de- 
 
202 
 
 light at finding his master. This, however, soon gave way 
 to low whines of distress ; he darted back towards the door- 
 way, then returned to Joscelyn, laid his fore-paw on his knee, 
 licked his face, whined, and gazed at him with eyes full of 
 real tears, as if well-nigh broken-hearted that his master 
 could not understand his language. 
 
 " I am certain there is something the matter at home," 
 said Joscelyn, in great agitation. " I never saw Cymro in 
 such distress." 
 
 " Were anything amiss they would have sent some mes- 
 senger," said Sir William. "Was no one at the gate with 
 the dog ?" 
 
 " No one, sir," said the man who had gone forth before. 
 " They say the dog has been there this half-hour, whining 
 and scratching, and at length howling for admittance." 
 
 " 'Tis little likely that any messenger would be sent," said 
 Joscelyn ; " they no longer own me." 
 
 " To-morrow you can send your servant over to inquire," 
 said Sir William. " And now, gentlemen, I will bid you 
 good-night. I shall be glad of your services, Captain Hey- 
 worth, in my study." 
 
 " 'Tis strange," he observed, as Joscelyn set down the 
 lamp he had carried from the hall on the crowded table of 
 the general's private room. " The dog certainly seems 
 much disturbed. Do you know of any member of your 
 family being ill ?" 
 
 " No, sir," said Joscelyn. " Yet I am much afraid it is 
 for my little sister that the dog seeks help," and he related 
 to Sir William the story of Rosamond's visit to Farnham on 
 the morning of the 24th. 
 
 The general listened in silence. 
 
 " Poor child !" he said, when Joscelyn paused ; " she is 
 one of those to whom this war must bring bitter suffering. 
 Why should you not ride over yourself early on the morrow 
 
and make inquiries of this gate-keeper who is still attached 
 to you ?" 
 
 Joscelyn thanked him for the permission, and an hour 
 later, when his work was done, went slowly up to his room 
 in the tower, oppressed with miserable forebodings, and 
 only wishing that the night was over. Cymro, with an air 
 of piteous depression, stretched himself at the foot of the 
 bed, and before long, Joscelyn, weary with a hard day's 
 labor, had fallen asleep. He slept, however, but a few min- 
 utes, and woke with a horrible start, springing to his feet at 
 the sound of an imaginary bugle, and at a summons, 
 whether real or imaginary he could not tell, which had 
 spoken clearly to him the words, "You are wanted at 
 home." 
 
 With trembling hands he felt for the tinder-box and 
 struck a light, almost expecting to see a messenger beside 
 his bed. But there was no one ; only Cymro started up 
 and began to utter short barks, as if delighted to see him 
 roused. 
 
 " Hush ! Down ! Quiet !" he said, remembering that it 
 was night, and that most of the garrison slept. 
 
 " Would to God it were morning !" he exclaimed to him- 
 self, as he extinguished the light and once more lay down. 
 
 " Be quiet, Cymro !" as again the dog began to howl in 
 the most heart-rending way. "Come here! Good dog! 
 Don't rouse the whole castle !" 
 
 He patted the soft silky head and fondled the long ears, 
 gradually soothing the collie into quiet, and talking to him 
 almost as if he were a child. But his words grew gradually 
 dreamy and confused, and before long he was fast asleep. 
 
 Both dog and master indeed slept, and apparently they 
 both had a dream, for Cymro's sleep seemed as much agi- 
 tated and disturbed as the sleep of the young officer. 
 
 Joscelyn dreamed that he was standing in Rosamond's 
 
204 
 
 room at the manor; about the bed he saw his mother, 
 Isabella, the chaplain in his surplice, and the cross-looking 
 old nurse -keeper who had ruled them all in childhood 
 with a rod of iron. Something seemed to be holding him 
 back, but with a desperate struggle he freed himself so that 
 he could put the watchers aside and see Rosamond. She 
 was moaning and wailing and begging him to come to her ; 
 he saw by the look on her face that she was dying, and he 
 held out his arms to her and struggled to reach her, but 
 could not. Then the whole scene seemed to vanish, and 
 he was without in a dark place, but the piteous cry of " Jos- 
 celyn ! Joscelyn ! O God, send Joscelyn !" still rang in his 
 ears. Yet more and more the darkness seemed to baffle 
 and check him, to rise up like an impassable barrier shut- 
 ting him out from the dying child. As he struggled in 
 agony, it seemed to him that in the darkness strong arms 
 clasped him and a voice said to him clearly, " Rise and go 
 home ! Rise and go home !" He once more sprang from 
 the bed, and the action woke him. Cymro bounded up and 
 began to lick his feet, to thud the floor with his tail, to 
 utter low sounds of intense relief and pleasure. And now 
 Joscelyn hesitated no longer ; he was convinced that not a 
 moment must be lost. Hastily lighting a candle, throwing 
 on his clothes, and drawing on his long riding-boots, he 
 went to one of the adjoining rooms in which Sir William 
 Waller slept. He was relieved to find that the general was 
 awake ; a lamp still burned by the side of the bed, and Sir 
 William, who was somewhat fond of turning night into day, 
 lay comfortably reading a small volume of Plato. He lis- 
 tened with interest to Joscelyn's story.- 
 
 " You can go at once," he said. " I only stipulate for 
 two things that you go fully armed and attended by your 
 servant, and that you return on the morrow." 
 
 Joscelyn waited but to thank him, and then hurried off to 
 
HE ENCOUNTERED MORRISON HIMSELF FULLY DRESSED. 
 
 [Page 204. 
 
205 
 
 get his helmet and corselet and to summon Morrison. He 
 was chafing at the thought of the delay which would be 
 caused by rousing his man, when, to his relief and astonish- 
 ment, as he mounted the winding stair, he encountered 
 Morrison himself fully dressed. 
 
 " What !" he cried ; " you are up already ? How is that ?" 
 
 " The Lord only knows, sir," said Morrison, rubbing his 
 eyes like a man still half asleep. " I woke up with the feel- 
 ing strong upon me that I must dress and come down, and 
 gladly enough will I turn back to bed if 'tis a fool's errand 
 I've come on, for 'tis a cruel cold night." 
 
 "I. was just coming to call you. I have the general's 
 permission to ride over at once to Shortell Manor. Saddle 
 your horse as fast as you can, and I will see to my own to 
 save time." 
 
 Giving the password to the guard, they were let out of 
 the castle, and after some little delay in the stables, rode 
 out through the gate-house, which was now in process of 
 restoration. Joscelyn was astonished to learn from the 
 warder that it was but little after midnight, and realized 
 that his sleep must have been of the briefest, though his 
 dream in its misery had seemed long. The night was clear 
 and frosty, so that they were able to push on rapidly, owing 
 to the hardness of the roads, and yet how terribly long the 
 ride seemed to him ! how interminable the forest ! how 
 eagerly he strained his eyes for the first glimpse of the 
 church-tower ! At length they reached it, and glancing 
 towards the white gravestones and the lime-tree avenue 
 leading to the porch, he remembered the Sunday evening 
 when he had listened to the psalm which told of the swell- 
 ing clouds and darkness that for a time veiled the ever- 
 dwelling right and justice of God. The darkness seemed 
 to surge round him when he thought of Rosamond in some 
 strange need, some great danger, though his vigorous nat- 
 
206 
 
 ure was not one to be baffled by perplexed questionings ; 
 in his pain he held fast to the One he was trying to serve. 
 His heart nevertheless gave a great bound of alarm when 
 he saw that a light was burning in Barnaby's lodge, and 
 that as they rode up the door was flung wide open and the 
 old man came hurrying out to the gate. 
 
 " What is amiss with her ?" asked Joscelyn, hoarsely. 
 
 " Good Lord, sir," said Barnaby, in astonishment, " is it 
 you ? I had thought 'twas the doctor from Alton." 
 
 " Speak !" said Joscelyn, laying his hand imploringly on 
 the old man's shoulder, and hardly able to endure his slow 
 words. " How is she ? What ails her?" 
 
 " Whether cold or fretting I can't justly say, but she be 
 sick of a fever," said Barnaby. " Coming back from Farn- 
 ham that market-day, as ill-luck would have it, we were 
 spied by my lady, who returned sooner than expected ; and 
 though I would have told fifty lies to save the poor little 
 maid, Miss Rosamond would have none of it, but owned up 
 as brave as could be when questioned. I know they kept 
 her on bread and water for the next three days, and that 
 old Kezia was ordered to give her a sound whipping into 
 the bargain ; and belike she took a chill in Farnham Park 
 waiting for you." 
 
 With a stifled exclamation of wrath and grief, Joscelyn 
 drew up his reins and urged his horse on at a gallop. Bar- 
 naby's words had almost maddened him ; the thought of 
 the little delicate girl beaten for him, starved for him, dying 
 now through her loving effort to save him, wrung his heart 
 with an intolerable torture. 
 
 Dismounting at the door of the manor, he flung his bridle 
 without a word to Morrison and strode up the steps. Here 
 too, as at the lodge, he was mistaken for the doctor, and 
 the two serving-men hurried forward to usher him in. At 
 the farther end of the hall, leaning on his stick, stood Sir 
 
207 
 
 Thomas himself, with a face full of sadness and anxiety, 
 with eyes soft and wistful, hardly like the same man who 
 had cursed his son at Farnham Castle. 
 
 Joscelyn had no room for thought of the past or of himself. 
 
 " Father," he cried, " how is she ? Am I in time to see 
 her?" 
 
 Removing his steel cap, he crossed the hall, but Sir 
 Thomas started back as though he had seen a ghost; then 
 suddenly realizing the audacity of his son's return, the de- 
 mon of pride drove back all thoughts of Rosamond, all 
 tender feelings. The angry color mounted to his brow. 
 
 "You cursed rebel !" he cried. " How dare you set foot 
 in my house ? I have disowned you. Get you hence !" 
 
 " Rosamond has not disowned me and I am hers, and I 
 will see her," said Joscelyn, defiantly. "No one on earth 
 shall hinder me." He strode towards the staircase. 
 
 " Seize him," cried Sir Thomas, beckoning to the serv- 
 ants. " Thrust him out. You dogs, do you hesitate ? 
 Seize him this instant ! Were I not helpless with gout I 
 myself would do it." 
 
 The two serving-men, afraid to show any more reluctance, 
 came hastily forward, but Joscelyn suddenly dashed down the 
 three steps he had ascended, and before Sir Thomas could 
 so much as frame a sentence both lackeys had measured 
 their length on the floor, and the victor was striding up the 
 oak staircase, filled with a fiery strength which seemed ca- 
 pable of subduing everything. As he approached the room 
 which he had once shared with Dick, Cymro, who had dis- 
 appeared on their arrival, bounded out to greet him ; he 
 perceived that the door which led through this room to 
 Rosamond's bedchamber was standing ajar ; he could see 
 lights and hear voices. 
 
 " Joscelyn ! Joscelyn !" cried the voice he had heard in 
 his dream. " O God, send Joscelyn !" 
 
208 
 
 " My child," said the chaplain, " your time is short ; it 
 were fitting that you thought of your sins and asked God to 
 have mercy on your soul. Then I can give you the blessed 
 sacrament." 
 
 "I will not take it without Joscelyn! I do not care 
 about my soul," moaned Rosamond. 
 
 " Child ! child !" said her mother, weeping bitterly; "you 
 know not what you say. Your brother cannot come here. 
 An outcast, a rebel how is it possible ? He is lost to us 
 and to" 
 
 She was checked by feeling a touch on her arm, and look- 
 ing round, she saw Joscelyn beside her. The amazement, 
 the shrinking horror in her face wounded him sorely. Isa- 
 bella, too, started back at his approach as though he had 
 been a leper. He passed on, just conscious of the stern 
 glance of the chaplain from the other side of the bed, yet 
 with all personal resentment fading fast before the one ab- 
 sorbing thought of the dying child's wish. Her eyes were 
 closed. He took the little thin ringers which were clutch- 
 ing nervously at the coverlet in his strong grasp. 
 
 " God has sent me, Rosamond," he said, his voice falter- 
 ing a little as it fell upon the deathly stillness of the room. 
 
 The child opened her eyes, a lovely smile lighting up her 
 face. " You are free ?" she cried. 
 
 " Yes, free, and in time to save you," he said, folding her 
 in his arms and kissing her tenderly. 
 
 For a while she lay in silent content ; then just glancing 
 towards the chaplain, she said, softly : " I am sorry I did 
 not trust God. Let me have the blessed sacrament now." 
 
 Sir Thomas, limping at that moment into the room, heard 
 lier request. He looked strangely towards the disarmed 
 man holding the dying child so lovingly, and remembered 
 how but a few minutes before with fiery strength Joscelyn 
 had dashed aside those who would have checked his en- 
 
'you CURSED REBEL! HOW DARE YOU SET FOOT IN MY HOUSE?'" 
 
 [Page 207. 
 
209 
 
 trance. He listened with a dream-like feeling to what was 
 passing. 
 
 "I can scarcely administer the holy communion while 
 your brother is present," said the chaplain, doubtfully. 
 " You have seen him, my dear ; now let him go, for it is 
 not seemly that he should be here, when none of his family 
 are in charity with him." 
 
 "No, no," cried Rosamond ; "I love him. I will not let 
 him go." 
 
 " Do not grieve the poor child, sir," said Joscelyn. " As 
 for the rest of my family, they have disowned me , I am 
 naught to them; therefore my presence cannot disturb 
 them. Perchance there is no call for any special charity 
 towards strangers and foes, and, at any rate, they hate me 
 no worse than they hate others of my way of thinking." 
 
 The extreme bitterness of his tone showed how far he 
 was from accepting in truth the position of stranger and 
 alien. The chaplain looked troubled, but it was no time 
 for arguments, and all lesser questions were overshadowed 
 by his desire to administer to Rosamond her first and last 
 communion. Preparations had already been made for the 
 service, and now he dared hesitate no longer, but hurrying 
 through the short epistle and gospel, read with a trembling 
 voice the exhortation to all those who were in love and 
 charity with their neighbors to take this holy sacrament 
 to their comfort, while feeling in his heart how very hard 
 it was to ignore the figure kneeling beside the pillow and 
 supporting the sick child, even though he had represented 
 himself to be of no account whatever. Rosamond seemed 
 to gather strength as the service proceeded, joining very 
 earnestly in the prayers, and following every detail with 
 close attention. The chaplain began positively to tremble 
 as he approached the trying moment. He administered the 
 bread to Sir Thomas and Lady Heyworth, to Isabella, to 
 14 
 
210 
 
 old Kezia, who knelt almost at Joscelyn's elbow, then he 
 turned, and ignoring the outcast with an effort, passed 
 around to the other side of the bed, and with a voice that 
 shook with suppressed emotion repeated the words to Ros- 
 amond. She received the bread in her little worn hand, 
 deliberately broke it in two, and herself held one of the 
 pieces to Joscelyn. He took it, and a sort of stir a move- 
 ment of horror was heard in the room. But he was past 
 being hurt by that-, all bitterness seemed to have died out 
 of his heart when the child's hand with the gift within it 
 had been raised to his lips. As for the chaplain, his voice 
 grew strangely husky, and the next time, much to the sur- 
 prise of all, he did not pass over the disowned son, but 
 himself held the chalice to his lips an act for which he 
 was afterwards much blamed, but which he never regretted. 
 
 When the blessing had been spoken they one by one 
 drew near and kissed the child, but nobody dared to sug- 
 gest that any save Joscelyn should hold her, and when she 
 spoke they held their breath to listen ; for Rosamond, who 
 had been of so little account to them during life, had now 
 all at once become precious. 
 
 " Oh, Joscelyn," she sighed, " I am so dreadfully tired." 
 
 " That is what you said to me in the park ; do you re- 
 member ?" he answered. " And when you had eaten you 
 were better. What could you eat now ?" 
 
 " I could drink a bowl of milk," said Rosamond. 
 
 " No, my dear, no," began old Kezia, shaking her head. 
 "A fever must be starved ; so I've always been told." 
 
 "Fetch some milk," said Joscelyn, as if he had been 
 commanding a troop. And the old nurse went meekly off 
 to fulfil the order, marvelling at the change that had come 
 over her former charge. 
 
 Against all known rules, Rosamond had the milk, and 
 soon after her eyelids gently closed, and she lay breathing 
 
211 
 
 so softly that they scarcely knew whether she did still 
 breathe. Half an hour later, when the doctor from Alton 
 arrived, they almost thought he had come too late. He was 
 an old man who had had much experience, and was blessed 
 with more than the usual share of common-sense. He bent 
 low over the child, his wrinkled fingers on her little white 
 wrist, his keen but kindly eyes scanning her intently. 
 
 " Lay her down gently," he said to Joscelyn. Then 
 seeing that his meaning had been misunderstood, he added, 
 " Nay, she is not dead, but in a sound sleep a sleep that 
 will probably save her." 
 
 The sudden reaction was overpowering, and as Joscelyn 
 obeyed the doctor's orders, and turned away from the bed, 
 a violent trembling-fit seized him. With unsteady steps he 
 passed through the midst of the watchers, and, reaching his 
 old room, let himself drop onto the window-seat, more ut- 
 terly spent than he had been on the night of Edgehill. He 
 did not know whether minutes or hours passed before the 
 doctor walked through the door in conversation with the 
 chaplain. 
 
 " Well," he heard the old man say, " I will rest in your 
 chamber, as you suggest, sir, and see her again in the 
 morning. I have great hopes for her great hopes." 
 
 Their voices died away in the distance. Then his mother 
 and Isabella came in, followed slowly by Sir Thomas, who 
 closed Rosamond's door with elaborate carefulness behind 
 him. Controlling himself with an effort, Joscelyn rose and 
 went towards Lady Heyworth. 
 
 " Mother," he said, pleadingly, " will you not at least bid 
 me farewell ?" 
 
 But she shrank back, hiding her face in her handkerchief, 
 and weeping bitterly. " How can I bid you fare well in 
 your rebellion ?" she sobbed. " I cannot be disloyal to my 
 Church and my King." 
 
212 
 
 Sir Thomas, watching intently, saw the grieved look of 
 disappointed hope in Joscelyn's face, and felt a curious 
 stirring of the heart, as, spite of the rebuff, the son bent 
 low and kissed his mother's hand. 
 
 " I hear you are to be married," said Joscelyn, approach- 
 ing Isabella, and offering to salute her. " I wish you hap- 
 piness." 
 
 Isabella drew back with a gesture of contempt. 
 
 " I would as lief kiss a murderer !" she protested. 
 
 He flushed painfully, and, turning away, fastened on his 
 corselet and sword, and went towards the door. As he 
 opened it, however, Cymro, seeing him on the point of de- 
 parture, sprang up, and with low moans of distress began to 
 fawn upon him. He bent down, giving the faithful hound 
 a great hug, and letting him lick his face. " Guard her, 
 Cymro !" he said. " Guard her !" And the dog, as if he 
 understood all, went obediently and stretched himself on 
 the mat by Rosamond's door. Then with never a glance 
 towards his father, Joscelyn went out. 
 
 The pride in the old baronet's heart had, however, been 
 almost conquered. He thought of the little suffering child, 
 and of the sacrament she had forced them to share, he 
 grieved over the rebuffs Joscelyn had received from the 
 others, and his strong sense of justice made him regret 
 Isabella's bitter taunt. Was it to be wondered at that 
 Joscelyn had not ventured even to offer him a farewell 
 word ? Yet his silence cut him to the heart. He limped 
 painfully out into the corridor, and called to him to come 
 back. 
 
 " You bade the others farewell," he said. " Why had 
 you no word for me ?" 
 
 Never, perhaps, had a more unreasonable reproach been 
 uttered, a more inconsistent sentence framed, by one who 
 had disowned and cursed his son. But Joscelyn blessed 
 
213 
 
 the inconsistency, recognizing the irritable yet most deeply 
 loving heart of the father he had loved all his life. He had 
 bent low to salute his mother, but it was literally on his 
 knees that he kissed his father's outstretched hand. 
 
 " Farewell, father," he said, falteringly. 
 
 " God be with you, my son," said Sir Thomas. 
 
 And not another word passed between them, only as the 
 old man felt hot tears falling on his right hand, he placed 
 the other hand on his son's bent head. And Joscelyn 
 understood that the curse was revoked. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 Hark ! I hear the tramp of thousands, 
 
 And of armed mei> the hum. 
 Lo ! a nation's hosts have gathered 
 Round the quick-alarming drum 
 Saying, ' Come, 
 Freemen, come ! 
 
 Ere your heritage be wasted,' said the quick-alarming drum. 
 
 BRET HARTE. 
 
 NOT a little comforted by the doctor's cheering words 
 about Rosamond and by his father's wholly unexpected 
 kindness, Joscelyn rode back to Farnham Castle in the gray 
 winter's dawn. As he reached the little town the sun was 
 just rising, and recollecting in what a misery of suspense he 
 had last traversed West Street, he forgot his present weari- 
 ness, forgot that he was cold and hungry, and worn with 
 sorrow and want of sleep, his eager hopeful nature basking 
 in the happy sense of relief and hope, just as his stiff limbs 
 basked in the sunshine. At the castle he found small 
 prospect of rest. Fresh troops from London had just 
 arrived, and he learned that Sir William Waller intended to 
 set out that very night for Winchester. 
 
 " I have had but two night marches as yet," said Joscelyn 
 to his neighbor at the dining-table, when the plan fell under 
 discussion, " and one of those was the most wretched night 
 you can conceive, struggling on through the Warwickshire 
 lanes in mud that well-nigh made it impossible to drag on 
 the guns." 
 
 " Ah, you were in the memorable march to Edgehill !" 
 said Sir William, overhearing the remark. " I had forgotten 
 
you were there. Few but Colonel Hampden could have 
 pushed on in the teeth of such difficulties ; and had it not 
 been for his arrival just at the supreme moment, Edgehill 
 might have been a defeat for us. You will have many 
 a night march with me this winter, never fear , but God 
 grant this frost may last, then we shall press on merrily 
 enough. How were the roads yesternight as you rode to 
 Shortell ?" 
 
 " Hard as iron, sir," said Joscelyn. " We rode there fast 
 enough." 
 
 And then, in response to the questions that were launched 
 upon him as to his strange summons by the dog and his 
 curious dreams, he gave an account of what had passed at 
 Shortell. Sir William and one or two of the officers also 
 narrated tales that had come within their knowledge of 
 strange omens or of dreams which came true. 
 
 " Such idle superstitions are but the rags and shreds of 
 popery still lingering among us," said Original Sin. 
 
 " What ?" said Sir William, with his dry, humorous smile. 
 " Would you deny that the patriarchs oft learned the truth 
 in dreams ? Were not the Wise Men warned in like manner 
 not to return to Herod, and Joseph bidden to journey to 
 Egypt, and Peter and Paul taught that they should preach 
 to the Gentiles. All of which, you must surely allow, took 
 place before there were popes at Rome ?" 
 
 " In the times of the Bible all things were different," said 
 Original Sin, in his harsh, dogmatic way. " Now such su- 
 perstitions are of the devil, and no godly man should con- 
 sent to be led by such will-o'-the-wisps." 
 
 " Your notion of a godly man appears to be one who is 
 guided precisely by the same small ray of light by which 
 you steer your steps," said Joscelyn, with some asperity. 
 " Does it never occur to you that godly people may differ ?" 
 
 " There is but one truth Bible truth," said Original Sin, 
 
216 
 
 with decision. " I have grasped it. I hold it. No malig- 
 nant can fathom it. No carnal man, no half-hearted super- 
 stitious lover of vain forms and ceremonies can so much as 
 glimpse it. I live by it. I " 
 
 " Oh ! 1 ' broke in Joscelyn, impatiently ; " if you have a 
 monopoly of the truth, pray keep it to yourself." 
 
 " Why do you not ask him if he ran away by it on a cer- 
 tain Lord's day ?" said Sir Arthur Hazlerigg, in an under- 
 tone. 
 
 He was a man who took keen pleasure in quarrels ; but 
 Joscelyn was too courteous to act on his suggestion, and 
 availing himself of some interruption, he left the table and 
 went out onto the terrace. As he paced to and fro, his at- 
 tention was drawn to a group of soldiers who were crowd- 
 ing round some one playing on a rebec. The familiar air, 
 " Sumer is icumen in," made him think of his first evening 
 at the Court-house, when Clemency had looked tearfully 
 forth from the window as the children followed the loaded 
 wain, singing the hay-harvest song to that very tune. 
 
 He drew nearer to the musician, when what was his sur- 
 prise to recognize a well-known retainer who lived upon 
 his uncle's estate at Bletchingley, and who had occasionally 
 tramped over to Shortell at Christmas-time, bearing presents 
 from one household to the other, and generally officiating 
 as leader of the music at a Christmas dance at the manor. 
 Temperance Turner presented a comical appearance that 
 morning, his rusty old cloak serving to veil but not to hide 
 the hump on his back, his huge head made still more notice- 
 able by a steeple-crowned hat, and his humorous mouth 
 turned down at the corners into what he deemed a Puritani- 
 cal shape. He had begun by playing the " Old Hundredth," 
 and singing it right lustily in his powerful bass. But he 
 quickly found that the Parliamentary troops liked merry 
 tunes as well as other folk, and he had now relapsed into 
 
what Original Sin would certainly have termed an ungodly 
 and profane ballad. When he had ended it Joscelyn tossed 
 him a groat. 
 
 " Why, Temperance," he exclaimed, " who would have 
 thought to see you here ? Have you joined the good cause ?" 
 
 "Aye, aye, master," said the hunchback, with a twinkle in 
 his dark eyes. " All for King and Parliament be I, and 
 many's the soldier that trusts me with a message to his home 
 or sends by me a fairing to his lass." 
 
 " Who knows whether he be not a spy ?" said one of the 
 men. 
 
 " Nay," said Joscelyn, " 'tis a worthy fellow I have known 
 all my life. I would vouch for his honor as for my own, and 
 will warrant he'll do a good turn for any one of you from 
 sheer good-nature. Come, Temperance, have you brought 
 me no letter ?" 
 
 The men's suspicions were disarmed by the open way in 
 which Temperance Turner produced two letters from his 
 wallet and by the eager boyish fashion in which the young 
 captain snatched at them, and breaking the seal of one, 
 began to read as he slowly paced back to the terrace. 
 
 " A love-letter," said Temperance, winking. " Now who 
 can tell me whether any one of the name of Original Sin 
 Smith be at the castle ?" 
 
 "You've not brought a love-letter for him, aye ?" said one 
 of the men, with a laugh. 
 
 " I vow 'tis from a woman," said Temperance, his eyes 
 twinkling, as he took a third letter from his wallet. 
 
 " There he be," said one of the soldiers " yonder long- 
 faced man coming down the steps." 
 
 Temperance shuffled forward with a respectful bow. 
 
 "No vagabond minstrels should be admitted into this 
 godly garrison," said Original Sin, severely. " How did you 
 gain admittance ?" 
 
218 
 
 " So please you, master, I be no vagabond ; I be a godly 
 psalm-singer ; also a news-bearer and letter-carrier among 
 those well affected to the Parliament" 
 
 " I heard you playing a profane ballad but now," said 
 Original. " Tis not seemly not seemly." 
 
 "Nay, sir, 'twas a spiritual song," protested Temperance, 
 with the most sober face possible; and forthwith he took 
 up his rebec and bow and began dolefully to scrape out at 
 a funereal pace the gay tune of " Sumer is icumen in," which 
 was so strangely metamorphosed that a more musical per- 
 son than Original Sin might have been deceived. The 
 hunchback then paused and produced the letter once more. 
 " I come but lately from Katterham, at the other side of 
 this county, and a yeoman's wife there gave me a letter to 
 bear to one named Original Sin Smith," he observed. 
 
 "Right! 'tis for me," said Original, eagerly, the affected 
 formality fading from his face and manner as he took the 
 letter. All that was good in him seemed to be touched 
 into life by the thought of his old mother at the farm 
 far away. " Wait but to carry back a reply," he said to 
 Temperance, " and I will give you a shilling for your 
 pains, man." 
 
 Temperance raised his hat and scraped his foot ; then 
 turning towards the terrace, he again approached Joscelyn, 
 who still paced to and fro, engrossed in his letters. 
 
 Glancing round as he heard a step behind him, he sud- 
 denly confronted the eager and strangely pathetic face of 
 the hunchback. The dark eyes which could twinkle with 
 such humor and fun were full now of a dumb devotion 
 which made him think of the eyes of Cymro. Coming 
 straight back from thoughts of Clemency and dreams of 
 love, Joscelyn felt a pity and a tenderness to this poor 
 fellow which he could not have explained, but which 
 made his manner more than usually kind and winning. 
 
"'NO VAGABOND MINSTRELS SHOULD BE ADMITTED.'" 
 
 [Page 217 
 
2I 9 
 
 " You have been a good friend to me, Temperance," he 
 said. " These letters are worth their weight in gold. Now, 
 can I serve you in any way ?" 
 
 " Eh, master," said the hunchback, " you can trust me to 
 be your messenger. These many years have I hoped for 
 the chance of showing you my gratitude. For I've not 
 forgot, master ; I've not forgot." 
 
 " Gratitude !" said Joscelyn, looking perplexed ; " for 
 what ?" 
 
 " Do you not mind, master, how four years ago you saved 
 my lass from dishonor ? how you warned me what Master 
 Jervis was after ? Belike you forget, since 'tis countless the 
 ones that he has ruined ; but my lass was saved, master, 
 and 'twas your doing. I'll never forget it to you, and if 
 you'll let me be your messenger, why, a right trusty one 
 will I be." 
 
 Joscelyn was much moved by the hunchback's sincere 
 devotion. His thoughts went back to a visit which he and 
 Jervis had paid at Bletchingley during his first long vaca- 
 tion, and many forgotten details flashed back into his 
 mind. In truth, though he never realized this, it was in a 
 great degree his disgust at the shameless profligacy and 
 selfishness shown by Jervis during that summer holiday 
 which helped to mould his own character. Even in those 
 old days, when neither of them had thought of actual 
 division, Jervis had not scrupled to taunt him with the name 
 of " Puritan," and undoubtedly he had learned much, in 
 Spartan fashion, from the utter lack of self-control which 
 his elder brother had exhibited. A weaker nature would 
 almost inevitably have been contaminated, but Joscelyn, 
 with his strong will, his pure heart, his active, healthy 
 mind, had come safely through the ordeal. Now, by a 
 strange coincidence, that long - forgotten bit of knight- 
 errantry, which at the time had evoked from Jervis all the 
 
220 
 
 taunts and abuse most galling to the young undergraduate, 
 brought him this first letter from his future wife, and a hope 
 of further communication through the hunchback by no 
 means to be despised. 
 
 " I will get you a pass from Sir William Waller," he said ; 
 "then you will be able to come and go without so much 
 risk. Tell me how you got these letters ?" 
 
 " Master Dick came to my cottage early one morning," 
 said Temperance, " and asked me to guide him to Katter- 
 ham Court-house, and to make some excuse for entering 
 the grounds. We set off together, and he gave me your 
 letter, which I delivered at the house, and later on he had 
 speech with Mistress Coriton, as belike he tells you him- 
 self. Next day he and Master Jervis rode away to join Sir 
 Ralph Hopton's army, and I started on the tramp to Guild- 
 ford, and so here." 
 
 " See," said Joscelyn, taking a twenty-shilling piece from 
 his purse, "here is wherewithal to keep you for a while. 
 And if you would serve me, do this : Go at once to the 
 house of Barnaby, the gate-keeper at Shortell, and meet us 
 to-night on the road to Winchester, bringing me news of my 
 sister's welfare. Then stay in those parts a few days, and 
 bring me fresh tidings, after which I will send you back 
 with a letter to Katterham." 
 
 Temperance, greatly delighted at the trust reposed in him, 
 promised to do as he was told, and Joscelyn went off to his 
 general, ready to work all the more cheerfully because his 
 heart was ringing with Clemency's loving words and Dick's 
 congratulations. It was not till just before supper that he 
 found a moment's leisure in which to write a few hurried 
 lines to Rosamond. 
 
 " Keep up your heart, fair Rosamond," he wrote, " and 
 do your best to recover. Your loving thought of my safety 
 
221 
 
 has not been wasted, but has borne good fruit. Yet that 
 the fruit become not bitter to the taste, have a care of your- 
 self, I beg, and let me know erelong that your pains are 
 ended and your health restored. If you lack aught or find 
 yourself in any strait, send Cymro, and trust me I will come 
 to you, be the way never so difficult. Sir William Waller 
 has kindly writ a letter of protection, which I have sent to 
 Barnaby. It will save Shortell from being harassed by the 
 Parliamentarians, and had best be kept by him at the lodge, 
 in case you should be molested. We march for Winchester 
 this night. I hear by Temperance Turner that Dick has 
 joined Sir R. Hopton's army, and am in some fear that he 
 and I may find ourselves face to face in open fight. Give 
 us your prayers. I cannot forget the grief of one of our 
 soldiers at Edgehill, who died on the field, his wound hav- 
 ing so he told me been given to him by his brother, who 
 was in the King's army, and from whom he had before re- 
 ceived naught but kindness. God grant that such a sorrow 
 may not come to Dick, or to 
 
 " Your loving brother, 
 
 "JOSCELYN HEYWORTH." 
 
 The hunchback was true to his word. As they drew near 
 the appointed meeting-place that evening Joscelyn heard, 
 above the tramp of horses on the frosty road, the welcome 
 sound of the rebec, and the hundredth psalm played as only 
 Temperance could play it. The soldiers caught up the well- 
 known tune, and in the dark night their voices rang out 
 clearly .- 
 
 "All people that on earth do dwell, 
 
 Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice. 
 Him serve with fear ; His praise forth tell ; 
 Come ye before Him and rejoice." 
 
 At that moment the hunchback perceived his master, 
 
222 
 
 but the soldiers no longer wanted the rebec to lead them, 
 and sang on as they toiled up the hill, while Joscelyn talked 
 eagerly to the quaint little messenger holding to his stirrup- 
 leather. 
 
 " Does she do well ?" he asked, hopefully. 
 
 " Aye, master, right well," said Temperance. " She wakes 
 only to take food, and then sleeps again like a new-born 
 babe. The doctor says the fever has left her." 
 
 " God be thanked," said Joscelyn. " Bear her this letter, 
 Temperance $ give it to Barnaby ; he will know how best to 
 deliver it. And see you come to me this day sennight at 
 Winchester. Farewell." 
 
 Temperance took the letter, and then, drawing his bow 
 across the strings, led off boldly in the last verse of the 
 psalm, in which Joscelyn joined with the other men as they 
 rode up the long ascent : 
 
 " For why, the Lord our God is good ; 
 
 His mercy is forever sure. 
 His truth at all times firmly stood, 
 And shall from age to age endure." 
 
 After the psalm was ended, Joscelyn rode for some time 
 in silence, listening to the sound of the rebec growing more 
 and more faint. At last it died utterly away, and nothing 
 was to be heard save the rumbling of the gun-carriages, the 
 slow tramp of the foot regiments, and the sharp ring of the 
 horse-hoofs on the frosty road. Presently, as they passed a 
 stunted oak-tree half-smothered with ivy, a white owl flew 
 hooting by them, making a momentary gleam of brightness 
 in the dim starlight. 
 
 " I could envy him his powers of seeing," said Waller. 
 "Yet, though we cannot see as cats and bats and owls 
 do, we can see as saints and angels see. Often has that 
 thought come to me on a dark night." 
 
"JOSCELYN TALKED EAGERLY TO THE QUAINT LITTLE MESSENGER." 
 
 [Page 222. 
 
223 
 
 " Yet," said Joscelyn, attracted by the quiet sincerity of 
 the elder man, " in these distracted times 'tis hard to see in 
 that fashion. We fight as conscience bids us, yet see not 
 what the result will be , we see but a step before us." 
 
 "True," said Waller, "yet make but each step with the 
 will to serve God and your neighbor, and be sure that in 
 some way 'twill help in making the kingdom of heaven 
 come. And those of our foes who are true men and have 
 a zeal for righteous dealing, why, be sure they too advance 
 the good cause even while appearing to thwart it. I know 
 that the differences in your own family are distressing to 
 you." 
 
 " If there had been but one of the rest with me," said 
 Joscelyn, " I could better bear it. If Dick were but with 
 me!" 
 
 "Well, well," said Sir William, "perchance this cloud of 
 separation may, like the dark night, remind you more of 
 that spiritual eyesight we spoke on. Be it never so dark 
 outwardly, we can without the help of a candle look, in the 
 sense of our wants, up to God, and find a clear and light- 
 some passage through Christ to the throne of grace. In 
 His light alone do we see light." 
 
 " My brothers have joined Sir Ralph Hopton's army,' 
 said Joscelyn, " and may, likely enough, be at Winchester." 
 
 "They could not serve under a better man," said Sir 
 William, warmly " a noble, upright, God-fearing man. I 
 know him well, and have ever held him in high esteem. 
 We were comrades in Germany. As for the siege, I am 
 not without hopes that it may be but brief, and that when 
 summoned the city will yield upon honorable conditions. 
 The castle, oddly enough, chances to be my own inherit- 
 ance, and loath should I be that the fine old building, and 
 King Arthur's round-table that hangs there, should suffer 
 damage." 
 
224 
 
 By the time the morning had dawned, and the weary 
 men halted to refresh themselves at Alresford, Joscelyn 
 had learned to know and love his new commander. Waller, 
 though without the fascination and the extraordinary power 
 of Hampden, was a man of most sterling qualities. He 
 had served as a volunteer in Germany, fighting in the army 
 of the Protestant princes against the Emperor ; and later on, 
 as the member for Andover, he had done good service in 
 Parliament. His moderation, though little to the taste of 
 the extreme men like Original Smith, made him thoroughly 
 congenial to Joscelyn, and while deeply imbued with the 
 best spirit of Puritanism, he was much more free from prej- 
 udice than many of the leaders, acting on some questions 
 with the Presbyterians, on others with the party already 
 beginning to be known as Independents. He had gained 
 much from his experience in Germany, and his broad- 
 minded, genial nature, his tact and courtesy, together with 
 a habit which he had of making friends of those who served 
 under him, stood him now in good stead. Joscelyn found 
 him invariably kind and considerate, though when necessity 
 arose he could find fault with considerable sharpness. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 "What if, 'mid the cannon's thunder, 
 Whistling shot and bursting bomb, 
 When my brothers fall around me, 
 
 Should my heart grow cold and numb ?" 
 But the drum 
 Answered : ' ' Come ! 
 
 Better there in death united than in life a recreant. Come !" 
 
 BRET HARTE. 
 
 THE attack upon Winchester began at noon on Tuesday, 
 the 1 2th of December, and, much to Joscelyn's relief, the 
 city yielded after a siege of little more than two hours. 
 The castle, however, resisted till the following day, when 
 the Royalists sent out to treat with Waller, and Joscelyn 
 and another officer were sent as hostages to them during 
 the parley. He wondered whether by any chance Dick 
 might be in the castle, and, as he entered the beautiful old 
 hall, looked searchingly round the group of officers, meet- 
 ing on all sides glances of contemptuous scorn from the 
 Cavaliers, who clearly regarded the hostages as base rebels, 
 to whom no sort of courtesy was due. Suddenly a mocking 
 voice fell on his ear. 
 
 " I thought as much," exclaimed a young officer, lounging 
 forward from one of the stone window-seats. "Yonder, 
 gentlemen, is my Roundhead brother, crowing over the 
 conquered leaders of the ungodly !" 
 
 Turning round, Joscelyn found himself face to face with 
 Jervis, whose spirits did not appear to be much affected by 
 the loss of the city. 
 15 
 
226 
 
 " Where is Dick ? Hath any harm befallen him ? Is he 
 wounded ?" asked Joscelyn, anxiously. 
 
 "You had better have been solicitous about his safety be- 
 fore joining in the siege," said Jervis, scornfully. " Here, 
 I have a paper that may perchance please you." 
 
 With a malicious laugh he handed him a printed pam- 
 phlet, entitled " A Puritan Set Forth in His Lively Colors, 
 with Poems on the Roundhead's Character." 
 
 Joscelyn read a few lines of the poem : 
 
 "He that would holy seem in all men's sight, 
 When as he truly is an hypocrite, 
 Would be thought humble and not have decried 
 His obstinacy and spiritual pride, 
 
 That would be counted blameless from his youth, 
 This is a very Roundhead in good truth." 
 
 Having glanced at the outrageous libel on Puritan women 
 which followed, he tore the paper to bits, and was about to 
 make a stinging retort, when Dick pushed his way through 
 the throng and eagerly grasped his hand. 
 
 " I have been hoping to see you," he exclaimed. "They 
 told us Sir William Waller had taken Farnham Castle, and 
 I knew you must be free." 
 
 The two brothers withdrew to a window-seat at the other 
 side of the hall, the noisy group of Cavaliers on one hand, 
 and on the other the old round-table upon the wall, with 
 the names of Arthur's knights. In a hurried fashion Dick 
 heard all that had passed at Farnham, of Rosamond's brave 
 adventure and of that strange night at the manor, while yet 
 more hurriedly Joscelyn heard of Dick's visit to Clemency, 
 and of his prospects under Sir Ralph Hopton. Then all 
 too soon the time came for the Royalist officers to leave 
 the place, and the friendly foes sorrowfully parted, the 
 victor looking even more downcast than the vanquished. 
 
227 
 
 On the Thursday morning Joscelyn was awaiting his 
 general's orders, when a trooper rode up in hot haste de- 
 manding to see Sir William Waller on an urgent matter. 
 Joscelyn took him into the room where Sir William was 
 transacting business. The message was from Colonel 
 Nathaniel Fiennes, to the effect that when Sir Arthur 
 Hazlerigg and his troops had entered the cathedral, 
 which for want of space elsewhere had been assigned to 
 them as barracks, the mob had entered with them and 
 threatened to wreck the whole place, the soldiers becoming 
 utterly demoralized, and the intended search for treasure 
 becoming the wildest orgie. 
 
 Waller instantly hurried forth, and, mounting his horse, 
 rode as fast as possible to the cathedral, attended by 
 Joscelyn and two or three more officers. Entering by the 
 central door at the west end, they found the whole church 
 in confusion. The soldiers, partly actuated by blind zeal, 
 but to a great extent governed only by the spirit of wanton 
 destruction, which almost always seeks some outlet in the 
 first keen excitement of taking a city, had fallen furiously 
 upon the statues and ornaments of the cathedral, while all 
 the roughs in the place had poured in through the doors to 
 join in the frolic, not without hope of finding spoil. When, 
 however, they found that the plate had been previously re- 
 moved, and that the chests which they had expected to be 
 full of booty contained nothing but bones, they snatched 
 up these, and in sheer mad mischief hurled them at the 
 beautiful stained-glass windows in the choir. Joscelyn's 
 first thought was of William of Wykeham's tomb. Fighting 
 a passage through the crowd in the nave, he made his way 
 to the well-known chantry, where a desperate struggle was 
 going on. Already, apparently, some of the statues within 
 had been dragged to the ground and shattered to pieces, 
 but the effigy of the founder of the college was still un- 
 
228 
 
 harmed, and the Parliamentary Colonel Fiennes, himself a 
 Wykehamist, was making a gallant effort to save it from 
 destruction. Mindful of his own school -days, Joscelyn 
 rushed to the rescue, the attackers were driven back, and 
 he stood side by side with Colonel Fiennes guarding the 
 door of the chantry with drawn sword, and watching dis- 
 tastefully enough the havoc that was going on all around. 
 
 With much difficulty Waller contrived to exclude the 
 mob, after which the soldiers became more manageable, 
 and before long, being really in need of food and rest, they 
 began to make preparations for the night, and the con- 
 fusion ceased. The cathedral afforded too convenient a 
 resting-place to escape use as sleeping-quarters for the men, 
 but the officers received orders not to permit the defilement 
 of the place, which had so outraged all people of any refine- 
 ment during the autumn occupation of Worcester Cathedral 
 by some of Essex's troops. Still, there was much that jarred 
 upon one of Joscelyn's temperament and training. He was 
 without his father's intense feeling of reverence for out- 
 ward things ; he cared very little for forms and ceremonies, 
 and would have worshipped just as contentedly in an un- 
 consecrated as in a consecrated building. But there was a 
 certain sense of the fitness of things, a certain love of hav- 
 ing all things done decently and in order that was strongly 
 ingrained in his nature, so that it hurt him grievously to 
 see the soldiers carrying off the rails for fuel, and piling up 
 provisions on the communion-table, not because he thought 
 the act wrong, but because it offended his good taste, just as 
 in the days of his childhood, when the communion-table had 
 stood in the centre aisle of the church at Shortell, he had dis- 
 liked to see the greasy hats of the villagers thrown upon it. 
 
 When the short winter day closed in he volunteered to be 
 one of the additional officers who were to sleep in the 
 cathedral in case of further outrages, Colonel Nathaniel 
 
22 9 
 
 Fiennes having undertaken to guard the college buildings. 
 Waller, as he bade him good-night, noticed his downcast 
 look, and lingered a minute ; he had much in common with 
 Joscelyn, being a man with a quite unusual love of the beau- 
 tiful fond of music, fond of pictures. 
 
 "The church itself is unharmed," he said, "and we were 
 in time to stop some of the worst outrages. As for those 
 statues of saints, which escaped in the time of the Reforma- 
 tion, I have no power to prevent the men from destroying 
 them. You know Parliament approves their demolition, 
 and will belike erelong issue an order expressly command- 
 ing the pulling down of all market crosses and the destruc- 
 tion of images, for they find that many of the ignorant folk 
 still continue to bow down to them, contrary to God's com- 
 mand. In this matter we must ignore our personal likings, 
 and fold them up in the obedience of a soldier." 
 
 " I am glad at least that the tomb of William of Wyke- 
 ham is unharmed," said Joscelyn. And many thoughts 
 surged through his mind as one of Waller's chaplains gave 
 out the evening psalm, and through the great cathedral 
 there rang the manly voices of the Puritan soldiers in 
 
 "Oh, come and let us now rejoice, 
 And sing unto the Lord." 
 
 There was something cheering to him, something that took 
 him out of the limited view of the present, in the familiar 
 verses : 
 
 " His people doth He not forsake 
 
 At any time or tide, 
 And in His hands are all the coasts 
 Of all the world so wide. 
 
 "And with His loving countenance 
 
 He looketh everywhere, 
 And doth behold the tops of all 
 The mountains far and near. 
 
2 3 
 
 " Oh, come, therefore, and worship Him, 
 
 And down before Him fall, 
 And let us kneel before the Lord, 
 The which hath made us all." 
 
 Then for some minutes perfect silence reigned in the 
 cathedral, while every soldier knelt in prayer. 
 
 The night accommodation was far from luxurious, yet it 
 was better than that which they often had in the open air, 
 and Joscelyn was soon sleeping soundly beside William of 
 Wykeham's chantry, with his head resting on the narrow 
 door-step, and his cloak wrapped closely round him, for the 
 night was bitterly cold. 
 
 Now as he slept he dreamed a dream. 
 
 It seemed to him that as he was lying in the nave of the 
 cathedra], thinking very sorrowfully of the havoc that had 
 been made that day, some one called to him to rise. He 
 started to his feet, and found an aged bishop standing close 
 by him, and looking steadfastly into the face he recognized 
 the well-known features of William of Wykeham. The 
 bishop did not speak, but just smiled on him in a friendly 
 fashion. Joscelyn was seized with a sudden fear lest some 
 misapprehension should cause his kindness, and he said : 
 
 " It was Colonel Nathaniel Fiennes, my lord, that saved 
 your tomb from dishonor. It was he who sent the mes- 
 senger to Sir William Waller, and he who first thought of 
 the defence." 
 
 "I know that," said the bishop, "but you promptly aided 
 him ; I saw you. And now many thoughts trouble your 
 heart. Go up yonder for your answer." 
 
 He pointed towards the choir, but when Joscelyn turned 
 back and would have asked a question as to what sort of 
 answer he could possibly find there, \Villiam of Wykeham 
 had passed noiselessly away. Not a sound was to be heard 
 save the breathing of the tired soldiers and the sighing of 
 
23' 
 
 the night wind as it blew through the broken windows. 
 Joscelyn walked slowly between the ranks of sleeping men 
 in the nave, and pacing eastward made his way through the 
 choir, wondering where his answer was to come from. Sud- 
 denly he perceived that beside the communion-table stood a 
 cloaked figure, and he wondered whether one of the officers 
 had been roused from sleep, and for a moment half fancied 
 that Colonel Fiennes had returned ; then something in the 
 manly, upright bearing made him think of Hampden, and 
 he pressed eagerly forward. If he could only ask Colonel 
 Hampden's opinion, and know how he felt in being pledged 
 to work with those who in many ways so greatly went 
 against his personal likings ! Could it possibly be Hamp- 
 den ? But as he approached he saw that it was not so, for 
 this man's hair was unflecked with gray, and of another 
 color darker than his own, lighter than Dick's. Still, he 
 had an unaccountable feeling that it must be some one he 
 knew, and was puzzled, as he drew nearer, to find that the 
 face was one he had never seen either in life or in pictures. 
 It was the face of a hero, the face of one who had con- 
 quered ; and Joscelyn, soldierlike, found himself wondering 
 in what war this man could have been. " Here is one who 
 ought to rule," he thought to himself, " for in truth he is a 
 king of men." But the man was clad like any ordinary 
 man ; indeed, his simple garb would have been scorned by 
 many of the rich men of those times. 
 
 He was looking thoughtfully down at the soldiers' rations 
 heaped on the communion-table. Joscelyn wondered at 
 his calmness ,* but wherr their eyes met he wondered no 
 more, for there was something far-seeing and all-embracing 
 in the hero's look something which said more plainly than 
 words, " I see the soul of goodness in things evil." The 
 face was the face of a man one would not scruple to stop 
 in the street to ask the way, it was so truthful and kind ; 
 
232 
 
 the manner was full of considerateness, yet perfectly gen- 
 uine and free from artificiality. Joscelyn gave him the 
 customary greeting of the day, and began eagerly to tell 
 him of his perplexities ; it was impossible to feel the least 
 reserve or the least fear when face to face with one who 
 evidently understood. When he paused there was a brief 
 silence. Then, with a kind glance at him, the man said : 
 " You are weary and homesick. Many troubles have of late 
 come to you, and it is quite natural you should grieve when 
 those with whom, from a sense of duty, you have sided 
 wreck and destroy what was meant to be the glory of 
 God." 
 
 " The place is dear to me," said Joscelyn. " As a lad I 
 came here to worship. I cannot endure to see it spoiled." 
 
 " I know I understand you I remember," said the man ; 
 and his eyes filled with tears, so that Joscelyn wondered of 
 what past scene he could be thinking, but found great com- 
 fort in his sympathy. 
 
 " Why must such things be ?" he cried ; " why must they 
 be?" 
 
 " What has been abused must ofttimes be seemingly de- 
 stroyed," replied his companion. " Be patient. There is 
 a time of restitution." 
 
 Joscelyn glanced round the desolated place, and for the 
 first time noticed that the ground was strewn with books 
 prayer-books, psalters, and Bibles. He picked up one of 
 these last and looked indignantly at its torn and mangled 
 leaves. 
 
 " See !" he cried " They have even torn the Word of 
 God !" 
 
 " Is there aught new in that ?" said the man, sadly, and 
 with a strange far-away look in his eyes. " Has not that 
 been done by friend and by foe, by believer and by unbe- 
 liever, these many years ?" 
 
233 
 
 Joscelyn was silent, and began to muse on the meaning 
 which lay beneath his companion's words. 
 
 " Remember," added the man, in the tone of one making 
 excuse for those beloved, " that they who did this were ig- 
 norant and knew not what they did, but thought they were 
 serving the truth. I judge them not, neither should you. 
 The Word of God has to receive wounds which pain Him 
 more than these. Come and see." 
 
 He led the way down the steps, and they passed among 
 the sleeping soldiers. Most of them slept soundly, but some 
 dreamed, and Joscelyn was astonished to find that he could 
 see hovering over such the subject of the dream. They 
 paused beside a young soldier who was stretched at full 
 length on one of the benches. Above him hovered three 
 men branded in the cheeks and forehead, and with their 
 ears cut off. 
 
 " This soldier," said the man, " was a London apprentice, 
 and stood in Palace Yard when honest men still living on 
 this earth suffered in the pillory for their opinions. You 
 see how cruelly these temples of God were marred." 
 
 They passed on till they came to the bishop's throne, and 
 here, with his head resting on the cushions, lay a gray- 
 haired officer. Above him hovered the likeness of a fair 
 young girl with downcast eyes and cheeks wet with tears. 
 
 " It is his daughter," said the man, sorrowfully. " She 
 was ruined by a false-tongued courtier a 4 " Whitehall." 
 
 They passed on, stepping over the debris of many images, 
 and paused by a white-haired veteran of fourscore years. 
 Joscelyn remembered that he had seen this bitter-looking fa- 
 natic hew down a beautiful representation of the shepherds 
 worshipping the Babe of Bethlehem. But above him there 
 floated now a dream-picture which made the two spectators 
 shudder. It was the figure of a young woman bound to a 
 stake ; flames were licking her bare feet. 
 
234 
 
 " It is his mother," said the man, in a voice that trembled 
 with emotion. " As a lad he saw her burned at Smithfield. 
 He cannot forget." 
 
 They walked on a little farther, till Joscelyn paused be- 
 fore a tomb on which had been a representation of Christ 
 at the grave of Lazarus, which he well remembered, and had 
 always specially loved to look upon. 
 
 " They have destroyed the Christ !" he cried, in real 
 grief. " Surely they might have reverenced this this that 
 Dick and I both held dear in the old days." 
 
 The man smiled kindly. " I am glad you held it dear," 
 he said. " Yet, after all, there was little need of the stone 
 image when the living presence was near you. Neither was 
 it a true likeness. The statue represented an unnatural 
 face, not a true man's face a man tempted, troubled, lonely 
 like you." 
 
 " Was he in truth really tried as I am ?" said Joscelyn, in 
 astonishment; for, like most people, he had never grasped 
 the truth that Christ, when born on the earth, had emptied 
 himself of all that could give him advantage over others, 
 that he was literally " of no reputation," and was " found in 
 fashion as a man." 
 
 " Is it not so written ?" said his companion. 
 
 " Yet I ever thought it was far easier for him," said Jos- 
 celyn. " Was he, save for sin, just like one of us ? Had he 
 in truth all the natural wishes and cravings of a man? 
 Had he to struggle for self-control ? Was he truly tempted 
 as we are ?" 
 
 "In all points," said his companion. " But I see you do 
 not yet understand what you have seen this night. Let it 
 teach you that humanity is the temple of the living God. 
 Let it show you who is in truth the Word of the Father. 
 Let it prove to you that in harming one another you crucify 
 him afresh, that in serving one another you are serving him." 
 
235 
 
 " How do you understand so well, sir ? How do you 
 know ?" said Joscelyn. 
 
 His question remained unanswered for a minute ; but as 
 they stood there beside the shattered image of the Christ, 
 he felt constrained to look into his companion's face, and it 
 seemed to him that he saw there the well-spring of all wis- 
 dom and power and love. It was as if new life were being 
 poured into him. 
 
 " How can such as you feel for one like me ?" he fal- 
 tered. 
 
 The man looked into his eyes, and smiled with the 
 strong patience of one who had learned to wait. 
 
 "Am I not your kinsman?" he said. 
 
 Then at last Joscelyn knew that he was talking with the 
 Hero of Love, and remembering in what fight this con- 
 queror had overcome, and for the first time noticing that 
 marks of the conflict were still left, he thought his heart 
 must have broken with love and gratitude had not a strong 
 hand clasped his closely had not he realized that love is 
 immortal. 
 
 " My Lord and my God !" he cried. 
 
 And with the words on his lips he awoke. 
 
 The cold gray light of the winter's morning filled the 
 cathedral and lit up the fallen statues and the unharmed 
 effigy of William of Wykeham. Birds flew singing through 
 the shattered west window, and the bugle sounded the re- 
 veille. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 Do you call it power in a child if he is allowed to play with the 
 wheels and bands of some vast engine, pleased with their murmur 
 and whirl, till his unwise touch, wandering where it ought not, scatters 
 beam and wheel into ruin ? Yet what machine is so vast, so incogni/- 
 able, as the working of the mind of a great nation ; what child's hand 
 so wanton as the word of a selfish king? RUSKIN. 
 
 41 WRITTEN AT THE COURT-HOUSE, KATTERHAM, 
 
 " This 12th day of January. 
 
 " MY DEAR FAITH, I was right glad to hear that my 
 letter telling you of our betrothal had been received by 
 you, for in truth I ever commit a letter to the post nowa- 
 days with many misgivings, since not only the chances of 
 war are against its safe delivery, but grandfather says the dis- 
 pute as to the postmaster still occupies the Parliament, and 
 that though the sequestration of Witherings (to whom we 
 owe so much in the establishing of the eight main postal 
 roads) hath been declared by vote to be illegal, yet the 
 quarrel has led to an affray in which some laid violent 
 hands on the mails, and this may belike happen again. I 
 wish from my heart we were on one of the direct roads, 
 then we should with much less delay receive our letters ; still, 
 we should not grumble, being much better off than would 
 have been the case seven years ago. Moreover, we have 
 found a trusty private messenger whom we may lawfully 
 employ between ourselves, one Temperance Turner, who, 
 out of gratitude to my dear love, will tramp all over the 
 country betwixt him and me. Since I last wrote you I 
 have seen Mr. Richard Heyworth. He was staying at 
 Bletchingley, and most good-naturedly walked over here 
 
237 
 
 bearing me a letter from Joscelyn. The letter contained 
 heavy news, for he wrote as a prisoner in Farnham Castle, 
 but since then I have heard of his speedy release, so you 
 need not be troubled at it. Mr. Richard Heyworth is a 
 fine young officer with very good manners, and in his way 
 of speaking he resembles Joscelyn, but otherwise they 
 are not much alike. He was full of kind thoughts for us in 
 our trouble, and ready to serve us in any way, and even 
 had he been a churl I must have liked him because of his 
 devotion to his brother. They are to each other like David 
 and Jonathan, and it is a sore grief to them that in this war 
 they are opposed to each other. He had with him a hunch- 
 back, the messenger of whom I write Temperance Turner 
 by whom I sent a letter to Farnham, and, to my great 
 joy, the man came back at Epiphany, bringing a long letter 
 from Joscelyn at Chichester. He has already seen much of 
 the horrors of war, but he likes Sir W. Waller, his new com- 
 mander, and wrote me many matters of interest with regard 
 to the siege of Winchester. From Winchester they marched 
 to Chichester, having a weary time of it, for there was a 
 great downfall of heavy rains, and he says that for nine 
 days and nine nights they never knew what it was to have 
 a dry garment on them, and were forced to lie in the open 
 fields. He spent his Christmas Day in the siege of Chi- 
 chester, but on the 2gih the city yielded, the King's party 
 being worn out and unable to support the fatigue of the duty, 
 all of which lay upon them, as the citizens were mostly favor- 
 able to the Parliament and ill pleased at the Royalist com- 
 mander for exposing them to the miseries of a siege. Josce- 
 lyn says there, as also at Winchester, great damage was done 
 to the cathedral, the soldiers breaking the painted window 
 facing the bishop's palace, and smashing monuments, break- 
 ing in pieces the communion - table and the railings about 
 it, the pulpit and the benches and pews, tearing up Bibles 
 
238 
 
 and prayer-books, and acting like wild school-boys too long 
 kept at their tasks. All of which you can fancy is highly 
 distasteful to one of his turn. But he writes, ' Better they 
 should do this than fall upon helpless women and children, 
 as is so often the case when the conquerors enter a city 
 after a siege.' It seems a sad pity that the fine organ in 
 the cathedral should have been pulled down by Waller's 
 men, and it must have been little to the liking of the com- 
 mander, who, Joscelyn says, hath a great love for music. 
 But the leaden pipes were like to be of great use, so down 
 it must come. When will this weary war be over ? I grow 
 sick with the thought of the dangers that may too likely 
 beset you at Gloucester. Would that by some magic I 
 could hear from you each day ! But belike that would not 
 be good for our faith ; we might grow to depend on the 
 magic message rather than on God's care and our com- 
 munion with him. 
 
 " Joscelyn is now marching into Wiltshire. God send he 
 may not fall ill with this bitter cold weather ! But he is 
 strong and hardy, and a good courage carries one through 
 many discomforts. We heard this day from London that 
 the Parliamentary garrison at Cirencester had resisted and 
 repulsed the Royalist attack. This is good hearing, yet I 
 like not to think of the war so near your parts. Christmas 
 was the most desolate I ever knew. Heavy rain fell all the 
 day, and though the carol-singers came round at dark, and 
 the tenants all received their plum-puddings on the eve, yet 
 there seemed no merriment save among the children, who, 
 thank God, can forget the cloud overshadowing the land. 
 Nurse was much pleased with your message. She is just 
 turning your blue cloak for Hester, who had outgrown hers. 
 I marvel that your mother-in-law expected a bride to be 
 clad in sad-colored raiment, nor can I see that there is 
 aught carnal in bright colors ; so long as a dress be modest 
 
239 
 
 and not over-costly, why must it be sombre in hue ? You 
 should quote to her Joseph's many -colored coat; and is 
 there not much as to bright colors in the book of St. John's 
 Revelation? From Chichester Joscelyn sent me by his 
 messenger a betrothal ring. 'Tis of plain gold, and the 
 posy is ''Pro Christo et patriaj than which methinks we could 
 have no better motto. I long to talk of many matters with 
 you, dear Faith. Hester is over-young, and were it not for 
 Mrs. Ursula and for Charlotte, who are both of them ever 
 ready to talk of Joscelyn to my heart's content, I do not 
 know how I should fare. Mrs. Arbella shakes her head 
 over our betrothal, and says she had hoped I had made up 
 my mind to single blessedness ; sometimes when she talks 
 with that pitying contempt of men, as though they were all 
 far beneath her, I feel moved to anger, but grandfather 
 says 'tis but natural, since her father was a self-willed tyrant 
 and made her youth miserable. Dear Mrs. Ursula is differ- 
 ent, and though even she thinks most men bad, she can be 
 brought to admit that there are exceptions. Yesterday we 
 had a visit from the Evelyns of Wotton. Mr. John Evelyn 
 was as witty and pleasant as ever. While his elder brother 
 talked with grandfather he walked with me in the garden, 
 telling me of many improvements he hopes to make at 
 Wotton with his brother's permission, notably a fish-pond 
 with an island upon it and some arbors, besides a room 
 which he may use as his study. I was glad to talk with 
 him, feeling that day sad at heart about Joscelyn's danger. 
 I told Mr. Evelyn of my betrothal and of my anxieties ; and 
 though, as you know, he holds not with the Parliament, no 
 one could have been more kind and understanding. Also, 
 he remembered seeing Joscelyn at the time of your wed- 
 ding, and spoke warmly of him. He explained to me his 
 own position. His uncle Sir John Evelyn of Godstone is 
 of course all for the Parliament, but Mr. Evelyn holds on 
 
240 
 
 most points with the King, though disapproving of his arbi- 
 trary measures. He therefore holds aloof from the war 
 and lives retired at his brother's house at Wotton, journey- 
 ing now and again to London. He bade me turn my 
 thoughts to gardening when anxious and troubled. ' The 
 air will be medicine to you,' said he, * and the work will 
 cheer your spirits, and in watching the slow growth and im- 
 provement of your pleasaunce you will learn that 'tis only 
 ill weeds that grow apace.' 
 
 " By the next opportunity we shall send you six robes 
 and the shifts and flannels which Monnie wore as a babe. 
 Charlotte takes the opportunity when the children are 
 tucked up at night to make you two wondrous smart lying- 
 in caps, in which you will be able to receive your Glouces- 
 ter friends when they come for the cake and caudle. Have 
 a care of yourself, dear Faith. I could wish you were here 
 in this remote country-side, where, as Mr. Evelyn said the 
 other day, it seems scarcely credible that we are not above 
 eighteen miles from London, and where since the attack on 
 the house last August we have been in no way troubled by 
 the war. My grandfather sends you loving messages and 
 his regards to your husband. Your loving sister, 
 
 "CLEMENCY CORITON. 
 
 " P.S. I forgot to say that Joscelyn is in somewhat bet- 
 ter case with Sir Thomas Heyworth, who spoke kindly to 
 him in their mutual trouble about Rosamond's illness. She 
 came near dying of a fever, but is now almost recovered. I 
 have a great wish to see her ; she must be an extraordinary 
 brave child." 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 No tame and tutored echo she 
 
 Of all upon her lover's lips ; 
 She scorns to bear across her soul 
 
 The changeless shadow of eclipse ; 
 But full of fire and living help 
 
 Discovers to my blinder eyes 
 Green alleys that may wind who knows ? 
 
 To peace and paradise. 
 
 NORMAN R. GALE. 
 
 ONE February day, when the lamp had just been lighted 
 in the study and Clemency had begun her usual hour's read- 
 ing with her grandfather, they were startled to hear sounds 
 as of some visitor arriving. No guest had been bidden, and 
 it was late in the day for any one to arrive from the neigh- 
 borhood. Clemency had a sort of wild hope that it might 
 be her lover, but this vain imagination was speedily dis- 
 pelled, for the serving -man threw open the door of the 
 study and announced " Mr. Bennett." 
 
 Any one more utterly unlike Joscelyn it would have been 
 impossible to conceive, for while the one was eager, boyish, 
 and high-spirited, the other was old for his age, grave and 
 sober, and seemed never to shake off his business cares. 
 And now a fresh anxiety appeared to weigh heavily upon 
 him, so that she instantly guessed that something was 
 amiss with Faith. 
 
 " You bring us ill news ?" she said, tremulously. 
 
 "Nay," he said, "you must not be frightened. But we 
 are anxious about Faith, very anxious. She had a great 
 shock, some foolish body describing in her presence all the 
 16 
 
242 
 
 horrors that went on when the King's troops pillaged Ciren- 
 cester. And when the next day the army advanced to 
 Gloucester and summoned it, she was grievously upset." 
 
 "Gloucester summoned?" said Sir Robert. "We had 
 heard nothing of that." 
 
 " ' Tvvas on the second of this month," said Christopher 
 Bennett, "but Colonel Massey and the mayor having re- 
 plied twice that they held the city for the Parliament, and 
 would only deliver it upon an order from those in authority, 
 Prince Rupert retired to Cirencester again, and for the time 
 all is peaceful. As soon as I could safely leave Faith I 
 came to London, and while there I obtained a pass from 
 Parliament permitting Mistress Coriton with attendants to 
 travel, being not without hope, sir, that you would permit me 
 to take my sister-in-law back to Gloucester, where, in truth, 
 she is sorely needed. I know not how my poor little wife is 
 likely to fare in her trouble , and her cry is all for Clemency." 
 
 " We were never parted before," said Clemency, " and I 
 saw from her latest letter that she was sad at heart. Oh, 
 grandfather, pray let me go to her." 
 
 " It is an ill time for a maid like you to be travelling," 
 said Sir Robert, doubtfully. 
 
 " But Christopher will be there to take care of me," said 
 Clemency ; " and I have no fears. Charlotte will take good 
 care of the children, and if you would spare me " 
 
 " It is not a question of my sparing you," said Sir Rob- 
 ert, " but whether I ought to permit you to run such a risk. 
 As for the children, they will be safe enough here, and 
 doubtless Mrs. Ursula and Mrs. Arbella will take compas- 
 sion on them. Charlotte, if I mistake not, will insist on go- 
 ing with you." 
 
 " I had never thought of that," said Clemency. " May I 
 speak with her at once and see what she says to the plan ?" 
 
 Having received Sir Robert's permission, she hurried up 
 
243 
 
 to the third floor, where in the nursery she found, to her re- 
 lief, that Charlotte Wells, the faithful servant who had been 
 in the family ever since Clemency's own babyhood, was sit- 
 ting alone at work. " The children are having a game of 
 'all hid,' " explained the nurse, glancing up for an instant, 
 her needle flying in and out of her work as she talked. 
 " 'Tis the best game to keep them happy these cold days 
 when they are kept in the house. Was that a news-letter 
 brought to the house awhile ago ? I thought I heard a 
 horseman ride up." 
 
 Then Clemency told of Mr. Bennett's arrival and of the 
 news of Faith. Charlotte let her busy needle rest for a 
 minute and listened attentively. She was a woman of about 
 forty, dressed in a straight linsey gown and neat white cap 
 and apron. Any one looking at her must have been struck 
 with the intelligence and the kindliness of her face ; there 
 was something characteristic, too, in her brisk, active move- 
 ments, but only those who had long known her fully under- 
 stood the beauty of her character, with its rare unselfish 
 devotion, its absorption in the needs of other people. Sir 
 Robert had surmised rightly; Charlotte at once proposed 
 that she should go to Gloucester, and before Clemency 
 could even hint at difficulties or dangers the busy needle 
 was flying in and out of the work again, and she was rap- 
 idly settling what must be done. 
 
 " I will finish off this cloak , there is not more than half 
 an hour's work in it," she said, in her brisk voice, "and 
 then, my dear, I must pack our clothes as closely as may be, 
 for I know well Mr. Bennett will grumble if we carry much 
 with us. I never yet knew a gentleman that could put up 
 with many packages. As for the robes and the caps and 
 things, why, they must go in any case. But there can be 
 no call for you to take more than one complete change of 
 clothes, for there is not like to be much company to enter- 
 
244 
 
 tain ; folks are overmuch occupied for amusements now. 
 Then for the children, I know the other servants will look 
 well to them, and, my dear, why should you not persuade 
 your grandfather to ask the ladies from the Dower - house 
 to stay here while you are gone ? They would be company 
 for him, and would help to keep things going rightly in the 
 household." 
 
 In the end this was really arranged, and the next morn- 
 ing Mrs. Ursula came hurrying across the wet grass in the 
 park to take a last farewell of Clemency and receive direc- 
 tions from Charlotte as to the management of little Monnie. 
 Her kind, strong face was the first thing which Clemency's 
 eyes rested on when she woke, somewhat later than usual, 
 after a restless night 
 
 " You look tired, my dear," said Mrs. Ursula, kissing the 
 girl's flushed face, and smoothing back the disordered chest- 
 nut hair. " I fear you have been too much excited to sleep 
 well." 
 
 "I am glad to be awake," said Clemency, "for I have 
 had naught but ill dreams. Christopher told us last night 
 of the poor prisoners who were dragged by the Royalists 
 from Cirencester to Oxford. Had you heard about them ?" 
 
 " Nay," said Mrs. Ursula j " we heard merely that Prince 
 Rupert had taken Cirencester. What of the prisoners ?" 
 
 " Cirencester was pillaged, and as for the prisoners nigh 
 upon twelve hundred of them they were thrust into the 
 church, without food or drink, many of them being sorely 
 wounded. Some were ransomed, but though the money 
 was received, the officers insisted on their going to Oxford 
 to swell the * Triumph,' as they called it, and be marched 
 past the King. On the morrow they were tied together in 
 couples and driven half naked along the muddy roads, 
 goaded and beaten as though they were beasts. Among 
 them, Christopher said, were many gentlemen and ministers 
 
245 
 
 and townsfolk, besides the regular soldiers and officers. 
 When they got to Witney they were again thrust into the 
 church without food for the night, and the next day were 
 driven on to Oxford, and taken with much triumph through 
 the streets, where the King and many of the nobles, be- 
 sides people of the city, came out to look upon them and to 
 smile at their misery. Among them, they say, was a proper 
 handsome man with very white skin where it could be seen 
 for the blood of his wounds. He, not being able to go, was 
 set naked upon the bare back of a horse, his wounds gaping 
 and his body smeared with blood ; yet he sat upright upon 
 the horse with an undaunted countenance, and when near 
 the King a brawling woman cried out to him, ' Ah, you 
 traitorly rogue ! you are well served.' Then he, with a 
 scornful look towards her, uttered a word of reproach, and 
 instantly dropped from his horse." 
 
 " Dropped down dead, do you mean ?" said Mrs. Ursula, 
 with a shudder. 
 
 " Yes, at the very feet of the King. And all night I have 
 seen this again and again, and each time the prisoner had 
 the face of Joscelyn." 
 
 " Yet it is not likely that he would have been at Ciren- 
 cester ; had Sir William Waller's army been there the place 
 would scarcely have been taken," said Mrs. Ursula. " And 
 certainly Mr. Bennett would have known had it been so." 
 
 Clemency admitted that this was probable, and with the 
 morning sunshine and Mrs. Ursula's calm reassuring voice 
 she soon escaped the terror into which her dream had 
 thrown her. " Oh, if all the King's followers were but like 
 you!" she sighed, throwing her arms round Mrs. Ursula's 
 neck. " Yet how you can find it in your heart to desire 
 the triumph of a king who cares so little for the sufferings 
 of his people passes my understanding." 
 
 "I honor his office," said Mrs. Ursula. "As a man he 
 
246 
 
 hath doubtless some faults, though even you must admit 
 that he also has many virtues." 
 
 " He hath great love to his wife and children, doubtless," 
 said Clemency, "but there is no special merit in that; most 
 decent men have as much. And they say he is religious, 
 but 'tis methinks a strange religion which can permit a man 
 to break faith, to deceive, to be wholly without truthfulness. 
 As to honoring the office, why, if he has abused the office I 
 should think God would remove him from it as Saul was 
 removed." 
 
 " Child," said Mrs. Ursula, " you are young, and the 
 young are hard. Do not judge one the difficulties of whose 
 position you know not. 'Tis no small thing that a prince 
 trained in the corrupt court of King James hath grown up 
 pure- hearted and well-meaning. And now do not let us 
 say more of matters whereon we differ. Here is your bowl 
 of milk and a manchet, every morsel of which you must eat, 
 for who knows where you will dine, or when ?" 
 
 She bustled about, helping in all the manifold prepara- 
 tions for the journey, and her kind face was the last Clem- 
 ency's eyes rested on when, mounted on her pillion behind 
 Christopher Bennett, she -looked sorrowfully from one to 
 another of the little group gathered at the great door to 
 see them start on their travels. There was her grandfather 
 looking wan and haggard as if he had slept little, and Hes- 
 ter very white and quiet, and Prue dissolved in tears, and 
 Hal waving his hand and shouting words of good cheer. 
 Lastly there was Mrs. Ursula, trim, erect, vigorous, stand- 
 ing by the large rounded box-bush and holding up little 
 Monnie in her strong arms. 
 
 The journey was a tedious one, and owing to the position 
 of the King's troops they were obliged to take a circuitous 
 road. Fortunately the weather proved all that could be 
 wished, and spite of the anxiety about Faith and the many 
 
247 
 
 perils of the way, Clemency contrived to get some hours of 
 real enjoyment during that strange week, as they journeyed 
 along the rough roads in the mild, still February days, with 
 their misty brightness and their first faint promise of spring. 
 
 When they reached Gloucestershire the possibilities of 
 enjoyment grew more difficult, for here the country showed 
 marked signs of the wretchedness of war. Several times 
 they passed houses that had been wantonly burned by the 
 dreaded " Prince Robber," as in these parts he was invari- 
 ably called, and Clemency was often haunted at night by 
 the sad sights which had forced themselves on her notice 
 during the day's ride haggard, broken-hearted women, 
 children ragged and half starved, men suffering from griev- 
 ous wounds, or hopelessly maimed in the strife. 
 
 " You might give them just an alms," suggested Char- 
 lotte, whose kind heart ached at the sight of so much 
 misery. And with the help of her trusty servant Clemency 
 procured at the next inn a handful of groats, half-groats, 
 and pence in exchange for a crown, and found some pleas- 
 ure in seeing the sad faces brighten as they received this 
 trifling help. Once as she was riding very wearily one 
 clear cold afternoon, holding with one hand to Christopher 
 Bennett and in the other hand keeping a groat ready for 
 the next needy person they met, her eye happened to fall 
 on the motto engraved on the coin, in which the King was 
 described as the Protector of Religion, English laws, and 
 free Parliaments. As she mused on the words it seemed 
 to her more and more difficult to understand the position of 
 Mrs. Ursula and Mrs. Arbella, and, recalling all that she 
 had so often learned from her grandfather of the terrible tyr- 
 anny and injustice which had caused the present war, her 
 heart grew hot with indignation against the one who was re- 
 sponsible for so much suffering and wrong. Only now did 
 she fully realize how great the evil must have been which 
 
248 
 
 led a man like Colonel Hampden to face for the country he 
 so much loved all the horrors of civil war. Nothing could 
 have led such a one to adopt that desperate course but a 
 disease that threatened to destroy the liberties of England. 
 
 "Clemency," said her brother-in-law, "look yonder! 
 There is the tower of the -cathedral." 
 
 She turned and saw with a throb of delight the beautiful 
 tower standing out distinctly against the sunset sky, and in 
 her intense relief at the thought of being near to Faith, her 
 face softened and her indignation died away. 
 
 "The young Mrs. Ursula said it was hard," she thought 
 to herself. '" I hope I shall grow less ready to judge hard 
 judgments. I will try to think of what she said about the 
 King's ill training, and of what grandfather says of his bad 
 advisers and the Queen's evil influence. Belike there be 
 but few men who would have acted differently under the 
 same conditions." 
 
 A wretched-looking trio by the way-side here attracted 
 her attention a man with scarred face and but one leg ; a 
 woman in the last stage of exhaustion clasping in her arms 
 an infant so tiny that it seemed scarcely human. The sight 
 of its poor little shrivelled face made the tears rush to 
 Clemency's eyes ; to her dying day she could recall it. 
 With a word of pity she dropped her groat into the hand of 
 the mother. As for Charlotte, she made Mr. Bennett's man 
 stop his horse, and, taking off her own warm shawl, held it 
 towards the poor wayfarer. 
 
 "Wrap it round yourself and the babe, my dear," she 
 said in her motherly voice. " 'Tis the only chance of sav- 
 ing you." 
 
 It was almost dark as they rode over the bridge and 
 through the gateway into Gloucester, and Clemency was so 
 weary that she could scarcely stand when one of the serving- 
 men lifted her from her pillion. They were at the south- 
 
249 
 
 east corner of the close or, as it was called, College Green 
 and in the dim light Clemency could just discern the 
 huge dark outline of the cathedral. Then Christopher Ben- 
 nett gave her his arm and led her up the path to a gabled 
 ivy-covered house, and in a minute she was standing beside 
 the hearth in a snug wainscoted parlor, with Faith clinging 
 to her, half laughing, half crying. 
 
 " You are better ?" said Clemency, anxiously. 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Faith, "and nothing matters now that 
 you have come." 
 
 Clemency thought those were the sweetest words she had 
 heard for many a day. And really it seemed as though her 
 arrival had put new life and vigor into poor Faith. She be- 
 gan to look upon the bright side of things, and there was so 
 much to talk over with Clemency that she had little time to 
 brood over the horrors of the past or the fears for the fut- 
 ure. They contrived to keep from her the ominous news 
 of fighting in the forest of Dean and of the loss of the 
 little Parliamentary garrison at Coford; but when Lord 
 Herbert, with his army of wild Welshmen actually arrived 
 before Gloucester early in March, it was of course impos- 
 sible to keep her in ignorance of the danger that threatened 
 them. 
 
 It was reported that the Royalists were waiting for the 
 arrival of Prince Rupert and Prince Maurice before act- 
 ually attacking the city, and day after day passed in mo- 
 notonous anxiety, and each night the inhabitants knew not 
 what might happen before morning. Faith began to flag 
 terribly, and poor Clemency suffered unspeakably when, by 
 way doubtless of showing their sympathy and interest, every 
 worthy matron who came to the house to inquire poured 
 into her ear the most dismal prognostications, with many 
 sighs and shakes of the head. She was not only full of anxi- 
 ety about her sister, but in an agony of suspense about her 
 
lover. It was now three months since she had received any 
 news of him, and though it was reported that Sir William 
 Waller was in Wiltshire, nothing definite was known, and 
 she felt sure that Joscelyn must be either ill or wounded, 
 unless indeed his letters had miscarried. 
 
 One afternoon as she sat in the window of the little oak- 
 wainscoted parlor the sound of a rebec played outside made 
 her start to her feet. The player was not yet in sight, but 
 the voice was surely that of the hunchback chanting his in- 
 variable psalm : 
 
 " All people that on earth do dwell 
 Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice." 
 
 Throwing down her needle-work, Clemency darted out, 
 and Temperance Turner, who was scanning the houses at- 
 tentively, quickly perceived her and came shambling for-" 
 ward. 
 
 " Good-morrow, fair mistress," he said, removing his stee- 
 ple-crowned hat respectfully. "I have wandered far in 
 search of you." 
 
 " Come in, come in !" she cried, eagerly, and Temperance 
 followed her into the parlor. 
 
 " All the way to Katterham did I go with a letter for 
 you," he said, " and then hearing you had just gone to 
 Gloucester, I went back with the news to Captain Hey- 
 worth, whom I came up with at Bristol, where the Royalists' |! 
 plot to deliver the city was found out and happily stopped, 
 and the place be now secured by Sir William Waller. And 
 here be a fresh letter for you, mistress, from the captain, 
 but if I could not find you I was to hand it to Colonel 
 Massey to read." 
 
 Clemency, eagerly thanking him, bade him go to the 
 kitchen for food and rest, and hastily unfolding her letter 
 read as follows: 
 
25' 
 
 " DEAR HEART, I am grieved that our friendly messen- 
 ger failed to find you, but Sir Robert sent me a letter by 
 him telling me of your whereabouts, and though it filled me 
 with great anxiety to hear that you are in the midst of the 
 strife, yet I have great hopes that we shall shortly meet, 
 and that your danger will soon be at an end. Make it 
 known to Colonel Massey and to the mayor that we are 
 now marching to your relief, and that by the 24th we shall 
 attack the Welsh army at Highnam on the one side, and 
 that Sir William desires that Gloucester do at the same time 
 attack them on the other side. Thus we shall have them 
 at great advantage. This is a strange love-letter, but 'twas 
 thought best to send the communication thus secretly and 
 in a private manner. I trust your sister does well, and that 
 you bore the journey without great discomfort. We have 
 had much marching and countermarching, with some sharp 
 skirmishes, but since taking Winchester and Chichester no 
 serious siege. Colonel N. Fiennes hath been made Gov- 
 ernor of Bristol a vast improvement on his predecessor. 
 Temperance travelled by way of Shortell, and brought me a 
 letter from Rosamond, who is now recovered from her sick- 
 ness; my father still remains at home, somewhat out of 
 health, and Dick and Jervis are with Sir Ralph Hopton in 
 Devon or Cornwall. My dearest, I kiss your hands, and 
 rest ever Your faithful lover to serve you, 
 
 "JOSCELYN HEYWORTH. 
 
 " To Mrs. Clemency Coriton, at the house of Mr. Christopher Ben- 
 nett, in College Green at Gloucester." 
 
 The news of this promised succor cheered the sinking 
 hearts of the citizens, though still they were not without 
 anxiety lest Prince Rupert should swoop down upon them 
 before Sir William Waller arrived. But that astute general 
 managed his campaign most skilfully, succeeded in taking 
 
2=12 
 
 Malmesbury, made a feint of marching upon Cirencester, 
 which kept the Royalists at bay, and then turned instead to 
 the forest of Dean, where, with the aid of thirty flat-bot- 
 tomed boats which he had brought on carriages from Lon- 
 don for the passage of the Severn, he dexterously contrived 
 to effect the crossing of his entire army at Framilode in 
 broad daylight. 
 
 Meanwhile at Gloucester the garrison, which had consist- 
 ed merely of a hundred horse and some two hundred foot- 
 soldiers, had been re-enforced by the welcome arrival of two 
 hundred horse from Bristol under Captain John Fiennes. 
 Several sallies were after this attempted, and Lord Herbert's 
 Welsh army suffered a good deal, while the besieged had the 
 strong consolation of knowing that their help drew nigh. 
 Clemency counted the very hours till the 24th of March, and 
 on the 23d she went with her brother-in-law to see Colonel 
 Massey and his gallant little band march out of Gloucester 
 to attack the Welsh army at Highnam, and in sick suspense 
 waited through the long day, hearing almost incessant firing, 
 but at nightfall learning that as yet Sir William Waller's 
 army had not arrived. The little band from Gloucester re- 
 mained through that night at Highnam, and Clemency 
 rightly guessed that all through the hours of darkness her 
 lover was marching swiftly to their relief. She had heard 
 from him of Sir William's almost invariable practice of 
 marching at night, and had laughed at the nickname of the 
 " Night-owl " which he had received from the Royalists. 
 
 Great was her delight when, on the morning of the 24th, 
 Christopher Bennett offered to take her to the top of the 
 cathedral tower, that they might see what was passing. 
 Walking through the noble building, the beauty of which 
 did not especially appeal to Clemency's untrained eye, they 
 passed through a narrow doorway to the stone staircase 
 which wound up one of the angles of the great tower. On 
 
253 
 
 and on they climbed, past the belfry, past the bells them- 
 selves, till at length a sudden burst of light and a boister- 
 ous buffeting from the cold March wind met them as the 
 door at the top was thrown back and they stepped onto the 
 leads. 
 
 " See !" cried Christopher Bennett, in great excitement ; 
 " they come ! they come !" 
 
 And Clemency, looking in the direction which he indi- 
 cated, saw in the distance what seemed a small dark spot, 
 with now and then a curious flash of light as the sun struck 
 upon pikes or helmets. " Joscelyn is there," she said to 
 herself. But somehow she could not in the least realize it ; 
 could only watch with a strange fascination the steady yet 
 seemingly slow approach of that moving blot on the land- 
 scape. 
 
 Suddenly there was a flash, a cloud of white smoke, fol- 
 lowed by a dull roar overpowering the rattle of musketry 
 at Highnam. The Welsh suddenly realized that they were 
 caught in a trap. They made a desperate attack on the 
 new-comers, while at the same time trying to resist Mas- 
 sey's attack on one of their redoubts. Clemency watched 
 breathlessly. After a time there was a lull in the firing; 
 the army of William the Conqueror, as the Parliamentarians 
 loved to called Waller, marched steadily on. 
 
 " The Welsh must have hung out a flag of truce," said 
 Christopher Bennett. " 'Tis tantalizing to be afar, seeing 
 this much and no more." 
 
 Clemency was not sure that she could have borne to 
 watch matters save from a distance. " Let us come down 
 and tell Faith," she said. " How she will rejoice to know 
 that we are once more in safety !" 
 
 Through the remainder of that day the two sisters waited 
 as best they could for further news. Christopher Bennett 
 did not return for many hours, and the suspense was hard 
 
254 
 
 to bear. The evening set in cold and wet. They listened 
 with anxious hearts to the howling of the wind and to the 
 heavy rain driving against the window. Presently Faith 
 heard her husband's step outside. " Run down, Clemency," 
 she begged; "ask what tidings he has brought;" and Clem- 
 ency needed no second bidding, but hurried down the dimly 
 lighted staircase. 
 
 " Do you bring news of Joscelyn ?" she cried ; but the 
 words had hardly left her lips when in the entrance-lobby 
 some one came striding past Christopher to greet her. " Oh, 
 dear heart !" she cried, in a sudden rapture of surprise and 
 relief, " is it you ?" 
 
 As for Joscelyn, he forgot war and weariness and the 
 presence of Christopher Bennett, and only knew that after 
 months of separation he once more clasped Clemency in 
 his arms. It was perhaps not until that moment that either 
 of them fully realized how entirely they belonged to each 
 other, and it was almost more with the look and tone of a 
 wife than as a recently betrothed girl that Clemency ex- 
 claimed, " You have been marching all night, and how wet 
 and weary you are !" 
 
 " Who would murmur at hard work when this is at the 
 end of it?" said Joscelyn, looking into the sweet hazel eyes, 
 which seemed to gaze into his very heart. 
 
 And, in truth, she had never seen him look more strong 
 and manly and full of life than he did at that moment, 
 though his hair hung in a tangled wet mass about his steel 
 gorget, and his eyes, in spite of their bright gladness, told 
 the tale of thirty-six hours without sleep hours full of deep 
 anxiety and strenuous bodily exertion. 
 
 " I am afraid of waking and rinding all this but a dream," 
 said Clemency, when, later on, supper being ended, she sat 
 with him beside the hearth in the withdrawing-room. The 
 flickering firelight fell on her chestnut hair, and the two 
 
255 
 
 somewhat dim candles in solid silver candlesticks shed a 
 soft mellow radiance on her delicately pure coloring. In 
 her lover's honor she had put on that second dress which 
 Charlotte had allowed her to bring from home, and the soft 
 folds of gray velvet relieved at the neck and sleeves by wide 
 ruffles of fine white cambric seemed to enhance the beauty 
 of her face and figure. 
 
 " To me," said Joscelyn, " the war seems like a bad 
 dream and our love the reality ; and yet, did you not share 
 that love of our country which nerves us for the fight, you 
 could never be to me the strength and stay that you are." 
 
 " In truth," said Clemency, " we women fight also, but it 
 is our fears that we have to conquer. Sometimes it seems 
 to me an ill omen that I first knew I loved you through 
 deadly terror lest you should be harmed. Your outward 
 foes are perhaps more easily repulsed and kept at bay. 
 They say husbands and wives should be complement of 
 each other, that their characters should be unlike. What 
 do you think ?" 
 
 Joscelyn smiled. " I think," he said, " that God made 
 your patience to cure my impatience, your tenderness to 
 amend my hardness." 
 
 " Hush !" she said, laying her finger on his lips, with a 
 smile. " For my part, I am sure that 'tis your brave hope 
 that must chase away my coward fear. Oh, Joscelyn ! I do 
 hope that I, too, may be true to our motto, and serve Christ 
 and the country." 
 
 Joscelyn did not speak, but stooping down, kissed her 
 with grave and tender reverence on the lips. He thought 
 to himself that Clemency's prayers were likely to do more 
 for the country than men's swords. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 The habit of living lightly hearted, in daily presence of death, al- 
 ways has had, and must have, power both in the making and testing 
 of honest men. RUSKIN. 
 
 THE 2$th of March, at that time reckoned as New-year's 
 Day, dawned brightly in Gloucester ; the sun shone, the cit- 
 izens rejoiced in their deliverance, and the Blue Regiment 
 of Dennis Wise, the mayor, was ordered to conduct the 
 Welsh prisoners in triumph from Highnam to the city. But 
 in the gabled house in College Green there was sorrow. 
 Joscelyn, worn out with the arduous march from Malmes- 
 bury and the excitement of the previous day, had slept 
 soundly in the attic room, but no one else had slept at all, 
 and as he came down the creaking stair the next morning 
 Clemency met him on the landing of the first story with a 
 whispered warning to tread softly, for Faith was grievous- 
 ly ill. 
 
 " My dearest," he said, following her into the withdraw- 
 ing-room where only a few hours before they had talked so 
 happily, " is your sister in such great danger ?" 
 
 " No," said Clemency, her tears falling fast as she rested 
 her aching head on his shoulder. " They have great hope 
 that Faith will recover, but her babe is dead, the little son 
 she had longed for. Charlotte has laid him here in the 
 cradle. Look !" 
 
 Joscelyn felt a choking in his throat as he saw her draw 
 back the sheet from the face of the lovely little child, born 
 too soon into this distracted world. He, who had learned to 
 
257 
 
 look unmoved upon death in its ghastliest forms during his 
 campaign, found his eyes filling with tears as he looked at 
 the tiny, peaceful face of the little still-born infant. 
 
 " 'Twould seem less sad had he lived ever so short a 
 time," said Clemency ; " but that all her hopes and prepa- 
 rations, all her pain, should end in this ! What does it mean ? 
 Why does God let such things be ?" 
 
 " Perhaps He saw that its body was too frail for life here 
 in these troubled times," said Joscelyn. " Perhaps its soul 
 did not need the same training that ours need." 
 
 " How you comfort me !" said Clemency, drying her eyes. 
 " Mr. Bennett's mother, who was here an hour ago, spoke 
 as if the babe were naught, as if all were ended, just as 
 though she had spoken of some animal." 
 
 " She can scarce, then, have looked on its face," said Jos- 
 celyn. " See how plainly that speaks already of life and 
 character! After all, is it such a matter for sadness that 
 this innocent soul has gone back to God, never having 
 drawn breath in a world of sin ?" Perhaps nothing could 
 have brought the two more closely together than the subdued 
 talks which they had during the next few days. Sir Will- 
 iam Waller remained in Gloucester for a week ; and Jos- 
 celyn, though he was hard at work all day, supped and 
 slept at Christopher Bennett's house, contriving each even- 
 ing to have one of those long uninterrupted interviews with 
 Clemency, the memory of which would have to serve them 
 both through many weary times of separation. One even- 
 ing when the anxiety about Faith was over and the doctor 
 had pronounced her to be in a fair way towards recovery, 
 Christopher Bennett induced Sir William Waller to sup 
 with them. Clemency was glad to meet the hero of so 
 many adventures, and the courteous deference of Waller's 
 manner to her made her at once understand Joscelyn's de- 
 votion to him ; for it was not a mere surface politeness, but 
 17 
 
the real chivalry of a noble nature revealed in singularly 
 perfect manners. 
 
 "I have good news for you, Mrs. Coriton," he said, 
 when the greetings were over. "The Welsh prisoners, 
 whose privations and sufferings have been as little to 
 my taste as to yours, have this day been released, on 
 promising not to serve against the Parliament. Between 
 fourteen and fifteen hundred of them left the city just 
 now." 
 
 " In truth, 'twas impossible to feed them properly," said 
 Christopher Bennett. " I am right glad that so many 
 mouths have been removed, and that the churches are empty 
 once more." 
 
 " Have all gone ?" asked Clemency. 
 
 " All but the officers, of whom about fifty will remain here 
 and a hundred have been sent to Bristol. They must be 
 kept for exchange ; but being able to pay for their quarters 
 and food, they are in no hard case. Ha ! I see your be- 
 trothed questions that statement. He has ever great com- 
 passion on prisoners, having tasted the bitterness of captiv- 
 ity himself in the castle which his courage and firmness 
 enabled me to take for the Parliament." 
 
 Clemency looked a little surprised, not understanding 
 these words. 
 
 " I perceive you have not heard that story," said Sir Will- 
 iam. " Captain Heyworth would not sound his own praises, 
 of course, in his love-letters. Presently I will tell you what 
 passed," and the general smiled a little. His slight mus- 
 tache and short beard did not conceal his mouth; Clem- 
 ency thought it one of the most pleasant-looking she had 
 ever seen. 
 
 He changed the topic with delicate tact, and it was not 
 until Joscelyn had left the room later in the evening to 
 carry a message to the general's quarter that Sir William 
 
259 
 
 told the story of the siege of Farnham Castle, and of Jos- 
 celyn's conduct with regard to the despatches. 
 
 " I do not understand," said Clemency, " how Mr. Origi- 
 nal Smith could desert him like that. We ever deemed him 
 a good man." 
 
 " You must not judge him hardly," said Sir William. " I 
 have known many good men yield to sudden panic. Great 
 fear will unhinge a man altogether. There was a strange 
 case of it the other day, where a trooper suddenly beaten 
 up at night did most obstinately endeavor to bridle his com- 
 rade instead of his horse !" 
 
 Clemency laughed heartily at this story, but grew grave 
 when her thoughts went back to Original Sin Smith. 
 
 " That he should have believed Joscelyn to be a traitor !" 
 she exclaimed ; " that is what I find it hard to forgive." 
 
 "His story was so plausible," said Sir William, "that I 
 was myself deceived by it ; I think the man had truly per- 
 suaded himself that family feeling had overcome Captain 
 Heyworth's honor, and I am bound to say that he apolo- 
 gized with great frankness. It was perhaps difficult for one 
 of his somewhat fanatical disposition to credit the sincerity 
 of a man differing from him on many points. Captain 
 Heyworth's tolerant nature is little likely to be compre- 
 hended by men of that type." 
 
 " How slowly folk seem to understand each other !" said 
 Clemency, with a sigh, "and how slowly doth the good 
 cause advance among us !" 
 
 " True," said Sir William ; " but what a deal of time is 
 spent in tuning before we can hear any music !" 
 
 His simile appealed to her. 
 
 " You think this war is like the tuning of many instru- 
 ments ?" she said, looking into his dark, thoughtful eyes. 
 
 " In truth I do," he said ; "and God grant that you and I 
 may one day hear the music, and that it be not interrupted, 
 
260 
 
 as music so oft is, by the slipping or breaking of a string or 
 the misstopping of a fret." 
 
 At the beginning of April, Waller left Gloucester, and 
 the lovers were once more parted, yet the days of Faith's 
 recovery were not altogether unhappy ones for Clemency. 
 At night, it is true, she went through terrible hours of anx- 
 iety when she thought of Joscelyn away on his arduous 
 march among the Herefordshire lanes and the wild Welsh 
 passes, with Prince Maurice's army in hot pursuit. But all 
 day she was with her sister, and Faith clung to her with a 
 warmth of love which even in their happiest days at Katter- 
 ham she had never shown. The two had always been 
 specially fond of each other, but yet it was not until this 
 time at Gloucester that their love began to grow and deep- 
 en, as love must do if it is to be pure, vigorous, and healthy. 
 
 One great bond between them was Clemency's increasing 
 love and respect for her brother-in-law and Faith's keen in- 
 terest in her sister's love-story. She would listen with gen- 
 uine sympathy to all that Clemency told her about Josce- 
 lyn, and was most anxious that the marriage should not be 
 long postponed. 
 
 " If the King consents to the Parliament's proposals, and 
 the two armies are disbanded," she said, one evening, as 
 she lay watching her sister rather wistfully, " why should 
 you not be married at once ? I would travel back with you 
 to Katterham, and we would have another wedding at the 
 Court-house." 
 
 " Yes, if only the King consents to the terms. But both 
 Sir William Waller and Colonel Massey think it little likely 
 he will do so," said Clemency, twisting the flax on her 
 distaff without raising her eyes. Faith knew it was be- 
 cause they were full of tears. " But the commissioners are 
 still at Oxford," she said, consolingly. " We can at least 
 hope that this long negotiation will bring about some good. 
 
26l 
 
 And truly if the war does not soon come to an end we shall 
 be ruined, for food and clothing have grievously risen in 
 price since the King has forbidden trade with Gloucester. 
 I know my mother-in-law thinks me a bad manager, but had 
 she begun house-keeping in war-time perchance she would 
 judge me less severely." 
 
 " We are no longer in immediate danger," said Clemency, 
 " and now you will, at any rate, find it easier to get provi- 
 sions. Here comes Charlotte with your gruel ; she does not 
 mean to let you starve yourself." 
 
 " I bring you good news, my dears," said Charlotte, with 
 a beaming face. " Tidings have reached the governor that 
 Sir William Waller hath taken Ross, Newnham, Monmouth, 
 and Chepstow, all within the few days since leaving here. 
 They say everywhere the Royalists fly at his approach." 
 
 "Was there no further news?" asked Clemency, anxiously; 
 " no news of killed or wounded ?" 
 
 " Nay," said Charlotte ; " but there seems to have been 
 little blood shed. At Chepstow, they say, Sir William 
 seized a ship called the Dragon, full of treasure." 
 
 "That is good hearing," said Clemency. "Now the 
 poor soldiers will perchance get their pay ; the money had 
 fallen grievously short, I know, and Joscelyn says 'tis well- 
 nigh impossible to keep the men from plundering when 
 both money and provisions are scarce." 
 
 " I wonder if Prince Maurice hath come up with them," 
 said Faith. "How I wish we could see what is pass- 
 ing at this very minute ! Belike they are floundering along 
 through some rough lane in Wales. Or Joscelyn is out 
 with a foraging party, airing his two Welsh words ' Barra 
 a Chaws ' " (bread and cheese). 
 
 Clemency smiled a little, more from relief at seeing 
 Faith's returning cheerfulness than from any amusement at 
 her suggestion. For, in truth, the feeling was strong upon 
 
262 
 
 her that at that moment Joscelyn was facing some serious 
 danger, and though she tried to reason with herself upon 
 the folly of such imaginations, the feeling would not leave 
 her, but weighed upon her when at length, wearied out, she 
 fell asleep, and still weighed upon her when the next morn- 
 ing she awoke. 
 
 Joscelyn was at this time much nearer Gloucester than 
 they imagined, for Waller had found it impossible to push 
 far into Wales. He had only about two thousand men with 
 him, and had been unable to garrison the towns he had tak- 
 en, and now the extreme roughness of the way made his 
 horse and artillery of little use. Moreover, Prince Maurice 
 with his army had contrived to cut off his retreat to Glouces- 
 ter, so that a choice of evils lay before him : either he must 
 remain to encounter him in an excessively unfavorable po- 
 sition, or he must force his way though the enemy's quar- 
 ters. Joscelyn, who knew that his chief was exceptionally 
 skilful in choosing his ground, was quite prepared to hear 
 that he had decided with his usual daring on the latter 
 course. 
 
 " 'Tis impossible to give them battle here," said Waller, 
 " where every field is as good as a fortification, and every 
 lane as disputable as a pass. Far better make a push to 
 cut through them than be hemmed in among these hills." 
 
 It was arranged that the ordnance and the baggage-wag- 
 ons should cross the Severn at Aust passage, and it was 
 here that Joscelyn had the good-fortune to render real serv- 
 ice to his general. More intent on superintending the 
 speedy despatch of the artillery than on his own safety, 
 Waller allowed his horse to go too near the river's brink, 
 and, to the utter consternation of his men, the animal 
 plunged in with him. Being fully armored, he was in great 
 peril of his life, and the spectators were so horror-struck 
 that for a moment they seemed paralyzed. Joscelyn was 
 
263 
 
 the only one who had the presence of mind to free himself 
 from his more cumbrous armor, and, when the general rose 
 to the surface, to plunge into the Severn to his rescue. A 
 great cheer rose from the men when, after a few minutes of 
 breathless anxiety, they saw their beloved general once 
 more in safety ; and to his dying day Waller never forgot 
 his deliverance from what had certainly bid fair to prove 
 the jaws of death. Little was said then, however, for the 
 time was too precious to be wasted, and the most perilous 
 piece of work still lay before them. Having seen the artil- 
 lery safely started across the river, they returned to Chep- 
 stow, dried their soaked clothes as best they could, made a 
 hasty supper, and started on their dangerous adventure. 
 Orders had been sent that the main body of the army 
 should join them in the forest by two o'clock. Waller 
 hoped thus to be able to beat up the Royalists at Newnham 
 in the darkness, and, true to his agreement, reached the ap- 
 pointed place with the vanguard precisely at the hour he 
 had named. Not a sign of the main body was to be seen. 
 They drew up and waited, straining their ears to catch 
 the first sound of advancing troops. Nothing was to be 
 heard save the whistling of the wind in the forest trees, and 
 a slight stir in a lonely farm-house which stood in a clearing 
 just in advance of them. The frightened country-folk cau- 
 tiously opened their casements and peeped out into the 
 darkness to see what was passing ; the dogs barked, and 
 terrified children woke and made a piteous wailing. 
 
 Sir William dismounted and began to pace to and fro im- 
 patiently. " Come, Heyworth," he said, " a brisk turn after 
 your cold bath will not be amiss, and truly this east wind 
 pierces to one's very marrow." 
 
 For some time they paced to and fro, Waller pausing 
 every now and then to speak to the men and to cheer their 
 hearts. 
 
264 
 
 " They can't sing to keep themselves awake, since quiet 
 is our aim, but let them light their pipes," he said; "'twill 
 serve to pass the time." 
 
 " Sir," cried Joscelyn, " I hear horsemen in the forest ; 
 surely at last they come." 
 
 Waller paused, and in the stillness of the night they heard 
 the welcome sound of horsemen and the clinking of arms. 
 The spirits of the men revived; and Joscelyn, to whom 
 waiting of any sort was specially distasteful, felt his heart 
 bound within him at the prospect of speedy action. But a 
 sudden disappointment chilled his gladness ; looking tow- 
 ards the approaching horsemen, he saw, to his dismay, that 
 instead of being Parliamentary troopers they were merely a 
 gang of peaceful countrymen going through the forest with 
 their pack-horses for charcoal, while the clinking of arms 
 proved to be nothing but the rattle of the trappings on 
 their pack-saddles. 
 
 Some laughter arose from the mistake, and the soldiers 
 advanced a little farther, then again halted, passing the 
 weary time as best they could in smoking and chatting. 
 The first faint gray of dawn by this time streaked the sky, 
 and Sir William's anxiety became intense. Still, nothing 
 was heard of the expected troops. 
 
 " I'll be bound," he said, wrathfully, " that some stupid 
 fellow's drowsiness is at the bottom of this long delay. 
 They have been caught napping, I dare swear. Sluggish 
 souls ! How long will they lie lazing ?" 
 
 " Perchance, sir, the orders miscarried," said Joscelyn. 
 
 " And while some careless officer is drowsing," said Sir 
 William, " the devil is hunting ; and, in good truth, he hath 
 a way to hunt souls with pillows and nightcaps. Some 
 folk seem to forget that life consists in action. God never 
 created us to live in a feather-bed." 
 
 Joscelyn smiled a little at his chief's ardor, and guessed 
 
265 
 
 that his surmise as to the delay was correct ; for the men 
 were terribly in need of rest, and it was likely enough that 
 those away from Waller's inspiring presence should yield to 
 the strong craving for sleep. 
 
 At any moment it was only too probable that Prince Mau- 
 rice's army might swoop down upon the vanguard, and, 
 weary as the men were, it was impossible to allow them to 
 rest, since at any moment they were liable to be surprised. 
 Moreover, to the last, Waller hoped that the main body 
 would join them in time. When at last the night had pass- 
 ed and the sun had risen, Joscelyn saw that his face was 
 gray with anxiety, and knew that he had the gravest doubts 
 whether they should ever come out of the forest alive. Still, 
 his presence of mind did not forsake him. The men break- 
 fasted, and Joscelyn managed to cater fairly well for his gen- 
 eral, who composedly made a meal while watching Prince 
 Maurice's men gathering to oppose him. The waiting in 
 the darkness had been bad enough, but this desperate wait- 
 ing in the full light of day and in sight of the enemy taxed 
 the courage of all. It was with the most intense feeling of 
 relief that at length they were warned of the approach of 
 the long -delayed main body, and, wasting no time in re- 
 proaches, Waller instantly gave the word to advance. His 
 vigorous face and form, his cheerful voice, filled the men 
 with confidence ; they knew that the general under whom 
 they had so long fought and conquered would not desert 
 them in this desperate strait, but would bring his army safe- 
 ly through the forest if it were possible, and if not, would 
 die with them there. 
 
 Joscelyn was never able to give any clear account of the 
 day that followed ; he only knew that with the utmost skill 
 and presence of mind Waller somehow contrived to force a 
 way right through the army of Prince Maurice ; could only 
 remember his own confused and perilous share in the work 
 
266 
 
 as he galloped hither and thither with messages from the 
 general ; and finally could recall the relief of seeing the 
 tower of Gloucester Cathedral growing more and more 
 distinct as they advanced, till, two miles from the city, they 
 were met by Massey and some infantry, who had learned 
 of their peril, but finding them safe, advanced to Tewkes- 
 bury, leaving the wearied troops for a night's rest at Glou- 
 cester. 
 
 " What can such a day be like ?" asked Clemency, as 
 that evening the lovers sat hand in hand in the gabled 
 house. " It sounds like a terrible game of ' all hid ' more 
 than like the sober warfare one has ever pictured in one's 
 mind." 
 
 " In truth, I think it was not unlike a game of chess, with 
 Sir William Waller and Prince Maurice as the players, and 
 the rest of us as the pieces," said Joscelyn. " Being but a 
 piece, one has but a vague notion of the whole; that is 
 why I can give you no clear account of the game. It is to 
 me little but a series of desperate gallops, now in this direc- 
 tion, now in that, with orders to the different officers. Out 
 of the whole day I see but a few things with any distinct- 
 ness. I see the face of a dead Cavalier lying white and stiff 
 upon a flowery bank ; I see some of our forlorn hope, away 
 down a grassy forest glade, falling beneath the Royalists' 
 swords ; I see Sir Arthur Hazlerigg soundly rating one of 
 his men for some negligence, and cut short in the midst of 
 his reproof by his horse being shot beneath him ; I see Sir 
 William's eager look of triumph when, with but slight loss, 
 he had safely brought us out of the enemy's hand ; and I 
 see the strange contrast betwixt a quiet nook in the forest, 
 where the sward was all starred over with starwort and 
 bluebells, and the trees were just coming into leaf and the 
 birds singing, while but a quarter of a mile farther one 
 came upon a sharp skirmish, the rattle of musketry, the 
 
WHAT CAN SUCH A DAY BE LIKE?'" 
 
26; 
 
 clash of steel, and men shouting, ' God with us !' and ' St. 
 George for old England !' if 
 
 "I wish," sighed Clemency, "that you had a less dan- 
 gerous post." 
 
 " None other would so well please me," said Joscelyn ; 
 " and methinks we have small cause to complain, when 
 through the whole campaign I have escaped without one 
 wound. My poor horses have been less lucky. Did I tell 
 you that the roan was shot under me in Wales?" 
 
 " No," said Clemency, with a shudder. " Ah, Joscelyn, 
 it seems to me that you ever escape but narrowly. What is 
 your new horse ?" 
 
 " I picked him up at Abergavenny a fine chestnut, 
 whom we have dubbed Hotspur. He did good service to- 
 day in the forest ; with a less swift horse I should scarce 
 have fared so well, and might likely enough have been dying 
 now alone in the darkness instead of sitting here with you 
 in this paradise." 
 
 "Yet to-morrow you must go once more," said Clem- 
 ency. 
 
 "Yes; to-morrow we attack Tewkesbury, and later on 
 shall besiege Hereford. You must not grudge us our active 
 work, dear heart; for, in truth, war should be to me in- 
 tolerable, with all its suffering and separation, could not 
 one feel that by fighting we do strike a blow on behalf of 
 the liberty and progress so grievously endangered by the 
 King's tyranny." 
 
 " Liberty and progress be, as you say, fair things ; and 
 yet, Joscelyn, even for them, how could I bear to lose 
 you?" said Clemency, clinging to him. "They seem far 
 away and vague ; I cannot feel that they are verily mine as 
 you are mine." 
 
 " l Pro Christo et p atria] " he said, glancing at the graven 
 letters on her ring. " There be two claims which were prior 
 
268 
 
 to mine. You belonged to Christ and the country before 
 ever I belonged to you and you to me." 
 
 " Your serving is so much more direct," said Clemency. 
 " Perchance that is why it is easier for you to realize mat- 
 ters. And yet direct warfare would but ill suit women folk. 
 I should never have been among the maidens who crowned 
 Judith with a garland of olive for killing Holofernes. 
 Though truly she must have had a noble thought in her 
 mind. Did you ever mark the words of her prayer where 
 she speaks of God's character ?" 
 
 " No," said Joscelyn ; " I do not remember it." 
 
 " She says, * For Thy power standeth not in multitude, 
 nor Thy might in strong men ; for Thou art a God of the 
 afflicted, a helper of the oppressed, an upholder of the weak, 
 a protector of the forlorn, a saviour of them that are with- 
 out hope.' " 
 
 Joscelyn was silent, musing on the strange beauty of the 
 words, and thinking of the tyranny under which England 
 had so long groaned. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 He who, though thus endued as with a sense 
 
 And faculty for storm and turbulence, 
 
 Is yet a soul whose master-bias leans 
 
 To home-felt pleasures and to gentle scenes. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 THE negotiations at Oxford having utterly failed, peace 
 seemed little likely as yet to come to the country. Wal- 
 ler, still terribly hampered by want of money, returned to 
 Gloucester no less than three times during the next two 
 months, after having captured Tewkesbury and Hereford, 
 and unsuccessfully attempted to take Worcester. Early in 
 June he received orders to march into the West ; but Josce : 
 lyn, not a little to his satisfaction, was despatched to Lon- 
 don, partly on a matter concerning the imprisonment of 
 Lord Scudamore, one of the Royalists, who had honorably 
 given himself into Waller's hands at Hereford, and, much 
 to Sir William's regret, had been treated with scant consid- 
 eration by the Parliament, and partly to see to private mat- 
 ters connected with the inheritance bequeathed him by old 
 Mr. Gainsborough. He had leave for three weeks, and had 
 set his heart on meeting Hampden once more. Nor was 
 he to be disappointed of his hope, for the very first night 
 of his arrival, going to Westminster, to the house of Sir 
 Robert Pye to deliver Waller's letter relating to Lord Scud- 
 amore, he met him face to face. 
 
 It was night, and the servant, having carried his name to 
 the master of the house, ushered him into a somewhat dark 
 room, where his host and another man sat writing by the 
 
light of a single lamp. Joscelyn, bowing to Si* Robert, pre- 
 sented his letter, then bowed to his companion, in the im- 
 perfect light not at all discerning his features or greatly 
 thinking about him, for indeed his mind was full of his 
 errand. 
 
 Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "Have you forgotten me, boy?" said Hampden. Then, 
 smiling a little at Joscelyn's fervent greeting, " I have often 
 thought of you," he added, "and wondered how you fared." 
 
 Plucking the shade from the lamp, he looked scrutinizing- 
 ly into the bright, hopeful face of his protege, almost mar- 
 velling to find that after these long months of arduous strife 
 he should still be "ruddy, and withal of a beautiful counte- 
 nance, and goodly to look to." 
 
 " I am glad to find you on an errand of mercy," he said. 
 " In our zeal for justice and judgment we must not forget 
 that. Tis a hard case, this of my Lord Scudamore, and he 
 is as honorable a man as any that cleave to the King. Were 
 you present at Hereford when he was taken ?" 
 
 "Aye, sir, I was in attendance on Sir William Waller 
 when he visited Lord Scudamore in the place where he 
 lodged. Rather than escape in the confusion when we en- 
 tered the city, as many of the other Royalists did, he hon- 
 orably waited, and Sir William, treating him, as he ever 
 does those within his power, with great kindness and civil- 
 ity, did assure him that he was governed by instructions to 
 bid him to London, but yet was loath to treat him as a 
 prisoner, but gave him a pass, and took his word that he 
 would render himself up to the Parliament, making sure 
 'twould treat him with equal generosity." 
 
 "It is scarce in a mood to be generous just now," said 
 Hampden. " Lord Scudamore, like many another honorable 
 man, will most likely have to bear the sins of his party. I 
 will endeavor to do what I may to procure his exchange, 
 
but his case is in great danger of being overlooked in the 
 press of urgent public matters. The discovery of this das- 
 tardly plot of Edmund Waller's hath broken down the last 
 remnants of hope that the King may come to a better 
 mind." 
 
 " I have as yet heard no details," said Joscelyn ; " merely 
 that a kinsman of Sir William Waller's had been arrested 
 for some plot against the Parliament. Is it Edmund Wal- 
 ler, the poet ?" 
 
 " Aye ; and I am in the same boat with Sir William, for 
 he is my kinsman also. Moreover, my cousin Alexander 
 Hampden is also implicated, though since throughout the 
 contest he has sided with the King he is not so blame- 
 worthy. Still, he had the perfidy to come up to Westmin- 
 ster with a communication from the King to the Parliament, 
 all the time knowing that a plot was on foot by which on a 
 given night the Royalists in the city and the suburbs were 
 to rise, and, aided by a force of three thousand men which 
 the King had promised to send, were to seize the Lord 
 Mayor, Pym, myself, and sundry other leaders, and deliver 
 up London." 
 
 " The King entered on this plot at the very time that he 
 was offering to negotiate, sir ?" asked Joscelyn. 
 
 " Aye, he did," said Hampden, with a sigh. " It is all of 
 a piece with his conduct at Brentford. We have striven to 
 think that all the ill comes from his Majesty's evil advisers, 
 but no longer is it possible to hold him guiltless. With 
 such a one at the head the country is doomed." 
 
 Coming from the excitement of a long and successful 
 campaign into the burdened atmosphere of that room at 
 Westminster, Joscelyn felt like a boy suddenly coming from 
 the brisk work and pleasure of school to the unveiling of 
 some grievous private trouble in the home. Yet even now, 
 in this dark hour of the Parliament's troubles, his sanguine 
 
272 
 
 nature saw gleams of light. Was the country, after all, in 
 so grievous a case when such a man as John Hampden 
 lived and toiled ? 
 
 " Ah, sir," he cried, " if you were but in the place of my 
 Lord Essex all might yet be well. Under you Sir William 
 Waller would work far more harmoniously. The coldness 
 betwixt him and his Excellency increases every day." 
 
 " 'Tis not to be wondered at," said Sir Robert Pye, " for 
 they are like frost and fire, and could never agree." 
 
 " The times clearly call for reforms and changes in the 
 army," said Hampden, thoughtfully. "That is a matter 
 upon which Colonel Cromwell hath many times spoken with 
 me. You remember him that we met at my Lord Lindsey's 
 death-bed at Kineton ?" 
 
 " No one could forget Colonel Cromwell," said Joscelyn ; 
 " he seems to have the power of ten ordinary men." 
 
 " He is a man ever ready to strike for the oppressed," 
 said Hampden. " They tell me that last month, near Grant- 
 ham, with but a worn and wearied handful of troopers, he 
 utterly routed double the number of Cavaliers, and set them 
 flying like chaff before the wind. Remember what I said 
 long ago Oliver Cromwell will be the greatest man of 
 these times." 
 
 Sir Robert Pye smiled as he looked into Joscelyn's ex- 
 pressive face. 
 
 "I see," he said, turning to his father-in-law, "that Cap- 
 tain Heyworth, in common with many of the rest of us, 
 would vastly prefer to substitute your name, sir, for Cousin 
 Oliver's." 
 
 " In common with many of my friends, then, he over- 
 rates my abilities," said Hampden, with the genuine humil- 
 ity which so greatly added to his power and influence. " We 
 have sorely missed you in the regiment, Joscelyn," he con- 
 tinued. " I would have given much to have had you at the 
 
273 
 
 siege of Reading and afterwards, when, what with sickness 
 and delay, the men were much in need of officers who could 
 keep up their spirits. While I was away at Westminster a 
 mutinous spirit broke out among them, and I was forced to 
 hurry down to them to set things right. Officers seem to 
 forget that they must keep in touch with their men, who are 
 not mere fighting-machines. There is as much skill needed 
 in that particular as in the case of a good rider who knows 
 how to feel the mouth of his horse. I go down to Bucking- 
 hamshire in two days' time ; can you not go with me ? Let 
 us spend the Sunday at Hampden House ; that is to say, if 
 your business can be accomplished by then." 
 
 " I will undertake to do all that is to be done for Lord 
 Scudamore," said Sir Robert Pye ; "and as long as Captain 
 Heyworth's private matters keep him in London, I hope he 
 will make this house his headquarters." 
 
 Hampden looked pleased at the suggestion, for Joscelyn 
 Hey worth had from the first held a very special place in his 
 affections, while now, in the shadow of his recent bereave- 
 ments, he felt more than ever drawn to him. Not long after 
 the beginning of the war he lost his eldest son, and his 
 favorite daughter, Elizabeth (Mrs. Knightley), had also died, 
 a blow from which he never recovered. When, the next 
 morning, Joscelyn saw him in the full light of the summer 
 sun, he noticed how greatly this trouble had shattered 
 him, and as they walked together to Pym's lodgings in 
 Gray's Inn Lane, Hampden alluded to his bereavement. 
 They had been speaking of the increasing bitterness of 
 party feeling on each side, and of the horrible slaughter of 
 the inhabitants at Birmingham by the Royalist troops, the 
 first very serious blot upon the civil war, which, on the 
 whole, had been conducted with a good deal of restraint 
 and honorable remembrance that the combatants were, after 
 all, fellow-countrymen. 
 18 
 
274 
 
 " I confess," said Hampden, " that it had seemed to me 
 more worthy of gentlemen to leave my private sorrows un- 
 touched, that they had no call to gloat over the sufferings 
 of a bereaved father. But since this plot of Edmund Wal- 
 ler's I see no hope of any lessening of bitterness either on 
 our side or on theirs. The Parliament had no sooner dis- 
 covered it than they took the wrong step of impeaching the 
 Queen, a measure which his Majesty must bitterly resent, 
 though, in truth, I do believe she hath been the most 
 fruitful source of all his troubles. A more disastrous mar- 
 riage never was. The Queen hath alienated the King from 
 the people and the people from the King ; she hath foment- 
 ed every grievance, and her husband is as wax in her hands. 
 I ofttimes wonder what his Majesty might have been had he 
 but been influenced by a noble, high-principled woman, in- 
 stead of being dragged into the intrigues of one educated 
 in the French court. We must not forget in our present 
 misery the great qualities his Majesty hath a sincere de- 
 sire to serve God, and much personal courage. 'Twas his 
 misfortune to be born to a position for which he was un- 
 fitted, and to be surrounded by those who developed the 
 worst side of his nature that hopeless insincerity which 
 hath been his own undoing and the bane of this bleeding 
 country." 
 
 " Is it true, sir, that my Lord Essex is greatly hampered 
 by the want of money?" asked Joscelyn, after a silence. 
 
 " Aye, 'tis true," said Hampden. " Money is now being 
 collected for that purpose, and I hope to arrange that it 
 shall be sent down to the lord-general at Thame next week. 
 With that to stimulate matters, I trust he will endeavor to 
 push on to Oxford, for indeed the men have suffered griev- 
 ously from the long sojourn in low-lying and damp country. 
 There has been great sickness among them." 
 
 Joscelyn marvelled at the patient, calm way in which his 
 
275 
 
 companion spoke of the procrastination of Essex, so di- 
 rectly opposed to his own views of what was wise and right. 
 But this was characteristic of Hampden, who, spite of his 
 eager temperament, had gained a masterly control over him- 
 self, and was never once heard to murmur at the timid, 
 weak policy of his general, or in any way to heed the clam- 
 orous voices which urged that he himself should be raised 
 to the post which Essex had unsatisfactorily filled. His 
 strong sense of duty never permitted him to forget for a 
 moment a soldier's obedience, and though his position on 
 the Close Committee which directed the war made his re- 
 lations with Essex peculiarly difficult, he contrived with 
 rare modesty and tact to observe the most strict reverence 
 and submission to his chief. Joscelyn begged to be allowed 
 to make some subscription to the fund for the army, and 
 Hampden, who had himself contributed two thousand 
 pounds to the cause, accepted his offer gladly. 
 
 " You shall come in with me and speak a few words with 
 Pym," he said, as they approached Gray's Inn Lane. " He, 
 by-the-way, is another whose private life hath been most 
 disgracefully handled by the Cavaliers. One might have 
 thought that his austerity and his deep sense of religion 
 were obvious to the most casual beholder, yet these servile 
 court scribblers dare to assert that his friendship with my 
 Lady Carlisle is of a vicious nature. Most truly did Ham- 
 let say, * Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou 
 shalt not 'scape calumny.' " 
 
 In after-days Joscelyn was glad to remember that he had 
 once again looked upon Pym's forceful face, with its strong- 
 ly marked brows and piercing eyes, to remember that the 
 hand which had steered the Parliament through such deep 
 waters had grasped his, as with kindly words Pym referred 
 to the despatches which in the previous November he had 
 intrusted to his care, and which had been so honorably 
 
2 7 6 
 
 guarded. But he went away feeling sad at heart, for al- 
 ready it seemed to him that the great leader was on the 
 verge of breaking down, and those were times in which men 
 needed untiring strength and energy. 
 
 Crossing Lincoln's Inn Fields, where, as if naught dis- 
 turbed the country, he encountered some most merry little 
 children being drawn by a lackey in their tiny coach, he 
 walked to his attorney's house, there to arrange many mat- 
 ters regarding the property left him by old Mr. Gains- 
 borough, to procure the contribution which he had prom- 
 ised to the War Committee, and also to sign his marriage 
 contract a ceremony which in those days usually preceded 
 the marriage by some weeks, and which he deemed it pru- 
 dent to settle while he was in London. Then, having ar- 
 ranged that the document should be sent to Sir Robert 
 Neal, he was about to take his leave when his attorney 
 checked him by a question. 
 
 " Did I understand you to say that you were shortly go- 
 ing to Somersetshire ?" he asked. 
 
 " I expect to rejoin Sir William Waller there in a fort- 
 night," said Joscelyn. " Can I serve you there ?" 
 
 " I should be greatly obliged if you could bear with you 
 a watch bequeathed by Mr. Gainsborough, of Lincoln, to 
 one Mr. Whichcote, recently appointed to the living of 
 North Cadbury, in Somersetshire," said the attorney. 
 
 " Mr. Whichcote, of Cambridge, do you mean my for- 
 mer tutor ?" 
 
 " Aye, 'tis the very man. The watch by some mistake 
 was not sent to him at Cambridge, but was brought here 
 with the other effects that I have in keeping for you. I 
 made it over to Mr. Henry Barrington, of the Inner Tem- 
 ple, who was like to be passing through Cambridge, and 
 now I learn that Mr. Whichcote hath gone to Somerset- 
 shire." 
 
277 
 
 " I will call, then, upon Mr. Barrington and procure the 
 watch," said Joscelyn. "To tell truth, I shall be right 
 glad of an excuse for visiting my tutor." 
 
 Accordingly, Joscelyn made his way to the Temple, to 
 the chambers of his old Lincoln friend, and finding a paper 
 fastened upon his door bearing the mystic words, " Gone 
 to the devil," he turned his steps towards Temple Bar, and 
 soon discovered Henry Barrington in the well-known tavern 
 chiefly frequented by the gentlemen of the Inns of Court. 
 
 They walked back to the Temple together, talking of 
 many mutual acquaintances at Lincoln, and of the recent 
 marriage between Anne Barrington and a kinsman of 
 Bishop Winiffe. 
 
 " And as for you," said Barrington, "you must clearly be 
 a favorite of the gods. Everything happens to you fort- 
 unes are left to you by godfathers, Puritan heiresses fall in 
 love with you, all the Roundhead leaders combine to flatter 
 you, and in the war you have developed into a full-fledged 
 hero." 
 
 " Nonsense," said Joscelyn, laughing. " The work is pro- 
 saic enough, and any man who can stick on a horse may be 
 a galloper." 
 
 " But not all of us have the luck to be galloper to Will- 
 iam the Conquerer," said Barrington, " to carry the mes- 
 sages of the ' Night-owl ' of world-wide renown. As for me, 
 nothing happens to me, there is nothing doing in the 
 courts, London is a wilderness, the war paralyzes our pro- 
 fession, and all we can do is to go to the devil." 
 
 " Why not throw in your lot with us ?" said Joscelyn. 
 
 Barrington shook his head. " I have small doubt that 
 you are in the right," he said, " but leave me to my quiet 
 life, and, for Heaven's sake, don't call upon me to quarrel 
 with my kinsfolk as you have done. Depend upon it, my 
 boy, the country is not worth it. What has the country, 
 
2 7 8 
 
 after all, done for us ? I for one am not made of the stuff 
 of which patriots are made. Every one for himself and 
 God for us all. That is my motto." 
 
 Joscelyn reflected that this life of ease and idleness was 
 precisely the one which not a year ago he had been so loath 
 to leave. " Yet you don't know what you miss !" he said, 
 realizing how dreadful it would now be to him to go back 
 to the old life of passive enjoyment and boyish thoughtless- 
 ness. 
 
 Harrington laughed good-humoredly ; and often in after- 
 days, when wayworn and hungry, Joscelyn would recall his 
 sleek, good-tempered, lazy face, as he sat enveloped in to- 
 bacco smoke, his feet on the window-seat, and his comfort- 
 able voice reiterating injunctions to come and tell him all 
 his adventures when the struggle was over. As in Raphael's 
 " Vision of a Knight," Joscelyn had had his time of ease. 
 Pleasure had lured him with her handful of flowers, but he 
 had turned towards the less enticing figure of Duty, had 
 grasped the sword she offered him, had vowed to defend 
 the Book, and now could only marvel that the other life had 
 seemed to him so fair. 
 
 The next day he rode down into Buckinghamshire with 
 Hampden. The June day was bright and sunny, with just 
 enough breeze to make riding pleasant; it reminded them 
 both of the August day when in the previous year they had 
 ridden down to Hampden House before the Raising of the 
 Standard. 
 
 " What changes since then !" said Hampden, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 Joscelyn looked at the fortifications which had been 
 hastily thrown up round London during the autumn, think- 
 ing that he referred to them ; but the patriot's thoughts 
 were with his dead children, and with many a comrade lost 
 in battle. He spoke very sadly of the death of his friend, 
 
" ' EVERY ONE FOR HIMSELF AND GOD FOR US ALL.'" 
 
 [Page 27 
 
279 
 
 Lord Brook, at Lichfield, giving Joscelyn details which he 
 had not before heard. 
 
 " We need fresh men to fill many grievous gaps in our 
 ranks," he said. " But, above all, 'tis necessary that we 
 have men of truth and honor men whose religion lies in 
 the consecration of the will to God's service. We have 
 grievously suffered from having in our ranks men of evil 
 and vicious lives, who seek self through this strife, and are 
 not wholly governed by zeal for the cause." 
 
 " Men like Colonel Hurry," said Joscelyn, " who, I learn, 
 hath deserted, and is now at Oxford serving under Prince 
 Rupert." 
 
 " We are well quit of such a one," said Hampden ; " yet 
 he is capable of doing us much mischief, knowing the coun- 
 try round Oxford very thoroughly, and being well acquaint- 
 ed with all our ways. 'Tis but a short time since he was in 
 command of some of my Lord Essex's horse in more than 
 one skirmish. 'Tis not such as Hurry that one grudges to 
 the other side, but men like Hopton and Fuller and Falk- 
 land, men who deceive themselves by thinking that they can 
 cry * Peace ! peace !' when there is no firm basis on which 
 peace can rest." 
 
 " Is it true, sir, that my Lord Falkland knew of Edmund 
 Waller's plot?" 
 
 " I fear 'tis too true," said Hampden. " He doubtless 
 persuades himself that war justified even that. But I learn 
 from those who of late have seen him that he hath greatly 
 altered, falling into a melancholy, ill-yoked with those un- 
 worthy of his noble and tolerant nature, breaking his heart 
 in the service of one who is lacking in all true love of his 
 country or understanding of the people." 
 
 Joscelyn glanced at the strong, virile face of the speaker, 
 and caught the flash of his eyes, lovelit with that passionate 
 devotion to England which had moulded his whole life. 
 
280 
 
 He remembered the coldly handsome face, the exclusive un- 
 sympathetic manner, of another rider, and for a moment the 
 quiet country road seemed to change into the crowded 
 High Street of Lincoln, and in place of the overarching 
 trees he saw in imagination the Stonebow and the Prison 
 Lane and John Drake's mutilated face. Above the sound 
 of Hotspur's hoofs he heard that awakening cry of " Justice ! 
 justice !" which had touched his manhood and his patriot- 
 ism into life. 
 
 One thing he realized very clearly two men so absolute- 
 ly opposed to each other in character as Hampden and the 
 King could by no possibility ever come to an understand- 
 ing. 
 
 " And yet,'*' he said, when at mid-day they paused to rest 
 and dine at a way-side inn, " 'tis not only my Lord Falkland 
 who craves for peace. No one, surely, can serve in the 
 war without longing for the time when one's very dreams 
 will not be blood-stained, as now they are." 
 
 " True," said Hampden ; " the bravest soldier that ever 
 held a pen has well expressed the same craving. Did you 
 ever read the translation of Cervantes's Don Quixote ?" 
 
 Joscelyn was fain to confess that he had never heard 
 of it. 
 
 " Well, you should read it if ever time for reading is 
 yours once more. I recollect being much struck by many 
 chivalrous and noble thoughts in the book, but by none 
 more than by a passage running much after this fashion 
 'Arms have for their object and end peace, which is the 
 greatest good that men can desire in all this life. And thus 
 the first good news that the world had was that which 
 the angel gave on the night which was our day, when they 
 sang in the heavens, " Glory in the Highest, and Peace on 
 the earth." This peace is the true end of war.' " 
 
 The words kept recurring to Joscelyn all through the 
 
28l 
 
 following day, which, being a Sunday, they spent quietly at 
 Hampden House. It was some time since Hampden had 
 been able to visit his home, and just for that one day he 
 seemed to put back from him all cares of state and entirely 
 to give himself up to his family, not allowing even his sad 
 memories to darken the happiness of their reunion. Again 
 and again, in the sorrowful time that followed, Joscelyn 
 would live in imagination through that strangely peaceful 
 day which was to them all such a priceless possession. The 
 very atmosphere of the old dining-hall seemed present to 
 him as he recalled their gathering in the morning the chil- 
 dren flocking to greet their father, the servants assembling 
 for family prayers, the patriot's clear mellow voice reading 
 in quiet, unaffected fashion, " Let not your heart be trou- 
 bled "; then the leisurely breakfast, the genial flow of talk, 
 the absence of that sense of unrest and hurry which of late 
 had become customary to them ; and by-and-by the service 
 in the little quiet country church, at which the newly chosen 
 rector, Mr. Robert Lenthall, son of the Speaker, officiated. 
 The discourse was upon two verses of one of the psalms for 
 the day : " Under the shadow of thy wings shall be my ref- 
 uge until this tyranny is overpast. I will call upon the 
 most high God ; even unto the God that shall perform the 
 cause which I have in hand." When the sermon was over 
 Hampden lingered in the church-yard talking to one and 
 another of his tenants. To them he was not so much the 
 great statesman and leader as the personal friend, the 
 squire who had lived among them all his life, sharing their 
 joys and sorrows, ever ready to help those in need, not by 
 reckless alms-giving, but by care and thought and counsel, 
 by the genuine friendship which costs more than a mere 
 dole. It was beautiful to see the love which he evoked 
 among those sturdy Buckinghamshire folk devotion free 
 from all cringing or servility, honor which only stimulated 
 
282 
 
 their self-respect. Mr. Lenthall came back to dine with 
 them, and later on, in the sweet quiet of the Sunday after- 
 noon, they sat in the quaint old pleasance, at the side of 
 the house known as King John's Garden, where the fount- 
 ain plashed gently in its stone basin and the rose-bushes 
 scented the air, and beyond, in the park, the noble trees 
 lifted their fresh June foliage up to the soft blue of a 
 cloudless sky. 
 
 Even old Madam Hampden, the patriot's mother, vent- 
 ured forth, and paced slowly to and fro on the velvety turf, 
 leaning on her son's arm. All through her long widowhood 
 he had been her sole comfort and delight, and it was touch- 
 ing to watch her pride in him, and his loving reverence 
 and considerateness for her. The old lady had quickly 
 discovered Joscelyn Heyworth's devotion to his leader, 
 and leaving the Lady Letitia to have some uninterrupt- 
 ed talk with her husband, she asked the young guest to 
 help her back to the house, talking to him very kindly 
 the while, first of his own affairs, but soon falling back 
 to the subject which engrossed her thoughts, her dearly 
 loved son. 
 
 " I remember," she said, as they paced through the hall 
 to the withdrawing-room " I remember, Captain Heyworth, 
 in the late King's reign, being ambitious of my son's honor, 
 I greatly desired a peerage for him. There was a multitude 
 of lords a-making my Lord Dunbar, my Lord Falkland, 
 and a vast number of new creations and my son might 
 easily enough have had a title ; but knowing how they were 
 obtained, he would have naught to do with seeking one, 
 but utterly declined any such notion. And now methinks 
 he chose well to keep to the name handed down to him 
 from Saxon times and ever connected with his fair estate. 
 And though maybe 'tis in part the fondness of a parent 
 that prompts the thought, yet I do think that the name of 
 
John Hampden is one which will ever live in the hearts of 
 the people of England." 
 
 At supper, perhaps because the shadow of the parting 
 threatened to interfere with the present enjoyment, Hamp- 
 den's conversation was even more animated than before. 
 His great natural cheerfulness a sort of bright joyousness 
 of temperament closely akin to that of his young guest 
 made them, when together, like flint and steel. Spite of 
 all the past sorrows, all the future cares, the hall rang with 
 the laughter evoked by their merry talk, and the children's 
 happy faces and the momentary laying aside of anxiety on 
 the part of his wife and his mother filled the patriot's heart 
 with pure pleasure. 
 
 All too soon the meal was ended, and the old butler 
 came to tell them that the horses were awaiting them at 
 the door. With a cheering word and a tender individual 
 farewell to each member of his family, Hampden, for the 
 last time, quitted the home endeared to him by so many 
 associations, and mounting his horse, rode away with Jos- 
 celyn Heyworth to Thame, where Essex had lately taken up 
 his quarters. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 And there . . . gave 
 
 His body to that pleasant country's earth, 
 And his pure soul unto his Captain Christ, 
 Under whose banner he had fought so long. 
 
 KING RICHARD II., Act 4, Scene i. 
 
 THE days that followed were somewhat checkered. 
 Joscelyn greatly enjoyed meeting his former comrades once 
 more, and he had the inestimable privilege of being almost 
 constantly with Hampden, but it was trying to witness the 
 patriot's depression when, despite every effort, Essex still 
 remained half-hearted, timid, and supine. Now and again 
 the soldiers would be stirred into a sort of enthusiasm by 
 his presence, and would cry, " Hey for old Robin !'' But he 
 seemed incapable of promoting any great enterprise, and was 
 conspicuously lacking in the great qualities of Hampden and 
 of Sir William Waller. The men, disheartened by the sick- 
 ness which had rapidly thinned their ranks since the siege 
 of Reading, had become sullen and dispirited, and scarcely 
 a night passed but they could descry in the distance the 
 red glow in the sky which showed that Prince Rupert had 
 attacked and set fire to some defenceless place or beaten up 
 the quarters of some isolated regiment, putting all the luck- 
 less soldiers to the sword. Hampden devoted his energies 
 that week to raising the drooping spirits of the army, and to 
 visiting many of the outlying villages, and sending strong 
 remonstrances to the lord-general on the scattered and help- 
 less condition of the pickets. On Friday, the i6th, he visit- 
 ed, with Joscelyn, the regiments stationed at Postcombe and 
 
285 
 
 Chinnor, and, seeing in how exposed a position they were 
 left, despatched his lieutenant to Essex, imploring him to 
 call them in, as well as those troops picketed at Wycombe. 
 On the Saturday, having visited Major Gunter's cavalry at 
 Tetsworth, and done all that he could to establish a line of 
 communication between the principal regiments, he return- 
 ed towards evening to Watlington, where he had arranged 
 to pass the night. 
 
 " We shall pass through Purton," he said, " and will visit 
 my father-in-law, Squire Symeon ; he will like to have the 
 latest news of the army." 
 
 The sunset cast a mellow glow over the lovely little church ; 
 and Joscelyn, who had ever a keen eye for beautiful coloring, 
 gave an exclamation of delight. 
 
 " Ah, Heyworth !" said his companion, smiling, " they will 
 never make a straitlaced Puritan of you. 'Tis, methinks, 
 a right happy thing that a few of us insist on paying due 
 reverence to whatsoever things are lovely. In yonder little 
 church, when not much older than you, I was wedded to 
 my dear wife, now in heaven. Let us dismount and take 
 this way to the hall , 'tis not every day that you will have a 
 chance of seeing so fine an old Norman church as this of 
 Purton." 
 
 Giving the horses in charge of an attendant, they crossed 
 the church-yard, and, entering by the beautiful Norman door- 
 way, passed into the dimly lighted church, beneath the chan- 
 cel arch of which, long years before, John and Elizabeth 
 Symeon had plighted their vows. Hampden did not speak 
 a word, but stood gazing round the familiar place as though 
 lost in thought, musing perhaps over that past scene, or 
 dwelling maybe on the thought which had comforted him 
 in his recent sorrow, that his beloved son and daughter 
 were safe and at rest with their mother in the "happy 
 harbor of the saints." 
 
286 
 
 In silence he turned away and took Joscelyn through a 
 small gate with a curiously contrived latch, of which he 
 understood the secret. Passing through it, they found 
 themselves in the grounds of Purton Hall, which sloped 
 steeply down to a pretty piece of water, beyond which rose 
 the gray walls of a picturesque Elizabethan house. In the 
 porch Squire Symeon waited to receive them, having been 
 told of their visit to the church. He pressed them to sleep 
 at the hall ; but Hampden, who had business at Watlington, 
 would only consent to sup there, though promising, if pos- 
 sible, to return on the following day and spend Sunday 
 with them. The sun had just set when they left Purton, 
 and, riding briskly on to Watlington, they dismounted at 
 the Hare and Hounds, at the door of which the landlord, 
 Robert Parslow, stood talking to a group of Parliamentary 
 officers. Colonel Sheffield stepped forward to greet Hamp- 
 den. 
 
 " The military chest of which you spoke has been safely 
 deposited in your room, sir," he said ; " and if it were pos- 
 sible this Saturday night to give the soldiers their arrears 
 of pay I should be right glad." 
 
 Hampden dismounted and went into the inn, followed by 
 Sheffield and Joscelyn. The latter helped to remove the 
 patriot's armor, after which Hampden searched his pockets 
 for the key of the chest. 
 
 " 'Tis strange !" he exclaimed. " I certainly brought it with 
 me from Thame. Yet 'tis assuredly not here. Stay, let me 
 think ! Where did we lie last night ? 'Twas at Chinnor, and 
 I thrust the key in my pocket-case under the bed-pillow. I 
 must carelessly have left it there." 
 
 "Let me ride over, sir, and search for it," said Joscelyn. 
 " Hotspur is still saddled below." 
 
 " The poor beast has been far to-day and is weary," said 
 Hampden. " Yet 'tis important that we have the key. I 
 
28; 
 
 shall be greatly beholden to you, my boy, if you will ride 
 over to Chinnor. But do not attempt to return till morning, 
 for it will be dark by the time you get there, and we could 
 do naught with-the money to-night. Still, 'tis important that 
 the key be not lost, to say nothing of my pocket-case, which 
 contains sundry notes I shall need." 
 
 Without a moment's delay Joscelyn hurried out to the 
 stable-yard and rode off to Chinnor. A faint glow of light 
 still lingered in the west, and, as he rode along, the fragrance 
 of the newly mown hay made him think of that summer 
 afternoon a year ago at Katterham Court. He seemed to 
 see Clemency's sweet sad face as the mowers' song floated 
 through the open casement, and she had wept to think of 
 the changes that must have come by the next hay-harvest, 
 and of the war and bloodshed that must lay the land deso- 
 late. An intense stillness reigned in the quiet countryside. 
 Never had the Chiltern Hills looked more peaceful than 
 they did on that night; and Joscelyn, who knew that a 
 wagon containing a large sum of money for the army was 
 travelling down that night from London to Thame, con- 
 gratulated himself on the calmness of the landscape. Ar- 
 rived at Chinnor, he found that the quarters in which they 
 had slept on the previous night were already occupied. 
 But the key and pocket-case had been found, and were at 
 once handed over to him. Finding that not a bed was to 
 be had in the village, and having with some difficulty sta- 
 bled his weary horse, he wrapped himself in his cloak and 
 shifted as best he could in a hay-loft just above Hotspur's 
 stall. He was tired, and slept for some hours. Yet it 
 seemed to him but a short time before he was roused by 
 the most appalling confusion. Starting up from his bed of 
 hay, he listened in great consternation. The whole air 
 seemed full of terrible sounds shrieks of women, groans 
 of men, trampling of horses, the rattle of musketry, and 
 
288 
 
 now and again a shouted watchword, " St. George !" or 
 " Queen Mary !" 
 
 Springing to his feet, he tore aside a loose piece of board- 
 ing in the side of the loft and gazed out upon the village 
 street. It seemed to him like looking into hell. Lurid 
 flames leaped up from the thatched cottages, half-clothed 
 women and children struggled madly to escape, while the 
 Parliament soldiers whom Hampden had vainly tried only 
 a few hours before to save were remorselessly butchered by 
 the Cavaliers. For a moment Joscelyn seemed paralyzed. 
 Then, catching sight of the face of the renegade Hurry rid- 
 ing past with Prince Rupert, fury seemed to restore him to 
 life. Dashing down the ladder into the stable below, he 
 saddled Hotspur in desperate haste, intent only on warning 
 Hampden in time, on preventing a similar surprise of Wat- 
 lington. It was now about four o'clock in the morning; 
 the sun had not yet appeared above the hills, but a vivid 
 ruddy glow lighted the eastern sky. Joscelyn cautiously 
 opened the door of the stable. To escape by the street was 
 out of the question, and he thought it highly probable that 
 even the backs of the houses would be guarded. Even as 
 the thought crossed his mind a shot fired in the very yard 
 upon which the stable opened proved that his surmise was 
 correct ; a couple of Royalist soldiers lying in ambush had 
 fired upon a little group of fugitives who were vainly trying 
 to reach the fields beyond. Joscelyn, raising his musket 
 promptly, took aim at the nearest Cavalier and avenged 
 the slaughter of his comrades. Then seeing that his sole 
 chance of life lay in Hotspur's swiftness, he urged his horse 
 forward, bounded over the nearest hedge, and amid a 
 shower of bullets galloped off into the meadows, with great 
 good-fortune effecting his retreat from Chinnor. Hotspur, 
 mad with excitement, galloped bravely on, and, after carry- 
 ing his master across country at a pace which would not 
 
289 
 
 have disgraced a race-horse, landed him safely at the door 
 of the Hare and Hounds just as Colonel Sheffield came 
 forth booted and spurred, ready to cheer up his men, who 
 were mustering at the cross-roads by the market-place. 
 
 " Colonel Hampden is dressing," he said. " We had news 
 but now of Prince Rupert's doings at Postcombe." 
 
 Joscelyn ran up-stairs to see if he could help his leader, 
 and found himself just in time to fasten his armor for him. 
 
 " Thank God, you are safe," said Hampden. " I thought 
 through my carelessness you had ridden to your death. 
 What of Chinnor ?" 
 
 " 'Tis in flames, sir, and many of our poor fellows killed. 
 Prmce Rupert's force is approaching on the Icknield way. 
 The firing has never quite ceased ; he must be skirmishing 
 as he goes." 
 
 " We must endeavor to keep them so skirmishing till the 
 troops come from Thame," said Hampden. " If we can 
 but bring them to action this side of Chiselhampton Bridge, 
 to-day may be a turning-point in the war." 
 
 "But, sir," urged Joscelyn, "your brigade is not here; 
 why hazard a life so precious to the country when there is 
 no call for you to go forth ?" 
 
 Hampden only smiled at his eagerness. " You practise 
 not what you preach my son," he said, in his kindly voice. 
 " Did you pause to think of the hazard when you rode alone 
 through many perils to bring us the news from Chinnor ?" 
 
 " 'Tis different," cried Joscelyn ; " the country could well 
 enough spare me; but you the leader to whom we all 
 look oh, sir ! do not go forth !" 
 
 But even as he spoke the words he knew they would be 
 useless , he might just as well have begged a mother to for- 
 sake a helpless babe, or a captain to desert a ship in peril. 
 
 Hampden laid a kindly hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " For what has God permitted us to be here to-day," he 
 19 
 
290 
 
 said, "but to volunteer in this conflict? And what matter 
 how long or in what fashion we serve the country so that 
 we serve it faithfully ?" 
 
 After that there was no more to be said. They hurriedly 
 passed through the suite of rooms and down the steep stairs 
 to the court-yard, where Colonel Sheffield and several of the 
 other officers repeated the same remonstrance to Hampden, 
 to just as little purpose. He insisted on volunteering in 
 that day's service, nor could they regret it when they saw 
 how his presence inspired the soldiers. Passing through 
 Watlington, the two troops of horse commanded by Shef- 
 field and Cross, with which Hampden and Joscelyn had 
 volunteered, rode on in the direction of Chalgrove, a large 
 unenclosed plain, where it was deemed probable that Prince 
 Rupert might be brought to bay. It was now about eight 
 in the morning, much such a Sunday as they had enjoyed 
 the previous week, clear and still, with a cloudless sky, and 
 Joscelyn could not but notice the curious contrast between 
 the peaceful green meadows with their winding brook, the 
 curves of which were outlined by pollard willows, and the 
 warlike sounds ever growing louder and nearer as they ad- 
 vanced. 
 
 And now the field of Chalgrove was in sight, and over the 
 great expanse of standing corn waving gently in the June 
 breeze they could descry Prince Rupert's army, its left wing 
 hotly engaged against those gallant dragoons, commanded 
 by Colonel Gunter, which but yesterday Joscelyn had seen 
 at Tetsworth. He heard his leader give a sudden ejacula- 
 tion of sorrow. 
 
 " Colonel Gunter has fallen !" he said. Then, seeing that 
 the dragoons were giving way, the new-comers hastened to 
 rally them, and Hampden and Sheffield urged the men for- 
 ward, Hampden putting himself at the head of the attack, 
 and so stimulating the soldiers by the magic of his presence 
 
291 
 
 that by the confession of their enemies they fought that day 
 as they had never fought before. 
 
 " The main body from Thame must shortly be here," said 
 Hampden, as they charged the enemy. Joscelyn was be- 
 side his leader in the front rank. As the words were ut- 
 tered he just glanced at him, and so contagious was Hamp- 
 den's enthusiasm that at the moment all things seemed 
 possible, even that the dilatory Essex might for once be in 
 time. The Cavaliers vastly outnumbered them, but they 
 were worn and weary with their night's work, and could 
 surely be held in check till Essex came. These thoughts 
 flashed through Joscelyn's mind as the green ears of corn 
 bowed beneath the feet of the galloping horses ; and from 
 the troops drawn up beneath the hedge towards which they 
 charged there poured forth a deadly fire. He was dimly 
 aware that their ranks were grievously thinned. Still they 
 pressed on. 
 
 Suddenly he glanced towards his left, perceiving that 
 Hampden's arm had fallen powerless to his side. Almost 
 at the same moment the trooper on his right dropped down 
 dead, and his maddened horse plunging against Hotspur so 
 terrified the poor beast that he reared violently, and his 
 master, thrown off his guard and thinking only of his 
 wounded leader, was thrown to the ground, where for some 
 time he lay stunned. 
 
 When he came to himself the skirmish was over ; dizzy 
 and confused by his fall and the kicks he had received 
 while lying on the field, he could at first recollect nothing, 
 but lay staring at the trampled corn and at a sycamore-tree 
 clearly outlined against the blue sky. Moving a little, he 
 saw that the ground behind him was soaked with blood. This 
 roused him, and starting up, he found that he was the one 
 living man among a heap of dead soldiers, and suddenly 
 recollecting that he had seen Hampden wounded, he began 
 
with sickening anxiety to search for him among the slain. 
 Not rinding him in that part of the field, he became 
 hopeful that his hurt had not been serious, and still feeling 
 shaken and sick, he made his way over the trampled and 
 blood-stained corn and past the bodies of dead men and 
 horses, longing to find some one to tell him all that had 
 passed. Presently he came upon a few of Gunter's dra- 
 goons, who, having found their master's dead body, were 
 bearing it away with sorrowful faces, for he was an officer 
 universally loved and esteemed. 
 
 " Have you seen Colonel Hampden ?" asked Joscelyn. 
 
 "Aye, sir," said one of the men ; "I saw him quit the field 
 before the action was finished; his head was hanging down, 
 and his arms leaning on his horse's neck." 
 
 "Then indeed he must be sorely wounded!" cried Jos- 
 celyn. " Which way did he ride ?" 
 
 "Towards Purton, sir,- yet methinks he could not have 
 passed that way, or he would have fallen in with some 
 of Prince Rupert's men. Belike he will ride back to 
 Thame." 
 
 " What of the enemy ?" asked Joscelyn ; " did they pur- 
 sue our troops ?" 
 
 " Nay, sir, but went on their way to Oxford as soon as 
 they saw the main body coming in the distance. They 
 have many prisoners with them, and among others Colonel 
 Sheffield, who was taken grievously wounded." 
 
 Joscelyn waited no longer, for it was plain he would only 
 hear of further disasters ; moreover, he happened to catch 
 sight in the distance of Hotspur peacefully grazing beside 
 a hedge, just as if no terrible misfortune had happened. 
 Hastily mounting, he turned to a countryman, who was 
 coming to see if he could help the wounded. 
 
 " You know these parts better than I do," said Joscelyn. 
 " Which is the shortest way across country to Thame ?" 
 
"SEEMED HARDLY ABLE TO KEEP IN THE SADDLE." 
 
 [Page 293. 
 
293 
 
 The man indicated the direction. " Make for Tetsworth, 
 sir," he said, " and there you'll be on the road to Thame. 
 Ride straight across from here by the way of Hazeley 
 Brook." 
 
 A word to the chestnut seemed to make him understand 
 his master's desire, for he galloped on at the same desperate 
 pace he had gone that morning from Chinnor to Watling- 
 ton. Crossing Hazeley Brook, and seeing the little village 
 of Tetsworth close at hand, Joscelyn's heart leaped into his 
 throat as he perceived riding slowly on in advance of him a 
 solitary horseman. The sun shone on his steel corselet and 
 on his flowing hair ; he had removed his heavy helmet, and 
 seemed hardly able to kefep in the saddle, so grievously was 
 he wounded. In a few minutes Joscelyn was beside him, and 
 the wounded patriot, too faint to recognize him, yet found 
 breath for one question. 
 
 " What of the day, sir ?" he asked. 
 
 " It is lost," said Joscelyn. " My lord Essex was too 
 late. Prince Rupert is on his way back to Oxford with 
 many prisoners." 
 
 Hampden sighed heavily, but did not speak ; his head 
 was bent a little lower ; his hands leaned more heavily on 
 his horse's neck. 
 
 "Ah, sir," cried Joscelyn, "how did you ever cross the 
 brook ? Do not go farther, but rest here, and let me fetch 
 help from Tetsworth." 
 
 " Why, boy, is it you ?" cried Hampden, his face lighting 
 up. " I saw you fall in the first charge, and gave you up 
 for lost." 
 
 " I was but stunned and trampled on, sir, not wounded. 
 But you ? You are grievously hurt." 
 
 "Aye, I have got my death- wound," said Hampden. 
 " Yet I will ride back to Thame ; this faintness came not 
 on till I leaped the brook, and that why 'twas, as one may 
 
say, Hobson's choice, for had I dismounted to lead the 
 horse over I could never have mounted him again." 
 
 Endless seemed that last ride, yet Hampden, though suf- 
 fering tortures, spoke a few words from time to time. 
 
 " More than once in my old hunting days," he said, 
 " have I known men as sorely hurt as I am now. Shall 
 one grudge for one's country what men do not grudge for 
 a pastime ?" 
 
 At last they came into sight of Thame, and could hear 
 the church-bells ringing for service. 
 
 Hampden smiled faintly. 
 
 " You see," he said, " they ring us into the town, though 
 we are not victors, but vanquished." 
 
 And so he rode on over the rough highway, each mo- 
 ment of endurance an act of heroism. As they advanced 
 into the place, with its picturesque thatched houses, Hamp- 
 den looked lingeringly round in the manner of one who 
 casts a farewell glance on scenes once familiar and dear. 
 And when they passed the pretty old grammar-school, with 
 its mullioned windows and quaint gables, he drew his com- 
 panion's attention to it. 
 
 " Over yonder," he said, " I spent my school-days. I 
 had as lief die in that old house as anywhere else. But 
 maybe we had better ride on to our quarters near the mar- 
 ket-place. 'Twill give less trouble to other folk." 
 
 So they passed on down the broad High Street, and, 
 amid a crowd of sorrow-stricken people, dismounted at the 
 house where Hampden had slept but a few nights before. 
 Half fainting, he was helped from his horse and taken into 
 a room on the ground-floor, for to go a step farther than 
 was necessary was now impossible. 
 
 At first the surgeons did not despair, and Joscelyn, ever 
 ready to hope and slow to take the gloomiest view, buoyed 
 himself up with their words, and from his very cheerfulness 
 
295 
 
 became a power in the sick-room. But Hampden knew 
 that his days were numbered, and quietly and patiently 
 prepared to leave his work in other hands. 
 
 Struck in the shoulder by two carbine-balls, which had 
 not only broken the bone but had entered his body, he 
 knew that no surgeon, however skilful, could save him, 
 and now his sole effort was to keep his mind clear that he 
 might to the last serve his country. Though suffering tort- 
 ures, he insisted on dictating letters of counsel to the Par- 
 liament, and last words to some of his kinsfolk and friends, 
 and Joscelyn, to whose lot it usually fell to write for him, 
 marvelled at his perfect self-forgetfulness. 
 
 On the Thursday there were times when he suffered so 
 terribly that he could do nothing but lie, in that pathetic 
 heroism of silent endurance which to the watchers seemed 
 more moving than cries or groans. Once in a quiet inter- 
 val he looked up at Joscelyn, whose hand he had griped 
 fast in his agony. 
 
 "Boy," he said, faintly, "methinks I had somewhat to 
 do in leading you into this strife. I trust you may never 
 regret it." 
 
 " Nay, sir, I must ever bless you for your guiding," said 
 Joscelyn, with a look so full of affection and confidence 
 that it brought tears to the eyes of more than one present. 
 
 " I pray God you may never know such pain," said 
 Hampden, wearily. 
 
 This was practically the only allusion he ever made to 
 his cruel sufferings save in response to direct questions. 
 As it had been all through his life, so in these last days he 
 showed most markedly the power of self-effacement that 
 utter merging of self into the thought of the country's need 
 which was his strongest characteristic. All the cheerful 
 courtesy, too, which had distinguished him shown out now 
 in little gracious habits of speech to those who waited on 
 
296 
 
 him, while his tenderness for his children and for the wife 
 so recently married was manifested in countless ways. 
 
 After the long agony of that Thursday, Joscelyn began to 
 realize that the end was near. The Lady Letitia, worn 
 with watching, was prevailed upon to rest, and he was al- 
 lowed to keep watch with one of the surgeons in the sick- 
 room through the night hours in company with Arthur 
 Goodwin, Hampden's closest friend and colleague in Par- 
 liament. 
 
 The dying patriot had some intervals of broken sleep, in 
 which they often heard him praying most fervently for the 
 country, for the Parliament, for his children, and many 
 times that the King might be delivered from his evil ad- 
 visers. When the next day dawned he looked towards 
 Joscelyn. 
 
 " Will you and Hotspur take one more ride for me ?" he 
 said. " It was arranged that my mother should come in 
 the coach from home this day. I should be grateful if you 
 would ask the rector to come also, and let him bring the 
 chalice with him, for I would fain receive the sacrament for 
 the last time." 
 
 Returning from this duty about noon on the 23d, Joscelyn 
 found his leader much weaker, but in less pain. Indeed, 
 throughout the afternoon Hampden was in such compara- 
 tive ease that he was able to have long interviews with his 
 mother and with his wife and children. Joscelyn, for the 
 most part, was in the outer room, desperately holding his 
 sorrow at arm's-length, lest it should overwhelm him, rest- 
 lessly going on errands which any of the servants would 
 have undertaken, talking with Sir Robert Pye, who had 
 that day come down with his wife from London, or listen- 
 ing to the conversation between Dr. Spurstow, the chaplain 
 of Hampden's regiment, and Mr. Robert Lenthall, the new 
 rector of Great Hampden. Late in the evening the Lady 
 
2 9 7 
 
 Letitia opened the door of the sick-room and beckoned to 
 him. 
 
 "Captain Heyworth," she said, "my husband would 
 greatly like you to be present with us ; and will you tell 
 the rector that the service had best take place at once ?" 
 
 Her wonderful self-command amazed Joscelyn, who, 
 thinking of her brief happiness and of her devotion to her 
 husband, lost sight for the time of his own sorrow. Yet, after 
 all, was it not almost enough joy to fall to the lot of any 
 mortal to have inspired in the heart of a man like Hamp- 
 den such love and trust that on his death-bed all anxiety 
 for his orphaned children could be laid aside, so well-assured 
 was he that she would treat them precisely as though they 
 were her own ? 
 
 The room was somewhat dimly lighted, and as they en- 
 tered Joscelyn heard Hampden's voice, and noticed how 
 much weaker it had grown. " Let him stay," he was saying. 
 " The child wishes it, and methinks thou art old enough to 
 understand, Dick." 
 
 "Yes, sir," said little Richard, whose fair head nestled 
 close to his father's. The contrast between the rosy- 
 cheeked boy and the haggard, sunken features of the dy- 
 ing man was very strange, and was all the more marked 
 because the childish face was so full of sorrow, so clouded 
 by misery, while the father's face seemed already to have 
 gained something of that peace, "the true end of war," 
 about which he had spoken as they rode from London. 
 There were present, besides the rector, Dr. Spurstow, old 
 Madam Hampden, the Lady Letitia, little Richard Hamp- 
 den's eldest surviving son his daughter Anne, Sir Robert 
 Pye, and Arthur Goodwin. At first Joscelyn could only 
 feel like one in a terrible dream. His eyes wandered from 
 one to another in the sorrowful group, and he saw with a 
 sort of dull pang how the flickering candlelight glanced on 
 
298 
 
 the bright steel armor leaning now against the dark wain- 
 scot, and never again to be worn by Hampden. Collect 
 and epistle had fallen unheeded upon his ear ; only the 
 last words of the brief gospel arrested him "but is passed 
 from death into life." Then once more he looked towards 
 the dying man, and something in the simplicity of his quiet 
 and unaffected devotion raised him into another atmos- 
 phere, and within his troubled heart life and strength faced 
 death and sorrow and triumphed. 
 
 Afterwards, having embraced little Richard, Hampden 
 motioned to Joscelyn to draw nearer and receive his last 
 farewell. 
 
 "God bless you," he said, faintly. "Be a friend to my 
 boy. I pray that you and Clemency may long be spared 
 to serve the good cause." 
 
 For the last time Joscelyn looked into those deep, ear- 
 nest eyes. Then he put his arm round the sobbing child, 
 and, at old Madam Hampden's suggestion, led him out of 
 the room, and only left him when, worn out with sorrow, 
 Richard fell asleep in one of the upper rooms. As he 
 came down - stairs once more he met Arthur Goodwin in 
 the passage. The tears were raining down the strong 
 man's face, but he struggled hard for composure. 
 
 " I think he will not speak again," he said in a broken 
 voice. " He is now as it were in a sleep. Yet if there 
 should be a return to consciousness I pray you to let me 
 know." 
 
 Joscelyn promised to do so ; but the long hours of the 
 night wore on, and only an ominous stillness reigned in the 
 sick-room. At last, about five o'clock in the morning of 
 the 24th, a sound of galloping feet was heard in the High 
 Street. Joscelyn, who was in the outer room with Dr. 
 Spurstow, the chaplain, went to the window to see what 
 visitor came at this early hour. 
 
299 
 
 " 'Tis Dr. Giles, of Chinnor, an old friend of Colonel 
 Hampden's," said Dr. Spurstow. " He comes too late." 
 
 They went to the door to receive the traveller a burly, 
 pleasant-looking country parson. 
 
 " I bear a message of inquiry from the King," he said. 
 " His Majesty bade me offer his surgeon to Mr. Hamp- 
 den." 
 
 "The offer comes too late, sir," said Joscelyn. 
 
 " Aye," said Dr. Spurstow ; " he lies at the point of death." 
 
 The visitor was much overcome, but asked to see Hamp- 
 den ; and Joscelyn, having borne the news of his arrival to 
 the Lady Letitia, ushered him into the sick-room. Dr. 
 Giles, giving hurried greetings to the watchers, bent over 
 his old friend, and tried to rouse him by repeating the 
 King's words. But it was too late. The sound of the 
 voice disturbed the dying patriot a little; a tremor ran 
 through his powerful frame ; his pale lips moved as though 
 forming words, which yet were never uttered. Had he per- 
 chance heard the message, and with a last effort of his ha- 
 bitual courtesy did he try to return his thanks ? Or did his 
 lips move in one of those pathetic and oft-repeated cries to 
 God to save England from those who threatened her an- 
 cient liberties ? No one would ever know. For the fare- 
 well he had spoken to Arthur Goodwin proved to be his 
 last utterance in this world. 
 
 A few minutes later, sleeping as calmly as a tired child, 
 John Hampden " passed out of death into life." 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 The spirit of bitterness may wind itself into our souls, even while 
 we are making the loudest professions of charity. DEAN PLUMPTRE. 
 
 STUNNED and dazed, not as yet feeling very acutely, Jos- 
 celyn passed from the death-bed of his leader and friend 
 into the High Street, where but few people were stirring. 
 He went straight to Arthur Goodwin's quarters to bear him 
 the news, only pausing once when a great brawny-armed 
 smith, catching sight of him, flung down his hammer on the 
 anvil and ran out from his forge with an eager question : 
 
 " What news of Colonel Hampden ?" 
 
 " All is over," said Joscelyn, in a numb voice. But even 
 as he uttered the words he felt how false they were, and 
 watching the blacksmith's passionate outburst of grief, he 
 realized that Hampden's work on this earth was not over 
 was, in truth, only just beginning, and that from generation 
 to generation his name would serve as an inspiration and 
 example to all who sought righteousness, freedom, and 
 progress. 
 
 There was no need to speak the actual news to Colonel 
 Goodwin ; he saw it written plainly enough in the young 
 officer's face ; and touched by sorrow so deep and genu- 
 ine, he put his arm within Joscelyn's, and walked back with 
 him to see if he could help Sir Robert Pye in making the 
 necessary arrangements for the funeral. 
 
 " Every honest man hath a share in this loss, and there- 
 fore will likewise share in our sorrow," he said. "And 
 truly God takes away the best among us. Take it all, I 
 
3QI 
 
 think he was not to any man living second. Did he speak 
 again ?" 
 
 " Nay, sir. I believe his last conversation was with you. 
 Just at the last Dr. Giles tried to rouse him from the sleep 
 in which for six hours he had lain. The King had sent to 
 offer his surgeon from Oxford. But like the troops at 
 Chalgrove, the help came too late." 
 
 " The King sent, say you ? What does that bode, I won- 
 der ?" said Goodwin. " Only at the beginning of this month 
 his Majesty was taking part in a plot by which Pym and 
 Hampden were to be treacherously seized in their beds. 
 Having failed in that, did he think to conciliate the most 
 powerful man of the day ? If so, it shows how little he un- 
 derstood the character of our dead leader." 
 
 " May not his Majesty have sent the message out of pure 
 humanity ?" said Joscelyn. 
 
 Arthur Goodwin was silent. Personally he had small 
 reason to believe in the King's kind-heartedness, being one 
 of the two who were specially excepted by Charles in the 
 general pardon he offered to the County of Buckingham ; 
 but he would not urge anything against the more generous 
 thought of his young companion ; and, indeed, at that mo- 
 ment they reached the house and encountered Sir Robert 
 Pye. 
 
 It was deemed best that the funeral should take place on 
 the next day. It was a Sunday, and in time of war there 
 was no possibility of observing the usual tedious formali- 
 ties. Moreover, the family were already in deep mourn- 
 ing for Mrs. Knightley. When these details had been set- 
 tled, Joscelyn was despatched to Hampden House with a 
 message ; and, in fact, the whole of that day he was so 
 continuously employed that he was able in part to hold in 
 check the sorrow which he yet all the time knew would 
 sooner or later overwhelm him. 
 
302 
 
 The 25th of June, unlike the previous Sunday, when they 
 had fought under a cloudless sky at Chalgrove, was sultry 
 and oppressive. A sort of blight seemed to hang over the 
 place ; not a breath of air was stirring ; and in the distance 
 from time to time could be heard prolonged rumbling thun- 
 der, as though away among the Chilterns some battle raged. 
 
 Joscelyn, whose rest during the past week had been of 
 the briefest, slept late that morning, and was only roused 
 by the tolling of the great bell in the tower of the church. 
 Hastily dressing, he went down to the death-chamber to see 
 if in any way he could be of service. 
 
 There was nothing for him to do. 
 
 All the preparations were complete ; the hastily made 
 and unpretentious coffin was closed, the blue banner of the 
 Parliament had been thrown across it, and upon the lid had 
 been placed the patriot's sword and helmet. 
 
 He stood for a moment with bent head in that awful, 
 silent blankness ; then beginning faintly to realize the irrep- 
 arable loss their cause had sustained, he turned away with 
 heaving breast and dim eyes, unable to endure the oppres- 
 sion of his surroundings. At the back of the house a long 
 strip of garden-ground led down to the meadows. Here he 
 paced to and fro, struggling to bear up under that crushing 
 load of sorrow, under that great national loss, which be- 
 came more appalling as it was more fully understood. All 
 the customary platitudes of comfort were powerless to touch 
 his heart now; he could only think of the great statesman 
 cut off in his prime, of that mighty influence for good re- 
 moved from Parliament, of the gallant leader whom so 
 many had longed to see at the head of the army betrayed 
 to his death by a mercenary time-server like Hurry. 
 
 As he paced beside the homely fruit-trees and currant- 
 bushes, and passed the strawberry-beds whose heavy fra- 
 grance rilled the air, the solemn tolling of the great bell in 
 
"HE STOOD FOR A MOMENT WITH BENT HEAD." 
 
 [Page 302. 
 
3Q3 
 
 Thame tower ceased, and the bells began to ring a muffled 
 peal. Then he knew that he must return to the house, and, 
 joining the other mourners, he took his place in the long, 
 sad procession which followed the body of John Hampden 
 to the grave. Borne by his brave greencoats down the broad 
 street of Thame, along the country road he had so often 
 traversed in life, amid the tears of all beholders that sim- 
 ple, pathetic funeral train passed on. When they reached 
 Hampden House the soldiers bore the coffin through the 
 old banqueting-hall to the brick parlor where Hampden had 
 in past times so often toiled, and where years before he 
 had been summoned for his refusal to pay the ship-money. 
 Here, while the soldiers dined in the hall, the women of the 
 family gathered to take in private their last silent farewell 
 of the dead. Joscelyn, being presently summoned to speak 
 with old Madam Hampden, found them still weeping round 
 the coffin ; and Hampden's mother, seeing how greatly he 
 was moved, drew him a little aside, and, laying her hand on 
 his arm, spoke to him with almost motherly tenderness. 
 
 " I know how well you loved him," she said, " and how 
 great an affection he had for you. They tell me you must 
 leave for London this very day. Is that indeed the case ?" 
 
 " My leave has nearly expired, madam," explained Josce- 
 lyn, " and as it is necessary that I see Sir Robert Neal on 
 my way to the west, I must not delay any longer." 
 
 " They told me you would probably lie at Katterham for 
 a night," said Madam Hampden, "and I thought you 
 would kindly bear this little token to Sir Robert. 'Tis a 
 small volume of Plato which my dear son valued and con- 
 stantly read. Here, too, is one of his seals for your prom- 
 ised wife ; they tell me ladies now set great store by seals, 
 and I know Clemency will like some remembrance of him. 
 And as for you, Captain Heyworth, you who have been so 
 great a comfort to us all through this sad week, if you care 
 
to have it, I should like to give you the Bible he carried 
 through this campaign." 
 
 It was a tiny volume with gilt edges, one of those " pocket 
 Bibles " which excited the special derision of the Cavaliers, 
 and which, only lately issued, were used by vast numbers of 
 the Parliamentary officers. 
 
 As Joscelyn took it with warm and grateful thanks there 
 flashed through his mind many a strange camp scene in 
 which he had seen that little volume in the hand of his lost 
 leader. Bidding a sad farewell to the daughters of the 
 house and to the noble-hearted Lady Letitia, he returned to 
 the hall, when once more the mournful procession formed, 
 and the walls of the old house rang and echoed as the 
 soldiers' voices rose in a great reassuring burst of song: 
 " Lord, Thou hast been our refuge from one generation to 
 another." 
 
 A fortnight before, they had spent that happy Sunday 
 together, with Hampden as the life of the party; now, as 
 Joscelyn glanced back, he saw the broken-hearted wife, the 
 mother, the poor weeping girls, watching at the far end of 
 the hall, while in advance the soldiers bore the body of their 
 colonel to its last resting-place, and the sad -hearted little 
 heir not yet twelve years old walked behind, holding fast 
 to Sir Robert Pye's hand, and bravely struggling to keep 
 back his tears. 
 
 With arms reversed, they marched through the quiet park 
 to the church-yard gate, where the rector met them with 
 the words of good cheer spoken ages ago at Bethany ; and 
 passing into the church, the soldiers laid the body of John 
 Hampden beside the tombs of his forefathers in. the chancel 
 near the touchingly worded memorial which he had dedi- 
 cated to his dead wife. It seemed as if that whole church- 
 ful of men and they were but the representatives of thou- 
 sands of absent mourners took most literally the beautiful 
 
305 
 
 phrase of the burial - service, " Our dear brother here de- 
 parted." The dead statesman, who for two -and -twenty 
 years had toiled for them and their rights in Parliament, the 
 champion of truth and righteousness ; who, alone and single- 
 handed, had fought a tyrannical King and seven servile 
 judges, enduring imprisonment, obloquy, and slander ; the 
 soldier with his matchless courage, his rare modesty, his 
 devotion to the country had been, in spite of his great 
 wealth and ancient pedigree, simply and literally their 
 brother, more fully in sympathy with them than any other 
 man of that time. 
 
 Joscelyn had made his farewells at the house, and did 
 not again return to it; he ordered Hotspur to be saddled, 
 and when the crowd in the church-yard had dispersed to 
 see the soldiers return, he once more entered the church, 
 and passing into the deserted chancel, knelt beside the 
 open grave. Then, at last, the floodgates of his grief were 
 opened ; with choking sobs that shook his whole frame he 
 fell forward on the stone slab which before long would 
 cover Hampclen's tomb, weeping the most bitter tears of 
 his life. 
 
 Presently a sound of footsteps in the porch made him 
 spring to his feet, and, with an effort, drive back those 
 signs of grief which no Heyworth quite forgave himself 
 for showing before others. The sexton and his assistants 
 had come to finish their work. With bowed head Joscelyn 
 hurried past them, made his way to the stables, mounted 
 his horse, and rode away from the place which must for- 
 ever be bound up with his most precious memories. 
 
 A summer shower was something of a relief to him, and 
 by-and-by the sun shone out for the first time that day. He 
 paused for a minute to look back over the lovely landscape 
 with its verdant hills and wooded valleys, and saw for the 
 last time the Whiteleaf cross commemorating an old Saxon 
 
 20 
 
3Q6 
 
 victory over Danish invaders clearly marked on the distant 
 hill-side, while resting almost upon it was the upward spring 
 of the arch of a brilliant rainbow. The sight cheered his 
 heavy heart. Hope springing from self-sacrifice, light from 
 cruel loss, the world's greater gain from the living of a noble, 
 manly life were not these undying realities ? Vaguely he 
 had known it all long ago, but through the life and death 
 of Hampden the truth had gained for him new force and 
 meaning. 
 
 Riding that night as long as the light served him, he slept 
 at one of the comfortable road-side inns, at that time much 
 more plentiful, and very early the next morning resumed his 
 journey to London. He found the whole place in mourning 
 over the news of Hampden's death, while intense bitterness 
 had been stirred up by the rancorous attacks made upon 
 him in the Royalist journals. The one which perhaps an- 
 gered Joscelyn the most was the attack in the Mercurius 
 Aulicus, published the very day of Hampden's death, at 
 Oxford. It raked up again that strange farrago of mingled 
 truth and falsehood with regard to Hampden's private sor- 
 rows which had wounded the bereaved father's heart, at a 
 time when one might have expected even a fiend incarnate 
 to hold his peace. Many of the nobler spirits among the 
 King's followers, such as Falkland and Hopton and Chil- 
 lingworth, preserved a reverent silence, and doubtless 
 mourned the loss of a noble enemy, but the servile court 
 liars gathered about the grave of the dead man like ghouls, 
 and the press disgraced itself by promulgating the vilest 
 personalities of party warfare. 
 
 Joscelyn, young and hot-headed, was affected very griev- 
 ously by these attacks on his dead leader. An older man 
 might have borne them with greater philosophy, and have 
 treated them with the calm disdain they deserved. But he 
 was lacking in this faculty of disdain, and as he rode down 
 
FOR A MINUTE THE TUTOR FAILED TO RECOGNIZE HIS FORMER PUPIL. 
 
 [Page 3 c 
 
3Q7 
 
 to Katterham there was a hard, bitter look in his face which 
 had never been there before. 
 
 Sir Robert Neal was quick to note the change in him, 
 and to understand its cause. When he had heard the de- 
 tails of his friend's death, he turned the subject quietly, and 
 began to speak of Clemency and of the future, alluding to 
 the marriage contract which had been signed in London. 
 
 "These are but ill days," he said, "for marrying and 
 giving in marriage. But I am an old man and growing 
 feeble, and I should like to see Clemency your wife be- 
 fore I die." 
 
 They then spoke of the journey which Clemency had to 
 make from Gloucester, and of its difficulties and perils, 
 arranging that if any break in the war should come and 
 hostilities be for a time suspended, it might be advisable 
 for the marriage to take place from Christopher Bennett's 
 house, so that Joscelyn should himself be able to escort her 
 back to Katterham. 
 
 But, alas! any cessation of the strife seemed then but 
 little likely. The prospects of the Parliamentary party be- 
 came day by day darker : Pym was in failing health, Essex 
 was torpid and timorous, troops from the north were hasten- 
 ing to join the King, London itself was threatened, from 
 the west came news of Royalist triumphs, and Hampden 
 was dead. 
 
 Small wonder that as Joscelyn journeyed down to Som- 
 ersetshire the iron entered into his soul when he mused on 
 the rejoicings of the Cavaliers over the loss that had well- 
 nigh broken his heart. Small wonder that he thought of 
 the King with something like loathing when he pictured 
 him as rewarding the deserter Hurry with the honor of 
 knighthood for his services at Chalgrove Hurry the rene- 
 gade, once a comrade of Hampden's, yet not ashamed to 
 spend the very Sunday of his burial in attacking and plun- 
 
dering the Parliamentary quarters at Wycombe, slaughtering 
 some of the very troops he had once led. 
 
 It was in this sore-hearted and bitter state that he ar- 
 rived, on the evening of the ist July, at the village of 
 North Cadbury in Somersetshire, and having been directed 
 by a shepherd boy to the parsonage, rode up to the door 
 just as the sun was setting. Whichcote and his young bride 
 had been walking in the garden, and seeing the unexpected 
 guest dismount, hastened forward to receive him, though 
 for a minute the tutor failed to recognize his former pupil 
 in this stern-faced officer, with his compressed, bitter-looking 
 mouth and sorrowful eyes. But Joscelyn, seeing his master's 
 broad-browed and most winning face once more, and re- 
 calling at the sight his happy life at Cambridge, forgot for 
 a moment his grief, and with all his old warmth of manner 
 hastened forward with eager greetings. 
 
 " Forgive me, sir, for coming in this unceremonious fash- 
 ion," he said, " but I am on my way to rejoin Sir William 
 Waller, who, I learn, is now at Bath, and being commis- 
 sioned to bear you a watch bequeathed to you by Mr. Gains- 
 borough, of Lincoln, I thought I had best deliver it in 
 person." 
 
 Whichcote gave him a most cordial greeting, and then 
 introduced him to his wife. 
 
 " I scarcely knew you for the moment," he said, apolo- 
 getically, "and, indeed, had thought you were travelling 
 abroad ; but I see you have elected to stay and play your 
 part in this troubled land of ours." 
 
 No word in relation to politics had ever before passed 
 between them it had been a subject which Joscelyn, in his 
 Cambridge days, had carefully avoided. Nor had he ever 
 regarded Whichcote as a Puritan, though he had lately 
 learned that he was one of the most broad-minded sup- 
 porters of the cause. 
 
3Q9 
 
 Whichcote walked with him to the stable, Joscelyn pre- 
 ferring to see to his favorite horse himself, and explaining 
 how much he valued him. 
 
 "He was with me at Chalgrove field," he said, "and dur- 
 ing Colonel Hampden's last ride back to Thame," 
 
 "You knew Colonel Hampden, then?" said Whichcote. 
 " That was indeed a better training for you than months of 
 travel in Europe. Truly, all England mourns when such a 
 one dies." 
 
 Then, seeing the spasm of pain which passed over the 
 young man's face, Whichcote quietly changed the subject, 
 and led him back to the parsonage, where, though all was 
 simple and unostentatious, there were nevertheless the 
 dainty freshness and the careful arrangement which charac- 
 terize the first home of a happily wedded pair. After supper 
 he took him into the little room which served him for his 
 study, and sitting there by the open window in the fading 
 light they talked together of all that had passed since their 
 parting a year ago. It was indeed hard to realize that it was 
 but a year, for Joscelyn had leaped from careless boyhood 
 into manhood laden with care, while his natural hopefulness, 
 which had carried him through so many troubles, seemed in 
 the great shock of Hampden's death to have been crushed 
 out of him. 
 
 Whichcote was quick to note that he sought refuge in 
 bitter words against the King and his party, not SQ much 
 from any deeply ingrained hatred as in the desperate 
 attempt to relieve that overwhelming blankness of loss 
 which all who had looked to Hampden as their champion 
 and defender were now experiencing. He just let him 
 pour out all his wrath and grief, and then began, in his 
 quiet, finely modulated voice, to attempt some sort of reply. 
 
 " I am apt to think, Captain Heyworth," he said, throw- 
 ing the casement window a little wider open as he spoke, 
 
3io 
 
 " that many who have been exasperated one against another 
 are far nearer to one another in sense than in words. In re- 
 spect of God, who seeth hearts, they agree more than in the 
 view of the world, which only sees outward expressions. I 
 believe for one real difference in matters of consequence 
 between persons considerable there are twenty mistakes of 
 meanings, and could they see one another's hearts they 
 would think better of one another." 
 
 " Would you, then, sir, wholly excuse these vile slander- 
 ers ?" said Joscelyn, the fierce light in his eyes still unsub- 
 dued. 
 
 " Whosoever scornfully uses any other man," said Which- 
 cote, " disparages himself the human nature. Opposites 
 too often study to represent each other in the worst sense. 
 Let us honestly endeavor to take our foes at their best ; 
 for every man at his best will be found good for some- 
 thing." 
 
 " What!" cried Joscelyn ; " a traitor such as Hurry? You 
 cannot realize, sir, what he is, how vicious his life, how alto- 
 gether without sense of honor, so that even the Cavaliers 
 whom God knows are not over-particular were shy of 
 putting their confidence in such a one. I can well under- 
 stand that a man may honorably change his views, but 
 Hurry was so vile as to carry information to Oxford of the 
 large sum of money being sent from London to the lord- 
 general at Thame, and 'twas in hopes of taking this prize 
 that the expedition ending in the fight at Chalgrove was 
 first set on foot." 
 
 " I had not heard that," said Whichcote. " Few details 
 reach us here in the country. Did Prince Rupert seize the 
 money?" 
 
 " No, sir ; by good-fortune he missed it ; for the burning 
 of Chinnor and the noise of the fray warned the drivers of 
 the wagons, and they turned aside into the woods, waiting 
 
"AFTER SUPPER HE TOOK HIM INTO HIS STUDY.' 
 
 [Page 309. 
 
till the Cavaliers had passed by. Nothing was gained to the 
 King by the expedition save a few prisoners and the shoot- 
 ing of Colonel Hampden. 'Tis for this last, clearly, that the 
 King hath knighted that vile renegade." 
 
 With difficulty he strangled a curse out of deference to his 
 host, and pushing back his chair, began to pace to and fro 
 with what Sir John Denham would have termed his " bull 
 in the net " expression. 
 
 Whichcote, whose personal life happened at this time to 
 be specially bright, was greatly moved by his companion's 
 trouble. 
 
 Himself still comparatively young, for he was at this time 
 only four-and-thirty, he was able to understand Joscelyn's 
 state of mind much better than an older man might have 
 done. 
 
 " I have often thought of late," he said, " that both joy 
 and grief are things of great hazard and danger in the life 
 of man. The one breaks the heart, the other intoxicates 
 the head. An eye to God in both doth poise and balance." 
 
 Joscelyn left off pacing to and fro. The words arrested 
 him ; he came and stood by the open window, looking out 
 into the summer twilight, a calm like that of the dewy gar- 
 den stealing over his troubled heart as he listened to his 
 companion's words. 
 
 "The state of religion," said Whichcote, quietly, "seems 
 to me to consist in a divine frame and temper of mind, and 
 shows itself in a life and actions conformable to the Divine 
 will. Religion is not a hearsay, a presumption, a supposi- 
 tion ; is not a customary pretension or profession ; is not an 
 affectation of any mode ; is not a piety of particular fancy, 
 consisting in some pathetic devotions, vehement expressions, 
 bodily severities, affected anomalies, and aversions from the 
 innocent ways of others, but consisteth in a profound hu- 
 mility and a universal charity. 
 
312 
 
 "Universal, sir?" questioned Joscelyn, who had many of 
 the qualities which go to make a good hater. 
 
 " Aye," said Whichcote, smiling a little at his expression 
 of face, " universal. And remember that God imposeth no 
 law of righteousness upon us which he doth not observe 
 himself. Too often men have an itch rather to make relig- 
 ion than to use it; but we are to use our religion, not to 
 make it." 
 
 Joscelyn sighed. " Your standard, sir, seems to me alto- 
 gether too high for one who has to live in the world nowa- 
 days. The ideal is a noble one, but how should a man 
 compass it? How learn to love the base, the loveless, the 
 oppressors ?" 
 
 "I know only of this way," said Whichcote, his eyes 
 looking far beyond the dim garden, as though reading the 
 secrets of another world. " We must learn of the Divine 
 Wisdom, imitate the Divine Goodness, depend on the Di- 
 vine Power." 
 
 The words never left Joscelyn's memory, and he carried 
 all through his life the recollection of the quiet Sunday that 
 followed, and of the sermon that he heard Whichcote preach 
 in North Cadbury Church, on the 3ist and 32d verses of the 
 fourth chapter of the letter to the Ephesians. Always he 
 could hear the preacher's clear voice pleading for the dis- 
 charge from the heart of all ill will and displeasure against 
 others, and of that false zeal which degenerates into passion 
 and interest, and is wholly unlike the Divine goodness, kind- 
 ness, and clemency which it is our duty to imitate. The 
 word "clemency" for a time distracted Joscelyn. He missed 
 a good deal that followed, and wandered off in thought to 
 the gabled house at Gloucester. 
 
 When he returned to the present, the speaker was saying 
 that differences of opinion must exist, for men must think 
 as they found cause, and no man was master of his own ap- 
 
3^3 
 
 prehensions. Therefore, urged Whichcote, we must dwell 
 on those points on which we do agree, and make allowance 
 for the different tempers of men. Some men's apprehen- 
 sions could not possibly hit in anything ; they were cast in 
 different moulds, and could no more help this than they 
 could make their faces alike. But anger, ill will, and dis- 
 pleasure disqualified the mind from the pursuit of truth, and 
 the choicest piece of charity was to make fair interpretation 
 and to put a candid construction on men's actions. He 
 would fain engage men to humanity, courtesy, and universal 
 charity, so as, if it were possible, to promote a general 
 reconciliation in the whole creation of God. Finally he 
 claimed freedom in all points save only in this that men 
 are not at liberty to judge one another; and with one more 
 strong appeal to his hearers to strive after a godlike frame 
 and temper of mind, he brought to a close the most strik- 
 ing sermon that Joscelyn could ever remember hearing. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 They have seemed to be together, though absent ; shook hands, as 
 over a vast ; and embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed winds. 
 The heavens continue their loves ! WINTER'S TALE, Act i., Scene i. 
 
 EARLY on the Monday Joscelyn left the quiet of the country 
 parsonage, and before many hours had passed found him- 
 self once more in the midst of the strife. Not without 
 considerable risk he succeeded in making his way alone 
 through a country infested by the enemy, and contrived to 
 join the main body of Waller's army, which had taken up a 
 position just below Claverton Down, guarding Bath against 
 the threatened approach of the Royalists from Bradford- 
 on-Avon. The lovely little village of Claverton presented 
 a strange scene : the beautiful old hall had been converted 
 into a temporary garrison, the river had been spanned by 
 a hastily erected bridge, and a redoubt had been thrown 
 up to defend it. Pausing at a little distance, Joscelyn 
 watched the safe transit of two cannon and of a detachment 
 of steel-capped soldiers across the Avon. The sight of 
 those tawny orange scarfs all massed together and of the 
 familiar blue banner of the Parliament stirred his heart 
 strangely. Hampden was dead, but the good cause re- 
 mained, the cause which the patriot's dying lips had bade 
 him serve. His old buoyant hopefulness returned to him, 
 and his face was full of its wonted cheerfulness as he 
 greeted his chief. Sir William Waller had been directing 
 matters at the passage of the river. At sight of his favorite 
 officer his black eyes lighted up with a gleam of pleasure, 
 and he gave him a most hearty welcome. 
 
" I have missed you sorely," he said, " and you are re- 
 turned just in time for the fray, if I mistake not. The 
 enemy are endeavoring to reach Bath by this valley of the 
 Avon, by far the easiest approach. We shall frustrate 
 their plans here, I trust, and drive them to attack it on 
 the northern side, where they will find it no easy task to 
 oust us from the heights of Lansdown. In the mean- 
 time let us feed while we may; you were ever good at 
 catering." 
 
 In truth Joscelyn's handsome face and courteous bearing 
 stood him in very good stead, and even where the country 
 folk were hostile to the Parliament he could generally ob- 
 tain better provisions by a simple request than others by 
 threats and commands. Here in East Somersetshire, more- 
 over, the people were entirely devoted to the Parliament, 
 and Claverton was ready enough to furnish Waller and his 
 men with all that they needed. Waller, who was as tem- 
 perate and simple in his tastes as Hampden himself, rested 
 for a while under the shade of a great elm watching the 
 movements of Major Dowet, over on the opposite side of 
 the river, upon Monckton Farleigh Down. From time to 
 time he questioned Joscelyn as to the details of the skirmish 
 on Chalgrove field and the last days of Hampden, and told 
 him what had passed during his absence. 
 
 " I greatly wished you had been with me after the fight at 
 Chewton Mendip," he said ; " for Sir Ralph Hopton, being 
 anxious to meet me in a private interview, sent a very cour- 
 teous and friendly letter making the request, and chose as 
 his ambassador one of your brothers." 
 
 " Do you know, sir, which of them came ?" said Joscelyn, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " I heard not his name, merely that he was Captain Hey- 
 worth, upon which for a moment I had hoped 'twas you 
 yourself returned, but there was shown into my room a 
 
young man of about your age, or maybe younger, and look- 
 ing somewhat as you might, with darker hair, skin, and eyes ; 
 a very pleasant-mannered, well-bred youth he seemed, and 
 grievously disappointed by your absence." 
 
 " Then it was Dick," said Joscelyn, regretfully. " And 
 did you, sir, have the interview with Sir Ralph Hopton ?" 
 
 " No," said Waller, " much as I should have liked to meet 
 my old friend ; but I well knew that we were both of us en- 
 tirely true to the cause we each serve, and incapable of be- 
 ing wrought upon by any persuasions. Moreover, the con- 
 ference could never have been so close between us but that it 
 would take wind, and receive a construction to my dishonor. 
 May God in his good time send us the blessing of peace, and 
 in the meantime fit us to receive it ! Then shall many friend- 
 ly foes be restored to one another's society. Your brother, 
 by-the-bye, left with me a letter, which you shall have when 
 we return to our quarters at Bath. 'Tis a cruel fate that 
 has severed two kinsmen thus strongly attached to one 
 another." 
 
 Through the hours of skirmishing that followed Joscelyn 
 felt very bitterly the truth of Waller's last words, and as 
 the sound of firing and the clash of steel rang through the 
 wooded valley his thoughts kept returning to Dick, till only 
 by the most painful effort could he drag them back to his 
 own duties. It appeared that a detachment sent forward by 
 Major Dowet to occupy a wood on the road to Bradford by 
 which the Royalists were advancing had, after an hour's 
 engagement, been utterly routed, and Waller's forces were 
 compelled before long to evacuate Claverton and to retire 
 towards Bath. The Royalists did not, however, venture 
 to attempt the city from the side on which it was so well 
 guarded, but, as Waller had predicted, resolved to attack 
 Bath on the northern side, and took up their quarters at 
 Marshfield. 
 
It was not till the night of the 4th July that Joscelyn re- 
 ceived the letter which he so greatly longed for. Then, as 
 Waller retired to his quarters in Bath at the Nag's Head in 
 Northgate . Street for a few hours' sleep, he handed him the 
 following lines, which Dick had hastily penned : 
 
 " DEAR JOSCELYN, I am sorely disappointed that you are 
 still absent, having counted much on getting speech with 
 you. Yet it is perhaps well that you are not with Sir Will- 
 iam Waller, as we stand less risk of causing each other's 
 death in this detestable strife. My father got a slight wound 
 in a skirmish the other day, and will rest some two or three 
 weeks at Wells. Otherwise all goes right, save that Jervis 
 agrees but ill with Sir Ralph Hopton, and I doubt his being 
 able to continue much longer in his army. Hopton is not 
 unlike your commander all for mercy and forbearance and 
 courtesy betwixt foes, so that the temper of men like Prince 
 Maurice and Jervis and some others one could name is in- 
 sufferable to him. The news from Shortell is good. Isabel 
 safely married to that fop Toby Blount, and Rosamond re- 
 covered of her sickness. Forget not, if, as seems likely, you 
 Parliamentarians find yourselves shortly overcome and in 
 peril of your lives, that there is at least one Royalist ready 
 to move heaven and earth to preserve you from the conse- 
 quences of this strife." 
 
 Folding the letter with a sigh, Joscelyn vainly tried to 
 sleep. It was already past midnight, and he lay listening to 
 the footsteps of the sentries, and to the hoarse voice of the 
 watchman proclaiming the hour, till at last the dawn broke, 
 and with a heavy heart he rose to take his part in that day's 
 work. 
 
 As they left the hostlery and passed into Northgate Street 
 the whole city seemed shrouded in mist, so that he could 
 
only dimly descry the great tower of the abbey. But as they 
 mounted the long hill of Lansdown they gradually emerged 
 into a clearer air, and pausing for a brief rest at the brow of 
 the hill before traversing the level length of the ridge, Jos- 
 celyn looked back with wonder upon the strangely weird 
 effect of the valley mist. It seemed as if a beautiful calm 
 lake filled the gorge, while the wooded tops of the hills 
 fringed its shore, and in the exquisite stillness of early morn- 
 ing the scene seemed full of a most heavenly peace. Who 
 would have thought that beneath that magical mist-lake lay 
 hundreds of anxious hearts, and the homes of that city in 
 whose defence he was about to fight ? Marching along to 
 the farther end of the Lansdown ridge, Waller's army took 
 up a strong position just at the brow of the hill, and here 
 breastworks of earth and fagots were hastily thrown up and 
 the cannon planted. Then followed a weary time of wait- 
 ing ; the Royalist troops were plainly to be seen over on 
 Tog Hill, but they hesitated to attack Waller's splendid posi- 
 tion ; and finding that he awaited their advance, they began to 
 retire. This was more than the Conqueror could patiently 
 put up with. It was imperatively necessary that he should 
 prevent the Royalists from joining the King's other army at 
 Oxford, and he gave the order for the whole of his cavalry to 
 pursue the retreating enemy, while the infantry still guarded 
 the heights of Lansdown. In a few minutes a noble party 
 of horsemen were streaming down the hill, foremost among 
 them being the new regiment formed in May by Sir Arthur 
 Hazlerigg during his visit to London. These men, thorough- 
 ly incased in armor, received the nickname of the " Lob- 
 sters," and struck such terror into the hearts of the Cava- 
 liers that for a time they carried all before them, and with the 
 greatest difficulty Hopton and his officers induced their men 
 to charge them. After a severe conflict, however, the Par- 
 liamentarians, being greatly outnumbered, were forced to re- 
 
3'9 
 
 treat, and many of the poor "Lobsters" found that their 
 new armor was not an unmixed benefit, for if they were once 
 unhorsed it was so heavy that they could scarcely mount 
 again. After this the Royalists advanced boldly, the Cor- 
 nishmen of Prince Maurice's army being specially eager to 
 attack the Hill of Lansdown. 
 
 Veterans who had been present during the wars in France 
 declared that never had they seen such righting as they saw 
 that day. Again and again the Parliamentarians charged 
 down the hill, but still the valiant Royalists advanced. On 
 either side the slaughter was terrible ; and Joscelyn, as he 
 returned from delivering a message to the musketeers 
 stationed in a little wood to Waller's right, found the grass 
 strewn with the dead and wounded. Thinking of Dick, his 
 heart sickened within him ; he looked away from the blood- 
 stained turf and the ghastly scenes surrounding him to 
 where, far in the distance, the sun bathed the peaceful land- 
 scape in light and touched the waters of the Bristol Channel 
 into a vivid streak of dazzling silver. The contrast stirred 
 up in him a wild, unreasoning revolt ; nature, it seemed to 
 him, should not at that moment have looked so calm. 
 
 Urging Hotspur forward, he galloped towards his com- 
 rades, who were retiring up the hill again to face the next 
 charge, when suddenly he perceived, lying almost beneath 
 his horse's feet, the face that had persistently haunted him 
 all through the long hours of the battle Dick's face, ghastly 
 pale, the eyes full of dreadful dumb agony. In an instant 
 he had reined back Hotspur and dismounted. 
 
 " Is it you ?" cried Dick, his face lighting up with a look 
 of intense relief. 
 
 "Where are you wounded?" asked Joscelyn, breathing 
 hard. 
 
 " A ball here in the thigh," said Dick. " Don't linger. Sir 
 Bevil Granville will charge." 
 
320 
 
 " What !" cried Joscelyn ; " am I to leave you to be tram- 
 pled to death ? Nay, I will set you on my horse. I can 
 hold you in the saddle, never fear." 
 
 And suiting the action to the words, he lifted Dick in his 
 strong arms, and with some difficulty contrived to place him 
 on Hotspur's back, holding him firmly with his right arm, 
 and, himself on foot, urging his chestnut to mount the hill. 
 It was indeed a desperate attempt. Between two fires they 
 pressed on, the burning rays of the July sun beating down 
 upon them, the way growing more and more steep, and the 
 fierce Cornishmen gaining upon them at every step. Dick 
 had entirely lost consciousness, and it was with the greatest 
 difficulty that Joscelyn could support him ; but Hotspur 
 seemed to understand from his master's voice what great 
 things were expected of him, and he struggled up bravely. 
 They had almost gained the brow of the hill, and, for 
 greater speed, were making a cut across the turf, when, 
 warned by the near approach of trampling feet and the 
 half -unintelligible war-cries shouted by hundreds of lusty 
 voices, Joscelyn glanced over his right shoulder. To his 
 dismay he found that the Cornishmen were almost upon 
 them , the hill-side bristled with the ascending pikes. 
 
 " On, Hotspur, on !" he cried in a tone that made the no- 
 ble charger bound forward. They were within a hundred 
 yards of safety he was straining every nerve to keep his 
 brother still in the saddle when suddenly a terrible thrust 
 in the right side, just below the upstretched arm that grasped 
 Dick, utterly disabled him. A pike had run him clean 
 through. As he fell to the ground it was wrenched out 
 again. Then followed two minutes of mortal agony, while 
 the fierce Cornish pikemen surged over him ; then for a time 
 he lost consciousness. 
 
 What followed seemed like some horrible dream ; he 
 struggled back to life again, heard the roar of battle, tried 
 
to shift his position, and sank back fainting. Again he 
 came to himself, only to find a deadly struggle going on 
 close at hand, and to suffer torture, as once more he was 
 trampled under the feet of the combatants. When he next 
 opened his eyes and raised his head a little from the blood- 
 stained turf the sky was crimson with the sunset glow, the 
 firing was fitful and seemed farther off, and close by he 
 heard the sound of horsemen advancing and of cannon 
 being dragged up the steep ascent. It flashed through his 
 mind that Waller must have been driven from his position, 
 and once more he tried to raise himself and see what was 
 passing, but again faintness overwhelmed him. 
 
 By the time he recovered his senses the summer twilight 
 was fast deepening into night, and the battle seemed prac- 
 tically over, though at long intervals the dull roar of cannon 
 echoed among the hills. And now, as full recollection came 
 back to him, Joscelyn was seized with a terrible longing to 
 know what Dick's fate had been. It was scarcely likely that 
 he would have kept on Hotspur's back ; he was probably 
 lying within a few yards of him, either dying or dead. Rais- 
 ing himself by slow and painful inches, he looked up the 
 dusky hill-side, strewn with the dead and wounded. 
 
 Where in all this terrible gathering was Dick ? 
 
 A prostrate form lying about two or three yards above 
 him stirred a little just then and groaned heavily. A great 
 hope dawned in Joscelyn's heart. With an effort which cost 
 him agony, he crawled on his hands and knees up the steep 
 slope, and in the dim light could just discern Dick's familiar 
 face. 
 
 The boy did not recognize him, but only moaned piteous- 
 ly, and begged for something to drink, repeating the re- 
 quest over and over again, as if the torturing thirst over- 
 powered every other feeling. Now Joscelyn had in his 
 wallet a small flask of sack ; this he contrived, not without 
 
 21 
 
3 22 
 
 great pain and difficulty, to hold to Dick's parched lips, and 
 the poor fellow, catching at it eagerly, drained it to the last 
 drop. After some time this seemed to revive him ; strain- 
 ing his eyes to pierce the gloom he made a sudden exclama- 
 tion of relief. 
 
 " Is it you, Joscelyn ? Aye, now I remember you tried 
 to save me." 
 
 " And made but a bungling piece of work of it," said 
 Joscelyn, faintly. 
 
 " You are wounded !" cried Dick, shocked at the change 
 in his voice. " You were wounded through helping me. 
 Where is that flask ? Did you let me take all all when 
 when your need was as great ?" 
 
 " I need nothing now I have found you," said Joscelyn. 
 But the words seemed to die away from his lips, and Dick 
 in dreadful self-reproach bent over him, shuddering at the 
 deathly cold of his face and hands. 
 
 " I knew not what I did," he said. " Since Sunday we 
 have none of us had more than a biscuit a day ; I was 
 starving, and brute that I am thought of that alone." 
 
 " I tell you I needed it not," said Joscelyn, rousing him- 
 self. "And for the matter of that," he added, with laughter 
 in his voice, "we shall soon have enough to drink without 
 the trouble of stirring, for the wind is blowing up for rain." 
 
 " It is like you to jest while you are dying," said Dick. 
 
 Joscelyn was silent ; a swift pang shot through his heart 
 as he thought of Clemency's sorrow ; but he was too much 
 exhausted to feel very acutely, and just lay there quietly, 
 Dick's hand locked fast in his. For a long time there had 
 been perfect stillness, and in the darkness they could not tell 
 whether the two armies still confronted each other. Sud- 
 denly Dick gave a violent start. 
 
 " Good Lord !" he cried, " they are beginning again !" 
 
 A sharp volley of small shot made the hills echo ; it was 
 
"WITH AGONY HE CRAWLED UP THE STEEP SLOPE." 
 
 [Page 321 
 
323 
 
 promptly replied to by another volley, and Joscelyn and 
 Dick wondered whether Waller was about to make an at- 
 tempt to force the King's troops from the brow of the hill 
 which both felt confident they must have gained. The 
 thought of being trampled to death in that midnight gloom 
 was not inspiriting, and it was with great relief that they 
 found the firing was not resumed. There was no moon that 
 night, and heavy clouds veiled the stars ; the darkness was 
 absolute, so that the two brothers could no longer even faint- 
 ly discern each other. Presently the rain which Joscelyn 
 had foretold came pouring down on them. For a time 
 both were refreshed by it, and were able to talk connected- 
 ly, each gathering from the other what had passed since 
 their last brief meeting at Winchester. Dick asked many 
 questions about Whichcote, and listened to Joscelyn 's de- 
 scription of his stay at North Cadbury with what in a less 
 lovable nature would have been envy. It certainly seemed 
 to him that a rebel, in company with such men as Hampden 
 and Whichcote and Sir William Waller, and with such a 
 bride as Clemency Coriton, had considerable advantage 
 over most Royalists, and that there were some compen- 
 sations for those who had braved opinion and taken the 
 unfashionable side. The two were as far as ever from 
 understanding each other's standpoint ; one still held vig- 
 orously to the duty of passive obedience in the subject, the 
 other to the duty of active resistance of evil wherever it was 
 found. But it was not of these matters that they now 
 thought. Zeal for the King and zeal for the country had 
 brought them into the shadow of death, but now, having 
 done their duty according to their lights, they thought no 
 more of the strife, but, lying there on the trampled turf, 
 spoke of the quiet, undisturbed past at Cambridge, at Lin- 
 coln, at Winchester, and at Shortell. 
 
 Just before the dawn, when the heavy rain had ceased 
 
and an icy chill began to creep over them, there were long 
 silences between the two. Each thought the end was not 
 far off, but had faced death too often to fear it. As for 
 Dick, in his simple fashion he took great comfort in being 
 near one whom he had always recognized as being strong- 
 er and better than himself, and finding his own mind all 
 clouded by pain, he instinctively turned to Joscelyn. " Say 
 a prayer for us," he begged, faintly. " I can't remember 
 one." 
 
 But no man in the last stage of exhaustion is capable of 
 very great concentration of thought. Joscelyn could only 
 murmur the first sentence of that " Godly prayer to be said 
 at all times," which they had both been taught in childhood : 
 " Honor and praise be given to Thee, O Lord God Al- 
 mighty, most dear Father " and there his powers failed 
 him. Dick waited, but there was only silence, and once, a 
 little later, the last three words repeated in a tone scarcely 
 audible. Whether sleep or death or faintness had over- 
 powered his brother he could not tell. 
 
 The next thing he knew was that the dreadful darkness 
 had ended ; he opened his eyes to see in the clear light of 
 early morning the kindly face of his leader, Sir Ralph Hop- 
 ton, bending over him. The general knew the story of the 
 Heyworths, and turning to the officer accompanying him 
 round the field to visit the wounded, he drew his attention 
 to Joscelyn. 
 
 " This," he said, " must be the officer that we saw cut off 
 by Sir BeviPs pikemen while attempting to save a comrade. 
 'Twas his foe he tried to save, but they are brothers." 
 
 Then seeing that Dick was conscious, he spoke to him 
 very kindly, promising aid as soon as it could be procured, 
 and giving his word that Joscelyn should also have every 
 attention. 
 
 " What of the battle, sir ?" asked Dick. 
 
325 
 
 Hopton's noble face clouded. "We have gained the 
 heights of Lansdown," he said, " and lost Sir Bevil Gran- 
 ville they have borne him dying to Cold Ashton Vicarage. 
 As for Waller, though he has fallen back upon Bath, he 
 will certainly be strong enough to harass us greatly in the 
 inarch upon Oxford, and God knows we are but weak. 
 There must have fallen on our side at least fourteen hun- 
 dred in yesterday's fight, and the rebels have also suffered 
 severely. May God grant us a speedy peace !" 
 
 He moved on to visit others upon the battle-field, and 
 Dick lay longing for the promised aid, and trying to find 
 some comfort in the assurance that the hand still clasped 
 in his was not yet the hand of a dead man. Suddenly he 
 was startled by the sound of a terrible explosion, which 
 shook the ground, and forgetting his wound in the excite- 
 ment he started up, only to fall back once more in a dead 
 swoon. It appeared that a wagon containing eight barrels 
 of powder had accidentally exploded, both Sir Ralph Hop- 
 ton and Major Sheldon being grievously wounded and many 
 others killed. Dick learned the particulars later on when he 
 once more returned to himself and found that he had been 
 carried to a cottage at Marshfield, and that Jervis, with 
 more good feeling than he had ever before evinced, was 
 standing by while a surgeon dressed his wound. 
 
 " Where is Joscelyn ?" he asked, looking round anxious- 
 ly. " Sir Ralph promised he should be brought off the field." 
 
 Jervis shrugged his shoulders with an air of indifference 
 that almost maddened Dick. 
 
 "I tell you," he cried, "he was piked through the body 
 in trying to save me !" And with more energy than the 
 surgeon at all approved of he recounted what had passed 
 on the battle-field. 
 
 " 'Twas gallantly done," said Jervis, his manner changing. 
 " Joscelyn is, after all, a Hey worth." 
 
326 
 
 Going out into the village, he made inquiries of the men 
 who had borne Dick from Lansdovvn, and learned that 
 they had noticed a young Parliament officer close beside 
 him there ; whether he was dead or unconscious they could 
 not tell, but they had been forced to unclasp his ringers, so 
 rigidly were they closed on the other's hand. 
 
 " I will ride back to the field and search for him," said 
 Arthur Denham, who had overheard the conversation. 
 
 Jervis hesitated for a moment, not because of the possi- 
 ble danger, but because his better self struggled with the 
 contemptuous hatred he had long felt for his brother. In 
 the end the better nature conquered, and, hastily mounting 
 his horse, he rode away with Denham and one of the sol- 
 diers who professed to know the exact spot where Dick had 
 lain. The effort, however, proved of no avail ; they searched 
 the hill-side in all directions, they made inquiries at the 
 Hamswell House, where many wounded Parliamentarians 
 had been carried, but Joscelyn was nowhere to be found. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 Oh, might we know i for sore we feel 
 
 The languor of delay, 
 When sickness lets our fainter zeal 
 
 Or foes block up our way. 
 
 Lord ! who Thy thousand years dost wait 
 
 To work the thousandth part 
 Of Thy vast plan, for us create 
 
 With zeal a patient heart. 
 
 J. H. NEWMAN. 
 
 WHEN Joscelyn came to himself that morning and found 
 that Dick had been borne away from the field, he made sure 
 that his brother was dead. But he was suffering such an 
 agony of pain that he could only feel relief at the thought 
 that Dick was out of the strife, and strong desire for his 
 own release. Had it not been for Jack Morrison's energy 
 and faithfulness he certainly would have died, but Morri- 
 son had no sooner seen the departure of the Royalists than 
 he hastened to the battle-field, and with the help of a sturdy 
 farm laborer whose services he had secured he found his 
 master, and bore him across the down to the little Chapel 
 Farm, once a rest-house for pilgrims to Glastonbury. Here 
 Joscelyn was able to have his wound dressed in a rough 
 fashion. The farm was already crowded with wounded 
 men, and he thought himself fortunate to secure one of the 
 stone benches in the porch, and the rough but effective 
 handling of a barber-surgeon from Bath. The farmer's 
 daughter brought him a tankard of home-brewed ale, and 
 a little shock-headed boy crept up to him and thrust into 
 his hand a great slice of black bread, looking down with a 
 
328 
 
 sort of fascination at his buff coat all soaked with blood, 
 and furtively touching the armor which Morrison had re- 
 moved to the farther corner of the porch. The food grad- 
 ually revived him, and as he gained a firmer hold on life his 
 craving for Clemency's presence gradually overpowered all 
 other feelings. He was dying, but he would, at any rate, 
 die at Gloucester. He turned to his servant. 
 
 " What of Hotspur ?" he asked. 
 
 " Galloped riderless into the ranks last night, sir," said 
 Morrison. " He was safely secured, and I stabled him in 
 a barn here." 
 
 " Saddle him," said Joscelyn. " I am going to Gloucester." 
 
 Finding remonstrances of no use, Morrison obeyed, leav- 
 ing the surgeon and the farmer to argue with his master. 
 
 " Well," said the farmer, finding he could not prevail, " as 
 you zay, zir, a man can but die once, and if zo be as you're 
 zet on it, why, you had better go by the Avon to Bristol. 
 There be a kinsman of mine down yonder at Kelweston 
 with a boat, and he'll pull you there before night if you'll 
 give him zummat for the job." 
 
 In the end the good man arranged to walk with them to 
 Kelweston, and to bring back the horses to the Chapel 
 Farm, where they were to be stabled for the present. 
 Whether Joscelyn would ever again need Hotspur's services 
 seemed doubtful. Indeed, as they rode down the long hill 
 to the river, Morrison more than once thought he would 
 have dropped dead from the saddle, and it was with many 
 dark forebodings that the old farmer parted with him, hav- 
 ing seen him safely embarked for Bristol. The comparative 
 ease of lying in the bottom of the boat soon, however, re- 
 vived him. He began to hear the talk between Morrison 
 and the two boatmen. 
 
 "What makes un zo zet on reachin' Gloucester?" said 
 one. 
 
3^9 
 
 "Humph!" grunted the other, with an indescribable 
 ejaculation. " Tis a vench, I dare zwear." 
 
 "In truth, you're not far wrong," said Morrison ; " there 
 is to be a wedding there anon." 
 
 " Wedding !" exclaimed the gruff old boatman ; " more 
 like to be a burial ! Do you zee yon ztream flowing into 
 river ? Well, there be a place there called Wedding , for a 
 while ago a bride was a-going to be married, when zhe and 
 all her coompany were turned into ztones. And there they 
 ztand to this day, high and mighty ztones, all in a zircle." 
 
 This curious old tradition haunted Joscelyn for the rest 
 of the weary journey. Arrived at Bristol, he was trans- 
 ferred to another boat, and after a wearisome delay on ac- 
 count of the tide, he at last found himself going up the 
 Severn, drawing nearer and nearer the gabled house which 
 he had set his heart on reaching. Yet when they reached 
 the landing-stage at Gloucester, and he heard Morrison 
 sending a messenger to warn Mr. Bennett of their arrival, 
 he felt as if the old story were about to repeat itself, and 
 that this time a bridegroom would be turned to stone. One 
 sob of agony escaped him as the men lifted him from the 
 boat, but the pain and exhaustion dulled his senses as he 
 was borne through the streets, and his mind became entire- 
 ly occupied with the one dogged resolution that he would 
 not let himself die till he had seen Clemency. 
 
 .And now at last he caught a glimpse of the cathedral. 
 Christopher Bennett and a surgeon came hurrying to meet 
 him. His cold lips could not frame themselves to answer 
 their questions. He saw the ivy-covered house, the narrow 
 entrance-lobby ; he saw Faith eagerly welcoming him, and 
 holding to his lips some strong cordial, with the assurance 
 that he must take it before being brought up-stairs. 
 
 " Clemency ?" he faltered, looking round with question- 
 ing eyes and a stifling sense of terror, as the thought 
 
330 
 
 crossed his mind that, after all, she might have left Glouces- 
 ter. 
 
 " She is above with Charlotte preparing your room," said 
 Faith. 
 
 He signed to his bearers to move on ; but the ascent of 
 the steep stairs proved so torturing to him that his ex- 
 hausted powers utterly gave way, and in the very moment 
 of attaining his wish he lost consciousness, darkness hem- 
 ming him in just as Clemency drew near to greet him. As 
 if from a great distance he heard her sweet firm voice say- 
 ing to the bearers, 
 
 " Put him down here gently very gently." 
 
 Then for many hours he lay like one dead, while the best 
 surgeons that Gloucester could furnish did their utmost for 
 him. 
 
 The surgery was rough, but Clemency and Charlotte were 
 born nurses ; and Joscelyn, being blessed with a fine consti- 
 tution, struggled through. Once or twice during the night 
 he seemed to see the faces of the watchers about his bed, 
 but his fevered brain realized nothing clearly. His first 
 true sight of Clemency was early the next morning, when, 
 after an interval of uneasy sleep, he woke to find the room 
 all golden red with the glow of sunrise. The window looked 
 towards the east, and Clemency knelt there, after the cus^ 
 torn of Daniel, the mellow light making a glory of her chest- 
 nut hair, and softening the pallor and weariness of her face. 
 The night had been full of terrible anxiety, but this glori- 
 ous dawn of day had filled her with hope ; and Joscelyn, 
 in dreamy content, thought it heaven itself just to lie there 
 in perfect stillness watching her. 
 
 When, by-and-by, she rose quietly and stole across to the 
 bedside, that strange unearthly calm was still unbroken ; 
 they met with a peaceful rapture, a fulness of joy, which 
 seemed like a foretaste of the Day of Resurrection. 
 
" You did well to come to Gloucester," said the shrewd 
 old surgeon a day or two later. " The journey would have 
 killed most men, but I doubt if any one but Mistress Clem- 
 ency could have brought you round." 
 
 Clemency's sweet face lighted up with pleasure at the 
 old man's words, a delicate color mantled her cheeks ; it 
 seemed to her that for the first time since she had given 
 up her diamonds she had been able in some direct way to 
 serve the country, and this was a way so entirely after her 
 own heart ! 
 
 But she never realized that it was not only by her good 
 nursing and loving care that she was able to save her lover, 
 never knew how those weeks of close companionship res- 
 cued him from the bitterness and wrath and hatred that 
 had been stirred up in his heart by the treachery of Colo- 
 nel Hurry and the conduct of the King. Whichcote's words 
 had begun the work of healing, the attempt to save Dick 
 had carried it on, but it was left to Clemency to complete 
 the cure, and to keep her betrothed from falling a victim 
 to that sourness of temper which marred too many of the 
 Puritans, and which had threatened in the time of his grief 
 to cast a shadow over Joscelyn's career. 
 
 Spite of all the bodily suffering, spite even of his great 
 sorrow for Dick a sorrow which naturally increased as his 
 hold on life grew stronger there was much of exquisite 
 happiness in those days of his illness. 
 
 One afternoon, about the middle of July, Clemency was 
 sitting by the bedside, fair and fresh in her white gown, 
 holding in her hand a tiny volume bound in undressed 
 leather and tied with strings ; it was Warwick's Spare Min- 
 utes, and at times she read a few sentences, at times paused 
 to talk to the invalid. 
 
 " Here is a piece all about robins," she exclaimed, a 
 smile playing about her lips. " Do you remember how, on 
 
332 
 
 the day of our betrothal, we heard them singing in the lit- 
 tle wood ?" 
 
 " As we .sat under the yew-tree on the moss-grown bank," 
 said Joscelyn. " How many thousand times have I not lived 
 it all over again !" 
 
 " Then hark to what he says about them," said Clemency, 
 and she read the following lines : " * As oft as I hear the 
 robin-redbreast chant it as cheerfully in September, the be- 
 ginning of winter, as in March, the approach of the sum- 
 mer, why should not we (think I) give as cheerful entertain- 
 ment to the hoary, frosty hairs of our age's winter as to the 
 primroses of our youth's spring ? Why not to the declining 
 sun in adversity as (like Persians) to the rising sun of pros- 
 perity ? I am sent to the ant to learn industry ; to the dove 
 to learn innocency ; to the serpent to learn wisdom ; and 
 why not to this bird to learn equanimity and patience, and 
 to keep the same tenor of my mind's quietness as well at 
 the approach of calamity's winter as of the spring of happi- 
 ness ? And, since the Roman's constancy is so commended, 
 who changed not his countenance with his changed fort- 
 unes, why should not I, with a Christian resolution, hold a 
 steady course in all weathers, and though I be forced with 
 cross winds to shift my sails and catch at side winds, yet 
 skilfully to steer, and keep on my course by the " Cape of 
 Good Hope," till I arrive at the haven of eternal happi- 
 ness ?' " As she ended the page there came a knock at the 
 door, and Christopher Bennett entered. 
 
 " I have unlooked-for news to tell you," he said. " Sir 
 William Waller is below, and would fain speak with you." 
 
 Joscelyn was so astounded by these tidings that he scarce- 
 ly knew whether the general's presence boded good or ill, 
 but as Waller entered the room, one glance at his worn, 
 harassed face told him that some terrible disaster must 
 have happened. 
 
333 
 
 Greeting Clemency with the chivalrous courtesy which 
 he invariably showed to women, he approached the bed, 
 his face brightening as he looked down at the wounded 
 man. 
 
 " Come !" he exclaimed. " You seem better than I had 
 dared to hope. In fact, we had given you up for lost when 
 we learned in what a plight you had left the Chapel Farm 
 on Lansdown. This is one gleam of good-fortune to cheer 
 us in our great gloom." 
 
 "You have been defeated, sir?" asked Joscelyn, hardly 
 able to believe that the Conqueror had at last met his match. 
 
 " Hopelessly defeated at Roundway Down," said Waller, 
 his face darkening ; " our foot mostly made prisoners, our 
 horse destroyed and scattered." 
 
 " What ! Sir Arthur Hazlerigg's regiment ?" cried Josce- 
 lyn. " Thty that struck such terror into the hearts of the 
 Cavaliers but a few days since ?" 
 
 "We deemed them well-nigh invincible," said Waller, 
 " and with over-great ardor and rashness charged right up 
 the steep hill-side, where never horse set foot before. It 
 was a miserable mistake. They were repulsed, and you 
 may thank the Lord you were not there to see that noble 
 band driven down headlong to their destruction. 'Twill 
 haunt me to my last day. But this is no talk for a sick- 
 room. There rallied round me the poor remnant of the 
 cavalry, and we retreated as best might be to Bristol. Ha- 
 zlerigg lies desperately wounded, and I am making all 
 speed to London by the only route now open to us, through 
 Gloucester, Warwick, and Newport Pagnell." 
 
 " Is it possible that Sir Ralph Hopton was strong enough 
 for this when his army had been shattered on Lansdown ?" 
 said Joscelyn, listening, pale and breathless, to Waller's 
 story. 
 
 " Nay, Hopton was cooped up in Devizes," said Sir Will- 
 
334 
 
 iam, " and we had made sure of taking the town, having 
 defeated the first relief sent there from Oxford under my 
 Lord Crawford ; but a large new force was sent from Ox- 
 ford under Wilmot, and they have annihilated our army." 
 
 " What was my Lord Essex about that he did not stir to 
 aid you, sir ?" asked Joscelyn. 
 
 " He was lying within ten miles of Oxford with his whole 
 army," said Waller, bitterly, "yet suffered the entire strength 
 of that place to march thirty miles to our destruction with- 
 out so much as sending out a party to follow them, or to 
 alarm Oxford, by which they would have been recalled. 
 But Mistress Clemency will not forgive me if I stay here 
 agitating you thus. The times are dark, but we must not 
 despair. I haste to London to try to raise new troops. 
 By-the-bye, I have with me a prisoner, taken at Devizes, 
 your quondam jailer, Captain Denham. He might easily 
 enough have given us the slip the other day in the confu- 
 sion, but he was on parole, and I thought, instead of leav- 
 ing him at Bristol with the other officers taken the same 
 day, to carry him to London to arrange for his ransom or 
 exchange. Methinks, however, one good turn deserves an- 
 other, and that we shall perchance save him still better 
 from discomfort if we permit him to remain here in Glouces- 
 ter ; his case runs less risk of being forgotten." 
 
 In the end it was arranged that Arthur Denham should 
 remain under the charge of Mr. Bennett, a prisoner on pa- 
 role, contributing the usual sum for his keep, and Joscelyn 
 eagerly welcomed him, hoping to gain the details of Dick's 
 end. 
 
 The young Royalist was naturally in excellent spirits ; 
 his party was triumphing all over the country; through 
 Waller's courtesy he was likely to have an easy time of it 
 as prisoner; and, besides, he was genuinely delighted to 
 meet with Joscelyn. 
 
335 
 
 "This is indeed unlocked for," he said, grasping the 
 wounded man's hand. " I would that we had any means 
 of letting your brother know that you still live." 
 
 "Jervis will care little enough whether I am dead or 
 alive," said Joscelyn. 
 
 " Nay, there you wrong him," said Denham, " for I rode 
 back with him from Marshfield to Lansdown on purpose to 
 search for you." 
 
 " He did that for me !" cried Joscelyn, in astonishment. 
 " I had not thought it of him. Well, he and I are the only 
 ones left now. Belike 'twas that softened him." 
 
 " He was moved by your gallant effort to rescue Dick," 
 said Denham, " and partly maybe because Dick was in 
 such grief that you had not been borne with him to Marsh- 
 field." 
 
 " Dick lived to reach Marshfield ?" cried Joscelyn, start- 
 ing up with eager hope. 
 
 Clemency, much alarmed at his excitement, hastened to 
 soothe him. "Tell him quickly, sir; does Dick yet live ?" 
 she cried. " We deemed him dead." 
 
 " As far as I know, he lives," said Denham. " He was 
 doing well when we left Marshfield, and he was in a farm- 
 house where the good folk promised to take excellent care 
 of him. What ! You had given him up ? Yes, yes ; I see. 
 He was borne away soon after the explosion that maimed 
 Sir Ralph and has proved the death of Major Sheldon ; 
 you were both of you unconscious. 'Twas natural enough 
 you should think his wound had proved mortal." 
 
 Joscelyn could not speak ; for some time he lay with 
 closed eyes, fearfully exhausted by this sudden and bewil- 
 dering relief from a sorrow that had been daily increasing in 
 weight. By-and-by he looked up at Clemency with a smile. 
 
 " Dear heart," he said, " you were right in bidding me to 
 keep on my course 'by the Cape of Good Hope.' " 
 
336 
 
 Joscelyn had just left his room for the first time when 
 the news reached Gloucester that Bristol was besieged by 
 Prince Rupert. A few days later they learned that the 
 governor, Colonel Nathaniel Fiennes, after enduring the 
 most violent assault, had sent out to offer a surrender be- 
 fore, in the opinion of many, surrender was absolutely nec- 
 essary, and the hearts of all in Gloucester sank. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon that Christopher Bennett 
 brought the ill tidings ; Clemency and Faith sat with their 
 needle -work in the withdrawing -room, while Joscelyn, 
 propped up in an arm-chair, was playing a game of chess 
 with Denham, and looking, as Faith laughingly remarked, 
 much like a gay garment that had lost its color in the 
 wash. He turned a shade paler when he learned that Bris- 
 tol, the second city in the kingdom, had surrendered. 
 
 "All men blame Colonel Fiennes," said Christopher Ben- 
 nett, " and if I mistake not he will be called to account for 
 what seems much like cowardice." 
 
 " Nay, there you wrong him," cried Joscelyn ; " no one 
 who had served with him could doubt his courage. I will 
 never believe that it was more than an error of judgment. 
 Ignorant of military matters he doubtless may have been, 
 but false to his trust, never. What were the terms of the 
 surrender ?" 
 
 " They were reasonable enough, but they were not ob- 
 served," said Mr. Bennett. " Every house on the bridge 
 was plundered, and shameful excesses perpetrated by the 
 soldiers much against the wish of Prince Rupert, 'tis 
 said." 
 
 11 Our own soldiers were not blameless when they took 
 Reading," said Joscelyn, " if report speaks truth ; though 
 'twas not so bad as this that you tell of Bristol. It is to be 
 hoped that the Parliament will deal more generously with 
 Colonel Fiennes than the King did with the unlucky Gov- 
 
337 
 
 ernor of Reading. For my part, I would put more trust in 
 the honor of Colonel Fiennes than in the honor of your 
 Governor Massey, though doubtless Massey is the better 
 soldier." 
 
 " We shall soon make full proof of his qualities," said 
 Christopher Bennett, with a sigh, "for, by fair means or 
 foul, Gloucester will now most surely be attempted." 
 
 Arthur Denham looked from one to another of those 
 present. Utter panic was plainly shown in Faith's pretty 
 face ; Clemency's lips quivered, and her hazel eyes grew 
 bright with unshed tears as she glanced towards her lover, 
 evidently thinking how little he was fitted to bear the hard- 
 ships of a siege ; gloom and anxiety clouded Christopher 
 Bennett's honest brow. The young Cavalier looked across 
 the chess-board at his antagonist, fully understanding Clem- 
 ency's fears. But he found that the man who had so lately 
 been at death's door was precisely the one who was ready 
 to face death a second time with intrepid front. Joscelyn's 
 languid, exhausted look had entirely changed ; his face was 
 aglow, his eyes full of steady purpose ; he turned to Clem- 
 ency with a glad smile, which she never forgot, and ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 " Sweetheart, 'tis through you that I am healed in time 
 to serve !" It was the same contagious calmness which had 
 nerved her failing heart on the night of the attack at Kat- 
 terham, and she came now and stood beside him, stooping 
 to kiss his forehead, glad to feel his strong arm encircling 
 her, and utterly ignoring the presence of the others. 
 
 Denham discreetly became absorbed in his next move, 
 and the next minute the sound of a rebec playing the Hun- 
 dredth Psalm made the two lovers conscious of the outer 
 world. 
 
 " Tis Temperance Turner !" cried Clemency, and, run- 
 ning down-stairs, she returned with shining eyes, bearing 
 
 22 
 
338 
 
 two letters from Katterham and one from Rosamond at 
 Shortell, which Denham regarded jealously. 
 
 The letters, though they brought good accounts, caused 
 no little perplexity ; Sir Robert Neal, writing directly the 
 news of Waller's defeat had reached him, strongly urged 
 the advisability of Clemency's marriage at the next oppor- 
 tunity, and his words naturally chimed in with the wishes 
 of Joscelyn. Still, in that desperate time of danger and 
 uncertainty there were many reasons which made an hon- 
 orable man hesitate before binding another to his fate. 
 Sitting by the open window on that July evening, watching 
 the light as it fell on the pinnacles and gilded the old ca- 
 thedral walls, the two lovers quietly talked out the whole 
 matter, while Faith and her husband went to visit Alder- 
 man Pury, the leading spirit among the Independents of 
 the city, and Denham amused himself in the oak parlor by 
 writing a letter to his child-love at Shortell. 
 
 " Tis true," said Joscelyn, " that Sir Robert urges the 
 unsettled times and the dark prospects of the Parliamenta- 
 rians as one reason for wishing our marriage to take place 
 at once. He spoke of it when I saw him a month ago. 
 But the question is, does he fully realize how dark our fut- 
 ure seems ? And do you, dear heart, truly desire to link 
 your fortunes irrevocably with one as deeply compromised 
 as I am ?" 
 
 "Do you think," said Clemency, smiling reproachfully, 
 " that I am, as some folks say Governor Massey is, desir- 
 ous only to stand with those who succeed ?" 
 
 " 'Tis no mere question of success or failure in battle," 
 said Joscelyn. " If Gloucester falls now all men think that 
 the utter ruin of the Parliament cause must follow. That 
 for me means poverty, exile, or imprisonment, or even may- 
 be worse. Do you do wisely to take as husband one who 
 may as likely as not end his life on the gallows ?" 
 
339 
 
 Clemency shuddered, yet the terrible words only made 
 her cling to him the more closely. 
 
 " Tis unlike you to think of failure," she said. " Why 
 dwell on the dark side ?" 
 
 " For your sake," said Joscelyn, " lest through my very 
 love for you I mar your life. Mr. Bennett does not deem 
 it possible that you and your sister should travel speedily 
 to Katterham while things are in their present state, or that 
 might prove the safest plan for you." 
 
 " What !" cried Clemency. " Would you have me leave 
 you here with your wound but half healed and the enemy 
 at the gates ? That would be to expose me to miseries far 
 worse than in the longest siege. We women are not chat- 
 tels of value to be stored in safe hiding-place. If you and 
 I may not be friends and helpmates to each other, I will 
 never wed you." 
 
 Joscelyn's grave, thoughtful expression remained un- 
 changed. He seemed to be holding himself in check, to 
 be incased in armor which she could not penetrate. 
 
 " Even," he said, " if Massey is true to us, if there lurked 
 no hint in that reply of his last spring to Prince Rupert 
 that he would never yield to a foreign prince even if one 
 could put strong confidence in a man who avows himself 
 a soldier of fortune rather than one who acts on principle 
 you must remember that Gloucester is ill prepared for a 
 siege. The powder is scarce, the fortifications miserably 
 defective, the garrison is small and dispirited, and many of 
 the citizens are on the enemy's side. I have heard folks 
 say it could not hold out for a couple of days." 
 
 " Then," said Clemency, her hazel eyes looking fearlessly 
 into his, " for those days, my beloved, we shall be together, 
 and afterwards let come what may." 
 
 At this his armor fell from him ; he caught her to his 
 breast. " Have I not skilfully played the advocate against 
 
340 
 
 myself, dear heart," he said, " rivalling a lawyer in his bar- 
 gown ? Now, be both judge and jury, and let me hear your 
 verdict. Is it meet that you should wed this rebel, who 
 already hath been piked through the body, and may likely 
 enough be one day quartered ? If you return a verdict in 
 his favor, name the day for his happiness to begin." 
 
 " We need no bride-laces or bride-cakes or fine array," 
 said Clemency, her color deepening. " Let it be as soon 
 as we can find a minister to read the service. How I wish 
 that it could be your former tutor, Mr. Whichcote !" 
 
 And in the end this was arranged. Morrison set off the 
 next day for Bath to fetch the horses from Lansdown, 
 learned at Marshfield that Dick had recovered and had 
 left the farm-house, and then rode on to North Cadbury, 
 bearing a letter with his master's request. Whichcote 
 gladly consented to come to the marriage of his old pupil, 
 and on Thursday, the 3d of August, he rode into Glouces- 
 ter, to the great delight of the household in College Green. 
 Could they but have glanced at the council of war being 
 held at that very time by the Royalists at Bristol, they 
 would have learned that the siege of Gloucester had been 
 definitely decided upon, a messenger having just arrived 
 with a secret message from Massey that he wished the 
 King well ; that if Prince Rupert brought an army against 
 Gloucester he would defend it, but that if the King himself 
 came with his army, he would not hold out against him. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 Beloved, let us love so well, 
 Our work shall still be better for our love, 
 And still our love be sweeter for our work ! 
 And both commended for the sake of each 
 By all true workers and true lovers born. 
 
 E. B. BROWNING. 
 
 ON the morning of Saturday, the 5th of August, the little 
 wedding -party were just assembled in the withdrawing- 
 room, and were about to cross over to the cathedral, when 
 Christopher Bennett received an earnest message from Al- 
 derman Pury, begging him to repair instantly to the house 
 where the Common Council was held, as intelligence had 
 been brought during the previous night that the King in- 
 tended to march at once upon Gloucester. All looked 
 compassionately at the bride and bridegroom, but they, 
 having thoroughly prepared beforehand for the worst, were 
 less moved than the others. 
 
 " Must you indeed go ?" asked Clemency. " The service 
 will be but short." 
 
 Faith turned away to hide her tears, while Whichcote 
 suggested that the ceremony might be postponed for an 
 hour, his kindly eyes travelling with some little anxiety to 
 his old pupil, who certainly looked as little like a bride- 
 groom as could well be. The hollow cheeks, alternately 
 pale and flushed, the eyes looking unnaturally large and 
 bright, told plainly that Waller's young officer had seen 
 active service. He had, moreover, insisted on retaining 
 the mourning-badge which he had put on at the time of 
 
342 
 
 Hampden's death ; and Clemency, in her quiet gray velvet 
 gown and hood, wore nothing more festive than a cluster of 
 York and Lancaster roses, which Joscelyn had picked for 
 her in the garden the evening before, for reasons which they 
 alone understood. 
 
 To pass the time till her husband's return, Faith suggest- 
 ed that Joscelyn and Clemency should show the cathedral 
 to Mr. Whichcote ; for even the Puritans of Gloucester had 
 the good sense to be proud of the noble building that had 
 so long been the glory of their city, and it was well known 
 that the Vicar of North Cadbury had an unusual love for 
 the beautiful. Clemency, like most people of her genera- 
 tion, was somewhat deficient in the artistic sense; but as 
 they wandered through the great building, passing from the 
 simple grandeur of the Norman nave to the exquisite beauty 
 of the choir, a curious love for the place stole over her, 
 and she felt that it harmonized well with the quiet talk 
 that followed as they waited with Whichcote in the cool 
 cloisters. 
 
 " Tis hard," said Joscelyn, as he looked from the beau- 
 tifully carved roof to the velvety grass in the quadrangle, 
 all starred with daisies and flecked with sunshine " 'tis 
 hard to realize here that we are in the heart of a panic- 
 stricken city." 
 
 *' An emblem in its peace, I hope, of what your life may 
 be," said Whichcote. "For, after all, what is happiness 
 but heart's-ease in the world, not troubling ourselves back- 
 ward for those things that are gone, nor forward for that 
 which is not yet ?" 
 
 Joscelyn smiled. " And truly," he said, taking Clemen- 
 cy's hand in his, " there is something fitting in this inter- 
 ruption. Our first meeting was ushered in by an accident 
 with a horse, our love began during a night attack on a 
 house, our betrothal took place under the shade of an old 
 
343 
 
 British yew-tree, and our marriage is to be consummated in 
 a beleaguered city." 
 
 " Truly your lot has been cast in troubled days," said 
 Whichcote. " We must not shut our eyes against any man- 
 ifestations of God in the times in which we live. The works 
 of God in them which we are to discern should direct in us 
 principle, affection, and action." 
 
 "More and more the religious side of the war comes into 
 prominence," said Joscelyn ; "and if the taking of the Cov- 
 enant is to be generally enforced, shall we not, sir, merely 
 drift back to the old tyranny of the bishops, under another 
 name ?" 
 
 " Aye, 'tis like the swing of the pendulum," said Which- 
 cote, thoughtfully, "yet so only is the clock kept working. 
 The times are not yet ripe for a general toleration ; we can 
 but see the day afar off and rejoice." 
 
 " Methinks life would be far easier," said Clemency, " were 
 it not for these disputings about doctrines and ceremonies." 
 
 "Truly," said Whichcote, "it had been better for the 
 Christian Church if that which calls itself catholic had 
 been less employed in creating pretended faith, and more 
 employed in maintaining universal charity." 
 
 " But will truth ever prevail ?" said Clemency, with wist- 
 ful eyes. 
 
 Whichcote's face lighted up as with a sudden gleam of 
 sunshine. "To believe there is a God," he said, "is to 
 believe the existence of all possible good and perfection in 
 the universe. And it is to be resolved upon this that 
 things either are or finally shall be as they should be. 
 God hath set up two lights to enlighten us in our way the 
 light of reason, which is the light of His creation ; and the 
 light of Scripture, which is After-Revelation from Him. Let 
 us make use of these two lights, and suffer neither to be 
 put out." 
 
344 
 
 " Are, then, the differences of opinion, sir, but the effect 
 of differing minds and varied training ?" asked Joscelyn. 
 
 " In a great measure I think them to be so," said Which- 
 cote. " I dare not blaspheme free and noble spirits in re- 
 ligion who search after truth, lest in so doing I should de- 
 generate into a spirit of persecution. And I do think that 
 the destroying of this spirit of persecution out of the Church 
 is a piece of the Reformation which God, in these times of 
 change, aims at." 
 
 At that moment Christopher Bennett was seen approach- 
 ing. With a hurried apology for keeping them waiting, he 
 gave his arm to his sister-in-law, and led her into the choir, 
 where, in the presence of Faith, Arthur Denham, and Char- 
 lotte Wells, Joscelyn and Clemency took their mutual vows 
 of undying trust and love. Through the great east win- 
 dow, with its rich stained glass, the summer sunshine 
 streamed in with cheerful brightness, and the hearts of 
 the newly-wedded pair were full of glad content as they 
 passed out once more from the peaceful church to the dis- 
 tracted city. 
 
 " Look your last at the tower," said Christopher Bennett, 
 "for the governor hath ordered that it be protected with 
 wool-sacks." And before night had come the whole of the 
 upper part of the tower had been efficiently protected, in- 
 telligence had been brought that two thousand horse from 
 Bristol had advanced to within ten miles of Gloucester, and 
 the siege had virtually begun. 
 
 Whichcote took leave of them at noon, being anxious to 
 return to his wife while return was possible, and the bride 
 and bridegroom, whose wedding-day had been so strangely 
 ushered in, found themselves left to their own devices. No 
 one was inclined for merry-making, those who were not panic- 
 stricken being forced to strengthen and inspire the more 
 feeble-minded. 
 
345 
 
 The two sat together in the withdrawing-room, perhaps 
 all the more deeply happy because of the perils that threat- 
 ened them, and strong to meet the dark future in the 
 double strength which had become theirs. No anxieties 
 troubled them that day; they hugged their strange new 
 happiness, and, like children, lived in the present. What 
 were kings and parliaments to them ? What were sieges 
 and surrenders? All seemed unreal just at that moment 
 save the sweet unity which was not to be marred by any 
 outer strife. 
 
 Presently Charlotte entered the room with a little tray, on 
 which were some almond-cakes of her own making and a 
 flagon of perry a drink in which she had much faith for 
 invalids. 
 
 "Not that I want to interrupt, sir," she said, in her 
 motherly voice, "but we must remember that you are still 
 weakly." 
 
 "Why, where are you going, Charlotte?" said Clem- 
 ency, noticing that the nurse -keeper had laid aside her 
 best dress, and had donned her largest and most homely 
 apron. 
 
 "Well, my dear," said Charlotte, "they tell me help is 
 needed in the little mead in getting in turf for repairing the 
 works ; and that, you see, is light work which a woman can 
 very well do." 
 
 Clemency threw her arms round the faithful servant's 
 neck. 
 
 "I do believe, Charlotte," she said, "that you are the 
 best woman in the world ; you are always wearing yourself 
 out in some one's behalf." 
 
 "Well, well, my dear," said Charlotte, "as good Mr. 
 Whichcote said in his discourse at our wedding to-day, * We 
 are made for each other, and each of us is to be a supply to 
 the other.' " 
 
346 
 
 She hurried away, and they saw her erelong walking past 
 the house at her own brisk pace, with a spade tucked under 
 her arm, and a great white dimity sun-bonnet as protection 
 from the heat. 
 
 "Joscelyn," said Clemency, the soft curve of her cheek 
 resting close to his, " there is one thing that I want you to 
 do for me." 
 
 " What a solemn appeal !" said Joscelyn, smiling. " There 
 is only one thing literally only one that I could not do 
 for you." 
 
 " What is that?" asked Clemency. 
 
 " I could not leave a city in such a plight while I have a 
 leg to stand on or an arm to wield pike or gun." 
 
 " I do not want you to leave," said Clemency ; " I want 
 you not to mind my helping too. I want to go now and help 
 Charlotte in the mead." 
 
 " We will both come," said Joscelyn, springing up. 
 
 " Oh, not you," said Clemency. 
 
 " Why not ? Am I to say, like the self-indulgent guest 
 in the parable, ' I have married a wife, and therefore I can- 
 not come ?' " 
 
 " But I do not think you are strong enough." 
 
 " Not strong enough !" he said, with a laugh, and catch- 
 ing her up in his arms, ran round the room with her. " Now 
 say that again." 
 
 "Joscelyn, put me down," she said, laughing. "Just 
 think if old Madam Bennett were to come in, she would 
 think we were out of our wits ! And, oh, look ! down 
 there by the cathedral I can see the governor and Mr. John 
 Corbet." 
 
 " Superintending the wool-sacks," said Joscelyn. " Let 
 us go out and speak to them." 
 
 Edward Massey, the Governor of Gloucester, was a fine- 
 looking man in the prime of life ; he was of middle stature, 
 
NOT STRONG ENOUGH ! HE SAID. 
 
 [Page 346. 
 
347 
 
 and his long brown curls and pointed beard, together with 
 his aquiline features, large eyes, and a certain lack of trust- 
 worthiness in the expression, made him curiously like the 
 King , but the likeness was the less remarked on account of 
 his ruddy complexion and his far more genial bearing. Mr. 
 Corbet, his domestic chaplain, a singularly able and devoted 
 Puritan, drew his attention to the approach of the young 
 bride and bridegroom, and Massey gave them kindly greet- 
 ings and congratulations. 
 
 " 'Tis refreshing to meet with two bright faces among 
 our clouded citizens," he said. " Methinks you had best 
 walk through the streets and cheer up the many drooping 
 hearts." 
 
 Clemency laughed. " We are on our way to help at the 
 fortifications, sir," she said, showing her spade. 
 
 Massey looked from her pure, happy face to Joscelyn's 
 soldierly figure. Something about these two appealed to 
 his higher nature, dealt a blow to the spirit of self-seeking 
 which marred his many noble qualities, and made him for a 
 time, at least, a genuine patriot. The disinterested devotion 
 of the young husband and wife, added to the strong influence 
 of Puritans like Alderman Pury and his son, John Corbet, 
 and Dorney, the town-clerk, helped to work an extraordinary 
 change in the governor's mind, and he resolved that not even 
 at the request of the King would he prove false to the trust 
 the people of Gloucester had reposed in him. Thus Char- 
 lotte Wells, going about her duty as a good and faithful serv- 
 ant, had helped to make English history at a most terrible 
 crisis in the country's life ; just as, in truth, every honest 
 man or woman can make it by being faithful in that which 
 is least, by rising above petty self-interests into the broader, 
 nobler life of citizenship. 
 
 They found her hard at work in the little mead with a few 
 others, whom she had enlisted in the walk through the city, 
 
348 
 
 but she held up her hands in amaze at seeing the young 
 bride and bridegroom. 
 
 " Why, sir," she cried, reproachfully, " when I left you so 
 comfortable like in the withdrawing-room ?" 
 
 " 'Tis all the fault of your cakes, Charlotte," he said, with 
 a laugh. " They must have been leavened with patriotism, 
 and it is beginning to work in me." 
 
 " Ah, sir, you are not yet strong enough for such work," 
 said Charlotte, shaking her head, " and surely on your wed- 
 ding-day you might take a holiday." 
 
 " On the contrary, the better the day the better the deed," 
 said Joscelyn, catching up a spade. " We were both of us 
 in hot haste to begin that mutual keeping of each other in 
 all dangers and necessities that we vowed this morning. 
 What more practical way than in working at the fortifi- 
 cations ?" 
 
 He kept them all in excellent spirits by the contagion of 
 his bright humor, and Clemency was well pleased to make 
 Faith laugh that evening over her description of the scene. 
 
 " I understand now," she said, " what Sir William Waller 
 meant by Joscelyn's influence over the soldiefs. He hath 
 the strangest power of cheering the hearts of other folk and 
 making hard work seem light." 
 
 " I would we had had him at Madam Bennett's house to 
 enliven us," said Faith, with a portentous yawn. "There 
 are truly some advantages in wedding a man whose family 
 have disowned him. You are saved the trial of a mother- 
 in-law." 
 
 " You would not speak in that fashion did you but know 
 how Joscelyn grieves over his mother's coldness to him, or 
 how hard it is for me not to hate her for treating him thus," 
 said Clemency, her brow contracting a little at the recollec- 
 tion of certain words about Lady Heyworth which Joscelyn 
 had let fall during his illness. 
 
349 
 
 " Now I have made you look grave on your wedding- 
 day," said Faith, kissing her. ' " Forget what I said. I am 
 out of humor, and weary with a tedious prayer -meeting; 
 and all the little ways of the Puritans here, which are un- 
 like ours at home, fret and chafe me. Your husband seems 
 blessed with so happy a temper that petty details in no- 
 wise affect him. I asked him once what he thought right 
 on the vexed subject of kneeling or standing at prayer, 
 and he said he could not think it a question of right or 
 wrong ; only a matter of taste ; and that, so the heart was 
 reverent, it mattered little whether the knees were straight 
 or bent." 
 
 " His own personal taste is all for simplicity in religion," 
 said Clemency. "The genuflections at each mention of 
 our Saviour which the archbishop enjoined were very re- 
 pugnant to him. He told me once that they seemed to 
 him to spring from unworthy notions of God, as though, 
 forsooth, He was like the Emperor of China, and loved to 
 see men kowtowing to Him. But Joscelyn thinks that each 
 man should be guided by his inner sense of right, desiring 
 as one would expect the pupil of Mr. Hampden and Mr. 
 Whichcote a very wide liberty and a loving respect towards 
 all men." 
 
 Faith mused for a minute. 
 
 " Well," she said, presently, " I am glad we have many 
 sober and moderate Puritans like grandfather and Joscelyn 
 still left ; but it seems to me we shall never recover the loss 
 of Mr. Hampden. He, the one man who might have saved 
 the country, is slain, and the King's triumph seems close 
 at hand." 
 
 " All things are out of course," replied Clemency, " but 
 God rules. How can it be that the attempt of the King's 
 foreign nephew to steal the money sent by the Parliament 
 to the army should, by leading to the death of Mr. Hamp- 
 
350 
 
 den, defeat the plans of God ? The death of such a one must 
 surely kindle in us a greater zeal for the liberties he died to 
 strengthen and preserve, a greater hatred of despotism and 
 priestcraft." 
 
 They were interrupted by the arrival of Alderman Pury, 
 who came with congratulations to the bride and bride- 
 groom. 
 
 " I hear you have set a right worthy example, and have 
 already been working for the safety of the city," he said, 
 kindly. " Yet I like not that vain relic of by-gone symbols 
 and worthless outer show of inner mysteries." 
 
 " My wedding-ring ?" said Clemency, taking it off with great 
 composure, and looking, with a smile in her eyes, at the posy 
 within it. " In truth, sir, I have no superstition about it. 
 We merely regard it as a useful sign to mark the married 
 from the unmarried, and Joscelyn insists on wearing one 
 also. He saith 'tis quite as important that men be thus dis- 
 tinguished as women." 
 
 " It is a relic of popery," said Alderman Pury, shaking 
 his head. 
 
 " Yet are our rings very far removed from the pope and 
 his works," said Clemency, smiling. " See, the posy is, 
 * Serve the good Cause,' and, indeed, dear sir, those words 
 were the last said to my husband by Mr. Hampden, and are 
 most sacred to us." 
 
 The old Puritan bent down and kissed her hand. " I will 
 say no more," he protested ; " that name silences all ob- 
 jections. " 
 
 It was not till the loth of August that Gloucester was 
 actually summoned ; skirmishes in the neighborhood and 
 busy work at the fortifications, storing the city with food, 
 and dismissing the half-hearted from the gates had filled up 
 the interval. But on Thursday the King with the advance- 
 guard of the finest army he ever had in a few days' time 
 
it numbered 30,000 men appeared before the walls, and 
 at two o'clock he sent a trumpeter and two heralds with 
 his summons to the city, promising, " On the word of a 
 king," free pardon to all if the submission were imme- 
 diate. 
 
 " His Majesty might have chosen some stronger assur- 
 ance," was Christopher Bennett's bitter comment. " The 
 word of a king is precisely what he hath forced all men to 
 distrust." 
 
 Arthur Denham started up at this, and would have 
 made an indignant protest had not Joscelyn laid a hand 
 on his arm , and the master of the house, far too much dis- 
 tracted to be observant, hurried from the room in search of 
 his wife. 
 
 " Do not quarrel with him now," pleaded Joscelyn. " Con- 
 sider what a desperate case he is in. Tis hard for you to 
 be thus a prisoner, and your own friends without, as I well 
 enough know. But he meant no insult to you." 
 
 " To me ? What signifies that ?" said Denham. " But he 
 is disloyal to the King he insults his Majesty !" 
 
 There was an uncomfortable silence, Joscelyn being well 
 convinced that the words were no slander, and that what- 
 ever the merits of Charles as a man, he was as a king hope- 
 lessly deceitful and treacherous. Denham knew him well 
 enough to guess what was passing in his mind ; he knew 
 that it was merely courtesy and friendship towards himself 
 that kept his companion from echoing Christopher Ben- 
 nett's words. 
 
 " I have never asserted," he said, " that the King was fault- 
 less, but that we are to be loyal to him in spite of his faults. 
 I cannot understand how you of all men on earth should be 
 lacking in loyalty." 
 
 " But loyalty has no necessary connection with the King," 
 said Joscelyn. " It means being faithful to law. A wife 
 
352 
 
 may honor her husband, but if he bids her steal she must 
 break her promise of obedience to him and be loyal to the 
 law of the land." 
 
 " Do not you by the law of the land owe allegiance to the 
 King?" said Denham. 
 
 "Certainly," replied Joscelyn, "yet 'twas held by Mr. 
 Hampden and all our leaders that rebellion is a duty when 
 the just liberties of the subject are imperilled or religion is 
 attacked. There is even a higher loyalty than loyalty to the 
 law of the land, and that is loyalty to conscience. The fol- 
 lowers of Wycliffe preached in defiance of the laws of the 
 land, and their blood proved the seed of the Reformation. 
 Nay, it was under the abominable heresy laws of England, 
 repealed in the time of Edward VI., and again made law 
 under Queen Mary, that Bishop Hooper was burned at 
 the farther side of yon cathedral. And what did he say 
 to those who at the last tried to induce him to sign a 
 paper promising to conform to the law ? ' If you love my 
 soul,' he cried, * take it away.' From loyalty to a higher 
 law he let himself be slowly roasted over a fire of green 
 wood." 
 
 " And from loyalty to a principle as it seems to me the 
 most fantastic overstrained principle you are willing to risk 
 your whole career," said Arthur Denham, " willing to bring 
 upon your newly-wedded wife disgrace and misery? The 
 tide is turning; everywhere the King conquers ; can you not 
 see that you are bound to lose ?" 
 
 " With the losing or the winning we have no right to con- 
 cern ourselves," said Joscelyn. " I have but to be faithful to 
 conscience. Better hang as an honest rebel than feast as a 
 cringing time-server. 
 
 " A time-server you could never be," said Denham, warm- 
 ly. " I meant only that I would fain have you see your 
 error." 
 
353 
 
 Joscelyn laughed. " We are like the two knights with 
 the gold and silver shield. But methinks only Death him- 
 self will be the third knight and reconcile our differences." 
 Then, his bright face clouding over for a minute and tears 
 starting to his eyes, he added, in a lower voice : " Yet if, as 
 all men think, this siege prove our last desperate bit of re- 
 sistance, and for a time our cause be crushed and thwarted, 
 then, when I am hanged or imprisoned or exiled, which- 
 ever it may be, I beg you, Denham, by this strange friend- 
 ship of ours, born and bred in the war, to guard and help my 
 wife to the best of your power. Will you do this much for 
 a rebel?" 
 
 " Aye, that will I," said Denham, heartily, griping his 
 hand. Even as they spoke they noticed a red glow in 
 the sky, and Faith and Clemency came hurrying into the 
 room. 
 
 " Oh," they cried, " the suburbs are on fire ! Every house 
 outside the walls is to be burned." 
 
 " Tis needful," said Joscelyn. " The owners were warned 
 days ago, and have moved their goods. One is sorry for 
 them, but the suburbs must go to save the city; the city, 
 likely enough, must perish to save the nation. And you 
 and I, dear heart, must sacrifice our honeymoon all for 
 the well-being of the generations yet to come, that they 
 may dwell at peace in the land which for us hath been full 
 of strife." 
 
 At that moment the dull roar of cannon fell upon their 
 ears. Faith gave a cry of dismay, but Clemency had al- 
 ready caught something of her husband's undaunted spirit; 
 she asked him at what hour he was on duty as composedly 
 as if she had been inquiring the hour of a prayer-meeting. 
 
 " Neither from the surgeon, nor from the governor, nor 
 from the mayor could I get leave to be one of the regular 
 garrison," said Joscelyn, smiling. "They all protested 
 23 
 
354 
 
 'twas too soon after Lansdown. I am but in the reserve, 
 and shall have light work, not being due at my post till 
 sunrise." 
 
 " If your face lights up in that fashion, Clemency," said 
 Faith, laughing, " he will think the sun hath already risen. 
 There ! go away, both of you, and leave me to grumble to 
 Mr. Denham." 
 
 They took her at her word, and by-and-by Denham and 
 Faith, who had mounted to the attic and were looking east- 
 ward at the burning houses, caught sight of the young hus- 
 band and wife pacing up and down a quiet alley in the gar- 
 den below. 
 
 " Just see those two," cried Faith, " wrapped round so 
 closely in their happiness that this lurid sky and the roar of 
 the artillery cannot disturb them ! They are blind and deaf 
 to all save each other's looks and words." 
 
 " Yes, while they are together ; but apart they pay a heavy 
 price for it," said Denham, remembering the request Josce- 
 lyn had made of him and the look in his eyes. " Would to 
 God this cruel war were at an end ! One trembles to think 
 of a love like theirs begun in these times." 
 
 " Clemency will doubtless, I fear, have many troubles," 
 said Faith, her pretty face growing sad and grave for a mo- 
 ment. " But then " with a laugh " she will not have to 
 keep house through a siege, and she will be well-nigh as un- 
 troubled by a mother-in-law as Eve herself. You as a 
 bachelor, and I as a matron of experience, are far more full 
 of cares than those lovers, who walk there just as if our 
 pleasance were the Garden of Eden !" 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 Who, when they saw the host coming to meet them, said, "How 
 shall we be able, being so few, to fight against so great a multi- 
 tude and so strong?" Unto whom Judas answered: "It is no hard 
 matter for many to be shut up in the hands of a few ; and with the 
 God of Heaven it is all one to deliver with a great multitude or a small 
 company. For the victory of battle standeth not in the multitude of 
 an host; but strength cometh from Heaven." 
 
 FIRST BOOK OF THE MACCABEES. 
 
 " COLLEGE GREEN, GLOUCESTER, \$th August, 1642. 
 " MY DEAR MRS. URSULA, Though there be as yet little 
 likelihood of sending letters, I shall begin to write to you, 
 that so if opportunity offers I be not behindhand, and 
 also because I greatly long to tell you all that has passed of 
 late. You will have seen our letters to my grandfather and 
 to Hester on the 5th, telling of our marriage, so I will not 
 repeat what was then said, but rather tell you what hath 
 since come to pass. We are very straitly besieged, yet I 
 know not that 'tis so bad as the suspense and uncertainty 
 that went before, when, as the jest ran among the Royalists, 
 
 'twas a case of 
 
 1 Bristol taking, 
 Exeter shaking, 
 Gloucester quaking.' 
 
 Methinks a siege is like tooth-drawing worse to look for- 
 ward to than at the time, when one's courage mounteth 
 with occasion. At first I thought 'twould have been 
 far easier to bear had Joscelyn still been invalided, but in 
 truth his joy at being recovered in time to serve hath so 
 acted on me that I, too, cannot but be glad, even though as 
 
356 
 
 each morning I bid him farewell and see him set off to the 
 walls my heart is sorely disquieted. Yet is his bright, hope- 
 ful temperament beginning to work upon my over-anxious 
 spirit that you have ever chid, just as Faith's cheerfulness 
 hath to some extent brightened her husband, and made 
 him, spite of these troubles, less gloomy and severe. 
 
 *' The very day after the King had summoned the city the 
 pipes that supply our conduits with water from Robin's 
 Wood Hill were cut by the enemy and the mill water di- 
 verted, which put us to some trouble, as all the corn had 
 to be ground with hand or horse mills, and for water we had 
 to shift as best we could with wells in sundry parts and 
 with fetching and carrying from the river, which put old 
 Madam Bennett into a mighty fluster. All the first night 
 and the next day the King's men were at work in the 
 trenches ; they were within musket-shot of the walls, and 
 Joscelyn brought home in the evening strange tales of the 
 words that had been bandied between the men, the Royal- 
 ists very fierce in their expressions of contumely, 'Den 
 of rebels' being their mildest term of abuse, and our 
 men by no means slow to retort. Alas ! I cannot help 
 looking forward with dread to the end, and thinking how 
 terrible will be the entrance of a conquering enemy angered 
 by our stubborn resistance. Joscelyn is convinced that Sir 
 William Waller will come to our rescue, but the King's 
 words to our two citizens who brought him the refusal to 
 yield Gloucester will often come back to me. ' Waller,' he 
 said, * is extinct, and Essex cannot come.' This reminds 
 me that I must tell you, who love the King, of something 1 
 heard to his praise. He received the messengers with 
 courtesy, and reproved some of his followers who made a 
 jest of their cropped heads ; and, truly, I must own, they 
 chose the most extreme of the Puritans as ambassadors ; 
 Original Sin Smith himself could not have looked more un- 
 
357 
 
 couth. Sir William Waller once told me that he invariably 
 chose Joscelyn to be one of those sent as hostages or am- 
 bassadors, because of his courtesy and noble bearing, but 
 the good folk of Gloucester went on another plan. His 
 Majesty seemed amazed at the temerity of the place in 
 holding out against such a great army. And, truly, it doth 
 seem a desperate enterprise. Our garrison is very small ; 
 save the reserve of one hundred and twenty men, they are 
 all forced to be on the walls day and night. Tis a case of 
 fifteen hundred men behind sadly imperfect fortifications 
 and with but a limited supply of gunpowder against a be- 
 sieging army of thirty thousand. 
 
 " 'Tis strange how soon folk grow accustomed to peril ; 
 at first the roar of the cannon was terrible, but now we 
 scarce heed it more than thunder, and there is much to do 
 and little time to think. I will tell you how our days 
 mostly pass. At five we rise, and Charlotte brings us a 
 snug breakfast ; then, my husband and I having prayed to- 
 gether, I help him to put on his armor, and we walk hand 
 in hand through the garden, and take leave of each other 
 at a little postern that gives into a street leading to the 
 High Cross, he going forth to his post near the East Gate, 
 and I returning to our room to pray alone, then to help 
 Faith in the house and to count the hours till noon, when 
 Charlotte and I walk to the walls bearing food for Joscelyn. 
 In the afternoon all who are able, rich and poor, women, 
 and even children, help to work at the fortifications, and I 
 do assure you Faith and I grow as brown as berries toiling 
 in the sun at the turfs ; and as to our hands, 'tis enough to 
 make a fine lady blush only to look at them. But in our 
 secret hearts we are proud of them, and have many a laugh 
 at that blessed meal of supper, when Joscelyn, who returns 
 at six o'clock, always holds what he calls ' Hand review ' 
 on the table, Faith and I laying our hands beside his 
 
35* 
 
 bronzed ones, which, however, from the natural fairness of 
 his skin, always carry off the honors, and, as Faith says, 
 rival in color her best copper kettle. They have dammed 
 up the east and south ports, because 'tis from that quarter 
 they expect the chief attack, it being the only side from 
 which the King's forces can carry on their work free from 
 water springs. 
 
 " Thursday, I7/// August. 
 
 " As I wrote the above words, two days ago, Joscelyn re- 
 turned looking more worn and tired than he is wont to do, 
 and bringing us sad news of the death of Captain Harcus, 
 a lieutenant to the Earl of Stamford, who had shown a 
 noteworthy courage in the sallies of the nth and i2th. It 
 seems he was in Friar's Orchard on Tuesday afternoon, 
 and had thrown a granado into the trenches, when, trying 
 to see what success it had, he was shot. As yet we have 
 lost but few men, although there are almost daily sallies 
 yesterday a very severe skirmish, in which many of the en- 
 emy were reported to be slain. But, though perhaps 'tis 
 selfish of me, this merely heard of sally makes less impres- 
 sion on me than the danger which I saw and but narrowly 
 escaped. Charlotte and I went to-day, as usual, to take 
 Joscelyn's dinner at noon, and afterwards visited a poor 
 woman near the South Gate who is in sore trouble, her 
 daughter having been killed the day after the siege be- 
 gan through rashly looking over the walls. Since then the 
 poor mother hath been sick with grief and wholly unable to 
 bestir herself. Charlotte and I talked with her for a while 
 and set her house in order, then because the fetching of 
 water from the nearest well was more than she was fit for, 
 we went to draw it for her, the poor soul being scarce able 
 to endure the roar of the cannon, which to-day the King's 
 forces ply very fiercely from their battery on Gaudy Green. 
 We had filled the pail, and Charlotte was carrying it along, 
 
359 
 
 protesting that she needed no help, and talking in her kind 
 fashion of the poor woman's sorrow and how we might 
 serve her, when right in front of us not half a dozen yards 
 off fell a huge granado. I stood there as if turned to 
 stone, just stupidly staring at the thing as it lay, so mortal 
 a terror did paralyze my limbs. But Charlotte dear brave 
 Charlotte without pausing one moment, walked right up 
 to the granado and emptied her pail of water over it, so 
 putting out the fuse. Then, almost before the sense had 
 come back to my dazed brain, we were surrounded by a 
 crowd of questioners ; an officer and some of the soldiers 
 from the South Gate came up, and shortly Governor Massey 
 himself. 
 
 " ' Your courage and good sense have saved many lives 
 this day,' he said to Charlotte. ' You may, for aught we know, 
 have saved the South Gate itself, and with that the city.' 
 
 "Then all the people cheered, which made Charlotte's 
 eyes fill, as methinks cheering is apt to do. 
 
 " ' I thank the Lord, sir,' she said, quietly, ' that my mis- 
 tress and I were passing and that the pail was full.' 
 
 " And with that she turned away to refill it for the poor 
 woman, though, as you can fancy, a dozen folk ran to help 
 her, and insisted on carrying it, waiting on her with a little 
 of the respect she so well deserves. 
 
 "The granado was taken up whole, and, the governor 
 causing it to be weighed, 'twas found to be as much as sixty 
 pounds. Joscelyn, coming home later on, could do naught 
 but talk of our narrow escape. I can never tell you, dear 
 Mrs. Ursula, how great is his love and care for me. 'Tis 
 not the fussing care that some men show not the love that 
 treats a wife as a sort of pretty puppet but one that makes 
 the words of the marriage service comparing the husband's 
 love to Christ's seem no exaggeration. Of the selfish love 
 of some men 'twould seem blasphemy to use such a descrip- 
 
tion, but of my dear husband's devotion it doth seem to me 
 the only symbol fitting. Sometimes I think that such hap- 
 piness as ours cannot last long in this world, yet maybe 
 that is but a return of my bad habit of melancholy, which 
 his presence doth mostly exorcise. We could not help 
 laughing at supper just now, for when Charlotte came into 
 the room with some of that calves'-foot jelly she hath a par- 
 ticular belief in for strengthening folk, Joscelyn sprang up 
 and kissed her before us all as gallantly as any cavalier 
 could have done, thanking her for saving what he said was 
 more than all the world to him, and ending with the hope 
 that as one resolute woman had helped to save a city, so 
 one resolute city might help to save England. 
 
 " 3O/// August. 
 
 " The next day after writing the above there was a note- 
 worthy sally and some severe fighting, but our losses were 
 still slight. Every now and then, too, mixed with the sad- 
 ness and anxiety, there comes a comical adventure that, 
 however small, sets us laughing, as perchance it might not 
 do were we less strained and expectant. On the igth a 
 cannon-ball, doubtless intended to do us much hurt, only 
 struck down a pig, whereat the merriment was great, and 
 our soldiers ate the pig and taunted the enemy ! That 
 same day, however, a granado fell on the roof of Mr. Hath- 
 waye's house, and broke through into the room beneath, 
 and so into the court, one bit falling down the chimney into 
 the kitchen. By the mercy of God, three of the household 
 who happened to be sitting by the fire were unharmed. 
 Many other houses have been struck, but little serious mis- 
 chief done. I care for naught when once my husband is 
 safe home, even when, as now and then happens, the drums 
 beat an alarm round the city in thedead of night, an attack 
 being expected. 
 
"CHARLOTTE EMPTIED HER TAIL OF WATER OVER IT." 
 
 [Page 359- 
 
" Faith and I do greatly long for tidings from Katterham, 
 and to know how it fares with my grandfather and the chil- 
 dren. There is a preacher here, a Mr. Halford, who the 
 other day said in his sermon words that often come to my 
 mind. He bade us remember that 'though the passages 
 were closed on earth, there remained a way open to heaven.' 
 Perhaps that we use this way the more and learn its value, 
 it is needful sometimes to have checks to our earthly ways 
 of communicating. 
 
 "On the 2ist two unsuccessful sallies were made, and 
 our designs, through the foolish mistake of a guide, miscar- 
 ried. Christopher, who was taking part in the attempt un- 
 der Colonel Stephens, received a wound in the leg serious 
 enough to lay him up for three weeks, it is feared. Faith 
 protests that she is thankful for anything that stays him 
 at home, and it is helping to make old Madam Bennett 
 appreciate her daughter-in-law, their common anxiety draw- 
 ing them the one to the other. 
 
 "On the 24th a conference was held inside the draw- 
 bridge at the North Gate with Mr. Bell and a Mr. Hill of 
 Tewkesbury, they endeavoring to persuade the city to yield 
 to the dreadful threats of the Royalists, and to save the 
 terrible suffering which the King's troops are causing to 
 the poor country folk, who, whether they will or no, are 
 forced by the foraging parties to support that great army, 
 and many are made prisoners and cruelly threatened to ex- 
 tort money from them 'Tis grievous to think of their hard 
 case, but yet we must be true to our trust, and I am right 
 glad that Governor Massey resolutely refused to yield up 
 Gloucester. 
 
 " I could tell you many strange tales of narrow escapes. 
 Once a bullet weighing twenty pounds broke into a room at 
 the Crown Inn, by God's providence striking only a bolster, 
 which it hurled forward to the window, but, lodging in the 
 
562 
 
 centre, did no harm. On Friday last and all through the 
 following night the King's battery at Llanthony shot red- 
 hot fire-balls. It was fearful to see in the dark these great 
 fiery iron bullets flying through the air like thunder-bolts. 
 Joscelyn says many of them weighed twenty-two pounds. I 
 went with him in the evening to see one which had fallen 
 into the house of an apothecary named Comelin ; it was 
 cooling when we saw it in a water-butt, where, with much 
 ado, they had contrived to place it, the buckets of water 
 they had cast over it to put it out having proved of little use. 
 As we walked home we saw that links were burning on the 
 college tower. My husband told me it was decided to light 
 this beacon, and that young Captain Pury should keep it 
 alight till the moon had risen, so that my Lord Essex or Sir 
 William Waller, in marching to our relief, might not be 
 misled by the false rumors of Gloucester having been taken, 
 which, 'tis believed, the enemy endeavor to circulate in the 
 country. The Royalists, annoyed at the light, aimed several 
 bullets at the tower, and Captain Pury nearly met with his 
 death, but still persisted in his duty. 
 
 " On Saturday last the enemy, angered by the boldness 
 of our men in fetching in much-needed hay from Walham, 
 set the hay-cocks on fire, but were severely punished in con- 
 sequence by our shot. Tis grievous to think of all the 
 waste and destruction this war doth bring in its train. That 
 same day two messengers were secretly sent forth from the 
 city, and yesterday our spirits were greatly cheered by their 
 safe return from Warwick, bringing us news from his Excel- 
 lency and Sir William Waller of a relief shortly coming to 
 us. Save these messengers, none have left the city (except 
 some four or five deserters) since the seige began, but many 
 have been engaged in sallies, and, as I told you, the hay- 
 makers have been bold enough, and we women work in the 
 little mead. The most curious of all is the plan for letting 
 
363 
 
 the cattle graze there. The poor beasts are put over the 
 works by a bridge of ladders, and a special guard of mus- 
 keteers has to protect them and bring them into the city at 
 sunset. The enemy like this but ill, and sent out a detach- 
 ment of horse against these kine, but their body-guard safely 
 protected them and beat off the Royalists. 
 
 ' ' Sunday, ^>d September. 
 
 "Charlotte, Faith, and I were working as usual with 
 some other citizens in this same little mead yesterday, I in 
 my secret heart thinking more of a somewhat fierce-looking 
 cow with an angry eye than of any danger from the enemy, 
 when suddenly the Welsh garrison at the Vineyard began 
 firing upon us from a ditch. We went on working though 
 I plead guilty to much trembling of the knees and our 
 artillery, seeing our danger, began to play on the Welshmen, 
 and quickly dispersed them. 
 
 " All this while I have not told you that one day, when I 
 was with Joscelyn at the walls, Governor Massey, chancing 
 to be near, bade me look through his prospective, for that 
 the King was clearly to be seen. His Majesty was at too 
 great a distance for me to see his face, but I could plainly 
 distinguish the outline of his figure, and could see that he 
 was an excellent good rider, though not so graceful a horse- 
 man as some I could name. He rode at the head of some 
 cavalry, and wore a complete suit of bright armor, on which 
 the sun did glint in most dazzling brightness. I wished 
 you had been here to see him. It is well for me that I 
 have you for my friend, else I should find it more difficult 
 to keep from bitter feelings against those who, as Joscelyn 
 would say, look at the shield from the other side. In truth, 
 it hath been a great gain to us all to have with us through- 
 out the siege a Royalist like Mr. Denham in the house. 
 He and my husband are fast friends, spite of all differences, 
 
364 
 
 and the being forced, out of courtesy to a prisoner, to avoid 
 as far as might be uttering words that would hurt him hath 
 been an excellent curb on us. I do truly think that he is 
 as good a man and as true as my husband, his views of life 
 much the same, save in this matter of politics, and his rev- 
 erence for women and desire to do the will of God just as 
 marked a feature in his character. He vows he will wed 
 none other than little Rosamond Heyworth, Joscelyn's sis- 
 ter, she having wholly won his heart, child though she is, 
 by her loving plot at Farnham last autumn for my dear 
 husband's deliverance. Mr. Denham would have fared 
 better had he been left in prison at Bristol with two 
 other Royalist officers taken at Devizes, they of course 
 being set free when Prince Rupert took the city. But Sir 
 William Waller thought to do him a kindness by leaving 
 him here, and we have every reason to be glad of his 
 company. 
 
 " There was no sermon in church this morning, for the 
 preacher was warned that the enemy was preparing a bat- 
 tery at the East Gate, and that our peril was extreme. Being 
 all assembled, we had prayers, and then, much to our relief, 
 were dismissed. On Wednesday last, the public feast-day, 
 a musket-ball fell into St. Nicholas Church while we were 
 listening to the sermon, and though it did no harm, yet it 
 was sufficiently startling. 
 
 " Faith and I were glad to be in the open air, though 
 there has been little rest to mark this as the Lord's day, for 
 the firing was incessant, and every one was working hard at 
 a great breastwork across Eastgate Street, and lining the 
 adjacent houses. The Royalists tried to frighten us by an 
 ill-omened message shot into the town upon an arrow. The 
 words on the paper ran thus : ' Your god Waller has for- 
 saken you, and hath retired himself to the Tower of Lon- 
 don. Essex is beaten like a dog. Yield to the King's 
 
365 
 
 mercy in time ; otherwise, if we enter perforce, no quarter 
 for such obstinate, traitorly rogues.' 
 
 " They also threaten when they enter to hang the twelve 
 aldermen to the signs of the twelve inns. But I pray that 
 God may deliver us, and Joscelyn thinks the message on 
 the arrow is naught but a foul lie, and that help will yet 
 come. God grant it may be soon, for our powder is all but 
 exhausted, and there are but two powder-mills in Gloucester, 
 which cannot turn out more than three barrels a week, so 
 that if help come not speedily we are undone. Two mes- 
 sengers were secretly gotten out of the city to-night to give 
 us news whether the relieving army is near. 
 
 - ' ' Monday, ^th September. 
 
 "Our hopes are revived, for the Royalist cavalry are 
 removed, and it may be that they intend to raise the siege. 
 May God protect the relieving army, and deliver them out 
 of the hand of Prince Rupert ! Joscelyn hath brought back 
 good tidings that the beacon-fires are burning on Waynload 
 Hill ; no doubt they have been kindled by our two messen- 
 gers. This was the agreed sign that they should give that 
 help was near at hand. Captain Pury answered with links 
 on the college tower. A most joyful and cheering sight to 
 us in our anxiety. Mr. Halford's children have had a prov- 
 idential escape ; a bullet weighing twenty-five pounds broke 
 into the kitchen where only a short time before they had 
 been. 
 
 "6M September. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Ursula, our help has come, and Gloucester 
 is saved ! I can but write hastily, since our messenger is 
 to set off to-night with the letters, and Joscelyn is sending 
 some of the details to my grandfather. Yesterday was ap- 
 pointed for a solemn fast-day, and all who could be spared 
 flocked to the churches, there to pray for God's help. We 
 
366 
 
 had hopes that succor was at hand, but no certainty, and 
 there were fears as to the encounter between his Majesty's 
 great army and the force that the Parliament was sending 
 to our aid. Faith and I went to church in the morning, 
 and between the sermons came out to go as usual to the 
 walls with food for Joscelyn, he not being strong enough to 
 fast in the sense of not eating food, but fasting very truly 
 in the way the Prophet Isaiah spoke of striving to undo 
 the heavy burdens and to let the oppressed go free, and to 
 loose the yoke of tyranny. He greeted us with a face 
 whose bright hopefulness told its own tale, and drawing me 
 to a peep-hole which he seldom will allow me so much as 
 to glance through some few of the citizens having lost 
 their lives through curiously gazing forth he bade me see 
 what had come to pass. Truly it was a strange sight ! The 
 Royalist horse and foot were moving off; their carriages 
 from Llanthony were struggling up Tredworth field, and 
 the whole country seemed astir. 
 
 " Still, we were not sure till later that the siege was really 
 raised, but by-and-by, when Joscelyn returned for the night, 
 he told us that the enemy had withdrawn their men from 
 the trenches and had fired their huts, and that a good 
 countryman had hastened into Gloucester bringing news 
 that my Lord Essex had conquered Prince Rupert at Stow, 
 and that he now advanced to our protection. How the 
 people shouted for joy, and how we all thanked God for 
 His goodness, you will understand. A great south wind 
 had sprung up while we were in church, and in the evening 
 the rain came down in torrents ; such a storm I have not 
 seen for many years, and as in the night we lay listening 
 to it, I could not but think of the psalm that tells us of 
 the * wind and storm fulfilling his word.' Joscelyn said the 
 King could not possibly have stayed longer after such a 
 tempest, the ground being turned into a swamp. But the 
 
367 
 
 sufferings of both armies must have been terrible, especially 
 as the cold was very great more like winter than Septem- 
 ber. We have been besieged a month and three days 
 the longest yet not the least happy month of my life ! Only 
 fifty of our men have been killed ; but it was time help 
 came, for we had but three barrels of powder left. As soon 
 as we can travel, my husband will take us home to Katter- 
 ham, Faith coming for a visit, by Christopher's special wish, 
 until the times are more quiet. His leg is well-nigh healed. 
 I write in such haste, dear Mrs. Ursula, that you will scarce, 
 I fear, read the scrawl, but the messenger must set forth. 
 Farewell. From your loving 
 
 "CLEMENCY HEYWORTH." 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 The only way to find comfort in an earthly thing is to surrender it 
 (in a faithful carelessness) into the hands of God. BISHOP HALL'S 
 CONTEMPLATIONS. 
 
 AFTER the great deliverance of that 5th of September the 
 " City assaulted by man but saved by God," as it hence- 
 forth loved to designate itself, settled down into compar- 
 ative quiet. Essex and the brave Londoners who had 
 marched through so many perils to the rescue were wel- 
 comed with joyous demonstrations on the 8th ; but their 
 work being done, they were eager to return again, and, in 
 truth, the city and the desolated country around could not 
 possibly have maintained them many days. When they 
 marched on to Tewkesbury, which quickly surrendered to 
 them, Governor Massey had time to consider the case of 
 Arthur Denham, and a messenger was despatched to Hop- 
 ton at Bristol suggesting an exchange of prisoners. Two 
 days after this messenger had left Gloucester, Joscelyn and 
 Denham received a summons to meet Massey at his quar- 
 ters in Greyfriars, and, repairing thither in the fading light 
 of the September day, found the governor in conversation 
 with two officers. In the distance Joscelyn quickly noted 
 that one of them wore the red scarf and the feather denot- 
 ing a Royalist, but it was not till he had approached quite 
 near that he recognized a familiar figure, and with an excla- 
 mation of delight sprang forward. 
 
 "Dick!" he cried; "Dick, you are indeed recovered, 
 then ?" 
 
 " Alive and well, thanks to you," said Dick, warmly wel- 
 
369 
 
 coming him. " We had well-nigh given you up for lost, 
 though. 'Twas only yesterday, in Governor Massey's let- 
 ter, that we learned you were alive." 
 
 "You have been worse off, then," said Joscelyn ; "for I 
 had tidings of your being safely housed at Marshfield, and 
 just before the siege sent my servant there to ask how you 
 did, but by then you had left, and they knew not at the 
 farm where you had gone." 
 
 " I had left to join my father at Wells. He had recovered, 
 and we went thence together to Bristol," said Dick, " where 
 Sir Ralph or my Lord Hopton, as we must now call him 
 has, to keep the peace and put an end to quarrels and fac- 
 tions among us, consented to be lieutenant-governor under 
 Prince Rupert. Very scurvily they have treated him, to my 
 mind, but he would cut off his right hand to serve the King, 
 and if peace-makers be blest (though, as far as I can see, 
 they have a confounded hard time of it), he ought to be 
 happy." 
 
 " He is one of your noblest men," said Joscelyn heartily. 
 " How is he recovered of the hurt he got at Lansdown ?" 
 
 " Ha ! that confounded explosion ! 'Twas that finished 
 us off," said Dick, " and laid us both there like a couple of 
 dead men when they carried me off the field. They never 
 thought my Lord Hopton could recover ; for days he could 
 not see, and could scarce hear, yet he contrived at Devizes 
 to give orders from his bed, and while lying there hit on a 
 clever contrivance of making all the citizens cut off their bed- 
 cords for match, that being badly needed for the defence. 
 Afterwards they got him to Bristol, and he is now fast re- 
 covering, and well-nigh himself again." 
 
 " How about an exchange for Arthur Denham ?" 
 
 " Governor Massey consents to the change proposed by 
 Lord Hopton, and I have ridden over here with Captain 
 Black, who was made prisoner at Roundway Down." 
 24 
 
370 
 
 " That is well," said Joscelyn, with a look of relief. " Sorry 
 enough shall I be to lose my friend, but he hath chafed 
 grievously at his long idleness. How is my father ?" 
 
 " Quite recovered ; but he has been full of trouble about 
 you. Your exploit on Lansdown moved him greatly, so that 
 to this day he cannot speak your name steadily." 
 
 " You must tell him of my marriage," said Joscelyn. " I 
 will write him a letter." 
 
 "What!" cried Dick, "you a Benedick already? What 
 else have you crammed in betwixt this and your Lansdown 
 adventure ? A miraculous disappearance from the field, a 
 journey to the gates of death and back again, a noteworthy 
 siege in this fair city, and a visit to Katterham to wed pretty 
 Mistress Clemency!" 
 
 "Nay, no journey to Katterham. Clemency was here, 
 and we were wedded by Mr. Whichcote shortly before the 
 siege of Gloucester began. You must come to College 
 Green now and see her; of course you do not return to 
 Bristol to-night." 
 
 And so Denham, once more a free man, and Dick and 
 Joscelyn, happy as a couple of school-boys at this unex- 
 pected meeting, walked back together, and a very merry 
 evening was spent in the gabled house, Clemency looking 
 her loveliest as she sat listening to Dick's account of the 
 battle of Lansdown, and of the way in which Joscelyn had 
 risked his life to save him. 
 
 " How false it is," she exclaimed, " to say that differing 
 views can spoil the love of kinsmen." 
 
 " Yet would to God this war were over !" said Dick, 
 wearily. " Last month there seemed some prospect of it ; 
 but now I know not !" 
 
 " Last month," said Joscelyn, "when our prospects looked 
 black as night, you promised me, Denham, that when the 
 game was over for me you would do what you could for my 
 
37i 
 
 wife. Now let us have one promise more. Promise me 
 that if at any time either you and your people, or you, Dick, 
 and my father and Jervis, find yourselves in any strait, that 
 you will let me serve you to the best of my power." 
 
 And gravely they pledged themselves to this, looking far 
 less confidently towards the future than they had done at 
 the beginning of the war. The next day the two brothers 
 again parted, and as soon as Christopher Bennett could ar- 
 range for his temporary absence from home, the journey to 
 Katterham was undertaken. 
 
 Joscelyn was not only extremely anxious to take his wife 
 to a more sheltered part of the country, but he was eager 
 to rejoin Sir William Waller, and to serve again under the 
 general whose failure at Roundway Down had in no way 
 affected his reputation with any who really knew him. 
 
 On Monday, the 25th of September, the small cavalcade 
 set out from College Green, Christopher Bennett and Faith 
 attended by two grooms, Charlotte Wells mounted on a pil- 
 lion behind Morrison, and Clemency and Joscelyn bringing 
 up the rear ; for now their play-time had begun, and this 
 happy journey back to Katterham was to be the idyl of their 
 lives the wedding journey, all the sweeter because it had 
 been a little delayed. 
 
 The only road open to them was a circuitous one by 
 Campden, Warwick, and Newport-Pagnell, but they were in 
 no haste to have the travelling shortened ; very sweet to 
 them were those bright autumnal days, for they were filled 
 with the heart's-ease that Mr. Whichcote had spoken of as 
 they waited in the cloisters of Gloucester on their wedding 
 morning. 
 
 Their first resting-place was Cheltenham, a pretty little 
 country town, where they were hospitably entertained by 
 some of Mr. Bennett's friends, a fine-looking old Puritan 
 and his wife, who made much of the young bride and bride- 
 
372 
 
 groom, enjoying in their quiet way the unwonted atmos- 
 phere of youth and happiness. Clemency always retained 
 a pleasant memory of the evening meal there and the kindly 
 talk of the old lady and her husband. Supper being ended, 
 she was left unmolested to wander about the dusky garden 
 with Joscelyn, and very strange it seemed in that peaceful 
 spot to speak of the sufferings of the troops that had 
 marched from London with Essex, and of the great battle 
 fought a few days before at Newbury between the King and 
 his Excellency. 
 
 " They call it a victory for us," said Joscelyn, " but by all 
 accounts 'twas bought at a heavy price. His Excellency 
 made a safe return to London, yet was his army sorely 
 shattered by the enemy." 
 
 " They, too, suffered great loss," said Clemency, " and 
 what we heard just now of my Lord Falkland's death was 
 grievously sad. The best and noblest on either side seem 
 the soonest taken." 
 
 "That is true," said Joscelyn, with a sigh, thinking of the 
 death he had witnessed after the fight at Chalgrove ; " but 
 yet this news of my Lord Falkland seems not to me wholly 
 mournful. He wished for death ; his heart was broken by 
 the misery of this civil war. He was leagued with those 
 whom he could not in his heart approve ; he was opposed 
 to those whose councils he had once shared. Clearly he 
 longed for death as a deliverer from a position that had 
 grown intolerable. With Colonel Hampden how different 
 was the case ! He was snatched away by death at the very 
 moment when it seemed likely that he would be raised to 
 the highest post, at the very time when his desire to serve 
 the cause was the most keen, because the crisis was desper- 
 ate. Think what his counsel and help would have been 
 through these three months, how his zeal would have seized 
 on this advantage and brought things to a speedy and happy 
 
373 
 
 issue ! If he could return but for a year, think what he 
 might not now accomplish !" 
 
 " Do you remember," Clemency said, " the maid who 
 was killed at Gloucester the day after the siege began ? It 
 seemed to me, when the poor mother begged me to see her 
 corpse, that a death by violence like that was a horrible 
 thing, to be shrunk from and feared as though it came of 
 the devil and not of God. But when we looked on her 
 face it was just as calm and peaceful as the face of Faith's 
 little dead babe. Surely, even the saddest death, the death 
 that seems a cruel mistake, cannot snatch the ordering of 
 all things from God's hand. If we are free to break His 
 laws or keep them, yet we are not our own, but His, and He 
 must surely bring good in the end, even out of ill." 
 
 Joscelyn did not answer, but just stooped silently to kiss 
 the sweet lips that had tried to comfort him. And as the 
 dew fell noiselessly, and in the darkening sky the stars 
 shone out one by one,, there stole into his heart a quiet 
 strength that stilled the restless grief and questioning which 
 often during the war would rise like troubled waves within 
 him. 
 
 Early next morning they set forth for Campden, their 
 host and his wife bidding them godspeed, and presenting 
 the bride with a quaintly shaped silver vinaigrette to hang 
 at her girdle. 
 
 Even the ravages of war could not wholly mar the beau- 
 tiful country through which they journeyed, and in the light 
 of their own exquisite happiness they saw those fair English 
 scenes : the hills and valleys of Gloucestershire, the rich 
 woods and streams of Warwickshire, the homely pastoral 
 country beyond. Riding together day by day over long 
 stretches of open heath, where the bracken gleamed orange- 
 tawny amid the ling and heather, or traversing some rough 
 road bordered by hedges where traveller's joy hung in 
 
374 
 
 feathery garlands and bryony berries gleamed ruddily, and 
 brambles were laden with tempting clusters of blackberries, 
 they journeyed homeward in a happy dream that refused to 
 be spoiled by sorrows or dangers whether in the past or in 
 the future. 
 
 Then there were merry discussions when they paused to 
 bait the horses and to get food at the villages they passed 
 through ; and Faith, whose spirits had wonderfully revived, 
 much enjoyed her role of experienced matron, and loved to 
 tease the newly-wedded couple and to call forth from her 
 grave husband an irrepressible burst of laughter. Delight- 
 ful, too, was the arrival each evening at a fresh hostlery, 
 where invariably the landlord and landlady gave kindly 
 welcome, seeming to take a special care of the whole 
 party, who certainly had the gift of winning hearts. 
 
 But most delightful of all was the actual home-coming at 
 the close of a bright afternoon in October. 
 
 As they rode past Coulsdon Church and across the com- 
 mon, Joscelyn spoke of the well-remembered summer day 
 when he had ridden that way with Dick, making his bride 
 blush deliciously as he described his first vision of her 
 when she stepped from the coach at the time of his acci- 
 dent. 
 
 The setting sun was flooding the land with light, the 
 quiet little village of Katterham seemed suddenly to awake 
 from sleep as the travellers rode by, and Clemency and 
 Faith waved friendly greetings to one and another of the 
 familiar faces that peered out at them from doors and case- 
 ments ; while, as for Charlotte, she was so pursued by the 
 village children with welcoming shouts that had not Morri- 
 son held the reins, and gone steadily forward, it is doubtful 
 whether she would have reached the Court-house that 
 night. 
 
 Clemency's breath came quickly as she gazed over the 
 
375 
 
 park palings, as she once more caught sight of the pond 
 and the graveyard and the little church, pausing at the 
 gate, and, after eager questions from the lodge-keeper, rid- 
 ing up to the house itself. There it stood, the dear familiar 
 old place, with the great rounded box-bushes at either side 
 of the door ; there was the entrance-court and the little gate 
 and the posts, with their great white balls, at which she had 
 stared so miserably during the attack on the house, when 
 Joscelyn had passed out to an unknown danger and she had 
 first realized her love. And there was dear Mrs. Ursula 
 running lightly across the court-yard as though she had 
 been a girl, and lifting her off the pillion, and clasping her 
 in a close embrace. 
 
 " Dear, dear Mrs. Ursula !" she cried, clinging to her. 
 " How different it all is how beautifully different to when 
 we parted !" 
 
 And Mrs. Ursula, though she did not altogether approve 
 of men, made an exception in favor of the young husband, 
 who stooped to kiss her hand with a courtesy which no 
 woman could have been proof against, and together they 
 all approached the open door, where Sir Robert stood to 
 welcome them, with the children grouped behind him, eager 
 to press forward and snatch the first kiss, but restrained by 
 pretty Hester, who bade them remember their manners and 
 be patient. 
 
 That evening, when the whole household met together 
 for prayers, old Sir Robert, instead of reading as usual a 
 lengthy chapter from one of the prophets, turned to the 
 i2ist psalm, and glad tears started to Clemency's eyes as 
 she heard him read in unsteady tones the verse, " The Lord 
 shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in, from this 
 time forth, and even for evermore." 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 He is not a freeman that can do what he will, but he that will do 
 what he should. SIR WILLIAM WALLER. 
 
 ALL these months Original Sin Smith had been occupy- 
 ing a post of some importance under the Governor of Farn- 
 ham Castle, and, being a man of considerable force of char- 
 acter, he had gained great influence in the garrison. There 
 was about him a certain genuineness of devotion to the Par- 
 liamentary cause, and yet personal ambition had so large a 
 share in his motives that it was likely enough he would 
 prove but a fair weather friend to his party. No one, how- 
 ever, watching him on All-hallows Eve as he warmed him- 
 self beside the hearth in the great hall of the castle, would 
 have guessed that this sombre, sour-faced man, with his 
 cropped head and his ostentatious piety, was all the time 
 dreaming of a fair, girlish face framed in soft waving curls 
 of dusky chestnut hair, and that when he prayed, as he very 
 frequently did, for the destruction of his enemies, he thought 
 not of armed hosts at war with the Parliament, but of one 
 yellow-haired warrior in the Puritan ranks. Joscelyn had 
 thwarted the hopes which for years Original had secretly 
 cherished, spite of the difference in rank between the yeo- 
 man's son and the granddaughter of Sir Robert Neal; a 
 difference so clearly marked in those days that no one had 
 dreamed of suspecting the tutor's secret passion. 
 
 The castle clock had struck twelve, but Original still kept 
 watch beside the hearth. Tidings had been brought that 
 Sir William Waller would arrive that night at Farnham with 
 some of his troops of horse, his own foot regiment, and some 
 
DREAMING OF A FAIR, GIRLISH FACE." 
 
 [Page 376- 
 
377 
 
 of the London trainbands. It was long since anything 
 definite had been heard of Joscelyn Heyworth, and Original, 
 as he stared with absent eyes into the glowing embers, hoped 
 and prayed that in the arduous campaign in the west his 
 rival might have been conveniently disposed of. Many, in- 
 deed, must have been his chances of death since that win- 
 ter's night when he had left the castle and had marched off 
 in the darkness to the siege of Winchester. Surely Provi- 
 dence might have removed from his path this upstart new- 
 comer, this adventurer who had presumed to become be- 
 trothed to Clemency Coriton. The clock struck one, and 
 soon after that the sound of a bugle was heard in the dis- 
 tance. Original started to his feet, and, quitting the hall, 
 took up his position at the open doorway at the head of the 
 steps which led down through the deep castle porch. From 
 the town below rose the sound of many voices and the 
 trampling of horsemen mounting the castle hill, while from 
 a greater distance there rose on the night air a familiar 
 psalm tune ; he knew it was the one to 
 
 "Avenge and judge my cause, O Lord, 
 From them that evil be." 
 
 With intense bitterness he prayed from his heart for Hey- 
 worth's destruction. The night wind was piercingly cold, 
 yet it was not this which made Original shiver as he stood 
 waiting beside the governor. At last, mounting the steps 
 between the flaring links held by some of the garrison, he 
 saw the well-known figure of Sir William Waller, his fine 
 black eyes keenly scanning the group of officers waiting to 
 receive him. Original was fain to make his greeting, then 
 he looked apprehensively towards those who accompanied 
 Waller, and had jumped to the conclusion that his rival 
 was not present, when the general turned quickly round as 
 though searching for some one. 
 
378 
 
 " Where is Captain Heyworth ?" he asked. 
 
 " He is now coming, sir," said Captain Levit ; " he waited 
 but to order a bran mash for his horse." 
 
 Original set his teeth hard, for the officer had scarcely 
 ended, when, between the lane of torches, there strode the 
 lithe, active figure of Joscelyn Heyworth. Time, and the 
 hard campaign he had been through, with all the griefs and 
 joys of the most eventful year of his life, had wonderfully 
 developed him ; but this only increased Original's hatred, 
 and it was with torturing jealousy that he watched the easy 
 grace of his foe's manner when he was greeted by the gov- 
 ernor, and the quiet modesty of his bearing when George 
 Wither made some allusion to his past services with regard 
 to Farnham Castle. 
 
 In another minute Joscelyn had perceived the ex-tutor, 
 and had stepped towards him with frank and friendly greeting. 
 
 " I have a letter for you, sir," he said, " from your home, 
 and am charged with many messages to you from Sir Rob- 
 ert Neal and the children. My wife also asked me to re- 
 member her to you." 
 
 " Your wife ?" gasped Original. 
 
 At any other time his hoarse voice and the strangeness of 
 his manner would have attracted Joscelyn's notice, but his 
 thoughts had wandered off to the Court-house, which he 
 had quitted only a few days before, and for a moment he 
 could think of nothing but of the bitterness of separation 
 from Clemency. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, dreamily, " my wife." Then, the word 
 recalling him to himself, and his hopeful nature recovering 
 from the momentary depression, his eyes lighted up with 
 the brilliant smile which made people think him so like his 
 father. " I had forgot," he exclaimed ; " of course you have 
 had no tidings of late. We were married at Gloucester 
 shortly before the siege." 
 
379 
 
 Original was spared a reply, for the governor at that mo- 
 ment summoned him to his side, but the hatred which had 
 been smouldering within him so long broke out now into a 
 devouring flame, and he began not only to wish and pray 
 for Joscelyn's death, but secretly to plan how it might be 
 contrived. 
 
 The next day the yellow auxiliaries of the Tower Ham- 
 lets, the Westminster auxiliaries, the company of bluecoats, 
 together with the four companies of the castle garrison 
 forming in all twenty-nine columns of foot companies, and 
 supplemented by some troops of horse and dragoons were 
 mustered in Farnham Park. It was a striking scene, but 
 Joscelyn, as he looked at the gay uniforms massed beneath 
 the stately trees whose autumn foliage vied in brightness 
 with the orange scarfs of the Puritans, felt sad at heart. 
 A council of war had been held that morning, and a clerk 
 belonging to Sir William's foot regiment had been con- 
 demned to death for trying to raise a mutiny. For ex- 
 ample's sake, the man had just been hanged on one of the 
 trees in the presence of the whole army. 
 
 "A hateful sight," he remarked to Original Smith, as 
 they walked together down the avenue and returned to the 
 castle. 
 
 " So let all thy enemies perish, O God," said Original, 
 fervently, and there was in his gray eyes so fierce a gleam 
 of cruel enjoyment that Joscelyn recoiled ; it seemed to him, 
 for a moment, that he was looking, not at a fellow-man, but 
 at a fiend. 
 
 It chanced that autumn that the two men were much 
 thrown together. Original was present, with such men as 
 could be spared from the Farnham garrison, at the unsuc- 
 cessful attack made by Waller upon Basing House ; and that 
 enterprise failing, Waller returned to Farnham, which for 
 some time became his headquarters, the town being by his 
 
orders strengthened by such earthworks and fortifications 
 as could be most readily made. 
 
 Now all through his life Joscetyn had been beset by one 
 decided weakness, one fault which marred an otherwise fine 
 character ; he had inherited many of his father's good qual- 
 ities, but he had also inherited his father's intense love of 
 popularity. True, the discipline of the last twelve months, 
 the divine call which had made it his duty to espouse the 
 Parliamentary cause and to cast his lot with those whom it 
 was the fashion to deride, had, to a great extent, cured him ; 
 but he was far, as yet, from being indifferent, even to the 
 opinion of those whom he had no special reason for liking. 
 From such a man it was impossible that Original's bitter 
 hatred and contempt should remain long concealed. It was 
 impossible for him to ignore the ex-tutor's dislike ; it chafed 
 him continually, and it greatly perplexed him. He had gone 
 out of his way many a time to show kindness to a man con- 
 nected with Katterham, and the true cause of Original's ha- 
 tred never occurred to him. Sometimes he fancied that the 
 Puritan considered him no true Parliamentarian at heart, 
 and believed that he would return to the views held by his 
 father. At other times he thought his religious opinions 
 were mistrusted. Finding it impossible to conciliate Origi- 
 nal, he tried as far as might be to avoid him. But Original 
 seemed ubiquitous. Whenever Joscelyn joined one of the 
 deer-stalking parties in the Holt forest, Original also joined 
 it, and did his best to spoil the pleasure of the chase. When 
 he went into the town to visit some old acquaintance he 
 was sure to fall foul of Original, and to be burdened with 
 his company; and in the very church itself it was impos- 
 sible to avoid the near neighborhood of the sour-look- 
 ing fanatic, though his presence there was particularly 
 trying, as he had a habit of expressing his feelings in 
 fervent ejaculations, and of humming approval in a way 
 
which sometimes annoyed Joscelyn and sometimes upset 
 his gravity. 
 
 Had the work been of a very absorbing nature these 
 petty annoyances would have been easily overlooked, but 
 the weeks passed without any special event, and though 
 there were occasional alarms that Hopton was marching 
 upon Farnham, and an attack on the castle was expected, 
 it never came off. Once, towards the end of November, 
 Hopton's forces appeared on a hill about a mile off, and 
 the two armies stood facing each other, Waller endeavoring 
 to draw them on by every means in his power, but without 
 success ; a few shots fired from the castle drove them off, 
 and they retired, having lost only fifteen men. About this 
 time Waller made a hurried journey to London to make ar- 
 rangements with regard to his army, and during his absence 
 news reached Farnham that Arundel, which had been very 
 imperfectly garrisoned, had fallen into the hands of Lord 
 Hopton. 
 
 A few hours before, the grievous intelligence of Pym's 
 death had been received, and in the face of such serious 
 tidings all personal and petty annoyances were lost sight of. 
 A new spirit seemed to animate the men when Waller re- 
 turned accompanied by Sir William Balfour with a thousand 
 horse, and Joscelyn's spirits rose when once more he found 
 himself marching under his well-loved leader. The castle 
 clock had tolled twelve when in the dark December night 
 the Parliamentary forces set out to surprise the Royalists, 
 who, under Lord Crawford, were quartered at Alton, a little 
 town some eight miles distant. 
 
 " We will give the good general another sort of sack to- 
 night," said Waller, laughing. " He will scarce have time 
 to finish the hogshead which he sent to ask for the other 
 day." 
 
 Some amusement had been caused at Farnham by Lord 
 
382 
 
 Crawford's modest petition for a cask of sack from the bish- 
 op's cellars. Waller, with his customary courtesy, had sent 
 the wine, and being himself a man of singularly frugal hab- 
 its and simple tastes, had secretly laughed at the bon-vivant 
 who had pocketed his pride to make such a request. Long 
 before it was light on the morning of the i3th of December, 
 Alton was surrounded ; Lord Crawford fled, after a slight 
 resistance, carrying the tidings of their defeat to Hopton at 
 Winchester, while the more noble-minded and gallant Colo- 
 nel Boles, rinding himself in desperate case, drew his men 
 into Alton Church, and there made a spirited but vain at- 
 tempt to hold the building till help should come to him. 
 
 It chanced that some of the garrison from Farnham Cas- 
 tle who took a prominent share in that night's work were 
 among those who forced their way the soonest into the im- 
 perfectly barricaded door of the church. Waller, anxious 
 as ever to save bloodshed, sent prompt orders that quarter 
 was to be offered, and Joscelyn, forcing Hotspur with diffi- 
 culty into the melee, delivered the general's message, and 
 was thankful to see that the Royalists, aware that resistance 
 was hopeless, laid down their arms. Colonel Boles himself, 
 however, refused to yield, and, fighting very gallantly, he 
 was at last overpowered, falling dead on the stones of the 
 church, his blood mingling with that of the Parliamentari- 
 ans whose lives he had just taken. Sad as were the scenes 
 which Joscelyn had witnessed during the war, few seemed 
 to him sadder than that desperate and brave resistance in a 
 church which he well remembered in past days. He looked 
 round the familiar walls with a greater craving for peace 
 than he had ever before felt. 
 
 As his eye travelled over the scene of wild confusion, he 
 suddenly perceived a sight which filled him with astonish- 
 ment. Original Smith, partly concealed by a pillar, stood 
 with his musket deliberately aimed at him. There was time 
 
383 
 
 only to throw himself forward on Hotspur's neck, and in- 
 stantly a bullet whistled past, shattering a window just be- 
 yond. Furious at what seemed to be a piece of deliberate 
 treachery, he confronted the ex-tutor. 
 
 " What are you thinking of ?" he said, sharply, looking 
 with angry eyes into the strangely distorted face of his en- 
 emy. 
 
 " I crave your pardon," said Original, with a great show 
 of surprise and regret. " I aimed at yonder popish paint- 
 ing of the Crucifixion. The light is still dim. I did not 
 observe you." 
 
 His manner was strange, his eyes wild. Joscelyn turned 
 away without a word. 
 
 " Either," he thought to himself, " that fellow is drunk, 
 or he is losing his wits, or else he deliberately intended to 
 shoot me. The painted glass was but an excuse. Were it 
 not for the fear of making them anxious at the Court-house 
 I would ask Sir Robert Neal whether he is, indeed, well as- 
 sured of the man's good faith. But I'll not risk a question, 
 lest it should come to Clemency's ears and make her anx- 
 ious." Then, dismounting, he helped some of the men to 
 remove with all reverence the body of Colonel Boles, think- 
 ing to himself how infinitely an honorable foe was to be pre- 
 ferred to a doubtfully honorable friend. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 How many other things might be tolerated in peace and left to con- 
 science had we but charity, and were it not the chief stronghold of our 
 hypocrisy to be ever judging one another. MILTON. 
 
 THE eight hundred and seventy-five prisoners taken at 
 Alton were marched back to Farnham, but Waller's brow, 
 in spite of his success, was clouded with care as that even- 
 ing he sat in his room at the castle, writing a despatch to 
 Parliament, and dictating various notes of lesser import to 
 Joscelyn. Sir Arthur Hazlerigg, who had now recovered 
 from the dangerous wound he had received at Roundway 
 Down, and had rejoined his faithful friend and companion 
 towards the end of November, entered the room just as the 
 day's writing was nearly completed. 
 
 "What of the prisoners?" asked Sir William, looking up. 
 
 " Between five and six hundred of them have taken the 
 Covenant," replied Hazlerigg. "What the promise is worth 
 under the circumstances I can't say, being myself a good 
 judge of horses but a poor judge of men. They have taken 
 it, however, and are ready to serve in your army, and to 
 march to Arundel with you." 
 
 Sir William made an impatient ejaculation. 
 
 "The Puritan trainbands have refused to march a step 
 farther," he said, bitterly. "Was ever general expected 
 before to work with such tools ? Mark my words, Hazle- 
 rigg, unless the army can be entirely remodelled, all our 
 efforts will be frustrated. These citizen soldiers fight gal- 
 lantly enough at times, but they are not to be relied on ; 
 they will none of them march any distance from their homes 
 
385 
 
 or endure any long or difficult campaign. I have never had 
 a decent army to work with. It has been taken to pieces 
 and put together again like a Dutch clock. Who knows 
 that these turncoats who have so willingly swallowed the 
 Covenant may not change their minds again when they see 
 Royalist guns pointed at them ? Far rather would I have 
 one scrupulous man who hesitates and weighs well the for 
 and against of the matter, like Captain Heyworth." 
 
 " What ! you have not yet taken it ?" said Sir Arthur, 
 turning in some surprise towards the young officer. "I 
 think that may account for the ill-natured tales of you that 
 the worthy Original Sin was pouring into my ear but now. 
 That man is no friend to you. Do not give him so fair a 
 ground for accusing you of lukewarmness in the cause, 
 and of paving your way for a return to your father and 
 brothers." 
 
 " Does he accuse me of that !" said Joscelyn, his eyes 
 flashing. "Then truly I will delay no longer, but take the 
 Covenant forthwith. I did but hesitate because it seemed 
 to me likely to prove rather a barrier to a wide toleration 
 than a uniting bond to draw us one to the other." 
 
 " Many of the independent party feel with you there," 
 said Sir William Waller, thoughtfully, "but I would you 
 could have heard Nye's address in St. Margaret's Church 
 when we of the House of Commons together with the As- 
 sembly of Divines took the Covenant. 'Twas not meant, 
 he said, in any way to bind us to a servile imitation of the 
 Church of Scotland ; it was but to league us together in the 
 great work of reformation ; and if, said he to the churches 
 of Scotland or to any other church or person it hath been 
 given better to have learned Christ in any of His ways than 
 any of us, we shall humbly bow and kiss their lips that can 
 speak right words to us in this matter, and help us unto the 
 nearest uniformity with the word and mind of Christ." 
 25 
 
386 
 
 Joscelyn still clung to the idea of a modified episcopacy 
 with toleration for those of other views, and Waller well 
 knew what was passing in his mind. It was known that a 
 proposal for some such settlement had recently been made 
 to the King, but Sir William's late visit to London had 
 chanced to take place just as it had been revealed by Colo- 
 nel Mozley that the King, instead of refusing or definitely 
 consenting to the proposals, was merely using them to pro- 
 mote an intrigue by which he hoped to secure the Parlia- 
 mentary garrison of Aylesbury. Something of this Waller, 
 under promise of secrecy, revealed now to the young officer, 
 and Joscelyn felt bitterly enough that from a sovereign as 
 wily as Charles nothing was to be hoped. 
 
 " Remember the example of your dead leader," said Wal- 
 ler. " Personally attached to the Church of England, and 
 wishing only for reform of certain abuses in it, Colonel 
 Hampden nevertheless voted for the Root and Branch bill. 
 Were bishops, as perchance one day they may be, the choice 
 of the people, or chosen by one elected by the people, it 
 might perchance be different. But they are at present the 
 mere instruments of a despotic king, who desires to retain 
 them not only because he deems them divinely appointed, 
 but because through them he will have every pulpit in the 
 land tuned to his liking. It is this you do not fully grasp, 
 yet this is the key to the whole difficulty. The King will 
 never consent to be shorn of such supporters. For this gen- 
 eration modified episcopacy is but a dream." 
 
 And so it came to pass that Joscelyn took the Covenant, 
 hoping that it might prove itself a practical step towards 
 that union which was so grievously needed. Yet in common 
 with many others he took it with reluctance, doubting much 
 whether, as Milton afterwards expressed it, "New Presby- 
 ter" might not prove "Old Priest writ large," and impa- 
 tiently longing for the time when a wide toleration might 
 
387 
 
 become possible, and the old liturgy to which he was sin- 
 cerely attached be sanctioned, or restored with but slight 
 alterations. He had to learn the lesson most difficult for all 
 young and ardent natures, that the ideal cannot be attained 
 in a single bound, but that we must climb to it steadily step 
 by step. Wiser and more far-seeing men deemed the Solemn 
 League and Covenant a political necessity, and he did well 
 to sacrifice his personal tastes, and to hold steadfastly to 
 that party which worked for the redemption of England 
 from kingly tyranny and from priestcraft. 
 
 Blind to the faults of his own party he had never been, 
 and they were destined to grow more and more apparent as 
 time advanced. But Joscelyn had at the very outset of the 
 strife taken up too firm a ground to be shaken. As a mod- 
 ern writer has well remarked, " There may be phantasms of 
 the conscience as well as of the eye." But the conviction 
 that it had been his duty to join the Parliamentary ranks 
 that even at the cost of infinite personal sorrow he was 
 bound to serve the cause had not been a phantasm, but 
 had been in harmony with all that he knew of right and 
 truth and justice. 
 
 It was well indeed that his consciousness of right, his 
 stern sense of duty was firm as a rock ; had it been other- 
 wise he could never have endured the storms that were to 
 follow. At present Original Sin remained his special an- 
 noyance, and it was with no slight sense of discomfort that 
 he found the ex-tutor joining in the expedition against 
 Arundel Castle. The London trainbands in charge of the 
 three hundred prisoners who had refused the Covenant left 
 Farnham at nine o'clock on Saturday evening, their place 
 being speedily filled by some of the Kentish trainbands 
 and a regiment of dragoons. These having arrived, there 
 was no longer any reason for delay, and Waller arranged 
 that they should march from Farnham. 
 
388 
 
 Halting at Haslemere that night, at Cowdrey and Mid- 
 hurst on the Monday, they reached Arundel Park on the 
 Tuesday night, assaulted and took the town after a two 
 hours' attack on the Wednesday, and having beaten the 
 enemy into the castle, entered the first gate after them, and 
 took up their position before the second gate, which the 
 Royalists had been able to make good. Then, in the cold 
 of that bleak December, began a tedious siege. 
 
 Wearied with the march, the horses being so " hackneyed 
 out " that, as Waller said, " they were ready to lie down " 
 under the riders, faint for want of food, and worn with 
 sleeplessness, Joscelyn for the first time realized that his 
 powers of endurance were not what they had been before 
 the battle of Lansdown. The bitter north wind and the 
 nights spent out-of-doors in the frost gave him acute pain 
 in his old wound, but weary as he was he determined that 
 Wednesday evening to write to Clemency directly he was re- 
 leased from attendance on Sir William. He was quartered 
 with some of the officers in the Crown Inn, and on enter- 
 ing the parlor found his companions making a frugal supper 
 of bread and cheese. 
 
 " Meat is not to be had for love or money," said Colonel 
 Wems, a kindly -looking Scotchman, making room for the 
 new-comer beside him ; " and it is weel you have come, Cap- 
 tain Heyworth, or we should have cleared the decks. What 
 are these fresh troops just arrived ? Do they also come from 
 his Excellency ?" 
 
 "No, sir," said Joscelyn, "from Kent, Colonel Morley's 
 regiment ; and there was much ado to find quarters for them. 
 As for food, there seems none to be had in the place. 'Tis 
 to be hoped the country folk will send some in to-morrow 
 when the market is held." 
 
 "And while you stay talking Captain Smith is making 
 dangerous inroads on the last surviving loaf," said the 
 
Scotch colonel. " Come, sir, spare a little for a late-comer, 
 who methinks stands in muckle mair need." 
 
 Original, with a very ill grace, pushed the trencher 
 towards Joscelyn, and, glancing across the table at him, ob- 
 served with keen satisfaction his air of exhaustion and 
 suffering. With a scowl he listened to Colonel Wems's 
 question as to the precise region where Heyworth had been 
 piked through the body on Lansdown ; and he enviously 
 regarded the hot whiskey-and-water which the Scotchman 
 began to mix for his rival, with the assurance that when 
 the cold settled in an old wound whiskey was the sovereign 
 remedy. 
 
 With a moody face Original presently pushed back his 
 chair, and took his cloak and hat. 
 
 " Are you on duty to-night ?" asked Joscelyn. 
 
 " Nay," said Original ; " I go to the church on my cus- 
 tomary errand." 
 
 " You will find it full of horses," said Joscelyn. " There 
 was nowhere else to shelter the poor beasts, who were dead 
 beat with cold and fatigue. I was thankful enough to get 
 a shake-down there for Hotspur, for the frost is bitter. If 
 you see my groom there will you tell him But no ; on 
 second thoughts, I will come in half an hour's time my- 
 self. I am sending him off to Katterham with news of 
 our success ; if you have aught to send pray make use 
 of him." 
 
 Original thanked him coldly and withdrew. 
 
 " What does the chiel mean by * his customary errand in 
 the church,' " asked Colonel Wems. " Doth he hack statues, 
 or destroy idolatrous windows ?" 
 
 Joscelyn laughed. " Nay, sir ; I am told he hath a par- 
 ticular divine mission all to himself," he remarked, his blue 
 eyes lighting up with merriment. " He leaves image- 
 breaking to the rude and unlettered soldiery, and himself 
 
39 
 
 most religiously picks off from the tombs all words which 
 do seem to imply hope for progress after death. If he sees 
 1 Pray for the soul of such an one,' out comes his chisel and 
 hammer, and that pernicious petition is defaced. 'Tis the 
 same with the words, ' Rest in peace,' and with the oft-used 
 inscription, 'Jesu have mercy.' If Original Sin Smith 
 comes in sight of a tomb with such phrases inscribed well, 
 it is all over with the pious wishes of the kinsfolk who paid 
 for the monument. How far he is legally within his rights 
 I know not, but no one can say such inscriptions come 
 under the head of idolatrous statues or pictures, and the 
 Parliament issued an order by which the monuments of the 
 dead were to be duly reverenced." 
 
 " The man's a fanatic fool," said the shrewd Scotchman, 
 " and methinks he hath a special spite against you. He can 
 understand no one who is not cut precisely after his own 
 pattern." 
 
 Joscelyn, having procured an inkhorn, and taken from his 
 wallet a letter already partly written to his wife, filled up 
 the sheet with an account of what had passed since they left 
 Farnham, and then, gladly accepting Colonel Wems's pro- 
 posal to accompany him to the church, set out in search of 
 his servant. In the clear frosty night the stars were spark- 
 ling gloriously, and the long outline of the church with its 
 low tower, upon which two sacres had just been planted 
 ready for bombarding the castle the next morning, was 
 clearly defined. Lamps and torches were to be seen also 
 shining through the windows, and when they entered a 
 strange and busy scene presented itself. The weary horses 
 were being groomed, and Hotspur, fastened up to a pillar, 
 was munching a well-earned supper of oats, while close by 
 Morrison was vigorously polishing up his bit, and whistling 
 a psalm tune. 
 
 " Yonder I see Captain Smith and his pick," said Colonel 
 
Wems, and Joscelyn, glancing up the aisle, saw the dark- 
 looking fanatic vigorously chipping away at the obnoxious 
 words, " Orate pro anima" Chancing to catch sight of the 
 new-comers, however, Original hastily beat a retreat, and 
 when Colonel Wems and his companion left the church 
 nothing was to be seen of him. 
 
 " You are happy to be able to send your servant with 
 letters," said the Scotchman. " Glad would I be were my 
 wife and bairns in Surrey instead of in bonnie Scotland. 
 Great Heaven ! who fired that ?" 
 
 A bullet had whistled past between them as he spoke, and 
 eager to find out what villain was skulking among the ever- 
 greens they turned hastily back, but could find no one. At 
 length a sudden gleam from a lantern drew them towards 
 the west end of the church, and here they stumbled upon 
 no less a person than Original Sin himself, kneeling on the 
 ground before a large tombstone, and carefully defacing the 
 words " Have mercy." 
 
 " Have you seen any malignants skulking about the 
 graveyard ?" asked Colonel Wems. 
 
 " Nay," said Original, calmly ; " I heard a musket fired, 
 but no malignant hath passed this way." 
 
 Joscelyn said not a word, but eyed Original so keenly that 
 the man grew restless under his scrutiny, and, shifting his 
 lantern, began vigorously to hack the name of Christ from 
 the tomb. There seemed something ominous in the grating 
 sound of the chisel, and in the sighing of the winter wind 
 as it swayed the ivy which hung in heavy masses about the 
 old walls of the church. Joscelyn shivered a little as he 
 stood there, and instinctively the words of the old prayer, 
 " Lighten our darkness," rose to his mind. It was with the 
 thought of Clemency before him that, as they walked back 
 to the inn, he told Colonel Wems, under seal of secrecy, 
 what had passed in Alton Church, and how in the pnst 
 
392 
 
 Original had deserted him and had tried to ruin his reputa- 
 tion with Sir William Waller. 
 
 " 'Tis plain as a pikestaff, my lad, that the man is your 
 sworn enemy," said the Scotchman; "yet, as you say, you 
 can as yet prove nothing against him, and must e'en haud 
 your tongue. But be wary, be wary ! These fanatic fools 
 are kittle folk to deal with." 
 
 The siege continued without any very noteworthy inci- 
 dent for more than a fortnight. Joscelyn's chief excitement 
 consisted in watching for the return of his messenger from 
 Katterham ; in trying to learn the probable movements of 
 Lord Hopton, who was skirmishing in the neighborhood ; in 
 hoping for a chance meeting with Dick, which never took 
 place ; and in speculating what Original Sin's next piece of 
 malice would be. 
 
 At last, on the 5th of January, it seemed probable that 
 Arundel Castle would yield, and Colonel Wems, Major 
 Anderson, and a Kentish captain were sent in to treat, 
 while Sir William courteously entertained not only the three 
 officers whom the Royalists sent from the castle to discuss 
 terms, but also the wife and daughters of Sir Edward Bishop, 
 who were pleased enough to be feasted and entertained by 
 him after a doeful Christmas-tide within the castle, where 
 provisions and water had run terribly short. Young Mistress 
 Goring was giving Joscelyn an account of what had passed 
 within the walls, discoursing of her husband and of her 
 father, and telling of their anxiety about Dr. Chillingworth, 
 who lay there seriously ill, when she saw his face suddenly 
 brighten as a servant approached them bearing a sealed 
 packet. 
 
 " Permit me, madam," he said, turning towards her with 
 a bow, " the messenger bears news of my wife, from whom 
 I have not heard for many weeks." 
 
 The young matron watched with a kindly smile the deep- 
 
393 
 
 ening glow of color which overspread his face, and the 
 eager boyish fashion in which he broke the seal and hungri- 
 ly read the letter, and presently she learned from him much 
 of his story, listening with special interest to the account of 
 their marriage just before the siege of Gloucester, and of 
 Clemency's narrow escape from the granado. 
 
 " I must speak of it to Dr. Chillingworth, who was one of 
 your besiegers then," she said ; " and if, as seems likely, 
 the castle is ceded to Sir William, I pray you to do what 
 you can for our sick friend, who will, I suppose, be your 
 prisoner." 
 
 Her words were fulfilled the next day, and Joscelyn was 
 able to be no small comfort to the dying divine, who, with 
 Waller's permission, was removed as a prisoner to Chi- 
 chester to spare him the journey to London, and was there 
 remorselessly worried by the kind, well-meaning, but argu- 
 mentative Dr. Cheynell. Whichcote's pupil had naturally 
 far more sympathy with the wide-minded Chillingworth 
 than with the Calvinistic divine in religious matters, but 
 when they fell to arguing on the question of the war, and 
 Chillingworth would quote passages against the sinfulness 
 of rebellion, worthy Dr. CheyneH's simple question, " Do 
 you believe that tyranny is God's ordinance ?" seemed to 
 him more suggestive and practical than anything which the 
 sick man could bring forward. 
 
 It had been decided that the divine should be buried 
 in the cloisters at Chichester, and Joscelyn, mindful of cer- 
 tain kind words that he had received from Chillingworth at 
 Arundel, obtained leave to be present at the funeral, and 
 was thus a spectator of the extraordinary scene which took 
 place, when Dr. Cheynell, who had attended the dying man 
 with the greatest kindness, appeared beside the open grave 
 with a copy of Chillingworth's book, The Religion of Protes- 
 tants. That it was a powerful attack on the errors of Rome 
 
394 
 
 he could hardly have denied, but he thought ifc contained 
 yet more dangerous errors, and a shudder ran through the 
 crowd of spectators as with the most bitter denunciation he 
 flung the volume down upon the coffin, crying out : " Get 
 thee gone, thou cursed book thou corrupt, rotten book. 
 Get thee gone into the place of rottenness, that thou mayst 
 rot with the author and see corruption." 
 
 " But the author is not down there," observed Joscelyn, 
 in a low tone to Arthur Denham, who stood beside him. 
 And no sooner had Dr. Cheynell gone off to preach in the 
 cathedral than the young Puritan officer, stooping into the 
 grave, managed with some difficulty to pick up the volume 
 on the point of his sword. 
 
 " Had he wished to make us all eager to read the book he 
 could hardly have gone about it better," said Joscelyn, walk- 
 ing away through the cloisters beside his friendly foe, and 
 turning over the leaves of the volume that had been so vio- 
 lently cursed. " 'Tis dry as dust to all appearances, yet 
 will I keep it out of respect to the memory of Dr. Chilling- 
 worth, who, whatever his views may have been, was, I verily 
 believe, one of the best of men." 
 
 " Good heavens !" cried Arthur Denham. " Who was that 
 spiteful-faced fellow that passed us as you spoke ? I have 
 surely seen him before." 
 
 " From your description I should hazard the guess that 
 it was none other than Original Sin himself," said Joscelyn. 
 And glancing over his shoulder he perceived the familiar 
 figure of the Roundhead walking slowly in the opposite 
 direction. "Aye, aye," he said, " I was quite right. 'Tis a 
 fanatic that is trying hard to trap me, and would fain de- 
 nounce me as Dr. Cheynell denounced this book I have 
 rescued. I believe the fellow is, for all his sourness, a 
 religious man. That is the strange part of it. But his 
 belief seems to be in a God who takes a distant bird's- 
 
395 
 
 eye view of the earth rather than as one who dwells 
 within us." 
 
 " The man's look haunts me," said Denham, uneasily. 
 " I hope you will have a care of yourself." 
 
 "Aye," said Joscelyn, with a laugh. "Trust me to give 
 him a wide berth. Do you remember at Farnham how you 
 cleared me long ago from his aspersions ?" 
 
 And with that they fell to talking of the first days of their 
 acquaintance. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 The government of our spirits is the greatest freedom. 
 
 BENJAMIN WHICHCOTE. 
 
 WHILE the Fairfaxes were triumphing in Yorkshire and 
 the Scots had crossed the border, while Charles had sum- 
 moned his " Oxford Parliament," and while the Parliament 
 at Westminster was discovering incessant plots and intrigues 
 and compromising letters which showed the King to be 
 wholly untrustworthy, a somewhat weary and uneventful 
 winter was being spent by Joscelyn and Clemency. To be 
 separated from each other by any very active work might 
 have been endurable, but the great severity of the weather 
 made it impossible as yet to carry out the scheme of a fresh 
 campaign in the west, which, in the spring, Waller hoped to 
 undertake. The only one who rejoiced greatly at the tem- 
 porary lull was little Rosamond Heyworth, who, with Jos- 
 celyn quartered at Farnham, with her father and Dick 
 constantly with Lord Hopton's army in Sussex or Hamp- 
 shire, and with Temperance Turner to fetch and carry 
 letters, was more at ease than she had been for a long time. 
 Once she had contrived to meet her favorite brother in Bar- 
 naby's cottage, and on a bleak March day, when, accom- 
 panied by a good-natured French waiting-maid, she had 
 driven in a coach to Alton, she was so fortunate as to catch 
 sight of Joscelyn just outside the town. He had ridden 
 over with Sir William Waller, and the two were speaking 
 gravely enough of the recent desertion of Sir Richard Gran- 
 ville, the lieutenant-general of Waller's Horse, who, on the 
 
397 
 
 3d of March, had fled to the King at Oxford, bearing him 
 news of the proposed surrender of Basing House on the 
 part of the governor, Lord Charles Paulet. Personally 
 Joscelyn was thankful to be freed from the companionship 
 of a man whose vicious life and selfish nature made him 
 almost more ill to live with than Original Sin himself, and 
 as he rode beside Waller he was contrasting him with his 
 elder brother, the gallant Sir Bevil Granville, Dick's icjol, 
 who had fallen at the battle of Lansdown. Suddenly he 
 broke off with an exclamation of surprise, for Cymro 
 bounded forward to greet him, and at a little distance he 
 saw the well-known family coach lumbering slowly along. 
 
 " Why, 'tis your dog that we mistook last year for a ban- 
 shee," said Sir William, "and here comes the sweetest little 
 maid that ever tripped along so rough a road." 
 
 With kindly eyes he watched the eager greeting between 
 the brother and sister, and, dismounting himself, begged to 
 be presented to Rosamond, whose wistful yet childlike face 
 lighted up into glowing beauty when he spoke warmly of 
 Joscelyn's services. 
 
 " So you wilt no longer grudge him to me ?" he said, 
 smiling, as, after a few minutes' talk, he bade her farewell. 
 " You will remember that he is my right hand, and hath 
 more influence with the men than many who rank as his 
 seniors. I am sure you, who greatly resemble him, are 
 equally true to the good cause." 
 
 " No, sir," said Rosamond, shyly, " I am neither for the 
 King nor for the Parliament, but for peace at any price." 
 
 This frank confession made them all laugh, and having 
 comforted the child with hopes of a speedy end to the war, 
 they put her safely back into the coach, and returned to 
 Farnham, talking of the store of arms which it was rumored 
 that the King had just received from France, and of the 
 probable opening of the spring campaign. It was quite 
 
398 
 
 dusk when they reached Farnham Castle and dismounted 
 at the doorway. Standing there, in the shelter of the porch, 
 Joscelyn could just discern Original Smith. 
 
 " Hath Morrison returned yet from Katterham ?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Nay/' said the Roundhead, coldly, "he hath not yet 
 returned." 
 
 The servant had been away for the last week, and during 
 his absence Joscelyn had always groomed his own horse, be- 
 ing too fond of Hotspur to trust him to strangers. He was 
 disappointed that no tidings had arrived, as he expected, 
 from his wife, and went round to the stables in one of those 
 fits of depression to which he was at times liable. Sir Will- 
 iam Waller, with a word or two to one of his officers, 
 mounted the steps leading into the castle, and Original 
 Smith, wrapping his cloak about him, glided noiselessly out 
 into the twilight, following Joscelyn at some little distance. 
 Below one of the stable windows he paused for a minute, 
 and in the light which streamed forth from the lanterns 
 within cautiously drew out and examined a dagger which he 
 was in the habit of carrying. Then moving quietly across 
 the space which intervened between the stable and the main 
 building, he entered a doorway which led into a long, wind- 
 ing passage up which Joscelyn had for the last week inva- 
 riably passed when coming from the stable to his room in 
 the castle. The passage was little frequented at that time 
 of day ; it was quite in the back premises, and as conven- 
 ient a place as could have been found for an assassin to 
 lurk in. Original drew back into the darkness of an open 
 cellar door and awaited his prey. No thought of pity, no 
 gleam of genuine love for Clemency shone now within him. 
 He was possessed solely by one idea, hatred towards the 
 man who had thwarted his hopes, and fiendish desire to 
 inflict on him the worst possible suffering. It was in no 
 
399 
 
 sudden fit of blind wrath that he was about to attempt a 
 murder, but in the most calm, cold-blooded, deliberate man- 
 ner possible. His plans at last seemed moving smoothly 
 forward. When he had disposed of his victim, silently and 
 stealthily, he should be able to ride off quietly enough ; al- 
 ready his horse, saddled and bridled, waited for him in an 
 easily accessible place, and to disappear and take service 
 after a time under another name would be a matter very 
 easily accomplished in the present state of the country. 
 
 In the meantime Joscelyn was working off his fit of de- 
 pression as best he could by vigorous attendance on his 
 favorite. The horse was just eating a last mouthful of oats 
 from his hand, when, hearing a step behind him, he glanced 
 round, and was surprised to see Waller standing close by. 
 
 " Can I do aught for you, sir ?" he asked. 
 
 " Nay," said Waller, a smile flickering about his lips ; " I 
 did but come out to escape from the convention that I 
 found taking place in the banqueting-hall. A long-winded 
 saint is addressing the soldiers, and as the governor is 
 present to do the honors of the place, there is no call for 
 me to endure the sermon. Truth to tell, soldiering is more 
 to my taste than theology." 
 
 With a farewell caress to Hotspur, Joscelyn followed his 
 general into the open air. 
 
 " You lead the way," said Waller, " for you know these 
 regions better than I do, and it is well-nigh dark; why, man, 
 'twill be as black as pitch in the passage the very one, un- 
 less my memory mistakes, where I well-nigh lost my life when 
 we took the castle ; had you not better go back for one of 
 the stable lanterns ?" 
 
 " I know every step of the way, sir," said Joscelyn, open- 
 ing the outer door, and preparing to act as guide to his gen- 
 eral. The blustering March wind entered with them and 
 blew drearily up the stone entry, whistling in ghostly fash- 
 
ion among the rafters. Scarcely had the door closed noisily 
 behind them when Joscelyn's quick advance was suddenly 
 checked, an iron hand griped his throat, making it impos- 
 sible for him to utter a sound, and in an instant he was 
 struggling wildly with an unseen foe. Original Sin fought 
 like a demon, silently and in darkness, never once re- 
 linquishing his grip on his enemy's throat till Joscelyn, 
 choked and stunned, had been forced to the ground. Then, 
 when the traitor was preparing to give the coup de grace to 
 his victim, he suddenly realized that he had a second man 
 to fight, and it was only thanks to Waller's utter surprise 
 and to Original's better acquaintance with the passage that, 
 after a fierce struggle, he managed to effect his escape, never 
 once pausing till he had reached the park, unfastened his 
 horse from the tree to which he had attached him, and rid- 
 den away into a desolate region where pursuit would have 
 been impossible. 
 
 Waller, in great wrath at what he naturally supposed to 
 be an attempt to assassinate him, hurriedly groped his way 
 into the castle, bringing back with him four or five men-at- 
 arms with torches, and Sir Arthur Hazlerigg, gaining news 
 of some disturbance, came hurrying from the hall to inquire 
 after his friend. 
 
 " There is naught amiss with me," said Sir William ; " 'tis 
 for Captain Heyworth that I fear. Bring lights quickly. 
 Aye, there he lies, poor lad ; he was walking first, and the 
 villain doubtless mistook him for me." 
 
 " There is life in him yet," said Hazlerigg, bending low 
 down over the young officer. " Let the surgeons wait upon 
 him at once, and let us have an end of this preaching in 
 the hall that the men may search for the villain who at- 
 tempted your life." 
 
 But no one knew who to search for, and though the gov- 
 ernor ordered the whole castle to be ransacked, no lurking 
 
401 
 
 traitor was discovered within the gates, nor had any of the 
 warders seen the least trace of a fugitive. 
 
 Three hours had elapsed before the surgeons could restore 
 the patient to consciousness, for the assassin, though unable 
 to use his dagger, owing to the victim's vigorous resistance 
 and to Waller's interference, had yet very nearly accom- 
 plished his end by strangulation. For days Joscelyn's throat 
 did not recover from the effects of that iron grip, but he 
 was able late that night to answer the eager questions put 
 to him with regard to the assault. 
 
 " Have you any notion whether it was one of our own 
 men ?" asked Sir William, breathing more freely now that 
 Joscelyn was pronounced by the surgeons to be out of 
 danger. 
 
 " An I mistake not, sir, 'twas Original Sin Smith," he re- 
 plied in a hoarse whisper. 
 
 And when the roll was called Original was found to be 
 absent. He was, in fact, on the farther side of Guildford, 
 and had just put up his weary horse at a way-side inn on the 
 Dorking Road. By this time he was in extremely low 
 spirits. A sense of failure had begun to creep over him ; he 
 reflected that he had not given Joscelyn the coup de grace, 
 and in all probability had but left him stunned and choked, 
 thanks to the interference of his unexpected companion. 
 Had it not been for the howling wind he must surely have 
 noticed the entrance of two people into the passage, and he 
 cursed his ill-luck in having for the third time failed to exe- 
 cute judgment on his foe. Anxious to see that his horse 
 was properly attended to, he crossed the stable-yard of the 
 inn in company with the landlord. 
 
 " Have you many guests ?" he asked, cautiously. 
 
 " Nay, sir ; my house is empty save for one gentleman's 
 servant who lies here to-night. He had hoped to get on far- 
 ther, being in haste, but the horse, having come from Kat- 
 26 
 
402 
 
 terham, a village some eight miles from Reigate, was sore 
 spent." 
 
 Original made no comment, but he looked at the tired 
 steed in the stable, and knew at once that the servant was 
 none other than Jack Morrison. To avoid an encounter 
 with the fellow he promptly retired to bed, and in the dark- 
 ness lay revolving fresh schemes of vengeance, since with 
 each attempt and failure his thirst for revenge grew more 
 overmastering. 
 
 Avoiding the neighborhood of Willey Farm, he lay the 
 next night at Godstone, and early in the morning presented 
 himself at Katterham, to the astonishment of all at the Court- 
 house. 
 
 Clemency turned deadly pale when he was ushered into 
 the study, where she sat reading to her grandfather, while* 
 at the other side of the hearth Faith and Hester were wind- 
 ing wool for the next winter's stockings. 
 
 " You bring us ill news," she cried, breathlessly ; " I can 
 read it in your face !" 
 
 " I am indeed a messenger of woe," said Original, greeting 
 her precisely in his usual manner. " Yet do not wholly lose 
 heart. Your husband has been sorely wounded ; he lies at 
 death's door, and by his desire I have come to take you to 
 him. Say, can you start at once ? Time is precious." 
 
 For all answer Clemency rushed from the room in search 
 of Charlotte. 
 
 " Charlotte," she cried, " I want you to make another 
 journey with me ; we must start at once for Farnham , my 
 husband is wounded dying, maybe " She broke off in an 
 agony of distress, and began in frantic haste to put together 
 such things as she deemed most needful for the journey, 
 with the restless energy of one who struggles against a heart- 
 breaking grief. 
 
 " My dear, my dear," said Charlotte, " you are unfit for 
 
403 
 
 such a journey. Yet, if indeed it must be, you must go in 
 the coach, and I must come with you, and maybe one of 
 your sisters had best come too." 
 
 "Not Faith," said Clemency. "She hath suffered too 
 much already, and she can better be left in charge of the 
 household. Oh ! if only the ladies at the dower-house had 
 not gone to London, Mrs. Ursula would have come at once." 
 
 In the end it was arranged that Hester should be the third 
 occupant of the coach. Though a girl of barely eighteen, 
 she was in some ways a better companion than Faith less 
 easily upset, and of a calmer temperament, having about her, 
 moreover, the same strength and courage which character- 
 ized Clemency. 
 
 Endless seemed the journey over those rough roads among 
 the Surrey hills, and when night fell they were still far from 
 Joscelyn. Starting on again very early the next morning, 
 they reached the way-side inn not far from Guildford just 
 about the time Original had calculated. The sun was almost 
 setting, and the coachman readily agreed that it would be 
 better for the horses to rest rather than to attempt to push 
 on to Guildford, especially when he learned that good accom- 
 modation for them was to be had. It was arranged, how- 
 ever, that he should ride on to Guildford on a hired horse, 
 and inquire whether any messenger had arrived there to re- 
 port of Captain Heyworth's condition. 
 
 Having despatched the coachman on this fruitless errand, 
 Original had some difficulty in disposing of Charlotte; but 
 he knew well how to enlist her sympathies, and by a well- 
 fabricated tale of a forlorn-looking crippled child that he 
 had noticed as they passed a cottage half a mile back, he 
 wrought upon the good woman's compassion, and bestow- 
 ing a crown on her for the relief of the imaginary sufferer, 
 had the satisfaction of seeing her briskly walking back on 
 the Dorking Road. 
 
404 
 
 " Charlotte Wells was ever a swift walker," he remarked 
 to himself with a grim smile ; " I must lose no time." 
 
 Entering the room where they had supped, he found 
 Clemency leaning back wearily in the inglenook, while 
 Hester, her reddish auburn coloring exquisitely softened 
 in the dim light, was kneeling beside her and chafing her 
 cold hands. 
 
 "As for me," she was saying, "I have a great feeling 
 that we shall find him better. Think how strong he is, 
 and how well he recovered after the battle of Lansdown." 
 
 " Mistress Hester," said Original, quietly, " by your leave 
 I will ask for a few words alone with your sister. I have 
 not yet had an opportunity of telling her something which 
 it is fitting she should know." 
 
 Hester, a little awed by the ex-tutor's gravity, rose to 
 leave the room, Original ceremoniously opening the door 
 for her, and softly drawing the bolt as he closed it. Clem- 
 ency never noticed his movements ; her eyes were fixed on 
 the glowing embers. 
 
 " Is it of my husband that you would speak to me ?" she 
 asked, wistfully. " You have told me few details of his 
 wound ; tell me all all that you know." 
 
 Original confronted her, his whole manner changed. 
 
 " Aye," he said, " I will tell you all. As for your hus- 
 band, madam, I know not for certain whether he be alive 
 or dead ; but I have a strong conviction that he has once 
 more escaped my just vengeance. I am now going to work 
 in another fashion." 
 
 Clemency started to her feet in great terror. 
 
 " What hath so changed you ?" she cried. " Are* you 
 mad ? Are you ill ? What strange words are these that 
 you use ?" 
 
 "I am neither ill nor mad," said Original, "but I am 
 appointed to punish the treacherous villain who, under the 
 
405 
 
 name of patriotism, crept into your home and won you, but 
 for all that shall not have you." 
 
 By a quick movement she eluded his grasp, and with an 
 agonized cry for help rushed to the door. In the porch 
 stood Hester, listening to the approaching tramp of horses' 
 feet on the road, and wondering whether the travellers 
 would, perchance, stop at the inn. Hearing her sister's 
 cry of terror, she flew to the door of the parlor only to find 
 it bolted against her ; as for the house, it seemed deserted 
 the landlord was nowhere to be found, and Hester, wild 
 with fright, ran out into the road calling vehemently for help, 
 and all the more distracted because she was unable to form 
 the least guess as to Clemency's peril. The party of horse- 
 men approaching the inn were the first human beings she 
 encountered, and, regardless of the red ribbons and feath- 
 ers which they wore though at any other time such a badge 
 would have filled her with panic she threw herself on their 
 compassion. 
 
 " Sir, sir," she cried, snatching at the bridle of the 
 nearest rider, "help my sister! Save her! Oh, haste- 
 haste !" 
 
 The young Cavalier to whom she had appealed leaped 
 from his horse instantly, and, followed by one or two of his 
 companions, hurried in the direction which she pointed out 
 to them. 
 
 By the time Hester had overtaken them they had suc- 
 ceeded, with the aid of the landlord, in forcing the door, 
 and the girl was spared the sight of Original Smith in the 
 hands of his captors, for the officer to whom she had spoken 
 came hurriedly forth into the porch and gently laid Clem- 
 ency's unconscious form on the ground, giving swift, busi- 
 ness-like directions to Hester in a way which reminded her 
 of her brother-in-law. 
 
 " Have no fear," he said, kindly. " There ! take her head 
 
406 
 
 on your lap, and I will fetch water. The villain had not 
 harmed her, I think ; she hath swooned from terror." 
 
 The evening air blew coldly into the porch ; Hester shiv- 
 ered as she crouched there on the flag-stones, but it was 
 more from the intensity of her anxiety about Clemency, and 
 from the terror of her strange loneliness in the midst of this 
 horrible adventure, than from cold. It was with unspeaka- 
 ble relief that she saw her kindly helper return. 
 
 " Oh !" she cried, " do not leave me again. Such dread- 
 ful sounds come from the parlor, and Clemency never stirs. 
 I begin to fear that that " She broke off, unable to re- 
 strain her tears. 
 
 The young Cavalier, who had been fascinated from the 
 first by the girl who had flung herself on his chivalrous pro- 
 tection, now glanced from her to the death-like face on 
 her knee, striving in the dim light to study the beautiful 
 features. 
 
 " The name you spoke is familiar to me," he said. " I 
 am Richard Heyworth, of Shortell ; did you ever by chance 
 hear that name before ?" 
 
 Hester's face lighted up with such rapturous relief that 
 honest Dick felt every pulse within him beat at double time. 
 
 " Oh !" she cried, " now all will be well, for you must be 
 Joscelyn's brother. We were on our way to him because 
 Captain Smith, that was once our tutor, had brought word 
 that he was wounded, and had sent for my sister." 
 
 "There has been foul play somewhere," said Dick, his 
 brow darkening. " But, see, your sister has stirred ; she is 
 reviving. 'Twere best that you spoke to her, and told her 
 that all is well !" He drew back a little into the shadow, 
 intently watching Hester's girlish figure as she bent over 
 her sister. 
 
 "Clemency," he heard her say softly, "all is well, dear; 
 all is well. Joscelyn's brother hath saved you. Do you 
 
ORIGINAL SMITH AIMED DELIBERATELY AT HIM." 
 
 [Page 
 
407 
 
 hear, Clemency ? There is naught to fear Joscelyn's 
 brother is taking care of us." 
 
 " Is it Dick ?" she asked, eagerly. 
 
 "Aye,". he said, coming forward so that she could see 
 him. " We last met at Gloucester, did we not ? I did not 
 at once recognize you." Indeed, the contrast between the 
 lovely, happy-looking bride who had talked to him in the 
 gabled house^ and this wan, agonized woman whom he had 
 just rescued was so great that even in the clear light of day 
 he would scarcely have known her. He raised her hand to 
 his lips reverently, and asked her if she would not let him 
 help her back into the house. But at the suggestion all her 
 memories of the awful scene through which she had passed 
 returned. 
 
 " Not in there," she pleaded. " I cannot, I cannot !" 
 
 " Our coach stands in the yard," said Hester. " Would 
 it not be better if you rested there ?" 
 
 And Clemency hailed the idea with such relief that Dick 
 promptly carried her from the porch and laid her gently 
 down on the cushions of the capacious travelling-carriage. 
 Just then Charlotte hurried back breathlessly from her fruit- 
 less errand, and, leaving her in attendance on her mistress, 
 Dick returned to the inn, eager to know what had happened. 
 The parlor door now stood open, his companion, Major 
 Grey, was talking beside the hearth to the landlord, while 
 two of the men who had been in attendance on them bent 
 over the prostrate figure of the fanatic. Dick saw that they 
 were straightening his limbs and closing his eyes. 
 
 " Is he dead ?" he asked, in an awed voice, shuddering a 
 little as he remembered the look he had last seen on the 
 Puritan's face. 
 
 " We offered him quarter," said Major Grey, " if he 
 would yield quietly and be made prisoner, but he refused 
 and fought as though he were possessed. His last con- 
 
408 
 
 scious word was an imprecation on you. How came he to 
 know your name?" 
 
 " More likely he cursed my brother," said Dick, telling 
 the major of the strange chance by which he had been able 
 to save his sister-in-law, and of the anxiety which they were 
 still undergoing on Joscelyn's account. 
 
 " If she be fit to travel farther to-night," he added, " I 
 have a great mind to escort her as far as Farnham myself, 
 instead of journeying to Shortell." 
 
 " You will be running some risk if you do," said the ma- 
 jor, " for Farnham is still in Waller's hands. However, you 
 Heyworths do not stick at a trifle, and with a foe as honor- 
 able as Waller you will doubtless be allowed to pass in 
 such an emergency. There remains only the duty of bury- 
 ing this villain who hath gone to his account. Stay, there 
 is that pretty damsel at the door. She had best not see the 
 body." 
 
 Dick hurried forward, but it was too late. Hester stood 
 in the doorway gazing with dilated eyes at the corpse of 
 Original Sin. 
 
 " Is he dead ?" she faltered. " Clemency sent me to beg 
 that you would not harm him. She thinks he was dis- 
 traught." 
 
 " Nay," said the major, " he was in his right senses, my 
 dear ; but since he refused quarter, and would not be made 
 prisoner, we were forced to fight him, and he has met his 
 end perchance an easier death than he deserved. He suf- 
 fered little." 
 
 Hester had griped fast hold of Dick's hand. For some 
 moments she did not stir, but presently, to their surprise, 
 she drew forth from her housewife a little pair of scissors, 
 and, crossing the room, bent over the body of her dead tutor, 
 with some difficulty cutting off a piece of his short, dark 
 hair. 
 
409 
 
 " His mother loves him very dearly," she said, glancing 
 up at Dick. " I will take this home to her, and of the rest 
 she need never know." 
 
 The men glanced at each other, but did not speak. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 Then come, my faithful consort, joyne with me 
 In this good fight, and my true helper be. 
 Cheer me when sad, advise me when I stray ; 
 Let us be each the other's guide and stay. 
 Be your lord's guardian. Give joynt ayde and due ; 
 Help him when falne. Rise when he helpeth you. 
 That so we may not only one flesh bee, 
 But in one spirit, and one will agree. 
 
 HENRY VAUGHAN. 
 
 DICK was far too chivalrous to leave any women in so 
 forlorn a plight, even had they had no special claim upon 
 his care and protection. With his aid they went on as 
 quickly as might be to Guildford, rested a few hours at one 
 of the inns, and at sunrise started for Farnham, since Char- 
 lotte was persuaded that it would be safer to humor Clem- 
 ency, whose sole idea was to reach her husband with all 
 speed. Major Grey had rightly said, however, that there 
 might be risk in actually entering Farnham. No sooner 
 had they crossed the Hog's Back, and descended into the 
 valley where lay the little town encircled by hop gardens, 
 now brown and bare-looking, than the young Cavalier was 
 challenged by the Parliamentary sentinels. He had no 
 pass to show, and it was very clear to him that the officer 
 to whom he appealed did not believe a word of his story. 
 
 " You can do what you please with me," he said, finding 
 remonstrance of no avail ; " all I ask is that you will not 
 further alarm Mistress Heyworth, but permit her to go 
 quietly to the Bush Inn." 
 
 "We have no quarrel with ladies," said the officer, coldly, 
 
'"but I will not permit a malignant to pass. You, sir, must 
 be taken to the castle." 
 
 Dick shrugged his shoulders. " As you will," he said, 
 indifferently; "so that I get speech of Sir William Waller 
 I care not what you do with me. Permit me just one word 
 with my sister." He rode forward to the coach, and, dis- 
 mounting, spoke a few cheering words to the travellers. 
 " All will be well," he said ; " I shall ride direct to the 
 castle, and send Joscelyn to you at the Bush with all speed ; 
 'tis one of the best inns on the road, and you will find a 
 good-natured landlady to care for you." 
 
 Clemency thanked him faintly, but seemed too much ex- 
 hausted to realize things very clearly. It was gray-eyed 
 Hester who turned to him with troubled looks and anxious 
 inquiries. 
 
 " And you, sir ?" she asked. " What said yonder officer 
 in so churlish a tone about malignants ?" 
 
 Dick made a warning gesture, and she dared ask no more 
 lest Clemency should take alarm ; but she bent forward and, 
 slipping her cold hand into his, gave his fingers a little 
 grateful pressure which sent him off in excellent spirits, and 
 with an expression of content which sat strangely on the 
 face of a prisoner. 
 
 Thinking often of the far more wretched day when Josce- 
 lyn had been the prisoner and he had been an unwilling 
 escort, he rode up the castle hill and followed his captor 
 into the presence of Waller, who received him courteously 
 and listened to his story with much interest. 
 
 " I had thought the fellow meant to assassinate me," he 
 said, when Dick paused, " for as I was coming through one 
 of the passages three nights ago with your brother he set 
 upon us, and did his best to kill Captain Heyworth, who, it 
 now seems clear, must have crossed his path in love. The 
 villain is dead, you say ?" 
 
412 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Dick. " We were but just in time to 
 save the lady, whom I bore from the inn, and my comrade 
 fought it out with the traitor. Was my brother wounded 
 by him ?" 
 
 " Well-nigh strangled ; we had much ado to bring him to 
 life again," said Sir William ; " but you had best see him at 
 once, and lose no time in taking him to his wife. I will 
 write you a pass that will make you free to leave the town 
 when you please. An affair such as this breaks down all 
 differences of party." 
 
 Dick thanked him and withdrew, an officer escorting him 
 to the very room over the entrance where Denham had led 
 him to a very different interview eighteen months before. 
 Joscelyn's astonishment at seeing him there, his delight at 
 finding that he was not a prisoner, his fierce wrath when he 
 learned of Original's treachery, all served to drive away any 
 recollections of the pain and languor which he had been 
 enduring since his encounter, partly from the rough hand- 
 ling of his throat, but chiefly from the disturbance of his 
 old Lansdown wound. 
 
 He sprang to his feet with a fierce energy that seemed 
 capable of anything, and borrowing the horse which be- 
 longed to Dick's captor, rode with his brother down Castle 
 Street at a pace which made people stand still to look at 
 them. The Bush, where he had once been thankful to buy 
 a supper of bread and cheese with Rosamond's pence, 
 seemed little changed since that night long ago. Its square 
 court-yard, its wooden galleries, and air of cheerful welcome 
 were in themselves reassuring, and Joscelyn, catching sight 
 of the kindly-faced landlady, felt a momentary relief from 
 his torturing anxiety. 
 
 "This way, sir," she said, beckoning him forward. 
 "Your good lady will do well enough now you have come, 
 never fear." 
 
413 
 
 And, indeed, the good woman's words seemed true, for 
 Clemency, who had been carried up-stairs more dead than 
 alive, revived at the first sound of her husband's voice, 
 waking in a very heaven of peace to find his strong arm 
 round her, his blue eyes gazing, as it seemed, into her very 
 soul. 
 
 Charlotte stole away quietly into the adjoining room, fain 
 to admit to herself that every bone in her body ached with 
 the weary journey and the extreme anxiety she had suffered. 
 For once in her life the good soul felt utterly despondent. 
 Of the death of Original Smith she scarcely dared to think, 
 and the future of her young mistress seemed to her over- 
 tired brain hopelessly dark and lowering. Troubles pressed 
 her in on every side, and Charlotte had never been nearer 
 breaking down into a fit of irrepressible weeping when, 
 happening to glance from the window into the pleasant gar- 
 den of the inn, she changed her mind and began to laugh 
 instead. 
 
 " Well," she thought to herself, her whole face radiant 
 with smiles, " to think that good should come of such a sore 
 misfortune as this ! He be as well-spoken a young gentle- 
 man as ever I set eyes on, and one after Sir Robert's own 
 heart, save for his being a King's man. For the matter of 
 that, there's always something to put up with. And belike 
 the war will soon end, and we shall have another wedding 
 at the Court-house. Only to think of it ! And me, faith- 
 less woman that I am, thinking only last Lord's day that 
 there would be no men left to wed my bonny ladies after 
 such a day of fighting !" 
 
 And Charlotte, more refreshed by the sight of a living 
 love-story than by the strongest cordial that could have been 
 given her, sank down into a comfortable arm-chair, and re- 
 lapsed into a happy dream, wherein the weaving of Hes- 
 ter's wedding-linen occupied a prominent place. 
 
414 
 
 Meanwhile, in the sheltered alleys beside the bowling 
 green, Hester and Dick paced to and fro, unmindful of the 
 cold March wind, unmindful of wars and divisions, Dick 
 ardently declaring his love, and Hester fully persuaded in 
 her mind that their gallant helper was the one man in the 
 whole world for whom she could leave home and kindred 
 with Rebekah's cheerful alacrity. 
 
 Hester was not so well versed in French romances as 
 Mistress Anne Barrington; she had no notion of saying 
 anything but the simple truth when Dick begged that at 
 the close of the war he might come to Sir Robert Neal to 
 ask her hand if the King's cause should triumph. 
 
 " Nay," she said, quietly, " I will not have that condition 
 thrown in. But, rather, will ask you to see my grandfather 
 whichever way the tide turns." 
 
 " Alas !" said Dick, " you do not understand that if the 
 King does not prevail I shall be ruined, and in no position 
 to ask you to wed me." 
 
 But quiet Hester held firmly to what she said, and would 
 on no account allow him to kiss her until he had vowed to 
 come to the Court-house whether conquered or triumphant. 
 So he promised and won the kiss, and Hester ran back to 
 the inn in a tumult of happiness, trying to scold herself for 
 being happy at such a tragic time, but finding it a wonder- 
 ful relief to tell her tale to the faithful nurse who had done 
 so much for her ever since her babyhood. 
 
 " Be patient, my dear," said Charlotte. " The war can- 
 not last forever, and since we shall assuredly be kept 
 here for some time, your sister being unfit for travel, I 
 will borrow a spinning-wheel, and we will set to work, 
 for there is no saying when a fresh store of linen may be 
 needed !" 
 
 The three women had sore need of some fresh interest to 
 distract their minds during the month that followed ; Dick 
 
snatched two more interviews with Hester before returning 
 to Lord Hopton at Winchester ; and Joscelyn was able to 
 pay them constant visits until, just before Lady Day, Wal- 
 ler's forces left Farnham. Never had he felt more despond- 
 ent, poor fellow, than on the day when they set out to West 
 Meon. The active work for which, since the siege of Arun- 
 del, he had been longing, had at last come ; but he had been 
 forced to leave his wife at the time of all others when she 
 most needed him, and he was marching to an almost certain 
 encounter with Dick Dick, whose death would mean now 
 not merely his own bitter grief, but the shipwreck of Hes- 
 ter's happiness. Yet perhaps he was less to be pitied than 
 the sad-hearted woman at the Bush, who waited through 
 those spring days with an agonizing desire for news. At 
 length, on the 3oth of March, came tidings of a great victory 
 gained by Waller over the Royalists at Cheriton ; and the 
 next day old Barnaby, the gate-keeper at Shortell, arrived at 
 the inn. He could give them no details of the battle, but 
 handed them a letter from Rosamond and a scrap of paper 
 which had been brought to the manor by his son, the groom 
 rescued by Joscetyn at Edgehill. Clemency, with trembling 
 hands, unfolded her husband's hastily scrawled note. There 
 were but half a dozen lines, yet they took a great load of 
 anxiety from her mind. 
 
 " Dear Heart, God hath granted us a victory at Cheri- 
 ton which will assuredly hasten the coming of peace. I 
 have certain tidings through Robin the groom of the well- 
 being of my father and brothers, and am myself safe and 
 unharmed. We press on to Winchester with all speed. 
 Have a care of yourself, sweet wife, and send me word " 
 Here the sentence broke off abruptly, and Clemency, eagerly 
 opening the second letter, found a very ill-spelled and curi- 
 ously written note from Rosamond. 
 
"DERE SISTER," it began "Robbin rode here at mid- 
 nite with tydings that my father and Dick and Jervis is es- 
 caped to Basing ; they got no woonds, and sayd they sore 
 Joscelyn, and he was well and fort gallantly. This was 
 sayd in their message to my mother. Robbin came una- 
 wairs upon Joscelyn at Alresford, witch was taken by Sir 
 W. Waller when left by the King's trups ; he had but a fue 
 minnits to rite you, and ere he was ended was forced to set 
 out with the army to Wichester. Robbin sayd he had got 
 no woond in the battel, nort but cold and stiffniss from ly- 
 ing in the damp feelds of nites. I pray you will pardon 
 this letter from yur sister hoo wood fain see you if she was 
 aloud. ROSAMOND HEYWORTH." 
 
 After that messengers frequently passed through the 
 town with letters to the Parliament, and in this way they 
 heard of Waller's successes at Winchester, Andover, Salis- 
 bury, and Christchurch. But, as usual, the Conqueror's tri- 
 umph was marred by the conduct of the trainbands, who 
 steadily refused to push on into Dorsetshire, and insisted 
 on returning to London. 
 
 Thus it happened that on the i2th of April Joscelyn once 
 more crossed the court-yard of the Bush at Farnham. 
 
 Striding up the outer staircase he came upon Charlotte 
 in the gallery, and was at once set at rest by her beaming 
 face. 
 
 "Let me but just prepare my mistress, sir," she said. 
 " Maybe the joy would be overmuch for her." 
 
 "Go in with your face like that, Charlotte," he said, 
 laughing, " and she will know all at a glance." 
 
 Charlotte bustled down the gallery, and a minute later 
 Joscelyn, his patience wholly exhausted, followed her into 
 the wainscoted room which he had so often pictured to him- 
 self. There, in the daintiest of lying-in caps, her pale face 
 
417 
 
 radiant with happiness, lay Clemency, and nestled up to 
 her he caught sight of the tiniest dark, downy head he had 
 ever seen. 
 
 " Tis a little son," she said, when they had leisure for 
 words. 
 
 " When ?" questioned Joscelyn, still breathless with the 
 relief and surprise. 
 
 " Well, dear heart," said Clemency, laughing, " he but nar- 
 rowly escaped being born on All-Fools' Day ; but Charlotte 
 vows that the bellman had cried midnight, so we will take 
 her word that 'twas the second day of April. 'Twas within 
 thirty hours of my getting your letter through old Barnaby, 
 which arrived in good time to comfort me." 
 
 " That hasty note," cried Joscelyn, remembering with a 
 pang how little it had contained. " I felt such an oaf 
 after the fight was over, and before I had writ half a dozen 
 lines the drums beat to arms, and I had to see about getting 
 Robin safely past the sentinels before we set off to Win- 
 chester. My sweet life, had I but known how it was with 
 you !" 
 
 " Your son will be jealous," said Clemency. " You must 
 spare some of your kisses for him, sir." 
 
 Joscelyn looked with loving pride at the tiny infant, but 
 seemed in mortal terror of dropping it when Clemency put 
 it in his arms. 
 
 " You are sure it is large enough ?" he asked, as though 
 astounded that a perfect specimen of humanity could exist 
 in so small a compass, and wondering secretly whether his 
 son's head could be compared in size with a large orange or 
 a small cocoanut. 
 
 Clemency laughed with delight to see the mixture of boy- 
 ish astonishment and fatherly pride with which he regarded 
 his child, and for some time their happiness was too perfect 
 to admit of a single thought of the war. 
 -7 
 
4i8 
 
 By-and-by, however, they remembered Hester, and began 
 to speak of Dick's safety. Joscelyn could give no later ac- 
 count than that brought by Robin, the groom, to Shortell, 
 but he insisted on fetching Hester to tell her how he had 
 caught sight of Dick at Cheriton, and the girl found no small 
 comfort in listening to all that he had to say of the battle. 
 
 She sat beside the wood fire, while Charlotte rocked the 
 baby's cradle on the other side of the hearth ; and Joscelyn, 
 sitting at the bedside with Clemency's white face pillowed 
 on the orange scarf that crossed his breast, answered their 
 eager questions. 
 
 " We had but just reached West Meon," he said, " when 
 tidings came that Prince Rupert had relieved Newark, which 
 greatly damped our spirits. Then, to make matters worse, 
 my Lord Forth contrived to get possession of Alresford on 
 the London road before we could reach it. We spent two 
 nights in a field by my Lady Stukely's house nigh upon 
 Cheriton, and often did we wish to be within its walls, for 
 the ground was like a sponge, and cold comfort was ours, I 
 assure you." 
 
 " 'Twas there you took the cold Robin spoke of to Ros- 
 amond," said Clemency. 
 
 " Aye, and some of the enemy were no better off. So near 
 to us were they that the sentinels could hear each other 
 speak. You would have laughed to see us when we woke 
 in the morning, stiff as boards, most of us, and with good 
 prospect of taking my Lord Forth's malady, the gout. After 
 a day of skirmishing, in which the enemy had ever the ad- 
 vantage, 'twas actually decided to retreat. But the murmurs 
 of many of us, and the stout persistence of Captain Birch, 
 who maintained that our " extremity was God's oppor- 
 tunity," made Sir William Waller change his mind. And 
 in the mist and darkness we contrived by God's grace to 
 advance and take possession of Cheriton wood." 
 
419 
 
 " Were you there ?" asked Clemency. 
 
 " No ; when day dawned we of the cavalry against the 
 customary plan were set in the fore-front, not on the wings. 
 We were on a sort of common that went among the country 
 folk, I was told, by the name of East Down ; 'twas below 
 the wood at the bottom of the valley, and early in the day 
 was filled with mist like the valley of Bath before the battle 
 of Xansdown. 'Twas a strange sight as the mist lifted to 
 see on our left the river gleaming in the sun, and the squat 
 tower of Tichborne Church as peaceful looking as a picture, 
 while straight in front of us was the enemy among them, 
 as I well knew, my own kinsfolk." 
 
 " Had you long to wait ?" asked Hester. 
 
 " The waiting always seems long. The battle began with 
 a desperate attack on Cheriton wood by Hopton's men. They 
 cleared it, and 'twas thought they would pursue their advan- 
 tage ; but they paused, and no one knows how the day would 
 have gone with us had not a gallant Cavalier, too impetuous, 
 it seems, to obey orders, charged with his men down into 
 our valley. Poor fellow, he died bravely; but his rash act 
 gave us the victory, though for a time they that followed to 
 rescue him drove us back. Sir William Waller had a narrow 
 escape, being at one time shut off from all but three of his 
 men. I never saw him look more gallant than at that time, 
 charging as he did without his head-piece." 
 
 " Was it then that you saw Dick ?" asked Clemency. 
 
 "Nay, it was much later," he replied. " For three hours 
 the struggle was desperate. The Royalists made many gal- 
 lant charges, and fought with great courage ; but we were 
 able to hold the opening of a narrow land down which their 
 troops were forced to come, and in the end Sir Arthur Hazle- 
 rigg contrived to push in his men betwixt the Royalist forces. 
 'Twas just before then that I caught sight of my father and 
 Dick in the lane." 
 
420 
 
 He broke off for a moment, as though the picture came 
 before him with painful clearness. Clemency raised his 
 hand to her lips tenderly. 
 
 "They saw you, too," she said, "and sent word home 
 that you fought most gallantly." 
 
 " I never came nearer to throwing down my sword," said 
 Joscelyn, with a break in his voice. " But, by God's grace, 
 we each did our duty, and soon they were forced to retreat, 
 and the battle was over. Once in the last charge I heard 
 Dick's voice shouting their watchword, which that day was 
 one we often use 'God and the Cause ;' and as they were 
 forced to turn, my father cried out passionately to his men, 
 ' Face them ! face them !' but 'twas of no avail ; they were 
 utterly routed, and fled, crying, * The kingdom's lost !' " 
 
 "What was your field- word that day?" asked Clemency. 
 
 " Our last one was a prayer ' Jesus bless us !' and I never 
 saw the men fight more gallantly. I heard one of Hopton's 
 officers swear that ' The devil was in the Roundheads ; they 
 were such firemen !' " 
 
 There was a silence for a few minutes ; Clemency looked 
 at her little son, and wondered whether his father's suffering 
 would be the purchase-money paid for his peace and safety, 
 or whether he, too, would be called at some later time to take 
 his share in the struggle for liberty. How strangely must 
 those field-words have rung out upon the cold March air ! 
 And how well she could fancy her husband's noble face, 
 with its stern mouth and wistful eyes, as he resolutely 
 pressed on in the fight, praying for Christ's blessing on the 
 right, praying, too, doubtless, for the safety of those whom 
 he loved. 
 
 " Was that your last sight of Dick and your father ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes," he said ; " but later on, as you know, I had the 
 good -fortune to fall in with Robin, the groom, and heard 
 
421 
 
 that they had ridden off in the direction of Basing. I 
 chanced to be sent to Alresford with some of the men in 
 charge of certain prisoners that were severely wounded ; 
 Sir William Waller was anxious to show all courtesy to Sir 
 Edward Stawell, who had fallen into our hands after a most 
 desperate attempt to aid Sir Henry Bard, the one that I told 
 you charged with such rashness against orders. At Aires- 
 ford we made hasty arrangements for Sir Edward's comfort. 
 The house where he had quartered had, however, been 
 burned down by his own party when they left the place, and 
 the whole of Alresford would have been burned had not our 
 men contrived to put out the fire after four or five houses 
 were destroyed. 'Twas then, just as I had got the wounded 
 prisoners such aid as was possible, that in the smoke and 
 smother near the burned quarter I chanced on Robin, who 
 had doffed his red ribbon, and hoped to get through our 
 men unheeded and carry news of my father's safety to 
 Shortell. I had five minutes in which to write, and that 
 was all." 
 
 " You think they reached Basing in safety?" asked Hester. 
 
 " Aye ; they retreated in good order, and we could gain 
 no further advantage. You may feel at rest as to Dick. In- 
 deed, this victory may, they trust, prove a turning-point in 
 the war. Before it, as my Lord Essex said in his * Remon- 
 strance to the Lords ' the other day, * There was but a step 
 between us and death, and what is worse slavery.' But 
 now the King's plans are wholly upset, and 'tis little likely 
 he will again trouble these southeastern counties. If only 
 we be furnished with an army that, as Sir William saith, is 
 not taken to pieces perpetually and is paid with regularity, 
 there will soon be an end of our miseries." 
 
 " 'Tis scarce to be wondered at that the soldiers refuse to 
 go forward, when there is neither food nor pay," said Clem- 
 ency, " and methinks the officers are even worse off." 
 
422 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said Joscelyn ; " did we depend on our 
 pay we should all of us have starved long since. As a cap- 
 tain of horse I should get nine guineas a week, but in all the 
 time I have served we have had but five weeks' pay ; and 
 two days since I parted with my last sixpence to Major 
 Rigby, who was fain to borrow money to pay for the shoeing 
 of his horse !" 
 
 Thus, in talk over past difficulties, in eager plans for a 
 happy future when peace should have been won, and in rest- 
 ful enjoyment of their present bliss, the time passed on. 
 The very knowledge that this bright interval must of neces- 
 sity be brief seemed to heighten its value, and in the end 
 they were given a longer time together than they dared to 
 hope for. Very happy were their memories of the old Bush 
 Inn ; of its pleasant garden, where in the sunny spring days 
 Clemency took her first walk leaning on her husband's arm ; 
 of the little sheltered arbor where together they spent so 
 many hours ; and of the bowling-green where they watched 
 Charlotte carrying the baby to and fro, with Hester in at- 
 tendance, her thoughts divided between the absent lover 
 and the little nephew, whom she almost worshipped. 
 
 Joscelyn was able to get a few days' leave at the begin- 
 ning of May, in order to escort them back to Katterham ; 
 but before quitting Farnham he took his child to the old 
 church where at the beginning of the war he had been 
 forced to give up his sword to Sir John Denham, and had 
 heard his father disown him. Brighter days had dawned 
 since then, even though the war still raged, and it was with 
 thankfulness and hope that they saw little Tom christened, 
 naming him after old Sir Thomas, and longing for the time 
 when the land should be at rest, and households no more 
 divided. 
 
 The return to Katterham was too much shadowed by the 
 near approach of the leave-taking to be altogether happy. 
 
423 
 
 Yet the delight of showing little Tom to Sir Robert and to 
 Mrs. Ursula was great ; and her husband's infectious high 
 spirits buoyed Clemency up until the actual parting came. 
 
 " I shall fight with twice the zeal now that I have both 
 wife and child to defend," said Joscelyn, as he was about 
 to start. 
 
 But Mrs. Ursula, who was touched and amused to find 
 how deftly he had learned to carry little Tom, saw his lip 
 quiver as he handed the infant back to Charlotte, and 
 turned to them with hasty, almost wordless, farewells. 
 
 Charlotte's tears came down in a shower as the young 
 husband and wife went out to the door hand in hand ; she 
 begged Mrs. Ursula, in whom she had great faith, not to 
 leave her mistress alone; but no one dared to intrude on 
 those last few moments. 
 
 Clemency, pale as death, could not trust herself to speak, 
 could only cling to Joscelyn, as, whispering tender words 
 of endearment, he caught her in his arms in a last embrace ; 
 then tearing himself away, and strangling a sob in his throat, 
 he marched across the court-yard, his head a little more erect 
 than usual, his face sad and stern as it had been when he 
 made the last charge at Cheriton. Clemency watched him 
 as he approached the inner gate, and the same deadly fear 
 for his safety which had first taught her that she loved re- 
 turned now with tenfold power and clutched at her heart. 
 For a moment the longing to call him back, to implore him 
 for her sake not to risk his life, was almost irresistible. But 
 her eye chanced to fall on the York and Lancaster rose-bush 
 twining round the gate - post, the first green leaves just un- 
 folding. There flashed into her mind a vision of John 
 Hampden's face on the summer evening long ago when she 
 had sung to him, and the thought of the dead patriot nerved 
 her heart. Cost what it might, she would be true to the 
 country; and as Joscelyn, having mounted Hotspur, turned 
 
424 
 
 to wave a last farewell, her face lighted up with a brave, 
 cheering smile, which lived on in his heart for many a day. 
 
 It was only when she had caught the last possible glimpse 
 of her husband that her powers utterly failed. Bursting into 
 a passion of tears, she fell on Mrs. Ursula's neck, sobbing 
 as though her heart would break. 
 
 " Dear child," said Mrs. Ursula, tenderly, " take comfort ; 
 he has been spared through many campaigns." 
 
 But Clemency sobbed on with never a word of reply. 
 She could not even to loving Mrs. Ursula speak of the ter- 
 rible conviction that had gained possession of her a con- 
 viction which had not come to torture her in their previous 
 partings that never again should she see her husband ride 
 forth from the door. The partings at Gloucester had been 
 hard enough to endure, the leave-taking at Farnham a griev- 
 ous strain upon her self-control, the farewells spoken on 
 that threshold of the Court-house had always been very 
 bitter, but this time her brain seemed to reel, her faith to 
 vanish into despair. For it was borne in upon her, in a 
 manner inexplicable, but wholly convincing, that Joscelyn's 
 career was near its end, and that the call to suffer to the 
 uttermost, to yield all for the sake of the English people 
 and their liberties, was now to be given. 
 
CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 I do not fear to follow out the truth, 
 Albeit along the precipice's edge. 
 Let us speak plain : there is more force in names 
 Than most men dream of ; and a lie may keep 
 Its throne a whole age longer if it skulk 
 Behind the shield of some fair-seeming name. 
 Let us call tyrants, tyrants^ and maintain 
 That only freedom comes by grace of God. 
 
 LOWELL. 
 
 IN the first faint light of Sunday morning, the 2 7th of Oc- 
 tober, a considerable body of Parliamentary troops might 
 have been descried on a bleak heath in Berkshire. Evi- 
 dently they were expecting an engagement to take place 
 shortly, for they slept as best they could in the open air, 
 each man with his weapons beside him. A little removed 
 from the rest, Waller, greatly worn and aged by the vexa- 
 tions of the summer's campaign, sat in close converse with 
 Cromwell, who " called cousins " with him, though they were 
 connections rather than actual kinsmen. He had listened 
 during the long hours of the night to many a detail of Crom- 
 well's great victory at Marston Moor, and in low tones the 
 two had discussed the grievous divisions and jealousies 
 which threatened to ruin their cause. Waller had more 
 than once called to mind Hampden's remark that Crom- 
 well would prove the greatest man in England, and wearily 
 impatient of the half-hearted co-operation of Essex and 
 Manchester, he turned with relief to the vigorous practical 
 worker whose genius might possibly save the country. 
 
 " There is a face I have somewhere seen before," said 
 Cromwell, as, the light gradually increasing, he observed at 
 
426 
 
 no great distance from Waller a young officer stretched at 
 full length on the heather. 
 
 " 'Tis Captain Heyworth, formerly a cornet in John 
 Hampden's regiment," said Waller. " He hath been with 
 me close upon two years, and young though he is, he hath 
 proved one of my best and most faithful officers. He is a 
 lad of a very ready wit, courteous and well-bred a great 
 favorite with his men, and the best hand I ever met at 
 keeping up the spirits of others in adversity." 
 
 " I remember him now," said Cromwell. " I saw him 
 after Edgehill. Methinks David must have been such a one 
 as this. He should by rights have a fine career before him." 
 
 " In truth, he deserves promotion," said Waller, " and 
 may, I hope, obtain it when at length we get the new-mod- 
 elled army which since July I have implored the commit- 
 tee to organize. He is sober and God-fearing in victory, 
 and in defeat of an unshaken zeal, while the discipline of 
 war hath done much to amend his natural pride and impa- 
 tience of contradiction." 
 
 Cromwell, who knew the great straits to which Waller's 
 army had been put that summer, and the disgraceful way 
 in which it had been sacrificed, first by Lord Essex and then 
 by Lord Manchester, marvelled as he looked across at the 
 young officer to find neither bitterness nor dissatisfaction 
 in the face, which even in repose retained something of its 
 bright humorous expression, and bore no traces of the 
 weary war save in a certain hollowness about the cheeks. 
 Joscelyn was wrapped in the profound sleep that sometimes 
 follows very arduous work ; beside him lay his sword and 
 helmet, and the keen wind blew his long hair to and fro and 
 flapped vigorously at the cloak in which he was enveloped 
 without in the least disturbing him. A more perfect picture 
 of peace in the midst of war, of rest amid strife, could not 
 have been found. 
 
427 
 
 " Our cousin Hampden had a quick eye to discern men's 
 characters," said Cromwell, sighing as he recalled the 
 genial manner and the stimulating friendship of the dead 
 patriot. " I remember now to have heard that Captain 
 Heyworth was with him at his death. I would fain see 
 more of him when to-day's work is over. The man that can 
 wear that look after nine days' continued hard duty without 
 any quarters is of brave mettle. The sun is rising, cousin ; 
 'tis time we were astir." 
 
 Late that afternoon it chanced that Cromwell once again 
 came upon Joscelyn Heyworth. 
 
 After a desperate struggle, the Parliamentarians had 
 driven Prince Maurice from his strong position on Speen 
 Hill, and, charging furiously down into the valley, had driven 
 the Royalists out of the village. Close by the church a halt 
 had been made; and Cromwell, hearing that some more 
 guns had been taken from the enemy, pressed forward into 
 the throng by the church-yard wall, and found himself close 
 beside Waller's young captain. 
 
 Joscelyn,' his face aglow, his eyes bright with eager de- 
 light, turned towards him in great excitement. 
 
 "They have retaken some of the guns, sir, which my 
 Lord Essex lost in Cornwall. See how the soldiers hug 
 them in their joy !" 
 
 And indeed the Puritan soldiers, who had eagerly longed 
 to retrieve their honor, were shedding tears of delight at the 
 capture they had been able to make. 
 
 " Iron-huggers !" muttered a Royalist prisoner, contempt- 
 uously, and it might have fared ill with him had any but 
 Joscelyn overheard the remark. 
 
 The term tickled his sense of humor, and with a laugh he 
 observed, " I would turn leather-hugger could we but recapt- 
 ure the leather guns we lost at Cropredy." 
 
 " Are you aware, friend, that you are wounded ?" said 
 
428 
 
 Cromwell, noticing that blood was dripping from his neigh- 
 bor's right arm. 
 
 In the keen excitement of taking the village, Joscelyn had 
 not even felt the musket-ball which had struck him ; but 
 now all at once a strange giddiness seized him ; the crowd 
 of soldiers, the autumn trees, the little village church, the 
 sun sinking in the west, all swam before his eyes in a weird 
 medley ; he reeled in his saddle, and would have fallen had 
 not Cromwell griped hold of him. 
 
 " Ironside," as he had been dubbed by Prince Rupert in 
 the summer, was a stern foe but a most tender-hearted 
 man ; he loved to scatter those whom he thought the Lord's 
 enemies as chaff before the wind, but even in the haste and 
 confusion he found time to summon to the aid of the 
 wounded man a certain barber with some knowledge of 
 surgery who chanced to be in his troop. Of actual sur- 
 geons there was on this day a deplorable dearth. Joscelyn 
 was helped into the nearest cottage, and, reviving in a few 
 minutes, he heard the tramp of the troops as they passed 
 by, and sprang to his feet. 
 
 " They are to press forward to Newbury Field," he cried, 
 "and I am not there!" 
 
 " Patience, sir," said the barber ; " you have done good 
 service, and now must leave, it to others. Have the good- 
 ness to place yourself in the posture you were in at the re- 
 ceiving of the wound ; that was the wise rule of the great 
 Ambroise Pare many years since, and it will help me to 
 search your wound with greater ease." 
 
 The ball had lodged in the bone of the arm, not causing 
 a fracture, but proving difficult to remove. Joscelyn set his 
 teeth hard, and all the time looked steadily through the 
 open casement, his eyes fixed on the red sun as it sank 
 slowly towards the horizon, while from a little distance the 
 sound of the strife floated back to the quiet room. He 
 
429 
 
 could almost have fancied that he heard the familar field- 
 word, " God our strength !" shouted by his own men. In 
 his great suffering the words rang again and again in his 
 ears. 
 
 " Tis well your mother can't see you," said the woman of 
 the house, as with pitying eyes she held a cup of water to 
 his lips. In a moment the whole scene seemed to change for 
 him, and he was back once more at Shortell Manor, and 
 his mother, with grave looks, was shrinking from him in 
 horror, as though he had been a leper. For the first time 
 he winced. 
 
 " 'Tis well-nigh ended, sir," said the barber, deftly dress- 
 ing the wound. Then having extemporized a sling out of 
 the orange silk scarf, he hurriedly prepared to rejoin his 
 comrades. 
 
 " Wait," said Joscelyn, gulping down some more water. 
 " I, too, will ride forward. We can yet overtake them." 
 
 " Nay, sir," urged the barber, " 'twould be rash and ill 
 advised. Lie down yonder and keep still, then perchance 
 you may be able for to-morrow's work. The wound is not 
 severe. You may be fit to lead your men erelong if you 
 keep quiet." 
 
 " To-morrow the battle will be over," said Joscelyn, keen- 
 ly disappointed that he could not press forward for that last 
 quarter of a mile, which was likely to prove the hardest part 
 of the day's work. 
 
 " Rest, sir, while you can," said the owner of the house, 
 pointing to a truckle-bed in the corner. And Joscelyn was 
 fain to take the advice. When the good woman nervously 
 insisted on closing casement and door, he resigned himself 
 to his fate, and lay rigidly quiet, watching the sunset sky 
 turn from crimson to gold, from gold to gray, from gray to 
 the dusky purple of night. 
 
 At last, when his hostess had quitted the room to prepare 
 
43 
 
 supper, he dragged himself up, and, fumbling awkwardly at 
 the latch with his left hand, opened the cottage door, and 
 stepped out onto the threshold, eagerly trying to discover 
 how the battle was going. 
 
 The night was dark and windy ; every now and then came 
 a faint gleam of light, as the crescent moon emerged from 
 behind swift-sailing clouds, and by this uncertain glimmer 
 the battle was still being waged. Joscelyn, leaning against 
 the door-post, could see little, but could plainly hear the 
 confused uproar, the strange blending of shouts, cries, 
 groans, trampling of horse-hoofs, clashing of arms, sharp 
 rattle of musketry, while from a neighboring house came 
 the heart-rending moans of a man dying in torments. 
 
 The sight of the village church and the quiet graveyard 
 close by reminded him that it was Sunday evening, and with 
 some prickings of conscience for having entirely forgotten 
 the day, he bent his head, praying very earnestly that the 
 right might triumph, and that a peace founded on righteous- 
 ness might be won through the strife. 
 
 When the next morning he woke from sound sleep he 
 found Morrison bending over him with an anxious face. 
 
 " What of the battle ?" he asked, eagerly. " What news do 
 you bring?" 
 
 " There was not light enough, sir, to fight it out thorough- 
 ly, and this morning 'twas discovered that the King had 
 stolen away in the night as noiselessly as Sir William Waller 
 retreated from Lansdown." 
 
 " What !" cried Joscelyn in dismay ; " they let the entire 
 army give us the slip ? But there is to be a pursuit, surely ?" 
 
 He started up, and with Morrison's help was equipped 
 and mounted some time before the start could be made. 
 
 * 
 
 His hostess remonstrated, but at the same time provided 
 him with a good breakfast ; and wonderfully refreshed by 
 his long sleep, and stimulated by the delight of his men in 
 
431 
 
 having him with them again, he felt able to bear the pain 
 of his wound. 
 
 " 'Tis not a severe one," he always replied, quoting the 
 barber's comforting assurance to all inquirers. 
 
 "The lack of surgeons will doubtless be supplied," said 
 Cromwell, who chanced once more to cross Joscelyn's path. 
 " 'Tis to-day to be mentioned in the letter to the committee, 
 who can scarce realize how miserable it is to see men that 
 have been wounded in the defence of the public wanting 
 means of cure." 
 
 Joscelyn found that though upon one side the second 
 battle of Newbury might be accounted a victory, yet it 
 should have been a much greater and more complete suc- 
 cess. The troops upon the Speen side, under Skippon, 
 Balfour, Waller, and Cromwell, had prospered well, but 
 Manchester had failed in the work allotted to him, timidly 
 hesitating and putting off the attack till long after the ap- 
 pointed time, in spite of the entreaties of his officers. 
 
 "Are we forever to be thwarted by half-hearted noble- 
 men ?" exclaimed Joscelyn, impatiently. 
 
 " In truth, it seems like it," said Waller, " for here is a 
 message just followed us from my Lord Manchester, urging 
 us to turn back and give up the pursuit." 
 
 The message was met by a refusal, and the troops still 
 pressed on, none the better pleased with Lord Manchester 
 for his attempt to turn them back from a pursuit which had 
 been rendered necessary by his own carelessness. 
 
 "There is another point in Captain Heyworth's favor," 
 observed Cromwell to Waller, with a smile. " He doth not 
 love lords ! It will not be well with us till my Lord Man- 
 chester is but Mr. Montague, as I once told him to his face." 
 
 Waller's countenance was a curious study; Joscelyn 
 guessed that the remark grated on his sense of decorum, 
 and that he was very far from sharing his companion's views. 
 
432 
 
 Yet this bold, aggressive leader of men was at present far 
 better to work with than the timid earl, whose lack of zeal 
 and promptitude would go far towards keeping the country 
 in all the miseries of war for many months to come. 
 
 The troops galloped on through woods and lanes and 
 across a wide heath, halting at last beneath the Downs at 
 the little village of Blewbury, only to learn that the King's 
 army had crossed the river at Wallingford, and had gained 
 country where it would be impossible for them to pursue 
 without the aid of the foot-soldiers. In vain Cromwell and 
 Waller, returning to the Earl of Manchester, implored him 
 to support them with the infantry; he refused to stir, and 
 betrayed so marked a craving for peace at any price, and 
 such a hopeless lack of all the qualities that go to make a 
 good leader, that the luckless generals who were supposed 
 to co-operate with him were almost in despair. 
 
 During the days that followed, Joscelyn, with his usual 
 hopefulness, was making what he deemed a steady recov- 
 ery. One of the surgeons sent down from London had 
 reported well of his wound, and as there were hundreds of 
 far more severe cases to be attended to, he was satisfied 
 with one examination. But unfortunately the very slight- 
 ness of the injury proved its danger. Had he been entirely 
 invalided all might have gone well, but he was able to keep 
 about, and insisted on sharing in his men's discomforts, 
 protesting that many of them were far more ill than he was. 
 Indeed, it was too true that the troops were suffering griev- 
 ously, and the sight of this was enough to have moved even 
 a less considerate officer. The quarters, first at Blewbury 
 and afterwards on Newbury Wash, on the south of the 
 Kennet, were miserably uncomfortable. To add to their 
 distress, the rain and cold of that wintry November proved 
 " of such extremity as hath seldom been seen." The horses 
 died by hundreds, many of the soldiers deserted, and those 
 
433 
 
 who were left murmured greatly against the Earl of Man- 
 chester, who, either from sheer stupidity or from a desire 
 to avoid a long winter campaign, had actually sent away 
 to Abingdon the food so much needed by the army, which 
 the committee had at last sent to them by water. 
 
 " 'Tis well enough for him in his lodgings at Newbury," 
 murmured old Major Newell to Joscelyn one day as they 
 rode together on a foraging expedition. " If he were quar- 
 tered as we are he would bestir himself to some purpose. 
 I marvel what he doth with himself all day." 
 
 " Hopes for peace, and plays the royal game of goose," 
 said Joscelyn, with a laugh. 
 
 " In good sooth, he hath played that bird throughout the 
 campaign," said the major. " Always for not stirring when 
 it was essential to be prompt and active, ordering impos- 
 sible marches when the horses had scarce a leg to stand 
 upon, thwarting our general at every turn, and in this affair 
 of Donnington Castle acting as though it were well-nigh his 
 object to suit the King's convenience." 
 
 At this moment they halted at a little -hamlet, and the 
 major, dismounting, made his way into the most promising 
 and prosperous-looking house, while Joscelyn waited in the 
 road. Presently his companion reappeared in the cottage 
 doorway and beckoned to him. 
 
 " Come, sir," he called ; " you were ever the best hand at 
 catering. See if you cannot cajole some provisions out of 
 this woman." 
 
 Joscelyn stepped forward. " Good dame," he said, in his 
 pleasant voice, " we are well-nigh starving. Can you not 
 give us food of some sort ?" 
 
 The woman hesitated. It was difficult to resist the ap- 
 peal of this yellow - haired boy, with his hungry, wistful 
 eyes. Moreover, the arm in a sling softened her heart. 
 But just then her children, terrified as the little room grew 
 28 
 
434 
 
 more and more full of soldiers, ran towards her and clung 
 to her gown. 
 
 " I have naught for you, sir," she faltered. " There are 
 many of us. I have naught." 
 
 " We will see about that," said the soldiers, pressing 
 forward desperately. One of them uncovered the brick 
 oven and drew forth in triumph a batch of loaves. The 
 smell of the hot bread made the ravenous men almost 
 frantic. In a trice they had divided it between them, and 
 had trooped out of the cottage, one of them, who was spe- 
 cially fond of Joscelyn, pausing to thrust into his hands the 
 top of a -loaf. The major did not interfere, and walked 
 grimly off munching a crust. The woman wiped her eyes 
 with her apron. 
 
 " One may put loaves into the oven nowadays," she 
 said, piteously, " but there's no knowing who will take them 
 out !" 
 
 " The men are half starved," said Joscelyn, lingering for 
 a moment, and ashamed to find that his craving to eat the 
 bread he held made him grudge even this brief delay. "We 
 have neither food, nor firing, nor shelter, and we are doing 
 our best to defend you." 
 
 " Small use in defence, sir," said the woman, " if we are 
 left to famish. When life is taken, what will there be to 
 defend ?" 
 
 " True," he said, faintly. And putting the bread into the 
 hand of the nearest child, he turned away. 
 
 Later in the day, when a discussion was going on as to 
 the way in which the scanty rations were to be apportioned, 
 he made Waller laugh even in the midst of his depression. 
 
 " Feed the feeble-minded, sir," he said, " or they will be 
 running to Abingdon." 
 
 " And let the best men starve, eh ?" said Waller. " 'Tis 
 my belief you yourself are well-nigh starving." 
 
435 
 
 Joscelyn was, in truth, sick with hunger, but his spirits 
 had not altogether deserted him. 
 
 " I have longed all day," he said, laughingly, " for Nebu- 
 chadnezzar's appetite for grass. There is plenty of that 
 ready to hand, and naught besides not even a be- 
 lated bramble to give us a few berries. Were there shew- 
 bread in England, I would certainly follow David's ex- 
 ample!" 
 
 But the next day he was not even hungry ; and his face 
 wore such a haggard look that Major Newell urged him to 
 give up and own that he was unfit for work. 
 
 " 'Tis scarce a time to think of one's own ease, sir," he 
 replied, despondently. " See how rapidly our numbers are 
 diminishing, and I can surely hold out till we have met the 
 King once more as he returns. We shall, I hope, strike one 
 more good blow for the cause before going into winter 
 quarters." 
 
 " Aye, 'tis to be hoped we shall," said the major ; but he 
 looked rather doubtfully at the feverishly bright eyes and 
 flushed face of his young comrade. 
 
 All that day the pain of Joscelyn's wounded arm was 
 almost intolerable ; he began to feel less confident as to the 
 possibility of keeping about. 
 
 "What is amiss, lad ?'' said Waller, in the evening, chanc- 
 ing to find him alone in the miserable quarters, and ob- 
 serving the profound dejection of his whole attitude. Jos- 
 celyn roused up a little in response, and tried to make light 
 of his suffering. 
 
 " Methinks, sir," he said, " 'tis gout settled in the wound, 
 but assuredly it hath not come from luxurious diet !" 
 
 Waller was shocked at his almost hectic coloring and at 
 the ghastly suffering which was plainly visible beneath the 
 thin veil of forced gayety. 
 
 " To-morrow you go into decent lodgings at Newbury," 
 
436 
 
 he said, in a tone of authority, " and I myself shall speak a 
 word with the surgeon." 
 
 The intense pain gradually passed off, and in the morn- 
 ing, though very weak and miserable, Joscelyn imagined 
 that he was better. Waller, however, insisted that he should 
 go to Newbury, and, true to his word, was himself present 
 when the surgeon made his examination. 
 
 "The pain was severe last night," said Joscelyn, "but to- 
 day I have none ; to-day I am better." 
 
 "On the contrary, sir," said the surgeon, bluntly; "to-day 
 you are much worse. Unless you lose your arm, your life 
 is not worth a week's purchase. Mortification has set in." 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 My God ! when I read o'er the bitter lives 
 
 Of men whose eager hearts were quite too great 
 
 To beat beneath the cramped mode of the day, 
 
 And see them mocked at by the world they love, 
 
 Haggling with prejudice for pennyworth's 
 
 Of that reform which their hard toil will make 
 
 The common birthright of the age to come 
 
 When I see this, spite of my faith in God, 
 
 I marvel how their hearts bear up so long; 
 
 Nor could they but for this same prophecy, 
 
 This inward feeling of the glorious end. 
 
 LOWELL. 
 
 THUS it came to pass that in an unlooked-for and unwel- 
 come fashion Joscelyn lost his wish of striking one more 
 blow for the good cause before going into winter quarters ; 
 it seemed that he could now only serve by suffering. 
 
 Waller, grieved beyond measure to lose his favorite, re- 
 plied sadly enough to Cromwell's questions as that evening 
 they supped together. " Thus ends one of the most promis- 
 ing careers," he said, with a sigh. " The injury was nothing 
 like as severe as that he got at Lansdown, but the cold and 
 wet and starvation were fatal to recovery." 
 
 " How did he bear the news ?" asked Cromwell. 
 
 " The surgeon told him bluntly that he was a dead man 
 unless the arm were at once taken off," said "Waller, "and 
 for a minute, poor fellow, he seemed wholly crushed, but 
 quickly pulled himself together, and began to speak to me 
 of various arrangements that he would have made if his 
 death ensued, and charged me with messages to his wife, 
 and with instructions about the future of his child." 
 
 " What ! He is married, then ?" 
 
438 
 
 " Aye, at Gloucester, before the siege. God grant that he 
 may recover ! They say at present he does well, and his 
 sober life is all in his favor ; but then to set against that one 
 must remember the severe strain of this last month's work, 
 with its cruel hardships." 
 
 " To-morrow I would fain see him," said Cromwell. 
 
 While the two spoke thus together Joscelyn was struggling 
 alone through his " Valley of Humiliation," and had gone 
 but a little way before he " espied a foul fiend coming to 
 meet him whose name was Anxiety." An intolerable dread 
 of the future for Clemency and little Tom if he died, an in- 
 tolerable dread of the crippled existence he must lead if he 
 should recover, alternately swayed his mind, while grievous 
 anxiety for the distracted country mingled with his other 
 cares, gaining in the night an extraordinary power over 
 his restless brain, which seemed to be fostered rather than 
 checked by quiet and darkness. 
 
 At length, however, the power which had long ruled his 
 life asserted itself ; his vigorous, cheerful faith trampled 
 down the assailing cares for a season, and with resolute 
 patience he brought his thoughts into captivity to that 
 Higher Will, which triumphed over the tumult and gave 
 him rest. 
 
 Cromwell, paying his promised visit the next day, and 
 full of sad memories of the death of his own nephew at 
 Marston Moor after a somewhat similar operation, looked 
 searchingly into the young officer's face, and was reassured 
 by what he saw. 
 
 " Methinks you are making a good first step towards 
 recovery. May the Lord be your strength," he said, his 
 harsh-featured face transfigured by a sympathy which came 
 to Joscelyn as a revelation. It almost seemed to him for 
 the time worth losing an arm to gain such a royal gift. 
 
 " Sir," he said, " I shall never be fit to fight again even 
 
439 
 
 if my life be spared. 'Twill make the thought less hard if 
 you will accept from me, and sometimes ride yourself, my 
 horse Hotspur." 
 
 Cromwell, touched by the spontaneous offer of what was 
 evidently so much valued, thanked him, and promised to 
 use the horse at any rate until his master should need him 
 again. 
 
 " He is out of condition," said Joscelyn, " having suffered 
 well-nigh as much as we have done these last weeks. But 
 he is a good horse, and has seen many a fight, that of 
 Chalgrove among others. I shall never ride him more." 
 
 A look of profound sadness passed over his face. 
 
 "There are other weapons than those of carnal warfare," 
 said Cromwell, laying a kindly hand on his head. " The 
 Lord hath yet a work for you." 
 
 With that thought to carry him through his troubles Jos- 
 celyn left the army. As soon as the surgeons would allow 
 him to be moved he was borne by six of his men down to 
 the river, and after a regretful parting with Sir William 
 Waller, to whom he was greatly attached, set off for Lon- 
 don under the charge of the faithful Morrison. They were 
 often reminded of their journey by boat to Gloucester, and 
 Morrison heartily wished that the whole of their return to 
 Katterham could have been managed by water. This was, 
 of course, impossible, and after spending a night at St. 
 Bartholomew's Hospital, that he might have the benefit of 
 the London surgeons' advice and skilful dressing, they were 
 forced to travel the last eighteen miles of the way by coach, 
 a mode which tried Joscelyn infinitely more than the boat 
 had done. 
 
 A letter bearing the news of his trouble to Clemency, and 
 warning her of his speedy arrival, had been despatched 
 some days before from Newbury, and as they approached 
 the familiar little village Joscelyn roused himself from the 
 
440 
 
 semi-stupor into which he had sunk, and begged Morrison 
 to raise him a little that he might the Better see from the 
 window. 
 
 "The place hath a strangely deserted look !" he said, sur- 
 prised at the almost sabbatical calm that reigned, and at the 
 entire absence of playing children or busy men or women 
 glancing from open doors. 
 
 " A fast day, maybe, sir," said Morrison, glancing at the 
 pretty thatched cottage which had lately been built for his 
 parents by Sir Robert Neal. " Aye, that must be it, for yon- 
 der I see folks trooping towards the church. The second 
 sermon will doubtless be beginning." 
 
 With flushed face and eyes bright with fever, Joscelyn 
 gazed anxiously forth as they drove past the park and drew 
 near to the gate-house. 
 
 " Higher," he begged , " lift me higher. I can't see. 
 Great God ! what means this ?" 
 
 Morrison's jaw fell ; in speechless horror he saw ap- 
 proaching them through the open gates of the Court-house 
 a funeral train. 
 
 The coachman reined back his steeds to let it pass on 
 towards the neighboring church, and Joscelyn began to 
 struggle desperately to fling open the door with his left 
 hand. 
 
 " Let me go !" he cried, wildly, as the servant tried to 
 calm him. " She is dead, and I will follow her." 
 
 "Sir," entreated Morrison, "you put your own life in 
 peril. For God's sake be quiet !" 
 
 But Joscelyn's frantic endeavors to open the door had 
 attracted the notice of one of the villagers, who came to 
 his aid. 
 
 "Alack, sir," said the man, "you come back on a woful 
 day. He was ever good to the poor and needy ; we shall 
 never see the like of Sir Robert again." 
 
441 
 
 Joscelyn sank back, his feverish strength wholly exhaust- 
 ed. " How ?" he faltered. " When ?" 
 
 " A was found dead in bed one morning nigh upon a sen- 
 night since, sir," said the villager. " Never had a day's ill- 
 ness, but folks say a was just wore out." 
 
 " Bid the coachman drive to the Court-house, neighbor," 
 said Morrison, alarmed at the faintness which threatened 
 to overcome his master. 
 
 Meanwhile Clemency sat desolate and forlorn in her own 
 room, her heavy mourning robes making the pallor of her 
 face all the more noticeable. It was not the custom for 
 women to attend funerals, nor would she join the others 
 who gazed forth from the window overlooking the church- 
 yard. Her grandfather's sudden death had left her crushed 
 and bewildered. The old man had for so many years been 
 her counsellor in everything, he had had so much to do in 
 the formation of her character, and had been, spite. of the 
 gulf of years between them, so real a friend to her, that his 
 loss seemed to shake the very foundations of her life. It 
 was to him that she would have turned in her great anxiety 
 about her husband, and though Mrs. Ursula gave her the 
 kindest sympathy, yet there were many things which she 
 could not mention to her, owing to the difference in their 
 views. It was now ten days since she had received any 
 tidings of Joscelyn, for the worst news had miscarried ; she 
 merely knew that his wound was progressing satisfactorily, 
 and that the troops were suffering a good deal from the 
 severe weather. Sitting there alone on that dreary winter's 
 day, her heart felt ready to break, so terribly did she crave 
 for Joscelyn's presence, while a lurking hope that he might 
 possibly have received the news of Sir Robert's death in 
 time to get leave to return for the funeral died away in dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 Presently there came a tap at her door, and Mrs. Ursula 
 
entered. " My dear," she said, gently, " it seems that a 
 letter which should have reached you with news of your 
 husband hath been lost on the way. I have tidings for you 
 now ; they are neither wholly bad nor altogether good." 
 
 " He is ill ?" cried Clemency. " Oh, Cousin Ursula, tell 
 me the whole truth ; let me go to him quickly !" 
 
 " Yes, you shall come," said Mrs. Ursula ; " but, my dear, 
 he is very ill ; he hath lost his right arm. They have brought 
 him home." 
 
 " Home !" cried Clemency, springing to her feet with a 
 look of rapturous relief. " Oh, thank God, he hath come !" 
 
 In a moment she was her strongest self, giving rapid 
 orders to the servants, thinking of everything that could 
 possibly be used in the sick-room, then hastening to the 
 library, controlling her agitation, lest it should harm Josce- 
 lyn and unfit her for tending him. 
 
 They had laid him down on the carved settle where she re- 
 membered so often to have seen him long ago, when in the 
 first days of their acquaintance he had studied the great 
 question of the time. A vivid recollection flashed back 
 into her mind of his bright, humorous face and air of glow- 
 ing health and vigor on the first night of Mr. Hampden's 
 visit ; how his hearty boyish laugh had echoed through the 
 room when they had heard the story of the Buckingham- 
 shire bridegroom who repented at the last moment ! Now 
 he lay there maimed, wan, and haggard, moaning a little as 
 Morrison shifted his position and made way for her. 
 
 But her presence quickly restored him, and as he caught 
 sight of her pale, anxious face, he forgot for the time his 
 bodily misery, and remembered only the exquisite relief of 
 finding that she was still spared to him. 
 
 " My beloved," he said, with the look and tone for which 
 in her sorrow she had been craving, " we meet, as usual, in 
 the very shadow of death." 
 
443 
 
 " I can bear all, now you are here," she said, struggling 
 to keep back her tears. "I would that my grandfather 
 could have known ; he had been full of anxiety for you." 
 
 " I have come back to you a miserable wreck," said Jos- 
 celyn, a spasm of pain passing over his face. 
 
 But in the delight of having him home, and in the glad 
 perception that their separation was at an end, Clemency 
 had not a thought to spare on his enforced retirement from 
 the army. 
 
 True, her anxiety was not yet over, for Joscelyn remained 
 grievously ill for many weeks. But by Christmas Eve the 
 surgeon who rode over daily from Croydon pronounced 
 him to be out of danger, and there followed for them both 
 happy days of gradual recovery, when, in the thankfulness 
 of a life wonderfully restored, they lived in a sort of heaven 
 of content, desiring nothing beyond the four walls of their 
 room, forgetting the outer world and the troubles which 
 still distracted the land. It was just that ideally happy 
 part of an illness when the supreme duty is to rest and be 
 thankful, when the brain lies fallow, and the process of 
 building up an exhausted strength goes quietly forward. 
 
 Clemency, radiant with the consciousness that she could 
 exactly supply all his needs, that her presence wholly suf- 
 ficed him, and that the doctor did not flatter her when he 
 told her she had saved her husband's life, lived on in a sort 
 of dream of happiness, not realizing that this sort of exist- 
 ence could ever cease to suffice them, nor understanding 
 that they must either climb to something higher or gradu- 
 ally sink. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 For Love is fellow service, I believe ! 
 
 CLOUGH. 
 
 IN the gray dawn of a December day Lady Heyworth might 
 have been seen at her dressing-table, impatiently watching 
 in the looking-glass the slow process of hair-curling which 
 was being performed by Therese, her French maid ; in the 
 background old Kezia, the nurse-keeper, was struggling to 
 close the lid of a well-filled travelling-trunk, aided by Ros- 
 amond, who, in an undertone, offered laughingly to dance 
 on the top of it ; otherwise she was convinced the fastening 
 could never be brought into position. 
 
 " Come hither, Rosamond," said her mother, impatiently, 
 " you do but trifle and hinder us all ; had you been more of 
 a credit to me I would have taken you with me to Oxford, 
 and we might have been able to arrange a marriage for you. 
 But who would wed a foolish child like you? There is 
 Mistress Carew, only fifteen years old, as you are, and was 
 married last week to Sir Charles Praed ; and Bess Coven- 
 try, at sixteen, married to old Mr. Marchant, with a great 
 fortune and a fine house in London." 
 
 Rosamond's head drooped, as it had acquired a habit of 
 doing when she was scolded ; nevertheless she was far from 
 submissive in her heart, and was inwardly congratulating 
 herself that no tiresome Sir Charles Praed, or objectionable 
 old Croesus, had asked for her hand. 
 
 " Shall you return soon, ma'am ?" she asked, timidly. 
 
 "That wholly depends on the course of the war," said Lady 
 
445 
 
 Heyworth. " Nothing will induce me to remain buried here 
 in the country any longer without your father. I shall stay 
 with Isabella at Oxford, or wherever she chooseth to go." 
 
 Rosamond looked somewhat blank, not altogether liking 
 the prospect of being left for an indefinite time. 
 
 " Don't be down-hearted, child," said her mother, more 
 kindly. " Doubtless erelong the King will make some sort of 
 arrangement with these villainous rebels, even if he doth not 
 succeed in crushing them, as I hope in God he may. More- 
 over, you will not be left alone; Therese will take good care 
 of you, and teach you dancing and the lute, and give you 
 embroidery lessons ; and for your graver studies, the chap- 
 lain will be here to attend to them, and he will report to me 
 on your progress. I leave you in good hands." 
 
 " And if letters should come from my father or Dick," 
 questioned the child, " may we read them ?" 
 
 "Nay," said Lady Heyworth; "you will without delay de- 
 spatch the messenger to me at Oxford." 
 
 " Pray take me with you, ma'am," said poor Rosamond, 
 much daunted at the prospect before her. 
 
 " I cannot, my dear, even had I the mind to do it," said 
 Lady Heyworth. " Your clothes are not presentable, for one 
 thing, and then, as you well know, Sir Toby and Isabella 
 do not like children, and you are still sadly childish. My 
 cloth mantle, Therese, and the sable muff. There is the coach 
 at the door; we must not keep the horses waiting in the cold. 
 Come, kiss me, child, and have a care of yourself till I re- 
 turn. If she ails anything, Therese, send to Alton for the 
 doctor." 
 
 Rosamond followed her mother down-stairs, and saw her 
 step into the coach, attended by old Kezia ; and then the lit- 
 tle bustle of departure over, she turned back into the lonely 
 house where so many of the rooms were closed, and, stealing 
 into the dining-room, the only place where a fire had been 
 
446 
 
 lighted, she crouched down by the hearth and threw her arms 
 about Cymro's neck. 
 
 " I wonder, Cymro, which is the worst to be married to 
 some stupid man, or to be left alone here ?" 
 
 The dog looked into her eyes and blinked silently, as 
 though the problem were beyond him. 
 
 " Some men beat their wives, you know, Cymro, and I have 
 had too many beatings already, and will endure no more. 
 Then many of them are ill-tempered, and will have everything 
 done precisely to their liking, nor ever think at all what their 
 wives may chance to like. And almost all of them drink too 
 much. 'Tis, after all, better to be left here in the country. 
 But I should like to go to Oxford and see the King, and find 
 out whether he be as noble as Dick says, or as faithless as 
 Joscelyn deems him. My dress, they say, is too shabby! 
 What do you think, Cymro ?" 
 
 The dog sniffed at it dubiously. 
 
 " And I am sadly childish ! How about that, Cymro ?" 
 
 The dog began to lick her face, lovingly, which led to a 
 grand romp, and Rosamond was in full career round the 
 room, playing at " catch-as-catch-can," when the door opened 
 and the grave old chaplain looked in, bidding her be ready 
 for matins in the oratory in five minutes' time. Rosamond 
 sighed ; it was hard to have been caught in the midst of 
 such an untimely frolic. A maiden of fifteen who could romp 
 with a collie at eight in the morning was certainly unfit for 
 the duties of a matron. She stood for a minute in front of 
 the gilded mirror which hung between the two windows, look- 
 ing ruefully at the picture it disclosed of a very untidy little 
 maid with yellow curls much disordered, with arms and hands 
 nearly as ruddy as her cheeks, with a crumpled white necker- 
 chief, and an outgrown blue stuff gown, faded in one place 
 and darned in another, and, worst of all, not touching the 
 ground, but disclosing in a most unseemly and unfashion- 
 
447 
 
 able way two clumsily shod little feet and a pair of pretty 
 ankles. 
 
 " Well, Cyinro, there is one comfort," she said : " no fine 
 gentleman ever could think of asking me in marriage till I 
 have a new gown ; and to have a new gown before the rents 
 are paid is impossible, and the rents will not be paid till the 
 war is ended, and when the war is ended, why, we shall see 
 Joscelyn again, and nothing will matter." 
 
 They prayed that morning in the oratory for the arch- 
 bishop's deliverance from his persecutors ; and Rosamond, 
 with a touch of the same sanguine nature which belonged 
 to Joscelyn, could not bring herself to believe that the old 
 man would indeed be brought to the scaffold. 
 
 But a week later on the evening of the 4th of January, 
 when she was having her lesson on the lute from the French 
 maid the chaplain entered the room with a look of such dire 
 trouble on his aged face that Rosamond at once knew some 
 great disaster must have happened. 
 
 " My father," she cried, " and Dick ? You have had bad 
 news of them ?" 
 
 " Nay, my dear," said the old man; " 'tis of the archbishop 
 I have bad tidings. The lords have given their consent to 
 the Ordinance of Attainder. A messenger hath but now 
 arrived with an urgent summons for me to return to London; 
 we trust that even yet an effort may be made to spare 
 him. Say, can I trust you to pursue your studies alone for 
 a time ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, sir," said Rosamond ; " indeed I will mind my 
 books." 
 
 " And you, Therese," he said, " have a care of your young 
 lady, and see that no harm befalls her. I trust to return 
 erelong, and were it not on a matter of life and death 
 would not leave the manor now. 
 
 Therese promised faithfully that nothing should part her 
 
448 
 
 from her young mistress ; and the chaplain, promising to 
 see Barnaby, and to leave a message for the steward as to 
 money matters and other arrangements, hurried away, being 
 anxious to travel, at any rate, as far as Guildford that night. 
 
 So Rosamond was left at Shortell Manor with Therese 
 and the cook and the old butler to protect her, with Cymro 
 for her sole playfellow, and Barnaby, the gate-keeper, for her 
 best friend. The house felt strangely desolate within, it 
 was cold and silent ; without, it looked even more dreary, so 
 many of the windows being closely shuttered. Rosamond 
 resolved to keep her promise to the chaplain, and to work 
 well at her studies. On the Epiphany, however, she felt 
 justified in treating herself to a holiday, and spent most of 
 the morning in writing a long letter to Joscelyn, telling him 
 of her loneliness, and begging him to let her know how his 
 recovery advanced. Temperance Turner had brought her 
 a most welcome letter from Clemency at Christmas, and 
 very eagerly she wished that on this January day she could 
 catch sight of the hunchback crossing the park with an- 
 other missive, and ready to carry her greetings back again. 
 
 The afternoon had nearly passed and the sun was sink- 
 ing in the west when the child, having spent three hours 
 curled up in the dining-room window-seat reading Twelfth 
 Night, closed her book with a long yawn, and stood up to 
 stretch her cramped limbs and to warm her cold hands on 
 Cymro's glossy coat. She wondered how the effort to save 
 the archbishop's life would prosper; she wondered what 
 Joscelyn and Clemency were doing away at the Court- 
 house she so greatly longed to see; and though she sang 
 softly to herself 
 
 "Oh, mistress mine, where are you roaming? 
 Oh, stay and hear ! your true love's coming " 
 
 her thoughts were not at all in harmony with the cheerful 
 
449 
 
 words of the clown's song, and her voice had a sorrowful 
 cadence in it. All at once she clutched closer hold of 
 Cymro, and the dog began to bark in the most excited way, for 
 they had both caught sight of a troop of horsemen approach- 
 ing the manor ; not, alas ! her father's troop she saw that 
 at a glance. The red ribbons and feathers, however, proved 
 them to be Royalists ; and she well knew that the visit was 
 more to be dreaded than a visit from the Parliamentary 
 troops, who defaced images, but respected woman and 
 children. In the early days of the war she remembered 
 that a troop had been quartered upon them, and though 
 she herself had been rigorously kept in the nursery by old 
 Kezia, she had nevertheless heard a good deal of the 
 trouble that the soldiers had made in the household, and 
 of the harm they had wrought in the village. 
 
 Her heart died within her as she heard the altercation 
 going on at the door between the butler and the officers ; 
 she longed to effect her escape, and was about to run across 
 the hall and gain the stairs when, opening the dining-room 
 door, she found herself confronted by a tall, powerful-look- 
 ing man, who seemed startled and amused as he caught 
 sight of her. 
 
 " What do you mean, you knave ?" he said, turning to 
 the trembling butler. " You tell me the house is empty and 
 the family away, and who in the devil's name is this pretty 
 maid ?" 
 
 " Sir," said Rosamond, griping fast hold of Cymro's col- 
 lar for protection, yet speaking with a touch of unconscious 
 dignity, "my father and mother are away from home. Pray, 
 sir, seek quarters elsewhere, for indeed the house is well- 
 nigh empty, and we are short of provisions ourselves and 
 cannot feed your soldiers." 
 
 "Never fear, my dear," said the officer, kissing her, 
 " they will ferret out food for themselves without servants 
 29 
 
450 
 
 to help them. And such a sweet face as yours cannot have 
 a cold heart behind it. Come, order us a good supper and 
 we will drink your health, and you shall bear us company." 
 
 He turned away with a laugh, making some jesting re- 
 mark to one of his companions, and leaving Rosamond to 
 wonder why she should feel such deadly terror of a hand- 
 some middle-aged man who had spoken very kindly to her, 
 and why she was seized with an unaccountable desire to go 
 straight to her room and wash the cheek he had kissed. It 
 was the most ordinary greeting of the time ; why should it 
 seem to her like an insult ? She was standing by the hearth, 
 her hand still upon Cymro, when into the fast darkening 
 room there entered another officer. 
 
 " Thank God I find you alone !" said a voice she seemed 
 to recognize, and as the new-comer approached her she 
 sprang to meet him with a stifled exclamation of delight. 
 
 " Mr. Denham !" she cried, " oh, how glad how glad I 
 am you have come ! You will tell me what to do, as Josce- 
 lyn would have done." 
 
 "Yes, God helping me, I will," said Arthur Denham. 
 "But you must not be seen here talking with me, though 
 elsewhere I must see you and speak with you. That was 
 my Lord Goring who spoke with you before, and you must 
 shun him as you would shun the devil himself. Don't 
 linger now, but go while he is out of the way. Where will 
 you be most apart from the rest of the house ?" 
 
 " There is the old nursery," said Rosamond ; " 'tis well- 
 nigh the only room through which there is not a passage. 
 'Tis in the north wing ; first there is the boy's room, then 
 mine, then the nursery." 
 
 " Well, shut yourself in there, and keep your maid with 
 you," said Arthur ; " and as soon as may be I will come and 
 see what arrangements had best be made." 
 
 The hall and staircase were, as he said, quite clear at that 
 
451 
 
 moment, and Rosamond flew up to the nursery, closely fol- 
 lowed by Cymro, while Arthur Denham, with a troubled 
 face, walked restlessly about, chafing at the thought that 
 this lovely, innocent girl should be left in a desolate house at 
 the mercy of the most unblushingly vicious man of the day. 
 
 All through the noisy supper which followed he was try- 
 ing to devise the best means of protecting her, and his con- 
 sternation was great when Lord Goring, suddenly bethink- 
 ing himself of the pretty face that had taken his fancy, sent 
 a message to remind Mistress Heyworth of her promise to 
 sup with them. 
 
 Fortunately, Rosamond, though innocent and unsuspi- 
 cious, had taken his words about the devil quite literally. 
 She had no intention whatever of supping with such a 
 dangerous personage, and Arthur heard with relief the old 
 butler's quavering voice announcing : 
 
 " Mistress Rosamond hath already supped, my lord, and 
 will not come down to-night. She bids me wish you a 
 prosperous start to-morrow morn." 
 
 Goring burst into a fit of laughter. 
 
 " Ton my life, 'tis a discreet little maiden. And now 
 methinks I have a mind for a second day in this Manor 
 House. That canting old Sir Thomas would as lief see his 
 pretty daughter in her coffin as in my care. A loyal old 
 man, you say ? So are many other fools; but I have an old 
 score against him, and curse me if I don't pay it off." 
 
 Later on, when all the rest were in various stages of 
 drunkenness, Denham, sickened by all that he had heard, 
 and at his wits' end to know how to act for the best, made 
 his way from the room, and, seeking out the old butler, had 
 a long talk with him, and was finally taken up to the 
 nursery, where Therese with a scared face was relating to 
 her little mistress tales of the soldiers' misdeeds. The 
 Frenchwoman had seen enough of the world to know at a 
 
452 
 
 glance that Denham was to be trusted, and she followed 
 the butler into the adjoining room to discuss what was to be 
 done to guard the house from the desperate havoc which 
 the soldiers were making in it. 
 
 Denham seized the opportunity to speak to the child 
 plainly. 
 
 " Mistress Rosamond," he said, " I count it a very happy 
 thing that, being sent on secret business by my Lord Hop- 
 ton, I chanced to fall in this day with my Lord Goring's 
 troop. They have been ravaging Hampshire this last few 
 days, and I like their ways ill enough, as you may guess ; 
 but when I found that 'twas a settled thing they should 
 seek quarters here before going on to attack Farnham, I 
 thought myself most happy to be at hand, welcoming the 
 chance of serving you and Lady Heyworth. I little thought 
 to find you alone and unprotected." 
 
 " My mother hath gone to Isabella, who lies sick at Ox- 
 ford," said Rosamond, "and she left me in charge of the 
 chaplain. But he, too, hath been summoned away ; he is a 
 friend of the archbishop's, and would fain save him. But 
 all will be well, now you are here. 'Tis just as though one 
 of the boys had come to take care of me." 
 
 " In the eyes of the world 'tis not quite the same," said 
 Denham. "Only you yourself can wholly fit me to pro- 
 tect you in the way I desire. Your father and Dick know 
 me well ; I believe they would trust you to me ; and once, 
 long ago, at Farnham, when I vowed that if I could not 
 wed you I would wed none other, Joscelyn said he would 
 very gladly see such a union. Do you remember this token ? 
 Do you know what such things mean ?" 
 
 He showed her a little thin bracelet of golden hair upon 
 his left wrist. 
 
 " I suppose 'tis made from a curl of the maiden you 
 love," said Rosamond, looking puzzled. 
 
453 
 
 "Aye, to be sure," said Denham, smiling. "The curl 
 that she gave me long ago in Farnham Park." 
 
 The color rushed into Rosamond's face ; she cast down 
 her eyes, only to become vividly conscious of her short, 
 shabby gown. She looked up at him piteously. " I do not 
 feel good enough, or or old enough," she said, falteringly ; 
 then, meeting his gaze, an answering light began to dawn in 
 her blue eyes. Denham, falling on his knees, caught her 
 hand in his and kissed it with a tender reverence which 
 seemed to awake within her possibilities of love hitherto 
 unknown. 
 
 " I will ask you to give me the right to protect you," he 
 said " to promise in the future to be my wife, if your father 
 consents, and if your mind remains unaltered." 
 
 "I will be your wife, sir, with my father's permission ; and 
 my mind will not alter," said Rosamond. 
 
 As she said the words there came into her face a look so 
 strangely like Joscelyn's when he had resisted threats and 
 inducements at Farnham Castle, that Arthur realized the 
 force of character latent in this forlorn little girl. Her 
 shrinking timidity was but the affect of the stern regime 
 under which she had grown up ; at heart she was a true 
 Heyworth, just as stanch and strong-willed as old Sir 
 Thomas and Joscelyn. 
 
 Leaving Cymro to guard her door, he went down once 
 more to see how the house was faring in the hands of Go- 
 ring's troopers. The poor old butler seemed well-nigh dis- 
 tracted. It was in vain he argued that his master was no 
 malignant, but as loyal a baronet as could be found in Eng- 
 land ; the soldiers thought only of their own ease, and, find- 
 ing fuel scarce, seized upon anything they could find to pile 
 on the dogs and make a blaze. The night was intensely 
 cold; they tore down the window -curtains and slept in 
 them ; they broke open the cellar and drank all the best 
 
454 
 
 wine, and when Denham sought out Lord Goring, hoping 
 to induce him to interfere, he found him lying drunk on 
 the dining-room floor, while on the hearth there blazed the 
 remnants of a beautifully carved oak stool. With a sigh 
 of disgust he threw himself into a chair beside the fire, 
 wondering whether Goring would remain yet another day 
 at the manor, or would push on at once towards Farnham, 
 and greatly perplexed as to the best course for Rosamond 
 to pursue. Tired with a hard day's riding, he presently fell 
 asleep, to awake in about two hours with a sudden start and 
 a curious consciousness of danger. The place was very 
 cold, the fire had died out, but from the window there came 
 a flickering light. Stumbling across the room, he nearly 
 tumbled over Goring's prostrate form, kicking him so severe- 
 ly that his lordship started up in a towering rage, swearing 
 like a trooper. 
 
 But the shock seemed partly to sober him, and he man- 
 aged to reel across to the window and to grip hold of Den- 
 ham's shoulder. 
 
 " What are you about, sir ?" he mumbled, stupidly. 
 "What's yonder light for?" 
 
 " 'Tis your devilish soldiers, my lord, that have set on fire 
 the house of the most loyal man in the land !" cried Den- 
 ham ; and rushing from the room in a white-heat of anger, 
 and distracted with anxiety for Rosamond, he made his way 
 up-stairs to the north wing. The passages were full of blind- 
 ing smoke, and it was chiefly by the sound of Cymro's 
 whines of distress that he guided himself, quickening his 
 steps in deadly terror as he heard piercing cries proceeding 
 from the child's room. Groping about in an agony of im- 
 patience, he at length found the handle and flung back the 
 door. A fierce light beating in from the window revealed 
 with dreadful distinctness the figure of Therese leaning 
 through the open casement and in violent hysterics. Then 
 
455 
 
 as the draught caused by the opening of the door dispersed 
 the blinding smoke for a minute, Denham suddenly per- 
 ceived a little white-robed figure lying at full length on the 
 floor. Therese, with a cry of joy, ran towards him. 
 
 " The smoke, monsieur," she gasped, recovering her self- 
 control, " it have choked her. In vain I try to lift her to 
 the window." 
 
 " Come," cried Denham, " there is no time to be lost !" 
 And snatching up a blanket from the bed, he wrapped it 
 round the child, and, lifting her in his arms, bore her through 
 the smoke -filled passages down the staircase, amid the 
 crowd of half-sober troopers, never once pausing till he 
 had gained the park. Therese had followed him as though 
 all the demons of hell were in pursuit, her little skinny 
 brown hands, which were better fitted for lute-playing and 
 embroidery than for carrying heavy weights, clutching fast 
 hold of his cloak. 
 
 " Ah, monsieur has saved us both !" she cried, with 
 passionate gratitude. " Regard, then, her face, monsieur ! 
 See, she revives with the cold air." 
 
 Rosamond's eyes slowly opened ; she stared up at the bare 
 branches of the great oak-tree under which they were shel- 
 tering, and at the ruddy sky against which its twigs were 
 sharply outlined. Then, with a scared look, she turned tow- 
 ards the house, and saw that the whole of the north wing 
 was in flames. 
 
 " Oh, what will they say to me ?" she cried, piteously, her 
 mind turning in the midst of this perilous adventure to the 
 dreaded scolding which she felt to be in store for her. 
 
 "No one can blame you, sweetheart," said Denham. 
 " 'Tis they that are in fault to have left you alone, and the 
 fire was caused by these cursed troopers, who treat friend 
 and foe alike." 
 
 " Let me go back and try to save things !" cried Ros- 
 
456 
 
 amond, shivering with fright. " My father will grieve if all 
 is destroyed." 
 
 " Nay, I cannot let you go among those devils !" cried Ar- 
 thur, holding her more closely. " Trust me, your father would 
 sooner that his house were destroyed a thousand times over. 
 And, see, rain is beginning to fall, and the wind is from the 
 south; perchance 'twill only be the north wing that is burned. 
 Now, tell me where I can find shelter for you." 
 
 "There is Barnaby's cottage," said Rosamond; "but they 
 said 'twas full of soldiers." 
 
 "They must turn out, then," said Denham, shortly; "you 
 will take your death of cold if you are out much longer." 
 
 Rosamond's terror was by degrees allayed, indeed; not- 
 withstanding her grief for the house, she was still such a child 
 as to feel a strange sort of interest in the novelty and ex- 
 citement of this adventure. Moreover, though it was terrible 
 to see lurid flames shooting through the windows of familiar 
 rooms, there was, nevertheless, a curious pleasure in being 
 cared for with such tenderness ; only once before had she 
 experienced anything like it, and that was when they had all 
 thought her dying. To be the most absorbing thought in 
 the mind of any one while in the possession of health and 
 strength and the power to enjoy was bewildering but de- 
 lightful ; she cared neither for the rain nor the cold ; a feel- 
 ing of blissful, drowsy content stole over her; she would not 
 have murmured if for an indefinite time they had been forced 
 to traverse the silent park with the flaming house behind 
 them and the grim darkness before, with Cymro at their 
 heels, and with Therese in the strangest dishabille beside 
 them. Long before they had reached Barnaby's cottage, 
 however, her love had advanced a stage. She noticed that 
 her bearer moved a little less quickly, and remembered that 
 he was a man of Dick's build not anything like so vigorous 
 and athletic as Joscelyn. 
 
457 
 
 "Let me walk," she said ; " indeed I am able." 
 
 " In the rain and cold with bare feet ?" said Denham. " Do 
 you think I should let you do that ?" 
 
 " But you are tired and out of breath, and it is far to the 
 gate." 
 
 " Three arguments that increase the satisfaction of carry- 
 ing you," said Denham, with a smile. 
 
 Almost unconsciously she passed her hand gently over his 
 dark hair, with much the same sort of caress that she might 
 have bestowed on Cymro when he had comforted her after a 
 scolding. After which, Denham, thrilled through and through 
 by the touch of the little cold fingers, drew her down more 
 closely to him, and, ignoring the presence of Therese, kissed 
 her again and again, while Rosamond began better to under- 
 stand the song from Twelfth Night which had haunted her 
 mind since the previous afternoon. When at length she 
 found herself safely beside the hearth in Barnaby's cottage, 
 with Robin's wife rubbing her cold feet, the conviction 
 that she and Arthur Denham belonged to each other had be- 
 come part of her very being ; she scarcely even changed 
 color when she heard him boldly telling the exact state of 
 the case to Barnaby, and announcing that she was his be- 
 trothed. 
 
 " Tis right glad I am to hear it, sir," said dear old Bar- 
 naby, with tears in his eyes. "And 'tis the flower of the 
 flock you have got, sir, to my way of thinking. She'll devil- 
 up into the flower of the flock." 
 
 He bustled off to see what could be done towards help- 
 ing to save the property, while Rosamond covered her face 
 and sank back upon the old oak settle, shaking with laugh- 
 ter at Barnaby's theories as to her development. 
 
 " But you must still love me, even if I do not, as Barnaby 
 foretells, devil-up into a beauty," she said, her blue eyes 
 looking appealingly, yet with a smile, straight into his. 
 
458 
 
 " My dear heart," he said, " 'tis yourself that I love, and 
 nothing but death shall part us." 
 
 After that assurance Rosamond let Robin's wife lead her 
 away to a quiet little attic, where, with Therese and Cymro 
 to guard her, she slept like a baby for the next five hours. 
 Indeed, the maid had much difficulty in rousing her at dawn, 
 and it was only the repeated sound of the words " Katter- 
 ham " and the " Court-house " that finally succeeded in mak- 
 ing her start up from her pillow. 
 
 " What news of my brother ?" she cried. " Is he worse?" 
 
 " No, no, ma'm'selle ; but Barnaby and Monsieur Denham 
 they both say 'tis the only safe place for you. And come, 
 rise, my child, quick, then ! The horses await us." 
 
 " How can I have slept while the house was burning ?" 
 said Rosamond. " Why, Therese, that is my mother's pe- 
 lisse and hood and her blue tabby dress." 
 
 "Yes, ma'm'selle," said Therese, "the only things that 
 your fiance could lay hands upon, and too great for you, 
 but they will serve to keep you warm." 
 
 " He went back to get them ?" asked Rosamond, anx- 
 iously. 
 
 " Yes, ma'm'selle ; and thanks to the heavy rain, naught 
 but the north wing hath been burned, though the soldiers 
 have made havoc everywhere." 
 
 Hurrying down the steep stairs in her rather cumbersome 
 pelisse, Rosamond found breakfast awaiting her in Barna- 
 by's kitchen, and the old gate-keeper in close conversation 
 with some one in the dress of a groom, who nevertheless 
 wore the long hair which was the distinctive badge of a 
 gentleman. 
 
 " The disguise is not good," said Rosamond. " You 
 must let us arrange your hair in the crown of the hat, sir, 
 else will all men divine that you are no true groom. Why 
 is it needful that you should be disguised ?" 
 
459 
 
 "I am travelling without a pass through the enemy's 
 country, and must no longer wait for my Lord Goring's 
 troop to bear me company." Then, as they were left alone 
 for a few minutes, he lowered his voice a little. " I will 
 tell you the whole truth : I am bearing despatches from my 
 Lord Hopton to the King, and am first to contrive, if possi- 
 ble, to see certain Royalists in London." 
 
 "But to take me to Katterham will make your journey 
 yet longer and more hazardous," said Rosamond, her eyes 
 dilating; for since Joscelyn's adventure with the despatches 
 she had learned to dread, above all things, the thought of 
 letter-carrying for those she loved. 
 
 " Perchance a trifle longer," said Denham j " there is no 
 help for that. I shall not rest till I have seen you in your 
 brother's care. The Court-house will be by far the best 
 shelter for you, and if Sir Thomas is angry with me for 
 taking the law into my own hands, why he can come up 
 from Bristol and himself place you elsewhere." 
 
 " Sir," she said, " I shall not stir one step from Barna- 
 by's cottage till you promise me one thing." 
 
 The air of resolution and the womanly attire added a 
 strange new dignity to the little girlish face that looked up 
 at him. 
 
 " What is your will, dear heart," he said, kissing her. 
 
 " I want to carry the despatches," said Rosamond, hold- 
 ing out her hand expectantly. 
 
 Wholly unprepared for such a request, Arthur expostu- 
 lated, argued, pointed out the risk of the plan ; but all to 
 no purpose. Rosamond quietly untied her hood, and, sit- 
 ting down to the table, began to stir her hot ale with a 
 sprig of rosemary. 
 
 " I shall stay with Barnaby, then," she remarked, care- 
 lessly, " and you, sir, can go on to Farnham with my Lord 
 Goring." 
 
460 
 
 Denham was silent puzzled and provoked by her unex- 
 pected resolution. " You forget," he urged, after a minute, 
 " that I must be guided by my honor and conscience." 
 
 " No," sa4d Rosamond, with a curious flash of light in 
 her eyes, " 'tis you, sir, that forget what is consistent with 
 my sense of honor ; you risk everything for me, and refuse 
 me my just share when I, too, want to help." 
 
 Arthur hesitated a little, loath to yield, yet touched by her 
 words. She saw her advantage, and, springing up, clasped 
 her hands over his arm imploringly. 
 
 " You know well," she said, " that the Parliamentary sol- 
 diers would never dream of molesting a girl. Dick has told 
 me that many times women have been the best and safest 
 messengers. See, I will hide them here within my pelisse 
 they shall be your love-pledge to me." 
 
 He was conquered at last, and a few minutes later the 
 two were riding off to Katterham, Therese on a pillion be- 
 hind the genuine groom, and Rosamond holding fast to her 
 disguised lover. In the dim light of the winter's morning 
 Barnaby opened the gates for them and bade them god- 
 speed; then, with a sigh, turned back towards the half-ruined 
 manor, hoping that Lord Goring would find his quarters 
 too uncomfortable for a further stay, and congratulating 
 himself that the little playfellow who had followed him 
 about so faithfully ever since she could run alone was out 
 of harm's way. 
 
 " I shall miss her full sore," he said to himself, "and she 
 will be married and changed ere I see her again. But 'tis 
 the road we all have to travel, and with a good mate 'tis not 
 ill faring." 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 Many times ... I must come with my ill-ravelled work to Christ, 
 to encumber him (as it were) to right it, and to seek again the true 
 end of the thread. But God be thanked for many ill-ravelled hesps 
 which Christ hath mended since first he entered tutor to lost man- 
 kind. SAMUEL RUTHERFORD. 
 
 ROSAMOND'S loving plan succeeded well, and carried 
 them safely through a really perilous hour when they were 
 forced to rest the horses at Guildford. The men had to 
 submit to searching and cross-examination, but no one 
 troubled the French maid and her weary-looking little mis- 
 tress. At last, quite late in the evening, they rode slowly 
 up the long hill near Willey Farm, dimly discerning the old 
 yew-trees which served as a rough indication of the bridle- 
 path leading to the brow of the hill to which they had been 
 directed. Rosamond was so weary that she could scarcely 
 keep her seat on the pillion ; her head had sunk down 
 onto Denham's shoulder, and her voice had grown sad and 
 plaintive. 
 
 " I begin to fear meeting my brother's wife," she said*. 
 " What if, after all, she be not willing to have me ?" 
 
 " Nay, no fear of that," said Denham ; " I learned to know 
 her well while I was a prisoner at Gloucester, and she is 
 one of a hundred. She will be the best possible protector 
 for you." 
 
 "Ah, what is that?" cried Rosamond, clutching more 
 closely hold of him as a lantern suddenly flashed upon 
 them, and a stalwart figure strode forward at an angle of 
 the road where the old Roman Stane Street was crossed by 
 a path known as the Pilgrim's Way. 
 
462 
 
 " Who art thou for ?" said a deep voice ; and Rosamond, 
 straining her eyes to see the speaker's face, could dimly dis- 
 cern the solemn, stern features of a yeoman who was evi- 
 dently of the Puritan persuasion. 
 
 " Who art thou for ?" repeated their challenger. 
 
 " Sir," said Rosamond, " I am travelling with my serv- 
 ants to the Court-house. My father's house hath been 
 burned by my Lord Goring's troopers, and I seek shelter 
 with my brother, Captain Heyworth." 
 
 " May the Lord protect you, mistress," said the old 
 yeoman. " I knew not whether ye were friends or foes. 
 If 'tis the Court - house you seek, I had best guide you 
 across yonder bit of common, or maybe you'll miss the 
 road on the other side." 
 
 He plodded along beside them, his lantern shedding a 
 fitful light on the track, while Rosamond roused herself to 
 talk incessantly, fearful lest Arthur should betray himself 
 to be anything but the groom he represented. 
 
 Farmer Smith insisted on seeing them to the very door 
 of the Court-house, and poor Rosamond felt a little guilty 
 when, with the despatches for the King securely hidden in 
 her bosom, the Puritan lifted her from her pillion, and, in- 
 voking a solemn blessing on her, bade them good-night. 
 As they waited in the darkness for the great front door to 
 be opened to them she handed the perilous packet to her 
 lover, heartily wishing that there were neither kings nor 
 parliaments to disturb their peace, yet with a sense of relief 
 that for the present, at any rate, Arthur was in perfect safety. 
 At length the grille was opened, and a servant inquired 
 what they wanted. Rosamond, quite worn out with her 
 journey, left all explanations to her lover ; her courage and 
 spirit had deserted her, and when the door was flung back 
 and a stream of light from within revealed a tall lady 
 dressed in mourning robes, her knees trembled beneath her 
 
463 
 
 as she courtesied, and it needed the whole of her self-control 
 to keep from bursting into tears. 
 
 " How can we ever thank you enough, Mr. Denham ?" 
 said a low, sweet voice. "Welcome to the Court-house, 
 dear Rosamond. Why, you poor little maid, you are well- 
 nigh frozen." 
 
 As for Cymro, he did not wait to be asked, but bounded 
 straight through the house into the library. 
 
 " He has gone to Joscelyn," said Rosamond, apologeti- 
 cally. " I hope, madam, you do not mind dogs ?" 
 
 " In truth I am not over-fond of them," said Clemency, 
 smiling , " but I shall like your dog, little sister, never fear. 
 Now come in to the fire, and see if you do not think Josce- 
 lyn on the road to recovery." 
 
 Throwing her arm about the child, she guided her across 
 the hall and into the snug room beyond, where, in Joscelyn's 
 delightful greeting, Rosamond forgot all her cares, and 
 could have smiled to think that she had stood in awe of 
 Clemency even for a moment. The young husband and 
 wife took her right into the centre of their home, and Ros- 
 amond had never in her whole life been so happy as she was 
 that night ; she would not trouble herself over the uncer- 
 tain future or over the ruined manor, but just basked in 
 the present sunshine, which, in contrast to her somewhat 
 dreary life, was dazzling in its brightness. 
 
 "If one did not ache all over, 'twould be just like heav- 
 en !" she reflected, in dreamy content. 
 
 It was, alas ! a heaven that soon came to an end ; for the 
 very next day Joscelyn received a letter from Jervis, who, it 
 seemed, had been made prisoner while on a foraging expe- 
 dition, and having been carried up to London, wrote an 
 urgent request that his brother would endeavor to procure 
 a release for him, or get together the money for his ransom. 
 The letter was written from Newgate, but Jervis was to be 
 
464 
 
 removed immediately to one of the ships in the Thames, 
 used on account of the overcrowded state of the London 
 prisons. 
 
 " And they are the worst of all," said Denham, who, lit- 
 tle as he liked Jervis Heyworth, could not but feel some 
 pity for him. 
 
 " Then," said Joscelyn, " I will ask you to bear me com- 
 pany at sunrise to-morrow. I shall be some sort of protec- 
 tion to you if you travel in the dress you wore from Shor- 
 tell, and you and Morrison and a coach-and-six will contrive 
 to get me to London in a fashion that will satisfy even 
 Clemency." 
 
 " You will let me come with you ?" she pleaded. 
 
 " Nay, dear heart," he said, " I would far leifer that you 
 stayed with Rosamond and Tom and the children ; 'tis scarce 
 right to leave them alone. I will not be away more than a 
 couple of nights, and, to please you and our friend, the 
 surgeon from Croydon will visit Dr. Mayerne, and find out 
 from him what can be done with this old wound of mine, 
 which doth not even yet forgive the Cornishman's pike." 
 
 So in the faint sunshine of the cold January morning 
 Rosamond parted from her lover, and Joscelyn, not without 
 a sense of keen delight at being once more astir, stepped 
 briskly into the coach, bearing about him the money for his 
 brother's ransom, and looking forward with his usual san- 
 guine cheerfulness to the result of his interview with the 
 famous doctor. 
 
 " Who knows," he said, gayly, " if I may not, after all, 
 serve the country once more as something better than a 
 justice of the peace in this quiet place ? There is a talk 
 of recruiting the members of the House of Commons and 
 filling up the gaps left by the absentees. Perchance I 
 might serve that fashion, though unfitted for fighting." 
 
 By the time they reached London they found it was too 
 
HE RODE DOWN CASTLE STREET. 
 
 [Page 412. 
 
465 
 
 late to set about delivering Jervis that night. Joscelyn, 
 however, called upon Sir Robert Pye, and procured the 
 necessary orders and permission to have him removed from 
 his floating jail at noon the next day. Morrison, mean- 
 time, had been with a letter to Sir Theodore Mayerne, one 
 of the leading physicians of the day, who had ranged him- 
 self on the side of the Parliament. He brought back word 
 that the doctor would see his master at seven o'clock the 
 next morning, and after a night's rest at the Blue Boar, in 
 Holborn, Joscelyn, with his faithful servant in attendance, 
 made his way to the great man's house. He was ushered 
 into a finely-proportioned study, the walls of which were cov- 
 ered with pictures, and with books that had evidently seen 
 good service. Behind a large table, on which were stacked 
 in neat slides a number of works of reference, there sat a 
 very stout, benevolent-looking man, whose keen eyes seemed 
 to read at a glance the character and the physique of his vis- 
 itor. Somehow Joscelyn grew less hopeful as his examina- 
 tion proceeded ; his eyes rested on the model of a man in 
 wax which stood on the table, and he fell to thinking of all 
 the woes that flesh is heir to while Dr. Mayerne was plying 
 him with questions as to the nature of his wound at the bat- 
 tle of Lansdown, the length of time he had lain untended 
 on the hill-side, details of his journey to Gloucester, details of 
 the pain which had first become troublesome as they lay in the 
 fields on the frosty winter nights during the march to Arundel. 
 When at last all was ended, and the great man was scrib- 
 bling various items in a book, Joscelyn waited in painful 
 suspense for the verdict ; the picture of Hippocrates, the 
 physician, which hung over the chimney-piece, seemed to 
 stare down at him with mournfully prophetic eyes ; the min- 
 utes dragged by as slowly as though he had been confront- 
 ing a whole army in that dread pause of waiting for hostil- 
 ities to begin which tries the courage of all. 
 30 
 
466 
 
 At length Sir Theodore looked up with an air of cheerful 
 resolution, of determination to put his verdict in as pleas- 
 ant a fashion as might be, yet nevertheless to tell the whole 
 truth. 
 
 " You have served your country very gallantly, Captain 
 Heyworth," he said, " and now you must stand aside, and 
 leave the work to other men." 
 
 " I know, sir, that I can never be fit for active service, 
 but" 
 
 " Aye, I know what you would say," said the doctor ; 
 " you would serve in the senate if not in the field. But, 
 sir, I must tell you plainly that 'tis impossible. You may, 
 please God, live to a good old age, but the injury you got 
 at Lansdown, and the cold and exposure of your campaigns 
 since then, have set up internal mischief that can never be 
 repaired. You may, I hope, live to be as old as Barzillai, 
 but 'twill be more or less as an invalid." He paused, and 
 began to write down certain directions and remedies which 
 might alleviate pain, though powerless to cure. 
 
 " A quiet country life hath its own pleasures," he added, 
 presently. " Remember Cincinnatus. With care I am well 
 assured that your life may long be spared. Your youth is 
 in your favor twenty-three years of age last Michaelmas, 
 you say ? That is a great advantage. Youth, sir, in a fight 
 with disease, is the greatest possible advantage." 
 
 Joscelyn did not reply; there rang in his ears the familiar 
 text, " Now Barzillai was a very aged man, even fourscore 
 years." The picture of Hippocrates seemed to fade away, 
 and in its place he saw, in staring white figures on a black 
 ground, 8o 
 
 23 
 Remainder, 57 
 
 A strange feeling of numbness crept over him as he bade 
 
467 
 
 Sir Theodore Mayerne farewell ; he found himself reflect- 
 ing dreamily on the difficulty of presenting a fee with any 
 sort of grace when a man had but a left hand to do it with. 
 Then the front door was opened, and the frosty morning 
 air revived him a little and sent a sharp thrill of realization 
 through his consciousness. The clock in a neighboring 
 church struck eight. It was early morning still ! Hours 
 and hours had to be lived through before he could give the 
 rein to his misery in darkness and solitude hours during 
 which he must always be haunted by that dread vista of 
 fifty-seven healthless years. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 My good right hand forgets 
 Its cunning now; 
 To march the weary march 
 I know not how. 
 
 I am not eager, bold, 
 Nor strong all that is past; 
 I am ready not to do, 
 At last, at last. 
 
 My half-day's work is done, 
 And this is all my part : 
 I give my patient God 
 A patient heart. 
 
 JOSCELYN had not walked many paces from Dr. Mayerne's 
 house when he recollected that at least there was one piece 
 of work for him to do. 
 
 " I will take a boat at the Temple stairs," he said to his 
 servant, " and will see if my brother's release can be ef- 
 fected." 
 
 "The air will be cold, sir, on the river," urged Morrison. 
 " Were it not better to send the order of release by a trusty 
 messenger ?" 
 
 But Joscelyn was determined to see Jervis himself, and 
 into his ever-sanguine heart there crept a hope that now at 
 last their differences might be made up. Hailing one of the 
 watermen, he stepped into a boat and gave orders to be 
 rowed with all speed to the Neptune. The wintry wind blew 
 coldly, but the sun was shining and the rime -laden trees in 
 the gardens leading down to the river sparkled in its beams; 
 
the spire of old St. Paul's stood out against the pale blue 
 sky, and the gloomy Tower rising from the river-side took 
 Joscelyn's thoughts away to the memory of Sir John Eliot's 
 sufferings. He remembered how Colonel Hampden had 
 told him of the King's persistent injustice and cruelty 
 towards his friend ; and how, when at length his health suc- 
 cumbed to the hardships of his prison life, the tyrant's en- 
 mity had been carried on even after death, and with incred- 
 ible meanness his son's request to take the body of his 
 father to Port Eliot for burial had been refused. Some- 
 where within that gloomy pile the ashes of the great patriot 
 yet remained ; and Joscelyn was still musing on the part he 
 had played in the great struggle for freedom, when he be- 
 came aware of an unusual concourse of people flocking 
 along in the direction of the Tower. It suddenly flashed 
 into his mind that this was the very day appointed for the 
 execution of Laud on Tower Hill. 
 
 " See, sir," exclaimed Morrison, " the folk go to see the 
 archbishop beheaded." 
 
 " Shall I not row ye there in time for the show, sir ?" 
 suggested the waterman. 
 
 Joscelyn shook his head with a gesture of distaste. 
 
 " I wish you would go, sir," pleaded Morrison. " Fain 
 would I see the end of him that has cropped and branded 
 and pilloried and ruined many hundreds of the Lord's peo- 
 ple. Why, sir, you yourself owe him a grudge ; for had not 
 the Church truckled to the King and aided and abetted his 
 tyranny, there would never have been a call on you to fight 
 for liberty, and you would not have been left a shattered 
 wreck now." 
 
 " The axe is too good for un," growled the boatman. 
 " They are more merciful to him than e'er he was to others. 
 Have ye forgot, sir, how he pulled off his cap and thanked 
 God for the sentence on Dr. Leighton, that he himself had 
 
470 
 
 procured, to a torture worse than death ? Have ye forgot 
 how at Lambeth to get evidence from " 
 
 "Be silent," said Joscelyn. "He is dying, and hath 
 doubtless repented. I would that they had left him to die 
 in his bed, for he is old, and methinks past harming the na- 
 tion any more. There be others more guilty who go un- 
 touched." 
 
 His tone silenced the men, and for some time nothing was 
 heard save the monotonous plash of the oars and the dull 
 roar of voices in the distance. A profound depression fell 
 upon Joscelyn ; he could not think the death of the arch- 
 bishop a necessity, and more and more it seemed to him 
 that the Presbyterians were following in Laud's own mis- 
 taken steps, and forcing upon a reluctant people a uni- 
 formity which meant bondage. When would the day of 
 toleration, for which Hampden had hoped and Brooke had 
 argued, dawn on the troubled land ? When would men 
 learn that the highest unity is incompatible with forced 
 uniformity ? 
 
 His spirits were not raised by the visit to the Neptune, 
 where a glimpse into the stifling hold in which the unfort- 
 unate prisoners lay was enough in his weakened state to 
 make him stagger and clutch hold of Morrison for support. 
 The jailer, having received the order of release, went to 
 summon Jervis, and in a few minutes the two brothers con- 
 fronted each other, the elder with disordered dress and 
 traces of the sufferings he had gone through during his 
 brief imprisonment, the younger white to the lips, looking 
 as though he had already lived through years of pain. For 
 a minute Jervis was too much taken aback at the havoc 
 wrought in him to do anything but stare. 
 
 " Confound it all !" he cried, with a blank look at the 
 empty sleeve of his brother's doublet, " what have you done 
 with your arm ?" 
 
"Left it at Newbury," replied Joscelyn, the ghost of a 
 smile flitting over his face. 
 
 " For once, then, rebellion has not paid," said Jervis, 
 with a chuckle of satisfaction. " The jade Fortune hath 
 meted out justice at last. Here, my friends," he said, beck- 
 oning to three miserable-looking captives who were taking 
 their allotted time of exercise on deck, " let me present you 
 with a fine example of the reward of virtue and the punish- 
 ment of vice. Behold the loyal subject !" he laughingly 
 threw back his head and tossed up his strong arms ; " be- 
 hold the traitor !" he pointed tauntingly to the figure lean- 
 ing against the taffrail. 
 
 The prisoners, imbittered by suffering, burst into a roar 
 of scornful laughter. 
 
 The hot blood surged up in Joscelyn's face, his eyes 
 flashed ; but in the midst of his anger he remembered the 
 stifling hold in which these unfortunate Royalists had 
 lain. 
 
 " Sirs," he said, with admirable temper, " I am glad to 
 furnish mirth for you in this dismal prison, from which I 
 heartily wish I had orders to release you as well as my 
 brother." 
 
 "What, 'tis your brother; eh, Jervis?" said one of those 
 who had laughed loudest. " And he hath come to release 
 you ? Then 'twas a scurvy trick you played us, and what- 
 ever his politics, I say your brother is a gentleman, and I 
 ask his pardon for our discourtesy." 
 
 " Well, well," said Jervis, with an impatient shrug of the 
 shoulders, " out of his disloyalty I suck no small advantage. 
 So farewell, gentlemen, and may Heaven favor you all with 
 a rebel kinsman to deliver you." 
 
 He disappeared over the side of the Neptune, and took 
 his place in the stern of the little boat ; but the sight of 
 Joscelyn's slow descent, and the pain it evidently involved, 
 
472 
 
 touched him ; he could well understand what it must cost a 
 man of his brother's temperament to be helped down into 
 the stern by a servant and a waterman, and no more taunts 
 escaped him. He volunteered an account of his father and 
 of Dick, of the winter they had passed at Bristol, and how 
 he hoped shortly to obtain an exchange into Prince Ru- 
 pert's troop, Will Denham taking his place in Hopton's 
 army. 
 
 This led the talk round to Arthur Denham and to the 
 doings at Shortell, and by the time the two brothers had 
 landed and made their way to Henry Barrington's cham- 
 bers in the Temple the scene on board the Neptune was for- 
 gotten, and they parted in kindness. Jervis was Jervis still. 
 But he was not ungrateful for his release, nor could he avoid 
 feeling a certain sort of respect for the man whom he had 
 termed a traitor. 
 
 " Brendon was right just now," he reflected, as he made 
 his way up Drury Lane to the house of a Royalist friend. 
 " Joscelyn will always remain a gentleman and a Heyworth. 
 'Tis my belief that had he not met with that arch-rebel 
 Hampden he would have stood by the King as loyally as he 
 stands by his own family." 
 
 Joscelyn returned to Katterham the next day, and for 
 some weeks managed to endure life with a tolerable degree 
 of ease. But after a time, when Rosamond had become 
 thoroughly established at the Court-house, and had to spend 
 most of the day over her studies, when Clemency could no 
 longer devote herself exclusively to him, but was forced to 
 spend much time in the guidance of her great household 
 and in the care of her child, his spirits began to flag. It 
 was in vain that she procured books for him he seemed 
 lacking in all inclination to open them ; the weather was 
 severe, and kept him almost entirely confined to the house, 
 and the dull weight of his crippled existence seemed to 
 
473 
 
 paralyze him completely ; sometimes he would struggle 
 against it, pace to and fro in the library in a dreary duty 
 walk, or take up the copy of Milton's Areopagitica which 
 had been sent to him from London, and try to grapple with 
 sentences that stirred no answering thrill in his heavy 
 heart. 
 
 Clemency, young and inexperienced, failed to understand 
 his state. She could not enter into the misery he was under- 
 going at the thought that he could no longer work for the 
 country, because she was absorbed in the rapturous relief of 
 finding that his illness was not mortal, and that there was 
 every chance of his living to old age. Surely he had now 
 done enough for England ? Surely he might enjoy, as she 
 enjoyed, the quiet, uninterrupted bliss of home life ? 
 
 It happened at this time that she was also anxious about 
 little Tom, who was sadly frail and delicate. She kept her 
 fears from Joscelyn, unwilling to add to his trouble, and 
 having once noticed that the child's fretting irritated him, 
 she made Charlotte keep the little fellow at every available 
 minute, and not at all realizing that her frequent absences 
 seemed long to Joscelyn, or that when she was with him 
 her heart was all the time with her sick child. 
 
 Her change was, however, very apparent to him, and he 
 brooded over it as only an invalid can brood, until the thing 
 had grown out of all proportion, and he had almost per- 
 suaded himself that Clemency no longer cared for him, and 
 wished him away. A gloom settled over the whole house- 
 hold ; it seemed as if his own depression affected every one 
 else ; the very children scarcely spoke when they were in the 
 same room with him, while Rosamond was again driven to 
 confiding her sorrows to Cymro, and went about with as 
 wistful a face as ever she had borne during her scolded life 
 at Shortell. No one scolded her now, but she had a miser- 
 able perplexed feeling that something beyond her under- 
 
474 
 
 standing was passing in the household, and she had often 
 felt nearer to Joscelyn during his absence with Waller's army 
 than she did now, though actually under the same roof. 
 
 By the time little Tom had practically recovered, Clem- 
 ency awoke to the perception that her husband was beyond 
 her help; they had drifted apart, and do what she would she 
 could not regain the sense of perfect companionship which 
 had made the first days of his illness bright. It was some- 
 times with a sense of unspeakable terror that she realized 
 how little they really knew of each other. After all, what 
 were the brief weeks of acquaintance before their betrothal 
 but a surface knowledge ? What was the interrupted inter- 
 course during the war but a brief joy snatched out of the 
 universal trouble and confusion ? Clearly, now that he was 
 entirely cut off from the outer world, he had learned the 
 fatal error he had made had realized that the wife to 
 whom he was tied could in no way suffice him. So argued 
 poor Clemency, and unconsciously her manner grew more 
 grave and repressed. Always inclined by nature to see the 
 sad aspect of life, and to depend on others for fostering her 
 cheerfulness, she became each day less able to cope with 
 the atmosphere of depression which pervaded the house. 
 Moreover, she had never really recovered from the shock 
 that Original Sin's treachery had given her, and though 
 no one ever spoke of that past episode, and though it 
 seemed to her more like a bad dream than a bit of actual 
 life, it had left her nerves shattered and her powers of calm 
 judgment impaired. To breath a word of her trouble to 
 Mrs. Ursula would have been treason to her husband, and 
 she went about always with the sad consciousness that her 
 grandfather, the one being who might have put matters 
 straight, had passed away to the other world, leaving her 
 to struggle on as best she might the incapable head of a 
 dreary house. 
 
475 
 
 At last one bleak spring day matters reached a crisis. 
 For the last twenty-four hours Joscelyn had scarcely spoken 
 a word to any one, and the dark, clouded look of his brow 
 and eyes told that the demon of depression had him 
 prisoner, body and soul. Something she must do to com- 
 bat this wretched malady. 
 
 " Here is a newspaper just brought by Mr. George Eve- 
 lyn's man," she said, entering the study timidly. "Maybe 
 we shall hear more of the late mutiny at Farnham." 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 " Oh, Joscelyn, there is good news !" she cried, glancing 
 down the printed sheet, and beginning to read it aloud as 
 she had so often done in her grandfather's time. " Sir 
 William Waller came undiscovered to the Devizes till he 
 faced the town, who sent out a party of horses and dra- 
 goons to skirmish with him, whom Waller's men beat back 
 and pursued into the town, taking of them one hundred and 
 ninety horse, sixty foot, and four hundred arms." 
 
 A gleam of eager interest flashed over Joscelyn's face, 
 only to be succeeded by a more profound depression. His 
 whole being rebelled against the useless life to which he 
 was condemned ; every pulse within him throbbed with 
 strong desire to be back once more with his troop, leading 
 them again to victory. 
 
 Clemency at last divined what was passing in his mind, 
 and in her great longing to comfort him she forgot the dif- 
 fidence that of late had made her manner restrained to the 
 verge of coldness. 
 
 " Dear heart," she said, bending over him with a caress 
 that a week ago he would have welcomed, " 'twas foolish of 
 me to read that to you, and yet methought the news of 
 the victory would have given you pleasure." 
 
 All the wild rebellion against his lot seemed to express 
 itself in the impatient vehemence with which he freed him- 
 
476 
 
 self from her embrace. With a gesture which, from Josce- 
 lyn, was equivalent to a blow from another man, he sprang 
 to his feet. 
 
 " All I ask," he cried, " is that you will leave me alone !" 
 
 The sound of his own voice in its wrathful intensity hor- 
 rified him, and brought him back to his senses. If Clem- 
 ency had shed a single tear he would have been at her feet 
 in an instant. But the rebuff seemed to have turned her 
 into stone ; for a minute she stood motionless ; then, with- 
 out one word, she took his request literally and quitted the 
 room. 
 
 Joscelyn paced the room in great trouble of mind. Not 
 only was his life forever crippled, but it seemed that his 
 character was also fast degenerating. Where was the buoy- 
 ant strength that had carried him through the hardships 
 and perils and temptations of his soldier life ? Where 
 was the hope that had been his staff ? Where the cheer- 
 fulness that Waller had been wont to praise ? Had all 
 been swept away with his health ? Was he merely the toy 
 of circumstances, to be robbed of his courage and manhood 
 by a musket- ball or the thrust of a pike? by the bitter 
 frost or the damp of a campaign ? 
 
 His eye fell on the motto carved on the chimney-piece : 
 
 " Lett come what will come, 
 God's will is well come." 
 
 Often during those dark days he had fiercely rebelled 
 against the assertion ; but now in the misery of his regret 
 at having grievously pained Clemency, in the depths of his 
 despair at the discovery of his own irritable impatience, he 
 perceived that his failure had come from a mistaken notion 
 that for an active life only need the will be consecrated to 
 God. The days of his service were, after all, not ended ; 
 there was work before him perchance the hardest work he 
 
477 
 
 had ever been set to. For how could a man bring to mere 
 endurance which seemed barren of all results the glad- 
 hearted courage that had made active service a keen de- 
 light ? What profit would his years of suffering bring to the 
 country ? How could pain and loss and inactivity be the 
 welcome will of God? Before that great problem which 
 has perplexed all men he stood for a while baffled. Pres- 
 ently, however, there flashed back into his memory -a vision 
 of the wooded valleys of Buckinghamshire, and away in the 
 distance sharply outlined on the green hill-side the White- 
 leaf Cross and the rainbow above it, as he had seen it on 
 the day of Hampden's funeral. 
 
 If " the Captain of our Salvation " in doing the will of 
 God had been brought through a life of suffering to a death 
 of shame and apparent failure, were the rank and file to 
 have no part in the same ? On the other hand, if they 
 shared in the. pain, surely they also shared in the glory. 
 And what was glory but the power to bring help ? 
 
 He suddenly grasped a truth which he had never before 
 even approached; he saw that to be "in Christ" meant not 
 only to be redeemed, but also, in some sort, to be a re- 
 deemer. It was no mere metaphor of the head and the 
 members, but a living fact ; and he crippled, shattered, 
 doomed to physical inactivity had yet the power to serve 
 the country in ways unknown by the resolute consecration 
 of his will. 
 
 The meaning of all the suffering he had seen, whether in 
 its ghastliest forms on the battle-field or in the room at 
 Thame, or at the death of such a victim as John Drake, of 
 Lincoln, seemed now clear to him. It was the purchase- 
 money of reform, of progress, of redemption from the sla- 
 very of sin to the freedom of love. When apparently profit- 
 less, it was, if not self-sought, the most honorable because 
 the most difficult service of all. 
 
Clemency meanwhile, shut into her little dressing-room, 
 had utterly broken down; all her calm dignity had vanished, 
 and she cried like a heart-broken child, partly from the sheer 
 pain of the rebuff, partly from the growing sense of her own 
 mistakes and shortcomings. Her over -anxiety about her 
 babe had blinded her to Joscelyn's needs, and in her self- 
 reproach she was ready to think that any other woman 
 would have had the sense to avoid so great a blunder, and 
 that had he but chosen some other wife all might have been 
 well with him. 
 
 While she was still weeping very bitterly she heard a 
 knock and the soft opening of her door, and fancying that 
 it must be Monnie coming in her usual fashion to bear her 
 company, made a hurried excuse, and, without raising her 
 head, bade the child go. 
 
 " My dearest heart," said Joscelyn, stooping to kiss her 
 hand, "forgive me." 
 
 She looked up in astonishment. Not a word would come 
 to her lips, but she wreathed her arms about his neck, her 
 sobs gradually ceasing as she clung to him. 
 
 " What a brute I must be to have mistaken you !" said 
 Joscelyn. " Is it my wretched ill-temper that still makes 
 you weep ?" 
 
 " Not that now," said Clemency ; " 'tis over and gone. 
 But I cannot forgive myself. I fretted and fussed because 
 Tom was ailing, and I left you lonely. And then when I 
 wanted to help you 'twas of no use, and I began to think 
 just now it must all have been a mistake, and that you might 
 have been happier if if 
 
 " If what ?" asked Joscelyn. 
 
 "If you had married some one else," said Clemency, 
 sadly. 
 
 " But how could that be, when you are the only one in all 
 this world that I love ?" 
 
479 
 
 "She might have had more sense than I have shown 
 these last few weeks," said Clemency, despondently. " I 
 mean that fair Mistress Anne Barrington, of whom you told 
 me long ago." 
 
 He burst out laughing ; and the sound of that clear, ring- 
 ing laugh, which she had not heard since they were together 
 at Farnham in the old garden of the Bush Inn, dispelled 
 the last remnant of Clemency's sorrow. 
 
 " My beloved," said Joscelyn, holding her more closely 
 as a vision rose before him of a girlish figure standing in 
 an oriel-window, keenly conscious of the beauty of her own 
 face and dress and dainty pink shoes, while she protested 
 that his sad talk spoiled her pleasure, "pretty Mrs. Anne 
 married a wealthy parson, who it is to be hoped will help 
 her to climb * the steep and thorny way.' Certain am I of 
 this : that she could only have enticed me along ' the prim- 
 rose path of dalliance.' So let us take heart, dearest, and 
 begin anew and climb hand in hand." 
 
 " Hark !" said Clemency, starting back ; " what can that 
 strange shouting and hooting mean ?" 
 
 Joscelyn threw open the casement, and a babel of voices 
 reached them ; but the church and the surrounding trees 
 barred all further view. 
 
 Just then Hester's voice was heard beneath the window. 
 "Had my grandfather been alive, 'twould not have chanced," 
 she said, indignantly. 
 
 " But Joscelyn is now a magistrate," said Rosamond ; 
 " he could hinder them." 
 
 " What is amiss ?" asked Joscelyn, to the great astonish- 
 ment of the two girls, thrusting out his head from the upper 
 window. 
 
 " Oh, Joscelyn, 'tis a wizard they brought to the pond to 
 duck, and 'twas frozen hard, and now they vow they'll hang 
 him." 
 
480 
 
 " We'll put a stop to that," said Joscelyn, his eyes dilat- 
 ing as they were wont to do in excitement. " Come, Clem- 
 ency, the people know you better than they know me ; let 
 us go together." 
 
 Clemency knew better than to protest that the afternoon 
 was too cold for him ; she only threw his cloak about him, 
 and hurried forth into the bitter air without, following the 
 two girls through the grounds to the gate-house, and across 
 the road to a bit of open country where, to her infinite hor- 
 ror, she caught sight of the War Coppice Wizard a familiar 
 and greatly detested character, who for some six months 
 had haunted the neighborhood already hanging from the 
 bough of an aged oak-tree. Around him, shouting and 
 jeering, stood some thirty or forty villagers in a state of 
 frenzied animosity. Joscelyn strode into the midst of 
 them. 
 
 "Cut the man down!" he shouted, as though he had been 
 commanding a troop. 
 
 The villagers, startled and a little awed, became perfectly 
 silent; but no one volunteered to save the wizard, whose 
 agonized struggles and convulsions were piteous to behold. 
 No time was to be lost, and Joscelyn, seizing the quivering 
 legs of the victim in his arm, raised the poor wretch as high 
 as he could reach, relieving the strain of the rope round his 
 throat. 
 
 "Out with your billhook, Diggory Brown !" he cried, catch- 
 ing sight of the village constable. 
 
 The man reluctantly obeyed, awkwardly drawing forth 
 his hook, while he kept his first and fourth fingers studious- 
 ly pointed towards the wizard like a two-pronged fork, to 
 avert the evil-eye. 
 
 " Sir," he protested, I dursent touch un, he'll do me a 
 mischief ; he's overlooked more than one of the villagers, 
 and Jake Johnson's cow is bewitched, and Gregory " 
 
48 1 
 
 "I will look into all that by -and -by," said Joscelyn. 
 "Haste and cut the rope, or the man will be dead." 
 
 " Sir, if he be innocent, why the rope will break," protest- 
 ed the constable. " We do but put un to the ordeal. There's 
 them above as '11 keep a innocent man from hanging." 
 
 " Try the ordeal on yourself, my friend, before you put a 
 rope round another man's neck. Would to God I had my 
 right arm ! Is there not one man among you who will help 
 me ?" 
 
 The appeal touched them; not one, but half a dozen 
 pressed forward to the rescue, and the unfortunate wizard 
 was delivered out of the very jaws of death. For some min- 
 utes he lay half conscious on the grass, while Joscelyn dis- 
 persed the crowd ; and when the constable seized him by the 
 arm and led him off to the Court-house, he made no resist- 
 ance, walking along in a dazed way, and allowing himself to 
 be put in one of the cellars where prisoners were usually 
 placed while waiting the magistrate's decision. Not till Dig- 
 gory Brown had left the premises did Joscelyn address a 
 single word to the wizard, and it was with no small trepida- 
 tion that the women of the household saw him go down the 
 cellar stairs to find out the truth about his prisoner. He 
 came back in a quarter of an hour, and beckoned Clemency 
 into the study to tell her what had passed. 
 
 " The fellow," he said, " is no wizard, even if such beings 
 exist, which I greatly doubt. But, as ill-luck will have it, 
 he is what is even more obnoxious in the eyes of all English- 
 men he is an Irishman." 
 
 Clemency shrank back in horror. 
 
 "What!" she cried; "one of those bloodthirsty savages, 
 and you down there alone with him !" 
 
 " The poor fellow seems harmless enough," said Joscelyn, 
 " and as far as I can make out his story it is this : He was 
 seized by some of the King's party in Ireland, and forced on 
 31 
 
482 
 
 board a troop-ship. Most of the soldiers were English, but 
 there were others of his countrymen who had been pressed 
 in the same way. The ship was wrecked on the Welsh 
 coast and fell into the hands of Swanley, a Parliamentary 
 captain, who had pity on the English Royalists, but showed 
 no mercy to the Irish the poor fellows were tied back to back 
 and pitched into the sea. This Terence, as he calls him- 
 self, had better luck than the rest ; the match ran short, he 
 was insecurely tied, and parted from his fellow-victim as they 
 were thrown. Managing to keep himself afloat, he was 
 washed ashore at dusk, and ever since has tramped the 
 country, living as best he can." 
 
 " But the folk do say he is a wizard," said Clemency. 
 
 " Merely because for six months he has lived in a sort of 
 cave scooped out of the chalk below War Coppice, and be- 
 cause he avoids talking to the villagers, and potters about 
 gathering strange herbs. Then his English is imperfect, 
 and he crosses himself in the oddest and quickest fashion 
 you ever saw, so that the folk are like enough to think he 
 is muttering charms and making signs to the Evil One. He 
 seems very grateful for his release, and when you see him 
 and speak with him you will quickly find that he is no sav- 
 age." 
 
 " But they say the Irish are worse than the most wicked 
 of the Cavaliers," said Clemency ; " that they slay and eat 
 people." 
 
 Joscelyn laughed. 
 
 " 'They Say ' is ofttimes a great liar. For my part, I think 
 whenever I hear of the wicked, bloodthirsty Irish, of my 
 pretty old Irish grandmother, and the tales she told me of 
 Brian Boru. And for her sake I ask you to take pity on 
 this poor, ill-used vagabond." 
 
 " I will do it for your sake," said Clemency. " How can 
 we help him ?" 
 
483 
 
 " Only by sheltering him here," said Joscelyn ; " for had 
 the villagers known him for an Irishman, they would have 
 been legally within their rights in hanging him. Last Oc- 
 tober an ordinance was passed that every Irishman taken, 
 either at sea or on land, should be put to death. I intend 
 to break that law, and to keep the sixth commandment. 
 Are you willing to share the risk with me?" 
 
 " Yes, dear heart," said Clemency, smiling ; " that is pre- 
 cisely what I like best." 
 
 So Terence remained at the Court-house, and, being de- 
 cently treated, he quickly lost the look which had roused 
 the hatred and fear of the villagers. Joscelyn explained to 
 them that he was a shipwrecked foreigner ; and when he left 
 off making cabalistic passes with his right hand, and sat 
 soberly through the services every Sunday at the church, 
 looking eminently respectable in his blue lackey's coat, 
 even Diggory Brown, the constable, owned that he had 
 made a mistake, and that, after all, it was not a case of the 
 evil-eye. 
 
 The Irishman's attachment to his rescuer was touching 
 to see, and when a month had passed Joscelyn determined 
 to keep him as his own valet, thus freeing his faithful serv- 
 ant for the soldier's life that the honest fellow had relin- 
 quished for love of his master. Morrison obtained a post 
 in Cromwell's own regiment in the New Model, and Josce- 
 lyn, with wistful eyes, watched him ride off from the Court- 
 house, then turned back into his study to practise the slow 
 and tedious left-hand writing in which he had determined to 
 become a proficient. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 It is not the beautiful front, nor the rich furniture, but the noble 
 heart and the rich mind of the owner that recommends the house. 
 
 SIR WILLIAM WALLER. 
 
 ONE sunny afternoon towards the middle of June, Josce- 
 lyn, who was now able to take a fair amount of exercise, set 
 out on a long postponed duty which, as a local magistrate, 
 had fallen to his share. Rosamond, who was a better walker 
 than Clemency, had volunteered to go with him ; and the 
 child's happiness was perfect when, with Cymro bounding on 
 in advance, they crossed the park, talking of Dick and Shor- 
 tell, making plans for the future in which, of course, Arthur 
 Denham had his share and basking in the happy con- 
 sciousness of a tolerably secure present , for in the pre- 
 vious month a letter had been received from Lady Heyworth, 
 in which she mentioned that Jervis had visited her at Ox- 
 ford, and had advised her that Rosamond was safest under 
 Joscelyn's protection ; and he, being only too eager to 
 keep her, had promptly written to his mother, promising to 
 give the child a home until the war was ended and her 
 marriage could be arranged. 
 
 Passing the comfortable - looking farm of Friern, they 
 walked down through shady woods, sweet with wild-roses 
 and honeysuckle, to the tiny hamlet of Chaldon. The Manor 
 House was still closed, and would not be again inhabited till 
 Hal Coriton was of age. But Joscelyn's duty was in the 
 church ; and having obtained the key of the old sexton, he 
 asked what the feeling of the people was with regard to the 
 painting he had come to see. 
 
 " Bless you, sir," said the old man, " there's not one 
 
485 
 
 among us but would fain have un daubed out. Tis a cruel 
 popish picture, sir, as you'll see for yourself." 
 
 Throwing back the heavy door, he ushered them into the 
 tiny church, and upon the west wall they found a grewsome 
 painting in red and yellow ochre representing heaven and 
 hell. In the lower portion eccentric -looking demons in- 
 flicted on their victims every sort of hideous torture ; in the 
 upper part the blessed were welcomed by angels. But that 
 which arrested Joscelyn's attention and carried a new 
 thought to his mind was the sight of a ladder stretching 
 straight down from heaven to hell, and even in the deep- 
 est depths the miserable souls were struggling up it. Some, 
 apparently, were dragged back by demons ; but the ladder 
 remained, and those that persevered seemed to gain the re- 
 gions of the blessed. 
 
 " What do they call this painting ?" he asked. " It must 
 have been done by some monk in old times." 
 
 " I've always heard un call it 'The Ladder of Salvation,' " 
 said the sexton, " and well can I mind gettin' in a cold 
 sweat as a youngster at the bare thought of it. See that 
 little winder up above, sir, with the deep splay to it ? I 
 mind looking up at that, and finding it wonderful comfort- 
 ing to see the blue sky, and to know that God Almighty 
 was behind it. And what were all the divells in hell when 
 compared with one as is almighty, and loves His very 
 enemies ? A doant mind them painted divells now I'm old, 
 sir, for, says I, 'What's divells but a swarm o' nasty summer 
 wasps ?' Plaguy beasts is wasps , but they doant last long, 
 sir, and evil be a plaguy thing thet spoils the world as 
 wasps spoil the summer ; but it doant last, sir ; 'tis bound to 
 go, and we'll be left alone with Him as was in the beginning 
 is now, and ever shall be." 
 
 The quavering old voice had a genuine ring of conviction 
 that appealed to Joscelyn. 
 
486 
 
 " If you have been able to get from the painting so ex- 
 cellent a sermon," he said, " I doubt if I ought to deem 
 this a ' superstitious picture.' " 
 
 " Eh, sir," said the old man, eagerly, " doey now let un 
 put a coatin' o' whitewash over it. The children are cruel 
 scaret by it." 
 
 Joscelyn smiled,. and gave the order for the whitewashing. 
 
 " Folk are cruel enough already," he said to Rosamond, 
 as they walked back through the woods. " There is no need 
 to brutalize them more by such vivid shows of torture." 
 
 The old man's talk, and the thought suggested to him by 
 " The Ladder of Salvation," and the struggling souls who 
 mounted it, remained at work in his mind for many years. 
 And often when Clemency spoke sadly of the horrible end of 
 Original Smith, or when he himself was haunted by some 
 of the terrible scenes he had witnessed during the war, a 
 fresh gleam of light would dawn upon him, and he would 
 add a page or two to the manuscript which all through 
 these stormy years of strife and sorrow, of national convul- 
 sions and personal pain, slowly accumulated in his desk. 
 In the careful, clear writing which he at length achieved 
 with his left hand there gradually grew a volume, published 
 in Commonwealth days under the title : " Of the torments 
 of hell, the foundations shaken and removed ; with many 
 infallible proofs that there is not to be a punishment that 
 shall never end." 
 
 And often Clemency would turn to a passage against 
 which she had pencilled a date in the margin. 
 
 " Such torments of such continuance," urged the writer, 
 " agree not to the gracious mind and merciful heart of a 
 saint he desires not any man or creature to be in such 
 torment an hour ; therefore it doth in no way agree to the 
 mind of God. We find the more the Lord manifests him- 
 self in any, the more their minds and spirits are humbled, 
 
487 
 
 the more loving and merciful they are even to their ene- 
 mies, and can do them good for evil. Christ is full of love 
 and mercy to the worst men. It was truly said of Him that 
 He was a friend of publicans and sinners." 
 
 On the very Saturday that they had walked so peacefully 
 to Chaldon, the battle of Naseby had been fought, and on 
 the Monday the village was ringing with the news. On the 
 Tuesday, Joscelyn, to his surprise, received a visit from his 
 old friend Waller. The Conqueror's military career was 
 over; for in accordance with the Self-denying Ordinance he 
 had given up his command, and had returned to Westmin- 
 ster, to be merely the Member for Andover. A genuine pa- 
 triot and a perfect gentleman, he was full of joy at the suc- 
 cess of the New Model, in whose victories he could not 
 share, although he had been the man to urge the necessity 
 of calling it into being. This brilliant victory of Naseby, 
 in especial, could not fail to cheer all who longed for free- 
 dom ; but it was clouded to Joscelyn by the news of his 
 brother's death. 
 
 Sir William Waller had brought with him a letter from 
 Mr. John Rushworth, secretary to General Fairfax, giving 
 details of the battle, and at the close of a triumphant account 
 of the thousand slain in the fight and the pursuit, of the five 
 thousand prisoners, including some 'five hundred officers, 
 and of the capture of the King's artillery, his colors, his 
 coach, and his cabinet, came the brief lines which were all 
 that they ever learned about the death of Jervis. Sitting 
 with Waller in the window-seat of his study at the Court- 
 house, Joscelyn read and reread the account : " A party of 
 theirs that broke through the left wing of horse came quite 
 behind the rear to our train, the leader of them being a per- 
 son somewhat in habit like the general in a red montero, as 
 the general had. He came as a friend ; our commander of 
 the guard of the train went with his hat in his hand, and 
 
asked him how the day went, thinking it had been the gen-, 
 eral ; the Cavalier, who we since heard was Rupert, asked 
 him and the rest if they would have quarter ? They cried 
 " No," gave fire, and instantly beat them off. It was a 
 happy deliverance. There was slain one Captain Jervis 
 Heyworth, brother to him that was your prime favorite. 
 He, getting a musket-ball in the breast when Prince Rupert 
 and the rest took to flight, dropped from his horse, fetched 
 a groan or two, and so died, ere the surgeon could come at 
 him." 
 
 Joscelyn sat for some time in silence, vividly realizing the 
 whole scene. It was a comfort to him to remember that, at 
 any rate, he had saved Jervis from the utter misery of the 
 prison-ship in the Thames, and that there was just one 
 pleasant memory of his brother which he could carry through 
 life the kindly glance and the few words of friendly fare- 
 well when they had parted in the Temple. Jervis had gained 
 his great wish of serving under the gallant Prince Rupert, 
 for whom, spite of his faults, Joscelyn could not but feel a 
 certain admiration, and he had fallen while fighting bravely, 
 as became a Heyworth. 
 
 " 'Tis ever the prince's failing to charge with great reso- 
 lution, to succeed, and then to mar his work by wasting time 
 over the baggage-wagons," said Waller. " 'Twas this that 
 kept him off the field over-long at Edgehill ; he blundered in 
 the first battle, and now hath, spite of his zeal and courage, 
 blundered in that which may prove the last battle of this 
 war." 
 
 " The last !" cried Joscelyn, starting to his feet. " Is there 
 indeed a hope that this may be the last ?" 
 
 " Methinks the King will find it impossible to recover from 
 a blow as severe as this," said Waller, " and peace must soon 
 come to this bleeding country. Yesterday several that had 
 been at Naseby Colonel John Fiennes, among others were 
 
"DICK ARDENTLY DECLARING HIS LOVE. 
 
 [Page 414- 
 
489 
 
 called into the House, and gave us a full account of the 
 battle, and I, privately getting this letter with news of your 
 brother, was glad to snatch a day to ride down here and see 
 you." 
 
 Joscelyn pressed his guest to remain, but Waller shook 
 his head. 
 
 " Right gladly will I come here from time to time," he 
 said ; " though for the peace and rest of this quiet haven 
 that you provide for me, I, in return, can but give you an echo 
 of the strife and care which surround us at Westminster. 
 But now I can only lie here this one night, since early on 
 Thursday both Houses and the City are to keep together 
 the Day of Thanksgiving, with services at Christchurch, 
 and afterwards a dinner given by the Lord Mayor. Then, 
 erelong, we shall have before us the reading of the papers 
 found in the King's cabinet, which have not yet been de- 
 ciphered." 
 
 " God grant they may tend to the peace we all crave," said 
 Joscelyn, with a sigh. 
 
 When in a month's time he saw for himself the treacher- 
 ous letters which were printed and read throughout the 
 length and breadth of the land, he realized that the seizure 
 of the cabinet had done more for England than years of 
 fighting could have achieved. Before all men Charles was 
 now shown to be hopelessly false to his word and a traitor 
 to his country. Even those who had sacrificed much for his 
 cause were appalled at the revelation, and, though many 
 months passed before Joscelyn knew it, his brother's awaken- 
 ing dated from this time. 
 
 At last Dick's idol was shattered. It was impossible for 
 such a genuine Englishman to regard as the beau ideal of all 
 that was noble and virtuous a sovereign who had tried to 
 bring over to England the savage French soldiers who fought 
 under the Duke of Lorraine, or who contemplated making 
 
490 
 
 peace with his Irish rebels that he might bring over an army 
 of forty thousand of them to fight his English rebels. 
 
 Poor Dick fought on in Hopton's army, but he could put 
 no heart into his work ; nothing but his youth and his love 
 for Hester kept him from actually throwing himself into the 
 jaws of death, so miserable was the sense that his ideal had 
 been but a dream. 
 
 Good old Sir Thomas still hotly maintained that the King 
 could do no wrong ; but the revelation, coming as it did just 
 after the news of his son's death, struck him to the heart He 
 fought on doggedly, trying to persuade himself that the letters 
 were forgeries, and quoting more fervently than ever the 
 motto borne on Hopton's standard : " I will strive to serve 
 my sovereign King." But he was never again the same man ; 
 and it was with relief indescribable that Dick learned one 
 day of Lord Hopton's resolve to accept the honorable terms 
 which Fairfax offered to the army of the west, and to lay down 
 his arms. By this time Sir Thomas, worn out with the frost 
 and cold of the winter and the soaking rains of February, 
 his hearing impaired by the explosion of their store of gun- 
 powder in Torrington Church, and his spirits depressed by 
 the daily desertions of his men, was in no state to resist the 
 general conclusion that they were hopelessly beaten. The 
 terms of surrender were far better than Dick had expected: 
 they were allowed their choice either to go back to their 
 homes or to leave the country, and the officers were to be 
 allowed to keep their horses and pistols ; those who stayed 
 in England were, however, required to swear that they 
 would never serve against the Parliament. But even this 
 oath Sir Thomas took in a quiet, dazed fashion, without one 
 protest. 
 
 It was Arthur Denham who hesitated longest. And in 
 the end even he was brought to see that the King's cause 
 must have been utterly hopeless before such a man as Lord 
 
491 
 
 Hopton would have consented to lay down his arms, and 
 that for himself perhaps the truest work might be to help 
 Dick in getting old Sir Thomas safely home. Their weary 
 journey, ending as it did in the arrival at the desolate manor 
 with its blackened walls and devastated rooms, was desolate 
 enough. It was rendered all the more miserable when old 
 Barnaby told them the latest news from Oxford. Lady Hey- 
 worth had accompanied her daughter and Sir Toby Blount 
 to France, Isabella having, a fortnight before, received or- 
 ders to attend on the Queen. This seemed to be the last 
 drop in the poor old baronet's cup. 
 
 " There is Rosamond still left to me," he said. " We will 
 ride on to Katterham ; 'tis not fitting that she stays longer 
 under that rebel's roof." 
 
 " Sir," protested Dick, " he hath sheltered her as a 
 brother. Can we not at length lay aside our differences ?" 
 
 But Sir Thomas, in his misery of mind and body, had re- 
 lapsed into the sharp, irascible tone of former years. 
 
 " Is he less a rebel because his party hath triumphed ?" 
 he asked, angrily. " 'Tis unwillingly enough I have thus 
 long left the maid there, and for myself I tell you frankly 
 I will not lie in his house or break bread with him." 
 
 Dick fell into deep dejection. They paused to bait the 
 horses at the way-side inn where he had first seen Hester, 
 and dined in the very room where Original Sin had met 
 with his death ; he could almost have fancied that he again 
 felt Hester's terrified grip on his arm as she caught sight 
 of the dead man on the floor, and her face, sweet and 
 womanly and compassionate, as she stooped to cut off a 
 piece of his hair for the bereaved mother, rose vividly be- 
 fore him. 
 
 " Will you, then, lie at Bletchingley, sir ?" he asked, sorely 
 disappointed that they were not at once to proceed to the 
 Court-house. 
 
492 
 
 Sir Thomas nodded an assent, but in his secret heart he 
 would fain have ridden straight to Katterham ; and when 
 they found Sir Richard away and Bletchingley Hall shut up, 
 his spirits sank, though he insisted on passing the night 
 there, and drove Dick almost desperate by vowing that he 
 would follow Lady Hey worth to France, and remain on the 
 Continent for the rest of his life. 
 
 He was in a mood which would brook no resistance, and 
 neither Dick nor Arthur Denham understood his sudden 
 change from a dazed indifference to vehement and obstinate 
 action. The two friends slept, however, being young and 
 weary ; the old man rested but for a couple of hours, and 
 then lay in the darkness, revolving in his overwrought brain 
 a dozen wild schemes for his future life. At sunrise he 
 stole out of the house, saddled his horse with his own 
 hands, and rode up the hill to Katterham, finding a certain 
 pleasure in the bleak March wind, and in the consciousness 
 that he was stealing a march on his companions, who still 
 slept peacefully at Bletchingley. At the gate-house he in- 
 quired for Rosamond, and was admitted. The order and 
 comfort that he saw around him made a strong contrast to 
 the wretched plight in which he had left his own Manor 
 House, and bitter thoughts and stinging speeches began to 
 crowd into his mind. He decided that he would ask for 
 Joscelyn, and speak with him at the door, coldly refusing 
 even to dismount. But his plans were checkmated, for the 
 front door stood open, and on the step between the great 
 box bushes sat two figures, a girl of seven or eight years 
 old, and a curly-headed, blue-eyed boy of two. Between 
 them was a basket of daffodils over which some dispute had 
 arisen, which was happily ended by the unexpected appear- 
 ance of the horse and its rider. Monnie jumped up and 
 courtesied shyly, but Tom, at the sight of the powerful 
 charger, uttered a shout of joy, and began to caper with glee, 
 
493 
 
 and with outstretched arms to plead in baby fashion to be 
 lifted up. 
 
 Sir Thomas dismounted, and taking the child in his arms, 
 looked eagerly into the little fair face with its unmistak- 
 able Heyworth features and crisp little curls ; in the mean- 
 time Monnie, in some alarm, had summoned Charlotte, who 
 came hurrying out with apologies to the stranger. 
 
 " Is your master at home ?" asked Sir Thomas. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Charlotte, " he hath been at home now 
 this long time ; but all through this winter he was forced to 
 keep to his bed, and is but now recovering his strength a 
 little. Walk in, sir, and I will tell my mistress. What 
 name shall I say, sir ?" 
 
 Sir Thomas somewhat reluctantly revealed himself ; but 
 Charlotte's beaming face of delight mollified him. 
 
 " Oh, sir," cried the faithful servant, " 'twill be indeed 
 a glad day for my master ! He hath been full of anxiety 
 for you, and Mistress Rosamond, too. I will haste and tell 
 her, sir. I little thought when I found the child making so 
 free with a stranger that he had been the first to know his 
 own grandsire !" 
 
 Charlotte ushered the guest into the library, threw an- 
 other log on the fire, and bustled off to announce the glad 
 news. 
 
 Sir Thomas paced to and fro with a confused sense that 
 circumstances were too strong for him, and a haunting 
 memory of a plan he had conceived which had been over- 
 thrown by the greeting of a little child. Suddenly his eye 
 fell on a newspaper which lay on the table, and, taking it 
 up, he established himself comfortably beside the hearth 
 and began to read. What was this ill news which met his 
 glance on the very first page he opened : 
 
 " Letters have been brought by Mr. Temple with infor- 
 mation that Sir Jacob Astley hath been totally routed by 
 
494 
 
 Colonel Morgan and Sir William Brereton at Stow-on-the 
 Wold. After a sore conflict on both sides, wherein two 
 hundred of his men were slain, Sir Jacob Astley and six- 
 teen hundred of the Royalists were taken prisoners. The 
 word of the Parliament's forces was, ' God be our guide !' 
 Astley's word was, ' Patrick !' and ' George !' The King's 
 cause is now finally defeated, even by the confession of Sir 
 Jacob Astley himself, one of the bravest among them. He, 
 talking to some of the Parliament officers after he was 
 prisoner, told them, * Now you have done your work, and 
 may go play, unless you fall out among yourselves.' " 
 
 The newspaper dropped from the old man's hand. In a 
 dim way he had known that hope was at an end ten days 
 ago in Cornwall, but now, seeing the words actually in 
 print, the truth flashed upon him in all its intensity. With- 
 out a word or a moan he dropped back in the chair, and 
 Clemency, entering the room a moment later, found him 
 stiff and unconscious. 
 
 For three days he remained in that strange death in life, 
 and when once more he came to himself and saw Rosamond 
 and Dick near him, all recollection of what had passed had 
 gone from his mind. He seemed puzzled by the room, and 
 asked where they had taken him. 
 
 " We are at the Court-house, sir," explained Rosamond, 
 " with Joscelyn and Clemency." 
 
 " Clemency ?" he said. " Who is Clemency ?" 
 
 " She is your new daughter, sir, Joscelyn's wife," said 
 Clemency, coming forward with a bowl of soup, and begin- 
 ning to feed him. Sir Thomas asked no more questions, 
 but took the food obediently like a child, eying her from 
 time to time with great content. 
 
 " I had thought the lad was still at Cambridge," he 
 said, musingly, " and lo ! he hath a wife and a house of his 
 
495 
 
 "And a child, sir," said Clemency, smiling; "your little 
 grandson." 
 
 "Well, well," said Sir Thomas, "time passes quickly 
 when one is old. And to tell you the truth, my dear, I for- 
 get things now; I forget." 
 
 He fell asleep peacefully, and, leaving him in Charlotte's 
 care, the three stole down quietly to Joscelyn and told him 
 the news. 
 
 " He hath recovered, but his memory seems gone," said 
 Clemency. " He thought you were still unmarried and at 
 Cambridge." 
 
 "Then maybe he will never remember what hath hap- 
 pened betwixt that time and this," said Joscelyn. " Let us 
 keep from him all things that would remind him of the war. 
 Put the armor away in the garret out of sight, and let no 
 one speak a word of public matters. Do you agree to this, 
 Dick ?" 
 
 " Aye, right willingly," he replied. 
 
 " But wait," said Joscelyn. " Hath my father already freed 
 the estate from sequestration ?" 
 
 " No; for the only way to do it involved taking the Coven- 
 ant, and he would die first, though he swallowed the nega- 
 tive oath quietly enough at Truro. 'Tis hard on you, now 
 that you are heir, for unless he can be brought to do it he 
 will not be able to save Shortell, though they say the date 
 for being admitted to composition hath been further ex- 
 tended since December," 
 
 " Every possible chance will be given to those who would 
 make their peace," said Joscelyn ; " but you are wrong in 
 saying I am the heir. Now that Jervis is dead, the estate 
 will come to you. My father disinherited me long ago." 
 
 " In words, but never legally," replied Dick. " You are 
 heir to Shortell, my friend, however much you may protest 
 against it. And even if my father regained his memory and 
 
496 
 
 became capable of making another will, which you know is 
 scarcely likely, his bequeathing the estate to me could only 
 land us in fresh trouble, for should not I have to go forth- 
 with before the committee at Goldsmith's Hall and take 
 the Covenant ? No, no ; you are the heir, and with you 
 there will be no difficulty whatever." 
 
 Joscelyn mused over the position for a time. 
 
 " Legally," he said, " I suppose I am the heir, but moral- 
 ly not. I shall only consent to be the nominal owner, Dick ; 
 Shortell must virtually be yours. You and Hester will, me- 
 thinks, quickly drive out the ghosts, the bats, and perchance 
 some of the bitter memories." 
 
 " But you should be just before you are generous !" cried 
 Dick. " You forget your child. Are you not defrauding 
 him of his rights ?" 
 
 Joscelyn put his thin white hand on little Tom's curly 
 head, and looked at him for a moment in silence. 
 
 " No, Dick," he said, presently , " methinks I give him a 
 better birthright by showing him that law is not always 
 equity, and that justice now and then doth elude its coarse 
 meshes. Moreover, I would venture to stake a fair amount 
 that Tom, if he lives to be a man, will himself say that the 
 estate was rightfully yours, and will not quarrel with my de- 
 cision." 
 
 All through that year of 1646 the Court-house became a 
 sort of shelter of the destitute, Joscelyn and Clemency not 
 only giving a home to Sir Thomas and Dick and Rosa- 
 mond, but welcoming the Denhams whenever they liked to 
 avail themselves of a hospitable roof, and keeping at the 
 Dower-house the former vicar of the parish, who, upon the 
 establishment of the Directory and the abolition of the 
 Book of Common Prayer, had been ejected from his living. 
 The new-comer chanced to be one of the victims of the late 
 archbishop, who, for preaching against images and decora- 
 
497 
 
 tions in churches, had, a dozen years before, been deprived 
 of his ministry, and for occasionally preaching afterwards 
 had been thrown into a miserable dungeon in Bridewell, 
 heavily ironed, chained to a post, fed on bread and water, 
 and through an entire winter allowed only a pad of straw 
 for a bed. All these privations, combined with whipping 
 and hard labor, had not tended to sweeten the poor man's 
 temper. To keep the peace between the new minister and 
 the old, and to see that the fifth of the income was as ap- 
 pointed by the Parliament paid by the Presbyterian to the 
 wife and child of the Episcopalian, proved to be one of Jos- 
 celyn's most unpleasant duties ; but after a while, what with 
 his bright humor, and his power of seeing the best points 
 of both the men, he succeeded in bringing them to a less 
 quarrelsome frame of mind, to the great admiration of Mrs. 
 Ursula, whose opinion of the other sex gradually rose. 
 
 To old Sir Thomas the year passed in a happy second 
 childhood of peace. He seldom inquired for those whom 
 he did not see, never fretted over the absence of Lady Hey- 
 worth or Isabella, and delighted in teasing the two betrothed 
 couples, and in discussing plans for their future happiness. 
 Now and then Joscelyn had some little difficulty in evading 
 questions with regard to his empty sleeve. 
 
 " It pains me, lad," his father would say, " to think that 
 at your age you should be thus shattered and broken down. 
 'Twas a ball you got in the arm, you say ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Joscelyn, "a 5light enough hurt at the 
 time." 
 
 " You were out deer-stalking, I suppose ? Well, 'tis a fine 
 sport, and accidents will happen now and again. There was 
 a man I used to hunt with in years gone by, he lost an arm, 
 but he rode well enough afterwards with a hook at the end 
 of his stump. 'Twas not all gone, as yours is." 
 
 To Arthur Denham there was something infinitely pa- 
 32 
 
498 
 
 thetic in the struggle which Joscelyn made to shield his 
 father from the shock of realizing the King's defeat, or of 
 gaining any recollection of the civil strife. Often he saw 
 him chatting gayly with the old man when his lips were 
 blanched with the pain of the injury he had got at Lans- 
 down ; and remembering the intense bitterness of the old 
 baronet when he had first met him at Farnham, and the 
 trying scenes in the church and the castle -hall, he most 
 earnestly hoped that this happy oblivion would continue for 
 the rest of Sir Thomas's life. The doctor argued that if left 
 in undisturbed quiet the old man might live for years, while 
 on the other hand any sudden excitement or revival of pain- 
 ful memories would probably prove fatal. 
 
 It chanced that on little Tom's third birthday Joscelyn, 
 sitting in the study where his father dozed peacefully in a 
 great arm-chair by the hearth, saw a man wearing Sir Will- 
 iam Waller's livery riding across the court-yard. He stole 
 out of the room, anxious to receive the latest news from 
 Westminster, and to prevent the man from rapping at the 
 door and disturbing his father. Outside in the entrance- 
 hall Monnie and Tom were playing battledoor and shuttle- 
 cock. 
 
 " Be quiet for a while, children," he said. " I must leave 
 the door open in case your grandfather calls. I shall be 
 back anon." 
 
 Receiving from the messenger Sir William's letter, he 
 lingered for a few minutes in the withdrawing -room, not 
 venturing to read it over the study fire lest his father should 
 perchance awake and ask the contents. 
 
 His brow clouded as he read the brief lines, for it seemed 
 to him that Sir Jacob Astley's words were being fulfilled, 
 and that they were beginning to fall out among themselves 
 very seriously. The grave injustice shown by the Parlia- 
 ment in refusing money for the arrears of the soldiers' pay 
 
499 
 
 seemed to him to bode ill for the future, and Waller spoke 
 of the difficulty he had found in hindering a duel between 
 Major Ireton and Mr. Holies, the former having justified 
 the soldiers' petition. 
 
 Meanwhile little Tom, catching sight through the half- 
 open study door of the present he had that morning re- 
 ceived, forgot to follow his father's injunction to be quiet, 
 and running into the room, dragged down the toy bricks 
 from the window-seat and implored Monnie to come and 
 build. Sir Thomas woke up, and sat quietly watching the 
 two little playmates at the other end of the room. 
 
 " We'll build Harlech Castle," cried Tom. 
 
 "Yes," said Monnie, "because 'twas the very last one 
 taken, and we will put my neckerchief at top for the King's 
 flag, and you shall be the Parliament's soldiers, and drag it 
 down." 
 
 " Tom knock the castle down ! Tom make a crash !" 
 said the child, clapping his hands. 
 
 " Hush !" said Monnie, " you'll awake your grandfather. 
 And I know a better play than that. You see, Tom, 'tis 
 stupid to put up the flag when the King's flag isn't on no 
 real castle any more. And we won't play at soldiers and 
 war, because your father doesn't like it." 
 
 " Me like soldiers best," pouted Tom. 
 
 " But, Tom, the war is over. Don't you remember Char- 
 lotte told us so more than a sennight since ? Let us play 
 at real happening things, Tom. We'll build Holmby House, 
 and have my Bartholomew babe for a prisoner. For, truly, 
 Tom, the King is a prisoner, and they do say he plays at 
 bowls to pass the time ; we will make pretend bowls with 
 comfits." 
 
 At this moment Joscelyn returned, and one glance at his 
 father's ghastly face warned him that a great change was at 
 hand. 
 
500 
 
 " Sir," he cried, hurrying forward, " are you ill ?" 
 
 Sir Thomas griped fast hold of him with both hands. 
 
 " Tell me the truth !" he panted. " Is his Majesty in- 
 deed a prisoner in the hands of the rebels ?" 
 
 " He is at Holmby House, sir, under the care of the Par- 
 liament." 
 
 " A prisoner ! and you and I stay idly here ?" cried Sir 
 Thomas. "What did they say the war at an end? Aye, 
 it all comes back to me now it all comes back ! You were 
 a traitor an accursed rebel. Away with you ! You are no 
 son of mine !" 
 
 Pushing him back with violence which terrified the chil- 
 dren, he started to his feet ; but the sight of the anguish 
 which Joscelyn could not hide sobered him. 
 
 " I remember now," he said, " you were piked while res- 
 cuing Dick. Here comes Clemency to chide me for my 
 roughness." 
 
 He turned with relief to his daughter-in-law, who, at the 
 sound of the loud talking in the study, had hastened in 
 from the garden with Rosamond. She glanced from one 
 to the other, dismayed at the signs of both physical and 
 mental pain in her husband's face, and terrified by Sir 
 Thomas's agitation. 
 
 " Dear sir," she said, coaxing the old man back to his 
 chair, " it is true, as you say, that Joscelyn was hurt while 
 saving Dick, but methinks the knowledge of that helps him 
 to bear the pain he must always suffer." 
 
 " He was the best of all the lads, and yet a rebel !" sighed 
 Sir Thomas. " I don't understand it ! I never could un- 
 derstand it." 
 
 " Sir," said Joscelyn, " for God's sake rest, and trouble 
 yourself no further. The strife is at an end, the terms of 
 peace are being arranged. If the King will be true, all 
 may now be well." 
 
50' 
 
 " I hate your ' ifs,' " said Sir Thomas, petulantly. " The 
 King can do no wrong." 
 
 But, vehemently as he spoke, a terrible qualm of doubt 
 seized him as he remembered the letters taken at Naseby. 
 " I' faith," he said, after a long silence, in which they had 
 hoped his agitation was gradually lessening, "I should 
 greatly like to know if your rebellion hath brought you sat- 
 isfaction. It lost you home and kith and kin ; it lost you 
 the favor and the company of your friends and acquaint- 
 ance ; it lost you reputation and health , it hath left you 
 maimed and disfigured at four-and-twenty. What is your 
 reward ? The triumph of a Parliament and the downfall of 
 a monarchy. Let me tell you that future generations will 
 deem you both a fool and a traitor." 
 
 " I am willing to be accounted both, sir," said Joscelyn, 
 quietly, "if God in his mercy will but use my life for the 
 good of the country." 
 
 There was a ring of devotion in his voice which silenced 
 the old baronet. Gentler thoughts seemed to awake in his 
 mind, and as Rosamond stooped to kiss his forehead a re- 
 membrance of the night when she had lain at death's door 
 flashed across his brain. A curious feeling of faintness be- 
 gan to oppress him -, he saw Joscelyn cross the room and 
 open the casement-, the cold spring air rushed in and re- 
 vived him for a moment. 
 
 "Lift me up, my son," he said. "Aye, aye, there's 
 strength in you yet. I'd liefer have your left arm than 
 some men's right. Methinks my life is ending with the war." 
 
 The words proved true. It was all in vain that Dick 
 chafed his hands, that Clemency brought restoratives, that 
 Rosamond prayed for his recovery. He lay back with 
 closed eyes on Joscelyn' s breast, from time to time faintly 
 muttering a few words. Just at the last, as if defying an 
 accuser, he spoke out vehemently : 
 
502 
 
 " I tell you I love my son I Aye, when I cursed and dis- 
 owned him I yet loved him !" 
 
 Joscelyn bent forward and reverently kissed the forehead 
 of the dying man ; and at that Sir Thomas looked up once 
 more, with a smile in his blue eyes which meant more to 
 his son than many words. 
 
 Slowly the sun sank in the west, and twilight stole over 
 the landscape-, the room grew almost dark, the watchers 
 could scarcely discern each others' faces, but the old war- 
 rior had passed away into the land of light. 
 
CHAPTER XLI 
 
 The light which we have gained was given us, not to be ever staring 
 on, but by it to discover onward things more remote from our knowl- 
 edge. MILTON. 
 
 SIR THEODORE MAYERNE'S prophecy was fulfilled. Jos- 
 celyn, spite of great suffering and many tedious attacks of 
 illness, lived on, while England passed through the stormy 
 years which ended the Stuart dynasty. 
 
 On a bright, still day at the beginning of December, in 
 the year 1697, the old church-yard of Katterham presented a 
 picturesque scene. The service was just over, and the 
 people in holiday trim lingered for a word or a smile from 
 the old baronet and his lady, who, with a few guests staying 
 at the Court-house, had come to take part in the National 
 Thanksgiving for the Peace of Ryswick. 
 
 " Right glad am I," said Joscelyn, as he glanced at the 
 villagers, " that we kept the Thanksgiving here at home 
 rather than in London. John Evelyn will bring us news of 
 the gay doings there, and I would not have missed this 
 gathering for all the gold in the new Bank of England. 
 
 " Yes, we were best here," said Clemency, pausing to 
 greet old Morrison, who stood at the gate. 
 
 " This is a good day for us, Morrison," said Joscelyn, 
 giving the faithful servant his hand. " England hath tri- 
 umphed over the worst of her foes, and the French King 
 will, methinks, no more seek to meddle with our Protestant 
 succession." 
 
 " Eh, sir. But it was grand to hear the folks sing the 
 Old Hundredth !" said Morrison. " Many's the strange 
 
504 
 
 places we have heard that in, sir. But 'twas true in the 
 past days, and 'tis true now." 
 
 "It ever brings Temperance Turner to my mind," said 
 Joscelyn. " How welcome it was to hear his rebec in the 
 distance, and to know that tidings were at length coming." 
 
 Clemency lifted her hazel eyes to her husband's, recalling 
 vividly the yellow-haired lad of former days in all his 
 youthful strength and vigor. But in the spare form and 
 noble features of the husband who for more than fifty years 
 had been her constant companion she saw something in- 
 finitely dearer. There was still the same bright, hopeful 
 look in the blue eyes, and a buoyant vigor of perpetual 
 youth in the aged face, with its mellow coloring and 
 gentle, kindly expression. While all that was stern, all that 
 was obstinate or proud had died out of his character, and 
 he had ripened into the most beautiful of all good things 
 on God's earth a beautiful old age. 
 
 " The service was shorter than I had looked for," he 
 said. " There will be time before dinner to walk to White- 
 hill. Who will bear me company ?" 
 
 " I would I had the strength, dear heart," said Clemency, 
 smiling. " Fain would I go as far as our old yew-tree, and 
 hear with you the robins singing in the wood ; but my 
 walking days are over. Hester and I will go in and rest 
 and have my grandson for company, while you take Dick 
 and the others for your daily pilgrimage." 
 
 " He hath more vigor than any of us," said Dick, his 
 face lighting up with all its former devotion to his brother 
 as he turned to Sir William Denham. " He can tire out his 
 own son any day. Eh, Tom ?" 
 
 " I' faith, then, we will leave you to follow at your leisure," 
 said Joscelyn, with a laugh. " Mary will walk on briskly 
 with me, and we will bring back some greenery to deck the 
 hall for this evening's merrymaking." 
 
5Q5 
 
 His orphan niece, Mary Denham the only child left by 
 Arthur and Rosamond was glad enough to avail herself 
 of the chance of a quiet talk with her favorite uncle. Dur- 
 ing the last twelve years they had been the closest friends, 
 and she had found at the Court-house a sympathy and love 
 which had filled her life with happiness. A few months 
 after the death of Charles II., Joscelyn, after living five or 
 six years for his health's sake in the south of France, had 
 returned to England better and stronger than he had ever 
 hoped to be again. His first thought had been to seek out 
 Rosamond's daughter, whom hitherto he had only been 
 able to see at rare intervals. He had left her a shy, silent 
 child ; he came back to find her just of age, with all the 
 charm of a thoughtful, questioning mind that will not be 
 satisfied with surface knowledge or conventional life. 
 From that time she had spent a great part of each year 
 at Katterham, and had become like a daughter to Joscelyn 
 and Clemency, filling with her bright companionship the 
 gap that had been left in the home when Tom and his wife 
 and children had gone to live in the Dower-house. 
 
 " You have set Morrison and dear old Charlotte talking of 
 the war, sir," she said, joining her uncle in the ghost walk. 
 " I heard him beginning the tale of Newbury fight as he 
 helped her back into the Court-house." 
 
 " 'Twas the Old Hundredth that started us," said Joscelyn. 
 " I can hear it now in the darkness of the night as the 
 troops marched to the siege of Winchester. Temperance 
 Turner brought me the news that your mother was out of 
 danger, and like to live. And now, dear soul, she hath been 
 at rest these many years ever since the time of the great 
 plague while I am still left. Her childhood was sad, 
 but I verily think, Mary, that for the sixteen years of her 
 wedded life her lot was the happiest that could well have been. 
 Death itself severed her but a single day from your father." 
 
5Q6 
 
 He glanced at the dark eyes and brown curls of his 
 niece, and recalled Arthur Denham bending over him when 
 he struggled back to the consciousness of being a prisoner 
 in Farnham Castle. And yet, in her sweet, pure face, with its 
 underlying pathos, there was much that reminded him of 
 Rosamond as she had been long, long ago at the Shortell 
 Manor a little, lonely, reserved girl, with burning thoughts 
 seething under a quiet exterior. 
 
 Mary turned to him with a far-away look in her eyes. 
 
 " They were married in this church," she said ; " yet there 
 must have been many things at that time to divide your 
 opinions. You and my father must have thought very dif- 
 ferently about the King's fate ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Joscelyn, " 'twas a subject that could never 
 be named betwixt us, though naught could hinder us from 
 being true friends through all the troubles then and at the 
 Restoration. But, methinks, were your father here now he 
 would join heartily in this National Thanksgiving." 
 
 "Colonel Algernon Sydney always approved of the exe- 
 cution of the King," said Mary, " though not of the way in 
 which the trial was arranged. What was your feeling, sir, 
 with regard to it ?" 
 
 Joscelyn's face became grave. 
 
 " I deemed his death a necessity," he said. " And this I 
 know, that the late Protector the greatest man England 
 hath ever seen would not have permitted it could the 
 country have been saved in any other way. He had a sin- 
 cere regard for his Majesty, he labored to save him ; and 
 had it not been for the King's duplicity, and his failure to 
 understand or to put faith in the people, the execution 
 would never have taken place. He died like a Christian 
 and a gentleman -, but his words on the scaffold, declaring 
 that the people ought not to have any ' share in the gov- 
 ernment, that is nothing pertaining to them,' proved that he 
 
507 
 
 could never have been anything but a despot. Believe me, 
 dear, the future is with those who trust the people." 
 
 " Yet, even from Colonel Sydney I heard much against the 
 late Protector," said Mary ; " he, too, was despotic in his 
 turn." 
 
 "Yes, that is true," replied her uncle; "yet 'tis easy to 
 criticise afterwards, and methinks that no other mortal 
 could possibly have steered the nation safely through those 
 stormy seas, and have brought England to the place she now 
 holds in Europe. He has his reward. But the world, with 
 its usual wisdom, will put up monuments to King Charles 
 while Cromwell's name is held up to scorn, his life slandered, 
 his body dragged to Tyburn, his head set up in Westmin- 
 ster Hall, though England, without his aid, would now have 
 been in the hands of the pope and the French king. God 
 forbid that I should say one harsh word of those who have 
 long left this world ; but in truth, Mary, my old blood gets 
 hot even now when I read in the Book of Common-prayer 
 the sickening, servile lies ordered to be read on the 3oth 
 of January." 
 
 " I remember you never go to church on that day, sir," 
 said Mary, " and I have been glad to follow your example." 
 
 "The service for the 2gth of May is discontinued dur- 
 ing King William's happy reign," said Joscelyn, " and I 
 would that both could be forever abolished. There are 
 sundry blots on our noble Prayer-book that I shall scarce 
 live to see reformed, but that perchance you may." 
 
 " And yet," said Mary, shuddering a little, as she recalled 
 some past scene, " I can well understand how people must 
 have grieved over the beheading of King Charles. A death 
 such as that is a horrible thing." 
 
 " My dear, I am an old soldier," said Joscelyn, " and have 
 seen death after a much more ghastly fashion ; if you dwell 
 on the mere torture of it, what can ever come near the suf- 
 
508 
 
 ferings of Colonel Hampden during those last days of ago- 
 ny? God forgive me if I am wrong, but I cannot think the 
 King's sufferings were to be compared with the misery he 
 had brought to thousands of better and more trustworthy 
 men. I cannot, as the Prayer-book says, ' reflect upon sp 
 foul an act with horror and astonishment,' or deem that 
 men like Cromwell and Ireton, Bradshaw and Hutchinson 
 were 'cruel and bloody men,' 'sons of Belial,' 'imbruing 
 their hands in the innocent blood of God's anointed,' and 
 'guilty of a barbarous murder.' Nor can I think it right 
 for English folk to foist upon the nation the evils due to the 
 Stuart tyranny, and to pray that they may follow ' the ex- 
 ample of this thy blessed martyr.' For stealing a sheep we 
 hang a starving man. Is not the tyrant who steals the just 
 rights of Englishmen more blameworthy ?" 
 
 Mary was fain to agree to this ; but in her heart she 
 looked forward to a distant future when war should cease 
 and the death penalty be rarely exacted. 
 
 " Do not let us dwell on the dark past to-day," said her 
 uncle, after a pause, " but rather turn to the sunrise which 
 now gladdens the land." 
 
 She noticed that his voice, which had grown eager and 
 passionate as he spoke of the strife of by-gone days, sank 
 once more to its habitually gentle, happy tone; and as he 
 gazed over the wide view from the hill-top and drank in 
 the fresh wintry air, his eyes, which had flashed and dilated 
 with all the fire of eager youth, grew tender and calm 
 again. 
 
 The day was bright and clear, and as they walked home 
 they could plainly see the new St. Paul's away in the dis- 
 tance. 
 
 " I have watched it building year after year," said Josce- 
 lyn, " and Mr. Evelyn tells me that he is going to the first 
 service there on Sunday." 
 
5Q9 
 
 " You saw the old St. Paul's in flames, too, did you not, 
 sir ?" said Mary. 
 
 "Aye, my dear; a terrible sight, even at this distance. 
 Truly we have lived through troubled times ; but I thank 
 God that he hath spared me to .see not only the destruction 
 of the old, but the ushering in of the new. I have lived to see 
 wider toleration, a greater freedom for the press, and, above 
 all, the transference of the supreme power from the King to 
 the House of Commons. Tis a great thing to be spared to 
 old age and to see God's truth prevailing by slow degrees." 
 
 Mary, who knew how much suffering and trouble he had 
 lived through with undaunted courage and faith, felt braced 
 by his words, and better able to face that vista of long life 
 which seldom looks attractive when the first brightness of 
 youth has passed. The man who had made so much of a 
 crippled and shattered existence was like a tower of strength 
 to all other sufferers. 
 
 They paused in the little shaw by the wayside to gather 
 holly and yew for the merry-making ; then entering the park 
 once more, stood for a minute looking across the beautiful 
 stretch of heath and common and undulating wooded coun- 
 try to the far distance, where in the wintry light the Chil- 
 tern hills could be faintly .discerned. 
 
 Joscelyn's thoughts travelled back to the noble old house 
 and the little country church among the beech woods of 
 Buckinghamshire, and once again he seemed to hear Hamp- 
 den's manly voice quoting the beautiful lines of Cervantes : 
 "This peace is the true end of war." 
 
 Mary listened as they walked home to some of those stir- 
 ring tales of the great patriot which her uncle loved to tell 
 her, and as they entered the study at the Court-house, and 
 rejoined the rest of the party, she was not surprised that her 
 aunt divined, by a single glance at his eager face, the subject 
 of the conversation. 
 
5io 
 
 " You two have been talking of the old times !" she said, 
 with a loving look in her sweet eyes. 
 
 " Yes, dear heart," said Joscelyn, stooping to kiss her, 
 and with his skilful left hand placing a tiny spray from the 
 old yew-tree in the white folds of her neckerchief ; " I have 
 been telling Mary how you and I owe our life's happiness 
 to one that was foremost in striving to right the wrong and 
 to set the oppressed free." 
 
 THE END 
 
IN THE GOLDEN DAYS. 
 
 A Novel. By EDNA LYALL. 16rao, Half Cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 Miss Lyall has given us a vigorous study of such life and character 
 as are really worth reading about. The central figure of her story is Al- 
 gernon Sydney; and this figure she invests with a singular dignity and 
 power. He always appears with effect, but no liberties are taken with 
 the facts of his life. The plot is adapted with great felicity to them. 
 His part in it, absolutely consistent as it is with historical truth, gives it 
 reality as well as dignity. Some of the scenes are remarkably vivid. The 
 escape is an admirable narrative, which almost makes one hold one's 
 breath as one reads. Spectator, London. 
 
 We commend it heartily to all seeking for good reading. Christian 
 Intelligencer, N. Y. 
 
 A singularly original and powerful novel. . . . Miss Lyall writes with 
 great depth of thought, solemn purpose, and has a masculine grasp of 
 English. ... If she continues as she has begun, she must arrive at a re- 
 markably high plane among British female writers. Independent, N. Y. 
 
 A piece of finished writing, with delightful flashes of description and 
 charmingly human conversation. The writer has evidently little sympathy 
 with the cheerless phases of new -school writing, and her story certainly 
 goes far to justify her antagonisms. Brooklyn Times. 
 
 The story has a good deal of swing and movement, and is prettily 
 written. . . . The volume is thoroughly healthful in tone, and may safely 
 be commended to the general reader. Conner, Boston. 
 
 The background in which the story is set is as rich and brilliant as a 
 landscape by Gainsborough. The plot is developed with much skill, and 
 some of the situations are stirringly dramatic. Philadelphia Record. 
 
 Praise seems superfluous in referring to anything from the pen of 
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 mirably worked out. The literary style is excellent, the characters being 
 very fairly drawn, and the reader who takes up the book will have a 
 veritable pleasure in the reading of it. Christian at Work, N. Y. 
 
 It is an unusually well-constructed and readable novel, and the reader 
 will close the story with regret. Philadelphia Inquirer. 
 
 Miss Lyall in this book has shown a clever analysis of motive, a 
 naturalness in her descriptive passages, and a penetrating conception of 
 human life and character. Boston Advertiser. 
 
 This story is a good one, well conceived and well executed, written in 
 excellent English, and with a power of delineating mental emotions that 
 must carry Miss Lyall to a leading position among novel writers. Brook- 
 lyn Eagle. 
 
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 VST The above work is for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by the publishers, 
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BY MARY E. WILKINS. 
 
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 mental, $1 25. 
 YOUNG LUCRETIA, and Other Stories. Illustrated. Post 
 
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 The pathos of New England life, its intensities of repressed feeling, its 
 homely tragedies and its tender humor, have never been better told than 
 by Mary E. Wilkins, and in her own field she stands to-day without a 
 rival. Boston Courier. 
 
 It takes just such distinguished literary art as Mary E. Wilkins possesses 
 to give an episode of New England its soul, pathos, and poetry. N. Y. 
 Times. 
 
 The simplicity, purity, and quaintness of these stories set them npart in 
 a niche of distinction where they have no rivals. Literary World, Boston. 
 
 The author has the unusual gift of writing a short story which is com- 
 plete in itself, having a real beginning, a middle, and an end. Observer, 
 N. Y. 
 
 A gallery of striking studies in the humblest quarters of American 
 country life. No one has dealt with this kind of life better than Miss 
 Wilkins. Nowhere are there to be found such faithful, delicately drawn, 
 sympathetic, tenderly humorous pictures. N. Y. Tribune. 
 
 The charm of Miss Wilkins's stories is in her intimate acquaintance and 
 comprehension of humble life, and the sweet human interest she feels and 
 makes her readers partake of, in the simple, common, homely people she 
 draws. Springfield Republican. 
 
 The author has given us studies from real life which must be the result 
 of a lifetime of patient, sympathetic observation. . . . No one has done 
 the same kind of work so lovingly and so well. Christian Register, 
 Boston. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. 
 
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 paid, to any part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price.