LI E) R.AFIY 
 
 OF THL 
 
 U N IVLR5ITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 623
 
 
 V 
 
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 ^^
 
 THE 
 
 ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN, 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 THE 
 
 ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN : 
 
 % Storg of i\t %t\\tli\ Insumttwn. 
 
 " Hope, the paramount duty that Heaven lays, 
 For it8 own honour, on man's suffering heart. 
 Never may from our souls one truth depart — 
 That an accursed thing it is to gaze 
 On prosperous tyrants with a dazzled eye." 
 
 WOKDSWOBTH. 
 
 IN THKEE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 66, CORNHILL. 
 
 1852.
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by Stewart and Mubeat, 
 
 Old Bailey.
 
 
 i 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 
 So much lig-ht has been thrown on the portion 
 of English history chosen as the gTound- 
 work of this fiction^ that the Author was 
 spared the necessity of exploring* the dusty 
 ^ tomes of a public library for facts and docu- 
 ments to verify the narrative of an historical 
 novel. The original papers published in the 
 ^^ late Eliot Warburton's ^' Prince Rupert and 
 ^^ the Cavaliers/' and Mr. Thomas Carlyle's 
 ^^ Letters and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell/' 
 '^, furnished materials which the Author con- 
 sidered sufficient for the purpose of con- 
 »'' structing- the following* story. It has af- 
 
 ^
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 forded him cong-enial employment during the 
 leisure hours of an Indian official life^ and 
 he hopes it may now serve to amuse the 
 leisure of readers in England.
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 THE KOYALIST's YOUTH. 
 Chap. Page 
 
 I. — The shadow of the future 3 
 
 n. — The old Knight's death, and the deserted children . 17 
 
 m. — The echo of the war in the retirement of home . 30 
 
 IV. — The departure of the young Cavalier, and the meet- 
 ing with the Ironsides ... .41 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 ONE LAST STROKE FOR THE CAVALIERS. 
 
 I. — Prince Rupert and the skirmish . . . .57 
 
 II. — The soldier of fortune, and the quarters in Bristol . 72 
 
 ni. — The siege of Bristol, and the compact with the 
 
 Prince 86 
 
 IV. — The jovial campaigner, and the young enthusiast . 102 
 
 V. — The capitulation of Bristol, and the disenchantment 
 
 of the boy Royalist's hopes . . . .120
 
 THE EOYALIST AXD THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE FUTURE. 
 
 There is a history in all men's liTes, 
 Figuring the nature of the times deceased : 
 The which observed, a man may prophesy, 
 "With a near aim, of the main chance of things 
 As yet not come to life : which in their seeds 
 And weak beginnings, lie entreasured. 
 
 HEXRY IF. Part 2, Act iii. Scene 1. 
 
 It was the spring of the year 1640^ and 
 Kino- Charles I. had issued his summons for 
 a Parliament. The clouds of discontent which 
 had been orathering- over the country, were dis- 
 sipated by the apparent return of that unhappy 
 monarch to constitutional rule^ and the loyal 
 throughout the land rejoiced that they might
 
 4 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 give full vent to their feeling-s^ without the 
 reproach of abandoning- their English birth- 
 right. Many a country gentleman^ in whose 
 heart had risen unwonted bitterness at late 
 exactions^ now looked cheerily to the future^ 
 and hopefully to the king*. Over England 
 had arisen a dawn of safety, which, but for 
 the mad desires and struggles of demagog"ues^ 
 mig'ht have ripened into liberty and peace. 
 
 Sir Wilmot Gerrard was a fine specimen of 
 the Eng-lish g-entleman of that time. The 
 young-er son of an old family, who traced a 
 pure descent from the date of the Normans 
 with more truth than could be done by the 
 nobility of modern growth, he had in his 
 youth intended to push his fortunes by the 
 law, and had prosecuted the intention so far 
 as to spend four years at Oxford, where he 
 had acquired a taste for books and liberal 
 pursuits, perhaps not common among- the 
 g-entry of the time : so that when, by his 
 brother's death, he became the master of 
 Bellasa- house, and the g'ood lands around it, 
 he broug-ht the refined taste of the scholar 
 to the more active pursuits of the country 
 squire. Settled in the fertile county of
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE FUTUllE. 5 
 
 Kent^ with rich corn-fields spreading' round 
 his domain^ and his house^ not quite aspir- 
 ing- to the pretensions of a defensible strong-- 
 hold^ yet somewhat more than a mere moated 
 grang-e^ embowered amidst blooming- orchards^ 
 and within sound of the sea^ which beat in 
 vain ag-ainst the white cliffs that g*irt its 
 shore^ the lord of that fair manor would 
 have led an enviable life in more quiet 
 times. And in truth, even then^ when, 
 throughout the leng-th and breadth of Eng- 
 land, men's hearts were preparing- for the 
 sternest strug'g'le in which Eng-lishmen have 
 ever been eng-ag-ed, until lately, Sir Wilmot 
 had troubled himself but little with ship- 
 money, parliaments, or ro3'al prerogative. 
 He had been slave enough to occup}^ his 
 time with his own affairs. Leaving' the care 
 of the country to the patriots, he had watched 
 over his famil}^ and estate : was content to be 
 loved by his wife, and Lucy, his little ward ; to 
 be revered by his tenants; and to bring up 
 his two sons to love God and honour the kino-. 
 The books he had learned to enjoy in youth 
 gave plentiful occupation for his leisure hours, 
 and in his younger son^ Wilmot, and the little
 
 6 THE KOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 Lucy^ he would have found listeners for ever, 
 when he told them o-olden leofends from his 
 favourite poetry, the Fairy Queen : how Una 
 bet witched the lion, defended only by her 
 beauty and her truth ; and the g-ood knight 
 slew the drag'on b}' his valour, and won the 
 maiden for reward. 
 
 But the spell of discord had then been 
 poured out upon the land, and the battle be- 
 tween loyalty and public rig-ht was to sweep 
 into its vortex even the quiet master of Bel- 
 las a-house. 
 
 Sir Wilmot and his lady had only two 
 children. The elder, Eichard, at this time 
 was tAventy-one years old ; and whether from 
 a ling'ering' fancy for the profession to which 
 he had himself been intended, or from the 
 fact that the law was then beino- embraced 
 by many young- men of the best famihes in 
 the kino'dom, as the road to its hio-hest 
 honours, Sir Wilmot had placed him the pre- 
 vious year as a student in Lincoln's Inn. 
 
 The young-er, Wilmot, was still a bo}^, 
 being but twelve at the time this story 
 opens ^ and in the absence of other children, 
 the good old cavalier and his wife had re-
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE FUTURE. 7 
 
 ceived with joy into their home the orphan 
 daug'hter of a cousin^ a young*er branch of 
 Sir Wilmot's family^ who^ ^^ji^g"; ^^d left her 
 to their care. At eleven years old^ when 
 the gTace of childhood is departing*^ and the 
 grace of womanhood not come^ still was 
 Lucy Haug'hton fair. Early sorrow had not 
 dimmed the brig-htness of her blue eyes^ and 
 health and freedom gave a bloom to her 
 cheeky and a spirit to her dancing- step. She 
 and young- Wilmot gave a life to the house^ 
 in which the good knight^ and his quiet lady^ 
 devoted to tapestry-work and her husband^ 
 afforded only the picture of happy repose. 
 When the young- couple wandered on the 
 beach^ or galloped on their ponies on the 
 cliffs above^ not a hardy fisherman_, or free- 
 hearted tenant of their father^ but watched 
 them with wistful affection^ and blessed them 
 in their hearts as a handsome pair. 
 
 Far different in their eyes was Richard^ 
 their master's heir. Thouo;h neither tall nor 
 powerful in form^ there was something com- 
 manding in the austere quiet of his face^ and 
 in his dark eyes, which hardly ever lightened 
 to a smile. From his mother he had inherited
 
 8 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 the still; grave temperament^ which in him 
 was not softened hy her tenderness of heart. 
 His was a nature which mig-ht excite in others 
 respect or awe^ but not affection. Even in 
 boyhood he had been sing-ularly self-relying- 3 
 and the independence of his notions often 
 astonished his father^ who^ with the easiness 
 of his genial nature^ could not take the trouble 
 of contradiction. Perhaps the g'ood knig-ht 
 stood somewhat in awe of his silent and super- 
 cilious SOU; and that may have been one reason 
 which induced him to send him to London^ to 
 study for a profession^ as if he were not the 
 heir of an old landed g-entleman. 
 
 True is it^ that when^ on the previous Christ- 
 maS; Eichard had returned to the quiet famil}^; 
 strang-e seemed the doctrines to the worthy 
 knight's earS; which Avere then first broached 
 within the walls of Bellasa-house. Whatever 
 law the young" Templar had acquired^ he had at 
 least learned; from the companions with Avhom 
 he had lately mixed; that Charles was a tyrant; 
 who ruled without law or reason 3 that resist- 
 ance to ship-money was an act of patriotism • 
 that the Star Chamber was the bloodiest in- 
 strument of tyranny; and; doubtless; with many
 
 THE SHADOAV OF THE FUTURE. 9 
 
 others^ he thoug'ht within his inmost hearty 
 that the sooner Star Chamber^ ship-money^ 
 and the king were done away with, the better 
 for the country. This last thoug'ht, at least, 
 he kept within himself j and for the rest, the 
 greatest vexation his loyal father suffered, was 
 his inability to deny the truth of what was 
 denounced, with few but bitter words, by his 
 less loyal son. 
 
 Sir Wilmot could not but allow that there 
 had been no Parliament for eig^ht years; 
 that he mig'ht refuse to pay ship-money if he 
 chose, and that the courts of law would back 
 him in his refusal ; and even that he himself 
 had been knig-hted by his monarch, in order 
 that the fees for the same might be extracted 
 from him (and this was a very sore subject to 
 approach) ; but until his son Dick had pointed 
 out the tyranny of all this, it had somehow 
 previously aifected him very lightly. He did 
 his best to declare, in round terms, the duty of 
 every loyal subject to assist his king with his 
 whole heart ; but Eichard quietly would inter- 
 pose, that a king' might have his duty, too ; 
 on which old Sir Wilmot declared that he 
 would not let his son return to the haunts
 
 10 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 where he had learned such pestilent doctrines : 
 but seeing" on his lips one of those rare, deter- 
 mined smiles, which seemed to publish con- 
 temptuous defiance, for the sake of peace he 
 let the subject drop, and contented himself 
 with ordering' that it should not be renewed. 
 
 So Richard returned ag'ain to London, and, 
 perhaps, did not strictly follow his father's 
 g'ood advice, who dismissed him from home, 
 saying', ^^ Stick to your law, Dick, and leave 
 politics to your seniors." 
 
 The whole family were again united at. 
 home, and a g'reat triumph it was for Sir 
 Wilmot, that Dick had broug-ht back with him 
 the g'reat news that a new Parliament was 
 summoned. The old knight was a true Eng- 
 lishman, and, like other loyalists of that day, 
 was chiefly grieved at his opponents having so 
 much reason on their side ', but the system of 
 royal prerogative in place of law was now to be 
 abandoned, and the supporters of the king took 
 heart at this righteous foundation to their cause. 
 It was a fine morning in early spring, and 
 Sir Wilmot sat by the open casement looking 
 out on the garden, that was already aflfording 
 a promise of its summer sweetness. His wife
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE FUTURE. 11 
 
 sat nearer to the larg-e wood fire^ which at the 
 same time was blazing- in the chamber^ hold- 
 ing- in hers the hand of her elder son^ so lately 
 returned to them ; for she^ perhaps^ alone loved 
 him, in spite of his strang'e ways. 
 
 ^^ Is it the new fashion with the town g*al- 
 lants to trim their pates as thou dost^ Dick ? 
 'Slife ! I could understand an old man slicing* 
 off the tell-tale locks; but what feeling's did 
 3'our black ones excite to cause their havoc ?" 
 and as he spoke the old man passed his fing-ers 
 throug'h his own comely tresses^ on Avhich 
 Time had yet thinly strewn the gTa3\ ^^ Were 
 not your g-ood mother there^ my boy^ I 
 should ask you what lady fair had demanded 
 so cruel a g*ag'e as the harvest of your full 
 curls. 'Twas a foolish fancy^boy^ and I would 
 tell ye^ though it may be idle in men to ape 
 the perfumed darling's which our Shakspeare 
 talks of^ 'tis idler still to do despite to the 
 comeliness of nature.'' 
 
 ^^ I thoug'ht, sir^ 't was more important to 
 care for the inner furnishing- of the head 
 than for its outer adornments : the locks of 
 Absalom were his ruin ; " and Richard's lips 
 wreathed more into a sneer than smile.
 
 12 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 ^^ Ah^ boy ! in my youth^ fathers had some 
 honour. I would you had imitated nothing- 
 in Absalom but his hair." 
 
 '^ Why^ sir^ one would fancy I were like 
 your friend Trevanian's scape-g-raee son : at 
 least^ none of your broad acres have suffered 
 for my sins ! " 
 
 ^^ By heavens ! I had rather you would 
 pawn them all^ than stand before 3^our sire 
 with contempt thus g-raven on your lip. 
 There is no weakness in deference to ao-e." 
 
 The young- man felt abashed at the keen 
 reproof, and the colour mounted to his fore- 
 head ] but before he was prepared to reply _, the 
 hasty cloud passed from Sir Wilmot's easy 
 temper^ and^ crossing* the room^ he placed his 
 hand on his son's shoulder, and lookino* ear- 
 nestly in his face^ added^ '^ I trust I was 
 mistaken^ Dick : I was not wont to be sus- 
 picious ; but that queer look of thine has 
 often touched me keenly : and a sneer sits not 
 well upon a son. Your mother says^ by such 
 thoughts I do you wrong* — for 'tis not the first 
 time that to her I have confessed them — and^ 
 indeed; boy^ I would try to think so." 
 
 There is a reverence inherent in years^ by
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE FUTURE. 13 
 
 which the reproof of ag-e can a.]wa3's abash the 
 self-sufficiency of youth. The young- rnan had 
 learned to regard his father as a tame country 
 g-entleman^ fitted to be the slave of a tyrant ', as 
 one who had not the spirit to assert his rig'hts 
 even from his more advanced son : but his 
 habitual feeling- of disrespect quailed before 
 the old tone of authorit3\ 
 
 ^^ If I have said aug'ht to offend you^ sir^ I 
 ask your pardon for it. I know the real 
 cause which has prompted your easy temper 
 to feel offence^ and own that I should not thus 
 openly have shewn my adhesion to the party 
 which you condemn. Stilly sir^ I am now a 
 boy no long-er^ and in matters of such import 
 must think and act for myself. Thinking- as I 
 do, I will at least endeavour to g'ive you no 
 offence by my opinions. You say that all evil 
 days are now over. I believe, with sorrow, 
 that, as my friend St. John openly declares, 
 thing's must be worse ere they are better. 
 But I here promise to keep all such bitter 
 doctrines in my heart, and only ask you, sir, to 
 let them rest in silence." 
 
 ^^Ah !" said his mother, ^^ I wish, dear 
 Richard, you bad never left a home where
 
 14 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 friends would have taug-ht you no such g-loomy 
 foreboding's. These things^ you would say^ 
 are beyond a woman; but if we love one 
 another, in what can King' or Parliament 
 make us happier 1" 
 
 '' Your mother is right/' said the old 
 knight ] '^ and I fear me you may live your- 
 self to rue your own errors ; but, for the 
 future, we will let these subjects rest. If the 
 gloomy fanatic, St. John, be 3^our friend, 3^ou 
 have learned, doubtless, strange ideas, and no 
 wonder that my old lessons are forgotten." 
 
 As he spoke with somewhat of indignation 
 still kindling in his lofty look, his younger 
 son, with Lucy his inseparable companion, 
 burst, with the noisy gaiety of childhood, into 
 the room. Instantly the shadow departed 
 from Sir Wilmofs face, and, with the glad 
 smile that so much better suited his genial 
 character, reaching- from the table near, on 
 which were strewed the remains of an old 
 English breakfast, a yet unemptied tankard 
 of strong ale, he handed it to the gallant boy 
 beside him, and told the '^ rogue to drink it to 
 the family toast." With laughing lips, the 
 younger Wilmot gave utterance to the words,
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE FUTURE. 15 
 
 which afterwards became the war-cry of one- 
 half of England arra3^ed ag'amst the other: 
 " For God, and for King- Charles !" 
 
 The g-ood-tempered Su^ Wilmot had already 
 forg"otten the unpleasant scene he had just 
 passed throug-h, and as his handsome favourite 
 put down the empty tankard, he added, ^^^Slife, 
 boy, you have learned so well to drain your 
 father's cup, you should know soon how to 
 wield his sword, if the same cause de- 
 mands it." 
 
 He had scarcely spoken the words, when 
 the laug'hing' boy drew from his father's side 
 his long-, straig-ht sword, and clasping- its 
 basket-hilt with both his hands, brandished 
 the keen weapon, and advanced with it jest- 
 ingly ag-ainst his brother Richard. There 
 was no applauding" laug-hter upon that sar- 
 castic face, " I like not such buffoonery," he 
 said ; and in the silence that followed, he must 
 have heard plainly Lucy's g-irlish voice whis- 
 pering to the abashed boy her sympathy with 
 him ag'ainst his churlish brother. 
 
 If his father had almost forgotten what had 
 passed, Richard's was too thoughtful and sen- 
 sitive a nature easily to forget. Such scenes
 
 16 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 as these were engTaven deeply in his memory, 
 and influenced much the succeeding* years 
 in the lives of those around him. In many 
 families throug'hout merry Eng'land, the 
 troubles that were then g-athering* were^ in 
 after times^ to point the sword of brother 
 ag-ainst brother^ and father against son^ and 
 banish elsewhere^ as well as in Bellasa-house, 
 the natural affections of the home and hearth.
 
 THE OLD KNIGHT'jj DEATH. 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 THE OLD knight's DEATH, AND THE DESERTED 
 CHILDREN. 
 
 Nothing can we call our own but death ; 
 And that small model of the barren earth, 
 Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 
 
 RICHARD 11. Act iii. Scene 2. 
 
 We still have slept together, 
 Kose at an instant, learned, played, eat together, 
 And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, 
 Still we went coupled, and inseparable. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. Act i. Scene 3. 
 
 Four momentous years have passed away 
 since the g'ood old cavalier and his family 
 were collected in the pleasant chamber of 
 Bellasa-house. 
 
 Within little more than two years of the 
 date when the old knig^ht spoke so cheeringlv 
 of the future^ had he joined the band of g'al- 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 THE EOYALIST AND THE EEPUBLICAN. 
 
 lant and loyal men who g*atliered round the 
 raised standard of their ill-fated king*. Then^ 
 when his eyes were fully opened to the truth of 
 the stern contest which was preparing* throug-h 
 the land^ before leaving* the quiet home where 
 he had so long* enjoyed and imparted happi- 
 ness^ he exacted from his elder son a solemn 
 promise^ that however deeply his feeling's 
 might be eng-ag-ed in the parliamentary cause, 
 he would never, as long* as the contest lasted, 
 draw his sword ag'ainst his king*. 
 
 The leaves were beginning* to fall upon his 
 path, when the brave old man went forth to 
 join the royal levies ; and ere the statel}- trees 
 of Eng*land were stripped of all their leaves, 
 he, too, lay rotting* with them on the fatal 
 field of Edg'ehill. If the blow was heavy to 
 the Lady Gerrard when she heard of her sud- 
 den widowhood, her elder son at least w^as 
 with her ; and she learned to trust and lean on 
 him in place of the good-hearted husband she 
 had lost. Far more heavily did it fall on the 
 young- Wilmot and little Lucy. At first they 
 could hardly believe the fact that they would 
 never see their father more, gather from his 
 lips the g'olden legends, or delight him with
 
 THE OLD KNIGHTS DEATH. 19 
 
 their extravagant declarations of loyalty. It 
 was hard to believe that their cold and super- 
 cilious brother was now the master in their 
 home^ and that they could no longer appeal 
 from his stern orders to their kind-hearted 
 father. It was a sad but stirring- day to 
 them^ when Stephen Kerr^ the faithful re- 
 tainer of their house^ brought back the rider- 
 less steed on which they had seen their father 
 go forth to fight^ and hung against the wall 
 his dinted sword^ on the hilt of which was en- 
 crusted the stain of rebel's blood. 
 
 Richard Gerrard was himself in heart and 
 soul a rebel ; and though he never broke the 
 promise made to his father^ nor joined the 
 parliamentary ranks in battle, he did them 
 better service by his position and influence as 
 a landed country gentleman. Most of his 
 time was passed in London^ in company with 
 the chiefs of his party there j and he had him- 
 self entered the Long Parliament in the place 
 of one of the many recusant members^ ex- 
 pelled for their strange loyalty from that wor- 
 thy assembly. There^ joining the followers of 
 Oliver St. John^ he formed one of the extreme 
 party^ whO; throughout the vicissitudes of that
 
 20 THE llOYALIST AND THE EEPUBLICAN. 
 
 civil war^ would ag-ree to no terms with their 
 unfortunate sovereig'n^ but demanded sternly a 
 republic^ and their own perpetual power. 
 
 AVhatever time he spent at Bellasa-house^ 
 his cold manners, haug'hty silence, and avowed 
 principles — in all, the very reverse of those of 
 its ancient master — made his presence but little 
 comfort to any of its inmates. By his mother, 
 he was^ indeed, loved with a species of won- 
 dering' reverence ; for the g'enial kindness of 
 her husband had never so impressed her 
 simple nature, as did the austere calmness 
 of her son. But Gerrard's cousin, Lucy 
 Hauo'hton, reo-arded him with an instinctive 
 fear; and even his brother Wilmot's daring- 
 boy's heart had somewhat of the same feeling-, 
 mixed with its avowed detestation of his mo- 
 roseness and his rebellion. 
 
 Though Wilmot was a mere boy when the 
 fate of w^ar left him fatherless under the pro- 
 tection of a Eoundhead brother, the constant 
 lessons of loyal devotion which had been 
 instilled into his heart, could never ag-ain be 
 eradicated. He g-rew up in a great measure 
 neg'lected in the country house , where, fortu- 
 nately, he and his cousin Lucy might still read
 
 THE OLD knight's DEATH. 21 
 
 the books^ Avhich^ from his father's example, 
 they had learned to take delight in. But the 
 chief pleasure of both^ was to listen to their 
 father's faithful follower Kerr^ describing- all 
 the details of his short and fatal career. 
 
 The Cavalier soldier avoided, carefully, the 
 sight of his own Roundhead master ; but when 
 Eichard Gerrard was away, he delighted, as 
 much as his youthful listeners, in dwelling on 
 the stirring- past, and in fostering the wildest 
 dreams of loyalt}^ in their 3"oung hearts. 
 How would their eyes sparkle, and their 
 cheeks glow, as they heard him describe the 
 brilliant gathering- of the roj^al cavaliers, 
 drawn up to strike the first blow for God 
 and for their king ! how the dark ranks of 
 churlish foes disappeared before the sweep 
 of their impetuous charge ; and how his old 
 master had ridden them down like dust, as 
 gallantly as the youngest there ! How, when 
 the rush of strife and victor}^ had passed b}', 
 he returned to find him on the field, a proud 
 smile printed upon his features fixed in death ] 
 the sword still clasped in the hand that so 
 well had wielded it : ay, and his faithful horse 
 gazing wistfully on the face of the loved
 
 22 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 master he would not leave. No wonder that^ 
 with such teachmg-^ the hrave boy looked 
 upon his father's horse and sword^ and long-ed 
 for the time to come when he^ too^ mig-ht use 
 them on a like field^ and in one charg*e 
 aveng-e^ even though he must also share^ his 
 father's fate. 
 
 Lady Gerrard had heen^ through life^ a quiet 
 woman^ interfering* very little with the actions 
 of those around her ; and^ since her husband's 
 death^ she had lived^ still more than before^ 
 within herself. If hers was not a nature to 
 feel an acute sorrow, the painful accompani- 
 ments of her loss — the fact that her husband 
 was a victim to the party which her favourite 
 son had joined with heart and soul — could not 
 but affect her deeply and constantly. She 
 had been always of a religious temperament^ 
 and the o-loom now thrown over the whole 
 aspect of life^ led her to view such subjects 
 under the dark colours with which the Puritan 
 party were wont to disg'uise the happy truths 
 of Christianity. Cheerfulness had become^ in 
 her e3^es^ a sin in others^ as well as an im- 
 possibility to herself; and the lig'ht-hearted- 
 ness of youth^ which even misfortune could
 
 THE DESERTED CHILDREN. 23 
 
 not quite destroy in Wilmot and his young- 
 companion^ became to her most painful. 
 
 Her 3^ounger son^ even at his ag-e^ shewed 
 a marked resemblance to her husband j and 
 with the terrible ideas connected with his after 
 doom which she had learned to form^ this 
 striking- likeness^ instead of animating- her 
 affections^ seemed almost to change it to 
 repug-nance. Her natural disposition was too 
 inert to allow her to exhibit actual dislike^ 
 but such feeling's led her to seek for refug-e in 
 complete retirement. She certainl}^ exacted 
 from the young- couple attendance during- the 
 somewhat leng-thy family devotions^ and to 
 Lucy she may have given a daily hour in 
 elucidating" for- her some of the mj'steries of 
 the tapestry-work^ which she still considered 
 the only proper occupation for a Christian 
 lady. But beyond this^ the young* people 
 were almost abandoned to their own re- 
 sources ; and when this strange life began for 
 them, Wilmot had reached the critical age of 
 fourteen, and Lucy was a year younger. 
 
 Though in previous years their father had 
 been their chief instructor^ there was in the 
 family an old man named Philip Daubrey,
 
 24 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 who was eng'ag-ed specifically as their tutor. 
 He was a clero-vman of the church, without a 
 cure^ an inoffensive man^ and a deep scholar. 
 He was one of the very few men^ at that time 
 living- in England^ who was almost indifferent 
 to the strug-g'le of parties then raging*. He sin- 
 cerel}^ reg-retted his old patron^ the Cavalier 
 Sir Wilmot^ who had always treated him with 
 consideration ; and he was equally attached 
 to the Roundhead son^ who seemed disposed^ 
 alsO; to leave him in his easy position. In 
 truth^ his whole soul was centered in his 
 books ; and as long* as he mig-ht enjoy them 
 in peace^ he cared but little whether Eng-- 
 land were a kino-dom or a commonwealth. 
 His occupations solely consisted in talking- 
 divinity with Lad}^ Gerrard^ and in guiding- 
 her 3'oung'er son in his somewhat desultor}' 
 studies. 
 
 We have said that in Bellasa-house^ was 
 a finer library than g-enerally then g-raced a 
 country dwelling-. This was the old man's 
 king-dom ; but if his affections^ in g-eneral^ 
 were too much eng-rossed there to allow them 
 human objects^ such was not the case as far 
 as concerned the little maiden^ Lucy. There
 
 THE DESERTED CHILDREN. 26 
 
 must have been something* singularly loveable 
 in her^ who could awake the strong- affections 
 of two such opposite characters as old Philip 
 Daubre}'^ and the honest but rug-ged retainer^ 
 Stephen Kerr. The old man loved to have 
 his sacred solitude of study broken in upon 
 by her : he loved to answer her questions, 
 solve her little difficulties, and open before 
 her the beauties of the early authors of her 
 country. He would have liked much to teach 
 her Greek and Latin ; but Wilmot laughed 
 her out of the idea so mercilessly, that he 
 was forced, with a sig-h, to abandon that 
 favourite project. Wilmot was Lucy's oracle, 
 and he would not let her become a musty 
 pedant^ though, otherwise, she would willingly 
 enough have satisfied the old man's wish. 
 
 Stephen Kerr, their father's follower, who, 
 perhaps, equally shared her girlish love, in- 
 structed both her and Wilmot in other pur- 
 suits, and instilled into them other and more 
 earthly interests. He, and his fathers before 
 him, had been ever tenants of the Gerrard 
 family, and the old feudal feeling still existed 
 strongly in his breast. When the ro3^al stand- 
 ard was raised, and old Sir Wilmot, at that
 
 26 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 stirring- appeal to every loyal hearty left his 
 peaceful home^ and went forth to defend the 
 flaunting* rag'^ even with his life^ Kerr had 
 instantaneousl}^ abandoned his little croft^ 
 leaving- the field he cultivated to be reaped 
 by other hands^ and followed his liege master 
 to the war. Though a very Royalist in creed^ 
 and cursing- the whole Eoundhead party in his 
 hearty on the death of liis loved master he 
 considered himself no longer bound to follow 
 the royal army ) but after seeing* his master's 
 remains hurriedly consig-ned to a soldier's 
 g-rave^ returned to the humble home he had 
 left, brino-ino- back with him the favourite 
 horse^ which had carried his master alike g-al- 
 lantly in chase and war^ and the sword which 
 to Sir Wilmot's son should be his father's 
 dearest leg'ac}^ 
 
 To Richard Gerrard^ indeed^ he looked with 
 little hope or affection. His haug'hty man- 
 ners^ his complete want of sympathy for those 
 beneath him^ could inspire in the heart of the 
 brave yeoman^ to whom fear was unknown^ a 
 feeling- only of proud dislike ) hnt, from his open 
 adhesion to the parliamentary party^ Kerr 
 looked on him as an alien from his family.
 
 THE DESERTED CHILDREN. 27 
 
 But for young* Wilmot, the beloved race 
 would have ceased to exist for him when old 
 Sir Wilmot died 3 to the ^^ounger son^ however^ 
 he transferred all his affection for the father. 
 Why^ he thoug-ht^ had not the broad lands 
 descended to him^ the worthy scion of the 
 old name^ rather than to that churlish Eound- 
 head ? 
 
 There was a beautiful mixture of respect 
 and love in the feelino*s with which the 
 sturdy Eng'lish yeoman reg-arded the gallant 
 boy whom he had chosen for his devotion. He 
 had vowed in his heart that Wilmot should 
 reveng'e his father. But one other human 
 being- shared his honest hearty and that was 
 the little Lucy^ Wilmot's companion. Her 
 love for her adopted brother was her first 
 attraction in Kerr's eyes ; and^ like all others 
 who knew her^ he could not resist the influence 
 of her own girlish charm. 
 
 Being* yet unmarried^ on his return from 
 his short campaigns to his little cottage^ the 
 young couple were the sole objects of his life. 
 He had been the old Sir Wilmot's falconer, 
 and Richard, in decency, continued the sup- 
 port of his father's follower. Whenever the
 
 28 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 young" couple therefore left the house^ Kerr 
 was at then' beck. He had still some birds 
 left for his young- master to fly ; could always 
 find the haunt of the last covey of partridges^ 
 and even at times had notice of a heron settled 
 on the marshy plain^ along- the Sandwich flats. 
 At their will the skiff was ready to bear them 
 safel}^, under his skilful g'uidance^ over the 
 sea, that seemed always to toss ang-rily around 
 that coast. He taug'ht the hardy boy to 
 brave the surging- swells that ever swept in 
 from the troubled German Ocean^ and to trust 
 himself on the wild waves' breast as fearlessly 
 as the g-ull that floated near. In all sports 
 of the field^ and athletic exercises, he was his 
 mentor^ and under his teaching-^ nature having* 
 made Wilmot Gerrard as fearless^ he g-rew as 
 hardy as himself. 
 
 The war^ which during- these years rag-ed so 
 fiercely in the centre and the Avest of England, 
 did not reach the extreme verge of the island, 
 where Bellasa-house lay. The many loyal 
 gentlemen who lived in that county, and did 
 good service to their king, had followed his 
 ranks afar; and in that extremity of Kent, the 
 wild foray of remorseless troopers, the rifled
 
 THE DE&ERTED CHILDREN. 29 
 
 cattle, the ravag-ed fields, scenes common in 
 the theatre of war, were unknown except by 
 report. But not a month past by in which 
 there were not received stirring- news from 
 some eno-ao'ed in the strife. 
 
 For the first two 3'ears the good cause 
 seemed to prosper; and Wilmot and his fair 
 companion Lucy would listen with breathless 
 delig'ht as Kerr exulting-ly told them of each 
 new feat of arms : noAv of some countr}^ town, 
 not much strong-er than their own house, nobly 
 defended ao-ainst larg-e odds ; now of some 
 marvellous charg-e of horse, where the fiery 
 Prince Rupert, the terror of the rebel dog's, 
 rode them down as he had done of old at 
 Edg-ehill. Prince Eupert ! The name became 
 like the sound of a trumpet in their ears, asso- 
 ciated as it ever was with some deed of reckless 
 daring*, and hardly credible success : it was as 
 if one of the old knights in their dear father's 
 tales of chivahy had revived in person upon 
 English ground, to assist the sacred cause of 
 royalty, with a valour which gave to one arm 
 the value of an army.
 
 80 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 THE ECHO OF THE WAR IN THE RETIREMENT OF 
 HOME. 
 
 How like a younker, or a prodigal, 
 The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, 
 Hugged and embraced by the strumpet vrindl 
 How like the prodigal doth she return. 
 With over-weathered ribs, and ragged sails. 
 Lean, rent, and beggared by the strumpet wind ! 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE, Act ii. Scene 6. 
 
 The critical condition of affairs^ and the peril- 
 ous prospects of the extreme party^ which 
 Richard Gerrard had openl}^ joined^ in case of 
 the downfall of their cause^ kept him so 
 constantly in London^ that his visits to Bel- 
 lasa- house became gradually shorter and 
 more rare; and the constraint on the young- 
 couple being removed b}^ his absence^ their 
 interest in the prospering aspect of the royal 
 affairs was almost openly indulged.
 
 THE ECHO OF THE WAR. 31 
 
 The decisive victory of Roundway Down 
 — where the blood v Haseh'iofo-'s steel-coated 
 ^^obsters" had been driven off the field like 
 sheep^ and in their flight had overborne the 
 standing* ranks of their whole army — followed 
 shortly by the g-allant capture of Bristol; 
 where^ as it was reported^ Prince Rupert and 
 his Cavaliers had forced their way over these 
 walls^ and by desperate valour shewn the 
 worthlessness of any stone defences to resist 
 their charg-e — had struck a panic into the 
 whole Puritan heart of England. It seemed 
 as if the road to his old palace was cleared 
 before the King-^ so that he must shortly have 
 his own ao'ain. 
 
 As these stirring- news^ exag-g-erated by 
 both parties through the opposite feelings of 
 delight and terror, reached the far Isle of 
 Thanet, young "VVilmot's only fear was, that 
 the rebel party would be driven from the 
 land, before the tardy years would give him 
 the streno'th of manhood to use the sword 
 his father had first drawn in that glorious 
 cause. But, alas ! there is a gloomy vitality 
 inherent in fanaticism, which no resistance 
 or adversity can extinguish : it can only die
 
 32 THE EOYALIST AND THE EEPUBLICAN. 
 
 in the sterner trial of success ; when its flame^ 
 left to hlaze unresisted^ burns to its own de- 
 struction. 
 
 The commencement of the year 1644 seemed 
 to renew the successes of the preceding-. The 
 hero Eupert was on full march to the north^ 
 and whenever tiding's came of his advance, 
 they told of some sig'nal success : some impor- 
 tant town marvellously relieved, some fine old 
 country-house saved by his approach from 
 utter destruction. The brave Countess of 
 Derby — who, behind the walls of Lathom- 
 house, held a whole Roundhead army at 
 defiance, and preferred destruction with her 
 faithful followers to mercy at the rebels' hands 
 — could not with more joyful pride have wel- 
 comed Rupert at her g-ates, than did our 
 youno- Cavaliers of Kent hear the stirrino* 
 tale of her resistance, and deliverance by him. 
 When even women 'were laying* aside their 
 timorous nature, and g'iving- such examples of 
 heroic daring', no wonder that the brave boy 
 Wilmot was eag*er to leave his ing'lorious 
 safety, and take his place among- the men 
 who foug'ht beneath such leading*. 
 
 But when, after the quick succession of
 
 THE ECHO OF THE WAR. 33 
 
 glorious news^ there came flying" to the south 
 a vag'ue rumour of disaster^ followed by the 
 sure inteUig-ence that a deadly battle had been 
 foug'ht beneath the walls of York — where not 
 all the fiery valour of Rupert^ and his fierce 
 horsemen^ successful as ever in their own re- 
 sistless charge^ could check the tide of defeat 
 and ruin in the rest of the royal army ; when 
 it was known that on one fatal day the King*^s 
 cause had lost far more than it had won 
 through two long' years of desperate strug-gle^ 
 then^ indeed^ did the desire to join the ranks 
 of that sacred, though failing cause^ become 
 more difficult than ever to repress in young" 
 Wilmofs breast. 
 
 He was now sixteen years old^ and his 
 manly form and hardy habits mig*ht^ even at 
 that ag-e^ have rendered him a fair opponent 
 to many a full-grown soldier in the field. 
 Left to his own will^ he would have belted on 
 the long' sword claimed by him as his father's 
 leg-acy^ and mounted on his noble horse^ 
 which had also passed undisputed into his 
 possession^ would have joined at once the 
 standard of his King. But Stephen Kerr had 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 grown as timorous for his 3'oung' master^ as 
 he was always careless of dang-er for himself. 
 The character of the war was chang^ed far 
 from the chivalrous principles of its com- 
 mencement. A protracted civil war had pro- 
 duced its necessary accompaniments of cold- 
 blooded slaughter and inappeasable hate; new 
 leaders^ far different to the first^ had risen to 
 command the stern rebel ranks. One of them, 
 Colonel Cromwell, had publicly declared, he 
 would as soon pistol the King- as any man ; 
 and scant mercy, indeed, was given by him to 
 any. In a war, bloody as this had grown, 
 the brave Kerr shuddered at the thought of 
 his young master venturing- with his boyish 
 arm. The well-grown lad, all brave and 
 eaofer-hearted, still seemed to his stalwart 
 follower, a stripling' not yet fitted for such 
 a strife. 
 
 It may naturally be supposed, that, wdth 
 such feelings, he found the gentle g'irl, Lucy 
 Haughton, his fittest auxiliary to restrain 
 Wilmof s eag'erness to join the fight. Their 
 united influence might effect what nothing" 
 else on earth would have done ; and, fortu- 
 nately for the success of their efforts to curb
 
 THE ECHO OF THE WAR. 35 
 
 the eag'er boy^ the circumstances of the time 
 were such as to give more weig^ht to their 
 counsel for delay. After the heavy blow 
 struck in the north^ both parties rested from 
 the shock ', and, under cover of treating- for 
 a peace^ the Parliament party more especially^ 
 made every preparation for continuing* what 
 was now a deadly strug*g'le_, with increased 
 vigour. But at least there was an apparent 
 pause ', and Wilmot at last consented that^ 
 until the opening" of the next campaign^ he 
 would still remain at Bellasa-house^ and not 
 leave Lucy to an utter solitude^ until his 
 departure became absolutely necessary for his 
 loyalty and his honour. 
 
 The country round the Isle of Thanet was 
 entirely in the possession of the Parliamentary 
 troops j and as yet no attempt had been made 
 at a general rising among' the many loyal 
 gentlemen of Kent ; but when the pause in 
 hostilities was broken^ by the conclusion of 
 the treaty of Uxbridge^ without any other 
 result than the greater exasperation of each 
 party^ a rumour gradually spread^ that^ in the 
 south-east of England^ a new royal army 
 would be formed^ and that the celebrated
 
 86 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 Goring' was already named for its command 
 by the King*. 
 
 Around Bellasa-house there were now few 
 with whom vouno' Wilmot mino-led. The 
 neig-hbouring- family of Trevanian had not 
 once visited their home since the commence- 
 ment of the troubles. That home^ indeed^ was 
 theirs no longer: both g-allant father and 
 spendthrift son had fought for their King* ; and 
 a new Puritan owner was installed in the 
 ^' Malig'nant's" property. If they had not 
 both won by a noble death a retrieval of their 
 former errors^ they were both still fig'hting* for 
 the desperate but well-loved cause.- Save to 
 his trusty Stephen Kerr^ there was no man to 
 whom Wilmot could pour out the desire of his 
 impetuous heart. But now he daily thoug'ht 
 the time for action was at hand^ and he would 
 be able to take his father's place among* the 
 g-entlemen of Kent. 
 
 Never does time pass so slowly as when 
 the present is lost in the anxiety of one 
 devouring' hope. Slowly — slowly passed 
 away the long- months of that important 
 ye2iV to Wilmot Gerrard : all interest was 
 gone in the simple avocations that were
 
 THE ECHO OF THE WAK. 37 
 
 wont to fill the day. Irksome even be- 
 came the wild sports of field and sea in 
 which he once delig-hted — doubly irksome the 
 quiet of study^ and the companionship of the 
 calm old chaplain^ with no enthusiasm but for 
 dusty books : what charm could there be in 
 study for him then^ when one image alone of 
 war^ imagined only in its aspect of wild and 
 stirring glory^ rose thrilling ever in his 
 thouofhts, and made him often clutch the 
 volume in his hand as if it were^ in truth, 
 the handle of his sword. 
 
 Like many men in early youth, Wilmot 
 was living in an ideal world of his own ; 
 the many real enjoyments that might have 
 been his, were utterly unheeded : unnoticed 
 almost, Lucy Haughton grew into the full 
 beauty of early youth and loving by his 
 side — unnoticed, nature poured out before 
 him the choicest treasures of her English 
 horn of wealth. Wilmot, now, could care 
 notliing for such things : he had never, but 
 in sport, seen the blaze of arquebuss or 
 the flash of steel; had never witnessed the 
 dread instruments of war used in earnest by 
 earnest men : but now, war in one holy cause
 
 38 THE EOYALIST AND THE EEPUBLICAN. 
 
 had become to him the sole purpose for which 
 it was worthy to live ', and as the young- poet 
 would leave repose and the luxury of content 
 for the stern toil and strug'g'le which can 
 alone win him his reward^ so Wilmot 3'earned 
 to leave the peace of love and home for the 
 horrors of the bloody battle-field^ the stern joy 
 of veng'eance on his King-'s and father's foes, 
 the excitement of the trumpet-driven charg^e, 
 the whole g'lory and havoc of war. 
 
 In this wild energy of heart, and inactivity 
 of life, passed away the long- year to Wilmot. 
 The new year opened, and passed on, and no 
 Goring* came to stir up the wakening- loyalty 
 of the far east, and strike a blow at the inso- 
 lent tranquillity of the Puritan party there. 
 
 The summer ag*ain threw its mantle of beauty 
 over the land, and in the heig'ht of that serene 
 beauty ag'ain came spreading- the dread news 
 of battle and defeat. On the plain of Naseby, 
 had been foug-ht the last most terrible battle 
 for a crown ; and before the resistless fanati- 
 cism of Cromwell and his Ironsides had sunk 
 the last hope of royalty. When Wilmot heard 
 the fatal news, which seemed at one blow to 
 destroy all chance of that future for which he
 
 THE ECHO OF THE WAE. 39 
 
 yearned^ he felt that the last moment had 
 aiTived in which it would be possible to strike 
 one blow for the lost cause he worshipped. 
 
 ^^ Stephen/' he said^ to his faithful folio wer, 
 who had sadly told him all that he had learned 
 of that disastrous day^ ^^ I am now deter- 
 mined on my part. You may stay here^ if 
 you will^ and watch over Lucy's safety in this 
 perilous abode j 3^ou may even tell the rebel 
 g-arrison above that a young- Malignant is 
 about to pass their way : but^ by the God who 
 made me ! I will rot here no more. I will g^o 
 now where honour has long called me ; and if 
 I can join the last band of men who still 
 strug-gle for the cause for which my father 
 died^ I think that I^ too^ could die happily : 
 at least^ more happily than I could live here." 
 
 '^ I will follow you, Master Wilmot^ when 
 and where you will ;" and with those few 
 words^ a life-compact was concluded between 
 the boy-soldier and his brave companion. 
 
 The determination to join the broken ranks 
 of the royal army once taken^ there needed 
 little time in the preparations for departure. 
 The horses were as ready for the journe}^ as 
 their masters. Old Sir Wilmot's silver-grey
 
 40 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 hunter " Monarch" had not fattened idly in 
 his stall : still in full vig'our, he was an animal 
 on which a man mig'ht fearlessly trust his life 
 in such occasions as it would be dependent on 
 his horse's speed and courag-e. Proudly the 
 brave steed arched his crest, as Lucy, with 
 unwonted sadness, caressed him : it was the 
 evening- before Wilmofs intended departure. 
 Her slenderly stocked purse had been added 
 to his own scanty store ; a scarlet scarf, worked 
 by her own fingers, was now next his heart, 
 ready to be worn openly when the surrounding- 
 Puritan troops were passed throug^h ] and with 
 these preparations, and a brave heart, the 
 young- Cavalier was about to enter the field of 
 blood and honour. He had few he cared for 
 leaving' : but that nig-ht his quiet mother mig-ht 
 have noticed the unusual warmth of his even- 
 ing- farewell. On that short summer night, 
 fresh tears of sorrow kept sleep from poor 
 Lucy's eyes, while excitement drove it from 
 Wilmot's hope-peopled brain; and, ere that 
 short nig-ht was past, the long- dreamed-of 
 action was begun, and the brave couple were 
 away upon their field of hopeless enterprise.
 
 DEPARTURE OF THE YOUNG CAVALIER. 41 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF THE YOUNG CAVALIER, AND THE 
 MEETING WITH THE IRONSIDES. 
 
 pity, God, this miserable age ! 
 Wliat stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, 
 Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural. 
 This deadly quarrel daily doth beget ! 
 
 HENRY VI. Part 3, Act ii. Scene 5. 
 
 When a man thoroug-hly embraces a falling" 
 cause^ that cause creates a passionate enthu- 
 siasm unfelt for what is more favoured by 
 fortune. As Wilmot and his follower rode 
 throug'h the rich corn-fields of ^^ the g^arden 
 of England/' towards the country where the 
 theatre of war had been, his first impulse was 
 to avow to the hated rebel troops that held 
 the villag-es round, that a Malig-nant was 
 among'st them, and bid them do their worst. 
 But to cut their way openly throug'h those 
 thick g-arrisons was impossible ; so with orange
 
 42 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 scarf tied round his doublet^ the young- Royal- 
 ist intended to pass on as a volunteer joining 
 the New-Modelled Army^ being- the brother 
 of the famous Close-Committeeman^ Eichard 
 Gerrard ! 
 
 Wilmot's handsome face^ thick curling- 
 locks^ and g-allant bearing*^ were not^ indeed^ 
 most suitable to the character : but in the 
 solitudes of his house^ and the poverty of his 
 neglected youth^ he had no opportunity of 
 acquiring- the elegant fripperies of dress in 
 w^hich the early Cavaliers delighted ; and in 
 his half-rustic attire was almost able to un- 
 dergo the austere scrutiny of the Puritans. 
 His tongue^ indeed, and honest Kerr's, spoke 
 a different language from theirs : it required 
 some study and practice to acquire the strange 
 cant of the conventicle which was current in 
 their ranks : but silence was tolerable safety. 
 As AVilmot pushed across the south of 
 Eno'land towards the west — where rallied the 
 remnant of the royal army, and where the 
 New Model was preparing to besiege Bristol, 
 the last stronghold which held out for the 
 Kinof — he had hio-h thouo-hts of comino- action 
 to fill his breast ; and, when alone with Kerr,
 
 DEPARTURE OF THE YOUNG CAVALIER. 43 
 
 a faithful follower^ into whose ear to pour 
 them out continually. 
 
 It was then the month of July^ and at first 
 the land smiled round him in the luxuriance 
 of the heig-ht of summer ; but daily as he 
 advanced^ the rich g-arden-land chang-ed to 
 the g'rim aspect of a war-harassed country : 
 many a dismantled strong-hold struck his eye, 
 where now were only blackened w^alls and 
 fallen roofs, once the brave framing* of Eng-- 
 lish heroes ; many a weed-g*rown croft and 
 untilled field told him of the desolation that 
 had fallen even on the peasant-life ; and at 
 times some rathe harvest-field^ sword-reaped 
 before its time by rapacious troopers^ preached 
 its sad lesson to his heart. At times^ too^ 
 when the travellers halted in sonie retired 
 villag'e, Avon by their honest appearance and 
 strang-ely g-entle treatment^ the host would 
 give them his bitter experiences of the past. 
 On such occasions^ disg'uise was seldom neces- 
 sary : if the Cavaliers in their visits had 
 helped themselves at times somewhat un- 
 ceremoniously _, their open g-allant bearhig* 
 would often win admiration even from those 
 who suffered by their needs 3 but the Puritan
 
 44 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 soldiers had spoiled and ravag'ed in the name 
 of the Lord, adding- a grim hj^pocris}^ to their 
 ruthless exactions, which softened nothinof the 
 hatred of the "Egyptians" who suffered at 
 their hands- 
 
 But the tales of individual suffering* which 
 Wilmot heard, the daily sig-hts of ruin which 
 he met^ had no effect to chang-e the purpose of 
 his mind: the}^ only served to deepen his 
 hatred of the party which had forced on the 
 ominous war, and whom he now cursed in 
 their hour of triumph. 
 
 When he started on his wild adventure, he 
 had no settled plan of action : his design was 
 only to push through the rebel g^arrisons in 
 the south-east, till he g-ot beyond London; 
 and^ having- reached thus far in safety, to 
 trust to chance to throw him in the way of 
 any Royalist party, lying-, as they then must 
 be, to the west and north of his road. But 
 as he pushed on westward, keeping* well away 
 from the turbulent city, where he knew would 
 be small safety, he learned here and there on 
 his progress, news of what was passing* in his 
 front \ and, on Kerr s advice thereon, had de- 
 termined to join^ if possible^ the troops which
 
 depahture of the young cavalier. 4:5 
 
 Rupert was now collecting* for the last defence 
 of Bath and Bristol. The iig-ht was sure to 
 be the thickest where led the Prince j follow- 
 ing* whose brilliant charg-e Wilmot's father had 
 fallen. From the accounts Kerr had so often 
 g'iven him of that day^ AVilmot alread}^ looked 
 upon Rupert as his leader; and imag*ined to 
 himself the tall^ noble form^ dark eye^ and w^hite 
 plume floating- over raven curls^ driving* on- 
 wards^ ever in the foremost current of the fig*ht. 
 Their journey had now lasted for some ten 
 days^ and by keeping* in the most unfrequented 
 ways^ they had latterly advanced almost un- 
 challeng-ed 3 but after crossing* the solitary 
 plains of Salisbury, they had to strike north- 
 ward throug-h the very heart of the Model 
 Armyj which was gradually collecting* round 
 the doomed town of Bristol. Fortune, to the 
 last, seemed to favour their attempt ; and on 
 the twelfth day from leaving* his home, Wil- 
 mot looked down on the distant town of Bath 
 from the low rang*e of Mendip hills ; striving* to 
 imag-ine it in the distance throug*h the closing* 
 lig-ht of evening* ; while Kerr attended to their 
 horses, stabled — as he hoped for the last time 
 on ^Aa^ journey — beneath a summer sky.
 
 46 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 They had halted in a thickly-wooded g'org'e 
 of the descent^ and while Wilmot was thinking* 
 with exultation of the success of his attempt^ 
 he heard a shrill neigh close to him; which^ 
 taken up hy his own gallant grey^ was fol- 
 lowed instantly hy a challenge^ and the sud- 
 den appearance of several dismounted troopers^ 
 w^hose buff coats^ steel front and back pieces^ 
 and close-fitting '^ pots/' shewed him that he 
 had fallen into a picquet of the Ironsides. 
 
 Dismounted and far outnumbered^ flight 
 was useless^ and resistance worse than vain. 
 At his first impulse^ Wilmot's hand was on 
 his sword ; but he started to hear Kerr's honest 
 voice suddenly chang-ed to a nasal drawl^ as 
 he advanced to one of the troopers^ whom he 
 seemed to know ; and that brought back to 
 him the memor}- of his assumed position. 
 
 " Ha^ brother Peters ! and so thou hast been 
 led by the Lord to join the ranks of Gideon 
 before I^ sinner as I am^ have been brought^ 
 if not yet too late^ to see the light/' 
 
 ^^ Na}^^ it is never too late to smite the 
 Amalekites. But know^ man! who now 
 addressest me with the name I bore in my 
 days of sin^ that since the Lord has vouch-
 
 MEETING T^aTH THE IKONSIDES. 47 
 
 safed to me to see thing's rig'htly^ I have a 
 better name sig'nifying* my better birth^ and 
 men now call me Sergeant Resist-the-devil. 
 
 As Wilmot watched carefully the features 
 of the burly figure who^ in his saintly snuffle^ 
 g-ave utterance to these strang-e words^ he 
 g-radually recognised a character familiar to 
 his 3^outh^ as the drinking- and fig'hting' cobbler 
 of the village. Peters^ as he was then called, 
 was the bully of the place, far more g-iven to 
 any athletic exercise than his own ung*enial 
 occupation j fond of good ale^ and possessing- a 
 rough species of g*ood nature if unopposed^ 
 like most men of his Herculean proportions. 
 Kerr was the only man in that part of the 
 country who was considered to be his match^ 
 and with that younger rival the cobbler had 
 shunned risking his reputation. Before the 
 troubles commenced he had left the villaofe, 
 and chance having enrolled him in the Parlia- 
 ment ranks, three" years of hard fio-htino-, of 
 godly companionship^ and listening* to the 
 preaching" of zealous ministers^ had con- 
 verted the village brawler into a saintl}^ ser- 
 geant: a veritable babe of g'race in buff and 
 bandolier.
 
 48 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 ^^ So KerFj for I remember such a one/' he 
 said^ '^ in my unregenerate days^ the Lord 
 has broug-ht thee also to his g-race^ and thou 
 wouldst fig'ht the carnal one. A proper man^ 
 too, and fitted to cope with the Philistine. 
 Better had it been for thee to have joined 
 earlier with the true Israel, than to have fol- 
 lowed that limb of Satan, th}^ old master, in his 
 ung-odly worshipping- of Baal. Whilst thou 
 wert under the fig-tree, saw I not thee ? So, 
 now thou repentest, and would return like a 
 strag'g'ler to the fold. Thou shouldst have 
 come one morn earlier ; then, indeed, did the 
 Lord triumph sweetly, and overthrow^ the 
 horseman and rider. But who is this g'oodly 
 youth beside thee ? He looketh like an Asahel, 
 lio'ht of foot as a roe : but is he a Nazarite ? 
 — has he made a vow ? or has the Lord de- 
 livered a son of Belial into our hands V^ 
 
 " I am the son of the limb of Satan you 
 spoke of," said AVilmot, half indig*nant and 
 half amused at the strang-e harangue of the 
 sergeant; ^^the brother of one of your own 
 leaders, Eichard Gerrard, and if you have 
 an officer here, would speak with him at 
 once."
 
 MEETING WITH THE IKONSIDES. 49 
 
 ^^ The voice is the voice of Jacob^ but the 
 hands are Esau's hands. The Shibboleth will 
 prove thee to be no Ephraimite^ or thou diest 
 in the pass." 
 
 At this critical proposition of the sergeant, 
 fortunately for Wilmot's command over him- 
 self, the cornet who was in command of the 
 troop appeared on the scene^ drawn out by 
 the loud threat of his subordinate. To him 
 VVilmot told his name^ and added; with a con- 
 scious blush at his dissimulation^ that he had 
 just come from London^ and Avas recommended 
 by his brother to the Lord-General ; who^ he 
 believed; was now in possession of Bath; whi- 
 ther he was bound. 
 
 The Koundhead officer^ thoug-h; doubtless^ 
 possessing" all the zeal necessary for his post; 
 happened to be a g-entleman. He informed 
 Wilmot that Bath was still in possession of 
 the Malig-nantS; thoug'h they could not hold 
 it much longer ; that the General was some- 
 what in the rear as yet; but he might join 
 him on the morrow ', and that he had the 
 honour of knowing somewhat of Wilmot's 
 brother; who had been always a forward ser- 
 vant in the cause. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 It is unnecessary for our purpose^ to detail 
 the conversation that passed between them at 
 the cornet's bivouac. If Wilmot's obnoxious 
 locksj and ordinary form of speech^ excited 
 some doubts as to his personality^ he was 
 not the only one among* the Puritans who still 
 preserved such peculiarities. His tale was 
 probable enough^ and his extreme youth and 
 simplicity seemed g'uarantees ag'ainst any false 
 seeming'. So completely deceived^ indeed^ was 
 the experienced trooper^ that he congratulated 
 Wilmot on having' escaped falling', by mistake^ 
 into the Malig'nants' hands ; stating-, that his 
 own troop was thus in advance^ for the pur- 
 pose of falling'^ on the morrow^ upon the hig-h- 
 road between Bath and Bristol ; where it w^as 
 known that the arch son of Belial^ the chief 
 leader of the Philistines^ Rupert himself^ was 
 often passing"^ and almost without followers. 
 
 The evening" waned^ and after some interest- 
 ing* conversation^ in which the Ironside de- 
 scribed to his young' companion the campaig'ns 
 he had passed throug'h^ and the wonderful 
 battles in which the Lord had so evidently 
 combated for his true Israel, the cornet closed 
 the day with prayer. He prayed aloud ; and
 
 MEETING WITH THE IRONSIDES. 51 
 
 though the loving* faith of a Christian was 
 much obscured by the sterner principles of 
 the older dispensation^ Wilmot^ as, awe-struck 
 despite himself, he listened to the burning- 
 words with which the Roundhead poured out 
 his remorseless creed, shuddered, but felt that 
 the man was sincere. 
 
 After the information he had acquired, of 
 the intention to waylay the Prince, Wilmot 
 was more anxious than ever to effect his escape 
 that night. He watched the Roundhead with 
 intense impatience, as he wrapped liimself in 
 his cloak, and prepared for slumber. Scarcely 
 was his wdsh accomplished, when he felt a 
 g-entle touch upon his arm, and knew that 
 Kerr was with him. 
 
 " The captain is asleep," said he, in a care- 
 ful whisper, ^^and I have well fuddled his 
 saintly sergeant : Resist-the-devil seems to 
 take as kindly to a bottle of good Hollands, 
 as did Peters to our master's strong- ale. But 
 there is a trooper on guard, and we can do 
 nothing till the moon is down. Though dark 
 within these trees, it is as light as day out- 
 side, and w^e won't give them a chance of 
 maiming '^ Monarch" with a ball as he glances 
 
 ""^.^ Of ILLINOIS
 
 52 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 throug-h the moonlig*lit. Go to sleep^ dear 
 master ; I '11 call you at the hour : the moon 
 does not set till towards the morning*." 
 
 Wilmot pressed his hand in silence^ and the 
 faithful yeoman^ stealing- ag'ain away, he was 
 left alone with the slumbering- Ironside. He 
 tried to folloAV Kerr's advice, and prepare, by 
 a present sleep, for coming- action ; but in 
 vain he tossed from side to side, and soug'ht 
 the easiest tree-root for a pillow : sleep would 
 not come. The moon had risen to its heig-ht, 
 and from a break above the trees, her rays 
 g-lanced down upon the athletic breast and 
 stern features of the sleeping' soldier before 
 him. There was a spell in that face, speak- 
 ing-, even in sleep, of an iron will, which 
 irresistibly attracted Wilmot's gaze. The 
 face and bust, illuminated by the streaming- 
 lig-ht, came out of the surrounding* g-loom like 
 a picture ; and, in its g'hastly hue, seemed such 
 as one mio-ht imao-ine of an old warrior of 
 Israel who had fallen in his avenging- work. 
 
 At the vision of that calm face, came back 
 to Wilmot the memor}^ of the wild words which 
 he had heard the fanatic soldier utter in the 
 passion of his prayer. The confidence with
 
 MEETING WITH THE IRONSIDES. 53 
 
 which he predicted the destruction of his g'od- 
 less foes — the deep imprecations invoked on 
 those who shrank from doing* the work of the 
 Lord till they were all exterminated — the calm 
 certaint}^ exhibited that God was with him and 
 his caiise^ — all joined to force on Wilmot a 
 conviction that this man^ and many like him^ 
 really reg'arded themselves as instruments to 
 work God's will on earth ', and he felt a terrible 
 miso'ivino' whether such mio-ht not be the truth. 
 
 The cause that he thought holy had been 
 crushed : the ver}^ desperation of valour and of 
 loyalty had been vainly thrown ag*ainst its 
 iron foes. Royalty was even then pursued 
 like a partridg-e on the mountains^ and the last 
 followers of that dear misfortune were being- 
 surrounded in their final strong-hold by their 
 blood thirst}^ foes. Perhaps, for the first time 
 since his resolution, Wilmot saw the whole 
 hopelessness of the strugg-le in which he was 
 to venture with his boyish arm. A lig-ht had 
 broken on him from the earnestness of that one 
 Ironside, and the brave boy shuddered as with 
 a nig*ht-mare. He did not change his purpose, 
 but the enthusiasm of hope w^as dead. 
 
 From such thoug-hts^ it seemed to him that
 
 54 THE EOYALIST AIN'D THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 he had hardly passed to sleep^ when he felt his 
 shoulder touched^ and startmg- up^ Kerr was 
 beside him. The moon had set^ and beneath 
 those thick trees it was pitch dark and cold — 
 the coldness preparatory to the dawn. Kerr 
 had already moved the horses^ ready-saddled^ 
 outside the wood. They stole secretly by the 
 half- sleeping* trooper who was on g'uard ; and 
 as Wilmot^ mounted ag-ain upon his g'allant 
 horse^ felt that ominous gTove receding- into 
 the distance^ and caug-ht the fresh influence of 
 the rising- summer dawn without^ he seemed 
 as if awaking' from the torture of a painful 
 dream.
 
 BOOK 11, 
 
 ONE LAST STROKE FOR THE CAVALIERS.
 
 TBINCE RUPERT. 57 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PRINCE RUPERT AND THE SKIRMISH. 
 
 Yet a moment, and once more 
 The trampet, and again ; at which the storm 
 Of galloping hoofs bare on the ridge of spears, 
 And riders front to front, until they closed. 
 * * Mt * * 
 
 On his haunches rose the steed. 
 
 And out of stricken helmets sprang the fire. 
 
 ***** 
 
 From Arac's arm, as from a giant's flail, 
 
 The large blows rained, as here and everywhere 
 
 He rode the meUay, lord of the ringing lists. 
 
 TENNYSON S PRINCESS, Part ii. 
 
 There is nothing- so renovating* to the jaded 
 spirit as an open ride across a fair country on 
 a spirited horse^ in the dewy lig-ht of morning-. 
 Such a spell acted with its full effect on Wil- 
 mot's naturally buoyant temper^ and beneath 
 it the g'loomy influence of the past nig*ht faded 
 speedily away. He had now also an impor- 
 tant duty to accomplish. He had told Kerr
 
 58 THE EOYALIST AND THE EEPUBLICAN. 
 
 what he had learned of the object of the 
 advanced troop into which they had unwit- 
 ting'ly fallen; and imagining-^ from what had 
 dropped from the Koundhead officer^ that 
 Prince Eupert was then in Bath^ he de- 
 termined to push there at once^ and warn 
 him to take necessary precautions against the 
 dang'er. 
 
 They rode briskly over the intervening* 
 country^ but it was broad day before they 
 reached the hig-h-road between Bristol and 
 Bath ', and then^ thinking* that their mission 
 was certain of accomplishment^ they rode lei 
 surely towards the latter town. 
 
 After once starting- on their expedition^ Kerr 
 had laid aside every feeling- of hesitation which 
 had prompted him to delay it ere beg'un. The 
 experiences of his first short campaig-n came 
 back upon him^ and he was now merely the 
 hardy soldier ready to g-ather amusement from 
 the brink of danger. The rencontre of the 
 past nig'ht^ which had so affected his young- 
 master^ had been to him a pleasurable excite- 
 ment : his companion^ the saintly sergeant, 
 was certainly not one to inspire any feel- 
 ings of awe. The account he gave of his
 
 PRINCE RUPERT. 59 
 
 preceding" evening- was well calculated to 
 remove the traces of any morbid feeling* from 
 Wilmot's mind. Kerr had a g'ood case of Hol- 
 lands in one of his holsters^ and the profane 
 man had plied his g'odly neig'hbour with it most 
 effectually. Under its effects^ the pious crust 
 which three years had rolled round the carnal 
 man Peters^ gradually melted off, and Eesist- 
 the-devil^ by slow deg-rees^ sank back into the 
 old man : the topic of persistent g-race^ with 
 which he had opened the conversation^ g'ra- 
 dually shifted into sinful reminiscences of the 
 villa g-e ; and the constantly recurring- texts 
 with which, even in drunkenness, his talk 
 was studded, g-arnished most ludicrously the 
 account of some old brawl or unforgotten 
 amour Avith a Delilah of Kent. 
 
 While Kerr was describing* this ludicrous 
 passag-e of the past evening*, they were riding 
 leisurely along* the highway, when a turn in 
 the road brought to their view a small com- 
 pany of horsemen, who were advancing to- 
 wards them. By the light plumes floating on 
 their caps, their long hair falling in profusion 
 over rich lace collars and embroidered dress, 
 and the reckless air of gaiety, which even
 
 60 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 misfortune could not exting'uish, there was 
 no mistaking' the party of the Cavaliers. 
 They mig-ht have been about twenty in num- 
 ber ; and^ thoug-h with some of them the lace 
 collar fell over a steel cuirass^ the g'reater part 
 were unarmed, save with the lono* sword at 
 their sides^ and the pistols in their holsters. 
 
 Eiding- in the front rank^ and apparently the 
 leader of the party^ was a tall^ nobly formed 
 man, mounted on a powerful black Barbary 
 horse, who at once attracted all Wilmot's 
 attention. His ag'e did not appear more than 
 five or six and twent}^ ; but an aspect of 
 habitual command about the mouth would 
 have given the young- face an expression of 
 unpleasant sternness, had not a shade of 
 melancholy been cast over his dark eyes and 
 brow, which contrasted strong-ly with the 
 careless, light-hearted appearance of his fol- 
 lowers. An instinct told Wilmot that it was 
 his own hero, Prince Rupert, who was before 
 him ; and, as the Prince courteously reined up 
 his horse and bowed in acknowledg-ment of 
 his abashed but deep salutation, he felt that his 
 dearest wish was accomplished : it was no mar- 
 vel^ he thoug'ht, that men would die willingly
 
 PRINCE RUPERT. 01 
 
 at the beck of such a man. Doubtless^ as the 
 g-ay troop halted round the enthusiastic ^^outh^ 
 many a contemptuous — or^ perhaps^ rather 
 admiring- — g-lance was cast upon his simple 
 aspect and rustic attire : but Wilmot's whole 
 attention was absorbed with the Prince^ as he 
 rapidly informed him of the surprise which 
 had been planned ag-ainst his person. 
 
 As Eupert caug*ht up the statement of the 
 enemy's designs^ all trace of dejection vanished 
 from his high features : at the prospect of 
 dang'er^ his own hard}^^ jovial nature returned^ 
 and a brig-ht smile flashed into his dark eyes^ 
 chang*ing' the whole expression of his face. 
 
 " Ha ! g'entlemen/' he cried^ " these crop- 
 eared dog'S; it seems^ are inclined to g-ive us a 
 morning'^s sport. We must on^ and meet 
 them^ ere they cool in their desig-n. Thanks^ 
 young* sir^ for your information. Fore- 
 warned is fore-armed_, and_, with God's help^ 
 we will not baulk your Ironsides. The road 
 to Bath is before you^ if thither you are 
 bound 5 though I fear me we shall not long* 
 hold it ao-ainst these swarmino- rebels." 
 
 " If/' said Wilmot — and^ in his tremulous 
 excitement^ the warm blood rushed mantling-
 
 62 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 over his cheek and hrow — ^' you would allow 
 a son to follow your Highness^ with the same 
 devotion which his father felt before him^ my 
 pathway would be yours." 
 
 The Prince looked earnestly at the blushing- 
 youth. 
 
 '' I know not yet your face^ sir ) but it 
 seems to me that of an honest man and true^ 
 and Kupert never counselled such to shirk the 
 battle. You are young- yet^ and^ from your 
 account of these Eoundheads' numbers^ we 
 shall fig*ht at rare odds this morning', and find 
 it no boys' play ; but if your heart says 
 Forward ! come. I was as young- as your- 
 self when I was first entered to a charg-e : 
 thoug"hj pardy ! my opponents were not such 
 as we shall meet to-day.'' 
 
 Wilmot wanted no further leave ; and he 
 and Kerr, turning- their horses' heads, joined 
 the small troop of Cavaliers ; who, accustomed 
 to daily dang-er, with daring* exultation at the 
 prospect of a skirmish, pursued their way. 
 
 Wilmot was a consummate horseman, having- 
 ridden from a child ; and this was the first 
 accomplishment of any to attract Prince Ru- 
 pert's notice. As '^ Monarch/' excited by the
 
 PRINCE RUPERT. 63 
 
 stirring' company, and only breathed by the 
 morning- canter he had taken, plung-ed and 
 bounded to his rider's g'ently restraining* hand, 
 the Prince watched him with deliofht, and 
 said, turning- to a stout Cavalier behind him, — 
 ^^ By heavens ! Holmes, 'tis a g-allant lad, 
 and sits his brave charo-er like a man. Strano-e 
 that I should not before have marked so hand- 
 some a pair in our now much thinned ranks of 
 volunteers ! Your horse, my friend,'' said he 
 to Wilmot, '^ is as handsome a hunter as I 
 have lately seen ; but I wis he is more accus- 
 tomed to lead than to follow. Bring- him to 
 my side, and he will chafe less ; for he has a 
 g'ood morning''s work before him, and you 
 have already tried him somewhat." 
 
 As Wilmot, delig-hted with the praise be- 
 stowed upon his favourite from such lips, came 
 up proudly to the prince's side, the latter 
 kindl}^ continued, — 
 
 ^^ Your face is strang-e to me, my friend ; and 
 in these days of misfortune, we have few new- 
 comers to our ranks. Is it my fault that I 
 have, heretofore, overlooked so g-allant a Ca- 
 valier ? or are you, indeed, come newly to join 
 the good cause in its last death-strug-g-le ?"
 
 64 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 ^^ To my shame^ 3^our hig'hnessy I must con- 
 fess that I have been a clallier until now. 
 Though 3^ou tell me I am still 3^oung-^ I feel I 
 should have been here earlier." 
 
 '^ By heavens ! sir^ were all dalliers to re- 
 trieve their fault as thou hast done^ we mighty 
 even at the eleventh hour, have hope of better 
 cheer. I like thy spirit, lad ! There are not 
 man}' who would join us at this hour : the 
 time for that is over." 
 
 ^^Over!" said Wilmot, forg'etting' all the 
 dark presentiments of the preceding- nig-ht, 
 and reverting* to the natural enthusiasm of his 
 youth. ^^ Over ! does your Highness say? 
 Surely the time can never be over for all men, 
 ^Y\i\\ one spark of loyalty in their hearts, to rally 
 round the last brave troop who still strugg-le for 
 their King*. Such a cause must prosper in the 
 end. Tyranny and hypocrisy cannot for ever 
 lord it over our fair Eng'land ] and I feel that 
 I shall live to see our cause triumphant, and 
 Prince Rupert honoured as he should be." 
 
 As the Prince listened to Wilmot's g-lowing- 
 words, the old melancholy shade ag'ain fell over 
 his lofty features. " He reminds me," said he, 
 in a half voice, to himself, " of what I thought
 
 PRINCE RUPERT. 65 
 
 m3'self at Edgeliill. Is all hope^ and all en- 
 thusiasm^ to be crushed before those iron Puri- 
 tans ? Poor boy ! poor boy I" 
 
 For some time they rode on in silence^ side 
 by side ', when the Prince^ starting* from his 
 short reverie^ ag-ain turned to Wilinot. 
 
 ^^ You told me of your father as one who 
 had once followed me. So many brave men^ 
 who rode beside me when the war beg'an^ have 
 fallen during- these three 3^ears, that I suppose 
 he is among them. Tell me his name^ that I 
 may try whether my memor}^ holds him. It 
 seems to me that you should spring' from a 
 g-ood stock." 
 
 ^^ His name was Sir Wilmot Gerrard^ and he 
 fell at Edgehill." 
 
 '^ Gerrard?" said the Prince ; ^^ 'tis a loyal 
 name^ and many who bear it have done good 
 service to the King. From what county dost 
 thou come ? " 
 
 ^^ From the far east of Kent; the Isle of 
 Thanet." 
 
 '^ It strikes me^ Prince/' said the Cavalier; 
 who was riding- with them^ and whom Rupert 
 had addressed by the name of Holmes^ '^ that 
 the Gerrard; the young* Parliament-ma n^ who 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 follows closely in the wake of that arch-rebel^ 
 St. John^ is said to be the son of a brave old 
 man^ who fell beside me at Edg-ehill." 
 
 ^^ He is my brother^ sir/' said Wilmot ; 
 ^^ and^ to the shame of our old house^ has for- 
 gotten his father's teaching-." 
 
 ^^ By the devil ! who assists all these rebel 
 dogs^ I thought I knew the brave beast you 
 w^ere riding. Young sir^ I rode beside your 
 father at Edgehill^ and was one of those who 
 helped him to a soldier's burial. Could money 
 have purchased from his honest follower that 
 noble grey^ he had been mine ; but I remember 
 his telling me that he kept him for his master's 
 son : it would have been shame if so gallant 
 a beast had become the servant of a rebel." 
 
 " He has found a worthier fortune/' said 
 the Prince^ offering his hand to Wilmot ; 
 which the young man clasped with proud 
 enthusiasm. '' You have joined us_5 fair sir_, 
 under gloomy auspices ; but if in happier times^ 
 or in lands more fortunate than is now our 
 poor England^ Prince Rupert can assist you 
 aught^ you will find in him a friend." Then^ 
 without waiting for Wilmot's eager acknow- 
 ledgment — ^' And so you have joined us from
 
 PRINCE RUPERT. 67 
 
 the far east of Kent ? You must have found 
 it no easy task, on such an errand^ to push 
 throug-h the rebels' nest; where Goring*, be- 
 tween his cups, was to have raised a new 
 Royal army!" and the stern Prince laughed 
 bitterly. 
 
 ^^ At first, my brother's name was to us as 
 great an assistance as it was to me an inward 
 shame. We travelled far also by unfre- 
 quented, thoug'h circuitous roads, and it was 
 not till last night that we fell fairly into the 
 rebels' hands ; and then our old excuse again 
 availed us." 
 
 " From your account, these men must be a 
 troop of Ironsides, as this new general, Crom- 
 well's men are called : and brave men they 
 are, and make us respect our foe. Strange is 
 the chance which as yet has kept us from 
 meeting* in the field, and thus deferred to an 
 unimportant skirmish, what might have de- 
 cided our country's fate in battle." 
 
 ^^ My prince," said Holmes, " 'tis pity that 
 this Cromwell changed his wing at Naseby, 
 or we might now have had a different tale 
 to tell. I question yet whether his saintly 
 troopers could stand a real Eupert charge."
 
 68 THE KOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 ^^ It seems that we shall soon see/' said the 
 Prince quietly. Then reining- up his horse, 
 and motioning* a halt, — '^ Gentlemen/' he 
 added, ^^ yon cur smells something- in the 
 wind, or he would not sit thus as if cog'ita ting- 
 deeply : heyond 3-onder turn in the road, we 
 shall find our friends. Form line two deep ; 
 and silence, on your lives ! " 
 
 The g*ay troop, who had hitherto advanced 
 with little order, and indulg'ing*, according- to 
 their nature, with jest and laug'h at once, pre- 
 pared themselves for the serious work before 
 them. The road, belted with wood on the 
 left, at a distance of about two hundred yards 
 took a sudden turn in that direction, and thus 
 afforded a favourable opportunity for the 
 attacking- party to lie concealed ; but the 
 presence of a villag*e cur, seated at the turn 
 of the road and looking- down it most in- 
 tently, had informed the quick-sig*hted Prince 
 of the presence of his enemies. 
 
 As, with drawn swords and in utter si- 
 lence, the small party of Cavaliers rode on- 
 wards slowly to the turn of the road, young- 
 Wilmot's heart beat quick and loud with 
 the excitement of the moment. His com-
 
 THE SKIRMISH. 69 
 
 panions were men long* used to peril and to 
 war^ but this was the first time that Wilmot 
 was to cross his sword in ang-er; and the 
 suspense of that passage was enoug-h to test 
 the most battle-steeled nerves. As he looked 
 backwards for a moment^ he caug'ht a g'lance 
 of Kerr ; who had taken his place close 
 behind him^ and was looking at him with a 
 smile of g*rim pleasure on his face. Aye ! the 
 dream of many days was accomplished^ and 
 they were to charge by Rupert's side. 
 
 At length the terrible distance was accom- 
 plished^ and they reached the turn. At a 
 distance of some fifty 3^ards before them, stood 
 the compact body of the Ironsides. " Now, 
 gentlemen ! " shouted Eupert, and the spirit of 
 old days was on him, /^ Charge on these crop- 
 eared sons of Satan, like one man ! No 
 powder, but trust to steel." 
 
 To Wilmot the change was like issuing 
 from darkness into light. A thrill of delight 
 shot through him, as with a shout he urged 
 his noble horse into the mad charge. A 
 worthy enemy was before him, and they had 
 all brave hearts within : yet Wilmot, thanks 
 to his dear " Monarch/' kept alone by Eupert'a
 
 70 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 side^ and with him headed by a length the 
 headlong' race. At such a speed, their ene- 
 mies' bullets whizzed harmlessly by them, 
 and in a moment they met in the tumultuous 
 shock. 
 
 Wilmot felt his good horse stagger and 
 rise again, and, almost without knowing what 
 had passed, he found himself in the midst 
 of their grim foes. Staunchly did the Iron- 
 sides stand their ground. Their number was 
 as three to one to their opponents; and, 
 thouoh their first rank broke before the Ca- 
 valiers' wild rush, with a dogged determination 
 thev now hemmed them in. Holmes and the 
 brave Kerr had struo-o-led close behind the 
 Prince and Wilmot, as their maddened horses 
 went pluno'ino- throuo-h the fio-htino* mass. 
 
 " Seize the arch-son of Belial, though all the 
 rest break throuo*h!" shouted a hoarse voice 
 straight before them ] and in the confused 
 melee Wilmot recoo-nised ao-ain the stern 
 features of the fanatic, who, the previous 
 night, had so worked upon his imagination. 
 ^^God with us! God with us!" With that 
 cry, the cornet and his burly sergeant threw 
 themselves on the Prince, as he burst his way
 
 THE SKIRMISH. 71 
 
 through the steel-clad troopers. Wilraot was 
 still by his side^ and warded off a blow of the 
 g-iant's sword ; which^ had it taken effect^ the 
 warrior Prince would have fallen in a name- 
 less skirmish. '' Ha ! my young- Asahel^ dost 
 thou seek thy fate ? Watch for thy fifth 
 rib ! thy fifth rib^ I say !" But the vaunt 
 was vain^ for Kerr's long* sword had done its 
 duty as the serg-eant spoke^ and his strong- 
 sword-arm fell nerveless by his side. Wilmot 
 had hardly noticed his danger or his rescue. 
 At that same instant the ofiicer had fallen, 
 with one thrust from Rupert through his 
 undefended throat; and through the feet of 
 the trampling horses^ Wilmot had shuddered 
 at his upturned face^ recalling to memory his 
 ominous vision of the pale sleeping warrior. 
 
 But the struofo-le was at an end. The 
 Prince and his handful of followers had cut 
 their way through the foiled Ironsides ; and as 
 they reined up their horses on the other side, 
 their mute offer to continue the fig'ht was 
 unaccepted, and the road to Bristol was clear 
 before them.
 
 72 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE, AND THE QUARTERS IN 
 BRISTOL. 
 
 He has been bred i' the wars 
 Since he could draw a sword, and is ill-schooled 
 In boulted language ; meal and bran together 
 He throws without distinction. 
 
 CORIOLANIJS, Act iii. Scene 2- 
 
 The Cavaliers had lost four of their number in 
 their bold dash throug-h the troop of Ironsides ; 
 but the latter had suffered far more severely, 
 their loss alone exceeding- the whole body of 
 their opponents 5 considering* also the fall of 
 their leader, it was no marvel that they allowed 
 the small party of Cavaliers to pursue their 
 way unresisted. Perhaps, to say the truth, 
 neither were all of these sorry when their 
 mute challenge was unaccepted. 
 
 '^ Have we left any in their hands, g-entle-
 
 THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE. 73 
 
 men?" asked the Prince^ as with an eag-le eye 
 he scanned his reduced rank of followers^ and 
 the close-g'athered troop of Ironsides collect- 
 ing* round their dead. ^^ Where are Blunt^ 
 Hartman^ Greville^ and Cayron ? Who saw 
 them fall ? Or are they prisoners ? " 
 
 But in that skirmish there were no pri- 
 soners save to death : their comrades had seen 
 them fall, and had aveng-ed them. '' Then/' 
 said Prince Rupert, ^^ it is useless on their 
 account to turn back to give these rebels 
 another taste of our steel. Let us on ag*ain 
 for Bristol. Since they are dead, they died as 
 they would wish to die. If not to-day, to-mor- 
 row : and, by our lucky star, young- sir," he 
 added to Wilmot, " it had been my day too, 
 but for your timely succour. These puddle- 
 blooded troopers have learned to fig-ht like 
 g-entlemen, and make a charg'e a pleasure." 
 
 '^ Are you hurt, dear Master Wilmot ? " said 
 Kerr, creeping- to his side. " See how the blood 
 is dripping" down your left arm : let me tie it 
 for 3^ou at once, or \ will be worse ere we 
 reach Bristol." 
 
 In the excitement of the fig'ht, and the 
 proud feeling caused by Rupert's acknowledg*-
 
 74 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 ment^ Wilmot had not observed that he was 
 wounded^ until his attached follower had 
 broug-ht the fact to his notice. He had re- 
 ceived a sword-cut on his bridle-arm^ and the 
 blood trickling- down over his hand^ had made 
 a g'ory stain on ^^ Monarch's" g'lossy shoulder. 
 At first^ he thoug'ht with alarm that his favour- 
 ite mio'ht have suffered a severe hurt in the 
 late charg'e^ but was astonished to find that 
 all the blood proceeded from his own unper- 
 ceived wound. It was well that Kerr had 
 watched his young" master so closely; for a 
 stealing" sensation of faintness soon shewed 
 Wilmot he had suffered more severely than he 
 thouoht. He was forced to dismount with 
 Kerr^ and while the kind Prince and his Cava- 
 liers halted round them^ that faithful follower 
 produced bandag-es from his well-stored hol- 
 sters, and rapidly, but skilfully, bound up his 
 wounded arm. If, when Wilmot and Kerr 
 first rode up to the Cavalier ranks, some con- 
 tempt was excited among- the g'ayer dressed 
 of the party, by the rusticity of their appear- 
 ance, there was no such feeling* now. All 
 among"st them felt admiration for the g-allant 
 lad who had so bravely fleshed his maiden
 
 THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE. 75 
 
 sword ag-ainst the redoubted Ironsides ; and as 
 they now watched the strong* 3^eoman tenderly 
 binding- up the wound in his smooth^ boyish 
 arm^ used as they were to bloody a dash of pity 
 ming'led with their respect^ and increased their 
 universal feelino- of kindness towards him. 
 
 As they proceeded gently on their ride to 
 Bristol, Eupert questioned Wilmot more at 
 larg'e on his wishes and his prospects, and 
 finding- his chief desire was to be attached to 
 his own person, he named him one of his pages, 
 in place of one who had fallen in the skirmish 
 of the morning*; giving it as a charge to his 
 follower Holmes to look after the youth's com- 
 fort and provision in garrison. Wilmot was 
 fortunate in being- thrown on such companion- 
 ship; for an honester heart, and kinder, had 
 never passed through the ordeal of a three 
 years' civil war. 
 
 Holmes was a noble specimen of a much 
 malig-ned race, — a soldier of fortune. He 
 had served upon the Continent before the 
 civil war had commenced, and having- no pro- 
 perty but his sword, had, from an instinct of 
 the heart, returned to England to help with 
 that the Eoyal cause. His reckless bravery had
 
 76 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 attracted early the notice of Prince Eupert ; 
 and by the influence which that daring* prince 
 possessed of attracting- to himself kindred 
 spirits^ he had drawn him into the circle of 
 his devoted followers. Holmes had conse- 
 quently shared in all Eupert's most famous 
 exploits ; and^ from a ver}^ natural feeling-^ the 
 loyalty to his King* which had led him into 
 the conflict^ had merg'ed at last into an enthu- 
 siastic partisanship for his own leader. He 
 was now^ in effectj one of Prince Eupert's own ; 
 and^ looking- at their present cause as despe- 
 rate^ was prepared to follow his chosen chief 
 in any new field where their efforts might 
 have more success. 
 
 But defeat and misfortune had made little 
 difference in his jovial temper : he had the 
 true soldier's philosophy ; which enabled him to 
 bear the frowns of Fortune as lig-ht-heartedly 
 as her smiles, provided she left him the con- 
 solation of some few creature-comforts. His 
 hearty and jovial speech had quite won Wil- 
 mot's heart, ere they stopped at the house in 
 Bristol, which Holmes informed him was the 
 lodo-inof he was in future to share. A buxom, 
 middle-ao'ed woman received them at the door-
 
 THE QUARTERS IN BRISTOL. 77 
 
 way ; whom, in spite of the prim Puritan g-arb 
 in which her comely person was arrayed^ 
 Holmes saluted with more of unction than 
 befitted so staid a matron. ^^ I bring'/' said 
 he, introducing' Wilmot, ^^to partake of your 
 hospitalities, fair dame, a young' g'entleman, 
 who, as the brother of one of your pet 
 patriots, has a double claim upon your kind- 
 ness." 
 
 " If he is as you say. Sir Rattler, more 
 shame for him to join so reckless a pack of 
 sinners as have now peopled our old Bristol : '^ 
 but the ^ood lady's face was not so severe 
 as her words, as she looked on the hand- 
 some youth, and received with becoming- 
 g-ravity the chaste salute, which, after the ex- 
 ample of his senior, Wilmot offered to her 
 cheek. 
 
 ^^ Aye, Gerrard, you will find dame Cottle 
 a g-entle hostess, thoug^h she vows she hates 
 us Malig-nants in her heart. I do not think 
 there can be hatred ag-ainst anything- in 
 a heart so tender. I vow,'' said the stout 
 Cavalier, and he pumped up a hug'e sig-h from 
 his broad chest, ^^ she 's only hard-hearted in 
 one matter. If you are not within a week as
 
 78 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 hopelessl}^ in love as I am^ my name 's not 
 Eobert Holmes ! " 
 
 ^^What Christian woman ever heard such 
 folly at my years ! " said the dame ', '' but you 
 idle Cavaliers would practise your enticements 
 on a female Methusaleh for lack of younger 
 deer." 
 
 '^ Now^ by mine honour^ as a soldier ! " 
 burst out Holmes^ ^^ no lips but thy own red 
 ones should utter so false a speech. Thou 
 to talk of thy years^ quotha ! If there be two 
 things in this world which I flatter myself 
 that I can judge of^ 'tis a woman and a horse, 
 and give me neither of them in their raw 
 youth : no filly for me ! Now_, Gerrard^ look 
 at that noble beast of yours. What bone, 
 and power, and points ! There 's a sloping 
 shoulder, and full chest, and rounded flank, 
 and glorious quarter ! What colt was ever 
 filled up like that ? Aye, and his legs are as 
 clean as a colt's yet : I confess that in that 
 particular the young ones claim the preference ; 
 for years in time will make them puffy about 
 the ankles. Still, I say, it requires some age 
 to make a colt fit to carry a man ; and what 
 I have propounded of the value of years to
 
 THE QUARTERS IN BRISTOL. 79 
 
 the lower beast^ I would arg-ue^ with Dame 
 Cottle's favour^ holds equally good as respects 
 a still lovelier creature — woman." 
 
 ^^ Ah ! young- g-entleman/' said she^ hur- 
 riedly interrupting- Holmes^ in anticipation of 
 a somewhat free analog-y on his part^ '^ I fear 
 you can learn little g-ood in such g-odless 
 company : ^ t would be better for ^^ou to send 
 the beasts you rave about to the stable^ and 
 let me try whether I can do aug-ht for this 
 youth's arm^ which I can see has g-ot some 
 hurt/' 
 
 ^^On my faith!" said Holmes^ ^^ there's not 
 a chirurg-eon in all Bristol could look to it 
 better. Wh}^^ Gerrard man^ I would g'ladly 
 take your wound to have it dressed by such 
 soft fing-ers." 
 
 " Nay/' said Gerrard laug-hing-^ and amused 
 by his companion's rattling- manner^ '^ I would 
 not let you take my scratchy even thoug'h 
 it were a wound; to lose with it so envied a 
 privileg-e ] " and as Kerr^ g'uided by a trooper 
 who was Holmes's servant, led the horses to 
 the stable. Dame Cottle ushered the Cavaliers 
 into the interior of her house. 
 
 The comely widow, for such she was, had,
 
 80 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 indeed^ too kind a disposition to bear much 
 malice ag"ainst either party in the State ; and 
 thoug-h^ when Colonel Fiennes vacated Bristol 
 to the royal troops^ she professed herself a 
 stout Puritan to the new-comers^ she seemed 
 now to look with no unfavourable eye upon 
 the stout Cavalier Holmes ; who^ since Prince 
 Rupert's arrival in those parts^ had been 
 picketed upon her house. Her kind heart 
 was immediately attracted by Wilmot's youth ; 
 and^ as Holmes had truly said^ no surg-eon 
 could have dressed his wound more skilfully 
 than she immediately proceeded to do. On 
 examination^ it proved to be very slig-ht^ and 
 required little more than an adjustment of the 
 bandag'es already applied by Kerr ) and when 
 that brave follower returned from the stable^ 
 where he had seen their horses made com- 
 fortable after their journey, he found his 
 young- master and Holmes equally enjo3dng' 
 the g-ood meal with which the hospitable widow 
 had provided them. 
 
 Thus auspiciously began Wilmot's new 
 garrison life. But, under such a leader 
 as Rupert, it was not to be an idle one, so 
 long" as the now -closely gathering enemy
 
 THE QUAETERS IN BRISTOL. 81 
 
 allowed the leag'uered Cavaliers any room for 
 enterprise. But there was now little to detain 
 them elsewhere; and each tale of news that 
 reached the Eoyalists of Bristol informed them 
 of some additional loss on their side : of the 
 fall of Iloyal g'arrison after garrison, of the ru- 
 moured flight of their Monarch into Scotland, 
 of the utter ruin of Gorino-'s army in the AVest ; 
 of the real truth that they were an isolated 
 body of men, left unassisted to defend the last 
 strong-hold of their cause. At the commence- 
 ment of August, Bath had to be abandoned to 
 the rebels, and all the Prince's available force 
 was concentrated for the defence of Bristol. 
 
 As an immediate follower of Bupert, Wilmot 
 had then a stirrino- life to lead. Thouo-h the 
 Prince at that time looked evidently on the 
 Boyal cause as lost, he did not the less exert 
 every effort on his part which might retrieve 
 it. The country-people round, maddened by 
 the exactions of each contending* party, had 
 lately risen in confused nightly mobs, and, 
 armed with rustic implements, had vowed 
 vengeance on their tormentors. Most im- 
 portant auxiliaries would they have proved to 
 the ruined army of the King ; and Rupert left 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE KOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 no endeavour untried to bring* them avowedly 
 to his side. Many a long- ride over the hills 
 and g-lens of Gloucestershire had Wilmot at 
 that time, following- the indefatio-able Prince 
 in his efforts to meet and win over these hardy 
 rioters. 
 
 But thoug'h the enrag*ed rustics had little 
 sympathy with the rebels^ it was impossible 
 to make them actively espouse the Ilo3^al 
 party : their only real enemy was war ; the 
 only object of any moment to their hearts was 
 peace. Smarting- under their severe personal 
 losses^ the}^ cared nothing- Avhether King- or Par- 
 liament won the victory^ so only that the war 
 should end. ^'^ Cease this eternal strug'g-le/^ 
 they cried^ in answer to the Prince ; ^^ leave us 
 to live in quiet by the labour of our hands ; do 
 not continue for ever to rob us of our cattle 
 and all the produce of our toil ; or — thoug-h we 
 will f]g"ht neither for King' nor Parliament — 
 we will fight for our own property and lives." 
 
 What arg-uments could the Prince adduce 
 to meet such truths as these ? There was not 
 one among- the Cavaliers^ careless and thoag'ht- 
 less as he might be^ but whom such scenes 
 repeated awoke to the mournful truth that
 
 THE QUARTERS IN BRISTOL, 83 
 
 their strug-gle was useless^ and their ruin in 
 evitable. On the young- mind of Wihnot 
 unused to any of the horrors of war, these 
 things made a still deeper impression ; and 
 the old enthusiasm, which had blazed up ag-ain 
 at the skirmish with the Roundhead troops, 
 fell before the despairing- bands of an injured 
 peasantry. 
 
 " I see/' said Holmes to him on one such 
 occasion, ^^ that you don't like this work of 
 dispersing" these poor devils. And, on my 
 honour, neither do I. But we must do our 
 duty as soldiers to our cause, while it has one 
 chance left 3 and if these fellows won't give us 
 their stout rig*ht arms, they must give us their 
 cattle, to enable us to defend Bristol, and live 
 while doing- it." 
 
 "'Tis a bitter necessity,'' answered Wilmot. 
 ^^ I have lived among such men from my 
 youth, and it cuts me to the heart to do them 
 wrono-. Would that there were no horrors in 
 war, and that we need do no injury except to 
 the many in arms !" 
 
 '' Ay, Gerrard, 't is pleasant work cutting- 
 down a damned Ironside, I grant 3'OU. But 
 I fear habit has a bad knack of hardening the
 
 84 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 heart ag-aiiist such scruples ; and if I g'et a 
 strang'e twing-e now and then^ it passes. There 
 is as much difference between us^ as there is 
 between this g'ood beast that has carried me 
 through three campaig-ns^ and your fiery 
 ^ Monarch/ In a racing* charg-e^ 3'our g-rey 
 would g-ive 3^ou the honour of the first dash 
 into the foe; and ^tis an honour worth winning" 
 too. But when we are plodding- on quietly 
 as nowj it requires but a village cur to rush 
 barking' at his heels^ or for a trumpet to blow 
 a blast^ or even for one of 3^on swineherds' 
 horns to bray its summons for the peasant mob^ 
 and he frets and fumes with excitement^ to 
 your discomfort and his own * while my steady 
 old bay trudges on without giving an}' trouble 
 to himself or master. You both want use^ nw 
 bo3^ 'T will not be long^ I hope^ ere we shall 
 both be eno-RO'ed in a new and more aus- 
 picious field^ and I shall see you^ perhaps^ 
 as hardened a sinner as myself; while these 
 Boundheads cut their own throats for lack of 
 better employment." 
 
 " Oh^ Holmes ! but for one other bout with 
 them^ to avenge the injuries they force us to 
 commit on these harmless people I When I
 
 THE QUARTERS IN BRISTOL. 85 
 
 think of the inevitable triumphs of these 
 bloody men — of our dear King* about to fly 
 for refug-e from one bod}^ of traitors to another 
 — of all the g-ood blood that has been vainly 
 shed in his behalf— of our fair country given 
 up to the tj^ranny of these ruthless hypocrites 
 — I cannot look to any other field^ to any 
 other foe. Youno* as I am, if there be one 
 fate I choose^ 't would be to die in battle with 
 these loosed fiends of hell \ having- done my 
 best to send as many of them as I mig'ht^ to 
 that^ their longing- home !" 
 
 Holmes was silent for a time : the wild pas- 
 sion of the lad seemed to smite his conscience^ 
 as a reproof to his own growing- lukewarm- 
 ness. As they rode together into the tovvn^ he 
 said to Wilmot^ " I hope, Gerrard, we shall 
 both fulfil one portion of your wish, before 
 these very walls. The Prince will not leavje 
 his horse to fatten idly behind stone defences."
 
 86 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE SIEGE OF BRISTOL, AND THE COMPACT WITH 
 THE PRIXCE. 
 
 Then spur and sword, was the battle-word, and we made their 
 
 helmets ring, 
 Shouting like madmen all the while " For God and for the King !" 
 And though thej snuffled psalms, to give the rebel dogs their 
 
 due. 
 When the roaring shot poured thick and hot, they were stalwart 
 
 men and true. 
 
 TEE OLD CAVALIEE. 
 
 The rumour that the Eoimdhead army was 
 preparing- speedily to inyest Bristol^ was a 
 true one ; and after making- every possible ar- 
 rang-ement for its defence, drivino- all the sur- 
 roimdino' cattle within the walls, throwino* in 
 provision from Wales^ and streng'thening* the 
 vast line of far too weak defences as much 
 as the scanty time permitted^ Prince Rupert 
 summoned a council of war, to decide on his
 
 THE SIEGE OF BRISTOL. 87 
 
 future course. The daring- Prince's nature 
 was ill suited for the dog'g'ed perseverance of 
 a sieg-e^ and it was g-enerally known that his 
 wish was rather to leave the beleao-uered town 
 to the defence of the infantry within it^ and^ 
 followed by his horse^ to break throug'h the 
 surrounding- Roundhead army, and join with 
 his brave band the persecuted person of his 
 Kin Of. Such a desio-n was after Wilmot's own 
 heart ; and thoug-h he long-ed earnestly ag-ain 
 to cross his sword with the enemy, his rustic 
 nature could not help looking' forward with 
 dread to the time when the circling* Round- 
 heads would prevent all eg-ress from the close 
 stone walls. But the council of officers de- 
 cided that it would not be for the Prince's 
 honour to desert them, and that with the 
 town of Bristol, they all must stand or fall ; 
 and so departed the hope of one last brilliant 
 charg-e. 
 
 Three weeks had passed since Wilmot en- 
 tered Bristol with the Prince; and thoug-h, 
 in that time, many of the illusions he had 
 cherished when startingf for the war were 
 dissipated, and the horrors of the reality had 
 replaced the brilliant ideas which his imag'i-
 
 88 THE EOYALIST AND THE EEPUBLICAN. 
 
 nation formed^ still he had led a life of such 
 constant and changing- enterprise in his at- 
 tendance on the Prince^ that the time elapsed 
 seemed to him as if it should be counted rather 
 in months than weeks. 
 
 It was the evening- of the 21st of Aug-ust^ 
 and Wilmot and Kerr had g'one^ with many 
 others^ to walk on the southern ramparts of the 
 town^ from whence the fires of the enemy were 
 then clearl}^ disting-uishable throug'h the g-loom. 
 It was evident that the sieg-e would soon 
 heg'in^ and a natural curiosity attracted both 
 many a reckless soldier and anxious citizen to 
 look at this first evidence of the Roundheads' 
 near approach. 
 
 " I ^^'onder^ Master AVilmot^ whether that 
 saintly Peters be among- them. I owe him a 
 g-rudg-e yet for daring- to lift his hand ag-ainst 
 his master's son^ and shall not think him quit 
 with only one drawing- cut along- the arm." 
 
 '^ Why^ Kerr/' said Wilmot^ laug-hing*^ 
 ^^ one would think^ to hear you^ there was a 
 divinity that hedg*ed me round ; why should 
 not the g'ood serg-eant have struck at me as 
 freely as another ?" 
 
 '^ Ah; sir ! he ate your father's bread once/'
 
 THE SIEGE OF BRISTOL. 89 
 
 said Kerr^ ^^ and I could not raise my hand 
 ao^ainst our Puritan master if I met him in the 
 ranks^ let alone so g-allant a lad. On my soul ! 
 dear Master Wilmot^ I was proud of you that 
 day ) and never did I think that favourite 
 drawinof cut of mine would have done me 
 such service as it did then : with the stick 
 even^ it makes a lad's arm numb * but with the 
 steely it drops a sword as powerless as thoug'h 
 a baby g-rasped it. You must practise it^ 
 Master Wilmot; your blind slashes will not 
 answer in the end." 
 
 '' Why^ Kerr^ I cannot^ like yourself, cross 
 sword-blades with a Roundhead as coolly as 
 I would trundle the sticks with a Kentishman^ 
 in play ; but still I think 3^our old lessons 
 have done me service^ and_, if yon fellows give 
 us the opportunity^ may do me more. Stilly I 
 had liefer far meet them mounted on my brave 
 ^ Monarch' in the field^ than cooped within these 
 walls. Our country lungs do not breathe freely 
 in a garrison." 
 
 " Ay^ Master Wilmot/' said the honest 
 Kerr^ with a touch of true nostalgia stir- 
 ring his broad breast^ ^^your puff of air that 
 wanders towards us from the Severn^ has not
 
 90 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 half the true salt flavour of a breeze across the 
 Foreland. I hope we shall see the white cliffs 
 ag'ain when this devil's work is over." 
 
 ^^ What ! homesick already^ my g'ood Kerr ? 
 Or is it that our comely hostess does not treat 
 3"ou as well as she does ourselves^ so that^ as 
 she would say, you are long-ing* for the flesh- 
 pots of Egypt you have left behind?" asked 
 Wilmot, smilino' at the ruthful sio-h of his 
 follower. 
 
 " Dame Bridg'et is a g-ood and kindl}' dame^ 
 and I never thouo-ht that one of that sour 
 persuasion could have so soft a heart. In- 
 deed, I've told her that I don't believe she is 
 a Puritan, in spite of her speech and dress ; it's 
 only a piece of a woman's contrariety that 
 gives her the disg'uise." Kerr spoke so far, 
 and then was silent for a minute ; but Wilmot 
 was perhaps himself thinking* of the white 
 cliffs of Kent, and made no answer. '^ Master 
 Wilmot," he continued, '' do you think there 
 is any harm in the free jesting* of that g*al- 
 Hard, Captain Holmes ? I should be sorry to 
 see so fair a vessel boarded by a pirate." 
 
 ^^ Nay, Kerr, 'tis but his way: Holmes 
 has too good a heart to do an injury to the
 
 THE SIEGE OF BRISTOL. 91 
 
 hospitable dame who treats her enemies so 
 well. Thoiio'h I fancy 'tis part of his creed 
 to bandy compliments to every comely face he 
 meets. But think you our soft-hearted hostess 
 would listen to the flatteries of an Arch- 
 malig'nant?" 
 
 '' Humph ! sir/' said Kerr^ who had not 
 perhaps so lofty an ideal of the sex as our 
 young- romantic Cavalier^ " a woman is but a 
 woman after all^ in any starched disguise \ and 
 Captain Holmes is a proper man^ and satisfies 
 the eye. But I confess I have seen her g-ive 
 him no favours which an honest woman should 
 not; and Heaven defend me from thinking* 
 wrong unjustly of any kind-hearted dame !" 
 
 *^ Why, Kerr/' said Wilmot, laug-hing-, '^ I 
 do believe Dan Cupid has been at his favourite 
 tricks, and let loose a shaft into that sturdy 
 breast of-thine ! If it indeed be so, 3^ou will 
 be able to endure better than your master the 
 time of idleness which yon Boundheads seem 
 to promise us with their blockade." 
 
 ^^ There spoke a young" campaigner/' said 
 a well-known voice behind them ; and Wilmot, 
 turninof, saw the tall form of the Prince on the 
 now-deserted rampart. ^^ You need not fear/'
 
 92 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 eoiitinued he^ '^ that 3^011 Roundheads will let 
 us lead an idle life behind these walls. There 
 will he stiff work for you 3'et^ hoth before and 
 behind this line. But come^ Wilmot^ I have 
 been looking- for an opportunity to speak to 
 thee^ and I can do so now as you accompany 
 me on my round." 
 
 The evening- had waned^ and except the 
 warders^ who at intervals kept watch^ the 
 Prince and Wilmot were alone; as^ followed 
 at a little distance by Kerr^ they pursued their 
 way along* the ramparts. 
 
 '^ From the first day^ AVilmot^ that you 
 joined us/' said Eupert to his delig-hted lis- 
 tener^ ^^ I took a fancy to your young- face^ 
 and it needed not the g'ood service you that 
 day did me to confirm my favour. In these 
 days of desertion^ when so many are leaving-^ 
 and none coming- to our ranks^ full honour 
 should be due to our last volunteer. But 
 had I met you ere the die was cast^ I^ Rupert_, 
 would have told you not to come." 
 
 For a moment^ the Prince was silent ; and 
 Wilmot's heart was too full of g'rateful ex- 
 ultation at Rupert's unwonted tribute^ for 
 him to find words to shew it. The Prince
 
 THE COMPACT WITH THE PRINCE. 93 
 
 continued : '' Wilmot^ I am about to open my 
 thoughts more fully to you than I have yet 
 done to any ) for I know that what I am about 
 to sa}^ will now have no effect in damping* 
 your young- ardour^ but may return to your 
 memory hereafter^ and help 3^ou then to steer 
 vour course. 'Tis useless to diso-uise the fact 
 that the Royal cause is already hopelessly lost. 
 I have done my duty by the King-^ and advised 
 him to make peace on any terms he may ) and 
 of course my honest counsel has been disre- 
 g'arded^ at the whisper of knaves and statists 
 who never drew a sword or dared even to see 
 a charg-e. But^ let any course be followed^ the 
 cause is lost. These walls of Bristol^ behind 
 which 3'ou talked of coming- idlesse^ will not 
 keep out yon Roundheads for a month_, and 
 would not resist one general storm. I trust, 
 Wilmot, we shall all do our duty j but, im- 
 possible as is the approach of any relief, the 
 fall of Bristol is merely a question of time. 
 I shall not leave the country at once : I will 
 not give my enemies around the King* so con- 
 venient a handle for their spite." 
 
 " Enemies, your highness ! " broke in 
 Wilmot. '^ Surely amongst all to whom the
 
 94 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 Ro3^al cause is dear^ there can be no enemies 
 to Prince Rupert^ its chiefest champion ?" 
 
 " Ah^ Wilmot ! " said the Prince mourn- 
 fully^ " those enemies of his have done more to 
 bring- us to our present plight than 3^ou can 
 wot of. Why^ my Lord Big-by now — I doubt 
 not that, if he prays at all, he prays most de- 
 voutly for the fall of Bristol, and the ruin of 
 Bupert's honour. But enoug'h of this — 'twas 
 for you that I would speak. This fatal war 
 must soon be at an end, and under the g-entle 
 rule of my Lord-General Cromwell and his 
 saints, England will not be a fit country for 
 such honest men as may survive. A brave 
 heart and stout arm can, however, find em- 
 ployment anywhere; and I trust that you will 
 follow Rupert's leading- in some more fortu- 
 nate campaig-n. Be sure he would never bid 
 you draw ^^our sword to its dishonour." 
 
 '^ When our poor Sovereig-n," answered 
 Wilmot, half- bewildered by all the unex- 
 pected confidence of the Prince had then 
 first taught him, ^^ has no further claims upon 
 my service, my heart's whole alleg-iance, your 
 hig'hness, will be turned to you; and certain 
 am I that nowhere can such honour be reaped 
 as under your leadiug-.''
 
 THE COMPACT WITH THE PRINCE. 95 
 
 "And this brave follower of thine/' said 
 Kupert^ stopping*^ and beckoning- to Kerr to 
 approach them^ "would he rather obey the 
 saints at home^ or wander with us o'er the 
 world? By Heaven! he's a proper fellow^ 
 and fit to shew the foreigners of what stuff 
 you islanders are made. Your master and 
 I/' said he to Kerr^ "have been making- a 
 compact to leave old Eng-land^ when g'ood 
 Cavaliers are wanted here no long-er^ and win 
 fame tog-ether upon some foreign field. Is 
 your heart too much wedded to this fair maid 
 of Bristol^ or will you try your fortune also in 
 distant lands ? " 
 
 " Ah^ Prince/' said Kerr^ " you heard my 
 master jesting" with me^ as is his wont ; but he 
 knows that I would follow him to the world's 
 end." 
 
 " Ay^ Kerr^ I know it well/' and Wilmot 
 warmly pressed the honest yeoman's hand^ 
 in acknowledgment of his hearty burst oi 
 feeling. 
 
 " Then I shall have two more brave men to 
 fight with me for the honour of St. George/' 
 said Rupert ; " and now^ as it is w^axing late^ 
 and I have gone the round of Bristol^ we will
 
 96 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 turn in^ and prepare ourselves to g-ive those 
 damned Roundheads a bellyful to-morrow. 
 Good-nio-ht ! '' 
 
 The open-hearted Prmce was g'one^ and 
 Wilmot and Kerr turned slowh' to their quar- 
 ters. On Wihiiot^ the conversation of that 
 nig-ht, so honourable to himself^ had a lasting* 
 life influence ; but at the time, its melancholy 
 import seemed stunning in its effect. From 
 Holmes and others^ he had previously learned 
 the feeling' of hopelessness which their posi- 
 tion had inspired in all ; but now the reality of 
 their ruin was confirmed even by their leader : 
 by Eupert himself^ the incarnation of hope, 
 of chivalry^ and daring. The utmost pitch of 
 resistance was certainly to be tried^ but with 
 the certain anticipation of defeat at last. As 
 Ynlmot had truly said to Holmes^ on his 
 making to him a like proposal of entering on 
 a foreign campaign^ his heart was too much 
 engrossed in the present conflict, to look for- 
 ward to another. Though he had answered 
 Rupert's offer honestly — for he felt if there was 
 ever chivalrous leader upon earthy 'twas he — 
 yet^ in reality, his mind rested not for a 
 moment on the prospect of the future to which
 
 THE COMPACT WITH THE PEINCE. 97 
 
 the Prince invited him. Here alone was his 
 chosen field, his chosen foe, his chosen fate. 
 In his heart of hearts he vowed that if the 
 enterprise he had undertaken were indeed fu- 
 tile^ it should be at least complete 5 and in the 
 passion of despair, he determined to offer him- 
 self as a holocaust to the cause, that no love, 
 no sacrifice could save. 
 
 It was late ere Wilmot sunk to sleep that 
 nig-ht, and on the morrow he was awoke 
 by the well-known trumpet-call of Eupert's, 
 summoning- the Horse to boot and saddle. 
 With a beating- heart, but a determined will, 
 he mounted his favourite, and joined the 
 g-athering- troops, Avhom Rupert had deter- 
 mined should give a welcome to the first 
 body of the Eoundheads, who were now ap- 
 pearing- in some force on the south of the 
 town. Sir Richard Crane, a brave Cavalier, 
 commanded the sallying- party* their orders 
 were to do as much injury as the}' could 
 to the covering- Cavalry part}' of the enemy, 
 and having- forced them to retire from their 
 present advanced position, to return without 
 delay. Yery different were now Wilmot's 
 feeling-s, as they defiled down the narrow 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 streets^ to what they had been when charging* 
 the Ironsides by Eupert's side : the thrilling' 
 g-low of excitement had given place to the 
 dog'g'edness of despair. In after times he 
 shuddered to think of the vindictive hate 
 which filled him then : a voice within him 
 seemed perpetually to whisper^ Kill^ Idll^ kill ! 
 They passed through the southern gate^ 
 and then forming line^ orderly as if upon 
 parade^ advanced with no tumultuous charge 
 across the open country to the enemy. The 
 Roundhead horse came forward to protect 
 their foot from the Cavalry onset^ and as the 
 two bodies met each other^ the order was 
 shouted for the charg-e. Looking on every 
 individual in the Parliament ranks as his per- 
 sonal enemy^ AVilmot drove blindly into the 
 thickest of the melee. Without thinking of his 
 own danger^ or defence^ on^ on^ he clove his way. 
 Now an uplifted sword seemed to himself about 
 to smite him down^ but the blow fell harm- 
 less ; where^ he knew not and recked not^ and 
 another victim was offered to the account of 
 his revenge. '' For God and for the King ! '' 
 the old Cavalier cry, sounded round him, and 
 echoed in his ringing ears; but with close
 
 THE SALLY FROM BRISTOL. 99 
 
 clenched teeth, and a silence more passionate 
 than any war shout^ Wilmot foug-ht on his 
 desperate way. He seemed to himself to be 
 defended by some invisible power^ while he 
 performed his bloody work of retribution^ and 
 unheeding" what passed around him^ drove on 
 as in a dream. The fight had not lasted long- 
 when the Eoundheads were in full retreat^ 
 and Wilmot heard Kerr's voice shouting- to 
 him^ abjuring- him to cease pursuit: the 
 trumpet of recall had sounded^ and as Wilmot 
 at last ag-ain turned his horse's head towards 
 the walls; he felt astonished at his own safety. 
 With a gloomy satisfaction his eye reverted 
 to his streaming sword^ and as^ ere sheathing 
 it^ he wiped its blade upon his charger's mane, 
 he smiled bitterly to think how well its work 
 was done. 
 
 '^ On my honour, Master Wilmot/' said 
 Kerr to him, as they rejoined the main body 
 of their troop, '^ I may take as mine, every 
 empty saddle which you made, after the first ; 
 for had I not looked more to your guard than 
 you did, your first had been your last. For 
 God's sake ! remember my advice about this 
 blind slashing : what use is there in being a
 
 100 THE EOYALIST AND THE EEPUBLICAN. 
 
 swordsman^ if one fig-hts after ^^our fashion? 
 I kept roaring* to you to mind your guard^ 
 and 3^0 u listened to me no more than a bull 
 with the dog's on him ! " 
 
 ^^ Well^ Kerr^ I '11 be a worthier pupil an- 
 other time ^ and I confess^ I do not deserve so 
 careful a g'uardian." 
 
 They rejoined their party^ and returned to 
 the fort : the sally had been successful ; but 
 together with some twenty prisoners^ and 
 the gain of some loose horses^ the Cavaliers 
 brought back with them the dead body of 
 their leader. The Roundheads were retiring 
 from their too near approach^ to wait for re- 
 inforcements ; but at such a price as the loss 
 of the brave Sir Richard Crane^ the tem- 
 porary victory was dearly won. As they 
 re-entered the gate of Bristol^ Holmes came 
 up to Wilmot. '' Are 3^ou quite unhurt, my 
 boy ? " he asked. '^ Why then^ on the expe- 
 rience of an old soldier^ I will pronounce you 
 as lucky in a melee as our own mad Prince. I 
 watched 3^ou from the ramparts^ and as 3^our 
 grey ^ Monarch' went plunging through the 
 Roundheads' centre^ I did not think to see 
 you come out of them to-da3^ Poor Crane !
 
 THE SALLY FROM BRISTOL. 101 
 
 he was as brave a gentleman as ever wore 
 a sword. Whenever next you join a sally, 
 Gerrard, I must take advantag^e of your g-ood 
 luck; and we will try whether we cannot, 
 tog-ether, make yon Eoundheads pay for the 
 death of my old friend."
 
 102 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE JOVIAL CAMPAIGNER, AND THE YOUNG 
 ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 Wine is to be used, cum ahstinentia et temperantia, for the 
 recovery of the sick, the consolation of the dying, and the healing 
 of a wounded spirit. 
 
 TAYLOKS FHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE, 
 
 Part 1, Act V. Scene 2. 
 
 I am too unhappy 
 To die ; as some too way-worn cannot sleep. 
 
 Existence I despise ; 
 The shape of man is wearisome : a bird's — 
 A worm's — a whirlwind's — I would change with aught. 
 
 BAILEY'S FESTUS. 
 
 While AVilmot had been engaged with the 
 sallying' party^ the outpost of Bedminster had 
 been fired by Rupert's order^ on the informa- 
 tion that the enemy that night intended to 
 lodge themselves there. As Wilmot returned, 
 he saw its wretched inhabitants hurrying into 
 the gates with such wrecks of property as 
 they had time to save. The glory of war ! 
 Wilmot saw it now in all its reality of horrors,
 
 THE JOVIAL CAMPAIGNER. 103 
 
 and in his mood of mind every incident of 
 added woe increased his deadly detestation of 
 the men^ whom he felt had forced it upon 
 his unhappy land. 
 
 The day passed on^ and ag-ainst the foiling- 
 darkness of the night, the flames of the 
 devoted villag"e blazed up in g'ory red. But 
 reg'ardless of the flames and falling- roofs, 
 the determined enemy took their allotted 
 stand j and from the walls of Bristol their 
 forms were visible in the g-hastly lig'ht, as 
 during" the whole of that first nig-ht of the 
 sieg-e they poured their ceaseless fire. 
 
 On the next day their whole forces ap- 
 peared on each bank of the Avon^ threatening- 
 the city upon every side. The country round 
 was thickly enclosed with hedg-es and ditches, 
 which affording' a cover for the enemy's 
 approach, the only way to keep them from 
 the works was by constant and sudden sallies. 
 During- the whole day these were repeated in 
 different quarters by Eupert's resistless horse ; 
 but chiefly from the Temple Gate, where tlie 
 Roundheads had commenced to erect their 
 batter}', did they pour forth on their bloody 
 work, from which they never returned wiili-
 
 104 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 out some hard-won trophy. The fallmg even- 
 ino* only o^-ave them rest from their continued 
 exertion. 
 
 As Holmes, Wihnot, and Kerr returned 
 at nig'ht to their quarters after the failing" 
 lig-ht had put an end to their day's work, 
 they met their kind-hearted hostess, who 
 was watching- with evident anxiety for their 
 coming-. "The mercies of God are g-reat," 
 she said, "for I little hoped to see you all 
 come back unhurt from your murderous oc- 
 cupation. Ah, 'tis a sad thing* to see fellow- 
 Christians cuttinof each other down like brute- 
 beasts, with a chance of dyinor in their sins!" 
 " Your brethren without the town, good woman, 
 do not, I believe, grant us the g-race of being- 
 fellow-Christians," answered Wilmot bitterly ; 
 " and I suppose like them you lay the sins 
 upon us sons of Belial only." 
 
 " Nay, nay, sir," said Kerr warmly, " Dame 
 Bridg-et's real friends are within, and not 
 without the town ; thoug-h for all, she has the 
 Christian gift of Charity." 
 
 " I env}^ little a favour shared with yon 
 bloody rebels : you may keep to yourself^ 
 good Kerr, the charity which falls on such."
 
 THE JOVIAL CAMPAIGNER. 105 
 
 " Why, Gerrard^ what devil's humour pos- 
 sesses you to-day ? " asked Hohnes^ astonished 
 at the strang-e bitterness of Wihnofs speech. 
 "I expect 3^our sourness proceeds from a 
 void in the reg-ion of the stomach. A break- 
 fast of wind, and a dinner of ho'htino- make 
 poor provender^ and nothing- tends more to 
 cheerfulness than a g-ood meal. After he has 
 filled up the chasm within him^ our 3'oung' 
 knig-ht^ Dame Cottle^ will be more g-racious 
 to his fair provider; and indeed I am myself 
 in no small need of such bodily comforting-." 
 
 " Verily^ g-entlemen/' said she^ ^^ I knew 
 you must require some bodily sustentation after 
 so sore a day^ and the table is ready for you^ 
 and another flask of my poor husband's choice 
 wine ; which^ as he used to say^ God g-ave to 
 make g*lad the heart of man. As for Master 
 Gerrard^ I bear him no malice for his hard 
 words, nor for mistakino- a friend for an 
 enemy. I am not quite certain myself which 
 I am^ indeed/' she added g-ood-humouredly, 
 "for I am now like a duck with a hen's 
 chickens under her charg-e." 
 
 " And here 's a tender chicken whose 
 gaping mouth requires to be filled up in-
 
 106 THE ROYALIST ATs^D THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 stantl}'; Dame Duck^ and would even prefer 
 to take his food (as a chicken should) from 
 its foster-mother's mouth : a sweet mouth 
 it is^ and I should relish a morsel from it 
 hugely." 
 
 " Shame on 3^ou^ Captain Holmes ! It 
 speaks better for this young- gentleman's heart 
 that he should have some savour of bitterness 
 in these times of mourning" and lamentation, 
 rather than^ like you^ preserve a mad humour 
 in the very darkness of Gehenna.'^ 
 
 " M}^ kind dame/' said Wilmot^ '^ 3'our own 
 charitable words fill me with the more shame 
 for having" vented any of my bitterness on 
 3'ou. A woman, and a kind one, has no 
 creed, and belong-s to no party. Thoug'h 
 3^ou call yourself what you please, I cannot in- 
 clude you in the same race as those accursed 
 rebels/' 
 
 '^ Ag-reed," said Holmes : ^^ and now as we 
 are all friends ag'ain, let us wait no long-er 
 for our feed. Not to excite my worth}^ dame's 
 ire, I say, I will be content to take it after 
 man's ordinary fashion. 
 
 Holmes unquestionably acted on the belief 
 of the truth of his own principle that there
 
 THE JOVIAL CAMPAIGNER. 107 
 
 was no such comforter as a hearty meal^ and 
 under its influence his usual g'ood spirits 
 suffered no diminution. " I am g-lad to see 
 you following' my advice so well, and laying- 
 in so manfully to the good cheer/' said he to 
 Wilmot^ as soon as^ the first pangs of hunger 
 being' appeased^ his tongue had time for its 
 employment. ^^ Good cheer ! the man who 
 first so applied the name^ had a cunning- 
 insight into the constitution of man's heart, 
 as people are in the habit of wroug'ly calling* 
 it : by your leave, I would change the word 
 to stomach. When 'tis well satisfied, even 
 dark gloomy objects appear in their brightest 
 aspects, and when 'tis craving", the fairest crea- 
 tions of God's earth have a sombre colouring. 
 Therefore 't is well that what satisfies the sto- 
 mach should be called good cheer. Now if 
 I have a fault to find with you, Gerrard, it 
 is that 3^ou are not sociable enoug'h over 
 the board. A day's fighting- does not destroy 
 your appetite, neither should it take away 
 a grateful satisfaction at its appeasing-. Fill 
 up your glass with the Malvoisie, or, on my 
 honour, I shall not be able to drink fair, with 
 all my efforts. Well^ do you feel better now ?
 
 108 THE ROYALIST A^'D THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 'T is an oily liquor^ and goes down, I confess 
 it, with an honest smack. Certes, our fair 
 dame's lamented husband could not have done 
 it better justice than do we : but— let me whis- 
 per it with bated breath, for I would not hurt 
 our hostess's feelino's for the world — it does not 
 fall in to my own particular w eakness like old 
 Rhenish.". 
 
 ^^Well, Holmes/' said Wilmot laug-hing-, 
 roused momentarily from his gloom by his 
 companion's rattle, "I don't know how you 
 would treat your favourite Rhenish, but 3'ou 
 seem to take to the Malvoisie most lovingly/' 
 
 ^^Mark me, Gerrard," continued Holmes, 
 ^^ I did not say that any good wine was to be 
 spurned, or treated with disrespect. God for- 
 bid indeed ! But there are, there as elsewhere, 
 sundry gradations of excellence, and while I 
 kiss Kate when I have her, there is no law to 
 make me stifle a wish it were her lady. Now 
 this Malvoisie has a body, and slips down the 
 red lane with an unctuous savour ; but the 
 very sweetness which would recommend it to 
 the fanc}' of a raw drinker, does it damage 
 wdien brought to the criterion of a discerning 
 taste. Give me rather the dry bitter twang of
 
 THE JOVIAL CAMPAIGNER. 109 
 
 the old Rhenish — the Queen of Wines ! whose 
 lovely amber colour^ tells you it has been 
 mellowing- for some twenty years in the brave 
 cellars of some old Castle on the Ehine. Ha,, 
 my fair dame ! " said the truth-loving* Cavalier 
 to their hostess^ who at that moment entered 
 with another flask of the malig*ned^ but much 
 relished Malvoisie^ '' we were but this instant 
 eng-ag-ed in enumerating* the g^ood qualities of 
 your rare wine. Its hue of g-olden brown^ I 
 vow it is the very colour of your own fair 
 locks ! Its rich body will answer to your 
 own lithe and ample form ; the reflected blaze 
 of the lamplight on its wave^ will almost rival 
 the sparkle of your mirthful eye^ and its lus- 
 cious taste mig'ht alone recall to imag'ination 
 the sweetness of your lips.^' 
 
 ^^ Your good w'me, fair hostess/' said Wil- 
 mot^ " haS; as you see^ made our friend quite 
 poetical in its praises. In truth he has not 
 lavished his commendations falsel3^_, for I can 
 assure you his practice equals his speech." 
 
 " I am glad; gentlemen^ that the vv^ine 
 pleases you/' answered the dame ) '' and as far 
 as the littje that is left will last; I 'm sure it 's 
 at your service. Following Master Kerr's
 
 110 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 advice I have broug-ht you a second flask ; for 
 from his account of your day's service you 
 must both want support;" and so saying- 
 Dame Cottle placed a second ample bottle^ 
 with its cork inviting-ly drawn, by the side of 
 the first one^ now nearly emptied by Holmes's 
 efforts, and again left the Cavaliers to its en- 
 joyment. 
 
 " An honest fellow that Kerr/' said Holmes, 
 '' and fit to follow a soldier. He has an eye 
 to the best quarters, and having* not thrown 
 away his advantag-es, could now twist Dame 
 Cottle round his fing-er. I've watched the 
 villain, and feel that he has quite cut me out 
 in her favour. Well, well, 't is the way of us 
 youth, and I bear him no malice for it. He's 
 an expert swordsman, Gerrard. I watched 
 him to-day often — for 'tis a pleasure to watch 
 a man who handles his weapon as he does — 
 and I warrant no Eoundhead will catch him 
 at a vantag-e. To tell you the truth, my 
 boy, but for him and his quick g'uard you 
 would not have the whole skin you now 
 enjoy : he manages to stick to you like a 
 leech." 
 
 " I know," said Wilmot, " that he is as
 
 THE JOVIAL CAMPAIGNER. Ill 
 
 faithful as brave ; and has^ perhaps, al- 
 ready hazarded more than my poor life is 
 worth." 
 
 " Life is worth a great deal more to the 
 young-/' said Holmes, '^ than either your 
 words or actions would lead one to suppose 
 you think. Why, boy, you have but tasted 
 yet the scum and froth of life ) its solid enjoy- 
 ments are still all before you, and would you 
 already talk of its worthlessness ? Tut, tut ! wait 
 till your limbs are shaken, and your taste is 
 palled, and your curling- locks are g-re}' : when 
 wine and women can give no more delig-ht, 
 then may 3^ou make a philosophic abandon- 
 ment of this world. And by my faith ! I 
 would advise you not to risk your luck too 
 far, or you may lose the valuable stake far 
 earlier than you would : why, man, you 
 foug-ht to-day more like a devil let loose, than 
 like a Christian gentleman. For myself I 
 can make allowances for the reasonable warmth 
 of youth ) but with experience 3- ou must learn 
 to moderate your fury to the temperance of a 
 well-bred soldier." 
 
 "Is it not a soldier's duty to kill?" asked 
 Wilmot. " If so, and one's heart is in one's
 
 112 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 cause^ I see not what blame attaches for per- 
 forming* that duty to the full/' 
 
 ^^ God forbid that I should blame you^ boy^ 
 for killing- yon cuckoldy Roundheads/' said 
 Holmes ', on whom the lion's share of the Mal- 
 voisie was beg'inning' to have effect^ only how- 
 ever in a g-reater volubility of speech : " Do 
 3'ou think I would love 3^e^ if you had not put 
 out some of the lig-hts of the earth ? I^ too^ 
 have some saints' lives to ansAver for, and I 
 thank God for it : no blame in that — no blame 
 in that. But what I Avould tenderly remon- 
 strate with you about; is the way of doing- it. 
 I allow there is a pleasure in splitting' a rebel's 
 steel cap; and the devil's skull within it; but 
 't is a delio-ht that should be indulo-ed in with 
 the becoming' prudence of a soldier^ remem- 
 bering- that he too has a skull which may be 
 split. I own that our mad Prince g'oes on 
 your method; and is a g-reat example of its 
 success : I saw him on Chalg-rove-field with 
 three pistols pointed blank at his face^ and he 
 g'ot throug'h it with his usual luck ; but even 
 he may trust to it a day too long-^ and I 
 would recommend no one else to hope for his 
 leng-th of g'ood fortune. Take my advice^
 
 THE JOVIAL CAMPAIGNER. 113 
 
 Gerrard : in exercising- a little timely discre- 
 tion, you may live to do good service in the 
 end. Were I to have drained this rich flask 
 of Malvoisie at one draught, I should ere this 
 have been as drunk as a beast ) but by im- 
 bibing" it in proper portions, I have enjoyed 
 its flavour the more, and instead of inebriat- 
 ing* my heart and brain, the brave liquor has 
 cheered the one and cleared the other. After 
 all, the liquor is too good for the infernal 
 Eouudheads, and we had better leave as 
 little as possible of it for their indiscrimi- 
 nating palates. I think that Dame Cottle 
 might produce a third flask, when this is 
 drained with such benefit, though you have 
 not helped me with the last one as you 
 should." 
 
 Wilmot had no time to make an answer to 
 this proposition, ere Kerr opened the door of 
 the room where they were seated, and entered, 
 followed by a trooper of the Prince's Life- 
 Guards. The soldier saluted his captain, and 
 handed him an order in Rupert's handwriting. 
 ^^ Humph!" said the latter, as he attempted 
 somewhat vainly to decipher its characters. 
 *^ Methinks the light is burning but dimly on 
 
 VOL. L I
 
 114 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 the table — come Gerrard^ put your young-er 
 eyes to the task." 
 
 Wilmot smiled as he took the paper from 
 the worthy Holmes^ whose vision was cer- 
 tainly not cleared by the wine he had imbibed^ 
 whatever his brain mig-ht have been^ and read 
 the following' words : — 
 
 ^^ As the enemy have begun a traverse across 
 the Temple Gate to hinder our sallies, the horse 
 must all be ready at dawn to-morrorv, to fall 
 upon them there, 
 
 ^^ KUPERT." 
 
 ^^ Well^ Kerr, have ^ Monarch' ready saddled 
 at the hour/' he added^ when he had read the 
 order. 
 
 ^^Ay, sir/' said Kerr, "he shall be ready 
 if you will ; but if you could give him a day's 
 rest, 't would be well disposed : he has a cut 
 on his quarter." 
 
 "Tush^ Kerr!" exclaimed Wilmot, almost 
 angrily. " Are these times either for man or 
 beast to rest ? While we have life, we owe 
 it to the cause. If his scratch is to make 
 the horse useless, I shall ride to-morrow upon
 
 THE JOVIAL CAMPAIGNER. 115 
 
 yours, and you may stay behind." Kerr 
 attempted no answer, but retired with the 
 trooper. 
 
 " A plag'ue on our mad Prince ! A plag-ue 
 on this early rising- !" said Holmes to the ex- 
 cited Wihuot. " There's much sense in what 
 your follower said about a rest : if I were, 
 like 3^ou, merely a volunteer, who has only his 
 own fancy to obe}^, I would forget all about 
 this cursed sally, and leave ' Monarch' in his 
 stall, and lie abed myself. Nay, man, never 
 look so fierce at honest advice. I wish to 
 Heaven you mig-ht g-o in my place ! A plag'ue 
 on our mad Prince, I say ! He has no feel- 
 ing' for flesh and blood. Why, here was I 
 preparing* for a jovial nig'ht, and a fellow 
 comes with an order for a sally before break 
 of day. Well, well, 'tis a hard profession 
 that of a soldier, and I looked for another 
 flask — no matter : I must content myself 
 with finishing" what is here, and then to 
 bed. I see 'tis empty already: well, g-ood- 
 nig'ht to you, Gerrard. To-mon'o\v morning- 
 we must punish these cuckoldy Roundheads 
 for breaking- a gentleman's sleep in so un- 
 seemly a fashion * " and so saying-, the some-
 
 116 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 what discomposed Captain retired to his 
 chamber. 
 
 Wilmot felt it a relief to be alone ; he 
 had no desire for sleep as yet^ but with 
 hurried steps paced across the little room 
 where the}^ had sat till then. He stopped at 
 the casement^ and opening* it^ looked out upon 
 the calm glory of the starry night. ]Vot a 
 cloud was in the sky to stain its purity, and 
 serenely, as over the primeval g*arden of Eden^ 
 the golden stars looked down upon him. What 
 a contrast did that holy breadth of calm offer 
 to the miuiic thunder of artillery which even 
 then was crashing- in his ear ; a3*e, and to the 
 fiery g*ulf of passion which was raging" in 
 himself! The cool breeze fell g-ratefully upon 
 his heated brow; but its influence could not 
 reach the fever of his passion -distempered 
 brain. As the sound of the heavily boominof 
 g^uns (which were constantly served on each 
 side, even throuoh the nio-ht hours of the 
 sieg'e) fell upon his ear, he cried, ^^ These are 
 the men who call themselves peculiarly the 
 servants of the Lord — the only true worship- 
 pers of God in heaven ; and thus do they 
 pollute with their eternal strife a scene where
 
 THE YOUNG ENTHUSIAST. 117 
 
 all the influence of the brooding- heavens cries 
 out for peace ! What doom is fit for such 
 men but the sword? No, my heart has no 
 qualms, and no foreboding-s. In these two 
 days I have soug'ht death a hundred ways, 
 and found it not. I should not have been 
 preserved thus marvellously, had not Provi- 
 dence intended, by my youthful arm, to com- 
 mend to some of these vaunting- rebels their 
 own bloody doom. My path of duty is as 
 clear as yonder shining- star, that looks down 
 upon me as kindl}- now as it ever did in the 
 uneas}^ quiet of my home. my dead father^ 
 I never fully felt before how fortunate you 
 were ! You fell not only in hope^ but in 
 triumph.^' 
 
 Among'st the earliest the next morning", 
 Wilmot and Kerr were at the Temple Gate, 
 and Holmes was not long* behind them ; for 
 whatever may have been his words at times, 
 in acts no better soldier could be found than 
 he. The Eoundheads had been working* at 
 their traverse during* the nig-ht, and a party of 
 them were still busy in the trench, g'uarded 
 by a strong- body of horse ag-ainst the expected 
 morning sally. As soon as there was lig-ht
 
 118 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 sufficient for their work^ the Cavaliers poured 
 forth from the opened g'ates. With his usual 
 desperation^ Wilmot cut his way throug-h the 
 Koundhead horse^ and reaching- the trench 
 behind them^ where the workmen stood firm^ 
 frantically dashed his horse into the deep pit 
 ag'ainst their serried pikes. 
 
 " By God, the boy is down !" cried Holmes, 
 wlio, throug-hout his own share of the strug-gle, 
 had watched Wilmot's desperate career: "A 
 Rupert to the rescue! a Eupert! a Rupert!" 
 and with the old fam.iliar cry he led the 
 Prince's resistless g'uards through the shat- 
 tering* Roundhead ranks. They reached the 
 trench, where Kerr, upon his master's fall, had 
 thrown himself from his horse, and was de- 
 fending- his prostrate form ag-ainst the fearful 
 odds. No courao'e or skill could have lono-er 
 continued the unequal contest, when the vic- 
 torious g'uards came up. Then was it the 
 turn for the few footmen in the trench to 
 shew their English breeding*. Their support- 
 ing- horse were broken and g'one, but not a 
 pikeman turned or asked for quarter : en- 
 closed by the angT}^ foe, they grasped their 
 weapons g-rimly, and where they stood they
 
 THE YOUNG ENTHUSIAST. 119 
 
 fell — not a man amongst their number escaped 
 from that bloody trench ; and when the 
 slaughter was over_, almost from the middle 
 of their dead bodies was drag-ged Wilmot's 
 apparently lifeless form.
 
 120 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE CAPITULATION OF BRISTOL, AND THE DISENCHANT- 
 MENT OF THE BOY ROYALIST's HOPES. 
 
 Alas ! the sunsets of our northern main 
 
 Soon lose the tints Hesperian Faucy weaves ; 
 
 Soon the sweet river feels the icy cbain, 
 And haunted forests shed their murmurous leaves; 
 
 The bough must wither, and the bird depart, 
 
 And winter clasp the world, as life the heart ! 
 
 BULWERS KING ARTHUR, Book xii. 
 
 '' This comes of your mad charging-/' said 
 Holmes, as with Kerr he lifted Wilmot's body 
 from the bloody trench. ^^ Here^ two of 3^011^ 
 take the horses^ and two more help this brave 
 fellow to carry his master into the town. 
 'T was only last night I warned him. Step 
 out, or the infernal rebels will be swarming* 
 on you ag-ain. Damn them all ! Could they 
 not have taken the worthless life of an old
 
 THE CAPITULATION OF BRISTOL. 121 
 
 soldier like me^ and not have murdered the 
 bravest lad that ever drew a sword ? By 
 God ! I could almost play the woman now. 
 How quickly the boy had taug-ht me the trick 
 of loving' him ! '^ And the sturdy Cavalier 
 gave vent to sundry strong* expressions^ to 
 cover the strano-e weakness which beset him. 
 
 Wilmot^ besides some unimportant wounds, 
 had received, as he fell into the trench, a 
 fearful blow from a clubbed pike upon his 
 skull. As Kerr shared with the troopers his 
 loved burden, he removed the thick curling" 
 locks, dabbled with blood, from his forehead, 
 and g'azed earnestly on his pale face, now so 
 deathly still. 
 
 " Father and son ! — father and son ! " he 
 whispered half inaudibly. " Could they not 
 leave me one worthy of the old name, to 
 love?" 
 
 ^^ Nay, man,'' said Holmes, struck by the 
 hag-g'ard sorrow of his face, ^^ cheer up. I 've 
 seen many a brave fellow recover from a 
 starker wound than that. Step out, men. 
 If there 's a leech in Bristol, we '11 save your 
 master yet." 
 
 Though quite insensible, the feeble pulsation
 
 122 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 of Wilmot's heart shewed Kerr there still was 
 life ; and, with as much speed as was com- 
 patible with care, the}' carried him to Dame 
 Cottle's house. The suro'eon who was imme- 
 diately summoned, upon an examination of 
 the wound, pronounced that the skull was 
 severely injured ', and, though it might not 
 prove fatal, that it was highly dang-erous : 
 nothinof but constant care and attention could 
 bring" him round. This, at least, Wilmot was 
 sure to g'et. Kerr was ready to watch by his 
 master for ever ; and the kind-hearted Dame 
 Cottle declared that she would share his task, 
 which was better suited to a woman than a 
 soldier. 
 
 So watched and nursed, Wilmot lay for 
 days, in utter insensibility to what was passing* 
 around him. His long* hair had all been cut 
 close when first his wound was probed, and all 
 that skill could effect for its cure had been 
 done. Still speechless and motionless he lay, 
 and only by his slow-heaving- breath shewed 
 that life was not extinct. Only once Kerr 
 left hhn for any time ; and that was when, a 
 general assault being- expected, his feeling* of 
 honour called him to the walls. Then, and
 
 THE CAPITULATION OF BRISTOL. 123 
 
 during" the short intervals he allowed himself 
 for rest, the Puritan widow watched alone^ 
 with almost a mother's tenderness, over the 
 sore- stricken 3^outh ; and at other times often 
 shared with Kerr in his devoted attendance. 
 The lovino- follower had himself received a 
 severe pike-wound in his shoulder, while de- 
 fending- his master in the trench ; but so 
 absorbed was he in his master's fate, that 
 he would hardly allow his oAvn hurt to be 
 dressed. 
 
 It was indeed a melanchol}^ sig*ht to see 
 the brave youth, late so full of lite and pas- 
 sion, lying" thus for days in a terrible stillness, 
 as of death. Whenever Holmes, returning 
 from his duties to their quarters, went anxiously 
 to watch at his bedside for any sign of hope, 
 he turned away and shuddered. In truth, 
 unless some speedy chang-e appeared soon, it 
 was evident that the continuous state of un- 
 consciousness must end in death. But the 
 change did come, and in a moment Kerr was 
 rewarded for all his long* anxiety, by hearing* 
 his own name again faintly uttered by his 
 master's lips. Wilmot had at last awaked 
 from his long" trance, and was conscious of his
 
 124 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 state and of what was passing- around him. 
 He pressed Holmes's hand^ who had hurried 
 to his hedside at the cheering* news^ as he 
 swore to him he should recover and take his 
 reveng-e of the Roundheads yet. The Prince 
 asked after him dail}'-, and had even come 
 once to their lodging-^ to see him as he lay 
 insensible. 
 
 ^' The news of 3'our recovery/' added the 
 cheery soldier^ " will give him as much plea- 
 sure as would the arrival of a relief before our 
 leag'uered walls." 
 
 But onlv for a short time did Wilmot 
 retain his consciousness and calm. Before 
 the day was over^ a violent fever had seized 
 him^ and from the utter quiet of insensibility^ 
 he chano-ed to the wild ravino- of delirium. 
 His thoug-hts ran chiefly on the bloody scenes 
 in which he had lately been eng-ag-ed ; thoug-h, 
 at times^ across the fierce dreaming's of the 
 battle-field would g'lide the softer influence of 
 earlier scenes of Lucy and of home. Some- 
 times he mistook the fair widow^ as she nursed 
 him^ for his own mother^ and whispered, as if 
 reproachfully to himself^ — " How strange ! I 
 used to think she did not love me." 
 
 ^
 
 THE CAPITULATION OF BRISTOL. 125 
 
 But the late frenzy of hatred and reveng-e 
 aofainst the Eoundheads was still chiefest in 
 his thoug-hts. While babbling- of the g-reen 
 fields of Bellasa-house^ he would on a sudden 
 burst forth in his fierce strain^ and adjure his 
 Lucy not to stand between him and the object 
 of his wrath^ — not to save the accursed rebel 
 to his King'^ and murderer of their father. 
 Fortunately for those who tended on him^ in 
 his wildest fits his power was not equal to his 
 frenzy : the frame which was late a model 
 of youthful streng'th^ had become weak and 
 powerless as a child's. 
 
 And the days passed on^ and important 
 events were stirring- round him^ vital to the 
 cause he doated on^ unknown to^ unheeded by 
 him. Strang-e is that phase of mortal life^ 
 when the wheels of time g'o on in their eternal 
 revolutions to all the world^ and 3^et remain 
 still and silent in one brain ! and the sufferer 
 wakens at last^ like the seven sleepers of old^ 
 upon a new era, and an altered world ! Thus 
 was it with Wilmot; for when, just three 
 weeks after the day on which he received his 
 wound, he at last awoke with a sane mind and 
 a consciousness of his position, the Cavaliers
 
 126 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 had left the town under a capitulation^ and 
 Bristol was in the Roundheads' keeping-. 
 
 Kerr ^vas watchinof him in the slumber from 
 which he woke to consciousness^ and the first 
 thing- that attracted Wilmot's notice was a 
 broad plaster on Kerr's face^ stretching' from 
 the brow to the lip. He was so weak and faint 
 that he could hardly form the syllables to ask 
 the question he wished^ but with his transpa- 
 rent finger pointed to his follower's face. For 
 a moment Kerr was silent^ and theu^ with the 
 tears g-ushing into his e3^es, he fell on his 
 knees beside his master's bed^ and whispered^ 
 ^^ God be thanked!" 
 
 As AVilmot silently gazed on him with 
 questioning looks full of w^ondering- awe, Kerr 
 rose, and speaking in tones which love ren- 
 dered almost as low as a woman's, he said, 
 '^ Hush ! Master Wilmot, you must not speak. 
 You have been terribly ill : they always 
 told me you must die; but I knew God 
 would not take from me the last I loved so 
 well." 
 
 Kerr's injunction to silence was not needed, 
 for poor Wilmot was too weak even to speak. 
 Shortly afterwards Dame Cottle entered,
 
 THE CAPITULATION OF BRISTOL. 127 
 
 bring-ing- witli her an austere looking- man, 
 dressed in the strictest Puritan g-arb. By 
 the look of quiet delig-ht on Kerr's honest 
 face, she knew that a favourable chano^e had 
 taken place during* her absence, and Wilmot's 
 appearance told her that the fever and delirium 
 were over. Tlie strang-er, who had entered 
 the chamber with her, was the Roundhead 
 surg'eon who was appointed to attend to the 
 wounded Cavaliers who had been left in the 
 town. He examined Wilmot's wound, and 
 having- inquired into some details of his case, 
 said that he would send the necessary medica- 
 ments, and told them that great care was 
 necessary in their attention. *^ Na}'-, but 
 Master Aminadab/' said the Dame, who knew 
 Kerr's deep anxiety about his master's fate, 
 ^^ you will tell us that there is hope for the 
 poor youth.'' 
 
 ^^ God the Lord is merciful ! " answered the 
 doctor, ^^ and we will trust that He will 
 g-ive the lad an opportunity of repenting- his 
 sins, and snatch him like a brand from the 
 burning'." 
 
 " Save him, sir ! " cried Kerr eag-erly, ^^ save 
 him, the child of my heart, and 3^ou will make
 
 128 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 me 3^ours for eyer" There was something' 
 peculiarly touching- in the wild affection of 
 the sti'ono' man for the wounded and almost 
 unconscious sufferer^ and Master Aminadab^ 
 stern as he looked, could not altogether escape 
 its influence. 
 
 ^^ His life is in the Lord's hand/' he an- 
 swered, '^ to g-ive, or to take away ; but what 
 is dependent upon my care or poor skill, shall 
 not be lacking* to him. Step to the casement 
 yourself, my friend ; for I see that, at least for 
 you, I may do something- by my art." 
 
 "Yea, kind Master Aminadab,*' said Dame 
 Cottle ; " I pray thee look to him : he is in- 
 clined to think too lightly of his own wounds, 
 in his anxiety for this stricken youth." 
 
 "Tush, Dame! 'tis nothing," said Kerr; 
 " and the plaster you have applied is almost 
 more than was needed." 
 
 "'Tis but a slight matter," said the sur- 
 g'eon ; " and what you have done already 
 sufficeth. For this pale sojourner in the 
 Valle}^ of Death, I will do all that my art 
 affordeth : and let us trust in the Lord." 
 
 " The Valley of Death ! " muttered Kerr. 
 " Ay ! ay ! to see the brave lad, so late full
 
 THE CAPITULATION OF BRISTOL. 129 
 
 of life and pride^ thus lying" there^ is almost 
 enouoh to break the heart." 
 
 " Veril}^^ friend, 'tis thus the Lord abateth 
 hio-h stomachs. But there are other sinners 
 whom I must now visit. I will despatch the 
 drug's with speed." And the surg-eon left 
 them, to attend to the other wounded Cava- 
 liers who had been, unable to leave the town 
 with their companions. 
 
 Wilmot, motionless on his cot, had watched 
 the foregoing- scene. He was so prostrated by 
 his illness, that he had lost even the feeling* of 
 curiosity, and the presence of the Puritan 
 leech was accepted by him as a matter of 
 course. He knew that they Avere talking* of 
 his probable death; and, as he looked on 
 his own wan fing-ers and reduced frame, he 
 thoug-ht that it was sure. But this g'ave him 
 no alarm. His thoughts, as it were, came out 
 of himself, and he felt onl}^ a species of g-entle 
 pity for his fate, as if he were mourning over 
 some strang-er youth thus suddenly struck 
 dow^n. 
 
 He was indeed fallen into the very portals 
 of the grave, and only his innate streng'th, and 
 youth, and the care which was lavished on 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 him, could have broiig'ht him back to life. 
 Very slowly did he recover streng-tb, even 
 to learn from Kerr the story of what had 
 passed since he had received his wound ; and 
 so broug-ht down by his sickness was he, that, 
 to Kerr's astonishment, he heard the news of 
 the Roundheads' success wdth an apathy which 
 contrasted strang-ely with the wild despair 
 wdth which it would have filled him in his 
 days of pride. 
 
 A g-reat chang*e had indeed come over him : 
 the presence of Master Aminadab, who, in 
 his big-oted Puritanism, despite a tender heart, 
 often o-ave utterance to the savag^e sentiments 
 of his creed, awoke in him no resentment ; he 
 was only g-rateful to him for his care and 
 skill. One thing* seemed to weigh upon him at 
 first, when he thoug-ht that he and Kerr were 
 prisoners of war ; but when he learned that, by 
 the terms of the capitulation, he was free when 
 recovered to g"0 where he would, his mind was 
 relieved of the weig-ht which, in his then mood 
 of mind, hurt him more on his follower's ac- 
 count than his own. 
 
 As he g-radually recovered streng-th, Kerr 
 told him all the details w^hich he knew of the
 
 THE CAPITULATION OF BRISTOL. 131 
 
 sieg^e ; but these were indeed few : for except 
 on the rumour of an assault he had never left 
 his master's side. The first alarm ended in 
 nothing-; but the second time, when Kerr 
 was summoned to the walls to aid in the 
 expected defence, the Roundheads made a 
 g'eneral attack. Kerr was with Prince Ru- 
 pert's g'uards ; and there, after an obstinate 
 strug-gle, the enemy had been beaten off; but 
 in almost all the rest of the line, their assault 
 had been successful. Prior Hill Fort, and 
 the whole line of defence to the town, was 
 in their hands, and all hope of a further suc- 
 cessful resistance was at an end. During- the 
 assault, Kerr had received his sword-cut on 
 the face. Probably his thoug-hts were wan- 
 derins: to the bedside of his loved master, and 
 deprived him of his usual skill in fence, which 
 had previously done such g-ood service both to 
 that master and himself. When, with ban- 
 dag-ed face, the soldier-nurse had resumed his 
 duties by Wilmot, Holmes had informed him 
 that the town was given up on capitulation; 
 and the brave captain spent the g-reater por- 
 tion of his last day in Bristol in writing- a 
 long letter to the unconscious youth, who had
 
 132 THE ROYALIST AND THE EEPUBLICAN. 
 
 SO rnpidly twined himself round his rug*g-ed 
 affections. 
 
 More than a month had elapsed since it was 
 written^ ere Wilmot had acquired sufficient 
 strength even to permit him its perusal. The 
 following- was the letter^ which^ with Master 
 Aminadab's permission^ Kerr at last handed 
 to his master : — 
 
 Bristol, September IQth. 
 
 '^ God knows that I, Eobert Holmes^ am 
 more used to handle a sword than a pen ; but 
 I cannot leave jou^ Gerrard, without putting- 
 down on paper the farewell 'tis useless for me 
 now to utter. A}'^ Gerrard, the tenderest 
 speech of woman^ or my jough g'reeting-^ or 
 even the cursed twang* of a hated Roundhead, 
 would fall now unlike unheeded upon you. 
 'Tis a sad sig-ht to see you lying- motionless 
 there, and your brave fellow Kerr watching- 
 over you, like a dos" clinoino- to a dead mas- 
 ter. Courage ! you will recover yet, and live 
 to wipe off all old scores with these cuckoldy 
 rebels ; and if 3^ou die, I will say it ag'ain and 
 ag-ain, they have killed the bravest lad that 
 €ver clapped sword to thig-h. But they
 
 THE CAPITULATION OF BRISTOL. 133 
 
 haven't done tbat^ and you shall live to read 
 what I think of you. Well, Gerrard, you 
 have escaped a nast}^ piece of work to-dny : 
 for the first time in Rupert's history he has 
 been forced to listen to a capitulation. But 
 the day for honest men is over, as I have 
 often told you — at least in England ; and I 
 confess, for my part, I was afraid our mad 
 Prince would not bring- down his pride to 
 terms. There was nothino' else to be done. 
 The line and g-raff were nothing- to keep out 
 determined men — and stout men and true we 
 must allow these rebels to be. I fancy they 
 only delayed their assault so long-, because the 
 Prince was befoolins: them with his treaties 
 to gain time. But this morning* they came 
 on in earnest. Kerr can tell 3^ou all about 
 it — he was beside me with our guards 5 and 
 in front of them, not a rebel crossed the wall, 
 or if he got so far, went back alive. 
 
 But when our woi-k was over w^e found that 
 others had not fared so well. Where the Welsh 
 and townsmen were, the damned Roundheads 
 had got in ; and, as morning broke sufficiently 
 to shew us all our ruin, we found that the whole 
 line was in their possession. The Castle^ it is
 
 134 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 true, mig'ht have still been defended for some 
 days^ or with our horse we mig-ht have cut our 
 way throug'h the rebels^ as we have often done 
 before ; but yourself^ and all the other brave 
 wounded fellows^ would have paid for the satis- 
 faction of our pride : and I never was more 
 pleased at hearing- of a victory in old da^^s^ 
 than I was when I knew that Eupert was 
 willing- to treat. They will accept our terms 
 I knov^ ; and for myself^ I shall go forth with 
 a liohter heart, knowinsf that you are not 
 left a prisoner to the men whom 3'ou hate so 
 heartily. Ay, Gerrard, recover from your in- 
 fernal wound, and you will be as free as I am. 
 I shall now folloAV Eupert throug'h the last few 
 scenes of our strug-g'le : but the g-ame is fairly 
 played out, and lost, and we shall not be able 
 much longer to protract a desperate resistance. 
 When you can ag-ain mount ' Monarch/ 
 — I swear 'tis a shame to see the noble beast 
 fretting- in his stable for want of work — for 
 God's sake, do not attempt to join us while 
 in this wretched country. Go back to your 
 home in Kent, g-et taken care of there by the 
 dear little g*irl 3'ou mentimied to me, and tell 
 her that we conquered Eoyalists are more
 
 THE CAPITULATION OF BRISTOL. 135 
 
 unfortunate than deservino* of our fall. There 
 is a fate ag*ainst us. Ay, Garrard, be my 
 companion in new fields, but in our defeated 
 
 battle-field of Eng'land join us no more 
 
 Good God ! I turn from the thoug'ht of you 
 as you were, when such pleading's for your 
 youth had been as necessary as vain, to see 
 your present reality before me — the rag'ing* of 
 delirium — the weakness of a child : now, at 
 least, my counsel must be followed, if His 
 ever heard. But, Gerrard, ^^ou must recover. 
 When at first I saw you lying* for days as 
 motionless as a corpse, I thoug'ht 3'ou had 
 ridden ^^our hist charg-e; but mere fever — Tut 
 man ! your healthy youth would conquer more 
 than that. Still you must make no further 
 venture — you have suffered enough already 
 for a lost cause. Prince Rupert's trumpet is 
 blowing' to horse, and I must cease. Ah, Ger- 
 rard, but for you wounded men, I would it 
 were for a charg-e, rather than even for an 
 honourable capitulation to these damned rebels. 
 God bless you, boy ! and do not forg'et a loving- 
 friend and soldier, 
 
 " Robert Holaies.''
 
 136 THE EOYALIST AND THE BEPUBLICAN. 
 
 Ver}^ different were Wilmot's feelings as he 
 read this letter^ to what they were when its 
 writer was beside them. Since then the 
 draug'ht of death had touched his hps^ and 
 if it had been dashed away ere swallowed, its 
 bitterness was there. The passion and the 
 enthusiasm of youth had vanished before the 
 potency of that spell. As AVilmot looked 
 back upon the thoiig'hts which filled him 
 durino' the last few days before he received 
 his wound^ he shuddered at their blackness of 
 despair^ at the storm of hatred for the Round- 
 heads which had then stirred his heart. He 
 felt that it was in mercy that God had not 
 then given him the death he soug'ht. For if 
 the Roundheads were rebels, they were men — 
 some of them inspired with a full confidence in 
 the truth of their cause. And then came back 
 to his memory the almost-forgotten meeting- 
 with the Ironside in his bivouac on the Mendip 
 Hills, his enthusiasm, and his fate. To an- 
 other of these hated Roundheads also he felt 
 that his life was owing ; and if, as Prince Ru- 
 pert had himself told him, all hope of resisting 
 them successfully was past, he, with others, 
 must bow to the inevitable decree, and the
 
 DISENCHANTMENT OF WILMOT^S HOPES. 187 
 
 attempt to throw his useless life into the 
 losino- scale was as wicked as it was vain. 
 
 Naturally stern_, his thoughts yearned to 
 follow a part of the g'ood Holmes's advice^ and 
 to seek ag-ain the shelter of a home in Bellasa- 
 house^ and the sweet companionship which 
 awaited him there. With the impatience of 
 long- illness, he thouoht how delio-htful it 
 would be to be nursed by his loving* little 
 Lucy^ and almost spurned at times the atten- 
 tions lavished on him by the kind Dame Cottle. 
 With Kerr he never talked of the late scenes 
 throug'h which they had passed^ but reverted 
 to the white cliffs of Thanet^ and his childhood's 
 home amidst the rich corn-fields there. But 
 perhaps from his very impatience^ his streng-th 
 returned more slowly. 
 
 The year was wearing' out^ and many a Ca- 
 valier left wounded in the town had departed ; 
 some to their own homes, some to foreio-n 
 countries^ and some to rejoin the still strug-g'ling* 
 band that followed Rupert's fortunes. By one 
 of these Wilmot sent Holmes an account of his 
 partial recovery, and a cordial acknowledg'ment 
 of his letter ; but he was himself still too weak 
 to leave his little chamber^ and follow the direc-
 
 138 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 tion of his quick-travelling* thouglits. Oh ! 
 how he lono'ed to be able to mount his brave 
 ^^ Monarch" ag-ain^ and leave behind him Bristol 
 and the scenes of wretchedness connected with 
 it. Let his after-life be what it would^ now, 
 enervated by sickness and disappointment, he 
 long'ed only for some present happiness at 
 home. But he was still so weak as to be 
 hardly able to cross his chamber, and a long* 
 journey across Eng-land in that inclement 
 season was clearly impossible : he could only 
 wait and hope. 
 
 While thus reduced alike in energy of mind 
 and strength of body, one day. Master Amina- 
 dab — ^^ho attended on him with a zealous re- 
 gularity which could not have been exceeded 
 towards the strictest Puritan patient — handed 
 him a letter, which he told him came from 
 that "worthy vessel" his brother, to whom he 
 had written of his wound. Wilmot had him- 
 self recognised in the square handwriting* of the 
 address, the strang-e but well-remembered cha- 
 racters of his brother's hand. Of that brother, 
 as Ave have said, he had seen but little ; and 
 upon that little neither he nor his worthy Kerr 
 had formed a very favourable opinion.
 
 DISENCHANTMENT OF WILMOT's HOPES. 139 
 
 His brother's abandonment of their fixther's 
 Cavalier principles had brought an inefface- 
 able stain upon the old name ; a thought whichj 
 even in his softened state of feeling-^ he could 
 not bear to dwell on. But apart from this, 
 in his coldness, even superciliousness of man- 
 ner, Eicliard Gerrard had no personal charm 
 to counteract in Wilmot's eyes the odiousness 
 of his opinions. A sneer is particularl}^ hate- 
 ful to youth, and but for the habitual cynicism 
 in which Richard indulo-ed, Wilmot mio'ht not 
 have reo'arded his lloundhead predilections 
 
 & 
 
 pr 
 
 with such an intense abhorrence. He was 
 now in no mood of mind to relish the perusal 
 of the taunts, which he doubted not formed 
 the staple of his brother's letter, and for some 
 days he left it unread. But his brother's cha- 
 racter was in reality unknown to him : under 
 a cold exterior was disguised a kind and ge- 
 nerous disposition, and there was no cruelty 
 in the letter Avhich Wilmot so shunned to read. 
 When he at last made up his mind to its 
 perusal, he was astonished at finding how 
 much he had misjudged its contents. 
 
 It began by stating the necessity of a 
 mutual charity for their diversity of opinion.
 
 140 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 Wilmot had ceased to be a boy during- his 
 brother's absence^ and had chosen as his own^ 
 the losing- side. Ag-ainst this he could say 
 nothing-; but^ by the superior knowledg-e which 
 he had of the present state of affairs in Eng-- 
 land^ Richard urg-ed him not ag-ain to venture 
 on the ruined cause. It was known that the 
 King' was about to fly to Scotland ; Wilmot's 
 own leader^ Rupert^ had never been forgiven 
 his forced surrender of Bristol ; the old 
 divisions among' the few remaining- Royalists 
 were more irreconcilable than ever; most of 
 them were already leaving' the country^ and 
 further resistance on their part was now im- 
 possible. The Parliament had won the day ; 
 and^ however hateful to Wilmot^ he could but 
 succumb. Let him return to Bellasa-house as 
 soon as his strength permitted^ and Richard 
 would meet him there^ and assist him as far 
 as possible in some arrangement for his future 
 life. God had given Wilmot a sharp trial in 
 his youth; he trusted that the hand which 
 had brouoht him low would ao-ain raise him : 
 and the letter concluded with a sort of vaofue 
 hint that the conquerors might some day live 
 to envy those who were now conquered.
 
 DISENCHANTMENT OF WILMOT'S HOPES. 141 
 
 Richard's overture came very opportunely 
 to Wilniot's altered frame of mind : before he 
 was reduced by illness, he would have spurned 
 at kindness from a rebel ; but he was now will- 
 ing- to be grateful to any one, and to accept 
 his brother's proposition of a mutual acqui- 
 escence in their difference of views. Struck 
 down in the strength of pride, the youth, whose 
 whole impulse had lately been absorbed in a 
 life-and-death strug-gle, now sighed only for 
 tranquillity and home.
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 THE ETERNAL TRINITY — YOUTH, 
 HOPE, AND LOVE.
 
 THE maiden's trial. 145 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE maiden's trial AND WILMOT's RETURN. 
 
 Absence ! is not the soul torn by it 
 
 JFrom more than light, or life, or breath ? 
 
 'T is Lethe's gloom, but not its quiet ; 
 The pain, without the peace, of death. 
 
 CAMPBELL. 
 
 It has become a trite observation that the real 
 trial is not for the man who g'oes forth to 
 action^ but for the woman who can only wait 
 in cruel inactivity at home. Wilmot^ before 
 he received his wound^ had led a life of dang-er^ 
 but of stirring- excitement too ] in the security 
 of Bellasa-house^ Lucy Haug'hton had since 
 his departure drag-g-ed on the endless months^ 
 pressed down by a ceaseless anxiety for his 
 safety. 
 
 When at first his absence was discovered^ 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 no suspicion of his intended purpose was enter- 
 tained; but when the day wore on^ and he 
 came not back, and it was found that Kerr 
 also was absent from his cottag-e^ Lady Ger- 
 rard suspected from Lucy's confused manner 
 that she was cog-nisant of something* more 
 important in that absence than was at first 
 conceived. Lucy's nature admitted little of 
 dissimulation, and when further questioned on 
 the subject, she avowed, with a glance of lofty 
 pride kindling* in her deep blue eyes, that 
 Wilmot had indeed g'one forth to battle for the 
 Kino' for whom his father had fouo-ht and died. 
 Before Lady Gerrard her spirit bore her 
 up, and while Wilmot's mother bewailed his 
 desperate course, in rebelling' ag'ainst the clear 
 sig'ns of Heaven, and impiously seeking' even 
 a worse fate than had been his father's, Lucy 
 allowed no sig*n to shew any feeling- in her 
 heart, except sympathy for his chivalrous de- 
 termination. But when alone in her little 
 chamber her pride could sustain her no more, 
 and she wept bitterly to think of the dang-er 
 that was awaiting* him whom she loved most 
 on earth, who was now venturing- his life on 
 an already conquered cause : a life which
 
 THE MAIDEN'S TKIAL. 147 
 
 seemed to her then more dear than the hope 
 of Ro3'alty itself. Poor Lucy ! while she was 
 weeping- in solitude^ in her wild anxiety for 
 Wilmot's safety^ he was only engrossed with 
 his equally wild anxiety to push on to action. 
 And had she known this^ she would not have 
 wished it to be otherwise. It was his com- 
 plete devotion to the Eoyal Cause^ in misfor- 
 tune as in success— his forgetfulness of all 
 else^ even of herself^ in this one engTossing" 
 passion — which had of late g'iven to him in 
 her eyes his noblest quality. 
 
 Having- g-rown up together from childhood 
 \\dth an enthusiastic loyal fervour^ the time 
 had come when Wilmot had naturally put into 
 practice the dream of their youth^ while Lucy's 
 woman nature was inclined to rest in a secret 
 nourishing- of their fancy^ and an outward 
 acquiescence in the new fate of thing-s. But 
 if such was her own instinctive feelinp*. the 
 devoted energy with which Wilmot was pre- 
 pared to g-ive up everything- for the satisfaction 
 of his long- felt loyalty^ demanded her greater 
 admiration. She felt now that he was a beinof 
 different to herself^ and from an equal and a 
 companion in her fancies and her sportS; had
 
 148 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 chang-ed into a hero^ to be looked up to and 
 admired. His abandonment^ therefore, of their 
 old mutual occupations, and even his desertion 
 of herself, in the absorbing* months of restless- 
 ness which had preceded Wilmot's departure 
 from home, had made him dearer to her than 
 before ; though in a different way. There was 
 a difference in her feeling's most assuredly, but 
 the meanino- of that difference was to herself 
 unknown. Perhaps she knew^ not that she 
 felt his absence more than she would have 
 done in the childish grief of years by-g*one. 
 The imperceptible chang-e to womanhood, and 
 the consequent effect upon her feeling-s, was 
 unsuspected by herself. The wind had played 
 over the chords of the ^olian harp, and pro- 
 duced a strang-e sweet music, but b}- the harp 
 itself the melody was unheard. In Lucy's 
 heart had arisen — sw^eeter and purer because 
 unknown — the sweet and pure feeling* of a 
 maiden's love : a love w^hich in its unselfish 
 watchfulness can best type forth the care of 
 the blest children's angels, who in heaven look 
 ever on the face of the Universal Father. 
 
 When Richard Gerrard first heard of what 
 he considered his brother's mad attempt, he
 
 THE maiden's trial. 149 
 
 was more annoyed than astonished. He had 
 abandoned Wilmot so entirely to his own im- 
 pulses, that he felt it was natural his brother 
 should have retained the influence of his fa- 
 ther's early teaching- 5 but he was accustomed 
 to look upon him still as a mere boy, and in 
 the absorbino' interest which he felt in his own 
 share of the national strugg-le, he had put 
 off all thoug-ht of the boy's future life and the 
 career that would be suitable to his manhood. 
 
 Eichard's hope now was that Wilmotw ould 
 fall into the hands of some of the Parlia- 
 mentary forces scattered over that part of the 
 countr}^, when his own influence could save 
 him from the effect of his boyish escapade, and 
 he would supply him with funds to take him 
 to the New World ; where, with many others 
 of the beaten part}', Wilmot mig*ht push his 
 fortunes, and not cross his brother's path, or 
 endang-er his position by his Cavalier prin- 
 ciples. To this eff*ect, in his somewhat sneer- 
 ing- manner, he wrote to Lady Gerrard ; 
 attributing' the boy's folly, which he trusted 
 would end in no g-reat harm, to the counsels 
 of the sturdy falconer, Kerr, whom, with a 
 blameable weakness, he had allowed to remain
 
 150 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 and pour his mad prejudices into the lad's 
 facile ear. 
 
 But thoug'h^ in this letter to their mother^ 
 Eichard was iliin to treat the matter lig'htly ', 
 in the political position which he held^ his bro- 
 th er's act w^as doubly embarrassing- to himself. 
 Richard Gerrard had always been of the extreme 
 party ; whose object^ from the first rupture^ had 
 been the dethronement of the Kino- and the 
 establishment of a Republic : a Republic ac- 
 cording* to his own views^ formed chiefly on the 
 model of the Venetian OHg*archy. Since the 
 publication of the King-'s letters taken at 
 Naseby^ their desire was so far accomplished^ 
 that all chance of a peace being' entertained 
 with Charles was at an end ; but a new party, 
 equally hateful to their eyes^ was gradually 
 rising" into importance in the State — the power 
 of the army and the Independents. 
 
 B}' the passing- of the Self-Denying- Ordi- 
 nance this latter sect had brouo-ht the whole 
 army into their own hands ; and^ by making* an 
 express exception for the person of their own 
 leader^ Cromwell, had placed it virtually under 
 his command : still leaving- to him the power 
 of wielding- his authority in Parliament. The
 
 THE maiden's trial. 151 
 
 growing" power of this extraordinary man filled 
 with dread the party to which Gerrard be- 
 longed ; and perhaps already many of the far- 
 seeing- amongst them would not have grieved^ 
 if the full tide of victory on which he pro- 
 ceeded had been checked by some disaster. 
 But though no open collision had yet taken 
 place between them^ and they were obliged to 
 heap new rewards and honours upon the suc- 
 cessful general for his services^ both he and 
 they felt that their objects were now different, 
 and regarded each other with a mutual dis- 
 trust. At this juncture, the suspicion of a 
 leaning" to Malig-nancy, which was cast in the 
 teeth of the whole Presbyterian body, was one 
 which Gerrard would have o-iven much to 
 avoid ; and though it would have been impos- 
 sible for his opponents to fix any such weak- 
 ness upon the ardent young- Republican, he 
 shrunk even from the thouofht of beino* mixed 
 up with his brother's wild proceedings. 
 
 But while almost from a boy he had aban- 
 doned the old principles of his famil}^, and 
 had since then, struggling and mixing with 
 the leaders of the Roundhead faction, seen 
 little of his home 3 if during that time his
 
 152 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 famil}^ affections had grown necessarily slight^ 
 they were not altog-ether extinct: his con- 
 science could not permit hiai to leave his boy- 
 brother to bear what he thouo-ht would be the 
 certain consequences of his folly. He was 
 determined_j as soon as he heard of Wilmot 
 being' taken prisoner_, which he expected would 
 shortly be the case, to use all his influence to 
 obtain his release ; and then, as before stated, 
 to send him off* to one of the new settlements, 
 where his Cavalier principles would endanger 
 neither of them. 
 
 But as the weeks passed on, he was perhaps 
 rather relieved than otherwise to hear nothinof 
 of Wilmot ; and, though the thoug'ht occurred 
 to him that the lad had probably fallen in 
 some nameless skirmish, or been ruthlessly put 
 to the sword tog*ether with some separate body 
 of Cavaliers who had fallen into the hands of 
 the New Model (for such instances were then 
 not rare), he felt that he had no peculiar reason 
 to lament over a fate which Wilmot had 
 broug'ht upon himself, and in producing- which 
 he had certainly no share. The philosophical 
 tranquillity with which he bore the uncertainty 
 reg-arding- his brother's fate, was, however,
 
 THE maiden's trial. 153 
 
 broken in iipon^ Avhen^ some weeks after the 
 surrender of Bristol he received an intimation 
 from Master Aminadab^ with whom he had 
 had some previous communication, that his 
 brother was among' the wounded Cavaliers 
 left in the town after its capitulation^ and that 
 he now lay there slowly recovering* from the 
 effects of a most dang-erous wound. 
 
 The leech had learned the relationship of 
 his patient to the Republican Meuiber^ throug-h 
 the kindly Dame Cottle ; w ho had mentioned 
 it in order to enlist his sympathy and atten- 
 tion more strongly in behalf of the sufferer. 
 Such was not^ in his case^ necessary ; but the 
 consequence of her statement was^ that^ for 
 the first time since his departure^ Wilmot's 
 family heard intellig-ence of his being- at least 
 alive. The fact also that Wilmot was not 
 a prisoner of war^ was a solution of the diffi- 
 culties reg-arding- him which Richard felt. 
 No open interference on his part was now^ 
 necessary^ and he had only to persuade Wil- 
 mot not to re-enter on the almost finished 
 strug*g'le, but return as soon as possible 
 to his home : a matter which, in the re- 
 duced state of streng-th consequent on his
 
 154 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 wound^ he might easily effect. The account 
 given by Master Aminadab of the severe na- 
 ture of his wound^ and the melancholy state 
 to which the poor 3'outh was brought down^ 
 had also its influence in softenino- Richard's 
 heart towards his brother ; and this^ joined to 
 the relief of mind occasioned by the fortunate 
 issue of so apparently untoward an event^ 
 induced him to write the letter to Wilmot^ 
 mentioned in the last chapter. 
 
 At Bellasa-house^ these weeks had been^ at 
 least to one^ a time of bitter trial. Since 
 his departure and the object of it had become 
 known^ Lady Gerrard never mentioned her 
 younger son's name. Time was slowly adding 
 a deeper bigotry to her religious views; and 
 Wilmot^ who in truth had never been her 
 favourite^ she now regarded as a castaway^ 
 whom God in his fore-ordained determination 
 had doomed to perish in his sins. 
 
 But Lucy's thoughts were constantly turned 
 to him^ and his probable share in the last 
 struggle of the Cavaliers ; and not a day passed 
 that her pra3'ers were not fervently poured forth 
 for his safety in his dangerous enterprise. It is 
 probable that but for Lucy^ the old chaplain,
 
 THE MAIDEN^S. TRIAL. 155 
 
 Philip Daubrey (after he had g-ot over the first 
 astonishment occasioned by his pupiFs sudden 
 departure) being' eng-rossed in his life of books^ 
 would, from a far different cause, have reverted 
 as little as Lady Gerrard, to the absent Wilmot. 
 But if his book- worm nature inclined him to 
 think but little of any human being- not before 
 his eyes, Lucy, when she was his companion 
 in the library, would by an artful introduction 
 constantly lead him from their studies to the 
 one loved theme. Wilmot was, next to her- 
 self, a g-reat favourite with the old man, and 
 Lucy loved to lead him into praises of the 
 youth ', who, the old chaplain declared, would 
 have become a ripe scholar in time, if it had 
 not been for his unfortunate addiction to arms. 
 
 ^^ Alas !" he would say, ^^ it is the sin of the 
 time. Even my own Alma Mater has suiFered 
 from the infection ; and they tell me that^ for 
 these three years, the warrior and the courtier 
 have displaced the student within the classic 
 shades of his own academy.'' 
 
 ^^ And can Oxford claim a hig'her honour," 
 would his fair listener exclaim, " than that of 
 its own unswerving" loyalty, and its monarch's 
 favour ? 0, sir, its learning would never win
 
 156 THE KOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 for it such fame^ as in after times will follow 
 from the sacrifices of these years ! You must 
 not talk unworthily of her son." 
 
 The g-entle rebuke to the old man's want of 
 loyalty fell quite harmlessly on him : in his 
 want of interest in any mundane struo-p-les, 
 Daubrey was incorrig'ible ] and an}^ reproach 
 for that^ would g-lance unheeded from the 
 dreaming" placidity of his nature. 
 
 ^^ No wonder^ child/' would be his answer, 
 ^^ that men get carried away with false dreams 
 of g'lory, and the excitement of battle, when a 
 studious maid like thee debases the hio-hest 
 pursuit of man. Poor learning* ! while king-s 
 and people strug'g-le for the master}-, how does 
 she suffer in the strife ! How many 3-ears will 
 be wanted to heal her present wounds I I 
 think not, my child, that the g'eneral happiness 
 of mankind is dependent upon any form of 
 g-Qvernment, for which men fig'ht so furiously : 
 happiness is dependent on themselves, and that 
 may be obtained or lost as much under the 
 rule of many as of one. I am sure that learn- 
 ing*, which is the highest happiness below, can 
 flourish only in times of peace and rest." 
 
 Lucy could never g-et from the old chaplain
 
 THE maiden's trial. 157 
 
 an admission in fiivour of one party above the 
 other ', and certainly he was the only man 
 living- in whom she could have forgiven such 
 lukevvarmness. Since Wilmot's departure^ 
 however, she cordially sympathized with the 
 old man's aspirations after peace ; and thought, 
 in truth, that she could easily submit to a 
 complete Roundhead triumph, if Wilmot only 
 came safely back from the defeat. 
 
 Week followed upon week ; the summer 
 passed, and the autumn waned : the rich corn- 
 fields were harvested, the orchard-trees were 
 changing- their hue, and the leaves were falling* 
 fast ; but still no news of Wilmot came. At 
 leng'th, one morning-, towards the close of that 
 dreary October, when Lucy paid her daily visit 
 to Lady Gerrard's apartment, and found her as 
 usual deep in the study of the work of some 
 Genevese divine, the religious lady laid aside 
 the book from which she fed her habitual 
 g-loom, and handing- a letter to Lucy, told her 
 that by God's marvellous mercy Wilmot was 
 still alive, and she trusted mig-ht yet be made 
 a monument of His grace. There, Lucy did 
 not trust herself to speak; but, taking the 
 offered letter to her breast, glided hurriedly to
 
 158 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 her own little room. It was from Richard; 
 and never had she thought that his writing 
 could have been so dear to her. There was 
 but little told ; but as Lucy eagerly devoured 
 its lines^ she learned that Wilmot had been 
 wounded^ that he was now better^ and that ere 
 long', as soon as his strength permitted, he 
 would return home from Bristol, where he now 
 was, for some purpose of settling in life. 
 
 He was wounded, he was soon to return : 
 these were the two great facts clearly to be 
 gathered from his brother's letter. In the 
 dreamings of her solitude Lucy had so often 
 prepared herself for some horrible catastrophe, 
 that this reality came upon her as a positive 
 relief; and, at first, the dangers of Wilmot's 
 wound were entirely forgotten in the assurance 
 of his speedy return. He had achieved his 
 dangerous enterprise with honour, she knew, 
 and, she thanked God, with safet}^; the distance 
 from Bristol was not great, and he must soon 
 be back in his familiar haunts, which seemed 
 so desolate without him ; and his absence would 
 appear but a dream : the old life would revive 
 again ; only that Wilmot would have done 
 deeds in the interval to talk of for all after-
 
 THE maiden's trial. 159 
 
 time, and Lucy, in listening- to him, would find 
 new cause for admiration of her young- hero. 
 
 But as the days slowly crept on, and his 
 return was still deferred ; as the last ling-er- 
 ing- autumn leaf dropped from the dismantled 
 orchard, and winter came over the now stormy 
 sea, Lucy felt as if the winter was creeping* 
 also over her young- heart. If before, when 
 all was uncertainty as to Wil mot's fate, the 
 daA^s seemed leaden in their flig'ht, how much 
 more slug-g'ishly they moved on their course 
 now, when each one seemed to push further 
 off the attainment of the hope that had seemed 
 so near. 
 
 She had retained in her possession Eichard's 
 letter, and as she constantly re-read the few 
 words which it contained, to comfort herself 
 with the conviction that Wilmot would return, 
 a new light seemed to break upon the words 
 she knew by heart. The portion where poor 
 Wilmot's wound was briefly alluded to, which 
 seemed at first of no importance, now en- 
 g-rossed her thoughts. That wound must 
 have been severe ; perhaps it would be fatal : 
 it was that which was keeping- Wihnot so long- 
 fi'om his home : perhaps it would never allow
 
 160 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 of his return. And he lay now among* 
 strangers^ weak and powerless^ in the midst 
 of his hated enemies : not a friendly face near 
 him ; when she would give the world to be 
 by his side, to nurse him in his illness^ tend 
 on him^ and support his tottering- steps. Not 
 a friendly face near him ! Kerr ! she forg-ot 
 him : she knew he would faithfully attend on 
 Wilmot^ like a dog' ; but he might have fallen^ 
 he mig'ht be a prisoner. Wilmot was probably 
 alone and ill in the midst of enemies^ at a 
 time when the strong-est and the bravest want 
 sympathy and kindness. 
 
 For the first time, old Philip Daubrey was 
 in absolute want of a pupil : Lucy had no 
 heart to take her accustomed place in the 
 library^ and the old man wandered vacantly 
 amono- his dear books, and felt that without 
 her they were not what they had been. 
 " Cheer up !" he would say : ^^ come^ my child^ 
 and take comfort from the friends that are 
 never absent, and never tire." But his invita- 
 tion fell unheeded ; and so, mournfully, the old 
 year passed away. 
 
 The new 3^ear came on, but broug-ht with it 
 no hope to Lucy : the wild longing' of each
 
 WILMOrS RETURN. 161 
 
 day^ that broug'ht only its individual dis- 
 appointment with the nighty had ended in 
 a dead despair ; Lucy looked forward no 
 long-er^ but thoug-ht that all was over. Then^ 
 one morning-^ old Daubrey came trembling* to 
 her little room, and told her they were come. 
 Lucy hardly comprehended at first ; but pre- 
 sently a wild g'ush of joy rushing* to her heart, 
 she fell upon her knees, and thanked God for 
 his mercy : before she had risen, Wilmot, pale, 
 and sorrowful in aspect, was by her side. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 162 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE OLD HOME AGAIN, AND THE MEETING OF THE 
 BROTHERS. 
 
 But journeying home, how rapt his spirit rose ! 
 * * » * 
 
 Blindfold his native fields he could have known. 
 
 CAMPBELL'S THEODRIC. 
 
 During the six months he had heen absent, 
 Wihnot had greatly chang-ed. He had left 
 Bellasa-house^ a high-hearted boy, full of 
 courageous enthusiasm ; and since then, the 
 one great illusion of his 3'Outh had been dis- 
 pelled. The true step into manhood is the 
 suffering of the first disappointment, and in 
 that school he had acquired a sharp lesson. 
 
 Wilmot had rallied ver}^ slowly from his 
 illness, and his impatience to return home had 
 even outstripped the prudent cautions of the 
 leech ] who would, if possible, have detained
 
 THE OLD HOME AGAIN. 163 
 
 him some time long-er under his care. But he 
 was not to be detained : as soon as he was able 
 to move about^ he obtained his pass from the 
 Bristol Governor ; and, turning* his horse's 
 head from the ill-fated town, started on his 
 homeward journey, with the first feeling' of joy 
 that had escaped him, since his meeting* with 
 Prince Rupert on that now familiar road. 
 
 Kerr, of course, accompanied him; thoug*h 
 the g-allant yeoman had then other equal 
 claims upon him, for before leaving* Bristol he 
 had married. The care which Dame Cottle had 
 taken of Wilmot throuoh his lono- and terrible 
 illness, had finished the conquest of Kerr's stout 
 heart, already touched by her comeliness and 
 g'oodly cheer ; and the flirtations between them, 
 which had been detected by Captain Holmes's 
 sharp eyes, had this most honest and decorous 
 termination. Wilmot was rather astonished 
 when he heard of his follower's intention ; but 
 Dame Cottle had been most kind in her devo- 
 tion to himself, and it was not for him to 
 interfere with her g-etting* a g'ood husband 
 like Stephen Kerr. Of course, he must now 
 be prepared to lose a faithful follower ; but in 
 his future life it mig-ht perhaps be better for
 
 164 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 him to have no one to provide for but himself. 
 In the mean time, Kerr would now take him 
 home ; and his Dame w^ould follow them both, 
 and settle down upon her husband's holding* in 
 Thanet, after she had disposed of her Bristol 
 property as well and speedily as she could. 
 Kerr had only made one public stipulation 
 with her — which he repeated to Wilmot with 
 much olee — that all Puritanism \vas to be 
 dropped as soon as she became his Dnme. 
 
 The important change was effected, and 
 Kerr, leaving- his wife behind him, set off to 
 assist his young* master through his home- 
 ward journey. At first, they were able to 
 make but short distances each day ; but 
 thoug-h it was the winter season, the roads 
 were hardened by the nig'htly frosts, and 
 with the prospect of home before him, Wilmot 
 g-athered streng'th as they went on. 
 
 At leng-th, on a bright January morning- — 
 for they had pushed on far overnight — the fami- 
 liar aspect of everything* around them shewed 
 that they were reaching the old home. There 
 was the pond b}^ the roadside, now^ frozen 
 over; the quaint gnarled oak-tree that shaded 
 the turn of the road, now a sturdy mass of
 
 THE OLD HOME AGAIN. 165 
 
 knots and bare branches, and yet smilino* a 
 ruddy welcome in the sun 5 and at last Bellasa- 
 house itself looked down with its cheery red 
 frontag-e on the wanderers. As Wilmot saw 
 the dear old walls standing- before him so un- 
 changed^ he thought of all that he had passed 
 through since he was last on the same spot j 
 and melancholy rather than joy came over him 
 as he remembered how much he himself was 
 chang-ed in that interval. 
 
 He was returned now to seek ag-ain^ if pos- 
 sible^ a renewal for some time of the happy 
 life of old ] but he knew that at the best^ such 
 peace was only for a time^ and the happy 
 dream vanished : he must enter again upon 
 his unquiet^ purposeless life. England^ he 
 knew, was no home for him. With such 
 melancholy feelings mingling with the joy of 
 his return, the first for whom he sought was 
 Lucy. He expected to find her in the library 
 as of old ; but the old chaplain w^as its only 
 tenant, who hardly staying to bid him wel- 
 come, ran with the news of his arrival to 
 Lucy's room, to carry her the onl}^ cordial he 
 knew well was left to her despair. Wilmot 
 stayed a moment to look at the familiar room^
 
 166 THE EOYALIST AXD THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 the scene of so much boyish happiness^ and 
 followed the old man. 
 
 It was a happy meeting" between the youngs 
 people^ and yet a sad one ; for they were both 
 very young-, and of late had both known much 
 sorrow. Lucy found Wilmot indeed much 
 changed : he was very pale; the beautiful curls 
 that were accustomed to fall so luxuriantly 
 round his smooth face were g'one^ and a lon^ 
 fearful scar upon his much -thinned brow 
 shewed where the terrible wound had been ; 
 his cheek was hollow instead of round, the 
 dear lips trembled when he spoke, and the 
 fire in his eves was different to the lio'ht of 
 hope that had filled them of old : they beamed 
 now with a sadder graze. 
 
 " How beautiful you have grown ! " he said 
 to Lucv. " I should not have thouo-ht so 
 short a time could have made so g-reat a 
 change /' and though he spoke with the same 
 calm tones he would have used to her before, 
 Lucy blushed deeply at the words, and felt in 
 them a new and exquisite delight. 
 
 Wilmot's reception by his mother was much 
 what he anticipated : she was indeed some- 
 what moved at seeing the great change which
 
 THE OLD HOME AGAIN. 167 
 
 his illness had produced in him^ but only said 
 she hoped that he would profit by the chas- 
 tening* rod which had been held over him ; 
 that the hand of the Lord was evidently in it, 
 to shew him b}^ a timely visitation the error of 
 his ways^ and not cut him down like his unfor- 
 tunate father in the full blossom of his sin. 
 Wilmot attempted no reply^ but thought that 
 perhaps even the stern Master Aminabad 
 might have allowed him a more natural wel- 
 come ; and^ cursing* the gloomy fanaticism 
 which could darken the natural affections of the 
 hearty he turned to Lucy's more genial society. 
 The library was a spacious apartment^ quite 
 separate from the rest of the house ; to which 
 it was attached by a covered way. It had its 
 own entrance to the garden^ and was^ indeed, 
 once a distinct building ; being in old times 
 the chapel of the house. Since the Reformed 
 days it had been allowed almost to fall into 
 ruin, until it was restored by the late Sir Wil- 
 mot as a library ; and having been joined to 
 the house, now made altogether a most com- 
 fortable and 3^et retired room. It opened on 
 the turf of the flower-garden, which even in 
 winter was bright with smooth grass and
 
 168 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 seasonable everg'reens ; and^ stretching' down 
 be3^ond the moat into the far hollow^ the eye 
 niig'ht catchy at a break in the cliffs^ the far 
 sea-line of blue. In this pleasant apartment, 
 constantly warmed by the cheery blaze of a 
 hug'e wood fire, whose flame leaped back de- 
 lig'htfully from the backs of the rich volumes 
 on the walls, was Wilmot's favourite resting-- 
 place. 
 
 While the old chaplain, delighted to have 
 both the young' people with him as of old, 
 busied himself happily with his books, Lucy 
 would draw from Wilmot all that he would 
 tell her of his late adventures 3 and, above all, 
 seek every detail of that glorious Prince 
 Eupert, in whose service he was now engaged. 
 And then — for she knew no concealment yet 
 — she would tell Wilmot how she missed him 
 in her lonely life : how her old haunts had 
 wearied, her old occupations palled ; how she 
 had longed and longed for his return; and 
 how doubly lonely and bitter, in his long 
 absence, had her life become. And when she 
 heard from Wilmot that it was to Kerr his 
 very life was owing, what a halo of beauty 
 her gratitude breathed around the brave yeo-
 
 THE OLD HOME AGAIN. 169 
 
 man. And he was to be married too ! and 
 Dame Kerr had nursed dear Wilmot through 
 all his terrible sick days ! How she was pre- 
 pared to love her^ and make much of her, and 
 force her to prefer their rich country home to 
 the wretched town she was about to leave. 
 But it was most provoking*, that neither Wil- 
 mot nor Kerr would tell her anything- about 
 the latter's newly acquired wife : Lucy could 
 not learn even the colour of the Dame's eyes. 
 Wilmot hazarded a conjecture that the}^ were 
 g-re}^ ; and Kerr, who should have known 
 better, was only certain they were dark, but 
 whether g'rey or hazel he could not affirm. 
 Whenever Lucy pressed him hard for a de- 
 scription, he would say that on the whole she 
 looked so pretty, when nursing* Master Wil- 
 mot, as he lay fever-stricken and helpless as 
 a child, that he found he could do no less 
 than marry her. Lucy thought the brave 
 fellow's reason was an ample one, and was 
 prepared to pour a vast hoard of affection on 
 the kind nurse, who had so well performed 
 what should have been her duty. 
 
 Wilmot was not yet strong* enoug*h for long- 
 walks, thoug'h his return home was benefiting*
 
 170 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 his health daily ; stilly not a day passed when he 
 and Lucy did not walk at least as far as Kerr's 
 cottag-e^ which he was preparing- in his homely 
 way for the reception of his wife. Lucy took 
 a vast interest in these preparations, and many 
 a little article w^as carried down from her own 
 room, to adorn the one that was now being" 
 destined for Dame Kerr. She was to bring 
 most of her household stock by sea with her, 
 Kerr told them ; but still he was proud enough 
 to say, that when she married a Kentish 
 yeoman, she might have only brought her 
 night-cap to the stock, and he would have 
 supplied all else that might be wanting. 
 
 About ten days after Wilmot's return, 
 Eichard rode down from London to meet 
 him, and talk with him about the future. 
 It was a curious meeting between the brothers, 
 who had not seen each other since Wilmot was 
 a hoj. He was now eighteen, and though 
 still shrunken by his illness, his manly form 
 and noble height contrasted strongly over his 
 elder brother's more puny frame. Richard, as 
 he congratulated him on his recovery from his 
 w^ound, felt more deeply how unaware to him- 
 self the neglected boy had grown into a man.
 
 THE MEETING OF THE BROTHERS. 171 
 
 " I have heard from Master Aminadab/' 
 said he^ '' of the severe nature of the blow^ 
 which perhaps timeously stopped your career. 
 We must all thank God that he has ag-ain 
 raised you from what^ it was to be feared^ was 
 a fatal illness. But now that it has pleased 
 Him to launch you anew on life^ you must be 
 the first to know that the deeds of the boy 
 have closed in Eiig'land every field of action 
 for the man ; thoug-h, fortunately, the world is 
 still before you." 
 
 " On that/' said Wilmot^ '^ I am glad that 
 your thoughts are mine. In the present state 
 of affairs, with my feelings strong, I can 
 assure 3^ou, as ever, England is not a home 
 that I should choose, even were the choice 
 open to me." 
 
 " I am glad," replied Richard, '^ that you feel 
 no difficulties on that score. For my part, 
 the necessity of leaving this fair land of your 
 birth, would prove to me the bitterest portion 
 of your lot. But a bold heart can find a 
 country anywhere." 
 
 " And do you think," returned Wilmot, 
 ^^ that this lovely land is not as dear to me, and 
 to all us banished Royalists, as it can be to any
 
 172 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 traitorous Roundhead who now lords it over 
 our loved country ? I had no wish to touch 
 on such subjects^ brother^ and provoke in your 
 own heart the remorse which I am sure you 
 must feel : but^ dear as this fair Eng-Umd is 
 to us all^ upon 3'our party be the shame^ that 
 it has now become necessary for all who love 
 their King* to abjure their country/' 
 
 Eichard was silent for a momentj as he had 
 hardl}^ expected then this sudden burst of 
 feeling-. After the pause he resumed^ in his 
 usually quiet tones^ '' We have ag-reed not 
 to revert between ourselves to such topics^ and 
 the infraction of that wise ag-reement shall not 
 occur on my side. However^ 3^ou ag-ree with 
 me that Eng-land is no long-er a fit place for 
 you ; and whether the fault lies with Eng-land^ 
 or with yourself, is not now the question. I 
 am not a man of much speaking-^ and I will at 
 once make to you the proposition^ ^\hich^ ever 
 since I heard of your wild enterprise^ I have 
 resolved in ni}^ mind. There is a new country 
 opened by the legitimate enterprise of our 
 fathers^ whither^ in case of failure^ our own 
 leaders would have turned^ to breathe the 
 free air, Avhich your loved King- would have
 
 THE MEETING OF THE BROTHERS. 173 
 
 denied us. That asylum is open to all ; and, 
 by the will of a wise Providence, you are now 
 the conquered party. There your wild sym- 
 pathies with a fallen cause will not stand in 
 the way of your advancement. Your father, 
 by his sudden death, left you unprovided for ; 
 but I will advance you a sufficient capital to 
 start you in a new country : beyond the 
 Atlantic you may raise a new home, and for- 
 get in the distance the altered circumstances 
 of your parent country, which here would be 
 a constant oifence. I Avould advise you to 
 think over my offer." 
 
 The thoug'ht of commencing* a new life, in a 
 new world, had never previously crossed Wil- 
 mot's mind. In the little that he had seen of 
 war, he had seen enoug'h to be sickened of its 
 horrors ', and in his present frame of mind there 
 was something" pleasant in the idea of rearing* 
 to himself a peaceful home afar, where neither 
 unworthy Royalist, nor hated Eoundhead, 
 should vex his vision more. But the matter 
 was of too g-reat importance to be determined on 
 at once. His brother notino^ his silence, and 
 divining- his hesitation, told him that he could 
 remain three days at Bellasa-house, during-
 
 174 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 which time Wilmot mig*ht decide on accepting" 
 or refusing" his offer; thoug'h it seemed to 
 Eichard that there was no other course for 
 him to adopt. So ended the interview ; and 
 the first thoug-ht of Wilmot was to consult 
 with Lucy on the subject. 
 
 He found her as usual in the library, and 
 there he told her of what had passed between 
 him and llichard, and of the inward prompt- 
 ing's which inclined him to accept his brother's 
 proposal. The thoug-ht of Wilmot's departure 
 to a distant countr}^, never to return — of losing* 
 him for ever^ almost as soon as she had g*ot 
 him back — was too terrible for Lucy's lovinof 
 heart. When Wilmot ceased from the g-low- 
 ing- description he had drawn of the new 
 peaceful life which he mig-ht lead, he looked 
 to Lucy for approval^ and found that she was 
 in tears. 
 
 ^^ W^hy, Lucy, my sister, what is this ?" he 
 said, tenderl}^ raising" her shrinking* form to- 
 wards him: "I was only thinking* of the happi- 
 ness of building* up my new life without further 
 bloodshed, and I find you thus wretched." 
 
 '' 0, Wilmot ! " she answered, sobbing*, ^^ I 
 was foolish : I was even wrong* ; but it was so
 
 THE MEETING OF THE BROTHERS. 175 
 
 dear to have you with me ag'ain^ and I never 
 tTioiig'ht of the chance of your g"oing' away 
 more ; and now you talk of leaving-^ never to 
 return. ! it is too dreadful ! " 
 
 Wilmot was astonished at the violence of 
 her g'rief, and tried to soothe it by the caresses 
 which in old days had never failed to console 
 her in her g'irlish sorrows : he w^as less success- 
 ful now. 
 
 " You know_, Lucy/' he urg-ed^ ^^ that in these 
 times Eno'land can afford me no home. I 
 could not live in quiet beside these successful 
 traitors ; and I must seek a sustenance^ and be 
 where I may breathe without dishonour.'' 
 
 " But^ dear Wilmot ! is there no alter- 
 native ? no mode of life but this^ of transport- 
 ing* yourself for ever to a New World, where 
 even the memory of the Old must be for- 
 g-otten ? " and with the words she seized Wil- 
 mot's hand, and looked imploring-ly in his 
 face, as if her own doom were hanoino- on his 
 will. 
 
 *^ Ay, Lucy, there is an alternative," he 
 answered, sadly ; ^' and one which until now 
 I had always intended to embrace. It was 
 to follow Rupert's leading- in a new field, and
 
 176 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 sell my sword where I might sell it^ at least 
 without shame/' 
 
 " And then/' interrupted Lucy^ ^^ there 
 would be a prospect of your return ? 0^ tell 
 me that at least ! " 
 
 ^^ Ay/' replied Wilmot^ not less mournfully 
 than before ; " the time might come when 
 duty would ag-ain demand it to be drawn in 
 the old cause. All is over now : but thing's 
 mig'ht chang-e ; and even in Eng'land the hope 
 of lo3'alty may dawn ag'ain : but^ alas ! I fear 
 me not." 
 
 " 'Nnjj Wilmot ! " said Lucy^ almost exult- 
 ing-ly^ for she felt that her cause was won ; 
 " the cause for which you have suffered so 
 much will prosper again in God's own time^ 
 and 3^0 u who have served it in misfortune 
 shall help to its success. How could you bear 
 to think, when others are joining* to retrieve 
 a bitter past, that you, who had ever held 
 to the right unswervingly^, were absent from 
 your duty then ? " 
 
 Wilmot rose unconsciously to his full height 
 at the stirring words, and his eye kindled with 
 the fire of its old enthusiasm, as he answered, 
 ^^ You are right, Lucy 3 and I was a craven
 
 THE MEETING OF THE BROTHERS. 17? 
 
 to despair. Your words have touched the 
 rio'ht chord in me, and struno- me to mv old 
 puj-pose. I was not my proper self wlien I 
 hesitated about Eichard's offer. He means 
 well ; but his very thoug-ht of it is insult. 
 Ay, better to sell my sword for bread, so that 
 I ma}' be ready to use it more nobly when the 
 time shall come.'' 
 
 Lucy looked up with pride into his kin- 
 dling- eyes. " Then, dear Wilmot/' she said, 
 " you will think no more of banishment ; and 
 if you do leave us for a time, you will return." 
 
 ^^ A}', Lucy, pray God I may !" and as he 
 noticed her eager and beautiful face turned 
 upwards, watching* for his answer, he caug"ht 
 her in his arms, and kissed her as freely as he 
 would have done of old 5 nor heeded at the 
 time the deep blush of rapture that mantled 
 on her face from cheek to brow. 
 
 He sought Richard again immediately, to 
 give him his reply : his brother was Avith their 
 mother at the time, but came immediately to 
 his summons. ^^ I thank 3^ou, Richard," said 
 Wilmot, " for your g'enerous offer, but require 
 no further time to resolve upon my plans. 
 On mature thought, the banishment which 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 you propose is not suitable to my nature : and 
 I am, in fact^ bound b}^ a previous eng-ag'e- 
 ment with Prince Rupert/' 
 
 " Prince Eupert !" exclaimed Richard : ^^ you 
 have^ doubtless^ heard of his late mad exploits, 
 and his recent diso-race Avith his much ill-used 
 monarch;" and at that speech a sneer crept 
 over Richard's thin lips^ which to Wilmot was 
 hard to bear. 
 
 ^^ I have heard/' he answered^ " of the idle 
 reports, to which doubtless you allude ; but 
 certain am I that Rupert never did aug'ht 
 yet that was not compatible with his known 
 loyalty and honour. That he may have pushed 
 a point too far to serve a fallen friend, I will 
 believe ; but no more than this : and such 
 w^ould surely be no bar to one who souo'ht his 
 friendship. I was a boy when his g-lance fell 
 on me, and then he made me promise, when 
 this cause was lost^ to follow his leading' in 
 more happy fields. With him I shall at least 
 be sure of subsistence and of honour." 
 
 '^ So be it," returned Richard : '^ we of the 
 Parliament have always found Prince Rupert 
 an open foe ; and had all our enemies been like 
 him, they were not now beneath our feet. I
 
 THE MEETING OF THE BROTHERS. 179 
 
 would rather 3^ou had accepted my oifer^ than 
 see you lead the life of a modern Islimaelite^ 
 every man's hand ag-ainstyou^ and you ag-ainst 
 every man ; but you know your own nature 
 best^ and if your Prince can Avithdraw in 
 safety from his present dang-erous position^ he 
 will make a bold captain of free lancers, I 
 allow. Thank God, we want no hireling- 
 swords ! " 
 
 ^^ Ah, brother ! you may sneer at him who 
 fig'hts to live ; but with Rupert to g'uide us, 
 any monarch may be proud who g-ains our 
 services : and be sure that your cause cannot 
 be sound, which sends so many of your coun- 
 try's bravest sons to spend their blood on 
 foreig-n lands. The time may come when you 
 may want us." 
 
 ^^ Well, well," said Richard, ^^ we will try 
 and drag- on till then. In the mean while, 
 Wilmot, though this project does not please 
 me so well os mine, I will not grudge you the 
 assistance I spoke of to further the career 
 most suitable to your temper. I should have 
 thoug-ht it a nobler course to battle with 
 nature in wild lands, than to sell my sword 
 to the highest bidder.''
 
 180 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 ^^ M}^ sword^ brother^ will be sold nowhere 
 to its dishonour. And thoug-h I thank you 
 for your offered aid^ I require none. My 
 father's horse is still serviceable^ and I have 
 funds sufficient to carry him and myself to 
 the Continent. I want no more ; and only 
 ask from you a shelter in the home of my 
 boyhood until my full strength is restored to 
 ine^ and the time for action comes." 
 
 There was a quiet dig-nit}' in Wilmot's 
 w^ords and look, which Richard felt, and at- 
 tempted no further reply.
 
 THE PURITAN LAWYER. 181 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE PURITAN LAWYER AND HIS CLERK. KERR 
 BRINGS HIS WIFE FROM THE WARS. 
 
 Imagination fondly stoops to trace 
 
 The parlour-splendours of that festive place ; 
 
 The whitewashed wall, the nicely sanded floor. 
 
 The varnished clock that ticked behind the door; 
 
 The chest, contrived a double debt to pay, 
 
 A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day. 
 * * ♦ * 
 
 The hearth, except when winter chilled the day. 
 With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay; 
 While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show. 
 Ranged o'er the chimney, glittered in a row. 
 
 GOLDSMITH'S DESERTED VILLAGE. 
 
 It has been mentioned that the neighbouring 
 property^ which had belonged to the family of 
 Trevanians, had been confiscated by the Par- 
 liament during- the war^ and was now owned 
 by a Puritan. The elder Trevanian, tog-ether 
 with his spendthrift son^ had^ from the first, 
 joined the Royal ranks ; and shortly after-
 
 182 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 wards his estate was seized b}- the Parliament, 
 and given over, as payment for sundry law 
 expenses, to a certain Elkanah White, a Lon- 
 don attorney ; who, in return for various pecu- 
 liar services, Avas delig'hted to obtain payment 
 for his bill on the usurious, but at that time 
 doubtful security of a Malig'nant's lands. 
 Shortly after this arrang-ement, the worthy 
 attorney — who had in other ways thriven not a 
 little before the commencement of the troublous 
 times, and who had g*ood hope of the ultimate 
 success of the Parliamentary forces, and a 
 full confidence in the tenure on which he held 
 his new-o'otten estate — retired from the labours 
 of his leg-al life to enjoy the novel dig'nities of 
 his position as a landholder in Kent. He 
 brougiit down with him his late clerk, a true 
 Londoner, named Jabesh Hig'g-ins, whom he 
 appointed the bailiff of his property ; and the 
 tenants were at first somewhat astonished at 
 the new mode of carr3nno' on business, and 
 the sharp practice which he introduced. 
 
 Elkanah was also accompanied by his sister, 
 a prim lady of the Puritan school, who had, 
 however, still pretensions to g-ood looks ] and, 
 though from her stiff manners it was difficult
 
 THE PUKITAN LAWYER. 183 
 
 to decide lier ag'e, Miriam was in reality not 
 more than five-and-tweuty, when^ from being- 
 the head of her brother's solemn establishment 
 in the city, slie became the temporary mis- 
 tress of his new abode in Kent. But though 
 her brother Elkanah was at that time ad- 
 vanced in middle life, he did not consider him- 
 self too old to improve his condition by an 
 advantageous marriage, and imagined that 
 when his choice was made, there were few 
 families in Kent who would not feel honoured 
 by a union with him. Immediately on settling- 
 down in the Trevanians' old house, which had 
 heretofore simply gone by the name of the 
 Hall, he added thereto the scriptural appella- 
 tion of Armageddon, as at once appropriate 
 and demonstrative of his religious views. His 
 only near neighbour was Lady Gerrard ; and 
 when she learned the similarity of their opi- 
 nions, though her prejudices were somewhat 
 wounded by strangers thus supplanting an 
 old family, she received the new neighbour's 
 advances with tolerable cordiality. 
 
 But Wilmot and Lucy had from the first 
 taken a strong dislike to the new occupiers of 
 the Hall, which they could never bring them-
 
 184 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 selves to mention b}^ its saintly name. Pre- 
 vious to Wilmot's departure for the Eo3^al 
 armVj whenever the stiff forms of the Puri- 
 tan and his prim sister were visible on the 
 road^ about to pay a stated visit to Bellasa- 
 house^ they always manag'ed to steal away 
 in time to avoid the dreaded rencontre. Their 
 absence was accounted for on the score of 
 their youth^ and the visitors were content 
 to be g-raciously received by the melancholy 
 Lady Gerrard ; w^ho would converse^ chiefly 
 with Mistress Miriam, on some abstruse mys- 
 tery in her tapestry, on the comfortable 
 doctrines of the new lecturer in the villag-e, 
 who preached hell and damnation very freely, 
 and on its ineifable consolation to the soul. 
 
 At the present time, it being* known at Arma- 
 g-eddon-hall that the worthy Mnster Kichard 
 had taken a short rest from his duties in 
 Parliament, and was then staying- at Bellasa- 
 house, Elkanah White determined to seize 
 the opportunity of his presence for making- 
 one of the periodic visits. In consequence of 
 this determination, Wilmot and Lucy were 
 horrified at seeing' from the library- window 
 the brother and sister riding- leisurely up the
 
 THE PURITAN LAWYER. 185 
 
 lawn ; followed on that occasion by their 
 bailiff, whom Elkanah had broug-ht over to 
 speak with Richard Gerrard upon business^ and 
 who^ awkwardly riding' on his ponj^^ brought 
 up the procession. 
 
 Wilmot immediately proposed an escape to 
 Kerr's cottage ; but it was too late, for at the 
 moment Richard entered the library himself, 
 and requested Lucy to assist him in receiving" 
 the visitors : Wihnot being' free to obey his 
 fancy on the point, and ohl Daubrey being- too 
 insignificant to have his attendance necessaiy. 
 These two remained in the library; and Wil- 
 mot cast a pitying' glance on Lucy, as Richard 
 carried her off to her ung-rateful duty. 
 
 A visit was a lengthy business in those days^ 
 and Wilmot was prepared to pass the morning* 
 with old Daubrey in the library, patiently 
 waiting- for Lucy's liberation ; but scarcely 
 had an hour passed awa}^^ ere, by the sound 
 of approaching- footsteps in the g-allery, he 
 found that his refuo-e was about to be invaded. 
 He had just time to escape by the garden 
 entrance, when Richard, followed by his new 
 neighbour and his bailiff, entered the library. 
 The owner of Armageddon - hall and bis
 
 186 THE KOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 host were too deep in conversation to notice 
 the abrupt departure of Wihnot ; who^ in 
 turning- from the door^ met the searching* 
 ghmce of their follower^ Jabesh Hig*g*ins ; 
 and in that hurried rencontre the peculiar 
 features of the man were stamped upon his 
 memory, not easily to be effaced. 
 
 Wihnot turned his steps towards Kerr's cot- 
 tage, which was not more than a mile distant 
 from the house ; and there he found the faithful 
 3'eoman^ busy as usual in his new domestic 
 ari'ang'ements. Under Kerr's skilful hands, 
 g-uided by Lucy's taste, the neat little place 
 had already assumed the aspect of feminine 
 comfort, and was nearly ready' for the recep- 
 tion of the mistress ; whose ari-ival Kerr daily 
 expected by sea. In the company of his 
 faithful follower, talking* of the past and future 
 — about which, indeed, Kerr was sing'ularly 
 reticent ; for he knew that Wilmot intended 
 shortly to embark for the continent, and had 
 said nothing* about Kerr's accompanying- him 
 — the hours passed quickly away, and Wilmot 
 was able to return to the house without fur- 
 ther fear of meeting* the disag-reeable visitors. 
 They were g*one when he returned ; having*
 
 THE PURITAN LAWYER, 187 
 
 partaken of Kicliard's forced hospitality for 
 their mid-day meal : tlioug-h^ as Lucy re- 
 marked^ he did not seem much fonder of his 
 gfuests than she and Wilmot were. Master 
 White had noticed at the meal Wilmot's con- 
 tinued absence^ and made some observation 
 reo'ardinof the uiifortunate views which the lad 
 was supposed to entertain ; but had obtained 
 no reply from Richard^ beyond one of those 
 withering- sneers which had made him so 
 hateful both to Wilmot and Lucy in their 
 youth : on this occasion Lucy thoug'ht it was 
 not so misapplied. 
 
 The upstart stranger's insolence in alluding* 
 to his opinions did not increase Wilmot's 
 g*ood-\vill ; and, his first natural antipathy 
 thus heightened, he cursed the misfortune 
 which had thrown upon Lucy the chance of 
 such future companionship. Lucy was almost 
 amused by the sincere pity he lavished upon 
 her for her day's infliction ; but they mutually 
 agTeed to banish their disao-reeable neighbours 
 from their thoughts, and hoped that the time 
 left for Wihnot in Bellasa-house would not 
 suffer much from their unwelcome interrup- 
 tions.
 
 188 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 On the next da}^^ Eichard returned to 
 London; as at sueli a time he could spare 
 himself no further holiday from his attendance 
 at the House. The parting hetween the 
 brothers was far more cordial than Wilmot 
 could previously have expected : the differ- 
 ence of their views was as irreconcilable as 
 ever ; but, in spite of it, the brothers parted 
 with a feeling- of mutual respect. Wilmot 
 felt that his brother had been actuated by 
 kind motives towards himself in his recent 
 proposal ; and Richard looked on Wilmot as 
 an enthusiast in a wrong- cause, the fault of 
 which was partly attributable to his own 
 neglect. He was to give Wilmot timely notice 
 of Prince Rupert's motions ; the knowledg-e of 
 which was easily obtainable in his position. 
 
 During- the later months of the past year, 
 while Wilmot was lyings on his bed of 
 sickness at Bristol, the Parliament had, in- 
 deed, opened private neg'otiations with the 
 Prince ; induced thereto by the unfortunate 
 quarrel between him and his misg'uided King", 
 already alluded to in the conversation between 
 the brothers. But the condition offered by 
 Parliament to the Princes Rupert and Mau-
 
 THE PARTING OF THE BROTHERS. 189 
 
 rice, was a promise on their part never to fig'ht 
 ag'ainst them more, in return for a free and 
 honourable exit from the kiug'doui granted to 
 them by the victors. These terms the Princes 
 had refused ; and it was known that the King- 
 bitterly reg'retted his harsh treatment of his 
 g-allant nephew, and was now anxious for a 
 reconciliation. It was certain that Rupert 
 would return to the King's side, and fight for 
 him to the last ; but this could not be much 
 longer. All the Royal strongholds, except 
 Newark and Oxford, had fallen into Crom- 
 well's hands. Fairfax was prepared to invest 
 the latter place as soon as the spring was 
 sufficiently advanced for his operations ] and 
 the Parliament were aware that Goring had 
 sold to them his trust, in the command of the 
 western army, and Avas then preparing for his 
 flight to France. There was but small space 
 left for action for the loyal Rupert, and he 
 must soon be forced to leave the country ] 
 where his presence was of no more avail to 
 assist a doomed cause. He might fall in 
 some desperate skirmish ; but if he escaped 
 that fate to the last, Richard would certainly 
 be able to infoi-m Wilmot of the movements of
 
 190 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 the leader with whom he had resolved to link 
 his fortunes. With that ag-reement the bro- 
 thers parted^ uncertain when or where they 
 mio'ht meet ao'ain. 
 
 Towards the conclusion of the month^ and 
 shortly after Eichard's departure^ the expected 
 coasting" vessel arrived from Bristol^ biinging- 
 Dame Kerr^ and such of her household g'oods 
 as she had been unable or unwilling' to dispose 
 of. Iler first husband bad been a Biistol 
 trader, and from the school in which she had 
 been brought up, she had learned not to dread 
 the dangers of tbe rough passage of the 
 Channel^ even during* the inclement winter 
 season. 
 
 It was an exciting hour for the brave Kerr, 
 when he learned from a bo}^, who hurried 
 up to give him the information, that the yawl 
 from Bristol had come to anchor within the 
 little wooden pier that then alone protected 
 the boats belonging to the fishing village of 
 Eamso-ate, near which rose Bellasa-house. 
 He ran instantly to the beach, and when 
 it became known there that the comely 
 stranger was no less a personage than Dame 
 Kerr herself, not a lounging boatman but was
 
 ARRIVAL OF KERR's WIFE. 191 
 
 ready to offer the service of his strong* arms, 
 to carry her multifarious property to the cot- 
 taofe. 
 
 The arrival of the popular Kerr's wife, 
 created quite a commotion among' his nume- 
 rous admirers ; and her progress with her 
 husband, from the beach to the cottag-e, par- 
 took of the nature of a triumphal procession. 
 Kerr had scarcely thanked and dismissed his 
 numerous assistants, and was looking- with 
 some little dismay at the pile of chests and 
 packages, heaped in rich disorder all over one 
 of the small rooms of their cottag-e, when 
 Wilmot and Lucy, who had heard the g-reat 
 intellio-ence, came over to cono-ratulate him on 
 his dame's arrival. 
 
 As soon as Lucy saw Dame Bridget's pleasant 
 face, as she rose at their entrance, in the midst 
 of her scattered household goods, she waited 
 for no explanation from Kerr, but threw her 
 arms round her comely person, and kissing her 
 on her healthy cheeks, told her that she loved 
 her for having saved Wilmot's life, and for 
 being kind to him when he was ill, and far 
 from friends. 
 
 " God bless your pretty face ! my young
 
 193 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 lad}'/' said the kind-hearted dame^ quite moved 
 bj the unexpected warmth of Lucy's welcome. 
 " You may be sure that Master Wihnot will 
 find friends wherever he g'oes^ though perhaps 
 none better than those now round him. Why, 
 bless my heart ! 1 should not have known him 
 ag-ain, he is so improved. When he mounted 
 his horse at my door^ in Bristol, I thoug-ht 
 him mad to attempt the journey so soon ; and 
 now I find him almost as hearty as when 1 
 first saw him in company Avith that mad Cap- 
 tain Holmes. Ah ! young* lady, there is no 
 such restorer as home after all." 
 
 Lucy looked with pride on Wilmot as the 
 kind dame spoke : duiing* the three weeks 
 he had already rested at home, he had im- 
 proved wonderfully, and his old strength and 
 g'ood looks were returning- fast. 
 
 ^^ If Wilmot will soon be himself ag*ain," 
 she answered, gratefully, "it is owing to the 
 kind nurse, who watched him with such atten- 
 tion, when, as I know, his life hung upon a 
 hair.'' 
 
 " God has been ver}^ g'ood," said Dame Kerr ; 
 who, if on her husband's stipulation she had 
 abandoned her Puritan phraseology, had not
 
 ARRIVAL OF KERR'S WIFE. 193 
 
 abandoned the truly relig-ious feelings of her 
 heart ; ^' and, by his great mercy^ has raised 
 the dear young- g-entleman from the very valley 
 of the shadow of death. Let us thank him 
 for his g'oodness.'' After a pause she added, 
 in a g"ayer tone, — ^^ If Master Wilmot owes his 
 recovery to any human hands, it is to this 
 big' fellow, who nursed him through his whole 
 illness as tenderly as a woman, which I can 
 certify ; and I do believe that the only reason 
 which made him take me for his wife, was that 
 he saw I loved the young- g-entleman almost as 
 much as he did.'' 
 
 Kerr had been watching-, with a silent de- 
 lig-ht, the whole of the preceding- scene ; but 
 when his wife made the above declaration, 
 he could contain himself no longer, but striding- 
 over the intervening- boxes, took her smiling- 
 face between his broad hands, and kissed her 
 on the spot. Lucy laug-hed merrily at his em- 
 phatic action, and Wilmot, who felt deeply 
 the affection of the honest couple to himself, 
 took a hand of each of them in his own, and 
 looking- earnestly at Dame Bridg*et, said, — ^^ I 
 know that 3^ou both love me more than I de- 
 serve; and more, far more than I can ever 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 THE ROYALIST ATsD THE REPUBLICAN, 
 
 repay. But this I now promise you^ my kind 
 dame, — that with my wdll you shall never 
 suffer from the love which your husband bears 
 towards me. He must learn now, that since 
 he is a married man, he has other duties be- 
 sides rambling- over the country after a wan- 
 dering- soldier 5 and I look to you to teach him 
 the comforts and advantag'es of a home." 
 
 Neither of the couple made Wilmot any 
 answer 3 but Dame Bridget looked up mourn- 
 fully at her husband, and sig'hed at the fixed 
 purpose of his look. 
 
 After a pause of some length, Kerr spoke, 
 as if rebuking-ly, of her mournful look ; and 
 Lucy thoug-ht there was something- unusually 
 stern in the stead}' tones of his voice, — 
 
 ^^ I did not think to see a shadow on your 
 face, Bridg-et," he said, ^^ on the first day of 
 your arrival here. Sufficient for the da}^ is 
 the evil thereof: no one is thinking- of de- 
 parture now. Let us leave the chances of the 
 future to its own distant day.'' 
 
 '^ Never heed him, my kind dame," said 
 Wilmot, kindly, to her. ^^ He thinks he is 
 at liberty yet; but you will teach him his 
 error. I promise you the madman shall have
 
 ARRIVAL OF KERR'S WIFE. 195 
 
 no encourag'ement from me, and I expect 
 under your judicious treatment, to find him 
 shortly the most docile husband in Christen- 
 dom ; bound down by innumerable ties to this 
 pleasant spot." 
 
 Kerr made no answer; but on his pursed 
 up lip and g-leamiiig* eye, there beamed forth a 
 smile biof with meanino*. 
 
 " Ah, Master AVilmot ! " said his wife ; 
 ^^ w^hen I look on that dear young- lady's pretty 
 face, I wonder how you could ever bring* your- 
 self to leave this home on any cause, much 
 more how you can already think of future 
 wandering's." 
 
 ^^ Hush, Dame ! " said Kerr, who, in his 
 innate delicacy of sentiment, had discovered 
 how pained AVilmot w-as by his wife's lig-ht 
 words : " hush ! there are feeling's of loyalty 
 and wounded honour, which you cannot com- 
 prehend." 
 
 " Ay, Kerr, you are rig-ht," said Wilmot, 
 "in seizing- to yourself the opportunity of 
 happiness, and the blessing's of a home. But 
 these are not times when such could be enjoyed 
 by me. I, perhaps, have embraced a phantom, 
 and devoted my life to an unattainable end 3
 
 196 THE EOYALIST AND THE EEPUBLICAN. 
 
 and if such should be the case^ I would not 
 that my fate should influence yours. You 
 have no passions or prejudices to render the 
 present state of 3^our country incompatible with 
 your repose. If I were the possessor of all 
 these lands^ instead of the moneyless adven- 
 turer that I am^ my feeling's would render my 
 settled position here equally impossible as now. 
 But I can enjoy your happiness, my true 
 friends: and the sioht of it, during- the re- 
 mainder of my stay here^ will be the purest 
 delig-ht I can now experience." 
 
 Lucy looked tearfully at him as he spake, 
 and in the forg*etfulness of self, wbich formed 
 the sweetest virtue of her nature, felt only 
 pity for the wretchedness which his words 
 expressed. Her first object was to turn his 
 thoughts from dwelling' on the picture of ruined 
 Eoyalty, v»'hich for his own pain he had con- 
 jured up. 
 
 " Come, Wilmot " she said, ^^ we must not 
 allow our first visit to Dame Kerr to be utterly 
 useless. I fear that our presence only has 
 caused this delay in putting* everything* in 
 order. We must help, if possible, to arrange 
 these innumerable new articles in their places;"
 
 ARRIVAL OF KERR's WIFE. 197 
 
 and at the word, in spite of the most strenuous 
 objections on the part of both man and wife, 
 she immediately commenced the serious task 
 of unpacking- the multifarious packag-es broug'ht 
 by Dame Bridg-et. 
 
 Her object was gained; for, with the cheer- 
 fulness habitual to him, Wilmot threw himself 
 laug'hing-ly to the occupation ] and, seeing- that 
 resistance on their part Avas quite useless, Kerr 
 and his wife accepted at last this zealous as- 
 sistance, and the whole party became busily 
 engag-ed. With so many hands to the work, 
 the various packages were soon undone; and 
 there w^ere laid bare to Wilmot's eye the many 
 articles familiar to his memory, associated not 
 unpleasantly with the scenes of his Bristol 
 life, passed in the compan}^ of the brave soldier 
 and jovial comrade. Holmes. It was a merry 
 scene as the different household utensils w^ere 
 produced, and carried off triumphantly by 
 Lucy to their proper places ; most of them 
 were duplicates of possessions already laid in 
 stock by Kerr ; but some of them had pre- 
 viously been w'anting" to the completeness 
 of the establishment, and were consequently 
 produced and welcomed with double pride.
 
 198 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 There was Dame Brido-efs most cherished 
 possession^ the ornamented elock^ to whose 
 monotonous ticking- poor Wilmot had listened 
 throug-h the long* melancholy hours of his 
 illness ; to no one could the key of this pre- 
 cious article he entrusted ; and it was with no 
 small pride the dame adjusted the horologe on 
 its old bracket^ and wound it up with her own 
 hands to her husband's immense satisfaction. 
 There was also the silver tankard, which was 
 only intended for use on hig'h festival days, 
 and which was another relic of her first hus- 
 band's g'randeur ; then the chests containing* 
 the g-ood wife's store of apparel were carried 
 by Kerr into the inner chamber to be placed 
 afterwards in the presses. All the litter of the 
 unpacking" process was carefully removed ; and 
 Lucy, Avith her own fing-ers making* some final 
 alteration in the minutiee of the arrang-ements 
 to please her critical taste, declared herself at 
 last quite satisfied with the whole effect ; then 
 taking* Wilmot with her, she bade g-ood-bye to 
 the honest couple, and left them to themselves. 
 " She is a bonny lady, Stephen," said Dame 
 Brido*et, as with her husband she stood at the 
 door-wa}', and watched their departure down
 
 ARRIVAL OF KERR'S WIFE. 199 
 
 the frosted road—" she is a bonny lady ; and 
 if ever a pair were marked out by Heaven for 
 man and vvife^ 'tis these. What a handsome 
 couple they are ! and I tell you she doats on 
 the very ground the 3"oung' gentleman stands 
 on. If he can live long* unmoved beside such 
 a beaut}^ as that, he is different to what I take 
 him for." 
 
 " Pooh, Dame ! " said the short-sig'hted 
 Kerr ; " they have been broug-ht up tog'ether 
 as brother and sister, and love each other as 
 such. But you women are always at these 
 fancies." 
 
 " Well, Stephen," rejoined his wife, " we '11 
 see who 's rig*ht ere long*. If before the sum- 
 mer comes on Master Wilmot is not at her 
 feet, my name is not Bridget Kerr f and with 
 this emphatic declaration, as the young- couple 
 they were watching had proceeded some dis- 
 tance, the worthy Dame pulled-to the door, 
 and retired with her husband into the warm 
 interior of the cottage. 
 
 Wilmot and Lucy walked onward to the 
 house. For the present, as far as regarded 
 the former, Kerr was right. Wilmot looked 
 on Lucy only with a brother's affection: un-
 
 200 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 marked by him^ the g^irl was lavishing" on 
 him the richest treasures of her maiden heart : 
 purely^ devotedly^ passionately, she loved him 
 with all the ardour of a woman's first, best 
 love, and no responsive chord within him was 
 yet touched ; calmly he walked by her side, 
 and looked upon the loving- woman as his 
 sister. But Kerr's wife, with her quick wo- 
 manly perceptions, was right too : the time 
 would very shortly come when Nature would 
 demand her rights from the now tranquil 
 youth ; when the storm of sleeping* passion 
 would wake within his breast, and in anguish 
 and violence avenge the present strang-e con- 
 tinuance of the calm.
 
 THE FIRST HOURS OF LOVE. 201 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE FIRST HOURS OF LOVE. 
 
 L*on confie son secret dans I'amitie, mais il echappe dans ramour. 
 
 LA BRUYERE. 
 
 In the spring a livelier iris changes on the burnished dove ; 
 
 In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of 
 
 love. 
 Then her cheek was pale, and thinner than should be for one so 
 
 young, 
 And her eyes on all rny motions with a mute observance hung. 
 And I said—" My cousin Amy, speak, and speak the truth to me. 
 Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets to thee." 
 
 TENNYSON'S LOCKSLEY HALL. 
 
 As the days passed on^ and the severe weather 
 chang-ed into the softer climate of the open- 
 ing" spring-, Wilmot rapidly recovered his old 
 streng-th ; and by the time the leaves beg-an 
 to bud upon the early trees, there was little 
 difference in his condition from what he had 
 been ere he started on his chivalrous attempt, 
 save from the ripening- influence of time. The
 
 202 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 promise of his handsome boyhood was fulfilled, 
 and as returning- health broug-ht back the 
 rudd}^ hue to his cheek, and filled out the 
 framework of his noble form, he had g-rown 
 into a fine example of the handsome Cavalier. 
 
 But the simplicity of his youth was uncon- 
 taminated; and during- his short association 
 with Rupert's g'ay and reckless followers, the 
 wdld enthusiasm of his heart had kept him 
 free from the pleasant vices in which the 
 Cavaliers were too prone to indulg-e. He re- 
 turned to Bellasa-house as pure and simple in 
 heart as he had left it : and had it not been 
 so, he had not been wortliy of the brig-ht 
 and g-entle being' who had alread}^, in secret, 
 lavished all the riches of her heart on him. 
 
 The woman's nature ripens earlier than the 
 man's; and during- Wilmot's absence, Lucy, 
 whom he fancied he had left a child, had 
 developed into a beautiful woman. On his 
 first return, he had treated her with the bro- 
 therly familiarity of olden days : but the dif- 
 ference of their position now, soon worked its 
 natural influence on him ; and, almost un- 
 known to himself, a restraint, slig-ht, and yet 
 felt by both, arose between them.
 
 THE FIRST HOURS OF LOVE. 203 
 
 Lucy had g-rown up in her seclusion so 
 utterly uninfluenced by aug'ht except the 
 teaching- of her own pure nature^ so com- 
 pletely devoid of all the artificialities of the 
 world^ that^ but for the true woman's instinct 
 of modesty working* in her^ she could have 
 thrown herself on Wilmot's breast^ and told 
 him all. But in his presence^ that sweetest 
 charm of womanhood worked its mysterious 
 influence with a power at which she mar- 
 velled : she beg-an to feel an inward shame 
 lest perhaps she had encouraged feeling's 
 which would never be answered; and^ if she 
 had not thouoht it wronsf and w^eak, she 
 w^ould have avoided the society of him whom 
 she felt had become too dear. 
 
 Lucy possessed the gentle beauties peculiar 
 to the Saxon race. Her light brown hair^ on 
 which the sunshine playing* chang-ed every 
 silken thread to g'old, floated like a halo of 
 g*lory over her pure white brow, and fell in un- 
 restrained masses on her shoulders^ alternately 
 shadino- and lia htin«: the beautiful skin on which 
 it lay. Her eyes were of that deep dark g'rey^ 
 which seen under different lig-hts, or in different 
 feeling's, now flash dark and proudly, and now
 
 204 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 beam with all the liquid tenderness of the 
 softest blue ; they were shaded by those long* 
 dark lashes^ which can g'ive to any eyes an in- 
 expressible charm, and which, when the}^ fell, 
 cast a soft shadow over the cheek, throug-h 
 whose transparent brilliancy was instantly 
 visible the rapid passage of the tell-tale blood. 
 With such charms, if not absolutely beautiful 
 in the faultless mould of features more com- 
 mon to the daughters of the south, no one 
 who looked on Lucy Haughton, but would 
 have pronounced her so \ and when around 
 this fair young creature was thrown the irre- 
 sistible charm of her innocence, and the half- 
 pleading confusion of manner occasioned by 
 the mixed feelino-s struo'o-lino- within her, no 
 
 o coo •' 
 
 wonder that the influence of so much grace 
 and beauty should have its effect upon her 
 young, constant companion, engrossed as his 
 mind previously was, on the stormy politics 
 of the time. At his age, such feelings were 
 the more natural habitants of the heart than 
 could be any other interest in even the most 
 important struggles of the world \ and the 
 gloomy brooding over the lost fortunes of 
 Royalty, was gradually changed into the
 
 THE FIRST HOURS OF LOVE. 205 
 
 reverie that centered on a subject of impor- 
 tance only to himself. 
 
 And Lucy's manner^ arising- from her own 
 troubled feeling-s^ was peculiarly calculated to 
 work on Wilmot this chang'e. At times^ 
 under the prompting- of her natural affec- 
 tion^ she would treat him with the frank 
 demeanour of former times ; and ag-ain^ at the 
 recurrence of her later thoughts, a strang-e 
 chill would fall over the current of her kind- 
 ness : a chill, for which, in her after solitude, 
 she w ould blame herself severely, and deter- 
 mine to recompense it to him ; who, she felt, 
 had done nothino- to deserve the chano-e. 
 
 But these fitful alternations in Lucy's be- 
 haviour towards himself, had that effect on 
 Wilmot which perhaps w^ould not have folio w^ed 
 the continued open affection of childish times : 
 the more rarel}^ displayed avowals of affection 
 caused an intenser delig'ht, and their with- 
 drawal created a yearning- for their return. 
 As they sat tog-ether in the libra r}-, ostensibly 
 eng-ag-ed in reading- with the old chaplain, in 
 continuation of their old employments, Wilmot 
 would find himself watching- for minutes the 
 beautiful long* lashes cast down over Lucy's
 
 206 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 blushing cheek, and know, by the intensity of 
 the blush, that she was aAvare of the new 
 ardour of his g'aze ; abashed by the disco- 
 very, he would simulate, for a time, a deep 
 attention to the discourse of the simple old 
 divine, and then, when his look ag-ain sought 
 Lucy's face, their eyes would meet, and they 
 would both turn suddenly away, like g'uilty 
 thino's. 
 
 It Avas a o-reat delioht to Lucv now to visit 
 Kerr's cottage, and draw, either from him or 
 his kind-hearted wife, lono- accounts of Wil- 
 mot's life, companions, and exploits, during 
 his short campaign : she was never tired of 
 listening* to the story of his charging through 
 the Ironsides by Rupert's side ; and she would 
 hang in trembling excitement over Kerr's de- 
 scription of the reckless courage which drove 
 him ever into danger, and by which he got 
 his w^ound. But Lucy and Wilmot, when 
 tog'ether, were both strangely silent now ; and 
 when Dame Kerr saw them thus, she would 
 glance exultingly at her husband, and, in 
 private, declare to him how her predictions 
 were being fulfilled : but that faithful follower 
 w^ould still shake his head in obstinate blind-
 
 THE FIRST HOURS OF LOVE. 207 
 
 ness^ and declare that Master Wilmofs fancies 
 were no business of his. 
 
 Dame Kerr's womanl}^ perception had not 
 deceived itself: the chang-e in Wilmot was 
 effected ; and thoug-h he had not yet looked 
 inquiring-ly into the depths of his own hearty 
 on Lucy's soul its secret was already clearly 
 mirrored ; and as she perceived the chang-e in 
 him^ at leng-th answering- to her own^ a new 
 rapture filled her bi'east, and lighted an added 
 beauty to the trembling- softness of her eye. 
 There was now no shadow over them : no 
 thought of pain cast a false coldness over 
 their intercourse now. A serene happiness 
 brooded over the quiet current of their lives. 
 And yet there never rose to the lips of either^ 
 words tellino- of the love which flooded both 
 their hearts : perhaps^ even 3'et. Wilmot knew 
 not of the new passion which engrossed his life , 
 but his thoughts never turned to the last 
 strug'gle of Ilo3'alt3'^ now in its death-throes^ 
 the interest in which had once usurped all his 
 faculties : the outer world forgotten^ his life 
 passed onwards^ as if in the charmed quiet of 
 a dream. 
 
 As he and Lucy sought out together^ in
 
 208 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 their long" walks, all the favourite haunts of 
 their happy childhood j it was always to that 
 time and those long- past scenes that they 
 referred. They never talked of the dreaded 
 future, but, letting- it lie darkling' in the depths 
 of the unknown, avoided its prospect even in 
 their thoug'hts ; they shunned even to allude 
 to their present happiness, as if they mutually 
 feared, bv words, to disturb the hidden charm 
 reposing* in it : but they revelled in their 
 memories of the past, and in the glamoury of 
 association conjured up many a previously for- 
 g-otten scene of mutual childish joy. 
 
 These were, perhaps, the happiest da3^s in 
 both their lives : doubl}^ ^^PPy^ inasmuch as 
 they knew not, and searched not out the 
 causes or the depth of their serene delig'ht. 
 
 The spring- wore on, and threw its g'reen 
 mantle of beauty over the earth ; the tender 
 leaves burst forth into the warm sun and 
 rustled musically in the soft fresh air, a new 
 snow of blossoms hung- in wreaths from the 
 orchard trees, the young* primroses crept forth 
 upon the grassy banks, and the early violet's 
 perfume mingled with them in the air * and, 
 accordant to the budding* nature round them.
 
 THE FIRST HOURS OF LOVE. 209 
 
 the hearts of the young* pair opened forth in 
 burgeon and in bloom. 0, happy days of 
 youth and innocence^ when silent thought is 
 Paradise, and living- is delight ! 
 
 Wilmot and Lucy might have lived on in 
 their ideal happiness, without ever mentioning* 
 with their lips the happy secret which gave 
 to life this new and wondrous charm ; mio-ht 
 have continued silent in their waking* dream, 
 until the rude world burst again on Wilmot 
 with its realities and cares : but a simple inci- 
 dent, which shortly occurred, opened Wilmof s 
 eyes, as if by magic, to their true position, 
 and shewed him all the passion of his heart. 
 
 They had been taking, one morning, their 
 favourite walk along the beach. They had 
 sauntered far along* the strip of sand which 
 extended along the foot of the high chalk 
 cliffs above them, and between them and the 
 rising sea lay the rough chalk rocks covered 
 wdth the slippery sea-weed, to gather which 
 had been one of their favourite childish amuse- 
 ments. They had met no one in their solitary 
 walk ; a sea-breeze blew freshly towards them 
 with its salt flavour from the north \ the day 
 was bright, and over the freshened sea 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 SIO THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 g-leamed the sails of the far fishing--boats, 
 g-littering- white in the sun ; the waves rolled 
 breaking' in upon the shore^ and their white 
 tops w^ent feathering* off to the far horizon, 
 curled up and shattering' in the wind. Ex- 
 cited by the brilliant weather, and the inspirit- 
 ing- breeze, the young* couple had g'one much 
 further than their wont, ere they turned to 
 retrace their steps. The consequence was, 
 that they were caught by the rising* tide on 
 their return. 
 
 But this g'ave to either of them little 
 alarm, as wetted feet was the w^orst catas- 
 trophe they anticipated. As, however, they 
 quickened their steps on their backward way, 
 at each turn of the cliffs they rounded, 
 they found the waves tumbling* still nearer 
 and nearer to their base, till at leng-th the 
 sandy track they had hitherto been able to 
 follow was obliterated, and they w^ere forced 
 to scramble on as well as they could over the 
 slippery chalk stones scattered along* the foot 
 of the cliff. Amused, more than anything* 
 else, by their adventure, they pushed rapidly 
 onwards, till at last, fatig'ued by the unusual 
 exertion, Lucy was obliged to pause for rest,
 
 THE FIRST HOURS OF LOVE. 211 
 
 and seated herself on a smooth round stone 
 that was raised over the on-coming* waves. 
 
 It was a spring--tide, and^ driven by the 
 northerly wind^ the sea rose far hig-her than 
 usual^ so much so^ that, in spite of Lucy's 
 fatig'ue^ they were oblig-ed to continue their 
 difficult progress^ to avoid being- hemmed in 
 by the water. As the^^ advanced^ with the 
 waves plashing' over the very stones on which 
 they stepped, Lucy became so wearied^ that in 
 spite of Wilmot's supporting* arm, she could 
 hardly keep her footing* on their slippery path. 
 Their difficulties were nearly over, for at the 
 next turn in the cliff, they w^ould reach a 
 gull}^, up which they could easily ascend to 
 the hio-h lands above: but the waves were now 
 fairly beating* ag*ainst the out-jutting* cliff, 
 round which they were forced to go, and it 
 was doubtful whether Lucy's failing* strength 
 would support her throug-h the surf that 
 surg-ed ag-ainst the point. When they reached 
 it, Wilmot raised her in his arms, and bore 
 her steadily throug*h the breaking* waves. 
 There was no danger, for the water was not 
 deep, and the g'uUy was near at hand ; and 
 thoug'h Lucy was tall, her weight was nothing*
 
 212 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 to the now fully-recovered streng'th of Wil- 
 mot's powerful arms ; but as he clasped her to 
 his breast^ and felt her arms clino-ing- round 
 him^ his breath came quick^ and his heart 
 beat hig-h, and a wild sensation of delig'ht ran 
 throuo'h his tino-lino* frame. 
 
 AVhen he had passed through the inter- 
 vening' space^ and reached the entrance of the 
 g-ully^ whose sloping- floor was strewn with dry 
 smooth sand^ he could hardly bring* himself to 
 relinquish, so soon, the precious burden. As 
 Lucy, at length released from his g'rasp, hung* 
 smilino* and blushino- on his arm, he could not 
 restrain the sudden impulse in him, and ag-ain 
 clasping- her to his breast, impressed a barning" 
 kiss upon her trembling- lips. 
 
 ^^ Why, Lucy," he exclaimed to the startled 
 but delighted girl beside him—" why is it that 
 we can share no more the sweet caresses that 
 so endeared us to each other in our childish 
 da^^s? Is it that they delight no more, or 
 that an added passion steeps them in too 
 intense a bliss ? Ah, Lucy ! it is useless to 
 disg-uise the truth, that we love no long-er 
 with the childish affection of other days : 
 when by your side I have forgot all other
 
 THE FIRST HOURS OF LOVE. 213 
 
 objects^ and am even a recreant from the 
 cause which once eng-rossed my life : when 
 now I live for you, and you alone ; when 
 without the hope of winning* you, existence 
 would be a curse, and with that hope the 
 dreariest life would be brio-hter than a dream : 
 when I feel that a new passion, a new desire, 
 is changing' my whole being*, and I am no 
 long-er the same as he who but a short while 
 past could stay in soulless tranquillity by your 
 side ', when I know that it is 3'our blessed 
 presence only that has worked this spell upon 
 my heart and life, I feel that it is impossible 
 to continue long-er in a feig*ned blindness to 
 the truth, and that you have ceased to be to 
 me a sister, to become far more. Or" — and 
 here the strength of passion which had forced 
 him through this rapid burst of feeling*, failed 
 at the sigfht of the pale tremor which its 
 fervour caused in her who listened in silent 
 rapture to his words, and his voice sank with 
 the tremulous excitement caused by the ag'o- 
 nizing* thought he conjured up — "or do I 
 deceive myself with a vain hope, and has the 
 altered and strong-er love within me sprung* 
 up in me alone^ and only for my own despair ?
 
 214 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 The calm affection of other days^ the passion- 
 less love of a sister which would once content 
 nie^ is nothing- now ; and such an avowal can 
 g-ive me only pain. Speak to me^ Lucy ! tell 
 me that I have not evoked another more cruel 
 delusion to blast my opening' life ; or^ with this 
 terrible silence^ let me know the bitter truth 
 which I cannot bear to hear." 
 
 He ceased^ and in the utter stillness of that 
 
 spot no low-toned words arose to clear away 
 
 his fears and calm his heart ; and yet his 
 
 passionate appeal was answered^ and^ throug-h 
 
 the very silence dreaded^ a thrill of ecstasy 
 
 was waked within his troubled soul. For one 
 
 brief moment^ Lucy raised her soft^ sweet eyes^ 
 
 full of unspeakable happiness, to his own, and 
 
 then, sinking- trustfully within his arms, hid 
 
 her blushes and her happiness in his breast. 
 
 He required no words to tell him of his bliss : 
 
 by the mute confiding- g-esture he knew that 
 
 she was all his own. Was it rig-ht to say that 
 
 they were happier before, in their blindness 
 
 and their silence, than now when they had 
 
 evoked the spirit of delig-ht within them, and 
 
 g-iven it a name ? The change was as if there 
 
 now breathed and trembled in the air the
 
 THE FIRST HOURS OF LOVE. 215 
 
 ravishing- melody, which before mig-ht have 
 been sweeter, because unheard except by the 
 soul of music within. And yet to themselves 
 it would seem impossible to heig-hten their 
 present new-claimed bliss. They loved ; and 
 at that word a veil of beauty seemed to cover 
 the whole aspect of the world to them : from 
 within them there shone around ^^ the lio*ht 
 that never was on sea or shore," and in its 
 ethereal g'low they moved serenely as in an 
 emanation from on hig-h. 0, Youth ! 0, 
 Love ! 0, Hope ! the ever-living trinity of 
 earth, whose holy mission has cast upon it 
 its only reflex of immortality for twice a 
 thousand years ! Now, as ever, does your 
 power work with its happy influence on the 
 unchanging- heart of man ! The spirit that 
 clothed, for the first human being', the gToves 
 of Paradise with beauty, left him not all 
 abandoned in his day of doom, but went forth 
 with him to cast upon the outer world the 
 golden memor}^ of his dawn; and still, throug-h 
 all the downward prog-ress of time, in spite 
 of sin and sorrow, that spirit can evoke a 
 transient breathing" of the lost Eden upon 
 the purified human heart : for in the heart
 
 216 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 where Love claims dominion^ there is no room 
 for the ^Tosser impurities of sin. 
 
 So Wilmot and Lucy entered on the g'olden 
 ag-e of life. In the short space they had 
 already wandered across the stormy passag*e 
 of the world^ they had both felt the bitterness 
 of disappointment and the pang* of sorrow, 
 and before them la}^ a dark and unknown 
 track^ on which they cast in vain the uncon- 
 querable lig'ht of Hope ; but on their present 
 resting-place the sunlight shone unclouded — 
 no creation of the fancy, but a brief reality of 
 delig-ht. That its duration must be brief, they 
 knew ; for every day that speeded over them 
 in its dream-like flio-ht brouo-ht nearer the 
 inevitable separation, when Wilmot must 
 depart on his uncertain career. But even 
 around that terrible departure they wreathed 
 the happy promise of a future, created out of 
 their own buoyant hopes : every doubt and 
 every obstacle was to vanish before the 
 strength and persistence of their love. In 
 the airy pictures of their dreaming', a lost 
 cause w^as to revive, a fallen Royalty was to 
 rise in new vigour from its grave ', not for its
 
 THE FIRST HOURS OF LOVE. 217 
 
 intrinsic value^ but to satisfy the exig*ence of 
 their passion. 
 
 And in the mean while^ that cause was expir- 
 ing" in its weak death-strug-g-le : that Royalty 
 was tottering' to its fall^ unreg-arded by the 
 dreamers whose whole souls were centred on 
 the one g-reat venture of their hearts. The 
 young- votaries of passion^ like the worshippers 
 of the Indian God^ heeded not the g-reat wheels 
 of the world as they rolled on in their fatal 
 course^ until their own destiny was crushed 
 beneath the ceaseless revolutions. But^ in 
 the ^uiding*-star that cheered them^ they were 
 rig-ht : with patience and long'-suffering*^ the 
 love that is true to itself can^ in the end^ 
 conquer all thing's.
 
 218 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE OUTER LIFE OF THE WORLD OVERPOWERS THE 
 INNER LIFE OF THE HEART. 
 
 Alvar ! Alvar ! that they could return, 
 
 Those blessed days, that imitated heaven, 
 
 When we two wont to walk at eventide ; 
 
 When we saw nought but beauty ; when we heard 
 
 The voice of that Almighty One who loved us 
 
 In every gale that breathed, and wave that murmured ! 
 
 COLERIDGE'S REMORSE, Act IV. Sc. 2. 
 
 The inexorable time passed on ; perhaps 
 more speedily than its wont to the happy 
 lovers, in envy of their forg-etful happiness. 
 The opening beauty of the spring* matured into 
 the rich luxuriance of May^ and impercep- 
 tibly stole on the bright warm summer-tide. 
 Never before had Wilmot or Lucy perceived 
 such grace within the leafy groves^ such glory 
 on the clear green sea. To both^ these days 
 became a lasting memory to cheer them in
 
 THE INNER LIFE OF THE HEART. 219 
 
 the darker passag^es of life — these da3'S^ when 
 they wandered tog-ether, in the silent fulness 
 of their hearts, over that fair g-arden-o-round^ 
 or were rocked idly in their little skiff upon 
 the pla}^ of the tossing* waves, absorbed in the 
 deep contentment of their love. 
 
 By some strang'e impulse of sympathy, old 
 Philip Daubrey for once issued out of his 
 impercipient life of books, and learned the 
 carelessly-g'uarded secret of their hearts. He 
 loved them both, but Lucy more especially, 
 witli a deep affection that the secluded scholar 
 had lavished on no other human being- ; and as 
 he saw their blindly-confiding- happiness, and 
 the dark future that hung- imminent above 
 them, he sighed as he watched them tog-ether, 
 and thoug'ht of the perilous venture on which 
 his darling' Lucy was hazarding' the tran- 
 quillity of her young' life. 
 
 Lady Gerrard, from the isolation of her 
 religious g'loom, saw nothing- of what was 
 thus passing- beside her. The 3^oung' people 
 were constantly tog-ether — but it was natural 
 that they should be so, when Wilmot, whom 
 no dispensations could turn to the truth, was 
 so soon to re-enter on his g-odless career. On
 
 220 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 his first return to his home^ she would have 
 argued with him on his folly, had not Richard, 
 who had a complete influence over her, per- 
 suaded her that such instructions would be 
 then too late, and that she had better leave 
 the headstrong' youth to the erring* g-uidance 
 he had chosen. In consequence, there was 
 even less communication between the mother 
 and her young-er son than formerly ; and 
 though Wilmot ever treated her with the 
 respect he felt was due, he avoided, with 
 some pain at first to his natural feeling-s, in- 
 truding- where his presence was evidently un- 
 welcome. 
 
 Even Lucy was more tolerated than loved 
 by the ascetic lady, who at present seemed to 
 care for no one but the elder son : he, thouofh 
 now rarely seen, had always been her fa- 
 vourite. She knew that Wilmot and Lucy 
 had always loved each other as children, and 
 she supposed the same feeling* existed now : 
 that any other sentiment could have sprung* 
 up between the penniless couple, she would 
 have deemed the heig-ht of desperate folly ; 
 and if warned of the fact, would have shut her 
 eyes in scornful unbelief.
 
 THE INNER LIFE OF THE HEART. 221 
 
 But in Kerr's cottag-e the affection of the 
 young- couple was reg-arded with a keenl}^ 
 sympathizing- interest. Kerr himself, as he 
 saw the palpable chang-e that had come over 
 them^ and the mutual tenderness which now 
 hung* over their slig-htest actions^ confessed 
 that his Dame was rig'ht^ and that Master 
 Wilmot and Miss Lucy — God bless them ! — 
 were^ indeed, made for each other. They 
 would often find their way over to the cottag-e, 
 where to the honest couple their presence was 
 as sunshine on their home. 
 
 Dame Bridg'et had learned from her hueband 
 Wilmot's real position ; and knowing* how soon 
 he would be forced to leave his present rest^ and 
 battle with the world for a very subsistence^ a 
 feeling- of respectful pity ming-led with her 
 admiration for the fair 3^oung' g-irl who had so 
 trustful!}^ linked her life to his^ and softened to 
 a delicate tenderness her constant attentions 
 to them both. She knew well that, thoug-h 
 silent on the subject^ her husband would never 
 abandon the fortunes of his adopted chief, and, 
 whatever might be Wilmot's kindly-intentioned 
 commands upon the subject, would follow him 
 on his new career^ despite his very will. For
 
 222 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 this she had been prepared^ from the time 
 when Kerr proposed their marriag'e : it was 
 never to interfere with his life-imposed duties 
 to Wihuot ; and to this her consent had been 
 given, and could not be recalled. The ap- 
 proaching- separation for an indefinite time 
 was clearl}^ palpable to her already 5 and with 
 that anticipation^ her kindly hearty instead of 
 a selfish brooding- over her own trial^ felt a 
 deeper sympathy for the g-entle girl who^ with 
 her far more delicate sensibilities, was to en- 
 counter a more o-rievous shock. She saw that 
 Wilmot was all the world to Lucy^ and almost 
 with a motherly feeling- she would have borne 
 anything- herself to save her darling- from a 
 pang. Alas ! she felt that the pang- was 
 inevitable, and that all her willing- devotion 
 would be of no avail. 
 
 And so, unknowing the sympathizing- pity 
 which their fate created in those around who 
 loved them, the young* couple lived on in the 
 unconscious rapture of their dream of love. By 
 some strang-e compensation, afforded to them 
 for the bitter days to come, the thoug-ht of 
 those days, and their approaching" separation, 
 seldom cast its cloud over the serenity of their
 
 THE INNER LIFE OF THE HEART. 223 
 
 joy ; if they alluded to it between themselves^ 
 it was but as the brief passag'e to the sunny 
 haven of their hope^ and its reality was utterly 
 unfelt by both. To others it was never men- 
 tioned^ and even to Kerr^ Wilmot never g-ave 
 any intimation of his expected movements. 
 
 He had of late^ for the first time in his life, 
 given his old favourite " Monarch '^ a perfect 
 holiday: he preferred rambling- with Lucy, 
 and staying- at her side^ to the exercise he 
 delig-hted in of old, and had handed over his 
 brave beast to the care of Kerr, until ag-ain 
 summoned to the field. But their old favourite 
 was not utterly neg-lected, either by Wilmot 
 or Lucy ; they daily visited his stall, and Lucy 
 delighted to caress the beautiful beast who 
 had been Wilmot's companion in g'lory and in 
 dang-er. The steady old horse, which had 
 carried Kerr so long* and well, shared the 
 stable of the petted g'rey, and Wilmot was 
 one day surprised to find tlie old roan, so long- 
 familiar to him, replaced by a powerful black 
 horse, who, if he possessed slig-ht pretensions 
 to beauty, was one eminently adapted to stand 
 hard and continued work. When he ques- 
 tioned Kerr on the change^ the worthy yeo-
 
 224 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 man seemed rather perplexed about his reply • 
 but at leng'th^ with some confusion^ told him 
 that thoug'h it had cost him some twing-es to 
 part with a faithful beast^ g-iven to him by 
 his kind Sir Wilmot in days g'one by^ and 
 which had carried him well for eig'ht g-ood 
 years , yet even when he first crossed his 
 back the roan was no colt^ and he feared he 
 was not fitted for much more hard work 5 so, 
 with some compunctions, he had parted with 
 him to a g-ood master, and using* a little of 
 his Dame's saving's had purchased the new 
 beast, which he trusted would do him hard ser- 
 vice for many a year. It never struck Wilmot 
 what was the service for which Kerr had 
 chosen him ; so, g'ently reproaching* the zeal- 
 ous fellow for his act of extravagance, he 
 praised the judg-ment he had displayed in his 
 choice of an animal, and reg-retted chiefly 
 that in his own poverty he had no power to 
 make him a present of it. '^ In your last 
 campaig-n, g'ood Kerr," he said, '' you fol- 
 lowed a cadet of our old house, and not its 
 master. He can only give to your fidelity 
 the poor recompense of his thanks.'^ 
 
 " God be thanked ! Master Wilmot," an-
 
 THE INNER LIFE OF THE HEART. 225 
 
 swered Kerr^ " I want no reward for doing- 
 my duty^ beyond the pleasure which it gives 
 me ', and I would rather have your kind word; 
 than your proud brother's g'old." 
 
 ^' Come^ come^ Kerr/' said Wilmot, who^ in 
 his softened mood of mind^ was disposed to 
 look kindly on all the world ; " my brother 
 has of late deserved no hard words from us^ 
 and I have hopes that he may some day leave 
 his rebel tricks^ and retrieve the honour of our 
 name." 
 
 '^ Tis no use lowering the aim^ Master 
 Wilmot; after the bolt has g'one upon its 
 errand ; and thoug*h you may break^ you can- 
 not bend the full-o-rown branch of the oak." 
 Kerr never used figurative lang-uag^e^ except 
 when talking- of the young* Master of Bellasa- 
 house^ and then he was often in the habit of 
 adopting- it^ as if mistrusting- the effect of his 
 meaning- as reg'arded so delicate a topic being- 
 clothed in plain words : such was evidently 
 his feelinof now as he continued his observa- 
 tions more to himself than to Wilmot. 
 
 '^ Ay, ay. Master Eichard has treated me 
 of late better than my feeling's towards him 
 would call for : but the ivy that spreads its 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 leaves over a wintry tree hns none of the 
 natural lio-htness of the summer o-reen ; and 
 when I see a Puritan master of the dear old 
 house^ it seems to me as if a boding' owl had 
 perched itself in a heron's eyrie." 
 
 Wilmot had heard not a woi'd of this last 
 harang-ue^ for at its commencement Lucy had 
 entered^ and he had no long-er observation for 
 aug-ht but the fair g'irl ; whose soft brown hair 
 fell over ^^ Monarch's " face^ as he rubbed it 
 g'ently against her in acknowledg'ment of the 
 expected delicacy she broug-ht him. The g'roup 
 formed by the three made a charming' picture ; 
 and as Kerr^ whose presence tliey had for- 
 g-otten, watched them with delig'ht^ he mut- 
 tered to himself^ '' God bless their loving- 
 hearts I but 'tis they who should be masters 
 here^ and fill with happy faces the dear old 
 house.'' 
 
 It was now the month of June^ and Oxford, 
 which the King* had quitted in disg-uise at the 
 commencement of the year, had since his 
 flio'ht been closely invested by the army of 
 Fairfax. The Parliament General knew that 
 it was merely an affair of time, and, the town 
 beino' completely in his power, avoided the
 
 THE OUTER LIFE OF THE WORLD. 227 
 
 loss of life attendant on an assault. He sat 
 down quietly before the place to await its 
 capitulation. The King-^ after his escape to 
 Scotland^ had sent orders to his few remaining- 
 g-arrisons throug-hout the country to make the 
 best terms they could with the victorious enemy. 
 
 The Princes Rupert and Maurice were in 
 the last Royal strong'hold^ which for three 
 months had been sufferino* from blockade. 
 They had lost everything- for which the}^ had 
 foug-lit so stoutly^ except their lionour ; and 
 such was the respect paid to the g'allant Ru- 
 pert's name^ that when the Governor of Oxford 
 yielded at leng'th on favourable terms, express 
 conditions were entered into by Fairfax for 
 the Prince's safety and honourable departure 
 from the king-dom. 
 
 It was towards the end of June that 
 the capitulation of Oxford at leng-th took 
 place; and as soon as the final terms were 
 known, Richard Gerrard, in fulfihnent of 
 his promise, wrote to inform Wilmot of 
 the agreement with Prince Rupert, by 
 which he was permitted to reside for six 
 months in England in any place chosen by 
 himself, not within twenty miles of London.
 
 228 THE ROYALIST AND THE EEPUBLICAN. 
 
 Wilmot turned pale as he opened the dreaded 
 letter; but at its conclusion a weig*ht was 
 lifted from his heart. There were still six long* 
 months before him^ and he was chang-ed in- 
 deed from the time when he only burned for 
 action. Six lono- months ! to Lucv as to him 
 it seemed an ag-e of happiness, to whose far- 
 stretching* term it would be folly yet to 
 look ; and Avith the trustfulness of youth they 
 turned ao-ain from the uncertain future to 
 revel in their present bliss. 
 
 A short week passed away, and another 
 letter' came from Richard ; which, like a peal 
 of thunder in a sleeper's ear, woke them with 
 its startlino- summons from their dream. The 
 Princes, under a pass from Fairfax, had pro- 
 ceeded to Oatlands to consult with their 
 craven brother, the Palatine^ then in London ; 
 and the Parliament, taking' advantage of their 
 infrino-ement of the Article which forbade 
 their approach within twenty miles, declared 
 that the whole terms w^ere ended, and that 
 the Princes must leave the land forthwith. 
 Rupert had obtained a pass for Dover, whence 
 he intended to embark, and might be expected 
 there dail}-; thoug-h, added Eichard, cau-
 
 THE OUTER LIFE OF THE WORLD. 229 
 
 tiously^ it mig-ht not be prudent for Wilmot^ 
 previous to his own departure^ to pay a visit 
 openljT' to the Parliament's most stubborn foe. 
 
 As soon as Wilmot recovered from the first 
 shock of this sudden destruction of his late 
 hopes, he felt that it was imperative on him 
 to see the Prince at Dover, and obtain 
 directions to guide his course. In silence 
 he g*ave the fatal letter to Lucy, and when she 
 had read it to the close, told her simply of 
 the necessity for his immediate departure to 
 Dover ; at most he would not then be absent 
 for more than three days, and must start upon 
 the morrow. At the sound of his broken 
 voice, which he had idly hoped was firm, and 
 at the sig'ht of his sorrow-stricken face, the 
 brave girl conquered the deep emotion which 
 was rising' from her heart, and throwing her 
 arms around him, looked lovingly into his 
 anguish-haunted eyes. It was the true woman 
 virtue, that, in spite of her own wrung heart, 
 made her fulfil her holy mission to solace and 
 to cheer. 
 
 " Nay, Lucy," he said, as he gazed fondly 
 into the dear eyes, in which floated the tears 
 repressed with so much fortitude^ ^^ you shall
 
 230 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 not utterly shame me in this our earliest trial. 
 I have long* been foolishly forg*etful of this 
 summons; which I should have known must 
 shortly come : it has come at last; and 
 we must both bear the unavoidable trials of 
 our fate. Your example instructs me in the 
 hard lesson^ now as ever^ Lucy^ my solace and 
 my guide. Blessed with such love as yours^ no 
 present doubts can overpower me^ no delays 
 can make me quite despair. Whatever may 
 be the lot ordained for us^ in absence or in 
 sorrow^ my confidence in your affection will 
 enable me to look from the present trial to 
 the future hope. Let me think that in the 
 coming- days^ my memory may be to you an 
 equal comfort in inevitable ills.'* 
 
 ^^ It Avill; dear Wilmot — it will." She could 
 not trust herself to further words ; but in the 
 hopeful tone of his voice she felt her terrible 
 restraint on her own feeling's amply recom- 
 pensed; and bending* her hce upon his bosom^ 
 hid there the rising* tears that could no long-er 
 be withheld. Oh^ strang*e and incomprehen- 
 sible spirit of love ! On the very sorrow that 
 thou causest, shedding* thine own delig'ht^ never 
 art thou so constant and so true as when
 
 THE OUTER LIFE OF THE WORLD. 231 
 
 difficulties oppose thy way^ and thy gTowth 
 is nourished with secret tears^ and th}' for- 
 bidden memory hoarded with a priceless pain. 
 
 Early in the mornino- after Kichard's letter 
 arrived, Wilmot, mounted on '^ Monarch/' and 
 followed by Kerr — who had, on learnhig- his 
 destination, asked permission to accompany 
 him — rode over to Dover to meet the Prince. 
 There was little conversation between them 
 on the journey, for Wilmot was in no talking" 
 mood. He had not yet recovered his spirit of 
 adventure, and though he was determined to 
 devote himself fairly to the duty forced upon 
 him, he entered upon it, not with the energy 
 of enthusiasm, but with the gloomy resolution 
 of despair. During* that whole long mourn- 
 ful ride, his thoughts were dwelling on her, 
 whose tearful e3^es, as they watched him start- 
 ing on his way, haunted him sadly to its close. 
 He thought of all the happy past, and this, its 
 sudden disruption ; and, in the anguish of the 
 hour, could almost have abandoned his enter- 
 prise, and, regardless of the far future, have 
 stayed an aimless idler by Lucy's dear loved 
 side. But even in his wildest longings, he 
 knew that this could never be, and felt that
 
 232 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 Lucy's love oug'ht not to lead to shame^ but 
 spur him on to honour. 
 
 Kerr watched him in silence^ as he rode 
 on in oloomy thoug'ht^ knowing- that it was 
 useless to attempt to divert hiai from the 
 painful reverie in which he was absorbed. 
 He^ too^ had much to think upon ; for^ from 
 the few words which AVilmot had let fall, 
 he knew that the time to which he had ever 
 steadily looked forward, had arrived. 
 
 The Prince was not in Dover on their 
 arrival; but on the next evening*, accompanied 
 by several of his constant followers, he rode 
 into the town. During* the suspense of that 
 wasted day, Wilmot had sunk into still deeper 
 despondency ; but the sig'ht of the warm- 
 hearted prince, and his old companion Holmes, 
 and the other familiar faces with them, with 
 the hearty g*reeting' he received from all, was 
 then the best cordial for his failing- spirits. 
 The open delig-ht of Holmes at meeting- ag-ain, 
 in perfect health, him whom he had last seen 
 lying' in the very g-rasp of death, was almost a 
 reproach to Wilmot for having- thought so 
 little of his absent friend ; and Rupert himself 
 declared, that in such disastrous times he could
 
 THE OUTER LIFE OF THE WORLD. 283 
 
 wish no better cheer than thus unexpectedly 
 to meet a brave companion he had feared was 
 lost. 
 
 Wilmot could not escape the influence of 
 such warm gTeeting-^ and such companionship. 
 In spite of the accumulated disasters throug-h 
 which they had strug'g-led, the Cavaliers and 
 their g-allant chief retained their cheery na- 
 ture ; and^ in listening* to the carelessly told 
 story of the adventures throug-h which they 
 had passed since leaving- Bristol — their reckless 
 exploits and hairbreadth escapes — there came 
 back to AYilmot a g-leam of the old enthusiasm^ 
 which he had thoug-ht was dead. Rupert 
 himself reminded him of the conversation which 
 had passed between them on the ramparts of 
 Bristol the nio-ht before the commencement 
 of the sieg-e^ and was heartily glad to learn 
 that it was for the fulfilment of that eng-ag-e- 
 ment that Wilmot had soug-ht him then. He 
 should have his old place in the household of 
 a fallen Prince 5 who^ with his followers^ was 
 sure to win a welcome wherever swords were 
 drawn and brave hearts wanted. 
 
 " Here^ Gerrard/' he said^ and Wilmot 
 listened eag-erly to the hoped-for words he
 
 234 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 spake^ ^^ for the present we can do no more ; 
 but I trust that even here^ in the land of my 
 adoption, our sun is not for ever set." 
 
 At that time, however, the Prince had no 
 desire to stay an hour long'er than was neces- 
 sary, in the country where his presence was 
 barely tolerated by a victorious but still fearful 
 foe: his pass was sent to the Eoundhead 
 authorities of the toY\-n, and an immediate 
 embarkation secured for himself and followers. 
 There mig-ht be some difficulty in Wilmot 
 then accompanying* him, so he was directed to 
 follow them to Paris as speedily as he might ; 
 and on the morrow, Rupert and his Cavaliers 
 set sail from the land in which they had foug-ht 
 so long* and vainl}^, in search of a new field of 
 happier enterprise. 
 
 As Wilmot watched from the beach the 
 vessel that bore theai, standing' onward on its 
 course, he felt that the last link was severed 
 which could thenceforth bind him to his coun- 
 try ; and, with a heart resolved, turned ag'ain to 
 seek the home he was so soon about to leave. 
 
 Kerr had thoug-ht that the object of this 
 journey was to leave the country with the 
 Prince, and had accompanied Wilmot upon
 
 THE OUTER LIFE OF THE WORLD. 235 
 
 it to avoid the chance of being* abandoned 
 by him unawares. He was not^ however^ 
 sorry at being* able to revisit his cottag'e and 
 the wife whom he had left under the prospect 
 of probabl}' not returning- ; and his honest heart 
 was g-ratified by the cordial greeting* of the 
 brave Captain Holmes, and the congratula- 
 tions he had received from that g-allant soldier 
 on his imparting- to him the fact that Dame 
 Cottle had become Dame Kerr. 
 
 As Kerr rode cheerfully homewards by Wil- 
 mot's side, he led him to talk of the eventful 
 thoug'h sliort campaig-n through whicli they 
 had passed tog-ether, and hinted ver}^ broadly at 
 the opening- field of adventure which awaited 
 both. But thoug-h Wilmot, on this, imparted 
 to him his own plans, and told him to secure 
 secretly one of their largest fishing-boats to 
 carry " Monarch" and himself to Calais, he 
 would not fall into his worthy follower's views ; 
 but, even when he could no longer turn a deaf 
 ear to his meaning, told him that his duty now 
 was to stay and protect his wife. To this Kerr 
 answered nothino- ; and ao'ain in thouo-htful 
 silence they pursued their journey home. 
 
 The meeting with his leader and his old
 
 236 THE ROYALIST AND TFIE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 companions had removed Wilmot's late irre- 
 solution : in spite of the sharpness of the pang- 
 to Luc}^ and himself^ he felt that it was best 
 for both to huny on the decisive moment of 
 departure ; which, however painfully deferred, 
 must come at last. Wilmot had finally ac- 
 cepted from his brother a sum, which, thoug'h 
 not larg'e, Avas sufficient to enable him to exe- 
 cute his plans, and place him on his first arrival 
 in the Continent beyond the reach of want. 
 On the evening* of his return home he wrote to 
 Richard, frankly thanking- him for this bro- 
 therly kindness, and informing* him of his 
 meeting" with the Prince, and of his own im- 
 mediate departure. 
 
 Poor Luc}^ ! it was a sad blow to her, when 
 she learned how soon the stroke she dreaded 
 was to fall : the next day was to be the last 
 they were to pass tog-ether on the spot where 
 they had enjoyed the dearest happiness of 
 life. The last — there is a depth of melan- 
 choly in the very word that tells of old and 
 lono- accustomed thino-s that are to be no 
 more. It was a soft fair summer day, a day 
 of musing' reveries of stillness, which was 
 the last to them. Thouo-h too-ether and alone
 
 THE INNER LIFE OVERSHADOWED. 237 
 
 for bours^ they spoke but little^ for tbeir 
 hearts were too full for words. If a brood- 
 mo' sadness cast its shadow over them, it 
 was like that soft shadow of an ano-el's w'mor, 
 more holy than the unobstructed light. The 
 coming- bitterness of the future was as yet 
 unrealized, and the melancholy that filled 
 them was sweet : a sorrow that, refined by 
 memory, becomes a pure delight. Of all the 
 happy days, whose recollection was to both 
 the dearest solace of their after-time, none 
 was more treasured, or recurred to more 
 fondly, than the most mournful and the last. 
 
 During- the day they visited Kerr's cottag-e, 
 for Wilmot to say farewell to his faithful 
 friends: Kerr was absent at the time, and 
 they were astonished to find his wife in tears. 
 She checked her emotion in their presence, and 
 gave to Wilmot cordial wishes for his future ', 
 and even when he mentioned her husband, 
 and said that he was sure to meet him on 
 the morrow on the beach, and at the last 
 moment shake his hand before they parted, 
 she only answered with a faint forced smile. 
 
 That evening- Wilmot seized the opportu- 
 nity of a few minutes when he was alone with
 
 238 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 the old chaplain^ to open to him all his heart : 
 he told him in a few broken words how Lucy 
 was dearer to him than life^ and that^ beyond 
 the separation now forced upon them^ they 
 both looked forward to the time when^ chief 
 amongst their successful wishes^ he mig-ht be 
 able to claim her for his own ; and throug'h 
 that absence^ the term of wliich could only 
 be determined by their fate^ he conjured the 
 old man to watch over Lucy's happiness with 
 a care correspondent to his love. The warmth 
 of Philip Daubrey's answer^ and the prayer 
 he reverently breathed for the speedy accom- 
 plishment of these hopes^ fell softly upon Wil- 
 mot's heart ; and as he g-ratefully clasped the 
 old man's hand, he felt that in him his Luc}- 
 ^\ould always find the sympathy of a real 
 friend. 
 
 Very different was his parting' with Lady 
 Gerrard : she seemed to have foro-otten that 
 he Avas her son^ and her chilling' words of 
 farewell froze within him the natural feelino's 
 that on such an occasion had stirred forcibly 
 in him. 
 
 There are some scenes which cannot be 
 described by words^ and over whose sorrow
 
 THE INNER LIFE OVERSHADOWED. 239 
 
 even the thoug-hts will not willingly ling-er 
 to break their solitude. Wilmot and Lucy 
 had parted in the early morning*^ and his 
 vessel was rapidly bearing- him from all he 
 loved. Kerr had not met him on the beach^ 
 but in the ano-uish of the hour his absence 
 was hardly noticed. Swiftly the vessel sped^ 
 while Wilmot only could look ling-ering- back ; 
 w^hen suddenly a well-known voice hailed the 
 stout crafty and a skiff crossing- her course^ 
 Kerr jumped on board: '^ Master Wilmot/^ 
 he said^ '^ you thoug-ht that Stephen Kerr 
 could be made to desert his dut}^ ; and thoug-h 
 you did it kindly^ you cut me to the heart : 
 'tis too late for you to reject me now : my 
 horse is aboard^ and he and I are in our 
 proper place : where you g-o^ I g-o^ and by 
 your side^ dear Master Wilmot^ is my only 
 home." 
 
 While he spoke^ the skiff had dipped its sail^ 
 and was bounding* over the waves far off, as 
 it beat its course to land. Wilmot felt that 
 remonstrance was useless then^ and in his own 
 dejection he could not afford to reject the 
 comfort of such love as Kerr's ; he could not 
 trust himself to speak^ but warmly g-rasped
 
 240 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 Lis hand. As side by side they g'azed upon 
 the fadino- outline of the cliffs so familiar and 
 so dear^ with that trusty companion Wilmot 
 felt some solace to his g-rief in the thoug-ht that 
 he was no more alone.
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 HISTORICAL. 
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS— ON THEIR DIFFERENT 
 FIELDS OF ACTION. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 THE republicans' SUCCESS. 243 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE republicans' SUCCESS. 
 
 Cade. There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves sold 
 for a penny ; the three-hooped pot shall have ten hoops ; and I 
 will make it felony to drink small beer : all the realm shall be in 
 common, and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass. 
 
 HENRY ri. Part 2, Act iv. Sc. 2. 
 
 If at the time of the death of King- Pym^ the 
 idol of the London mob, it had been predicted 
 that within few years England would become 
 a Commonwealth under the rule of a Protector 
 Oliver, no man but would have applied such 
 prophecy to the head of the all-powerful com- 
 mittee, Oliver Saint-John, and not to the 
 praying' Colonel of Horse. But the servant 
 of the Parliament had g-radually become its 
 master, and the successful General was now 
 a far more important character than the Re- 
 publican orator.
 
 244 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 While the Eoyalists held the fields and the 
 stubborn resistance of their scattered garri- 
 sons gave fierce employment to the Roundhead 
 army, and prevented its uniting- for one com- 
 mon end, its good masters in the Parlia- 
 ment appeared to have obtained the object for 
 which some of them had alvva3's struggled — 
 the construction of a Commonwealth of which 
 they were to be the permanent rulers. But 
 the more far-seeino;' amono' themselves were 
 well aware of the dano-er which the future 
 was preparing ; and no one amongst them 
 had watched the increasing power of the In- 
 pendents and the arm}^ more jealously than 
 Bichard Gerrard. He had originally joined 
 the Presb3^terian party, far more from a poli- 
 tical than a religious impulse ; and though 
 he had united with them in the murder of 
 the unfortunate Laud, he was individually no 
 enthusiast for the covenant, or bigot in reli- 
 gious matters. Having* fallen early under 
 the influence of the sour, and at that time 
 disappointed St. John, he had become a pure 
 Bepublican at a time when the possession of 
 such principles was most rare ; and, by an un- 
 expected series of events^ had lived to anticipate
 
 THE REPUBLICANS' SUCCESS. 245 
 
 the realization of his theory, and under the 
 auspices of his own leader, to become in all 
 probability a ruler in the g-overnment of his 
 choice. 
 
 But while avarice was the ruling* passion 
 of Oliver St. John, that of his follower was 
 pride. Tliere were two thing's more abhorrent 
 to Richard Gerrard's theor}^ of politics, even 
 than monarchy itself; namely, democracy and 
 the dictation of the sword : St. John could 
 stoop even to these to preserve his places and 
 a semblance of his power. 
 
 When Roj^alty was fallen everywhere — 
 when, on the King-'s own authorization, his 
 loyal g-arrisons w ere given up on the best terms 
 obtainable, and the disheartened Cavaliers, en- 
 g'ag-ed in making- compositions for their own 
 safety, had abandoned all thoug'ht of further 
 resistance, and left the victorious New Model 
 army without a foe — the time had come for 
 that army to demand an account from the 
 masters for whom it had foug-ht, and for its 
 chief to incite in the soldiers the spirit neces- 
 sary for the execution of his designs. 
 
 At the commencement of the year after 
 Prince Rupert had left the country, the King*
 
 240 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 was delivered over to the Parliament commis- 
 sioners^ for a price ; the Scots having only 
 delayed so long' the execution of their treason^ 
 to enable them to drive a better bargain. 
 With the possession of the person of their 
 sovereio-n, the difficulties of the Parliament 
 only increased. The army had now united ; 
 and^ under the appearance of a reasonable 
 demand for their pay and just rights, a spirit 
 was fomented in the troops by their leaders^ 
 which was not to be easily appeased. While 
 the Presbyterian party in the House continued 
 to exert their unreal power^ without deigning 
 to notice the threatening aspect of the army 
 by which they had attained their ends^ the 
 menaces of that army at length reached a 
 heio'ht which enforced their whole attention. 
 
 Besides the Council of Officers^ which had 
 been formed for the purpose of forcing from 
 the Parliament a hearing to the army's 
 claims^ a far more ominous evidence of its 
 feelings was exhibited in the meetings of a 
 new body of its delegates^ called Army Agi- 
 tators. These men w^ere chosen from the body 
 of the troops^ and from the lower officers \ and 
 were those who^ amongst that turbulent and
 
 THE EEPUBLICANS' SUCCESS. 247 
 
 preaching' crowd^ were the wildest in their 
 political schemes, and the most blasphemous 
 in their out-pouring-s of the Spirit. The only 
 real difference between these Levellers and 
 such politicians as Richard Gerrard, was the 
 difference of their orig-inal rank : in the true 
 spirit of Republicanism, they both wished to 
 level down to themselves ; but when that object 
 was attained, the higher g-rade of Republicans 
 were determined to stop the tide they had let 
 loose. But to none of them were the opinions 
 of the new Levellers more unpalatable than to 
 Richard Gerrard ; he had never abandoned the 
 feelings natural to all country g*entlemen, of 
 pride in birth, and in the honour attached to 
 landed property j and he heard, with mingled 
 contempt and indignation, the doctrine of the 
 Demagogues, that men were equal, and the 
 earth was the common property of all. 
 
 In addition to these wild declarations of the 
 rights of man, the Levellers broached still wilder 
 opinions on the subject of religion j and, under 
 the g'uise of not interfering- with the prompt- 
 ings of the spirit, allowed and encourag-ed 
 every man to g"ive utterance to the thoug-hts 
 within him, however extravag-ant or blasphem-
 
 248 THE KOYALIST AND THE EEPUBLICAN. 
 
 ous they mig-ht be. To the straig*ht-laced 
 Presbyterians it seemed certain that if these 
 men were not repressed, a saturnalia was at 
 hand which would make them look back with 
 reg-ret, even to the time of Laud and Star- 
 Chambers. Orders were g-iven to the Generals 
 to repress, with a hig-h hand, the mutinous 
 spirit of their soldiers ; and, at the same time, 
 a Committee of the House was appointed to 
 meet the Council of Officers, and treat with 
 them concerning' their just claims, whilst a 
 sop was thrown to them in the shape of a 
 moderate instalment of their pay. 
 
 But the means used to check the spirit of 
 the army only shewed the soldiers their power, 
 and, instead of being- subdued, their conduct 
 daily became more menacing*. CroniAvell, who 
 had left his seat in the House, and proceeded 
 to the army with a promise of restoring- it to 
 a healthy state, shortly returned with a state- 
 ment that all his efforts were useless, and that 
 if he had not secretly escaped from their 
 clutches, he would himself have fallen a victim 
 to the soldiers' rage. 
 
 At this crisis, Gerrard, who had thrown 
 himself heart and soul into the strug'g-le which
 
 THE EEPUBLICANS' SUCCESS. 249 
 
 he knew was vital to the Parliament's power^ 
 never flinched or swerved. He was endowed 
 with g-reat moral courag-e^ and was prepared 
 to risk an}^ step for the cause he had em- 
 braced. While Cromwell Avas doino- his best 
 to frig-hten the House into submission by his 
 pictures of the impossibility of resistance to 
 the army's will, it became evident to many 
 that the arch-dissimulator had only g*one to the 
 army in order to foment the spirit which he 
 professed to crush. Gerrard felt that b}^ one 
 bold stroke the Parliament mio'ht retrieve its 
 power, and that if Cromwell were removed, 
 Fairfax would be only an honest tool in their 
 own hands to work their will. His leader, 
 St. John, had quailed at the dangerous pro- 
 spects of their part}^, and, with all his profes- 
 sional hatred of soldier rule, was prepared to 
 make any concessions to save the position he 
 had won. But Gerrard abandoned his guid- 
 ance, and used every effort to inculcate on 
 the bolder leaders of his party his own fixed 
 opinion, that in spite of his apparent adhesion 
 to them, Cromwell was their real enem}^ to be 
 feared ; and that if he were at once seized, the 
 much-dreaded army, at the loss of their leader,
 
 250 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 would become powerless for dang-er. It was 
 with no little difficulty that this bold doctrine 
 forced its way ; but by the streng-th of his own 
 convictions^ and his perseverance against the 
 objections of doubt and fear^ Gerrard suc- 
 ceeded in his end at last : it was determined by 
 the leading" members of the House^ to seize on 
 Cromwell^ and commit him to the Tower. 
 Their councils were not so well kept as their 
 opponents'^ and on the day when their plan 
 was to be put in execution, Cromwell was not 
 in the House : they learned that he had been 
 seen riding- that morning-, with one attendant, 
 in the direction of the army, where the day pre- 
 viously he had stated his life was in dang-er. 
 
 The mask was now off; and the Presbyterian 
 leaders were apparently not men to quail be- 
 fore the difficulties of their position. Among'st 
 them were the officers who, previous to the 
 passing- of the Self-Denying- Ordinance, had 
 been the first to lead the forces of the Parlia- 
 ment ag-ainst the Royal army : they were not 
 disposed to yield quietly to the inordinate 
 assumptions of their successors. But events 
 hurried on quick, and it was felt that a crisis 
 was at hand.
 
 THE republicans' SUCCESS. 251 
 
 Shortly after Cromweirs abrupt withdrawal^ 
 the House learned from their Committee — 
 in whose charg-e the King- was detained at 
 Holdenby — that on the very day that Crom- 
 well had left London^ a cornet named Joyce 
 had come to the castle with fifty men of diffe- 
 rent troops, and avowing' no authority but the 
 pistol in his hand^ unopposed by the reg'ular 
 g-uard, had carried the King- away with him : 
 as it was supposed, to the head-quarters of the 
 army. The report of the Committee and its 
 last surmise were speedil}' confirmed by a letter 
 from their General, wherein Fairfax told them 
 of the King's arrival in the arm}^, broug-ht 
 there by no order of his own, and promised 
 to g-uard his person with safety and respect. 
 
 The Presbyterians were not yet aware how 
 completely Fairfax was Cromwell's tool ; and, 
 looking- on him as devoted to their inte- 
 rests, trusted that, if at the worst it came 
 to an open rupture, he would brings the major 
 portion of the army to their side. The city 
 of London with all its wealth, and all its 
 turbulent mob of apprentices and swash- 
 bucklers, was at their beck ; and thoug'h at 
 first the House lost heart at the receipt of the
 
 252 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 appalling' news that the army had seized the 
 King', and was in full march for London, 
 they speedil}^ recovered confidence : sending' 
 a peremptory order to their General to halt 
 at once, the}^ determined, were that order dis- 
 obeyed, to resist force by force, and defend the 
 city of London to the last. 
 
 But Cromwell was content with the demon- 
 stration, and allowed Fairfax at that time to 
 obey the Parliament's commands : a hollow 
 truce was patched up between the parties; 
 and while the Parliament tried to persuade 
 the people that the King' was a prisoner in 
 the army against his own consent, Cromwell^ 
 for his own purposes, g'ave to the unfortunate 
 Monarch more liberty and privileges than he 
 had enjoyed since the day when he surren- 
 dered himself to the promises of a treacherous 
 people. In this strug-g'le of opposing- inter- 
 ests, there arose another apparent dawn of 
 safet}^ for the purchased King' : but, unfor- 
 tunately for him, it was daily gTowing- more 
 apparent with whom the real strength lay. 
 
 Cromwell and Ireton now openly joined 
 the meeting's of the Council of Officers, A\hose 
 most important step was then taken in the
 
 THE REPUBLICANS' SUCCESS. 253 
 
 Impeachment of the eleven members, the 
 leaders of the Presbyterians, for Hig-li Treason 
 to the State. The House at first treated the 
 Impeachment with contempt ; and among* the 
 foremost who reprehended this new insolence 
 were the accused members themselves : but 
 the army were not to be easily baffled ; their 
 remonstrance was immediately presented at the 
 bar of the Commons by twelve of their senior 
 officers ; they demanded that the accused 
 members should be at once suspended from 
 sitting' in the House, and steps be taken for 
 their trial. 
 
 Still the House appeared resolute to sup- 
 port their accused comrades, and their own 
 dig-nity : but the accused members them- 
 selves were the first to yield. They were the 
 Presbyterian chiefs, the foremost in speech 
 and bravest in council : they were all of them 
 men of personal courag*e ; many of them had 
 fronted the bloodiest perils of the war, and 
 one of them, a civilian, Hollis, had even won 
 back for himself the sympathies of the very 
 Ro^^alists, by publicly pulling- the nose of the 
 hateful Ireton, when he refused to render an 
 apology for an insult : they were all of them
 
 254 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 brave men ; but at tbis crisis tbey quailed. 
 Tbey dared not bring" to a collision the dread 
 passions which they had before let loose com- 
 bined ag'ainst their King* ; and shrinking- be- 
 fore their opponents' resolute will^ they aban- 
 doned the struggle, and of their own accord 
 absented themselves from the House. 
 
 This was the first great sign of the Presb}'- 
 terians' weakness and the army's streng-th ; and 
 it was now clear that the future power of the 
 former could exist only by the moderation 
 of the latter. This was the most degrading- 
 chapter in the history of the Long- Parlia- 
 ment, which had ruled with the authority of 
 despots, and was now dictated to by turns by 
 an army and a mob. 
 
 Richard Gerrard was now reaping- a portion 
 of his punishment, for having- abandoned the 
 chivalrous loyalty which his father had taught 
 his childhood. His cherished dreams of oli- 
 g-archic sway were scattered, and the reality 
 taught a rude lesson to his pride. No one in 
 the House felt more deeply than he did the 
 degradation in which they were steeped. He 
 had neither the position, nor the gift of elo- 
 quence, to enable him to sway the minds of
 
 THE republicans' SUCCESS. 255 
 
 others; the leaders of his party g'one^ with 
 whom by his earnestness and honesty of pur- 
 pose he had influence^ he was but a single 
 individual ; who^ throug-h all the doubts and 
 cowardice of others^ kept to his own deter- 
 mined way. How often in his heart he cursed 
 the folly and the weakness of his compeers^ 
 whose every action only served to smoothe the 
 w^ay for the entrance of their foes ! But for 
 the desire to do his duty by his loved theory, 
 and to resist the military despotism to the last, 
 he would have retired at once from the House, 
 the scene of such dishonour. 
 
 On one day, upon the receipt of a letter 
 from the army, the Parliament would annul 
 decrees on which hung* the whole interests 
 of their party ) on the next, under the dic- 
 tation of their own turbulent supporters, a 
 London mob — whose crowd of clubbed pren- 
 tices would g-ive them their opinion wdthin 
 the ver}^ walls of the House, where they 
 not unfrequently forced their Avay — they re- 
 versed their late reversals, and ag*ain pluck- 
 ing- up spirit, determined to resist stoutly; 
 when Cromwell deif>'ned to send them a letter 
 of threats and expostulations. This was their
 
 256 THE ROYALIST AND THE EEPUBLICAN. 
 
 doom. When next they met^ they found 
 that the Speaker and several members were 
 absent : a new Speaker was elected^ and the 
 impeached members were summoned to resume 
 their seats ; the city was appealed to^ resist- 
 ance preached^ the militia called out^ and new 
 levies raised to oppose the formidable army 
 that was now advancing* against them. The 
 country seemed on the verg-e of a new civil 
 war. But the noisy Londoners had no heart to 
 stand up ag-ainst the stern victors of Naseby. 
 
 Cromwell named a rendezvous for the army 
 on Hounslow Heathy and there g-athered the 
 fanatic troopers ; prepared^ under the leading- 
 of their Joshua^ to put a later Jericho to the 
 sword. The members Avho had absented them- 
 selves from the House were the first to meet 
 him there^ and ask his protection for their in- 
 sulted Parliament. The Presbyterian party 
 were not even true to themselves : in vain 
 were the efforts of the bolder among-st them- 
 resistance could be thoug'ht of no long-er^ with 
 Cromwell and his Ironsides at their gates. 
 The militia were withdrawn^ the forts and 
 lines g'iven up; the mayor and aldermen of 
 the city went out submissively to meet the
 
 THE republicans' SUCCESS. 257 
 
 conqueror on his entrance ; his terrible and 
 resistless army marched quietly throug-h the 
 streets^ laid open at their approach^ and their 
 leader entering' the bewildered House^ the 
 old Speaker resumed his seat as if he had 
 never left it; the new Speaker vanished, the 
 impeached members ag*ain withdrew to their 
 hiding-places to be heard of no more^ and the 
 now quite submissive Parliament offered a 
 vote of thanks to the Lord-General Cromwell^ 
 who had saved them from mob-domination to 
 hold them under his own iron rule. 
 
 The Parliament still sate^ on sufferance^ but 
 the Presbyterian power was crushed: the Council 
 of Officers^ that met regularly in Chelsea^ openly 
 discussed the question of the future g'overn- 
 ment of the countr}^ ; and^ throug-h its partizans 
 within the House^ dictated its fiats there. 
 
 The King" was at this time settled at Hamp- 
 ton Court^ and treated still far better by the 
 leaders of the army than he ever had been by 
 the Parliament ; but their object^ in a com- 
 plete subjection of the latter^ being* now at- 
 tained^ the liberty so unexpectedly g-ranted to 
 him was gradually changed to a system of re- 
 striction and terror^ and the old harsh treat- 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 ment to every remaining- Royalist was simul- 
 taneously resumed. 
 
 It is not strang-e that the Presbyterians at 
 this juncture should have thought of uniting' 
 with the King- and his still powerful party for 
 the repression of the new tyranny^ which bade 
 fair to be worse than any they had overcome. 
 The Levellers spoke out loudly in the army 
 for the destruction alike of King and Parlia- 
 ment^ the abolition of all degrees among men, 
 and the establishment of a perfect equality 
 throughout the land, both in titles and posses- 
 sions ; and, as yet, their officers had done 
 nothing' to repress their d angler o as cry. No 
 man could tell whether the land was to fall 
 into anarchy, or to be saved by a despotism 
 from utter ruin ; and, at last, those who most 
 dreaded both alternatives were determined to 
 seize the only method of escape. 
 
 So wedded, however, was Gerrard to his 
 republican theories, that even yet he would 
 rather lose all he most wished to save, than 
 purchase it at the cost of King-ship. He could 
 not bring' his pride to confess that he had 
 entered upon a wrong* career, or to think that 
 no worse doom could be wished for revolution-
 
 THE EEPUBLICANS' SUCCESS. 259 
 
 ists than success. Bound down by a theory, 
 and untaug'ht by events, he was to drink still 
 deeper of the cup of deg-radation, ere the pun- 
 ishment of his rebellion was at the full. 
 
 In the mean while, all parties were startled 
 by the intellig'ence that the King- had escaped 
 from Hampton Court ; and it was thoug-ht at 
 first that he was concealed in the City, pre- 
 pared to rise on the first new rupture between 
 the Parliament and the army. But the truth 
 of that extraordinary flight became soon known 
 to all^ and then, so inexplicable appeared both 
 its purpose and its details, that it was thoug'ht 
 by many to be a successful desig-n of Crom- 
 well's ; who, by inciting' the King- to attempt 
 an escape, had thrown him into the hands of 
 a man devoted to himself, where he was safe 
 from the schemes either of Parliament or 
 army. Certain is it, that w^hen it w^as known 
 that the King* was confined by Colonel Ham- 
 mond at Carisbrooke, the plotting* Presb}^- 
 terians, in alarm at their late proceeding's, 
 became completely subservient to Cromwell's 
 wishes ; while he, feeling* his power over them, 
 determined to support them thoroug'hly as 
 long* as they were obedient, and at once pro-
 
 260 THE ROYALIST AXD THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 ceeded to put down the meeting's of the Ag*i- 
 tators and Levellers^ and repress the muti- 
 nous spirit which was no longer needful for 
 his purposes. A few turbulent troopers in 
 open mutiny were knocked on the head, a few 
 more equality-men were hung- up, and the 
 faction, which had threatened to let loose 
 anarchy unrestrained upon the land, was 
 crushed. 
 
 Cromwell and the Parliament beino- thus in 
 unison, upon the refusal of the poor imprisoned 
 King- to sig'n four Acts of Parliament — by 
 which they wanted him to g'ive up to their 
 WTath all the loyal men who had served him 
 with their blood and treasure, and take upon 
 himself the burden of all the blood that had 
 been shed — the two parties which had been so 
 jealously watching* each other, united their 
 strength to pour opprobrium upon their old 
 fallen foe. The vote of no more addresses to 
 the King* was passed ; and he, who until then 
 had had some shew of liberty, though strictly 
 guarded, was now made a close prisoner, and 
 deprived of every faithful servant or friend. 
 
 Many of those who voted for this measure 
 knew not to what a bloody catastrophe it was
 
 THE republicans' SUCCESS. 261 
 
 the prelude; and among' these, none pressed 
 it with g-reater willing-ness and blindness than 
 Gerrard. His prejudices helped him on, and 
 his friend St. John — newly promoted to the 
 cushion of the Common Pleas — had succeeded 
 in persuading' him that Cromwell was now 
 sincerely united to them in his political views. 
 For Presbytery and the Covenant he cared 
 nothing", and the repression of the Levellers 
 helped to g'ive him faith ; and so the rising* 
 Dictator moulded the Republicans, like others 
 in their turn, to ^vork the purposes he willed. 
 
 Thus ended the first tumultuous year of the 
 Parliament's success. The King' was a close 
 prisoner within the walls of Carisbrooke, un- 
 friended and alone ; the Parliament and the 
 army that had broug'ht him down so low, 
 were both in utter subjection to one daring' 
 man ; the country was g'roaning* under the 
 rule of low-born committee-men, who carried 
 into effect the Parliament decrees, alike ruth- 
 lessly ag'ainst aristocratic Roundhead and 
 compounded Cavalier ; the Presbyterians of 
 Scotland had entered into a selfish treaty with 
 their monarch, to restore his crown for the 
 benefit of the Covenant they loved more than
 
 262 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 loyalty or honour ; and the Royalists of Eng- 
 land^ thoug'h everywhere crushed and despoiled^ 
 were bearing- silently their wrong-s^ waiting" 
 and preparing- for the time when they were 
 to rise again to aveng-e themselves on the 
 oppressors of their country and their King*. 
 Alas ! that so much blood and courag'e was to 
 spend itself in vain !
 
 THE BANISHED CAVALIERS. 263 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE BANISHED CAVALIERS IN THE CAMPAIGN IN 
 THE LOW COUNTRIES. 
 
 Ne s'est trouve en cronique ou hystoire, prince, gentilhomme, 
 ne autre, de quelque condition qu'il ait este, qui plus furieusement 
 entre les cruels, plus doulcement entre les humbles, ne plus 
 hupiainement entre les petits ait vescu que le bon chevalier dont 
 la presente hystoire est commencee. 
 
 :Brologue au BON CHEFALIER SANS PAOUR ET 
 SANS REPROUCHE. 
 
 While the victorious Roundheads were strug-- 
 gling* among'st themselves as to who should 
 reap the fruits of their success^ the defeated 
 Cavaliers were either fretting* in forced in- 
 activity at home^ — being' pillag'ed by the Par- 
 liament^ to whose mercy the}^ had submitted, 
 of whatever property had survived the wreck 
 of the war, — or else, like the Free Lances of 
 the middle aoes, had offered their services to 
 the rival powers of Europe, who were de-
 
 264 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 lig'hted to purchase the swords of the brave 
 islanders. 
 
 Prince Eupert^ the favourite leader of the 
 expatriated Cavaliers, had been made a Mar^- 
 chal of France shortly after his arrival in the 
 country; and his old followers, the survivors 
 of Edg-ehill, Newbury, Marston Moor, and 
 the yet more fatal field of Naseby, pressed to 
 take service under him. In Eng-land every 
 career was closed upon them ; and, often sorely 
 ag-ainst their will, and to the ruin of the 
 Eo3^al hopes, they were forced to take the 
 sole resource left for men whose only posses- 
 sion was a sword. 
 
 Wilmot Gerrard was, of course, closely 
 united to the fortunes of his Prince. Eupert 
 kept him near his own person, and as one of 
 his household AVilmot was introduced to Hen- 
 rietta's titular court, and paid his services to 
 his future King', at that time the pensioner of 
 his pensioned mother. But the intrig'uing- atmo- 
 sphere of the wretched court, where the minion 
 Jermyn ruled supreme, was not suited to the 
 honest Eupert, or his soldier-followers. They 
 could have felt sincerely for the misfortunes 
 of their Queen 3 but they knew that her per-
 
 THE BANISHED CAVALIERS. 265 
 
 nicious influence had caused half their sove- 
 reig'n's ill success^ and that it was even yet 
 exerted for his bane. While her favourite 
 Jermyn was surrounded in exile with all the 
 luxuries and appliances of wealthy her son was 
 a suitor for the very necessaries of life. It 
 was a court that succeeded in robbing- fallen 
 Eoyalty almost of sympathy, and altog-ether 
 of respect. 
 
 In that inactive, ino-lorious life in a foreio'n 
 city, where English Royalty w^as living* on 
 begTudg-ed charit}^, and where the presence of 
 Enolishmen w^as tolerated with a sort of con- 
 temptuous pity, how often did Wilmot look 
 back with wonder to his late happy months 
 of life^ when each day, as he awoke, brought 
 with it a feeling- of continuous bliss. In 
 addition to the pang* of absence, to the per- 
 petual void he felt within him, there was 
 added the keen perception of their present de- 
 gradation, and the want of any object to stimu- 
 late his energies and drive awa}^ the fiend of 
 thoug-ht. If it was to be ever thus, where was 
 the hope of the future ? — where the prospect 
 of realizing- the dream which he and Lucy had 
 cherished, in the sang'uine blindness of their
 
 206 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 love ? Holmes saw his growing* melancholy ; 
 and^ in spite of his cheerful temperament, he 
 almost shared in it himself. Even Kerr's 
 honest face lost somewhat of its ruddy cheer ; 
 and in the muddy streets and restless crowds 
 of Paris^ he would talk mournfully to his 
 master of the broad corn-fields of Kent, and 
 memory would recall the sweet salt odour of 
 his native sea. 
 
 Holmes was, however, too true a soldier to 
 encourage g*loomy retrospections ; and as he 
 cursed their present wretched position, he was 
 ever lookino^ forward to the stir and freedom 
 which awaited them in their coming- campaign. 
 The French were then eno^aoed in one of their 
 endless wars with Spain ; hut, the season 
 being- too far advanced when Kupert eng-ag-ed 
 himself in their service, it was only in the 
 spring- of the following- year that he and his 
 Eng-lishmen were to take the field. As Wil- 
 mot listened to Holmes's constant aspirations 
 after the excitement of action, the soldier- 
 spirit g'rew within himself; and he, too, long-ed 
 to enter on the war, and in its life of wild and 
 various adventure break away from the torpid 
 spell that now benumbed his soul.
 
 THE BANISHED CAVALIERS. 267 
 
 The weary months of winter passed, and Ru- 
 pert and his long-ing^ followers were at last to 
 join the camp. At the prospect of leaving- the 
 hated life of Paris, Wilmot's heart revived ', 
 and at that hopeful crisis, one of the nu- 
 merous Cavaliers then flocking* to join Ru- 
 pert's standard, broug-ht unexpected letters 
 from their dear loved home for him and Kerr : 
 the g'ood Dame Kerr had devised the means 
 for their despatch. 
 
 The receipt of a letter from Lucy, written 
 shortly after his departure, was to Wilmot an 
 unanticipated delig-ht. Whatever may have 
 been the real feeling's of loneliness and sorrow 
 which the brave girl experienced when she 
 wrote to him, g-uided by her unselfish love, in 
 her letter there breathed only the spirit of 
 encourag'ement and hope. Its possession was 
 a true talisman to Wilmot, to spur on his re- 
 viving' energy and arouse his drooping- cheer : 
 even if his own land were to repudiate for 
 ever its ancient faith, and for ever refuse 
 within its bounds an asylum for those among- 
 its sons who nourished the memory of a fallen 
 order of thing-s ; in the country and career 
 that he had chosen he mio-ht win an honour-
 
 268 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 able position for himself, which he need not be 
 ashamed in time to ask his Lucy to share. 
 
 Wilmot had no opportunity of sending- a 
 reply to that dear letter ; but with it and one 
 brio-ht lock of o-olden hair lyino" ever near his 
 breast^ and hope revived beating' within it^ he 
 rode forth on the campaign. 
 
 The Low Countries were the theatre of the 
 war^ and when Rupert and his Cavaliers ap- 
 peared on the scene of action^ their reputation 
 had preceded them^ and eng-endered an hon- 
 ourable spirit of rivalry in the French com- 
 manders ; who were determined not to be 
 eclipsed by their new allies. Eupert was 
 exactly the leader to make such service de- 
 lig-htful to his own followers. The hig-h spirit 
 of chivalry which was said to have died with 
 Bayard was revived in him ; and during* that 
 3'ear's campaig-n on the muddy banks of the 
 Lys and Scheldt^ many a true knig'hth' deed 
 was done that might stand beside the highest 
 exploits of the far-famed chevalier. 
 
 The Spanish forces collected from their wide- 
 spreading dominions^ far out-numbered their 
 opponents ; but this inequality was counter- 
 balanced by activity and daring. Gassion^ the
 
 THE BANISHED CAVALIERS. 269 
 
 g-eneral of the French^ vied with the fearless 
 Prince in his reckless daring* of all danger; 
 and^ led on by each other's example^ the chiefs 
 of the arrny seemed always to hazard their 
 own persons in the posts of greatest peril. 
 On such occasions Eupert never abandoned a 
 follower, if any hazard of his OAvn could bring- 
 him safely through ; and it was this confidence 
 in him which gave him from them all a love 
 such as few leaders have ever won. 
 
 Once when Gassion and the Prince, in at- 
 tempting to inspect the Spanish line of march, 
 were nearly cut off by a body of the enemy's 
 horse, Holmes, in repulsing- the most forward, 
 who were crossing a small river to attack 
 them, v^^as shot beneath the knee, and his 
 horse killed under him. At the same time, 
 Wilmot was wounded in his sword-hand ; but, 
 in spite of the rapidly advancing- enemy, when 
 not a Frenchman dared to approach the bank 
 on which poor Holmes lay wounded, through 
 the heavy fire, Rupert and Wilmot succeeded 
 in bearing him safely off; and, mounted behind 
 the Prince, to whom the wounded Wihnot 
 could render but little assistance. Holmes was 
 carried back to their own posts.
 
 270 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 In scenes like this^ the soldier Prince, who 
 succeeded but poorly in the artificial life of 
 courts, shone forth in the brig-htest qualities of 
 man. 
 
 This life of constant movement and pause- 
 less enterprise, into which Wilmot threw him- 
 self with all the energy of his character, roused 
 him completely from the listless gloom which 
 in Paris was shrouding his nature. There was 
 small opportunity left for melancholy in the 
 spirit-stirring- incidents of every day ; and care 
 is for once thrown off from behind the horse- 
 man who gallops to the charge. The war, 
 too, was carried on very differently from the 
 bloody struggle in which Wilmot had been be- 
 fore engaged: there w^as none of that undying" 
 hate between the foemen, which can be engen- 
 dered only by a protracted civil war. In com- 
 parison with the rancour of that strife, when 
 the opposing' parties now met hand to hand, 
 it mioht be called a courteous trial of arms, 
 but for the murderous gunpowder which laid 
 so many a brave fellow low ; and which cer- 
 tainly afforded an additional test of courag-e. 
 The mode in which this war was carried on 
 resembled the chivalrous usag*es of a past ag*e.
 
 THE BANISHED CAVALIERS. 271 
 
 Wilmot now could enter a melee as coolly as 
 that expert swordsman^ Kerr ; for he was now 
 devoid alike of passion and revenue. He fol- 
 lowed Rupert in his career of peril and g'lory^ 
 with the same interest which in Eng-land he 
 would have felt for the less stirrino- incidents 
 of the chase^ and thoug'ht only that it was 
 thus that he was to win, like many a nameless 
 cadet before him, a place of honour and a 
 bride. 
 
 Holmes was delig'hted to find his com- 
 panion enter so cheerly on the life of the 
 campaig'n : his own prediction had been 
 verified, and action had proved the best cure 
 for the unnatural g-loom of youth. As far 
 as he was concerned he would have left Eng- 
 land alone, till she became wearied of being- a 
 prey to fanatic upstarts, and have lived con- 
 tentedly with the mixed pleasures and hard- 
 ships of a soldier's life. His wound, thoug-h 
 it incapacitated him for action at the time, 
 made little effect upon his cheery temper ; and 
 the incident served only to knit both him and 
 Wilmot still closer to their chivalrous Prince. 
 
 But the campaig'n did not last long- enoug-h 
 to change Wilmot into the true soldier of
 
 272 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 fortune^ like his friend^ careless for whom or 
 what cause he drew his sword. His share in 
 it was broug'ht to a sudden close ', and at the 
 same time brighter prospects seemed opening- 
 for him and all the Royalists of Eng-land. 
 
 Towards the fall of the year^ but before 
 the advancino- season had rendered further 
 operations impossible^ Kupert himself received 
 a severe wound^ which disabled him from 
 continuing- in the contest. With Gassion^ 
 and a small party of both their followers^ 
 he had fallen into an ambush of the enemy; 
 which^ concealed in a small wood^ fired on 
 them as the}^ passed. After they had escaped 
 the dang'er^ E-upert, on a hint dropped by the 
 Frenchman^ threw himself from his horse^ 
 and^ followed by his Englishmen, turned back 
 upon the wood to g-ive the musketeers a lesson. 
 Thoug-h abandoned by the French^ who hesi- 
 tated to act on their own proposition^ Rupert 
 accomplished his purpose : but it was dearly 
 g-ained ; for in the needless strug'gle he re- 
 ceived a wound in the skull^ which at once 
 forced him to abandon the campaig-n^ and the 
 injury to which was a frequent torture to his 
 latest life.
 
 THE BANISHED CAVALIERS. 273 
 
 When Hiipert recovered temporarily from 
 his wound^ the winter had set in^ and Wilmot 
 accompanied the Prince back to Paris; not^ 
 however^ to resume the hopeless existence 
 which he had formerly led. It was thought 
 at that time by the soberest of the loyal 
 party^ that an important change Avas taking 
 place in the spirit of England, and that the 
 time for resuming action w^as at hand : even 
 among the banished Cavaliers upon the banks 
 of the L3^s such stirring reports were rife ; and 
 at the head-quarters of the party at St. Ger- 
 mains^ the whispered rumours became stronger 
 to Wilmot's delighted ears. 
 
 And the appearance of things w^as^ indeed^ 
 fitted to raise such hopes. During the sum- 
 mer of the year that Rupert and his follow- 
 ers were fighting in the Low Countries^ their 
 King was in the hands of CromwelFs army; 
 accompanying it on its marches from place to 
 place^ and treated^ as yet^ with almost as much 
 respect as in his happier days. The Parlia- 
 ment and army were at that time each striv- 
 ing to make the people believe that the Crown 
 was on their side : the Parliament declared 
 that he w^as a prisoner iu the army against 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 his will ; the leaders of the army^ to disprove 
 the statement^ g'ave him more liberty and 
 respect than he had enjoyed since leaving* 
 Oxford : they even pretended to disapprove 
 of the rig'our with which Parliament treated 
 the fallen Eoyalists; and^ as long- as it served 
 their purposes^ free access was g-ranted to the 
 person of the King*. 
 
 For a time an amnesty was offered to all^ and 
 Cavaliers, who of late found their only safety 
 in flig'ht from the king'dom, now readily obtained 
 passes for their return, and were allowed to 
 live unmolested, either on the remnant of their 
 estates, or in constant communion with Charles 
 himself: even two emissaries from the schem- 
 ing' Queen were permitted to join him in his 
 disg-uised captivity, and to keep up open inter- 
 coiirse both with the Koundhead officers and 
 their prisoner. An open rupture was expected 
 between the two g-reat parties into which the 
 victors were divided ; and in the communica- 
 tions that were kept up between the conquered 
 Royalists and tbeir chief, it was determined 
 to take advantage of the division for their 
 fallen cause. No exact scheme was devised, 
 but the loyal party were to watch events,
 
 THE BANISHED CAVALIERS. 275 
 
 and profit by them as they came ; and in the 
 mean while new hope was infused among-st 
 them all. 
 
 When Cromwell marched his army upon 
 London^ Charles was removed to Hampton 
 Court. After the complete submission of the 
 Parliament^ and the apparent union between 
 its leaders and the g-reat General^ Cromwell's 
 object was attained ; and he beg'an g-radually 
 to withdraw the liberty he had g-ranted to the 
 King', whose name was no longer needed for 
 his success. But the privileges g'iven to the 
 Cavaliers were not immediately stopped ; and 
 it was in Hampton Court that the great and 
 g'ood Lord Capel had the interview with 
 Charles, when he promised to prepare a g-ene- 
 ral rising" in his favour, and at the first oppor- 
 tunity to lead in person all those who were 
 weary of tyrann}^ and blasphemy, and yearned 
 for their olden rule. 
 
 Here, too, the universal movement among* 
 the E,03^alists first took a decided course, and 
 a plan of action was fixed. The Scotch Com- 
 missioners, who were waiting' in London to ob- 
 tain, as far as they could exact it from the 
 Parliament; the payment of the last instal-
 
 276 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 ment of their price of bloody could not resist 
 intrig'uing' with the Monarch they had sold 
 for the benefit of their loved Covenant. Their 
 nation were no friends to the Independents^ 
 who were now usurping- all authority throug-h 
 their chief; and the Commissioners offered to 
 raise an army for the reinstalment of the 
 Crown^ if Charles would himself take their 
 Covenant_, and, among' sundry other ag'ree- 
 ments^ promise to enforce their form of religion 
 throuo'hout his kino-dom. As vet the unfor- 
 tunate Monarch resisted their selfish demands ; 
 but among'st the Royal party it was thoug-ht^ 
 that^ at all events^ the Scots would make an 
 effort to prove the old loyalty of their nation^ 
 and redeem their late dishonour. It was 
 expected that if they made this open move- 
 ment^ the Presbyterian party in England 
 would join them in turning* upon their oppres- 
 sors ; and then the scattered Eoyalists would 
 rise simultaneously in every corner of the 
 land^ and put an end to the fanatic t3Tanny 
 that crushed them down. 
 
 Then came the new chang-e of prospects^ 
 when the harassed King-, urg-ed on by dark 
 hints and ill-suppressed threatening-s of the
 
 THE BANISHED CAVALIERS. 277 
 
 rude g-uard placed over him^ thoug-ht that his 
 life was in dang'er^ and attempted his ill-fated 
 escape. With proper manag-ement^ that escape 
 mig-ht have been eifected; but under such 
 guidance as he had^ and with an utter want of 
 desig-n in the attempt^ he seemed only to have 
 fallen into a trap laid for him by the crafty 
 Cromwell. Yielding- himself up to Colonel 
 Hammond, the King- found a g-aoler where 
 he had hoped to find a friend. Having- re- 
 jected the impossible demands offered by the 
 Parliament as their ultimatum, he threw him- 
 self blindly into the arms of the Scotch Com- 
 missioners, and was willing* to yield ever}'- 
 thing" they asked for the tardy assistance they 
 pledged themselves to give him in his ex- 
 tremity. 
 
 All disguise of respect and talk of recon- 
 ciliation between the Parliament and King- 
 was now thrown away, and he was confined a 
 close prisoner in the castle of Carisbrooke ; 
 but the ignominy now cast upon their sove- 
 reign did greater injury to themselves through- 
 out the length and breadth of the land : many 
 who had shewn small loyalty before, were 
 touched by the adversity of their King, and
 
 S78 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 in those who had been faithful to him throuo-h 
 good and evil report arose an increased spirit 
 of indig-nation ag-ainst his tyrants^ and a deter- 
 mination to risk all once more in the effort to 
 restore him to his own. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs in Eno^land, 
 and such the g-eneral spirit of the people there^ 
 when Kupert returned to the banished court 
 at St. Germains. The prospect of a general 
 rising' for the King- seemed certain ; but unfor- 
 tunately there were no leaders to guide the 
 favourable change^ and conduct the different 
 attempts to one successful result. The treaty 
 with the Scots was knovvn^ and the march of 
 their army, it was felt, should be the only 
 signal for every other attempt. Could the 
 Royalists' eager ardour be restrained to the 
 slow movements of the selfish Covenanters? 
 
 Thus reasoned the less sanguine statesmen 
 of the party, who had learned fear by frequent 
 disappointment ; but to the younger amongst 
 them, all was now exultation and confident 
 hope. When Wilmot eagerly learned from 
 them the chang^es which seemed to promise so 
 brilliant a result, it appeared to him as if the 
 dream which, not two years ago, he and Lucy
 
 THE BANISHED CAVALIERS. 279 
 
 had indulged^ was already to be realized ; and 
 that the Eoyal standard only required to be 
 raised again to rally round it as brilliant an 
 army as fell in the bloody war. Alas ! the 
 materials of such an arni}^ were broken^ never 
 to revive again : the bravest hearts that beat 
 within its ranks could throb no more at the 
 call of Loyalty and Honour. 
 
 But as the new year opened^ the intelli- 
 gence from England was such as to support 
 the expectations of the most confident. Prince 
 Charles was directed by his father to be pre- 
 pared to head the Scottish army on its march 3 
 the Earl of Holland and other Presbyterian 
 noblemen^ who had done so much to produce 
 the present ruin, talked openly of retrieving- 
 the past, and rising for the King; and in 
 Wales, in Yorkshire, and in Kent, the Cava- 
 liers were gathering courage daily to renew, 
 with the first chance of success, the abandoned 
 struggle. 
 
 In Kent! When Wilmot first heard that 
 around his own dear home, in the county 
 where the Roundheads had as yet found so 
 little resistance, brave men were now deter- 
 mined to restore the olden rule, and save their
 
 280 THE KOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 persecuted King-^ he felt that the time to which 
 he and Lucy had looked forward had arrived ; 
 and in joining' his countr3^men in their holy 
 cause; he would see his Lucy also : perhaps to 
 win her for ever.
 
 WILMOT RETURNS. 281 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 WILMOT RETTJRyS ONCE MORE TO THE STRUGGLE FOR 
 HIS LOYALTY AND LOVE. 
 
 King Charles, and who '11 do him riojht now ? 
 King Charles, and who 's ripe for fight now ? 
 Give a rouse : here 's in hell's despite now — 
 King Charles ! 
 
 BROWNING'S DRAMATIC LYRICS. 
 
 WlOlOT^s determination to join the Cavaliers 
 of Kent in their threatened rising* was speedily 
 carried into execution. Rupert would rather 
 have detained him until more certain intelli- 
 gence was obtained of the blow that was to 
 be struck^ but he could not resist the enthu- 
 siasm of the ardent youth. In that county 
 the Eovalist leaders had orofanized no reofular 
 outbreak; they^ however^ expected every assist- 
 ance from the known change in the feelings 
 of the people there^ when their own schemes
 
 282 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 were to be executed : but^ thoug'b AVilmot thus 
 knew really nothing' of the state of thmg's on 
 the coast^ where he was about to throw him- 
 self as an open adherent to the King*^ he made 
 his wish father to his thoug-hts^ and went for- 
 ward with as much confidence and ardour as 
 when a boy he started to join the defeated 
 survivors of Naseby. No wealthier now than 
 then^ his only possessions were his father's 
 heritag-e^ his good old charg-er and his sword ; 
 and thoug'b both now shewed the marks of 
 service, they mig^ht yet do more and worthier 
 in the hour of need. Then he was animated 
 by a passionate enthusiasm : his whole soul was 
 centred in the cause, and thirsted only to do 
 something' to avenge its ruin, and then die; 
 although he thought it not, the cause itself 
 was now almost disregarded, and was em- 
 braced thus heartily as a means to obtain his 
 own desire. 
 
 As he rode slowly along the dreary road 
 from Paris to the sea, what dreams of happi- 
 ness passed through his brain, and shortened 
 the dull monotony of the way ! How his 
 visions were to be realized he did not examine 
 within himself 3 but an undefined though cer-
 
 WILMOT RETURNS. 283 
 
 tain hope inspired him^ and he felt that the 
 cause of Royalty was at last to prosper^ and in 
 its success his Lucy would become his own. 
 
 In his dreary life in Paris^ during* the lonely 
 moments of the campaig*n^ when musing- by 
 the midnig-ht watch-fire^ in the last thoug-hts 
 that haunted him ere he closed his eyes in 
 sleep^ he had always been accustomed to as- 
 sociate the sweet memory of his love with the 
 restoration of the Royal cause^ and to look for 
 the fulfilment of the one upon the advent of 
 the other. He was now to rejoin her^ who 
 had been in absence the only softening* happi- 
 ness of his life ; and in the prospect of reg-ain- 
 ing" her lost presence^ it seemed to him as if the 
 w^hole were won. Thoug'h he was preparing- 
 to enter on a deadly strug-gle^ and to stir up 
 the mouldering- embers of a civil w^ar^ his 
 thoug'hts^ passing" over the interval of blood, 
 revelled only in the after realization of his 
 love. 
 
 And his honest follower Kerr, who rode 
 along- with him in contented silence, had as 
 much to occupy his own thoug*hts : they were 
 proceeding homewards ; every mile they rode 
 broug-ht them nearer to the familiar sea, and
 
 284 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 the dear white cliffs beyond. His memory 
 placed before him the pleasant cottage^ and 
 the comely Dame within^ delig'hted to welcome 
 him from the wars : the letter she had written 
 him also prepared him to expect an added 
 welcome; perhaps there was now a sturdy 
 younof Kerr stao-o-erino- alono- the cottao-e 
 floor^ or better stilly a little daughter who 
 would learn to clasp her father's neck with 
 her tender^ fairy arms: as he conjured to 
 himself the pleasant vision^ he longed most 
 earnestly that Master Wilmofs anticipations 
 might prove true^ and that they might have 
 to draw their swords but once more^ and then 
 rest from their wanderings. 
 
 AVhen they reached Calais^ they at once 
 hired a vessel to carry them and their horses 
 to Eno'land. Wilmot had brouo-ht small 
 w^ealth out of his soldier life ; but he was in 
 no mood to make delays about the passage, 
 and he soon agreed to pay the sum demanded 
 for the vessel, which would land him nearly a 
 beo'o'ar on his own shores. As thev knew 
 nothing of what precautions might have been 
 taken by the Parliament to prevent any 
 Eoyalists landing, they determined before-
 
 WILMOT RETURNS. 285 
 
 hand to disembark at night on some secluded 
 spot upon the coast ; and as they passed near 
 the DownS; and saw the fleet at anchor there, 
 with the Parliament flag* fl}' ing* on twelve stout 
 ships, they felt that at least such a precaution 
 would not be needless. 
 
 It was a fine day in the opening- spring* ; 
 the sea w^as not hig'h, and the tide was 
 favourable for their purpose : as the sun 
 sank behind the cliffs, and the dusk of the 
 advancing" evening* cast its shadow over the 
 sea, they stood into the bay that lies between 
 Sandwich and Ramsg*ate ; where they knew of 
 an abrupt break in the cliff as it merg-ed into 
 the swampy flats beyond, by which they mig-ht 
 rise to the high land from the beach. The 
 approach to the shore was dang*erous, and the 
 Frenchman would not bring- his vessel near ; 
 but the skiff was launched, and the horses 
 were lowered carefully over the side into the 
 sea : for a moment Wilmot and Kerr watched 
 them with anxiety, as the animals plunged 
 forwards, unaccustomed to the waves and 
 their sudden liberty, but were immediately 
 relieved by seeing- them swim stoutl}' for the 
 shore. They followed them in the skiff, and
 
 286 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 the horses got soon within their depth ; but 
 then came the most difficult part of their land- 
 ing", for the bottom was a scattered mass of 
 chalk stones fallen from the cliff, and the sea- 
 Aveed adhering' to its surface rendered it doubly 
 difficult for the horses to preserve their foot- 
 ing*. The wind had been gTadually dying* 
 away, and there was fortunately no surf to 
 frig'hten them ; so that Wilmot and Kerr were 
 delig'hted to find, as they examined them on 
 landing*, that beyond a few cuts their steeds 
 had received no serious injury. It was a happy 
 commencement of their enterprise, and aug-ured 
 well for its success in the minds of both ; for 
 any mishap to their horses would have been 
 irreparable: as they led them, panting* fi*om 
 their exertions, throug-h the break in the cliiF 
 to the open fields above, how crowded with 
 associations to them both was every step in 
 that familiar spot ! 
 
 ^^ Thank God ! Master Wilmot, we are in 
 the old place ag*ain." 
 
 Wilmot was too much overpowered with 
 thoug'ht to speak, but with the tears rising* to 
 his eyes, he pressed his faithful follower's hand. 
 How often in his happy childhood had he and
 
 WILMOT RETURNS. 287 
 
 Lucy ridden down this very way to reach the 
 flats beyond, where Kerr had found a heron 
 for their flig'ht ; it was there that their father^ 
 before the war began, had watched them with 
 delig'ht as they first took courag-e to leap their 
 ponies over the dykes that intersected its 
 expanse; and then how often in later times 
 had he and Lucy wandered tog-ether recalling* 
 their happy childhood, and in the dream of 
 love^ thoug'ht nothing- of their future fate. 
 As he advanced in silence along* the well- 
 known path, the sweet thoug-hts of the past 
 that had rested dormant in his hearty swarmed 
 forth like brio-ht-winofed insects from their w in- 
 ter sleep. 
 
 Kerr's cottag-e lay but a short distance 
 from the pathway that led directly to Bellasa- 
 house ; Wilmot determined to accompany him 
 there, and learn from Kerr's wife in the first 
 place news of Lucy : who was in truth the real 
 object of his expedition. They soon reached 
 it ; nothing* was chang-ed from what it was 
 of old : the cheerful light shone throug-h the 
 latticed window, and from within they heard 
 the Dame's soft voice sing-ing- to herself to the 
 drone of the spinning--wheel ; the door was on
 
 288 THE EOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 the latch, and tying- their horses to the wicket^ 
 Kerr entered. For a short time Wilmot re- 
 mained outside^ not wishing- to interrupt their 
 meeting". At the g'limpse he had seen of the 
 neat interior^ there came back upon him 
 strongly the memory of that da}^ when Lucy 
 with her, own hands had arrano*ed the room, 
 to be a model for an English cottage ; and he 
 saw ao-ain her sweet form standino- on the 
 sanded floor : then his thouo*hts returned to 
 the brave follower who had clunof so faith- 
 fully to his fortunes^ and a pang shot through 
 him to think of all the happiness which Kerr 
 had lost for love of him. He was roused from 
 this painful thought by the Dame coming for 
 him to the door. 
 
 ^^ 0^ Master Wilmot ! ^' she cried^ in a voice 
 broken b}^ the sudden joy^ ^^how delighted our 
 young lady wdll be at 3^our return ! It was 
 onl}^ this morning I told her that I knew she 
 would not now have lono- to wait." 
 
 It seemed to him that she ouo-ht to have re- 
 proached him for having- taken away her hus- 
 band for so long ; ^^et her words shewed only 
 interest for another. He kissed her grate- 
 full}^^ and followed her wdthin. Kerr was
 
 WILMOT RETURNS. 289 
 
 standing" by a cradle, and by the lig-lit in the 
 room, Wilmot saw on his wife's face the trace 
 of recent tears : but the}^ were tears of joy. 
 She went fondly to her husband, and put her 
 arms around him : why should they conceal 
 from Master Wilmot the fulness of their hap- 
 piness ? As he joined them, Kerr pointed 
 out to him with silent pride the little occu- 
 pant of the cradle at their feet : the child 
 was softly smiling* in its sleep, and over the 
 pillow was thrown one tiny rounded arm. 
 
 ^^Miss Lucy has called her after herself, 
 and God bless her for it ! " whispered Kerr. 
 
 Ag'ain Lucy's presence came palpably to 
 Wilmot, and threw its own charm into the 
 sweet picture before his eyes : he could stay 
 from her no lono-er. He felt that in that 
 
 CO 
 
 cottage he was himself not wanted for their 
 joy — that was then g'uest enough. 
 
 " My friends," he said, so softly as not to 
 disturb the slumbering- child, " I hope it is 
 not too late for me to see her now ] but as I 
 fear I should be an intruder in my father's 
 house, I will return to sleep here : your hus- 
 band, my kind Dame, will tell you that this cot- 
 tag-e floor will make a luxurious soldier's bed. 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 As he went forth into the nig-ht and left 
 that happy scene behind him^ he could not 
 help turning* again to look upon the cheery 
 casement-light^ and think of the completed 
 joy of that honest pair ; then^ with quickening* 
 steps^ he pushed on for his own home. 
 
 The horses were left at the cottage, and on 
 foot he hurried along* the oft-trod way. As 
 he neared the house, his heart beat louder than 
 it had eV'Cr done in any peril of his soldier's 
 life. From Dame Kerr's g-reeting* he knew 
 that his Lucy was in health, and was, perhaps, 
 looking* forward to his speedy return 5 but in 
 the anticipation of deep joy, there is a feeling* 
 which weig-hs upon the spirit like a pain. He 
 knew that at that hour Lucy would most pro- 
 bably be in the library, and he could see her 
 there without letting" his arrival be g*enerally 
 known. 
 
 He went round the house, and clamber- 
 ing* over the moat into the g-arden, he saw 
 the lights streaming* from the library win- 
 dows, and casting* their reflection on the lawn. 
 Silently he approached, and from the g-loom 
 without looked upon the dear picture, which 
 in memory had so often risen in the lonely
 
 WILMOT RETURNS. 291 
 
 dreaming of his life. The reality was before 
 him now. 
 
 Lucy and the old chaplain were^ as he ex- 
 pected^ the only occupants of the room : the 
 old man was reading-^ as his wont^ but ever 
 and anon he raised his eyes from his book 
 to cast them with a look of tender solicitude 
 upon her. She was seated beside the hearth ; 
 and^ eng-rossed in thoug-ht^ g-azed upon it^ 
 while the brip-ht flame threw its strono- lio-ht 
 upon her form : the tapestry on which she had 
 been eng-ag-ed had fallen to her feet^ and as 
 she sat in her pensive beauty^ unconscious that 
 Wilmot was so near at hand^ he knew that it 
 was his own imao'e which was then dwellinof 
 in those meditative eyes. How beautiful she 
 looked ! Yet there was a shade of sadness on 
 her brow^ and a ling-ering* sorrow had slig-htly 
 thinned the exquisite roundness of her form. 
 
 As Wilmot breathlessly drank in the rapture 
 of her presence^ how did he long' to bid her 
 cease to g-rieve : to tell her that he was come 
 ag^ain ; that their trial was past^ and that, with 
 God to help the rig-ht, he need never leave her 
 more. But at the last he dreaded to startle 
 her by his abrupt return: he was ashamed to
 
 292 THE KOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 think that like a thief he was re-entering* his 
 father's house. He endeavoured to attract 
 the old chaplain's attention ; and at the slig-ht 
 sounds he made^ he was delighted to find him 
 put down his book and listen, while Lucy's 
 reverie was undisturbed. As he repeated the 
 sounds, Daubrej rose and approached the win- 
 dow where he stood ; Lucy half turned towards 
 him when he moved ; but her thoug-hts were far 
 away, and she in truth saw him not. AVhen 
 the chaplain recog'nised his old pupiFs voice, he 
 started ; but, g'liding- softly round, he opened 
 the g'arden entrance, and Wilmot entered. 
 
 '' M}' dear old friend ! " he whispered, as he 
 heartily pressed Daubrey's hand, '' tell her 
 that I am here." 
 
 Lucy had heard the increasing* sounds ; but 
 the room was larg-e, and she could not see into 
 the distant darkness. As she rose, old Dau- 
 bre}^ hurried to her and whispered in her ear : 
 at his words her laro-e eves flashed, her bosom 
 heaved, and with lips half-opened, as if to 
 speak, she turned to where Wilmot stood 3 
 who, no longer able to restrain himself, rushed 
 forward, and with a sob of delig'ht, clasped her 
 in his arms. If there had been no obstacle to
 
 WILMOT KETURNS. 293 
 
 the calm current of their love — if they had 
 never heen forced to part, but had floated on 
 tog-ether in the quiet monotony of content — 
 they would never have known the rapture which 
 thrilled through both their beings then. The 
 pains, the hopes^ the fears^ the torturing- delays 
 of absence^ were all most fully recompensed 
 at last ; and if b}^ a wish they could have done 
 away with the ling-ering- trial of the past two 
 years^ they would not have formed it^ to lose 
 with its recollection the present bliss that in 
 one moment had out-balanced all. 
 
 When the first excitement of their meeting* 
 had subsided^ they found that old Daubrey 
 had stolen from the room^ and that they were 
 alone. 
 
 " Dearest Wilmot/' murmured Lucy — and 
 how tenderly sounded her voice upon his long-- 
 unaccustomed ears ! ^^ I was thinking* of you 
 but now, and the dream has become a reality !" 
 
 Side by side they sat down in their old 
 places by the cheerful fire; the whole room 
 was unchano'ed from what it was in those long* 
 past da3's : the same books looked down upon 
 them from their cases^ and, with the fire-lig-ht 
 shining on them^ smiled down their welcome to
 
 294 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 the wanderer's return : he held her hand in 
 his^ her beautiful head with all its wealth of 
 g'olden hair was lying- on his shoulder^ and her 
 eyes sought loving'ly his own. 
 
 '^ Oh^ Lucy ! " he whispered in that low 
 murmur which deep passion lends^ " it seems 
 to me that our present happiness is too exqui- 
 site for reality^ and I half fear to find it but 
 the dream. And yet I know that it is true : 
 that it is the time to which^ for two long" 
 years^ throug*h fears and doubts^ even when 
 its realisation seemed most distant^ I have 
 ever looked forward as the haven of my hopes. 
 And it has come^ dearest ! sooner than either 
 of us could have once dared to dream." 
 
 And then with rapid utterance he proceeded 
 to explain to her the object of his return to 
 Eng'land, and the foundation on which he had 
 grounded his hopes. Of the exact state of 
 parties in Kent he was yet ig-norant ; but he 
 had heard of the general reaction of feeling* in 
 the county, and had come to join the g-ood 
 work. 
 
 Lucy could give him few particulars, but 
 all she told served more completely to con- 
 firm his confidence. From Dame Kerr she
 
 WILMOT RETURNS. 295 
 
 had learned that some g-reat enterprise was 
 stirring- throug-bout the land, to redeem the 
 captive king- and overset his oppressors ; and 
 she had felt sure that such an attempt would 
 be the sig-nal for Wilmot to return. 
 
 " Thank God ! dear Lucy/' exclaimed he, 
 deriving' encouragement from the words, " that 
 I was not deceived ; for had I only come to find 
 my hopes fall lifeless, I do not think I could 
 have borne it. But no, that could not be ! A 
 mig-hty people may for a time be led into false 
 ways, but the rig-ht must claim its own ; and at 
 their first rising- they will shake off the blind 
 g-uides who led them to their ruin. I have 
 faith in our country yet." 
 
 Poor Lucy had faith in him, and fully 
 shared the confident enthusiasm he expressed. 
 But they had both too much to ask of each 
 other concerning' the Past, to dwell, at their 
 first meeting, upon the chances of that Future 
 which seemed to both so brig-ht. Rapidly 
 Wilmot ran over to her the eventful chano-es 
 of his life since their separation. When he 
 came to speak of his campaig-n, it was 
 his leader Rupert who became the hero of 
 the tale : Rupert, the hero prince of their
 
 296 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 childhood's romance^ now his own friend and 
 g-enerous commander. As he described the 
 stirring' incidents in which Rupert's daring-, 
 g*enerosity^ and chivah'ous spirit were exhi- 
 bited^ his eye kindled with the proud memory 
 of past exploits ; and Lucy, as she listened 
 to his words, felt that in the glorious actions 
 he described, her Wilmot had his share. 
 
 ^^ Ah dearest ! '' she said, with a smile that 
 belied the doubt her words expressed, '^ I fear 
 that in such scenes, and with such compa- 
 nions, poor Lucy must have been forgotten.'' 
 
 He paused for a moment ere he replied, and 
 takino- from his breast the letter and the faded 
 tress that had been so long* his constant com- 
 panions, he displayed those cherished treasures 
 to her happy eyes. 
 
 " Do you remember," said he, ^^ when you 
 wrote me this dear letter of hopeful counsel ? 
 When I received it^ it came upon me like a 
 smile from your own sweet eyes, bidding* 
 despair and despondency to flee. From that 
 time, together with this tress you g-ave me 
 when we parted, I have kept it ever near my 
 heart ; and since then, in all times and places^ 
 whether in danger^ in loneliness, or gloom^
 
 WILMOT RETURNS. 297 
 
 your imag-e has hovered round them both, 
 and taught me to look forward to this present 
 time." 
 
 It then became Lucy's turn to satisfy 
 Wilmot's curiosity on all that had passed 
 around their home, and the passag-es of her 
 own ineventful life, since his departure. Of 
 herself she had indeed little to tell, except 
 that the days had passed so very slowly since 
 Wilmot was away. The dear old chaplain 
 had been her chief companion ; and in his 
 constant kindness and thought for her, he at 
 times even came out of his own student na- 
 ture, and thought of something in the world 
 far more than his loved books. They had, 
 however, read much together; and she was 
 almost afraid that Wilmot would dislike her 
 docile acceptance of the old man's lore. 
 
 How merril}' he laughed at her timid plead- 
 ings for her late pursuits, against his old pre- 
 judice about lady-pedants ', and when she told 
 him that in their frequent talks about the late 
 rebellion, Daubrey had become almost a con- 
 vert to their own loyal enthusiasm, and that 
 his conversion was completed when the Par- 
 liament dismissed from their Fellowships and
 
 298 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 Colleg"es in Oxford all the learned men who 
 refused to sig"n the Covenant — thus making" 
 the old man abandon his neutrality, and allow 
 that learning and letters could never flourish 
 under such men — Wilmot declared stoutly that 
 wdth such a persuader as his Lucy^ there was 
 not a bio'oted Roundhead who would not soon 
 recant his heresies : had she tried the spell of 
 her persuasion upon his brother Richard, or 
 on the musty owner of Armag-eddon-hall? 
 
 Lucy laug'hed at the emphasis of dislike 
 which Wilmot laid upon the mention of the 
 fortunate attorney; his presence made her so 
 light of heart that she could be amused only 
 at the recollection of past annoyances. But her 
 eloquence had not the effect on either, which 
 Wilmot attributed to it : in truth, she had 
 seen little either of his brother or of Elkanah 
 White, and its power had therefore not been 
 tried. During* the last year, Richard had come 
 down to them very rarely ; and though the 
 news of his arrival was always the signal for 
 the inhabitants of the Hall to pay them a 
 lengthy visit, at other times Lucy had been 
 little troubled with their presence. When 
 Richard was with them, he was even more
 
 WILMOT RETURNS. 299 
 
 silent and reserved than formerly^ and she 
 thouofht that he seemed always ill at ease. 
 
 ^^ His conscience smites him for the past/' 
 said Wilmot : " he cannot forg-et .that he has 
 been a traitor to the principles which his 
 fathers ever supported." 
 
 Lucy shook her head doubtfull3^ ^^ It may 
 be so," she replied ', ^^ but^ though I believe that 
 public affairs do not go on as he would wish, 
 I do not think that he would yet alter the line 
 of conduct which he orig"inally chose : it would 
 too much hurt his pride." 
 
 ^^ You have become a close observer^ Lucy," 
 said Wilmot. " Would you accuse me also of 
 this pride?" 
 
 ^' Ah, Wilaiot ! your pride is different : his 
 makes him cold and silent, while you are 
 kind and loving*. You smile at my having* 
 observed so much ; but what I told you of 
 Richard's uneasiness, I learned chiefly from 
 your mother ', who hinted that he feared that 
 the soldier-instruments their party had used to 
 perform the g-ood work, were threatening* ruin 
 to the fabric they had made." 
 
 " Let them turn, and rend each other ! " 
 exclaimed Wilmot, " so will the g-ood cause
 
 300 THE ROYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 rise the speedier from their ruin. But my 
 poor mother^ Lucy ! you mentioned her/' and 
 his heart pained him to think that he had not 
 spoken of her till then: ^Muring* my absence 
 I hope that she has encouraged softer thoughts 
 of me : tell me at least that she is well and 
 happy." 
 
 Lucy drew closer to him^ as if with her 
 own tenderness to make up to him the want 
 of any other love : " Forgive her, dear Wil- 
 mot/' she said, '' I wonder how a mother's 
 heart could be so hard ! AVhen once I spoke 
 of you to her, she told me not to mention 
 again 3'our name before her ) and, that I might 
 hear nothing which should hurt my pride in 
 you, I have obeyed her strictly, and kept 3 our 
 dear name for silent worship in my heart." 
 
 ^^ Dear Lucy!" he answered, ^^ since God has 
 given me so rich a boon as this priceless love 
 of 3'ours, I must not repine at the thought of 
 any other that has been refused. My mother 
 is of a gentle nature ; but from the first her 
 heart has been closed to me. 
 
 ^^ If she is onl}' kind to 3'ou, dearest, I would 
 try to be content." 
 
 In answer to his fui'ther inquiries, he learned
 
 WILMOT RETURNS. 801 
 
 that Lady Gerrard lived much as she had 
 done of old : she attended still the preaching- 
 of the same lecturer, who thundered out his 
 edifying" doctrine of eternal damnation to all 
 who thoug'ht differently to himself; much to 
 the consolation of the hearers who looked upon 
 themselves as safe. She was astonished that 
 Lucy should prefer the cold service of the 
 Church with this old chaplain ; but she had 
 found a more willing* follower in Dame Kerr, 
 who listened most attentively to the villag-e 
 Boanerges, and was in a most perplexed inter- 
 nal conflict between her secret adoption of her 
 husband's Eoyalist doctrines, and her hanker- 
 ing* after her old Presbyterian faith. '^ Dear 
 Dame Kerr ! " continued Lucy, '^ what a com- 
 fort has her kind heart been to me while you 
 were far away ! It was with her only that I 
 could ever talk of you." 
 
 '' And did she never reproach me," asked 
 Wilmot, ^^ for having- taken that noble fellow 
 from her, and joined him to my miserable 
 fortunes ? Ah, Lucy ! you know not how 
 often I have reproached myself for all the 
 happiness I have taken from them both." 
 
 '' Kerr's wife, my Wilmot, knew that her
 
 302 THE KOYALIST AND THE REPUBLICAN. 
 
 husband could enjoy no happiness if he had 
 deserted you ; and I am sure that any such 
 reproach to you was never even g*endered in 
 her heart. The dear little g'irl that God has 
 given her was almost enough to compensate 
 for her husband's loss." 
 
 Talkino* thus of all that could interest them 
 both so much^ the long evening had passed 
 away without their noticing its flight ; but^ at 
 last^ Daubrey returned^ and told them that 
 Lady Gerrard was waiting for Lucy to attend 
 their evening prayer. How the familiar notice 
 came back on Wilmot like a breathing of the 
 olden time ! The long formularies^ that had 
 been so tedious then^ seemed only to him now 
 a portion of those happy days 5 and now he 
 could not join to hear them : he was a stranger 
 in the home of his childhood. As he cordially 
 bade old Daubrey adieu^ he told him to say 
 nothing' of his presence till the morrow, when, 
 if possible, he would himself see his mother ; 
 and then, with one last embrace from Lucy, 
 he left the house as secretly as he had come. 
 
 The old chaplain read the lengthy prayers 
 which Lady Gerrard had selected. Like all 
 things mortal, they came to an end at last,
 
 WILMOT RETURNS. 303 
 
 the domestics g-athered to attend them were 
 dismissed, the house was closed, and the 
 libra ry-lig*hts were shut that had shone so 
 brightly for the wanderer ; and, except in the 
 li^ht heart and happy thoug-hts of one, no 
 trace existed in the house of that wanderer's 
 return. But as long- as the light in Lucy's 
 chamber g-ave out upon the night an intima- 
 tion of her presence, so long* the wanderer 
 ling-ered on the spot, feeding* his craving- pas- 
 sion with the fancy that she still was near. 
 "When that light also disappeared at last, and 
 he tore himself from the loved neighbourhood, 
 its influence rested with him ; and on the clean 
 couch prepared for him by Dame Kerr, there 
 came to his slumber dreams as pure and happy 
 as those which were then passing through his 
 Lucy's maiden brain. 
 
 END OF VOL. I,
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by Stewakt and Mukeat, 
 
 Old Bailey.