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 TO EIGHT THE WKONG 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 NEW NOVELS AT ALL LIBRARIES- 
 
 BAY RONALD. By May Crommelix, Author of 
 ' Queenie,' ' Orange Lily,' ' Miss Daisy Dimity,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 EOBERT CARROLL. By M. E..Le Clerc, Author 
 
 of ' Mistress Beatrice Cope,' &c. 2 vols. 
 
 THE IDEAL ARTIST. By F. Bayford Harrison. 
 3 vols. 
 
 INNES OF BLAIRAVOJS". By Colin Middleton. 
 3 vols. 
 
 KIXGSMEAD. By Henry F. Buller. 3 vols. 
 
 LONDON: HURST k BLACKETT, LIMITED.
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG 
 
 BY 
 
 EDNA LYALL 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 DONOVAN," "WE TWO," "KNIGHT-ERRANT, 
 "IX THE GOLDEN DAYS," ETC. 
 
 But were it the meanest under-service, if God by His secretary conscience 
 enjoin it, it were sad for me if I should draw back.— Milton. 
 
 IX THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LOXDOX : 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1894. 
 
 All Eights Reserved.
 
 "In one sense indeed, what is gained by any great religious 
 movement? What are all reforms, restorations, victories -of 
 truth, but protests of a minority : efforts clogged and incom- 
 plete, of the good and brave, just enough in their own day to 
 stop instant ruin — the appointed means to save what is to be 
 saved, but in themselves failures ? Good men work and suffer, 
 and bad men enjoy their labours and spoil them ; a step is made 
 in advance — evil rolled back and kept in check for a while, only 
 to return perhaps the stronger. But thus, and thus only, is 
 truth passed on and the world preserved from utter corruption." 
 
 Dean Cnvncu—Ansclm.
 
 S£3 
 
 IS^H 
 
 
 - 
 
 jh 
 
 TO 
 
 HAMPDEN AND AMY JAMESON. 
 
 Glory of warrior, glory of orator, glory of song, 
 Paid with a voice flying by to be lost on an endless sea- 
 Glory of Virtue, to fight, to struggle, to right the wrong- 
 Nay, but she aim'd not at glory, no lover of glory she : 
 Give her the glory of going on, and still to be." 
 
 
 Q
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The attempt made in these pages to sketch the 
 character of John Hampden has been a task of much 
 difficulty, owing to the scanty memorials of the great 
 patriot which have been left. Nugent' s Life of 
 Hampden, Forster's short biography in his Statesmen 
 of the Commonwealth, and the brief character sketches 
 of Clarendon, Echard, and others leave one hungering 
 for more. Having learned from Dr. Gardiner that 
 the accounts of Hampden's last moments given in 
 almost all histories are now found to be incorrect, as 
 they were based on Clough's untrustworthy pamphlet, 
 I have ignored them, and have ventured to assume 
 that his friend Arthur Goodwin was, as he himself 
 imagined, the last to speak with him. In Webb's 
 Civil War in Herefordshire, the following letter is 
 given from Arthur Goodwin to his daughter Lady 
 "Wharton : "I am now heere at Hampden in doinge 
 the last duty for the deceased owner of it, of whome 
 every honest man hath a share in the losse, and there- 
 fore will likewise in the sorrowe. All his thoughts 
 and endeavours of his life was zealously in for this 
 cause of God's which he continued in all his sickness, 
 even to his death ; for all I can heere the last words 
 he spake was to mee, though he lived six or seven 
 howers after I came away as in a sleepe : truly, Jenny 
 (and I know you may easily be persuaded to it), he 
 was a gallant man, an honest man, an able man, and 
 take all, I know not to any man living second. God 
 in mercy hath rewarded him. . . I have writ to 
 London for a blacke suite, I pray lett mee begg of 
 you a broad black ribbon to hange about my stan-
 
 Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 darde. . . I would we could all lay it to heart, that 
 God takes away the best amongst us." 
 
 The Earl of Buckinghamshire — who kindly showed 
 me many things connected with his ancestor — still has 
 in his possession a sixteenth-century chalice bearing 
 the inscription, " From this cup John Hampden re- 
 ceived the consecrated wine at the hands of Robert 
 Lenthall, Rector of Great Hampden " ; and as it 
 appears from the church register that Lenthall was 
 not formally inducted till November 30, 1643, but 
 was apparently in charge of the parish in June, it 
 may perhaps be fairly conjectured that the inscrip- 
 tion on the chalice refers to Hampden's last sacrament. 
 
 Through the kindness of the Bishop of Durham 
 and of Colonel Waller, I have been able to study the 
 Letters, Aphorisms and Sermons of Whichcote, and 
 the Vindication and Divine Meditations of Sir William 
 Waller ; of these memorials I have made free 
 use for the conversations in which the two writers 
 take part. I am also much indebted to Mr. Hyett 
 of Painswick House for his interesting pamphlet, 
 Gloucester and Iter Governor during the Great 
 Givil War, and for the kind loan of Bibliotlieca, 
 Gloucestrensis ; while to Canon Venables I owe much 
 information about Lincoln in olden days. The fresco 
 named " The Ladder of Salvation," or the " Ladder 
 of Life," mentioned in Chapter XIII. , Vol. 3, may now 
 be seen in Chaldon Church, near Caterham, the white- 
 wash having some years ago been removed ; and the 
 pamphlet, quoted in the same chapter, was published 
 anonymously in the time of the Commonwealth. 
 
 I should like to add that, in common with all 
 students of the seventeenth century, I feel under the 
 deepest obligation to Dr. Gardiner for his History 
 of the Great Givil War, and owe him, indeed, my 
 special thanks for a book which cheered many tedious 
 hours of illness. 
 
 EDNA LYALL.
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Two lads, that thought there was no more behind 
 But such a day to-morrow as to-day, 
 And to be boy eternal. — Shakspere. 
 
 The hot rays of a July sun were beating 
 down upon two riders who, with tired and 
 foam-flecked steeds, were making their way 
 along a ridge of country overlooking the 
 fens of Lincolnshire. All about them lay 
 the wide green expanse, gleaming here and 
 there with the watery tracks which divided 
 the few reclaimed fields, for in Lincolnshire, 
 as a wit once remarked, " the very hedges 
 are ditches." 
 
 Apparently, however, neither the heat 
 nor the monotony of the landscape affected 
 
 ' VOL. I. B
 
 2 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 the spirits of the travellers, who were 
 talking and laughing merrily enough. 
 They were both young — standing that day, 
 as it were, at the threshold of manhood — 
 for they had just taken their degree at 
 Cambridge, and now "the world lay all 
 before them," and to each the prospect with 
 its unknown chances and opportunities 
 seemed good. 
 
 Although there w T as no striking likeness 
 between the two, it was easy to tell by their 
 voices and by certain tricks of expression 
 and bearing that they were brothers, and 
 possibly on account of the essential un- 
 likeness of their characters they were also 
 the closest friends. Joscelyn Hey worth, 
 the elder of the tw T o by a year, w^as the 
 more striking and original, he was also on 
 account of his bonhomie and his ready wit 
 the more popular, while a sort of latent 
 strength and unexpected force of character 
 which showed itself now and then beneath 
 his lis;ht-hearted sociabilitv, attracted to 
 him almost invariably those of the highest 
 type. The younger brother, Dick, though
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 3 
 
 possessing much of Joscelyn 's charm, was 
 lacking in the strength as well as in the 
 brilliancy so noticeable in the elder brother. 
 He was less to be depended on — drifting 
 sometimes from sheer good-nature into 
 dangers from which the other's less pliable 
 nature ran no risk whatever. On the other 
 hand, in evenness of temper the younger 
 was far superior to the elder, and if Dick 
 needed on occasion to be helped out of some 
 scrape, or prevented by Joscelyn from 
 sowing his wild oats, Joscelyn needed very 
 often indeed to be roused from the fits of 
 deep melancholy to which, in common with 
 most high-spirited people, he was liable. 
 The two were like David and Jonathan, 
 being all the more dependent on each other 
 because circumstances had thrown them 
 together almost constantly ; and on this 
 summer morning there was nothing to warn 
 them of coming changes, nothing to make 
 them realise how important a date this 13th 
 day of July in the year 1642 was to prove 
 for each of them. 
 
 " Thank heaven ! there is Lincoln Minster
 
 4 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 at last ! " exclaimed Joscelyn, as he perceived 
 far in advance the grand central tower, and 
 the smaller towers of the west front with 
 their lead-covered spires clearly outlined 
 against the sky. 
 
 " Hurrah for the jolly Spread Eagle and 
 a draught of good ale ! " said Dick, pushing 
 back the hair from his forehead. " This 
 sun is grilling ! We will put up our horses 
 below hill and go up in the cool of the day 
 to pay our respects to your old godfather." 
 
 " I hate the thought of coming to this 
 place no more," said Joscelyn, looking over 
 the green plain to the towers of the lower 
 city, and to the hill beyond, cross-crowned 
 by its glorious cathedral. 
 
 " Who knows that we shall come no 
 more?" said Dick, lightly; " Mr. Gains- 
 borough may live to be a hundred years old 
 for aught we know." 
 
 Joscelyn shook his head. 
 
 "Now that our Cambridge days are over 
 the visits here will no longer be a saving of 
 money but an expense. We shall be kept 
 down in the south. You will see, we shall
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 5 
 
 settle down at Sbortell and turn into 
 Hampshire hogs ! " He stifled a sigh and 
 lausdied. 
 
 o 
 
 " A Hampshire hog, a Surrey dog, or a 
 Sussex boor," said Dick, with a grimace. 
 " We are near enough to the boundaries of 
 all three counties to leave us some choice. 
 Do you guess our father's intentions towards 
 us l . 
 
 Joscelyn shook his head. 
 
 " Naught has been said ; in my last letter 
 I told him of our wish to travel. Maybe at 
 Lincoln he will send us some reply." 
 
 " He did not crodae it to Jervis, but he 
 will grudge it to us," said Dick, with an 
 oath. " Would to God you were the first- 
 born instead of Jervis ! I mio-ht then have 
 stood a chance of receiving something better 
 than snubs. 'Tis a wretched lot to be 
 merely second and third fiddle all one's 
 born days." 
 
 "Nay, you have little cause to grumble," 
 said Joscelyn. " Was it not ever the 
 youngest son who proved successful in all 
 the nursery tales ? But I — the prosaic
 
 G TO RIGHT THE WKONG. 
 
 middle one in a family of five — have 
 nothing before me but mediocrity to the 
 end of the chapter. Jervis must be home 
 again from the grand tour by now. I 
 wonder if he is at Shortell, or if he has 
 already joined my father at York." 
 
 " At Beverley, you should say. The 
 Court has left York by this. Great heaven ! 
 Just look yonder ! Why the road is black 
 with people ! " The two brothers, who had 
 journeyed that morning from Grantham, 
 were now approaching the Eleanor Cross 
 just outside the city, the first of the long 
 series of monuments marking the restino- 
 places of King Edward's wife, and terminat- 
 ing at the village of Charing, near London. 
 
 At this point a road from the south-west 
 joined the one they had been travelling on, 
 and it was clear that from this western 
 quarter some great arrival was expected, 
 for on either side the way was lined with 
 people in holiday trim. 
 
 Joscelyn, who loved excitement and 
 delighted in crowds, urged on his steed till, 
 on reaching the Eleanor Cross, he paused
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 7 
 
 to ask an old countryman what was the 
 meaning of the unusual stir. 
 
 " Marry, God bless your heart, master, 
 his Majesty the King be a-coomin' from 
 Newark," replied the man, lifting a wrinkled 
 and weather-beaten face to his questioner. 
 " Oh, ay, it be true as gospel, and I've left 
 my be-usts (cattle) that I may clap eyes on 
 him." 
 
 " The King coming here ! " exclaimed 
 Joscelyn ; " I wonder if my father will be in 
 his train ? If so, Dick, good luck for us. 
 We will do what we can to get leave to 
 travel, and who knows but my godfather 
 may put in a word for us ? " 
 
 " Perchance my father will wish us to 
 join the King's army," said Dick, whose 
 heart stirred strangely within him at the 
 sight of the people's enthusiasm. " After 
 all 'tis somewhat churlish to set off travelling 
 to foreign parts when our swords might be 
 of use in defending both Church and King 
 — in upholding the divine right of " 
 
 " For God's sake let us have no politics ! " 
 said Joscelyn, with an air of impatience and
 
 8 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 distaste, " As for me," and lie laughed a 
 hearty, boyish laugh, " I hold with Sir 
 Andrew Aguecheek, and had ' as lief be a 
 Brownist as a politician.' What do you 
 say, shall we wait here and see the 
 entry ? " 
 
 " Better push on," said Dick, " we shall 
 get no stabling for the horses else. The 
 city is certain to be crowded." 
 
 " True. That's a prudent thought," replied 
 Joscelyn. " AVhat good fortune to come 
 in for such a pageant ! 'Tis a good omen 
 that our manhood opens with such a stroke 
 of luck." 
 
 With keen interest he watched the busy 
 preparations and the eager people, making 
 laughing comments to his brother as they 
 passed by. Many glances were turned upon 
 him, for, as one old gossip remarked to 
 another, he was indeed " a sight for sair 
 een " as he rode that day into the city of 
 Lincoln. 
 
 His face was a powerful as well as a 
 handsome one ; there was power in the 
 square jaw and prominent chin, power in
 
 TO EIGHT THE WROXG. 9 
 
 the low broad forehead, and both intellect 
 and humour in the far-seeing, dark-blue 
 eyes which, with his sunny and laughter- 
 loving nature, had been the bequest of his 
 Irish grandmother. As though to soften 
 the rather stern features, his complexion 
 was unusually fair, while the thick wavy 
 mass of hair reaching to his shoulders was 
 of so golden a colour that one might have 
 dropped guineas among it. He wore the 
 picturesque costume of the time in light- 
 grey cloth, a broad grey felt hat with blue 
 plumes, and high riding-boots. 
 
 Richard Hey worth was also a handsome 
 fellow, his hair and colouring several shades 
 darker than his brother's, and his honest 
 grey eyes fuil of good-humour. But whereas 
 Joscelyn was broad-shouldered, lean, and 
 sinewy, evidently a born athlete, Dick was 
 small-made, long-necked, and rather inert- 
 looking, so that naturally one would have 
 expected the warlike spirit to animate the 
 elder brother, and the desire to visit the 
 cities of the Continent to have fdled the 
 mind of the younger. While, however,
 
 10 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 Dick at Cambridge had invariably been 
 ready to drink confusion to the Koundheads 
 and to argue with all the heat and ignorance 
 of youth, Joscelyn had always turned a 
 deaf ear to the vexed question of the day. 
 He hated strife and loved merriment — 
 politics bored him, and though the country 
 seemed to stand on the very brink of war, 
 he still held aloof from all consideration 
 or discussion of the problem that was 
 dividing England. He was one of those 
 who cannot see matters of this sort in the 
 abstract, one of those who sleep calmly on 
 till wakened by the actual presence of the 
 problem incarnate — till some individual case 
 of wrong clutches hold of them and shakes 
 them from a pleasant dreamland into the 
 light of truth. 
 
 Lincoln in those days must have been 
 one of the most striking cities in England, 
 and to Joscelyn Hey worth it was a place 
 full of pleasant associations, for happy as 
 his life had been, and much as he loved 
 the old Hampshire home, yet it was here, 
 at Lincoln, that he had first tasted the
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 11 
 
 delights of freedom. At Shortell Manor 
 he was for ever being reminded that lie 
 was merely one of the younger sons, and 
 though the Hey worths were a singularly 
 united family, with a strong feeling for the 
 ties of blood, yet Lady Heyworth ruled 
 somewhat sternly, and Sir Thomas treated 
 all but Jervis and Isabella, the eldest 
 daughter, with a good deal of kindness 
 but with scant consideration. At Lincoln 
 naturally enougli all was different, and it 
 was with a gay heart and friendly eyes that 
 Joscelyn glanced up at tlie great Bargate, 
 the first of the gate-houses protecting the 
 city on the south. With something of the 
 pride of an actual citizen, too, he looked 
 at the beautiful church of St. Botolph, 
 and fording the great Gowt — a watercourse 
 which at that time traversed the High 
 Street — rode past the old Saxon towers 
 of St. Peter-at-Gowts and St. Mary-le- 
 Wigford on the right hand, the more 
 modern churches of St. Mark and St. 
 Benedict on the left, and with no small 
 difficulty forced a passage through the
 
 12 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 great crowd of people on the High 
 Bridge. 
 
 " Let us see if there is stabling to be 
 had at the Spread Eagle," said Dick. 
 
 But one of the ostlers promptly assured 
 them that there was no room at all in 
 the inn, many of the gentry having come 
 to the city that day to do honour to his 
 Majesty. Finding the same state of things 
 at the Saracen's Head, the brothers betook 
 themselves to the George Inn, a quaint 
 old timber building with an upper storey 
 overhanging; the narrow Hiorh Street and 
 gaining a fine view of the Stonebow, another 
 of the city gate-houses. 
 
 By the time they had donned their best 
 suits, and made as good a meal as might 
 be obtained from the excited people of the 
 inn, the crowd without had enormously 
 increased, and though Joscelyn was not 
 without a desire to be down in the thick 
 of it, he yielded to his brother's assurances 
 that they would see all that was to be seen 
 far better from the window of the George. 
 So with the casement flung wide they
 
 TO EIGHT THE WftONG. 13 
 
 established themselves comfortably on the 
 broad window-seat, and with a dish of 
 strawberries within easy reach idly awaited 
 the event of the day, chatting as comfortably 
 and unconcernedly as though beneath this 
 popular gathering there lurked no grim 
 shadow of coming; strife. 
 
 " Look ! look ! " cried Dick, " here come 
 whole troops of clergy filing through the 
 Stonebow ! We shall see your godfather 
 among them. How far do thev go to meet 
 his Majesty?" 
 
 " There walks the Dean," said Joscelyn, 
 " and good Lord ! what hosts of them ! 
 why the place is all a-crawl with parsons. 
 They can push their way no farther, they 
 mean to wait here. And see ! from the 
 other quarter comes our jolly old ' liercle- 
 groome ' that we met at the cross ; he is 
 determined to clap eyes on the King from 
 the best possible point." 
 
 He turned back to the room for a fresh 
 handful of strawberries, then leant out 
 once more, his eyes full of merriment, for 
 to an acute observer a crowd will generally
 
 14 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 furnish plenty of fun. He was intent on 
 throwing down strawberries to a child just 
 below in its mother's arms, when shouts 
 from the distance warned them that his 
 Majesty was at length coming. The dense 
 throng in the street cheered lustily ; cries 
 of "A Kin of ! a Kinp- ! a King ! " echoed 
 on all sides, and the general enthusiasm 
 touched Joscelyn, it even brought the tears 
 to his eyes. " What a thing it must be 
 to have such love as this thrown at one's 
 feet ! " he thought. " A king must surely 
 be moved by such a sight, must burn to 
 serve his people." And with an eager 
 desire w T hich he had never before felt he 
 longed to see the face of his sovereign, 
 realising through the loving welcome of 
 the crowd something of the strength of 
 the King's position, something too of its 
 dread responsibility. 
 
 And now indeed the procession was 
 actually in sight, and looking dowm the 
 High Street he could see the frantic waving 
 of hats, the drawn swords of the gentry 
 eaorer to swear their readiness to fight,
 
 TO RIGHT THE WEONG. 15 
 
 and, surrounded by the guard, his Majesty 
 himself, the one unmoved person in the 
 whole vast assembly. With reverent loyalty 
 fast changing to a sort of dread curiosity, 
 Joscelyn gazed fixedly at the approaching 
 King. Charles, unfortunately, had none 
 of the genial bearing and habit of courting 
 popularity which had stood the Tudors in 
 such good stead, and without which their 
 despotic government would never have 
 been tolerated ; his affections were strictly 
 limited to his domestic circle, and in no 
 sense of the word could he be called the 
 father of his people ; cold, indifferent, re- 
 served, he had nothing to give in return 
 for all the devotion of this multitude. 
 
 " Vivat Eex ! Vivat Eex ! " shouted the 
 hundreds of clergy ranged on either side 
 of the street : and in the words of a pam- 
 phleteer of the day, an eye-witness of the 
 scene, " His Majesty vouchsafed a princely 
 recognition of this dutiful expression." 
 
 So narrow was the street, so overhanging 
 the upper storey of the inn, that the two 
 brothers at their window w 7 ere on a level
 
 16 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 with the King and quite near to him. 
 Dick Heyworth stood, sword in hand, 
 huzzaing; with all the strength of his lungs, 
 but Joscelyn seemed like one struck dumb, 
 he forgot himself altogether, and merely 
 stood there in the window watching, as 
 though his very life depended on it, the 
 cold, handsome face and dignified bearing 
 of the King. 
 
 At that moment a cry was raised which 
 overpowered by its strange contrast the 
 shouts of welcome. To the right of the 
 Stonebow, from the Prison Lane, a man 
 came elbowing his way through the crowd. 
 
 " Justice ! " he cried, "justice ! " and the 
 word rang out with a passionate pain 
 indescribable. 
 
 Joscelyn's heart gave a bound, he looked 
 at this daring unit in the throng who had 
 ventured to uplift his voice. For an instant 
 he saw him distinctly, and all his life he 
 could recall the sight. A bloodless face 
 lined with suffering, dark hair closely 
 cropped after the fashion of the extreme 
 section among the Puritans, a nose slit by
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 17 
 
 the shears of the executioner, ghastly scars 
 where there should have been ears ; a mere 
 wreck of a man, in fact, a living witness 
 to the barbarous intolerance of the age, for 
 he was clearly no criminal, the face though 
 tinged with fanaticism was nevertheless a 
 good face. It was only for a minute that 
 he was visible, for the people turned upon 
 him in fury, and with oaths and blows he 
 was hustled off the scene. The King;, no 
 more affected by the incident than he would 
 have been by the hum of a wasp or the 
 drone of a bee, turned to Sir John Monson 
 and commanded him to read the speech 
 which had been prepared by his Majesty 
 for the occasion. This ceremony ended, 
 the city delivered its congratulations by the 
 Recorder, Sir Charles Dalison, and the King, 
 returning a gracious extempore answer, 
 passed through the Stonebow and bowed 
 to the Corporation, which awaited him with 
 a full appearance of their trained bands. 
 
 Meanwhile Joscelyn Hey worth had awaked 
 from his dream ; he had realised that there 
 were grievances which called for redress, 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 and lie had learnt that the King was 
 utterly unmoved by these grievances ; his 
 heart was all in a tumult, he turned 
 hastily to the old landlady who had been 
 looking from one of the other windows 
 at the King's entry. 
 
 " Who was that Roundhead fellow that 
 cried out for justice ? " he asked. " Doth 
 he belong to these parts ? " 
 
 " Why, yes, master," said the good dame, 
 wondering at the question. "He be well 
 known in Lincoln. 'Tis John Drake the 
 schoolmaster, he was sent to prison in 
 foreign parts. The Parliament they re- 
 leased him." 
 
 " Why was he imprisoned ? " asked 
 Joscelyn. 
 
 " He wrote a book against the Bishoos " 
 
 O J. ' 
 
 said the landlady, " and the Star Chamber 
 condemned him for it to the pillory, and 
 that was how he lost his ears and the shape 
 of his nose, to say nothing of his money ; 
 and when he coom back from prison, why 
 he found his wife and children had died, 
 and it's mv belief that half turned his
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 19 
 
 brain, for though before he was a peace- 
 able, harmless man, yet now he be always, 
 as you saw him to-day, wild-like and crying 
 for justice." 
 
 Joscelyn thought of the people who had 
 kicked and hustled him out of sight, and he 
 thought of the King's cold indifference ; 
 had they treated a dog even in such a way 
 surely one might have expected a shade of 
 pity or concern on the face of a good and 
 compassionate man ; and this fanatic, this 
 mutilated schoolmaster, was one of the 
 King's own subjects. 
 
 " Where doth the fellow live ? " he asked, 
 filled with an unaccountable desire to make 
 up to the poor man for the ill-treatment he 
 had received. 
 
 " Well, I've heard folks say that he 
 lodges at the Jew's house on Steep Hill," 
 said the landlady. " Not the one opposite 
 the Bull Ring, but what they call the 
 House of Aaron the Jew, well-nigh at the 
 top o' the hill." 
 
 The conversation was interrupted by an 
 exclamation from Dick.
 
 20 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " Good luck, Joscelyn ! good luck ! " he 
 cried. " See, here rides my father." 
 
 Joscelyn returned to the window, and the 
 perplexity died out of his nice as he burst 
 into a hearty laugh. 
 
 " Why, as I'm a living man ! " he cried, 
 "there's Jervis riding? beside him, wearing. 
 a lovelock a yard long, tied with sky-blue 
 ribbons ! " 
 
 "The grand tour has changed him might- 
 ily," said Dick. " Was there ever such a 
 dandy ? See how my father defers to 
 him — there's after all little hope for us, 
 I fear." 
 
 But Joscelyn had ceased to think of the 
 future, he was only intent on catching 
 his fathers eye, and bluff Sir Thomas, 
 presently perceiving him, called out a hearty 
 greeting and bade him hasten below and 
 meet them. 
 
 Both Joscelyn and Dick hurried down to 
 the door, and Sir Thomas dismounting 
 embraced them, looking; them over from 
 head to foot not without a good deal of 
 fatherly pride.
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 21 
 
 " Glad to see you, my sons ! glad to see 
 you ! " he said. " Why, Jervis, it's an age 
 since you set eyes on them." 
 
 Jervis's greeting was decidedly flavoured 
 with patronage, and Joscelyn was glad to 
 turn again to his father. 
 
 " You have ridden straight from Newark, 
 sir ? " he asked. 
 
 " Ay, right away, and we are well-nigh 
 broiled," said the baronet, taking off his 
 beaver and wiping his red face as they 
 mounted the stairs. 
 
 He was a fine-looking man of about fifty, 
 but appearing older on account of his grey 
 hair and shaggy grey eye-brows. His eyes, 
 rather small and deep-set, were of a clear, 
 light blue, utterly unlike the Irish blue of 
 Joscelyns ; his mouth betrayed an irritable 
 temperament, but in other details he was 
 not unlike his second son ; there was the 
 same rather stern profile, the same tall, 
 broad - shouldered frame, and the same 
 strange attractiveness which made him, with 
 all his faults, a most lovable man. 
 
 " TTe left Cambridge but yesterday, .sir,"
 
 22 TO EIGHT THE WKONG. 
 
 explained Joscelyn, as they entered the 
 parlour once more, " slept last night at 
 the An^el at Grantham, and rode on here 
 just in time to see the King's entry. We 
 had no notion his Majesty was expected." 
 
 " It was but a hastily-devised plan," said 
 Sir Thomas, setting down his tankard of ale 
 and calling for a plate of beef. " We have 
 had naught but chopping and changing of 
 late ; first from York to Beverley, where 
 his Majesty hath a fine set of troo]3s ready 
 to fight the Parliamentary villains ; thence 
 to Hull, which is still held by the traitor 
 Hotham ; after that to Newark, and so here. 
 Jervis and I must return with the Court 
 to-morrow to Beverley, but as for you two 
 lads, you had best return to Shortell at once 
 and help to execute the commission of array. 
 On your way down you can stop to consult 
 with your uncle at Bletchingley, and ere 
 lono- I shall be at home to see to matters 
 
 o 
 
 myself." 
 
 " Do you mean, sir, that you intend to 
 raise a troop ? " asked Joscelyn, all his old 
 perplexity returning.
 
 TO BIGHT THE WRONG. 23 
 
 " Why, of course, lad, of course ; what 
 else would you have me do % Things would 
 be come to a pretty pass indeed if an 
 English gentleman hesitated to put all he 
 had at the disposal of his King. I thank 
 God that He has given me wealth and 
 health and three stalwart sons to join with 
 me against the foe." 
 
 Jervis, who had taken a place at the table 
 just opposite to Joscelyn, watched him criti- 
 cally during this speech. 
 
 " Methinks Cambridge is somewhat be- 
 hind the times," he said, with a smile. 
 " Joscelyn has the air of one roused from 
 the land of books to the work-a-day world. 
 In the words of the proverb, ' This cock will 
 not fight,''' 
 
 Joscelyn flushed angrily and turned to his 
 father. 
 
 " I have kept aloof from politics, sir," 
 he said ; " and this certain news of war, 
 this active preparation, bursts on me as 
 a surprise. I had always thought some 
 peaceful settlement would be made. For 
 the rest, if war indeed come, I can
 
 24 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 fight for the right as well as any other 
 Englishman." 
 
 " Bravely spoken ! " said Sir Thomas. 
 " Come, boys, let us have a toast : Con- 
 fusion to the King's enemies ! " 
 
 "Confusion to the Kind's enemies !" 
 echoed the three sons, but as Joscelyn drank 
 there darted into his mind an uncomfortable 
 question — 
 
 " And who are his true enemies ? " 
 
 It was exactly as though a voice spoke 
 the words into his ear, and indeed the 
 question was the last that would have 
 naturally occurred to him. Startled and 
 agitated, he pushed back his chair, and 
 crossing the room gazed out of the window 
 again at the crowded street. The motley 
 gathering, however, had no longer any 
 charms for him ; like one in a dream he 
 watched the people fighting their way 
 through the three arches of the Stonebow, 
 while above them, carved on the old gate- 
 house in strange contrast of repose, he could 
 see the representation of the Virgin Mary 
 trampling underfoot the dragon as she
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 25 
 
 received the message of the Archangel 
 Gabriel. His peace-loving nature turned 
 with relief to the calm picture in stone. 
 At least of this he was sure, that in the end 
 evil was to be overpowered by good. What- 
 ever else was uncertain there remained the 
 one great certainty, that peace and goodwill 
 should ultimately reign among men. For 
 Joscelyn had a sort of vigorous faith which 
 had grown with his growth and strengthened 
 with his strength • and the vague discomfort 
 that had now seized upon him came solely 
 from his dread of doing wrong through his 
 political ignorance. An unexpected call had 
 come to him to help his father in executing 
 the commission of array, and but a few 
 minutes before he had become conscious 
 that the question at issue was a painfully 
 complicated one, and that for him at any 
 rate it was now impossible to rush into the 
 King's service without trying to gain a true 
 understanding of the actual quarrel. 
 
 And yet how was this possible for him ? 
 With the best intentions, how could he now 
 all at once gain the knowledge he so sorely
 
 26 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 needed % In a miserable state of unrest, 
 with a suppressed dread which he failed to 
 understand, he tried desperately to see where 
 his duty lay, and while still making as 
 though he were absorbed in contemplation 
 of the crowd, he was really praying with 
 the passionate fervour of one who sees him- 
 self encompassed by perils. Then he stood 
 still and waited in expectancy, but all that 
 came to him was the trampling of feet and 
 the buzz of tongues from the street below, 
 while from within came the sound of Jervis's 
 voice, singing, not too soberly, a mocking 
 song of the day. 
 
 " Come, let the state stay 
 
 And drink away, 
 There is no business above it ; 
 
 It warms the cold brain, 
 
 Makes us speak in high strain, 
 He's a fool that does not approve it. 
 
 The Macedon youth 
 
 Left behind him this truth, 
 That nothing is done with much thinking ; 
 
 He drunk and he fought, 
 
 Till he ha 1 what he sought ; 
 The world was his own by good drinking." 
 
 The words fell jarringly on his ear. Was 
 this devil's argument to be shouted out so
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 27 
 
 clearly, and was no help to come to him in 
 his perplexity 1 All at once he remembered 
 his old godfather. If he could not see a 
 way out of his difficulties there was at any 
 rate something; he ou<rht to do at the 
 present moment, and finding Dick little 
 disposed to go with him, he set forth alone, 
 relieved to get out of the inn parlour into 
 the o;av, crowded Higdi Street.
 
 28 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 It is curious to observe the triumph of slight 
 incidents over the mind — what incredible weight 
 they have in forming and governing our opinion, 
 both of men and things ! — that trifles light as air 
 should waft a belief into the soul, and plant it so 
 immovably within it, that Euclid's demonstra- 
 tions, could they be brought to batter it in breach, 
 should not all have power to overthrow it ! 
 
 Sterne. 
 
 The fresh summer air and the bright sun- 
 shine soon restored Joscelyn's mind to its 
 usual happy content. Passing the churches 
 of St. Peter-at- Arches, St. Lawrence, and 
 St. Martin, he entered the Strait, a gloomy, 
 narrow thoroughfare leading from the High 
 Street to the foot of Steep Hill. Here he 
 overtook some old friends, Henry Barrington 
 and his pretty sister, and what with their
 
 TO EIGHT THE WROXG. 29 
 
 merry talk and the bright eyes of Mistress 
 Anne, future cares were driven still farther 
 into the background. 
 
 " You must come to us this evening/' she 
 said, gaily. " We are to have a dance in 
 honour of his Majesty's visit. How lucky 
 that you should have arrived in time for 
 this gala-day." 
 
 " Nay, come and stay with us altogether," 
 said Henrv Barrington ; " for, as no doubt 
 you have heard, old Mr. Gainsborough is 
 taken ill, and you will have but a dull time 
 of it there." 
 
 " Is he ill ? " said Joscelyn, anxiously. 
 " I had heard naught of that. I must go 
 on at once and ask how he does. And for 
 your invitation to the dance, Mistress Anne, 
 I gladly accept it." 
 
 She gave him a bright, mischievous 
 glance, for Joscelyn Heyworth was one of 
 the three admirers whom she favoured, and 
 stood quite apart from a score or so of less 
 fortunate adorers. At present, however, he 
 was not so much in love with her as he had 
 once fancied was the case, merely regarding
 
 30 TO RIGHT THE WKONG. 
 
 her as the prettiest girl lie had as yet seen 
 and the pleasantest to talk with. 
 
 Having parted with them towards the 
 top of the hill, and watched the last 
 glimpse of Anne's blue skirt as it turned 
 the corner, he suddenly came back to his 
 perplexities with a pang of remembrance, 
 at sight of the Jew's house which he was 
 just approaching. In a moment the scene 
 at the Stonebow flashed back into his mind, 
 and once more that unwelcome voice spoke 
 to him with startling clearness : " Go, see 
 him at once — he was unjustly used." 
 
 Not without a certain reluctance lie 
 approached the old stone house, and, 
 pausing at the Norman doorway, knocked 
 for admittance. 
 
 "What is your will?" said a pale-faced 
 woman, opening to him. 
 
 " I came to inquire after a Mr. John 
 Drake ; they told me he lodged here," said 
 Joscelyn. 
 
 The woman looked doubtfully at his 
 dress and at the mane of golden hair ; she 
 seemed half inclined to shut the door in his
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 31 
 
 face, but the kindly look in his blue eyes 
 disarmed her. 
 
 " If you wish him well, sir, step in," 
 she said ; " but he has not long to live, 
 and I will not have him pestered at the 
 last," 
 
 "What!" cried Joscelyn. "You don't 
 mean that he was seriously injured by the 
 crowd ? " 
 
 "No," she replied. "Twas not the 
 crowd that killed him, 'twas his own 
 excitement. He had been ill in bed for 
 a se'nnight or more, but to-day, when my 
 back was turned, he dressed himself and. 
 went down-hill, beino; frantic-like at news 
 of the Kings entrance. I'm naught but 
 his landlady ; yet, sir, I care for him as 
 though he were my own kin." 
 
 She led the way into an inner room, 
 where, in the somewhat dim light, Joscelyn 
 presently descried the face that had haunted 
 him, almost as w T hite now as the pillow it 
 lay upon. John Drake fixed his dark eyes 
 on the stranger for a minute, then turned 
 to his landlady.
 
 32 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " I would see none but the godly in my 
 last extremity," he said. 
 
 " Nay, sir," said the good woman. " But 
 this gentleman hath a kind heart, and 
 would know how you fare. Maybe he is, 
 after all, a godly youth." 
 
 " His clothing is too bright, and his hair 
 is not of the godly cut," said the Puritan. 
 
 At any other time Joscelyn would have 
 laughed aloud, but in the near presence of 
 death a sort of awe stilled even his keen 
 sense of humour. He felt nothing but a 
 desire to help in some way this man wdio 
 had been slowly done to death. 
 
 " Don't heed me," he said ; "I am only 
 one who saw the doings just now at the 
 Stonebow, and would fain have sheltered 
 you from the rough usage. Is there aught 
 I could do for you now ? " 
 
 The dying man did not speak for some 
 minutes, he only looked steadfastly at his 
 visitor ; it was as if he now saw something 
 beyond the fashionable clothes and the gay 
 colours and the loii£ hair. 
 
 " I misjudged you, sir," he said at length.
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 33 
 
 " ' Blessed are the merciful, for they shall 
 obtain mercy.' Nay, there is little I need, 
 now ; the prison life sowed the seeds of 
 death in me, and sorrow and want have 
 finished the work." 
 
 His very lack of complaint touched 
 Joscelyn ; he looked down on the poor, 
 marred face with infinite pity. What a life 
 this man had led ! what misery he had 
 endured ! how cruel had the world been to 
 him ! and now he was dying, and the time 
 for " kindly deeds and offices of good " was 
 over. 
 
 " I wish your life had been less sad, sir," 
 he said, with a sort of break in his voice, 
 " and I wish there were aught I could do 
 for you." 
 
 The dying man started up with sudden 
 energy, and caught his hand with an eager, 
 almost convulsive, grasp. 
 
 "Too late for me," he said, " but in 
 God's name think of the thousands in like 
 case. Give your life for England and her 
 liberties. Fight for justice — for justice ! " 
 
 With that word on his lips — the first 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 word and the last that Joscelyn had heard 
 him speak — John Drake fell back upon the 
 pillow. His troubled life was over. 
 
 Joscelyn staggered back from the bedside, 
 feeling as if some one had dealt him a 
 stunning blow. Within a couple of hours 
 there had come to him a call to arms from 
 either side. His father bade him help 
 to prepare a troop in Hampshire, this dying 
 Puritan solemnly adjured him, in the name 
 of God. to fio'ht for the liberties of England. 
 It seemed to him the very irony of fate 
 that this should have happened to one 
 whose tastes were wholly peaceful, and he 
 w T ondered impatiently why he could not 
 return to his old, comfortable, easy-going 
 life. But his sleep was over, his dream 
 ended ; already his boyhood seemed far 
 behind, and life — hard, perplexing, baffling 
 life — lay before him. 
 
 Then he remembered that he must hasten 
 on to see old Mr. Gainsborough, if possible ; 
 and full of anxiety to find out the truth 
 about his illness, he took a hurried leave 
 of the landlady of the Jew's house, and,
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 35 
 
 mounting the rest of the hill, made his way 
 through the Exchequer Gate into the Close 
 — or, as it was usually called, the Minster 
 Yard. 
 
 From the north-west tower Great Tom of 
 Lincoln rang solemn welcome to the King, 
 and in the sunshine of that summer after- 
 noon the rich Norman work of the west 
 front seemed to Joscelyn more perfect than 
 ever ; he wondered whether John Drake 
 had grudged the beauty of the cathedral, 
 and whether, if he and his like had their 
 way, all the noblest buildings in England 
 would be levelled with the ground. Walking 
 past the beautiful Galilee porch, and the 
 still more beautiful south doorway, he 
 imagined to himself an army of John 
 Drakes at work with hammer and axe, not 
 for their legitimate use but for destruction 
 — for sawing off, perhaps, the exquisitely- 
 chiselled head of the Christ in the centre of 
 the south doorway, or for dragging the 
 stone saints from their niches. This side 
 of Puritanism revolted him ; and yet the 
 memory of the dead man, of his poor
 
 36 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 mutilated face, of his pitiful story, kept 
 returning to him till his wrath against the 
 image-breakers turned to wrath with the 
 cruelties of Laud, and in resenting the 
 defacing; of human beings he forgot to think 
 of the foolish attacks on art. 
 
 Mr. Gainsborough lived in an old red- 
 tiled house facing the east end of the 
 cathedral, and near the chapter-house. It 
 was long and low, with curious old windows 
 dating from the reign of Edward III. 
 Joscelyn noticed that the curtains of his 
 godfather's bedroom were closely drawn, 
 and the moment the old serving-man opened 
 the door to him he saw that Henry Barring- 
 ton had not exaggerated the news of the 
 illness. 
 
 " The master will never be about again," 
 explained the old servant in reply to his 
 question. " He may linger on for a time, 
 they say, but can never be better any 
 
 more." 
 
 " Will he see me ? " asked Joscelyn. 
 " Yes, sir, yes ; come in. No fear but that 
 he'll see you." And entering a dark passage,
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 37 
 
 Joscelyn followed the man up a strange, 
 twisting staircase, built in the thickness of 
 the wall, till he reached the sick-uoom. 
 Here, lying on a quaintly-carved bedstead 
 with a heavy oak canopy, he found his old 
 friend, and his heart sank within him as he 
 saw how wan and changed he was. The 
 invalid looked him over, from head to foot, 
 with something of the pride of a father, his 
 eyes lighting up and his strength and energy 
 returning as he questioned him about his 
 success at Cambridge. Joscelyn told all 
 gladly enough. But presently there came 
 a pause, which was broken at length by the 
 old man. 
 
 "And now, my son,' , he said, "what 
 will you do with your life ? " 
 
 "Ah, sir," cried Joscelyn, "that is the 
 question that is haunting me. What can I 
 do ? What ought I to do ? " 
 
 Then with perfect frankness he told all 
 the story of that day, and of the strange 
 way in which its events had impressed him. 
 " Only counsel me," he prayed, " and I will 
 gladly follow your counsel."
 
 38 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " Nay," said the old man, shaking his 
 head, "how can I do that, lad, when I, too, 
 am sorely perplexed ? God in His mercy 
 will take me away from these troubled 
 times, in which we see but through a glass 
 
 ' © © 
 
 darkly. And as for you — why you must 
 seek for wisdom where only it can be 
 found." 
 
 " Yet if you do not know, sir, how can 
 I hope to do so ? " said Joscelyn. 
 
 " We can always see as far as the next 
 needful step," said the dying man. " The 
 days of my pilgrimage are over, but yours 
 are only beginning — therefore be sure light 
 will come." 
 
 " But there is no time," said Joscelyn, his 
 voice full of distress. " To-morrow I must 
 go back to Hampshire, must set actively to 
 work in the King's cause. My father has 
 already commanded me." 
 
 " Lad," said the old man, starting up 
 eagerly, " do nothing in this matter till you 
 can do it with your whole heart and soul ; 
 you can serve neither King nor country 
 till you have the consciousness of right.
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG, 39 
 
 Let your motto through life be Mens 
 conscia recti — without that your work will 
 be worthless." 
 
 " I am full of ignorance," said Joscelyn, 
 despondently. "How can I judge — how 
 even search into all these vital questions ? 
 And besides, as I said, there is no time, I 
 must set out to-morrow. And to speak 
 of examining into the rights of the case 
 would almost madden my father, who deems 
 the King irresponsible, and of necessity in 
 the right." 
 
 " True, and as yet you do not know but 
 that you may come to see with him," said 
 the invalid, musingly. Then after a silence 
 — " But see, lad, you commit yourself to 
 nothing by riding home to Shortell Manor, 
 and, as you ride, pray for guidance. There 
 is only one help for a man in your plight. 
 ' Where shall wisdom be found ? And 
 where is the place of understanding? God 
 understandeth the way thereof, and He 
 knoweth the place thereof. For He looketh 
 to the ends of the earth, and seeth under the 
 whole heavens.' "
 
 40 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 He lay back again on the pillows ex- 
 hausted, and for many minutes there was 
 unbroken quiet in the room. After a while 
 the servant entered with a message. 
 
 Sir Thomas Heyworth was below, come 
 to inquire after Mr. Gainsborough's health ; 
 also he wished Mr. Heyworth to come with 
 him at once, as there was a likelihood that 
 he could be presented to the King. 
 
 Joscelyn rose reluctantly. 
 
 " Yes, lad, you must go," said his god- 
 father, "yet come back to me again. Come 
 to me by nine of the clock, and watch with 
 me through the night. "lis the last time I 
 shall see you in this world." 
 
 Joscelyn sighed heavily. In his miser- 
 able perplexity he would gladly have 
 changed places with the dying man. and 
 with infinite unwillingness he left the quiet 
 room, and joining his father below, walked 
 with him to the Bishop's palace, where the 
 King had taken up his quarters. 
 
 Sir Thomas talked fast and cheerfully, 
 and as they crossed the Minster green, Dick 
 met them, full of excitement at the prospect
 
 TO EIGHT THE WHONG. 41 
 
 of his presentation. But Joscelyn had the 
 strangest feeling of unreality, for the weight 
 of the problem upon which he must so soon 
 decide overpowered all else, and afterwards 
 he had the most indistinct recollection of 
 what had passed. He could merely re- 
 member the entrance into the stately palace, 
 the first sight of the grand banque ting- 
 hall thronged with the Lincolnshire gentry 
 who had flocked into the city to show their 
 loyalty, and the extreme sadness of the 
 King's eyes as they met his at his pre- 
 sentation. 
 
 All was over very quickly, and he found 
 himself once more in the open air with 
 Dick talking and laug;hino; beside him, dad 
 that the ceremony was ended and full of 
 the King's praises. Joscelyn hardly heard 
 him. He was lost in thought. Was it, he 
 wondered, the death of Strafford that had 
 brought the melancholy look to those eyes 
 that haunted him ? Was it the thoug-ht 
 of the threatened rebellion ? Was it dis- 
 trust of his own advisers ? Stories that 
 he had heard at Cambridge about the
 
 42 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 King's lack of honour and trustworthiness 
 returned to him now, forming an odd con- 
 trast to the known purity and strictness of 
 his life in other matters. And then he 
 thought of his cold indifference to the harsh 
 treatment of poor John Drake at the Stone- 
 bow, which seemed to accord so ill with his 
 proverbially religious character. Yet, spite 
 of the chilling effect of the King's want 
 of geniality, Joscelyn was far from harbour- 
 ing any enmity against him. Only the 
 baffling question returned to him again and 
 again, " Who were his Majesty's true 
 enemies ? " And how was he to fight 
 for that justice for which the dying 
 victim of a hateful tyranny had so eagerly 
 pleaded ? 
 
 " You look melancholy, Mr. Hey worth," 
 said pretty Anne Barrington, greeting him 
 with her brightest smile, as he entered the 
 ball-room a little later on. "Is it the 
 thought of the war that makes you so 
 grave { 
 
 " Maybe/' he replied, smiling a little, yet 
 sighing too.
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 43 
 
 " For my part," said Anne, looking down 
 complacently at her little pink shoes, " I 
 think it is a delightful prospect. We shall 
 no longer die of dulness and ennui, there 
 will be stirring news-letters about sieges 
 and battles and heroism. It will be like 
 living in a French romance." 
 
 They were standing together in an oriel 
 window, the shutters had not been closed, 
 the casement was wide open. Joscelyn 
 turned away from the brightly - lighted 
 room and looked out into the summer 
 evening ; glowing sunset hues still lingered 
 in the west. 
 
 " Do you call it romance ? " he cried, 
 bitterly. " Why, war is the desolater — the 
 divider ! " 
 
 " I do not see that," she replied. " Of 
 course we shall all be on the right side ; all 
 people of birth will follow the King." 
 
 "I do not know how that may be," said 
 Joscelyn ; " but in any case, there are the 
 rest. Do you make no account of them ? 
 You are a woman, and cannot realise what 
 it will be actually to fight your own fellow-
 
 44 to right' the wrong. 
 
 countrymen — to fight, perhaps, for a cause 
 that you can't even understand." 
 
 " You spoil my pleasure," said Anne, 
 pouting. " What business have you to 
 indulge in a fit of the dismals on this gala- 
 day ? Come, the music begins, we must 
 linger here no longer." 
 
 Joscelyn, with a sigh, turned away from 
 the open window, and in a few minutes 
 more was leading Anne through the stately 
 minuet. How he wished that life was as 
 simple an affair as this dance, and that 
 one could master its intricacies by unmis- 
 takable rules ! Yet after all, were there 
 not first principles upon which be could 
 fall back ? There was at any rate the clear 
 duty of doing all that in him lay to study 
 the question, though how it was to be done, 
 and what the results would be, he could 
 not imagine. 
 
 The minuet was followed by a coranto 
 to Whitelocke's music, one of the most 
 popular tunes of the day. Joscelyn watched 
 Anne dancing with one of her two other 
 favoured admirers without a single pang of
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 45 
 
 envy. Past and present seemed curiously 
 lifeless, blotted out by the looming shadow 
 of the future ; he danced mechanically, 
 wondering to himself that so gay a scene 
 could seem to him so strangely sacl. Every- 
 thing he had once enjoyed was there — good 
 music, a good floor, general popularity, 
 Anne's pretty nice and fascinating smile — 
 yet his heart felt like lead, and he was 
 glad when nine o'clock sounded the hour 
 of his release ; glad even to bid Anne good- 
 bye and to find himself outside in the cool 
 twilight. On reaching the sick-room once 
 more he found Mr. Gainsborough rather 
 worse, yet somehow the suffering and dis- 
 comfort of the dying man accorded better 
 with his feelings than the gaiety of the 
 dance. He was glad to be here — glad 
 to wait on his godfather, and to watch 
 by him through the silent hours of the 
 night. 
 
 At intervals they talked ; sometimes of 
 their mutual friend, Mr. Whichcote, Josce- 
 lyn's Cambridge tutor, sometimes about the 
 King and the state of the country, some-
 
 46 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 times of the hope of a speedy reconciliation 
 with the Parliament. 
 
 Presently the old man broke a long 
 silence. 
 
 " I feel strangely drowsy," he said, trying 
 in the dim lioht to make out his godson's 
 features. " Do you get to sleep too, lad, 
 or you will be weary for your journey to- 
 morrow." 
 
 He motioned him nearer, looked at him 
 searchingly, and embraced him with a 
 murmured blessing:. 
 
 " Do you know the meaning of your 
 name, Joscelyn ? " he said, a smile hovering 
 about his wan lips. " It means justice." 
 
 Having; said that, he turned his face to 
 the wall and almost immediately dropped 
 asleep. 
 
 Joscelyn returned to the huge dimity- 
 covered arm-chair by the window, and sat 
 listening to the deep breathing of the old 
 man, and watching the streak of light from 
 the night-lamp where it fell athwart the 
 great beam supporting the ceiling. Perhaps 
 it was only now that he fully realised all
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 47 
 
 that lie owed to Mr. Gainsborough ; the 
 old man had indeed done much to train 
 his mind, to implant in him certain vigorous 
 first principles, and to show him by his 
 own life the power of gentleness and 
 liberality. He had, in fact, taught him 
 all that it was in his power to teach, and 
 the time had come when the two were 
 to be parted ; the old man to go to bis 
 rest, the young man to step forth alone 
 into the battle of life. In the quiet of 
 the summer dawn both slept heavily, but 
 the old Prebendary's face was full of peace, 
 while Joscelyn's knitted brow and flushed 
 cheek showed that even in his dreams he 
 wrestled with the grievous problem which 
 he had to solve.
 
 48 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 It is the law of heaven that you shall not be able 
 to judge what is wise . . . unless you are first 
 resolved to judge what is just, and to do it. 
 
 Euskin. 
 
 " You have already breakfasted ? " asked 
 Sir Thomas, as the next morning he was 
 ushered into Mr. Gainsborough's study, 
 where his son had just risen from the 
 table. "Warm beer? Eh? No, I am 
 heated with walking up the hill. I'll take 
 nothing; and while we speak of it, Joscelyn, 
 you'll do well in this matter to keep an 
 eye on Dick. Thank God, I'm a sober 
 man myself, and would have my sons the 
 same, but Jervis hath gained no good in 
 foreign parts, and Dick from sheer good- 
 nature will follow his lead unless you have 
 a care. How is your godfather ? "
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 49 
 
 " Still sleeping heavily/' said Joscelyn ; 
 " and the doctor thinks, sir, he will never 
 regain consciousness, but will last a few 
 days in this state and then die." 
 
 He spoke very quietly, but his face was 
 full of sadness. 
 
 " Poor man ! " said Sir Thomas. " Is it 
 indeed as bad as that ? Poor man ! " 
 
 Joscelyn could almost have smiled. It 
 did not seem to him that his godfather 
 was to be pitied ; surely he was in far 
 better case than those who were left below 
 in this miserably perplexing time — left, not 
 knowing where to turn for advice. The 
 thought of his own position returned to 
 him with double force. He sighed. 
 
 "Poor lad!" said Sir Thomas. "You 
 were ever fond of him and he of you. 
 But courage, boy ; your life lies before you, 
 and in these stirring times even you 
 younger sons may reasonably hope to gain 
 a good position. I could almost wish you 
 were the eldest, for you are more to my 
 taste now than Jervis." 
 
 " I scarce knew him he was so changed, 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 sir, but doubtless a few weeks in England 
 will bring him to other ways." 
 
 Sir Thomas shook his head. 
 
 "He's not to my liking at all," he said, 
 with a touch of pathos. " He has grown 
 dissolute, extravagant, godless — unlike a 
 Heyworth. But you, Joscelyn, you must 
 be my right hand. I look to you now, for 
 I can t deny I'm disappointed in my first- 
 born — sorely disappointed." 
 
 It was the first time his father had ever 
 spoken to him confidentially, and the 
 evident sadness and pain in his face touched 
 Joscelyn to the heart ; he spoke the eager 
 words of comfort and affection that rose 
 naturally to his lips. 
 
 " God bless you, lad," said Sir Thomas, 
 with one of the bright, genuine smiles which 
 made the father and son so much alike. 
 " I look to you to do me credit, to prove 
 yourself a true Heyworth. But I must not 
 stay longer. His Majesty will by this 
 have spoken with Lord Willoughby of 
 Erebie, who brought him a promise of six 
 hundred horse from the gentlemen of
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 51 
 
 Lincolnshire, and when that is ended the 
 Court will leave for Beverley." 
 
 " You wish us to start for Shortell this 
 day, sir ? " asked Joscelyn. " It would 
 not be possible for me to wait on my 
 godfather ? " 
 
 " Nay, better start at once," said Sir 
 Thomas. " He may linger long in this 
 unconscious state, and what is there you 
 could do for him ? All being well, Jervis 
 and I shall also come to Shortell in two 
 or three weeks' time, but do you go and 
 begin the work, and let drilling be the 
 order of the day. Farewell, my son — a 
 safe journey to you." 
 
 He embraced him with more warmth 
 than usual, and Joscelyn, going with him 
 to the front door, watched him as he crossed 
 the green and disappeared through the 
 gateway leading to the Bishop's palace. 
 It was not until he lost sight of the well- 
 known figure that, with a sudden pang, he 
 remembered that before he again met his 
 father he must have made the search into 
 the great question of the day upon which 

 
 52 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 so much depended. What if he found it 
 impossible conscientiously to join the King's 
 side and make war upon the Parliament ? 
 What if his study of the just liberties of 
 England should against his every wish 
 divide him from his father ? The very 
 thought tortured him : and as though to 
 escape from it he left the house, turning 
 his steps by a sort of instinct towards the 
 cathedral, and finally entering his favourite 
 south doorway. 
 
 Outside there had been the glare and 
 heat of the summer day, and the uncon- 
 genial crowd of idlers waiting about in 
 hopes of catching a glimpse of the King ; 
 within all was quiet and cool and full of 
 that beautiful repose which Nature herself 
 cannot always give, but which is seldom 
 wanting in a nobly-designed church. He 
 sat down on one of the stone ledges in 
 the south aisle, and looked up at the 
 exquisitely-carved angels in the triforium. 
 The great building was empty, and its 
 quiet stilled for a time his troubled thoughts. 
 Where the light was to come from which
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 53 
 
 should lighten his ignorance he had no 
 notion ; he only knew that it was bound to 
 come. With his whole heart he desired 
 to do right ; the rest lay with God. But 
 presently, with a sudden revulsion, all his 
 old torments returned. It was true that 
 the ordering lay with God, but the pain 
 of it lay with him. What if the conscious- 
 ness of right brought him ruin in this 
 world, the bitter condemnation of all he 
 loved? Worse still — what if it brought 
 him into actual conflict with his father and 
 Dick ? His very heart sickened as the 
 vision rose before him of a battle-field and 
 the faces he loved confronting him as foes. 
 Could even this be borne ? Could duty 
 lead any man in so cruel a path ? He 
 sprang up and paced to and fro in the 
 aisle wrestling with the horrible imagination, 
 praying with desperate earnestness the 
 prayer of David : " Lead me, Lord, in 
 Thy righteousness, because of my enemies : 
 make Thy way plain before my face." 
 
 And after a while the beautiful silent 
 cathedral, standing so peacefully in the
 
 54 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 midst of a troubled land, calm amidst all 
 the rage of the people, once more became 
 a parable to him. He wondered whether 
 perhaps it had witnessed just such a 
 conflict as his in the past, and thought 
 of all the strife and contention it must 
 have looked down on, all the long years of 
 civil war and desolation that had been in 
 England since first it was built. But this 
 led his thoughts back to the contentious 
 of the present, the wretched sense of his 
 own ignorance alternating with hopes that 
 after all war might be averted at the last, 
 or that he might be able honestly to side 
 with his father. Again the words of the 
 dying Puritan rang in his ear, " Fight for 
 justice, for justice ! " Again his godfather's 
 eyes met his, reminding him that his very 
 name meant Justice. The dread of doing 
 wrong began to drive out every other 
 thought ; in utter misery he fell on his 
 knees and prayed more desperately than 
 ever for light. Then it suddenly occurred 
 to him that only yesterday he had prayed 
 for guidance, that no answer had apparently
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 55 
 
 been given, yet that in doing his duty he 
 had first come across John Drake, and then 
 had received the last advice of his god- 
 father. 
 
 Surely light would come. 
 
 He rose to his feet comforted. Even the 
 anguish of possible family division faded 
 away before the perception that now came 
 to him of a Higher Union which outer 
 things were powerless to break ; and leaving 
 the cathedral, he stepped forth once more 
 into the world, strong with the one thought 
 which could help him through his strangely 
 perplexing life : " I will fear no evil, for 
 Thou art with me." 
 
 # * # % # 
 
 The two brothers left Lincoln early that 
 morning ; left it with old Mr. Gainsborough 
 lying unconscious in the house in Minster 
 Yard; with John Drake's body just placed 
 in its coffin ; with King Charles courteously 
 thanking the gentlemen f Lincolnshire and 
 the Mayor, John Beck, for the troops they 
 had promised to raise ; with the old " hercle- 
 groome " contentedly minding his cattle
 
 56 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 near the Eleanor Cross ; and the sun 
 shining down on minster and castle and 
 clustering houses as though, spite of the 
 coming desolation, he would cheer the 
 hearts of men. 
 
 Eiding all through that Thursday, all 
 through Friday, though not a little tried by 
 the dust and heat, Joscelyn and Dick, 
 having stopped at Croydon about noon on 
 Saturday to bait their horses, set forth once 
 more at three o'clock, intending to reach 
 their uncle's house at Rletchingley before 
 night. In the first place they bore a letter 
 to him from Sir Thomas, and in the second 
 place they counted on getting a good deal 
 of help and advice from him, since he was 
 an old soldier, too much maimed for 
 fighting, but with a large experience, upon 
 which these two intended to draw. 
 
 Things were different in those days, and 
 the brothers, having begun their Cambridge 
 career at the ages of fifteen and sixteen, 
 were now, at its close, but nineteen and 
 twenty. Young, inexperienced, and ignorant 
 of the world, they had the great merit of
 
 TO EIGHT THE WKONG. hi 
 
 being aware of the fact, and Joscelyn was 
 not without hope that his soldier uncle 
 might be able to solve his difficulties for 
 him, and give him that knowledge of the 
 state of affairs which he so greatly desired 
 to have. 
 
 " The best of all would be if we could per- 
 suade him to come on with us to Shorten," 
 said Dick, as they slowly mounted a long 
 hill. " He would do more with the training 
 in a week than you and I in a month." 
 
 " True," said Joscelyn, plucking a bit of 
 traveller's joy from a bush as they rode 
 past. " My mother would like it, too, and 
 little Rosamond will bless us, for she is 
 mighty fond of my uncle. Good Lord ! 
 what will that poor child say to the news 
 of the war ? She is too tender for such 
 times as these." 
 
 " Yes ; she will not be so full of gay 
 excitement as Mistress Anne Barrington," 
 said Dick, stealing; a glance at his brother. 
 " Were we all chopped into mince-meat 
 she would but say that it made life like a 
 romance."
 
 58 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 Joscelyn shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " The novelty of war will soon wear off, 
 and she will long for peace, or perchance, 
 while the rest of the world is fighting, she 
 will marry some cathedral dignitary." 
 
 " With your benediction ? " said Dick, 
 teasingly. 
 
 "Oh, entirely," said Joscelyn, with a 
 laugh. " ' She is pretty to walk with, and 
 witty to talk with, and pleasant, too, to 
 think on,' but having said that you have 
 said all." 
 
 They had now, by winding lanes, reached 
 a country church, and the wide, open 
 expanse of Coulesdon Common lay before 
 them ; it was a fine place for a gallop, and 
 by the time they had reached the little 
 village of Katterham they were all glowing 
 with the exercise, and were glad to slacken 
 their pace as they rode past the pretty 
 thatched cottages with their trim gardens, 
 the village alehouse standing superior to 
 all the other houses in the glory of red 
 brick and tiled roof, the comfortable old 
 rectory sheltered by a fine oak tree, and
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 59 
 
 then, after a space, with a gentleman's 
 park on one side of the road and enclosed 
 fields on the other, the little church with 
 its rustic spire and peaceful graveyard. 
 Just at this point the lane turned sharply 
 round to the right, running along the brow 
 of a hill and overlooking a most beautiful 
 valley — one of those sweet, wild, wooded 
 valleys that form the great charm of 
 Surrey. The road — a mere track, forming 
 an old right-of-w T ay through private property 
 — was in a disgraceful state, and its ruts, 
 almost as deep as ditches, baked hard by 
 the sun, contrasted ill with Coulesdon 
 Common, where riding had been keen 
 enjoyment. Just at this point they saw 
 approaching them a family coach, a large 
 lumbering vehicle which swung from side 
 to side as the fine bay horses ploughed 
 their way through the rough lane. The 
 two brothers drew up close to the hedge 
 which skirted the road on the one side. 
 The way was very narrow, and a little in 
 advance it was made narrower still, for 
 some one had left a wheelbarrow near
 
 60 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 the garden wall which formed the other 
 boundary. Now what gives horses their 
 inveterate dislike to wheelbarrows it would, 
 be hard to say, but both the horses 
 belonging to the coach shied as they passed, 
 the hated object, and the coachman losing 
 for a time his control over them, they 
 plunged violently to the other side of the 
 road. An extraordinary minute of con- 
 fusion followed, the cob Joscelyn was riding 
 reared and kicked wildly, and in the end 
 horse and rider went over together, to the 
 great consternation of Dick, who, being 
 behind his brother, had escaped the clanger. 
 Instantly dismounting, he hastened to the 
 rescue ; the coachman managed to quiet 
 down his frightened horses, while the coach 
 door was thrown swiftly open and a young 
 girl sprang out, paused to give her arm 
 to an old man who followed her, and 
 approached just as Joscelyn, freed from the 
 weight of the cob, be^an to raise himself 
 and to look round in a bewildered way. 
 
 " I fear, sir, that you must be hurt ? " 
 said the old gentleman, with courteous
 
 TO RIGHT THE WEOXG. 61 
 
 anxiety. He was small, shrivelled, and 
 wirv-looking, with a clean-shaven face and 
 white hair almost as long as Joscelyn' s. 
 
 " It was the fault of our horses, grand- 
 father," said a sweet girlish voice at his elbow. 
 
 Joscelyn turned round that he might see 
 the speaker. She must have been about 
 his own age, and beside the little old man 
 she looked very tall ; she was dressed in 
 white, with a hood of black velvet, but the 
 strings were untied because of the heat, and 
 the hood did not altogether hide the chest- 
 nut-brown curls which alone could have 
 fitly framed such lovely features. It was 
 rather a grave face, with a delicate glow 
 of colour about it, with dark, delicately- 
 arched eyebrows, and well-opened brown 
 eyes, full now of awe and concern — 
 altogether as tender, as womanly a face 
 as you could wish to see. Joscelyn was 
 at once seized with a burning desire to save 
 her all possible trouble. 
 
 " Do not, pray, be troubled about me," 
 he exclaimed. " It is nothing — I was but 
 stunned for the moment."
 
 62 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 But as he rose to his feet an involuntary 
 exclamation escaped him, and he was obliged 
 to clutch at his brother s arm. 
 
 " Something wrong, I fear," said the old 
 man. "The knee, if I mistake not. On 
 no account stand, sir. Here, Matthew, 
 help the gentleman into the coach. Nay, 
 sir, I must really insist upon it ; you are 
 in no state to mount, and might greatly 
 increase your injury. My house is within 
 a stone's-throw, and we will do all that we 
 can to make you comfortable." 
 
 Joscelyn politely protested, but the old 
 gentleman was inexorable, and before many 
 minutes had passed he found himself on the 
 back seat of the family coach, with his 
 host and the pretty grand-daughter sitting 
 opposite. Driving through a gateway close 
 by they approached a well-built Tudor 
 house, whose massive walls and mullioned 
 windows looked as if they might very well 
 stand a siege. 
 
 " Bid them prepare a bedchamber on the 
 ground floor, Clemency," said the grand- 
 father, " and in the meantime our guest
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 63 
 
 shall rest in my library, and the surgeon, 
 who by good chance came this day from 
 Croydon and is at the Dower House, shall 
 be called in to see what is amiss." 
 
 " Clemency," mused Joscelyn ; " what a 
 strange name ! It has a Puritanical sound, 
 yet spite of that I think it suits her. I 
 never saw so gentle a face that was yet so 
 strong." 
 
 He began to wonder who his host could 
 be, and perhaps the old man had the same 
 thoughts about him, for he asked if they 
 had intended making a long journey that 
 night. 
 
 " We had but a few miles still before us," 
 said Joscelyn. " We were to lie at the 
 house of my uncle, Sir Kalpli Whitfield, 
 of Bletchingley. If the surgeon indeed 
 forbids me to travel, my brother must go on 
 alone." 
 
 " I have long known Sir Ealph. Are you 
 then a Whitfield ? " 
 
 " It was our mother's name. We are 
 Heyworths, of Shortell, in Hampshire." 
 
 " What ! sons of Sir Thomas Hey worth ? "
 
 64 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 "Is it possible you know him?" said 
 Joscelyn. 
 
 " Nay, lie would not remember me," said 
 the old man, " but many years ago, when I 
 was imprisoned in Hampshire, I recollect 
 seeing him. Now, sir, my man shall help 
 you into the house. Take your time." 
 
 Not without considerable pain Joscelyn 
 was led through a square entrance-hall into 
 a most comfortable room, where the servants 
 helped him on to a sort of couch of carved 
 oak and cane-work. The words "imprisoned 
 in Hampshire " kept ringing in his ears. 
 What did they portend ? And who was this 
 brisk, wiry old gentleman ? 
 
 His question was answered by almost the 
 first thing his eyes fell on. Close by the 
 couch stood a small table, and on this lay a 
 letter directed in handwriting which could 
 be read at a glance — 
 
 " To Sir Kobert Neal, 
 
 " At the Court House, Katterham, 
 " In the County of Surrey." 
 
 At that moment Sir Kobert himself entered
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 65 
 
 with Dick, and while they were still talking 
 together about the accident and the state of 
 Joscelyn's horse, which had luckily escaped 
 without any serious injury, the surgeon was 
 announced. 
 
 It proved that Joscelyn, like the cob, 
 had escaped better than could have been 
 expected ; but his knee was injured, and 
 would need absolute rest for at least three 
 weeks. 
 
 " Three weeks ! " he exclaimed, with a 
 curious sound of relief in his voice rather 
 than of dismay. 
 
 Dick, on the other hand, turned away in 
 high disgust, swearing vehemently, so that 
 he did not see the look of satisfaction in 
 his brother's face, but Sir Eobert saw it 
 and was puzzled as to its meaning. 
 
 Joscelyn seemed to have fallen into a 
 deep reverie. The fact was he had just 
 realised that here was the help he so sorely 
 needed ; here the time for thought and 
 study ; here the means of keeping him 
 from Shortell and the active preparation 
 for war. He had believed all his life in 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 prayer, and yet lie was awed and startled 
 by this direct answer, and something of this 
 expression showed in his face, mingling 
 with the deep relief. Sir Robert watched 
 him searchingly ; he felt strangely drawn to 
 his guest, all the more so because he could 
 not quite understand him. 
 
 " But, sir," exclaimed Joscelyn, coming 
 to himself again, " since I am to be laid up 
 so long, I cannot consent to be a burden on 
 you. If you would be so good as to lend 
 me your coach I will go back to the village 
 inn. 
 
 To this, however, Sir Robert would not 
 listen for a moment. 
 
 " The accident was entirely caused by my 
 horses," he said, " and I could not think 
 of allowing you to move to the village. 
 Entire rest for three weeks will no doubt 
 quite cure you, and we shall be most happy 
 to have you as our guest. And you, sir," 
 turning to Dick, " you will at any rate 
 spend the night here, I hope." 
 
 Dick thanked him for his courtesy, but 
 would not consent to stay. " For my
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 67 
 
 brother there is, I fear, little that I can 
 do," he said. " My father has entrusted 
 us with preparing a troop for the King's 
 service, and since the standard is to be 
 raised next month there is no time to be 
 lost." 
 
 Joscelyn fancied he saw a queer little 
 elevation of Sir Robert's brows ; the old 
 man, however, made no comment on the 
 words, but merely summoned the servant 
 and bade him brino- in cakes and ale at 
 
 o 
 
 once. Dick, having refreshed himself, took 
 leave, and promising to make light of the 
 accident at home, he parted with his 
 brother, murmuring not a little that fate 
 should have marred their plans and left 
 him to work single-handed. Sir Eobert 
 went with him to the door, and on return- 
 ing to the library a little later was struck 
 by the extreme sadness in his guest's face. 
 
 " I fear this accident is a great incon- 
 venience to you," he remarked, drawing 
 up an arm-chair towards the couch, deter- 
 mined to understand this youth a little 
 better.
 
 G8 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 Joscelvn started as though recalled from 
 painful thoughts. 
 
 "I was wondering how my brother and 
 I should meet again," he said. " But in 
 truth the accident itself is a God-send to 
 me and no inconvenience. It w T as time 
 that I needed, time to think, to try at least 
 to see the rights of the case before taking 
 up arms. 7 ' 
 
 Sir Robert's eyes kindled. 
 
 " Yours is the right spirit," he said, 
 warmly. " Too many, I fear, on either 
 side will rush blindly into the fray before 
 they have truly weighed the matter in 
 their own minds. Tis hard for the young 
 not to yield to the first impulse, not to 
 follow the lead of their friends and 
 companions." 
 
 " That is true," said Joscelvn, with a 
 heavy sigh. " To stand aloof from all that 
 one's own set, one's own family hold by, 
 to be looked on as a traitor, a foe ! God 
 grant it may not come to it ! but I must 
 at any rate try to understand something 
 of the state of the country, and here
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 69 
 
 in this three weeks' quiet lies my sole 
 chance." 
 
 " How is it," said the old man, " that you 
 are so unlike the rest of your generation ? 
 I should have expected you at your age to 
 be a hot partisan." 
 
 "It is because I have never gone into 
 these matters, sir," replied Joscelyn. 
 
 " Neither does your fiery partisan as a 
 rule," said Sir Robert. " He merely echoes 
 the views of his set, you will rarely find him 
 seriously studying politics." 
 
 "It may be," said Joscelyn, " because I 
 hate all strife and division." 
 
 Sir Robert mused for a few minutes. 
 Then he looked up kindly at his guest 
 and said — 
 
 " Your position interests me greatly. 
 But I cannot altogether fathom it till I 
 know what has been your life in the past. 
 Tis from no curiosity I ask, but only 
 because it may perchance lie in my power 
 to help you, if we fairly understand one 
 another." 
 
 " My life is soon disposed of, sir," said
 
 70 TO EIGHT THE WKONG. 
 
 Joscelyn ; "never surely was there a less 
 eventful one. We were all brought up at 
 Shortell Manor, in Hampshire, and had a 
 happy enough childhood. As to what was 
 happening in the country, we knew nothing 
 whatever about it. The sole thing relating 
 to public affairs which I can remember is 
 the stir in the village when the communion- 
 table was moved by the Archbishop's orders 
 from the middle of the nave, where it had 
 stood since the Reformation, to the east end 
 of the chancel. I was eleven years old then, 
 and well remember how our old coachman 
 groaned aloud, and declared it meant bringing 
 in the papists. To me it seemed a vast im- 
 provement, for before the men of the village 
 used to pile up their greasy hats on it, in 
 a w T ay which would not have been tolerated 
 on any gentleman's dining-table. Later on 
 I remember, too, that we were bidden, 
 though not forced, to bow to the com- 
 munion-table on entering or leaving the 
 church, and my mother took it ill that I 
 could not be brought to do this, not rightly 
 seeing the sense of the practice. As for
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 71 
 
 schooling, my brother and I went to Win- 
 Chester. I was there till I was fifteen, and 
 then was at home for a year with sore eyes, 
 which, for the best part of a twelvemonth 
 kept me prisoner in a darkened room. 
 'Twas at that time I first learnt to think, 
 there was naught else to do. My eyes 
 cured, I went to Cambridge with my brother. 
 We were at Emmanuel, and our tutor was 
 one Mr. Whichcote." 
 
 " Whichcote ! " exclaimed Sir Robert. " I 
 have heard much of him, a noble-minded 
 man and as fine a scholar as any in the land. 
 You were fortunate, sir, to be under the 
 tuition of such an one." 
 
 " From him," said Joscelyn, " I learnt the 
 answer to the doubts and thoughts which 
 had assailed me in my year of illness. Some 
 men deem him a Puritan, but that must be 
 a mistaken notion, for a man less dogmatic 
 and narrow, less cjiven to gloomy fanaticism, 
 never existed." 
 
 Sir Robert laughed a little ; his shrewd, 
 humorous face lighted up with keen enjoy- 
 ment.
 
 72 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " I am a Puritan myself," he said, " yet 
 would I not for the world force all men to 
 agree with me. 'Tis enough if we agree 
 upon the duty towards God and the duty 
 towards our neighbour. Let me persuade 
 you, Mr. Hey worth, that all Puritans are 
 not sour, cross-grained, melancholy, and 
 ignorant, as the stage plays and the songs 
 of the day would have you think ; 'tis but 
 a few of a fanatical turn that persist in 
 cropped hair and ostentatious piety, the 
 bulk of us desire only to see temperance 
 and godliness and a just liberty in our 
 country. I'll be bound you think no 
 Puritan could play a game of tennis, or sing 
 a song, or enjoy the chase ! Is it not so ? " 
 
 Joscelyn hesitated, not a little confused, 
 for Sir Robert had rightly guessed his 
 thoughts. John Drake was precisely his 
 idea of a Puritan, and that Sir Robert, 
 with his genial laugh, his long hair, his 
 air of good breeding, should be classed 
 among Roundheads (the derisive name now 
 in vo^ue for those who held with the 
 Parliament) seemed to him laughable.
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 73 
 
 Just then Clemency returned to the 
 library. 
 
 " Your room is prepared, sir," she said to 
 Joscelyn ; " 'tis the one adjoining this, so 
 that you will not have far to move." 
 
 " And let us have supper presently in 
 here, my child," said Sir Robert. " Where 
 is your sister Faith ? " 
 
 " She is in the park with the children. 
 The hay is to be carried this evening, sir, 
 and the children were promised to ride in 
 the waggon." 
 
 " Then unless you desire to be with them, 
 dear, stay and cheer Mr. Heyworth with a 
 song. He hath till this fully believed that 
 we Puritans could sing naught but psalms, 
 that we for ever showed our piety by up- 
 turned eyes and nasal voice, and were in 
 fact the hypocritical and melancholy folk 
 that the wits represent." 
 
 Clemency laughed as she took her guitar 
 and sat down near the window ; for a 
 moment a sort of shyness stole over her, 
 but a glance at Joscelyn's eager face dis- 
 pelled it, and she thought to herself that
 
 74 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 lie would prove no very severe critic. 
 Perhaps it was on purpose that she selected 
 Ariel's song from the Temjiest, the most 
 joyous of all the songs in her collection, 
 and the old panelled room rang with the 
 sweet tones of her fresh young voice. As 
 she finished, and as Joscelyn poured out 
 compliments and thanks, Sir Robert crossed 
 the room to the window. 
 
 " See," he said, " there goes the last 
 waggon-load and the children following; it." 
 
 Clemency stood up, one hand still resting 
 on the guitar as she looked out into the 
 sunny, peaceful park. They could hear the 
 hay-harvest song in the shrill voices of the 
 children, and in the loud, uncouth tones of 
 the haymakers. But somehow the merry 
 sounds brought tears to her eyes. 
 
 "Why do you w T eep, child?" said her 
 grandfather, turning towards her. 
 
 She hastily wiped away her tears, blush- 
 in a- to think that he had called attention to 
 
 o 
 
 them. 
 
 "I was thinking/' she said, "of the 
 changes that must have come by next
 
 TO EIGHT THE WEONG. 75 
 
 hay-harvest. Faith married and gone to 
 Gloucester, and the country, very like, full 
 of war and bloodshed — this very house, 
 perchance, destroyed." 
 
 The old man put his hand upon her 
 shoulder tenderly. 
 
 '•'Child," he said, ''troubles there will be, 
 you may be sure ; nevertheless, go not half- 
 way to meet them. If you look forward, 
 then look beyond them and think of the 
 happiness and freedom bought for the 
 generations to come by the strife of 
 to-day." 
 
 Joscelyn saw her smile through her tears, 
 as she looked forth once more at the peace- 
 ful landscape ; the heavily-loaded waggon 
 was just disappearing from view, and the 
 children came running towards the house, 
 their little wooden rakes and forks carried 
 over their shoulders, and the words of the 
 sons; growing; more and more distinct as 
 they approached.
 
 76 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 New occasions teach new duties ; 
 
 Time makes ancient good uncouth ; 
 They must upward still and onward, 
 
 Who would keep abreast with truth. 
 
 Lowell. 
 
 Clemency Coeiton's life had been in some 
 respects a sad one ; it was not, as Joscelyn 
 had at first fancied, her puritanical training 
 which had brought the serious look into 
 lier beautiful face and the thoughtful depth 
 into her eyes. Her mother, the only child 
 and heiress of Sir Robert Neal, had married 
 a neighbouring squire, Mr. Coriton, but had 
 died when Clemency was only a year old. 
 A year later her father married again, and 
 for some time Clemency's life had been 
 serene and happy. Not all the foolish 
 gossip of the servants could induce her to 
 distrust one so tender and lovino; as her
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 77 
 
 step-mother, or to feel the slightest jealousy 
 of the little sisters, as one by one they 
 came to gladden her lonely nursery. But 
 when she was nearly seventeen, growing- 
 clay I)} 7 day more of a companion to her 
 step-mother, a terrible shadow fell over the 
 happy home. 
 
 In one day two of the children fell ill of 
 the plague. Clemency, with Faith, Hester, 
 Prudence, and little Hal, were at once sent 
 away to Sir Robert Neal's house a few 
 miles off, and that hurried departure proved 
 their final farewell to the home that had 
 grown so dear to them. For first Molly 
 and little Robert died, then their father 
 sickened and died after only a day's illness, 
 and, last of all, the poor mother, worn out 
 by grief and watching, sank from exhaus- 
 tion after giving birth to a little girl, who 
 seemed too puny and frail to live. By the 
 mother's wish she was baptised at once by 
 the strange name of Admonition — " For," 
 said the dying woman, " God hath taught 
 me to look for lasting joys not in this world 
 but elsewhere."
 
 78 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 The nurse bade her keep up her heart, 
 for she would yet live and be spared to her 
 children. But she herself knew better, and, 
 after lingering a day or two between death 
 and life, she passed away quietly in her 
 sleep. The last words she had spoken were 
 for Clemency. 
 
 " Tell her/' she said to the nurse, " to 
 love and tend my babe for me as I loved 
 and tended her for her dead mother. Tell 
 her I bless God for giving me so sweet a 
 step- daughter, and my children so good a 
 sister for an example." 
 
 A month later, little Admonition, still 
 very frail and tiny, was brought to Katter- 
 ham Court, and Clemency, in her sorrow, 
 found her best comfort in striving to obey 
 to the utmost her step-mother's dying 
 message, repaying to the best of her powers 
 the love and care which had made her own 
 childhood so bright. This terrible visita- 
 tion had happened four years ago, and 
 since then Chaldon Manor had been closed, 
 and old Sir Kobert's house had become the 
 home, not only of his own grand-daughter,
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG, 79 
 
 but of all the Coritons. To become mistress 
 of so large an establishment, and to be at 
 once elder sister and second mother to so 
 many children, taxed Clement's powers 
 not a little, and though at times she was 
 merry and light-hearted, yet as a rule there 
 was about her a sort of sweet seriousness 
 which made her seem older than she really 
 was. Joscelyn had ample opportunities of 
 noticing this, and unconsciously fell into 
 the habit which prevailed in the household 
 of leaning on Clemency, looking up to her 
 for counsel, and waiting on her words with 
 a curious deference, as though she had been 
 his senior. Beautiful and winsome as she 
 was, he nevertheless remained perfectly 
 heart-whole ; she seemed to him a sort of 
 guardian angel ; there was a far-away look 
 in her face sometimes as if she were seeing 
 what was invisible to other people, and 
 though when she waited on him her eyes 
 were gentle and full of sympathy, they 
 were totally lacking in the deliberate 
 witchery that made the glances of Anne 
 Harrington able to enthrall every man she
 
 80 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 came across, and to hold him her prisoner 
 for days, or weeks, even occasionally for 
 months. 
 
 Clemency, it is true, had received many 
 offers of marriage, but they had been 
 formal affairs, with very little preamble of 
 courtship, for she was shy and rather 
 distant in manner to outsiders, rarely 
 revealing her true self save to those who 
 actually shared her home. It was now 
 pretty well understood in the neighbour- 
 hood that Mistress Coriton intended to 
 follow good Queen Bess in the path of 
 single blessedness ; her lovers — or servants 
 as they were then called — bemoaned their 
 hard fate, and protested that it was a cruel 
 thino* for the heiress to Sir Robert Neal's 
 estate to show so singular an aversion to 
 the holy estate of matrimony ; but her 
 refusals were always so very decided that 
 they seldom approached her a second time, 
 and Sir Robert never sought in any way to 
 influence her choice. Her half-sister Faith 
 had behaved far more reasonably, and had 
 accepted the first man who had proposed to
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 81 
 
 her — worthy Mr. Christopher Bennett, of 
 Gloucester — and Joscelyn was not a little 
 dismayed to learn that her marriage was 
 to take place in a week's time. 
 
 "You will at least let me be removed 
 to the village, then," he said. " At such a 
 time as a wedding the Good Samaritan 
 himself would not have housed a sick 
 stranger." 
 
 Clemency laughed a little. 
 
 " But, indeed, you will not be in the 
 way," she protested. " Both Faith and 
 Mr. Bennett refuse to hear of a public 
 wedding. All will be quite quiet, and we 
 expect only two guests, a brother of Mr. 
 Bennett's, and a friend of my grandfather's, 
 Mr. John Hampden. It is even a little 
 uncertain whether Mr. Hampden will be 
 able to come, since his duties in Parliament 
 and the preparations for war occupy him 
 much." 
 
 " I have read of him in these pamphlets 
 which Sir Robert has given me," said 
 Joscelyn, laying his hand on a great stack 
 of printed papers beside him. 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 SZ TO EIGHT THE WJRONG. 
 
 Clemency looked up sympathetically. 
 
 "They must be weary reading," she said. 
 " Me thinks one hour's talk with Mr. Hamp- 
 den will do more to tell you the true state 
 of the country than many months' study of 
 those," 
 
 " At least he is true to his own convic- 
 tions," said Joscelyn, musingly. " He has 
 endured imprisonment and obloquy. Is he 
 much soured by it all ? " 
 
 Clemency laughed aloud, a ringing, 
 girlish laugh, full of mirth. 
 
 "Why, he is the most sweet-natured and 
 courteous man you ever set eyes on," she 
 exclaimed. " His health has never been 
 the same since he was imprisoned in the 
 Gate House, but he himself can only have 
 been ennobled by it. My grandfather 
 always says that he is the greatest man 
 in England, and, indeed, I believe it. He 
 is to me like the man whom David de- 
 scribed in the fifteenth Psalm. And though 
 he is much sought and full of affairs, yet 
 he will spend time and trouble on the least 
 and the poorest."
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 83 
 
 She crossed the room to a curious tortoise- 
 shell cabinet, and, unlocking the inner com- 
 partment, drew forth a letter and handed it 
 to Joscelyn. 
 
 " This will show you in some degree what 
 sort of man he is. He wrote it to me 
 when I was but a girl, barely seventeen. 
 Yet he — a man overwhelmed with work — 
 took time to think of the grand-daughter 
 of one who had been kind to him as 
 a boy." 
 
 Joscelyn read the letter, it unveiled to 
 him the sad tragedy of the Coriton family, 
 but it revealed, too, as Clemency had 
 guessed it would reveal, the beautiful nature 
 of the writer — his wide sympathies, his 
 perfect faith, his delicate chivalry. He 
 began to look forward very eagerly to 
 meeting this resister of ship-money, this 
 champion of liberty, who, to judge by his 
 letter, was entirely free from the Pharisaic 
 pride and the narrow exclusiveness which 
 he had always fancied must characterise the 
 opponents of the King. 
 
 As Clemency had remarked, the study of
 
 84 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 the pamphlets of the day was weary work. 
 He read the Third Remonstrance, the 
 various declarations, the general accounts 
 of the kingdom published by the Parlia- 
 ment ; he read the King's answers, and also 
 the Observations made on the King's answer 
 to the Lords and Commons of the 19th 
 May, 1642 ; his answer to the Somerset- 
 shire petition, and a pamphlet on some 
 " of his Majesty's late answers and ex- 
 presses/' In the bewildering maze of strife 
 he wandered to and fro, miserably seeking 
 some sort of conviction in which he might 
 find anchorage, while Sir Robert said little, 
 but merely kept him supplied with the 
 literature of both sides. He used to turn 
 away with relief sometimes to the busy 
 wedding preparations which were beginning 
 to make a stir in the quiet country house- 
 hold. Faith, the pretty bride-elect, would 
 come and talk with him about her new 
 home in Gloucester, or her wedding-gifts ; 
 little Admonition, or Monnie as she was 
 always called, would trot up to his couch 
 and tell of the great bride-cake which cook
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 85 
 
 had made, and of the sweetmeats and 
 comfits prepared for the day ; or Clemency 
 would sit in the window-seat working hard 
 at a piece of embroidery to be worn by her 
 sister at the marriage, and would talk of the 
 separation she so much dreaded, and of the 
 woeful distance between Katterham and 
 Gloucester. 
 
 Nothing, however, could banish for long 
 the haunting question upon which Joscelyn 
 was bound to decide ; he grew very grave 
 and thoughtful, even little Monnie could 
 seldom rouse him from his anxious and 
 harassed, musing. The child was very fond 
 of him, and on the evening before the 
 wedding, finding the rest of the world too 
 busy to take much notice of her, she sat 
 for more than an hour beside him, her fat 
 little fingers busily working at a daisy 
 chain. An artist would have loved to paint 
 her quaint little babyish face, with its air of 
 intent preoccupation, her sunny cuds, and 
 her demure little white frock reaching almost 
 to the ground. And perhaps no greater con- 
 trast could have been found than Joscelyn,
 
 86 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 stretched on the old oak settle with his 
 books and his pamphlets round him, bearing 
 on his face the same look of intent pre- 
 occupation, save that where the child's 
 expression was calm and happy, his was 
 full of pain and perplexity. The contrast 
 between the two struck John Hampden 
 as he was shown into the room. Sir Robert 
 had told him beforehand of his invalid 
 guest, and of the dilemma in which he was 
 placed, and since Joscelyn was absorbed in 
 what he was reading, the searching yet 
 deeply sympathetic gaze of the new-comer 
 had rested on him for some moments 
 before he was roused by a movement 
 from little Monnie, who sprang up from 
 her stool to curtsey to her grandfather and 
 the visitor. 
 
 "One hour's talk with Mr. Hampden will 
 do more for you than many months' study 
 of those ! " Clemency had remarked to him, 
 and the words came back to his mind as he 
 looked up into the stranger's face from the 
 dry, dreary arguments through which he 
 had been toiling.
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 87 
 
 He saw a powerfully-built man of about 
 eight-and-forty, with an abundance of crisp, 
 wavy hair, falling almost to his shoulders, 
 but brushed away from the forehead, so 
 that it did not conceal the height and 
 breadth of a very striking brow. The 
 features were good, the upper lip very 
 short, the mouth firm but sweet-looking, 
 the jaw square and massive, the eyes 
 singularly thoughtful. 
 
 Sir Eobert introduced him, and after 
 making kindly inquiries as to the invalid^ 
 Hampden sat down and took little Monnie 
 on his knee. 
 
 " And what is Mistress Monnie making 
 so happily ? " he asked, stroking the child's 
 bright curls. 
 
 " Chains, sir," said Monnie, holding up in 
 triumph a long string of linked daisies. 
 
 " Chains, Monnie ? w he said, smiling. 
 " Why, England has too many already ! " 
 
 " Then it shall be a crown for you, sir," 
 she answered, twisting the two ends 
 together, and with the loving confidence of 
 a child stretching up her chubby little hands
 
 88 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 that she might crown the "greatest man in 
 England." 
 
 Running to a little distance to see the 
 effect of her work, she seemed not wholly 
 satisfied with the result. Hampden laughed 
 at the seriousness of the little face. 
 
 "'Tis not great enough for you, sir,'' she 
 said ; "I will put more daisies." 
 
 " Nay," said Hampden, stooping to kiss 
 her as she took off the wreath, " keep it as 
 it is, and crown the bride. See, here she 
 comes." And he rose to greet Faith and 
 her future husband, Mr. Bennett of Glouces- 
 ter, a somewhat austere-looking Puritan of 
 five-and-thirty, whose extreme gravity con- 
 trasted curiously with Faith's sunny bright- 
 ness. Joscelyn wondered that his choice 
 had not fallen upon the much more serious 
 Clemency, and could only hope that Faith 
 had enough cheerfulness for the two, and 
 that she would not be overpowered by her 
 sombre bridegroom. However, even quiet 
 Christopher Bennett could not resist the 
 magic of Hampden's genial presence ; before 
 long he was actually laughing at the cle-
 
 TO EIGHT THE WEONG. 89 
 
 scriptiou of a rustic wedding in Buckingham- 
 shire, where a countryman, having been 
 addressed by the minister in the usual form, 
 "Wilt thou have this woman," &c, bad 
 replied, to the great consternation of all 
 present, " Well, sir, now you put it so 
 solemn-like I don't reckon I will," and there 
 and then walked out of the church. 
 
 When the laughter which greeted this 
 tale had died away, Hampden produced his 
 wedding-gift, two beautifully-chased silver 
 flagons, and by the time these had been 
 admired by all present supper was an- 
 nounced, and Joscelyn, who was not allowed 
 to adjourn to the entrance-hall, where meals 
 were served, found himself left to his own 
 thoughts. Every now r and then, when the 
 servant came in bringing him food or wine, 
 he could hear through the open door the 
 merry talk at the supper-table, and the 
 mellow voice and hearty laugh of Hamp- 
 den, which made him long to be at table 
 with them all. But by and by his turn 
 came, for when the rest of the party had 
 gone to the withdrawing-room to discuss
 
 90 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 certain matters connected with the marriage, 
 Hampclen returned to the library. He 
 glanced from the invalid to the piles of 
 books and pamphlets surrounding him, and 
 smiled a little. 
 
 " Sir Kobert keeps you well supplied with 
 literature," he remarked. 
 
 " Tis of a kind that is hard of digestion, 
 sir," said Joscelyn. " I have been struggling 
 to-day with Lord Brooke's treatise on 
 Episcopacy." 
 
 " Beware how you abuse him, for he is 
 my very good friend," said Hampden, 
 unable to help laughing at the young man's 
 expression. " Yet I grant you the book is 
 not easy reading, specially the first part. 
 Nevertheless it contains the true solution of 
 our chiefest difficulty, and would to God 
 that the people of England were fit to grasp 
 the notion ! " 
 
 " The notion of granting liberty to the 
 sects ? " asked Joscelyn. 
 
 " Yes ; of toleration, of entire religious 
 freedom," said Hampden. " But the spirit 
 of retaliation is abroad, and for the tyranny
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 91 
 
 of the bishops men will strive to substitute 
 the tyranny of a presbytery. Brooke has 
 here set forth the only true remedy, the 
 only lasting way of peace, the right of every 
 individual to liberty of conscience, the utter 
 folly of trying to force all into one groove." 
 
 " Do you speak, sir, as a Puritan ? " asked 
 Joscelyn. 
 
 " I speak as a member of the Church of 
 England, yet as a member who would fain 
 see the abuses of the Church reformed, who 
 would have the bishops caring for the souls 
 of their people, not interfering with matters 
 of state. Personally attached to the Book 
 of Common Prayer, yet I am averse to 
 thrusting it on those who prefer a simpler 
 worship ; the nation is not at one on re- 
 ligious matters, and there never can be 
 peace until there is perfect liberty. Yet, 
 mind you, Lord Brooke is far in advance of 
 his times. Only through blood and tears 
 will the bulk of the people come to see this 
 truth he now sets forth. Could they but 
 see it now, the coming war would lose half 
 its horrors."
 
 92 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " You mean that there would be less 
 bitter division ? " 
 
 " Yes, for few Englishmen would join the 
 King only to uphold his despotic rule, but 
 many, seeing the existence of the Church 
 imperilled, will join the royal army — ay, 
 many of our best and noblest." He sighed 
 heavily. 
 
 " And you will fight them, sir ? " cried 
 Joscelyn. " You will do all that may be 
 done to kill these men whom you own to be 
 partly in the right ? You will help on what 
 may bring the destruction of the Church of 
 which you are a member ? — will help to set 
 up another — perhaps a greater and more 
 distasteful tyranny ? " 
 
 " You are right to face these questions," 
 said Hampden, quietly. " Believe me, I 
 have faced them for many a year ; have 
 tried, as so many others have tried, all that 
 patience, and moderation, and waiting, and 
 slow reform can do. But the time is now 
 come to draw the sword and throw away 
 the scabbard. England must be saved. 
 The just liberties of the nation must be pre-
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 93 
 
 served ; not only preserved, but enlarged — 
 for where there is no growth there is no 
 life. The King and those who join him 
 will drag the nation back, will reduce it to 
 the slavery of the other nations of Europe. 
 Will you give your life for such work as 
 that ? Nay, throw in your lot with those 
 whose watchword is* Forward'; come and 
 help on the march of freedom, and thank 
 God on your knees that He allows you to 
 suffer in such a cause." 
 
 " If only matters were less strangely 
 mixed," said Joscelyn, his face full of weary 
 perplexity. " If only all that one cared 
 for and reverenced were on the one side, 
 and all that one would fain abolish on the 
 other ! " 
 
 " Since the world began that has never 
 been the case," said Hampden. " Wheat 
 and tares grow together among both 
 Royalists and Parliamentarians. If you 
 wait for a perfect set of workers you may 
 wait for ever. Your duty is to look which 
 side truly promotes the progress and 
 healthy growth of the national good. Its
 
 94 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 ways may not be your personal ways, its 
 blunders may cut you to the heart, yet still 
 through all you will be able to discern that, 
 spite of many imperfections, it is pressing 
 on to better things." 
 
 " At any rate," exclaimed Joscelyn, " by 
 the refusal of Hotham to allow the King 
 and his soldiers to enter Hull, the hostilities 
 seem to have been begun by your side." 
 
 "Nay," said Hampden, "but what is the 
 true state of the case ? Before Hotham 
 came on the scene at all, the King had 
 already appointed the Earl of Newcastle 
 governor, and had plotted to introduce into 
 Hull the Danish troops which he had once 
 thought to employ iu Scotland during the 
 Bishops' war. 'Twas not until this plot 
 was revealed to Pym, that Sir John 
 Hotham was ordered to secure Hull, and 
 not to yield it until summoned to do so 
 by the King's authority, signified unto him 
 by the Lords and Commons." 
 
 And then with impassioned earnestness, 
 which yet never descended into bitter 
 invective, Hampden began to speak of what
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 95 
 
 had passed in the country since the King's 
 accession. He described to Joscelyn the 
 foreign policy of the Government, and its 
 disastrous results ; spoke of the cruel way 
 in which shipowners and mariners pressed 
 into the King's service had been treated : 
 enlarged on the miseries which must always 
 follow when a king plunges into foreign 
 wars against the will of the nation ; showed 
 how Charles had again and again broken 
 the law, and how the country was reduced 
 to its present state of misery and oppression 
 at home, and utter friendlessness abroad, 
 through the King's incapacity. 
 
 With the graphic language of one who 
 had been an actual participator in the 
 struggle, he told the story of the Third 
 Parliament, of the Petition of Eight and 
 its apparent failure, of the pathos of a 
 Parliament broken-hearted and in tears at 
 the desperate condition of the country, of 
 the consent to the Petition at last wrung 
 from the King and of the joy throughout 
 England, how bells had pealed and bonfires 
 burned, and how they had all tried with
 
 96 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 a last effort of loyalty to believe that the 
 King was free from blame and that the 
 disasters of the past came from Buckingham's 
 evil counsel. 
 
 Then he told how after Buckingham's 
 death, and in spite of the King's promise, 
 illegal taxes were yet continued, and how 
 judges, solely dependent on the Crown, had 
 profaned justice. With tears in his eyes 
 he told of Eliot's imprisonment and death ; 
 he showed how the bishops, neglecting their 
 true work, had, to the undoing of the 
 country, meddled with the government of 
 the State, even proving the principal 
 promoters of the war with Scotland ; how 
 the unconquerable spirit of the nation 
 struggled desperately for its just liberties ; 
 and how at last they had come to see that 
 with a kino: who believed himself to be 
 above law — a kinor whose rule had reduced 
 England to such a desperate condition — a 
 king who clung to the notion of sovereign 
 power of the monarch and passive obedience 
 of the subject, there never could be any- 
 thing but oppression and ruin. He argued
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 97 
 
 that for those who loved their country the 
 question now was — would they leave her 
 to the unregulated rule of one who had 
 trampled her honour in the dust ? or would 
 they fight for the supremacy of Parliament, 
 aiming a deadly blow at that authority 
 which the King had so fatally abused, and 
 making it for ever impossible for England 
 to be at the mercy of one incompetent and 
 irresponsible ruler ? 
 
 When he paused there was for some 
 minutes perfect silence in the room, then, 
 irresistibly drawn to this wonderful man, 
 Joscelyn began to urge his objections, to 
 raise difficulties, and Hampden, with the 
 most winning gentleness and patience, fully 
 entered into and met every oue of them. 
 
 With marvellous tact, with the rare 
 modesty which specially characterised him, 
 he listened, now and then suggesting a 
 question, hinted a doubt, throwing in a 
 phrase which seemed to flood his com- 
 panion's mind with new light. He was 
 full, moreover, of sympathy for Joscelyn's 
 difficult jDOsition, but it was a strong 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 sympathy which nerved to endurance and 
 made inaction seem impossible. 
 
 After a time the door was opened and 
 Clemency stole softly in, glancing a little 
 curiously at Joscelyn. 
 
 " I came to see if you would like lights," 
 she said, " but do not let me disturb your 
 talk." 
 
 " Nay, our talk is ended," said Hampden, 
 rising to meet her, " and we want one of 
 your songs, Clemency, to raise us out of sad 
 thoughts." 
 
 " I will gladly sing," said she, " but first, 
 sir, for fear I have no other opportunity of 
 speaking to you quietly, will you give 
 me your help and advice as to these 
 diamonds ? " 
 
 She opened a case of red leather, and 
 even in the fading evening light Joscelyn 
 could see how the beautiful necklace within 
 flashed and sparkled. 
 
 Hampden took the case in his hand, 
 looking at the diamonds with admiration. 
 
 "My advice," he said, smiling, "is to 
 wear them ; and my help " he took the
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 99 
 
 necklace up and fastened it round her 
 neck. 
 
 Clemency laughed and blushed. 
 
 "They were my mother's," she said, 
 " and now they are mine to do what I like 
 with. When I heard how people were 
 sending money and plate to the Guildhall 
 to help in defending the country, how the 
 poor women were even bringing their 
 wedding-rings, then I thought of these 
 diamonds, and my grandfather says I may 
 send them if I wish. Would you take 
 them back with you to-morrow ? " 
 
 " But I think it will be hard for you to 
 part with what was once your mother's. 
 The thing is most beautiful, too, and of 
 such great value." He glanced inquiringly 
 into the lovely girlish face. 
 
 "It is because I do care for it very much 
 that I want to send it," she said, her voice 
 faltering a little. " I want to help, and 
 there is but little I can do ; men can give 
 their lives for the country, but women can 
 only stay at home and grieve." 
 
 " Nay, you will do something better than
 
 100 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 that, if I mistake not," said Hampden, 
 gently. " You will pray ; you will bring 
 up the children entrusted to you to love 
 truth and justice and freedom ; you will, 
 perhaps unknown to yourself, influence 
 some of the men who cro forth now to fight. 
 As to the diamonds, I will take them to the 
 Guildhall if you indeed wish it." 
 
 " 1 do," she said, earnestly. " My grand- 
 father says they are worth much money, 
 because they are cut in the new Dutch 
 fashion with many facets." 
 
 She made as though she would unclasp 
 the necklace and give it to him there and 
 then, but Hampden checked her. 
 
 " Wear it to-night and to-morrow at 
 the wedding," he said. "Let it once 
 more fulfil its natural function before it 
 is converted into the defences of the 
 country." 
 
 And then before long they were all 
 laughing at an elaborate calculation made 
 by Hampden as to the number of soldiers 
 who might be comfortably shod if the 
 diamonds were converted into boots, or the
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 101 
 
 number that might be fed if they were 
 converted into loaves. A servant at this 
 moment brought in two candles in massive 
 silver candlesticks, but Clemency would not 
 have the shutters closed. 
 
 "The night is calm." she said. "See, 
 the red of the sunset still lingers, it will 
 surely be fair weather to-morrow." 
 
 A silence fell upon them ; Hampden 
 stood by the open window looking out 
 into the peaceful stillness of the summer 
 evening: his face, bright with humour only 
 a few minutes before, was full now of 
 ineffable sadness, yet beneath the sadness 
 one could read an unconquerable hope. He 
 was a man whose heart had been wrung 
 by private sorrows, and now the thought 
 of the coming war which must bring 
 desolation to so many homes had been 
 brought to him very vividly and freshly, 
 first by his talk with Joscelyn Heyworth 
 and the realisation of his difficult position, 
 and then again by Clemency and her 
 offering of the diamonds. He, who felt 
 so powerfully the necessity of drawing the
 
 102 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 sword and flinging away the scabbard, was 
 yet a man of the gentlest tastes, a man of 
 the tenderest heart, and he suffered as only 
 the strong can suffer. 
 
 Joscelyn watched him with a sort of 
 fascination, he knew that for the first time 
 in his life he was in the presence of a leader 
 of men ; every word, every gesture, every 
 look of Hampden's seemed to him invested 
 with an extraordinary power and influence. 
 From the fine old beech tree on the lawn, 
 a thrush flooded the twilight with exquisite 
 song. Within, Clemency silently arranged 
 some red-and- white roses in a china bowl, 
 her diamonds flashing with radiant light 
 at each breath she drew. All was strangely 
 calm, yet all seemed hushed and awed by 
 the coming strife. Presently Hampden 
 re crossed the room. 
 
 "You promised us a song," he said, 
 " may we not have it when your roses 
 are arranged ? " 
 
 She handed him the finest rose from her 
 posy. 
 
 " 'Tis not often that this striped York
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 103 
 
 and Lancaster rose has so fine a blos- 
 som," she said. " I am fond of them ; 
 they seem full of sacl tales with happy 
 endings." 
 
 He fastened the flower in his doublet. 
 
 " The emblem of peace after strife, of 
 union after division," he said, musingly ; 
 " how many of us, [ wonder, will live to 
 see righteousness and peace meeting again 
 in a reconciled England ? " 
 
 Clemency was silent, something seemed 
 to rise in her throat and choke her. She 
 turned away, and passed her fingers lightly 
 over the strings of her guitar. 
 
 " Do you sing that newly-composed song 
 to the words of George Herbert, ' Sweet 
 day ' ? " asked Hampden. " I am told it 
 begins to be much spoken about. 'Tis a 
 favourite of mine." 
 
 " Tis also a favourite of my grand- 
 father's," said Clemency, and at Hampden's 
 request she began to sing. To Joscelyn it 
 seemed that music and words were alike 
 fitted for this still summer evening, with 
 its strange underlying sadness.
 
 104 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
 The bridal of the earth and sky, 
 The dews shall weep thy fall to-night, 
 For thou must die. 
 
 Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave 
 
 Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, 
 Thy root is ever in its grave, 
 And thou must die. 
 
 Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, 
 
 A box where sweets compacted lie, 
 My music shows ye have your closes, 
 And all must die. 
 
 Only a sweet and virtuous soul, 
 
 Like seasoned timber, never gives ; 
 But though the whole world turns to coal, 
 Then chiefly lives." 
 
 Afterwards, Joscelyn and Clemency re- 
 membered the long-drawn sigh which 
 escaped Hampden as the last soft chords 
 died away into silence. 
 
 The next day pretty Faith Coriton was 
 married in the old church of Katterham, 
 and Mr. Bennett, "being eager to reach 
 Gloucester as soon as might he, carried her 
 off that very afternoon in defiance of 
 custom, protesting that it was far better 
 to make the first stage of their journey as
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 105 
 
 early as might be, since there was no saying 
 how soon hostilities might begin, and the 
 roads become dangerous. The parting be- 
 tween the sisters was a sad one, but 
 Clemency did not altogether break down, 
 she only went about looking pale and 
 stunned, and with the strange far-away 
 look in her eyes that Joscelyn had more 
 than once noticed. 
 
 Hampden did not long outstay the bride 
 and bridegroom. AYhile his horse was 
 being saddled he waited in the library witli 
 little Monnie on his knee, and Prue, Hal, 
 and even shy Hester, clustered round his 
 chair. Genial and kindly and full of rare 
 sympathy, it seemed to them all, when he 
 rose to go, as if the sunshine were going 
 out of the house. Clemency's tears, bravely 
 kept back so long, rose now. He stooped 
 to kiss her. 
 
 " Farewell, dear child," he said, tenderly. 
 "May God bless you. I will not forget 
 your gift to the country/' 
 
 Then, turning to Joscelyn, who had in- 
 stinctively risen to his feet, though under
 
 106 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 orders to keep his knee absolutely still, he 
 grasped his hand warmly, looking full into 
 his eyes with kind, earnest inquiry. 
 
 "Farewell, Mr. Heyworth," he said. "I 
 do not yet give up the hope that we may 
 meet again and fiodit beneath the same 
 banner. If ever I can be of service to you, 
 let me know." 
 
 The others followed him out to the door, 
 and Joscelyn, with a sigh, fell back again 
 on his couch. 
 
 Should he meet this kinor of men a^ain ? 
 he wondered ; and, if so, would it be as 
 friend or as foe ?
 
 107 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A man has as much right to use his own under- 
 standing in judging of truth as he has a right to 
 use his own eyes to see his way. — "Whichcote. 
 
 Shortell Park had now for nearly three 
 weeks been the scene of daily drilling. By 
 slow degrees the little troop had increased 
 in numbers, and what with Dick's persua- 
 siveness, the zeal of good old Sir Thomas, 
 who had returned from Yorkshire, the 
 threats of Jervis, and the excitement and 
 novelty of receiving instruction from a 
 grim old veteran who had served in more 
 than one foreign war, the villagers were 
 stirred up into a most warlike spirit and 
 contributed their men willingly enough. 
 To watch the drilling was little Rosamond 
 Heyworth's great delight; and one Friday 
 evening; she might have been seen in her
 
 108 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 usual nook under the ash tree near the park 
 gates with her usual companions — Cyniro, 
 a Welsh colley belonging to her brothers, 
 and old Barnaby, the gatekeeper. 
 
 It was easy to tell that Rosamond was 
 Joscelyn's sister ; the two were curiously 
 alike, and, in spite of a certain fragile look 
 about the little girl's face, it was quite clear 
 that though there might be physical weak- 
 ness, there was an unusual force of charac- 
 ter and a vigorous intelligence in this 
 twelve-year-old maiden. Rosamond was 
 the youngest of the family by several years. 
 No one had specially welcomed her ad- 
 vent ; she had always been kept sedulously 
 in the background, and from a very early 
 age she had learnt to live her own life 
 to herself, and to expect little from out- 
 siders. The servants snubbed her, the 
 chaplain, who acted as tutor, set her 
 woefully long tasks, her mother rarely 
 spoke except to chide, and her father was 
 so wrapt up in his daughter Isabella that 
 he seemed to have little love to spare for 
 this shy, silent child, who had never been
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 109 
 
 encouraged to show her love for him, and 
 would not have dared to speak unless 
 spoken to. Favouritism in parents has 
 worked mischief ever since the days of 
 Jacob, and Sir Thomas, though he little 
 thought it, had wrought no small harm by 
 his blind devotion to Isabella. The elder 
 daughter ruled the whole house, her every 
 wish was gratified, and she was so com- 
 pletely spoiled by the process that her 
 punishment was already beginning to affect 
 her and to render her peevish and discon- 
 tented. To the outside world her faults 
 were only too apparent ; she was far from 
 popular, and this, to one of her exigeant 
 nature, was a never-ceasing annoyance. 
 
 Sir Thomas was responsible, too, for 
 Eosamond's shy reserve, and for many a 
 heartache never confessed save to Cymro, 
 her safe confidant. For Eosamond knew 
 that she loved her father and mother quite 
 as well as Isabella did, and though she 
 accepted her lot in life quietly, nothing 
 could make her see the justice of the way 
 in which she was treated.
 
 110 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " For you see, Cymro," she would say, 
 burying her hot face in the clog's soft neck 
 and hugging him closely, "when Isabella is 
 ill — even a very little ill — the whole house- 
 hold is all in a stir, and she is cockered up 
 with all the comforts you can think of, 
 and, perhaps, taken away to Tunbridge or 
 Epsom, which must alone be enough to 
 cure folks just with the happiness of the 
 journey ; but if I am ill they do but blame 
 me and bid me not to complain, or, if past 
 that, they leave me to lie in bed ail day 
 alone, and give me vile draughts by way 
 of cure, and will not even let me have you 
 up -stairs." 
 
 Then Cymro would lick the hot little face 
 with his soft, comforting tongue, and the 
 child would lavish on the dog- the ardent, 
 clinging love which nature had intended to 
 be bestowed on the parents. 
 
 But, fortunately, there came intervals 
 when life was much brighter for Eosamond. 
 The boys came home from school or college 
 every now and then, and with Joscelyn and 
 Dick the little sister was on the happiest
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. Ill 
 
 terms ; she loved them both dearly, but her 
 love for Joscelyn almost amounted to 
 worship. He had always been kind to her 
 — tender where others were rough, and, 
 above all, just where others were unjust. 
 Moreover, Joscelyn was her mediator ; 
 though he himself was one of the despised 
 youngers of the family, yet there was some- 
 thing about him — an undefined charm of 
 manner, or, perhaps, a latent strength of 
 will — which gave him, in spite of his birth, 
 a position of his own in the household. He 
 could hardly fail to be popular, and he was 
 often able to win slight concessions from 
 the authorities for poor little Rosamond, 
 who envied his fearless courage and looked 
 up to him with boundless admiration. The 
 only other person who was really fond of 
 her was old Barnaby, the gatekeeper ; he 
 was her great ally, and on this August 
 evening the two were, as usual, talking away 
 very comfortably to each other. 
 
 " Barnaby," said the child, looking up 
 into the broad, honest face of the gatekeeper, 
 with its ruddy, weather-beaten skin and
 
 112 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 bushy, grizzled hair, " Barnaby, I wish they 
 
 would 9:0 on drilling for ever and ever. I 
 
 like very much to watch them here, but 
 
 it will be terrible when they have gone off 
 
 to the war ; it will be horrible, Barnaby." 
 
 Barnaby cleared his throat and began to 
 
 sing in a quavering old voice a rhyme which 
 
 he much affected — 
 
 " There was an army went into Spain, 
 When it got there it came back again." 
 
 Rosamond laughed ; she knew that the 
 song was a satire on the unlucky Spanish 
 expedition which had so greatly enraged 
 the English against the late Duke of 
 Buckingham. 
 
 " Do you think, Barnaby, that it will be 
 like that with this army ? Do you think, 
 perhaps, after all, there will be no fighting ? " 
 
 " Maybe, maybe not," said Barnaby. 
 " Nobody can say beforehand. But it's my 
 belief that this here dispute will devilup 
 into the bio-oest war England has ever 
 seen." 
 
 Rosamond, who never could resist a smile 
 at Barnaby's pronunciation of the word
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 113 
 
 " develop," turned aside and began to gather 
 the buttercups within her reach. 
 
 " I tell you what I wish, Barnaby," she 
 said, after a pause. " I do wish women 
 could go to the war and men stay behind." 
 
 " Mercy on us ! " cried Barnaby, shaking 
 his head. " Why, mistress, that is a strange 
 wish ! How should the likes of you go out 
 killing and being killed ? " 
 
 " I am only a child and should stay at 
 home," said Eosamond, decidedly ; " but I 
 would much rather that my father and the 
 boys stayed at home, and that my mother 
 and my sister and cross old nurse and the 
 rest of the maids went away." 
 
 Barnaby s broad shoulders shook, and he 
 laughed quietly as he protested that it would 
 never do. But Eosamond, as she watched 
 the villagers being drilled, went on carrying 
 out her plan in her own mind. 
 
 " Men are always nicer than women," she 
 reflected. " It will be very dreary at home 
 without the boys, but without Isabella it 
 would be delightful" 
 
 She clenched her hands at the thought, 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 for though, to all outward appearance the 
 most gentle and submissive of children, 
 within she was often enough like a little 
 volcano, and Isabella's real unkindness and. 
 injustice had stirred up a smouldering 
 jealousy into active hatred. She was 
 startled back to the present by a sudden 
 movement on the part of Cymro, who 
 bounded towards the gate with curious little 
 whines of gladness. Kosamond sprang to 
 her feet. 
 
 " 'Tis Joscelyn ! " she cried, running at 
 full speed across the grass and flinging open 
 the gate long before old Barnaby could 
 reach it. 
 
 Joscelyn dismounted as soon as he 
 caught sight of the little flying figure, 
 his face, which had been strangely grave, 
 brightened into a smile as the child crave 
 him a rapturous greeting. 
 
 11 Well, Fair Kosamond," he said, stroking 
 her golden curls. " As usual, you are the 
 first to welcome me. How are you, Bar- 
 naby ? What ! drilling going on in the 
 park ? Is Dick there ? "
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 115 
 
 " No," said Kosamond, clinging to his 
 arm, " they are all at supper, and there are 
 guests. They were playing bowls till late, 
 but now they are gone into the house. 
 Isabella said I was not to be seen because 
 my gown is shabby. But you " — with a 
 sigh — " you are hungry, doubtless, and will 
 go in to them." 
 
 " No, I will stay with you," said Joscelyn. 
 " Have my father and Jervis returned ? " 
 
 He sighed as she replied in the affirma- 
 tive. They began to walk slowly up the 
 carriage-drive, and Joscelyn glanced from 
 the men at drill to the familiar red-brick 
 manor with its clustering ivy, its comfortable, 
 home-like look. Rosamond was startled by 
 the sorrowful gravity of his face. She began 
 to feel uneasy. 
 
 " Oh, Joscelyn ! " she said, " how I do 
 wish there was no such thing as war ! Why 
 must you fiodit against the Parliament \ 
 Why must you % " 
 
 " I cannot fight against the Parliament," 
 he said, gravely. 
 
 Rosamond's brain seemed to reel.
 
 116 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 "You mean " she gasped. "You 
 
 mean that ? " 
 
 He finished the sentence for her. 
 
 " That in these three weeks I have come 
 to see things as I never saw them before, 
 and it is no longer possible for me to fight 
 on the side my father has chosen." 
 
 Rosamond was silent because she saw one 
 of the grooms approaching them, but when 
 he had led away the horse she spoke in a 
 low, almost terrified voice. 
 
 " You will take the opposite side to our 
 father ? " she cried. " You will fioht against 
 the King ? Oh, Joscelyn — why ? " 
 
 By this time they had reached the ter- 
 raced garden ; he led her down one of the 
 sheltered paths into a little arbour at the 
 far end. 
 
 " 'Tis not against the Kino; as king; that I 
 would fight, but against his tyranny, against 
 a despotism that must bring ruin upon 
 England," he said, gravely. " Till October, 
 however, I am not of age, and if my 
 father wills it I can go out of the country 
 until peace is restored. Do you think
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 117 
 
 I willingly differ from him and from 
 Dick ? " 
 
 The terrible pain in his face cut her to 
 the heart. She threw her arms round his neck. 
 
 " I know you will do what is right," she 
 said, vehemently. 
 
 Her child-like trust seemed to comfort 
 him. He began to tell her the details of 
 his stay at Katterham Court, of Hampden's 
 visit, and of his gradual change of views, or 
 rather of his first dawning of any sort of 
 political knowledge ; and Eosamond, spite 
 of her youth, was able to understand to a 
 great extent the position he had taken 
 up, though her thoughts would turn back, 
 notwithstanding her patriotic efforts, to 
 the perception of the grievous way in 
 which Joscelyn's views must affect their 
 home life. 
 
 " Tell Dick, as you have told me, alone," 
 she pleaded. "Tell him before you tell 
 the others, for he will grieve over it more 
 because he so greatly loves and admires the 
 King." 
 
 Joscelyn sighed heavily. There was a
 
 118 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 silence, only the splashing of a fountain on 
 the lawn close by broke the stillness. Pre- 
 sently Rosamond gave a start of fear. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " asked Joscelyn. 
 
 " Hush ! " she whispered. " I am sure 
 I hear voices. Yes. Hark ! it is Isabella 
 and Sir Toby Blount. Oh, where shall I 
 go ? She will be so angry if this shabby 
 gown is seen." 
 
 " I will go to meet them and inveigle 
 them into the other path." said Joscelyn, 
 getting up. " Then when we are out of 
 hearing you can escape unseen." 
 
 Rosamond, still trembling, yet with a 
 happy consciousness that with Joscelyn 
 as helper no harm could come to her, 
 peeped out cautiously through the leafy 
 bower to see the meeting. Isabella, in 
 her white satin gown, was glancing up 
 coquettishly at little Sir Toby, with his 
 faultless features, and his eager eyes, and 
 his scented lovelocks. Rosamond wondered 
 what she could see to like in him, and 
 contrasted him in her mind with her father's 
 fine, manly figure, with Dick's frank, boyish
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 119 
 
 looks, and with Joscelyn's goodly presence 
 and noble face. The lovers both started 
 at the sudden apparition that blocked 
 their way, but Isabella, though excessively 
 annoyed at the interruption, was obliged 
 to smile sweetly and give her brother a 
 sisterly greeting, with many inquiries after 
 his injured knee. And after a little ma- 
 nceuvrinsr, all the time talking with the 
 utmost cheerfulness, and explaining how 
 he had been told on his arrival that they 
 were at supper, Joscelyn contrived to lead 
 them away from the arbour, not leaving 
 them until Rosamond had had ample time 
 to escape. 
 
 Then he made his way to the house, 
 and with a very sore heart received his 
 father's delighted welcome ; but, fortunately, 
 the guests occupied Sir Thomas a good deal, 
 and when later on Joscelyn, having supped 
 and changed his clothes, made his way 
 into the withdrawing-room, he found every 
 one playing cards, and was glad enough to 
 take a hand and forget for a while the cloud 
 that hune over him.
 
 120 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " You are not looking well," said his 
 mother, glancing a ,t him across the card- 
 table. 
 
 " 'Tis doubtless the effect of three weeks 
 wi thin-doors," said Joscelyn. 
 
 " Then Dick will soon effect your cure," 
 said Lady Hey worth, laughing. " He will 
 have you out at drill from morning to night, 
 I warrant you." 
 
 Joscelyn's colour rose a little ; he changed 
 the subject abruptly. 
 
 "Is it Sir John's deal or mine ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 The question recalled Lady Heyworth to 
 the game, and the evening passed without 
 any further contretemps. 
 
 It was not until the guests rose to go 
 that Joscelyn was once more conscious of 
 a terrible sense of loneliness and separation, 
 for Sir John Winton made some allusion 
 to the war, and the others caught it up, 
 so that for a few minutes the whole room 
 seemed full of that all-absorbing subject. 
 He stood listening in silence, then, unable 
 to endure his isolation, left the room on
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 121 
 
 the pretext of seeing whether the coaches 
 had come up to the door. When at length 
 the last of the guests had gone, he realised 
 that after all they had been a protection, 
 that they had, at least, helped to defer 
 the evil day, and that the time had now 
 come when he must tell Dick. The only 
 comfort was that from Jer vis's sharp eyes 
 and tongue he had nothing to fear, since 
 the heir to Shorten. Manor lay drunk on 
 the floor of the dining-room. Sir Thomas, 
 with a sigh and a shrug of his broad 
 shoulders, gave orders that he should be 
 carried to his room, and then, turning to 
 Joscelyn with the air of perfect confidence 
 and affection that had wrung his son's 
 heart at Lincoln, bade him a kindly good- 
 night. 
 
 " 'Tis the Greatest relief to me to have 
 
 o 
 
 you at home once more," he said. " I have 
 sorely needed you. Good-night, my lad ; 
 to-morrow there are many matters I must 
 discuss with you." 
 
 Joscelyn went up the broad staircase 
 with dim eyes, and to Dick's unbounded
 
 122 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 astonishment, had no sooner reached their 
 bedroom, than he broke down altogether, 
 and sobbed like a child. With his own 
 pain he had been face to face for the last 
 week, but the pain he was about to give 
 to others had only been faintly imagined. 
 Now he knew what lay before him.
 
 123 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Those whom God will single out for the greatest 
 trials, He will fit aforehand with the best enable- 
 ments. — Ralph Browning, 1592 — 1659. 
 
 Rosamond slept little that night. "The 
 boys," as they were still called, had always 
 occupied the room next to hers, and with 
 feverish anxiety she heard them talking 
 on and on for hours when all the rest of 
 the household slept. At first they seemed 
 to be arouino- with some heat, but soon 
 the voices grew quieter, the sentences 
 longer, the tone, she fancied, sadder. When 
 the family all met together the next morn- 
 ing, Rosamond looked anxiously towards 
 her brothers. They seemed on perfectly 
 good terms with each other, but still there 
 was no mistaking the trouble in both faces, 
 or the endeavours that each made to keep
 
 124 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 the conversation in safe channels. Joscelyn 
 had planned to ask for an interview with 
 his father when breakfast was over, and 
 then, alone and free from interruption, 
 to tell him the whole truth. Dick had 
 promised to keep Jervis out of the way, 
 and they had intended to give Rosamond 
 a hint to occupy her mother's attention, if 
 possible, for as long as might be. But 
 the best-arranged plans are often frustrated, 
 and unluckily Jervis, with an aching head 
 and irritable temper after his carouse of 
 the preceding night, was eager to find fault 
 with something or some one, and speedily 
 became aware of the boys' depression. 
 
 "You two look as gloomy as mutes at 
 a funeral ! " he said, impatiently. " A 
 pretty pair of soldiers you will make if 
 you have no better spirit than this." 
 
 " Dick has shown more ardour in the 
 cause than you," said Sir Thomas, shortly, 
 " and as for Joscelyn, I warrant he will 
 fight for the King as boldly as any man. 
 Eh, my son ? " 
 
 There was dead silence. Rosamond saw
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 125 
 
 the colour rush into Joscelyn's face ; she 
 made a desperate attempt to help him. 
 
 "Is it not fortunate," she began, "that 
 his knee is " 
 
 But her mother checked her sharply. 
 
 " Rosamond," she said, "you forget your- 
 self. How often must I tell you that you 
 are not to speak until you are spoken to ? " 
 
 The child's head drooped ; she waited in 
 an agony of suspense to see what would 
 happen. 
 
 "Did I not tell you, sir, at Lincoln," 
 said Jervis. with a grating laugh, "this 
 cock will not fight ? Joscelyn will take 
 his ease at home with his books, while we 
 go out to battle. At heart he is a Puritan." 
 
 The father looked from one to the other, 
 annoyance and perplexity in his honest old 
 face. At Lincoln Joscelyn had fired up 
 indignantly at a similar reproach, now he 
 sat silent with downcast eyes. 
 
 " Come, my lads, don't quarrel," he said. 
 " We need all our strength against the 
 enemy, and cannot afford to dispute among 
 ourselves. Why don't you speak, Joscelyn ?
 
 126 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 Let us have done with this nonsense. Tell 
 him that you will fight for the King — ay, 
 and die for him if need be." 
 
 Joscelyn glanced hurriedly round, con- 
 scious of a desperate wish to see once more 
 the faces of his family before they were 
 for ever changed to him. The look of 
 pain in his eyes startled Sir Thomas as it 
 had startled Kosamond in the arbour. 
 
 " It cuts me to the heart, sir, to grieve 
 you," said Joscelyn, speaking with a great 
 effort, " but I cannot fight against the 
 Parliament." 
 
 Sir Thomas neither spoke nor moved ; 
 the blow had stunned him. 
 
 Jervis broke into a laugh. 
 
 " So the murder is out at last ! " he said, 
 mockingly. " Does your extremely sensitive 
 conscience allow you to handle the sword 
 at all ? And shall we have the pleasure 
 of fighting against you ? I trow not. You 
 will stay at home like the coward that you 
 
 are." 
 
 But this was more than flesh and blood 
 could stand. Joscelyn sprang to his
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 127 
 
 feet, and in an instant had drawn his 
 rapier. 
 
 "Liar!" he cried, furiously. 
 
 Dick, however, flung himself between the 
 two blades and, amid shrieks from Lady 
 Hey worth and Isabella, Sir Thomas thun- 
 dered out a command that they should 
 desist, and, lest words should not suffice, 
 wrenched the weapon from Joscelyn's hand. 
 
 " You are no coward," he said ; " I grant 
 you that. But you are worse — you are a 
 traitor. Great God ! to think that a son 
 of mine should be disloyal to his King ! " 
 
 He broke off in speechless wrath and 
 grief. Joscelyn's anger cooled a little ; he 
 forgot Jervis and began to think only of 
 his father. 
 
 " Sir," he said, "you cannot think that I 
 willingly pain you. And if you wish it I 
 will not stir in this quarrel, but will go to 
 France or Italy till the country is at peace 
 
 once more." 
 
 " Go to the devil ! " said Sir Thomas, 
 passionately. " Do you think I shall spend 
 another penny on you ? What ! send you
 
 128 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 to foreign parts to enjo) r yourself as a 
 reward for your disloyalty ? Nay, in truth, 
 I will arrest you rather, and save his Majesty 
 from one dastardly traitor. You would not 
 scruple to fight against your King, and 
 I do not scruple to put you under arrest. 
 Would to God you had never been born ! " 
 
 " Sir," pleaded Joscelyn, " at least hear 
 me, let me tell you how " 
 
 But Sir Thomas, who was now in a tower- 
 ing rage, interrupted him with a Tolley of 
 oaths. 
 
 " Let me neither hear your traitorous 
 tongue, nor see your face till you have 
 repented, till you have returned to your 
 allegiance. Wife, let me have the key of 
 the tapestry room. 'Twill at least serve as 
 a prison, and may bring this fool to his 
 senses." 
 
 Lady Heyworth drew forth a key from 
 her cabinet. 
 
 " Let the chaplain first argue with him,' 
 she urged. "He does not, perchance, under- 
 stand how in fighting against the King he 
 hVlits against the Church too."
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 129 
 
 "Nay," said Sir Thomas, vehemently, "I 
 will have him under lock and key first, 
 and you can try your arguings afterwards. 
 Now, boy, either swear this minute to fight 
 against the rebels, or else I arrest you as a 
 traitor." 
 
 Joscelyn's face suddenly changed. The 
 sorrowful, downcast expression was chased 
 away by a flash of enthusiasm. 
 
 " To the Parliament I vow my service ! " 
 he cried. " And may God preserve the 
 liberties of England ! " 
 
 " Let this traitor be removed ! " shouted 
 Sir Thomas. "Jervis, fetch in the men 
 and let him be taken at once." 
 
 " There is no need to use force, sir," said 
 Joscelyn, quietly. " I shall submit to your 
 w r ord better than to a pack of servants." 
 
 He gave one glance towards poor Rosa- 
 mond, and then followed his father out of 
 the room, while Jervis and Dick from 
 different motives hurriedly closed up the 
 rear. 
 
 For a moment Rosamond remained at 
 
 table, tears streaming down her face, though 
 VOL. I. k
 
 130 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 her sobs were restrained in a curious un- 
 child-like fashion, the result of her severe 
 training. But when she found that her 
 mother and Isabella were far too much 
 absorbed in discussing Joscelyn's unfortun- 
 ate views to notice her, she slipped quietly 
 from the room, crossed the square entrance- 
 hall, and flew up the broad staircase and 
 along the corridors till she came to the 
 wing in which was situated the tapestry 
 room, long disused because it was said to 
 be haunted. Her father was just unlocking 
 the door, and with a sort of shuddering 
 curiosity mingled with her grief, she stole 
 up on tiptoe and peeped in as well as she 
 could between Dick and a shabby old 
 curtain hanging before the oriel window in 
 the passage. 
 
 At rare intervals the haunted room was 
 swept out, but the windows were boarded 
 up, and it had never been used since the 
 latter part of Queen Elizabeth's reign, when 
 a certain John Heyworth, the young orphan 
 heir to the estate, had been murdered by 
 his guardian in the very same old four-
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 131 
 
 post bed which Eosamond now caught 
 sight of. 
 
 Into this dread abode Joscelyn found 
 himself securely locked and bolted ; he 
 flung himself into the first chair he came 
 to, far too much agitated by all that had 
 passed to give a thought as yet to his 
 surroundings. That his father was a hot- 
 tempered man he had always known, but 
 he had never before seen him so deeply 
 wounded, so full of grief as well as of 
 wrath. Had it not been for his love for 
 Sir Thomas, his perception of the staunch 
 faithfulness of his father to that idea of the 
 divine right of the King to receive the 
 passive and unreasoning obedience of the 
 subject, he would perhaps have found time 
 to be indignant with the way in which he 
 was treated. But the ignominy of his im- 
 prisonment did not greatly affect him ; it 
 was of deeper things that he thought ; of 
 the hopelessness of the separation that had 
 arisen between him and all he loved best ; 
 of the dark, mysterious future awaiting not 
 himself alone but the whole country : of
 
 132 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 the strangely-mingled good and evil, on 
 either side. The thought of the war 
 brought him back to his own situation. 
 He had vowed his service to the Parlia- 
 ment, but he knew well enough that his 
 father's vow to keep him in durance till 
 he would swear to change sides had been 
 registered just as firmly, and with just as 
 strong a consciousness of right. Hey- 
 worths were not in the habit of yielding, 
 and he built nothing on the chance that 
 either of them might think of relenting. 
 
 He knew that Sir Thomas was quite 
 capable of keeping him a prisoner for 
 weeks if necessary, and that the war should 
 last longer than a few weeks was a con- 
 tingency that had as yet occurred to no one 
 in the country. All thought that one great 
 battle would settle the dispute. 
 
 But Joscelyn had no intention of occupy- 
 ing- the haunted room longer than he could 
 help ; he had not been in it an hour before 
 he was calculating the chances of escape. 
 Fortunately the sun was full on the room, 
 so that in spite of the boarded windows a
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 133 
 
 fair amount of light stole in through cracks 
 and crevices, the knots in the wood gleam- 
 ing out ruddily. He wondered whether 
 escape in that direction were possible, but 
 he had no sort of weapon with which to 
 work at the closely-nailed boards. He then 
 lifted the tapestry on each of the walls, 
 hoping that by chance there might be some 
 secret door or sliding panel leading into 
 the adjoining room; the process half choked 
 him with dust, but his search was useless. 
 He began to fear that he could not get out 
 unless he had the help of some accomplice 
 in the household, and from this idea he 
 shrank, dreading lest he should bring; 
 trouble on others. All at once, the only 
 available way of escape occurred to him. 
 With hurried steps he crossed the room to 
 the fireplace, and looked anxiously up the 
 wide old chimney. If his knee did not 
 play him false he thought he could manage 
 it ; the part he felt uncertain about was the 
 possibility of descent from the outside, till 
 suddenly, as he was musing over the posi- 
 tion of the chimney-stack, he recollected
 
 134 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 that it also contained the chimney of the 
 room immediately below. This room had 
 recently been fitted up as a private study 
 for the chaplain, who, not being of a 
 superstitious frame of mind, had no ob- 
 jection at all to the ghostly rappings and 
 scuffiings overhead. If, then, Joscelyn 
 could climb up the chimney of the tapestry 
 room and down the chimney of the chap- 
 lain's study, he might, if he chose his time 
 carefully, walk out of the house with the 
 greatest ease. Throwing himself back in 
 the chair once more, he thought out by 
 degrees his plan of action. To attempt the 
 escape at once was out of the question, for 
 it was a Saturday, and on that day the 
 chaplain was sure to be writing his sermons. 
 He must wait until Sunday ; then, in the 
 evening, when the family were at church 
 and the chaplain safely in the pulpit, he 
 would at any rate make the attempt. 
 There was only one part of this plan from 
 which he shrank; he could not endure to go 
 away without a word of farewell to Dick 
 and Rosamond, yet he dared not take them
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 135 
 
 into the secret of his escape, lest afterwards 
 they should be questioned by Sir Thomas. 
 At last he resolved on a compromise ; he 
 would write Rosamond a note asking her to 
 be in the arbour in the garden on Sunday 
 evening while the rest were at church, and 
 to induce Dick to stay with her. He knew 
 that the child never went to the evening 
 service, and that Dick could very well 
 stay at home without provoking any re- 
 mark, while as to Jervis, it was highly 
 improbable that he would be sober. 
 
 Having once determined upon this plan 
 he set his wits to work as to the letter 
 itself. He thought it possible that either 
 Dick or Rosamond would contrive to steal 
 up to speak to him before night, and he 
 could easily slip a letter under the door to 
 them, but the worst difficulty would be to 
 find anvthino; to write on. After some 
 little trouble he managed to wrench from 
 the wall a nail which supported an ill- 
 drawn picture of poor John Hey worth — 
 this would serve both to draw blood from 
 his waist and to scrawd fairly legible charac-
 
 136 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 ters ; lie then hunted all over the place for 
 something upon which it was possible to 
 write ; at last, and not without a shudder 
 of distaste, he came to the bed itself and 
 drew back the dingy old hangings. Tradi- 
 tion had handed down the story of the 
 murdered boy, and the details flashed back 
 now into Joscelyn's mind. It was just fifty 
 years ago that the treacherous guardian, 
 who had been next heir to the estate, had 
 stolen into this tapestry room in the dead 
 of night and had attempted to strangle his 
 ward ; John Hey worth had, however, been 
 roused, and a desperate struggle had en- 
 sued ; finally he had been stabbed, but the 
 guardian had managed to deceive every 
 one, and to make it appear that the youth 
 had broken a blood-vessel. He succeeded 
 to the estate, but the ghost of his victim 
 left him no peace, and although he had the 
 tapestry room entirely closed, the visitant 
 from another world pursued him wherever 
 he went, and the matter so preyed on his 
 mind that he fell sick and died within 
 a year, making full confession in his last
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 137 
 
 moments. The estate bad then passed to 
 quite another branch of the family, the 
 Lincolnshire Hey worths. Sir Thomas's 
 father had lived for two-and-twenty years 
 at Shortell, and in 1615 Sir Thomas had 
 come into the property. Curiously enough, 
 the ghost still continued to haunt the 
 tapestry room, and Joscelyn as a child 
 had often heard, with shuddering awe, the 
 blows, the scuffling of feet, and the piercing 
 cries which at times penetrated to the rest 
 of the house. 
 
 The murderer had decreed that the room 
 should be left precisely as it was at the 
 time of John Heyworth's death. Joscelyn 
 perceived as he drew aside the rotten old 
 curtains that the very bed-clothes were still 
 there. Shivering a little, he drew back the 
 mouldy coverlet and blanket ; the sheets 
 had been removed, but even in the dim 
 light he could see a dark stain on the bed 
 beneath. A feeling of chill horror crept 
 over him ; he would have turned away had 
 it not been for a strange sense of expect- 
 ancy for which he could not account. He
 
 138 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 lifted aside the pillow, and slightly raised 
 the bolster under it. To his surprise he 
 saw a small brown volume, and taking it 
 up, found that it was a psalter, and that in 
 many places the edges of the leaves and 
 even the margins were stained, as though 
 blood had trickled over them. Somehow 
 the sight of it made the past curiously 
 vivid to him, and a sense of deep com- 
 passion for his young kinsman took posses- 
 sion of his heart. He crossed the room to 
 look oDce more in the uncertain lig^ht at 
 the picture which he had just taken from 
 the wall ; he even fancied a sort of likeness 
 between himself and the youth with the 
 fair hair and broad Elizabethan ruff, whose 
 eyes looked back at him from the picture 
 with such curious sadness. 
 
 Beside the bed there was a sconce for a 
 candle, which he had not before noticed. 
 He pictured to himself how John Heyworth 
 had read the psalms for the evening, had 
 put out the light, had drawn those very 
 curtains, and had fallen asleep at peace with 
 God and man ; how he had been roused to
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 139 
 
 find the foul treachery of his guardian, and 
 to make a desperate but ineffectual effort to 
 save himself. He wondered why he had 
 never before thought with strong sympathy 
 of his dead kinsman, and had been content 
 to regard " The Ghost " with trembling awe 
 
 © © 
 
 and vague dislike. This book under the 
 pillow had made John Hey worth human to 
 him, and it was with a sort of apology to 
 the murdered boy that he tore the flyleaf 
 from the psalter and, while the light still 
 lasted, traced upon it the message for Eosa- 
 mond. This done he wiped the mould 
 from the covers of the book and put it 
 in the pocket of his doublet, re-arranged 
 the bed, drew the curtains, and retired 
 once more to the high-backed chair by 
 the hearth. 
 
 Slowly and wearily the hours dragged 
 by. He heard the sounds of drilling in the 
 park, he heard Eosamond practising White- 
 locke's coranto on her lute, he heard his 
 father's voice and the chaplain's in the room 
 below. But no one came near him, and at 
 last it became clear to him that his im-
 
 140 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 prisonment was to be rendered as hard as 
 possible, and that he need not look for food 
 or water before the morrow. 
 
 Towards evening for very weariness he 
 
 fell asleep, but the straight-backed chair, 
 
 though possessing old-fashioned high sides 
 
 to it, which had seemed comfortable enough 
 
 at first, proved but a chilly couch, and 
 
 Joscelyn's sleep was uneasy, and broken by 
 
 horrible dreams. Just at midnight he was 
 
 roused by the most appalling noise in the 
 
 room. The well-known sounds which in 
 
 the distance had often made his blood run 
 
 cold, were now in his very ears ; his heart 
 
 beat wildly, it seemed to him that evil 
 
 spirits filled the room, he could hear the 
 
 flapping of their wings, could hear their 
 
 hideous cries, and before that awful dread of 
 
 the m} 7 sterious and unseen his courage fled. 
 
 He cowered back in the depths of the chair, 
 
 cursing the fate that had condemned him to 
 
 pass a night in the midst of such horrors. 
 
 A deadly fight was going on close to the 
 
 bed, there could be no manner of doubt as 
 
 to that ; but blackest darkness filled the room,
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 141 
 
 and lie could see nothing whatever. That 
 the spirit of John Heyworth was uttering 
 those fearful shrieks he somehow could not 
 any longer bring himself to believe. Possibly 
 he might have been permitted to haunt the 
 guilty conscience of his murderer, but now, 
 surely, "after life's fitful fever" he rested 
 well. Could it, he wondered, be the 
 torment of the faithless guardian to re-enact 
 that ghastly tragedy with the rdlcs reversed, 
 and to struggle against demons for his life ? 
 The thought was hardly calculated to lessen 
 his terror, and an overmastering desire for 
 light possessed him. He thought of the 
 sconce beside the bed, but the remains of 
 the candle had long ago mouldered away. 
 Then he remembered that a tinder-box had 
 stood on a rude bracket close by it, and 
 trembled at the thought of crossing the 
 room to fetch it. Vexed to find that his 
 knees smote together, he forced himself 
 to get up and cautiously to grope his 
 way by the wall in the direction of the 
 sconce ; the combatants were far too much 
 absorbed in their deadly strife to heed his
 
 142 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 movements, and with throbbing heart he 
 drew nearer and yet nearer, till at last he 
 had seized the box, and drawing forth the 
 flint and steel struck them with desperate 
 energy. The tinder flared up, and Joscelyn, 
 glancing round eagerly, saw to his amaze- 
 ment that all this ghastly and terrifying 
 noise had been produced by three bats, which 
 were engaged in a desperate fight. At the 
 sudden light they dispersed with shrill 
 screams, two of them instantly making for 
 the fireplace, the other retreating with 
 flapping wings to the bed tester, where, 
 doubtless, it had long found a home. In 
 his relief he laughed at the thought that 
 such harmless things had, with the help of 
 darkness and tradition, driven him almost 
 out of his senses with fright. Then returning 
 once more across the dark room he settled 
 himself for the night in the depths of the 
 old chair, and, falling asleep, dreamed that 
 John Hey worth stood beside him bidding 
 him take courage, telling him that in all his 
 loneliness he was not forsaken, but compassed 
 by great hosts of witnesses ; reminding him
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 143 
 
 that earthly existence with its pain and 
 strife was but "as a dream when one 
 awaketh," and that beyond lay the real life 
 which alone could satisfy the heart of man. 
 His night in the haunted room taught him 
 for ever to disbelieve in the vulgar tales of 
 noisy and terrifying ghosts, but to believe 
 more than he had ever done before that the 
 world of the seen and the world of the un- 
 seen were really as closely united as the 
 body and the spirit of man himself. In 
 truth, he needed all the comfort that could 
 be brought to him in sleep, for it was 
 23ainful enough to wake the next morning 
 to the recollection of his father's anger, and 
 to the thought that he must this day go 
 forth into exile, jDenniless, unarmed, and 
 alone. As the clock struck five he heard 
 a low tap at the door ; some one called him 
 by his name ; it was Kosamond. 
 
 " Joscelyn," she whispered, as he drew 
 close to the keyhole, " I could not come 
 before, they watched me too closely. Did 
 the ghost harm you ? I hardly slept for 
 fearing it."
 
 144 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " On the contrary, he has done me good 
 service," said Joscelyn. "But do not 
 stay here, lest they find you out. See, I 
 Lave written you a letter. Do not fail me." 
 
 He pushed the flyleaf of the psalter under 
 the door, and Eosamoncl stole away to read 
 it in secret, then to discuss it with Dick, 
 who was quite unable to guess in what way 
 escape from the tapestry room could be 
 effected. However, it was agreed that they 
 should keep their own counsel, and, as 
 Joscelyn wished, wait for him in the arbour 
 that evening. 
 
 In the tapestry room the hours passed 
 heavily enough ; shortly after the usual 
 breakfast hour Joscelyn heard the bolts of 
 his door withdrawn, and, somewhat to his 
 surprise, his mother entered, bearing in her 
 own hands a loaf and a jug of water. Most 
 of Lady Heyworth's love had been lavished 
 on her two elder children, but Joscelyn had 
 always got on well with his mother, and his 
 love for her was very great ; when he saw 
 the cloud on her brow his heart sank within 
 him.
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 145 
 
 " Have you thought better of your 
 folly ? " she asked, coldly. 
 
 " I have not changed my mind, mother," 
 he replied. And then, an odd giddiness 
 seizing him, he took up the jug of water 
 which she had set down on the floor, and 
 drank thirstily. She stood watching him 
 intently, and as she watched the cloud on 
 her face darkened, and her brown eyes 
 grew hard and pitiless. 
 
 " I am glad you do suffer," she said. 
 " You have brought misery enough to your 
 father and to me at a time when there 
 was need of comfort rather than of fresh 
 trouble." 
 
 11 Mother ! " he cried, desperately, " do not 
 let these matters come between us. After 
 all, how can they touch my love to you — 
 my duty ? I will be content not to fight — 
 will stay here at Shortell ; it is not fit that 
 you should be left alone in this country- 
 house in war-time." 
 
 " I am very sensible of your kindness," 
 she said, mockingly. " But I should prefer 
 to have in the house any loyal yeoman or 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 peasant. What ! do you think I would 
 Lave as protector, or own as my son, one of 
 the King's enemies ? Nay, indeed, until 
 you change your mind I will see you no 
 more ! " 
 
 She turned as though to go, but he 
 strode forward and stood in front of the 
 door. Something in his face frightened her, 
 perhaps it was the grief, perhaps the resolute- 
 ness of his expression. 
 
 "Then kiss me, mother," he said; "for 
 this is our last meeting." 
 
 The conviction with which he spoke the 
 words, and perhaps a faint return of motherly 
 pride in the tall, strong figure blocking the 
 way, and almost commanding a farewell, 
 suddenly broke down her pride. She kissed 
 him, and went from the room weeping. The 
 sight of her tears was almost more than he 
 could endure ; he paced to and fro in hope- 
 less misery. After all, had John Hey worth's 
 fate been so sad ? Would not death — an 
 early death — solve all these miserable 
 problems and end the worst of the separa- 
 tion ? It is a mistake to think that it is
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 147 
 
 only the aged who look forward to death 
 with longing ; there are moments in youth 
 when the sick distaste for life, the fierce 
 craving for freedom from pain, work upon 
 the mind much more actively, though 
 doubtless, in a healthy nature, they are 
 soon conquered. Stretched on the floor of 
 the deserted room, his face hidden, his frame 
 shaken with sobs, Joscelyn Hey worth fought 
 his way through his first great trouble, and 
 presently, exhausted by want of food and 
 by strong emotion, sleep fell upon him, and 
 once more the spirit of his dead kinsman 
 brought him comfort. It spoke of the 
 shortness, yet of the vast importance, of the 
 life on earth — the sole time in which it is 
 given to man to suffer for the truth ; and 
 when, before long, Joscelyn awoke, he rose 
 with a strange new energy of endurance, a 
 sense that he was needed, and called and 
 entrusted with a part in the great struggle 
 for freedom. It was well for him that he 
 could not look on into the future, could not 
 tell how slowly, how painfully, with what 
 dire checks liberty would gradually advance
 
 148 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 — well for him that he thought a few 
 months would bring in the reign of peace 
 and justice. For most truly " we are saved 
 by hope," and the disappointments and 
 griefs, which would be intolerable were they 
 foreseen as a whole, can be borne as they 
 come to us one by one. 
 
 Eefreshed by sleep and food, he began to 
 feel eager to attempt his escape, and the 
 hours of waiting seemed long to him. Some- 
 times he read in the psalter, sometimes 
 studied the picture of John Hey worth, or 
 the quaint designs on the tapestry, and then 
 again he would pace to and fro trying to 
 plan out his future life, and wondering 
 where and how he should again meet Mr. 
 Hampden. At last, to his relief, he heard 
 the bells of Sh or tell Church ringing for 
 evening service ; later on, listening intently, 
 he heard the closing of the great front door, 
 and the steps and voices of those who were 
 £oin£ to church. When the bells ceased 
 chiming and the process of tolling in began, 
 he knew that his time was come. With one 
 more look round the haunted room where he
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 149 
 
 had passed through so grievous a struggle, 
 
 I DO OO ' 
 
 lie turned away, and with some difficulty 
 worked his way up the wide, old-fashioned 
 chimney, where the two hats had disappeared 
 oh the previous night. At last, breathless 
 and half choking, he reached the place where 
 the other chimney opened into the shaft. 
 Here he paused for a minute or two, thank- 
 ful to find a ledge that would support him. 
 The ascent had been manageable, but about 
 the descent of the chaplain's chimney he did 
 not feel quite so easy in his mind. Luckily 
 he had a steady head, and was well used to 
 athletics, and though the descent was diffi- 
 cult and dangerous, and the prospect of 
 lying on the hearth below with broken bones 
 more than once flashed across him as with 
 every muscle strained he cautiously made his 
 way down, yet in the end he found himself 
 standing safely on the floor of the study, 
 giddy and shaken, with strained and bleeding 
 hands, but otherwise none the worse for his 
 adventure. 
 
 Opening the door, he listened for a 
 minute, but the house was perfectly still.
 
 150 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 The servants were far away in the north 
 wing, and even if they heard steps would 
 merely think that Dick had come in from 
 the garden. So he quietly walked along 
 the corridor into the hall, and up-stairs to 
 his room, and having washed off the soot 
 and dust with which he was begrimed, and 
 hastily changed his clothes, he snatched 
 up his hat and cloak and stole down again, 
 going by a side door into the garden. In 
 three minutes he had gained the shrubbery, 
 and, striding along the paths by which 
 he had only two days before conducted 
 Isabella and Sir Toby, he hurried towards 
 the arbour, where Dick and Rosamond 
 greeted him with exclamations of surprise 
 and delight. 
 
 " How did you manage to get out ? " 
 cried Rosamond. " And, oh, look at your 
 hands ! how you have hurt them ! " 
 
 "The brickwork of the chimneys is 
 rough. But that is nothing," he replied, 
 sitting down between them. " I am out 
 and free, and can breathe again. The air 
 of that room is like a vault."
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 151 
 
 " But what will you do ? " said Dick, 
 whose merry, careless face had grown 
 very grave. " You have no money." 
 
 " Not a farthing," said Joscelyn. " But 
 I have a good pair of legs, at any rate, and 
 it will go hard with me if I cannot contrive 
 to reach Mr. Hampden and claim his 
 promise of help — which help. I take it, will 
 be a post in his regiment." 
 
 " I lost what little I had at play last 
 night," said Dick, ruefully, "or it should 
 have been yours." 
 
 "And I have but these few pennies," 
 said Rosamond, "but they will be better 
 than nothing ; " and amid protests and 
 laughter she succeeded in putting them 
 into the pocket of his doublet. Sood, 
 however, the sense of the parting that must 
 come in a few minutes sobered them. 
 
 " There is one thing, Dick, which you 
 will do for me," said Joscelyn, huskily ; " be 
 to my father what Jervis can never be, 
 what I would fain have been." 
 
 " I can never make up to him for you," 
 said Dick; "but I will not leave him, I
 
 152 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 promise you. Oh, Joscelyn, is there no 
 help for it ? Must you indeed go ? " 
 
 " There is no help," said Joscelyn, gravely. 
 " Did we not talk it all out the other 
 night ? Neither of us can £0 against his 
 
 O CO 
 
 conscience. Better to be opposed to each 
 other than to be false to the sense of 
 right." 
 
 He rose to go, but Rosamond clung to 
 him with such bitter sobs that he was 
 almost unnerved. 
 
 " Oh, why must it be ? " she cried. " If 
 only it could have been Jervis ! Why — 
 why is there war at all ? " 
 
 That was the question going up from 
 thousands of hearts in England on that 
 peaceful August evening, and many house- 
 holds were as cruelly divided as this one — 
 father against son, and brother against 
 brother. There was a painful silence in 
 the arbour. Dick, with a choking feel- 
 ing: in his throat, looked across at little 
 Rosamond as she clung; to her favourite 
 brother, and he knew that for his sake 
 Joscelyn would say no more as to the
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 153 
 
 necessity of war and the reasons for it. 
 The silence was eloquent of love triumphant 
 over all differences of view. 
 
 " Rosamond," said Joscelyn at last, " you 
 will trust us both — ay, and pray for us both, 
 I know." 
 
 She checked her tears with an effort. 
 
 " Always — always ! " she said, fervently. 
 
 " We cannot tell what may happen," he 
 went on ; " but whenever it is possible I 
 will send word to Barnaby, and he will tell 
 you and Dick and hold his tongue to the 
 rest of the household. You must tell him 
 I trust to him, for I will not risk going 
 to his house now. Time is getting on, and 
 I ousdit not to linger." 
 
 The terror lest her father should by 
 chance encounter Joscelyn came as a help 
 to Rosamond's courage and carried her 
 through the parting. 
 
 "Yes, go," she said, with a last kiss. 
 " The service may be shorter to-night than 
 usual, and you might be seen and taken." 
 
 Anxiety now drove out every other 
 feeling, and she was in fact the only clear-
 
 154 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 eyed one when, with a last embrace, 
 Joscelyn tore himself away from Dick and 
 in silence left the arbour. He would not 
 let them come with him, but when his steps 
 had died away in the distance they stole 
 down to the edge of the shrubbery, and 
 watched him as he crossed the park in the 
 direction of a small wicket-gate at the 
 south-eastern corner. 
 
 " Dick," said Rosamond, her voice falter- 
 ing a little, " I believe he means to look in 
 at the church that he may at least see the 
 others once more." 
 
 Her instinct was right. Joscelyn left the 
 park, walked hurriedly along the deserted 
 road, passed through the churchyard gate, 
 and strode up the bricked pathway which 
 led between a narrow avenue of lime trees 
 to the north porch. He did not enter the 
 building, but crossed the grass to the south 
 side and stole noiselessly up to one of the 
 windows. The old Norman church, whose 
 curiously-bowed pillars represented the 
 sides of a ship, the familiar round-headed 
 arches, the little side-chapel where from his
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 155 
 
 childhood he had come Sunday by Sunday 
 with his parents, were all clearly revealed 
 to him ; he could even see the newly- 
 erected brass to one " John Eager 20 March 
 1641," with its quaint design of a skeleton, 
 and below the solemn warning — 
 
 " Ye earthly impes which here behold 
 This picture with your eyes, 
 Remember the end of mortal men 
 And where their glory lies." 
 
 Close by, in the Manor pew, with their 
 backs to him, he could see his mother and 
 Isabella, but his father's side -face was visible 
 as he knelt with closed eyes, and, though 
 sobs rose in Joscelyn's throat as he watched 
 the old man's devout face, he was glad that 
 he could take away a happier remembrance 
 of his father than the remembrance of that 
 last sio;ht of him in fierce anoer on the 
 Saturday morning. The chaplain's voice 
 reached him distinctly, and with all his 
 heart he joined once more in the words 
 hallowed by the use of so many centuries : 
 " Fulfil now, Lord, the desires and peti- 
 tions of Thy servants — as may be most
 
 156 TO RIGHT THE WRONG, 
 
 expedient for them ; granting us in this 
 world knowledge of Thy truth, and in the 
 world to come life everlasting." 
 
 As the words of the grace were spoken 
 he looked his last on his father s face, and 
 moving out of sight leant for some minutes 
 against the church wall, face and attitude 
 alike telling of the grievous pain which 
 tore his heart. Presently the sound of 
 music roused him, and through the open 
 windows there floated out to him the quaint 
 words of one of the metrical psalms — 
 
 " The Lord doth reign, whereat the earth 
 
 May joy with pleasant voice, 
 And eke the Isles with joyfull mirth 
 
 May triumph and rejoice. 
 Both clouds and darkness eke do swell 
 
 And round about Him beat : 
 Yea, right and justice ever dwell 
 
 And bide about His feet." 
 
 Before the next verse was ended the grave- 
 yard was once more deserted ; the lime trees 
 rustled sadly in the evening breeze ; the 
 ruddy sunset light cast a glow over the old 
 grey church and softened the more modern 
 brickwork of the tower, and touched with
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 157 
 
 glory the tomb of John Heyworth. But 
 within the church remained loyal old Sir 
 Thomas, and without — a solitary wayfarer 
 passed swiftly along the rough high-road.
 
 158 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Both Heaven and Hell have their foundations within 
 us. Heaven primarily lies in a refined temper, 
 in an internal reconciliation to the nature of God, 
 and to the rule of righteousness. The guilt of 
 conscience and enmity to righteousness is the 
 inward state of Hell. — Whichcote. 
 
 Joscelyn had turned his steps in the direc- 
 tion of the little town of Farnham, his 
 road lying for part of the way through the 
 Holt Forest, which at that time was of 
 greater extent than at present. It was not 
 exactly a road which one would have chosen 
 to travel alone and unarmed, but he was 
 too sad-hearted to give a thought to the 
 possible dangers of the way, and he passed 
 on unmolested in the summer twilight 
 beneath the dark oaks and beeches. The 
 loneliness, the semi -darkness, the utter
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 159 
 
 dreariness of the walk accorded only too 
 well with his feelings, and it was a relief 
 when he had left the forest behind him and 
 had reached the outskirts of the town. By 
 this time night was closing in ; he paused 
 for a minute, looking back towards his 
 home. A cold light still lingered in the 
 west, dappled with dark clouds ; the sky 
 looked, to his fancy, like the side of an iron- 
 grey horse. 
 
 With a heavy heart he turned away and 
 walked wearily on through the familiar little 
 town. As he passed along West Street and 
 the Borough it crossed his mind how T , not so 
 very long ago, his greatest treat had been to 
 come in with Dick and old Barnaby to see 
 the Farnham horse-fair. A great gulf seemed 
 to lie between those past times and this 
 dreary present ; he seemed to himself like 
 some other being, and nothing perhaps but 
 the sharp pain of those old memories as 
 they contrasted with his loneliness could 
 have convinced him that he was in truth 
 the same Joscelyn Hey worth. Lights still 
 lingered in many of the windows, and from
 
 160 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 the celebrated Bush Inn there came a cheer- 
 ful glow and a sound of eager voices. He 
 reflected that although he could not afford 
 to pass the night anywhere except in the 
 open air, yet that Eosamond's pence would 
 at any rate pay for a manchet of bread and 
 a tankard of ale, and his walk had served 
 to remind him that during the last two 
 days his fare had been but scanty. So 
 he crossed the well-known courtyard, and 
 receiving a respectful recognition from the 
 landlord, was ushered into the parlour 
 whence the babel of tongues had proceeded. 
 Mr. Giles Graham, of Guildford, and a 
 party of friends had ridden over that 
 evening and were supping, the landlord 
 explained, and he proceeded to offer his 
 guest all that the house would afford : a 
 cut from an excellent saddle of mutton, a 
 fat capon, devilled kidneys, or toasted 
 cheese. Why any one should be ashamed 
 of poverty, and especially of poverty volun- 
 tarily incurred for the sake of a principle, 
 it is hard to say. But undoubtedly this 
 human weakness is almost universal, and
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 161 
 
 Joscelyn, as he declined the dainties offered 
 by his host, coloured up like a girl, and was 
 convinced that the man could see that of 
 silver and gold he had none. However, he 
 soon recovered his equanimity, and forgot 
 himself in the interest of the talk ofoin^ on 
 around him. Apparently Mr. Giles Graham 
 had been drinking rather freelv ; he was a 
 burly, thick- set man, and looked the soul of 
 good-nature ; he was talking to a sallow and 
 rather surly-faced man at his right, and 
 Joscelyn speedily discovered that the war 
 was the subject under discussion. 
 
 " Surrey for the Parliament, do you say ? " 
 roared Mr. Graham ; "I tell you the knaves 
 are counting their chickens before they are 
 hatched. There are plenty of loyal hearts 
 in Surrey, I'll be bound." 
 
 " Of course, of course," said the sallow 
 
 man, with a frown, " the very business we 
 
 are met upon shows that. But already the 
 
 rebels are beginning to attack the houses 
 
 of the Catholic gentry, and to take all 
 
 the arms they can lay hold of, and it 
 
 behoves us to be as active. What chances 
 VOL. i. m
 
 162 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 are there in } r our neighbourhood, Sir 
 Andrew ? " 
 
 The young man appealed to was invisible 
 to Joscelyn, being far up on the same side 
 of the table. 
 
 " There is only one, to the best of my 
 belief," he replied, "but that would be 
 worth trying. A fine strong Tudor house 
 in a picked position, commanding three 
 valleys and close to the road, with a good 
 store of old arms, and, what is better, with 
 plenty of spoil, for the place belongs to one 
 of the richest men in the county." 
 
 " But doubtless it will be well defended," 
 said Mr. Graham. 
 
 "I don't think it," said Sir Andrew; 
 " old Sir Kobert Neal is too easy-going and 
 unsuspicious." 
 
 "Good; then that house shall head our 
 list, and the sooner it is attacked the 
 better," replied the other. 
 
 They proceeded to discuss various houses 
 where arms might possibly be obtained, but 
 the talk gradually became less coherent 
 and more noisy ; and presently, taking
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 163 
 
 advantage of a boisterous drinking chorus 
 to cover his retreat, Joscelyn slipped quietly 
 from the room. Either the supper-party 
 had not noticed him at all, or in their noisy 
 merriment had laid aside the prudence 
 which would have suggested the possibility 
 that this youth might belong to the Par- 
 liamentary party. 
 
 Having parted with the very last of 
 Eosamond's pence, Joscelyn left the Bush 
 and wandered out into the summer night. 
 It was clearly now his duty to go to 
 Katterham at once, and acquaint Sir Eobert 
 with what he had heard, but he was too 
 tired to w T alk any farther that night, and 
 having reached the outskirts of the town 
 he bethought him that the park would 
 prove a tolerably safe sleeping-place, and 
 turning up past a wayside inn named the 
 Six Bells, he scaled the park fence and soon 
 found a sheltered nook, where, with a slop- 
 ing bank behind him and a thick growth of 
 brake -fern by way of covering, he made 
 himself a tolerably comfortable bed. Yet 
 it was long ere he could sleep, for his brain
 
 164 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 was over-excited by the suffering he had 
 passed through. He lay listening to the 
 sighing of the wind in the tall elm trees 
 above him, and as the church clock struck 
 the hours it seemed to him as if the great 
 bell were tolling for the death of his old 
 life. " Gone, gone, gone ! " it seemed to 
 say. He wondered if his whole future 
 was to be passed now in shadow ; whether 
 the brightness and lightheartedness which 
 had hitherto buoyed him up through the 
 slight troubles and disappointments he had 
 met with could ever return to him. The 
 stars were shining gloriously, and from the 
 place where he lay he could clearly see 
 Charles's Wain ; he looked up at it, finding 
 a sort of comfort in what for so long had 
 been familiar to him. And presently the 
 dark sky and the faint starlight brought 
 back to his mind the words of the psalm 
 which had been sung that evening in 
 Shortell Church. Was it not possible even 
 now " to triumph and rejoice " ' l . Was it 
 not possible even in this distracted England 
 to trust in the eternal " right and justice "
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 165 
 
 of the One who ruled all things, One who 
 in the right way, at the right time, would 
 disperse the clouds and darkness that had 
 gathered ? This night of misrule and op- 
 pression was, after all, only a night, and 
 even in the midst of it there were not 
 wanting many witnesses shining forth like 
 stars in the surrounding tfloom, to remind 
 all men that justice and truth and liberty 
 were sacred and lasting realities, and that 
 the dawn must break. 
 
 With this thought in his mind he fell 
 asleep, and it was not until the eariy morn- 
 ing that a herd of deer passing by at a 
 few yards' distance roused him. He started 
 up from his bed of fern and looked about 
 him, the cavalry of his dream resolving 
 itself into the noble creatures with their 
 branching antlers and soft brown eyes and 
 beautifully dappled skin. He thought he 
 had never seen anything so exquisite, as 
 at sight of him they bounded lightly down 
 the soft green slope, over which there rested 
 a white veil of dew. The tall elms, with 
 their masses of dark-green August foliage,
 
 166 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 reared their heads solemnly into the clear 
 blue sky ; here and there fleecy white 
 clouds floated, and something in the general 
 stillness and peace — something, too, in the 
 balmy freshness of the atmosphere — made 
 Joscelyn for a moment almost ready to 
 fancy that he had left the world which but 
 last night had been so grievously at wrongs, 
 and had waked in Paradise. 
 
 Then, gradually coming to himself, a 
 great hopefulness took possession of him ; 
 the perfect morning seemed to breathe into 
 him a different spirit. True, strife and 
 pain and effort awaited the whole country, 
 but he, for one, would ever keep before 
 him that ideal of the reign of righteousness 
 after the pattern of which all earthly 
 governments should as far as possible strive 
 to mould themselves. It seemed to him 
 that he had never before realised the truth 
 that, though men may hinder and mar the 
 gradual progress of good, they are unable 
 to overcome it in reality, and with his 
 whole heart he thanked God that he had 
 been able to give up all, and to devote his
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 167 
 
 will to the service of One to whom he owed 
 more than either to Kins: or father. Often 
 afterwards he was obliged to pass through 
 times of grievous depression and perplexity, 
 yet he never lost for long the glad sense 
 of working in unison with a Higher Will, 
 which had first come to him in the beauty 
 and peace of that early morning in Farnham 
 Park. A penniless, disgraced exile, he 
 nevertheless set forth with that best of 
 possessions — the happiness which endures 
 through sorrow. 
 
 Recollecting that, both on account of 
 taking the warning to Katterham and also 
 because pursuit from Shortell was still a 
 possibility, he must not linger, he started 
 off while it was still quite early, and began 
 his walk along the high ridge of country 
 known as the Hog's Back, to Guildford. 
 Then, having rested for half-an-hour in the 
 outskirts of the town, he struck across 
 country, and, avoiding the neighbourhood 
 of his uncle's house at Bletchingley, 
 where his views were little likely to meet 
 with sympathy, he mounted the wooded
 
 168 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 height to which he had directed his 
 course. 
 
 The sun was setting, and knowing that 
 he was scarcely a mile from Katterham 
 Court, he paused for a minute or two to 
 rest at the top of the long hill. A glorious 
 plain lay beneath him, bounded in the 
 distance by three distinct chains of downs, 
 while to the right, all Hooded with a crimson 
 glow, he could see the beautiful outline of 
 Leith Hill. He was not sorry to think 
 that his day's work was nearly over, and 
 the final tramp over the old Roman Stane 
 Street seemed long to him, but at last the 
 common was crossed, the rough country 
 lane was ended, and the gates and lodge 
 of the Court House rose before him in 
 the twilight. He rang and was speedily 
 admitted, receiving a friendly greeting from 
 the gatekeeper. A road bordered by a 
 close shrubbery led towards the house, 
 and, turning sharply to the left, soon 
 brought him within sight of the red-brick 
 mansion, with its gables and picturesque 
 chimneys and moss-grown roof. It was
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 1G9 
 
 with a sense of keen pleasure that Joscelyn 
 perceived Sir Robert Neal sitting in his 
 elbow-chair at the open door, and the old 
 man, catching sight of him, started up with 
 a welcome so hearty and so kind that it 
 was no longer possible for Joscelyn to feel 
 himself alone in the world. 
 
 At the sound of his voice the children 
 came running out, delighted to see him 
 once more, and Clemency was summoned 
 from the withdrawing-room where she sat 
 with two distant kinswomen, Mrs. Arbella 
 and Mrs. Ursula Neal, who, through the 
 kindness of Sir Robert, had for many years 
 lived rent free in the Dower House hard 
 by. Joscelyn, who had been describing 
 to Sir Robert the way in which he had 
 heard of the possible attack on the Court 
 House, broke off abruptly as Clemency and 
 the two maiden ladies from the Dower 
 House approached, for during his previous 
 visit he had learnt that Mrs. Arbella and 
 Mrs. Ursula were staunch Royalists. 
 
 They were, into the bargain, apt to regard 
 ordinary members of the male sex with
 
 170 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 little favour, and Joscelyn, though sincerely 
 respecting them, somewhat resented the 
 patronising tone of Mrs. Arbella and the 
 seeming indifference of Mrs. Ursula. That 
 the latter should be Clemency's greatest 
 friend puzzled him much ; he had not yet 
 learnt to see the unselfish, devoted nature, 
 the rare humility, which lay beneath Mrs. 
 Ursula's rather cold countenance. 
 
 " Mr. Heyworth has kindly come out of 
 his way to bring me important news," said 
 Sir Eobert. " By the way, I hope your 
 horse is beino; seen to ? Did one of the 
 men take it ? " 
 
 " I came on foot, sir," said Joscelyn, 
 colouring in a way which revealed both to 
 Sir Eobert and to Clemency much of his 
 story. 
 
 " On foot ! " exclaimed Mrs. Arbella, with 
 an expression of strong disapproval on her 
 comely though wrinkled face. " It was 
 extremely rash to walk such a distance 
 when your injured knee is but recently 
 restored ! It was absolute madness ! " 
 
 " It was necessity, madam," said Joscelyn,
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 17 1 
 
 with a touch of irritation in his voice. 
 " As the proverb hath it, ' If wishes were 
 horses beggars would ride,' but at present, 
 those who are turned adrift on the world 
 with empty pockets find wishing but an 
 idle pastime, and must tramp it as they 
 best may." 
 
 A kindly expression dawned in -Mrs. 
 Ursula's quiet face. Though far from 
 sympathising with the views which Joscelyn 
 had adopted, she could not but respect his 
 courage and regret his pain. 
 
 " I trust the knee will be none the 
 worse," she said, pleasantly. " But you 
 must be weary with your journey, and I 
 think, sister," she added, turning to Mrs. 
 Arbella, " that we had better make our 
 farewells, or the darkness will overtake us." 
 
 She wished Joscelyn good-night kindly, 
 and, gathering up her black silk skirt in 
 a way which revealed a pair of small feet 
 and shapely ankles, prepared for the short 
 walk across the park to the Dower House. 
 
 Mrs. Arbella followed her, commenting 
 as they went, in her rapid, energetic way,
 
 172 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 on the return of Joscelyn Heyworth. She 
 was a lady who dealt out patronising 
 judgments on the faults and failings of 
 mankind with extraordinary volubility. 
 Yet, in spite of this, there was something 
 lovable about her which took the sting 
 from her most sweeping condemnations. 
 
 " Oh, he is a handsome stripling, I grant," 
 she said, "but I'll warrant that he is 
 lacking in all reverence for authority. He 
 must be headstrong, self-willed, and opinion- 
 ated, to run counter to his home surround- 
 ings after this fashion. And I am not at 
 all sure that he has not already an eye 
 to the pretty heiress and these broad acres, 
 and that his so-called love of the land is 
 not love of this land we walk on. Doubtless 
 the important news Sir Eobert mentioned 
 was but an excuse to get back to the Court 
 House." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Mrs. Ursula, " there 
 I believe, sister, you wrong the poor lad. 
 I am persuaded he has too much dignity 
 and rio'ht feeling to dangle round an heiress. 
 One who was capable of that would not
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 173 
 
 speak in the tone he used but now of 
 being in the position of the penniless tramp. 
 In respect for authority he may be lacking, 
 but I cannot credit him with mercenary 
 thoughts touching Clemency's inheritance." 
 
 " Poverty is a strong temptation," said 
 Mrs. Arbella, not without a pathetic thought 
 of the shabbiness of her sister's gown. 
 
 " Only to the weak," said Mrs. Ursula, 
 with decision ; " and, if I mistake not, Mr. 
 Hey worth is strong, and does not lack 
 proper pride." 
 
 Mrs. Arbella was silent. Pride and pov- 
 erty appealed to her, for there was much of 
 both in her own life. 
 
 " I am not prepared to say," she remarked, 
 as the sisters entered their sparsely-furnished 
 house, " that his family have done wisely in 
 treating him with such severity. However 
 mistaken his opinions, it is a dangerous 
 thing for one of his age to be cast adrift 
 without money, and it is well that he has 
 fallen in with such a worth v man as Sir 
 Robert, who must be esteemed even by 
 his opponents. As for our good kinsman's
 
 174 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 political errors, why, he is a man, and, 
 like all men, easily misled by his own vain 
 prejudices. Had he been born a woman, 
 now, I venture to assert that he would have 
 been as loyal to Church and King as we 
 are ourselves."
 
 175 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 Heart, my heart, what is this feeling, 
 That doth weigh on thee so sore 1 
 
 What new life art thou revealing, 
 
 That I know myself no more ? — Goethe. 
 
 " The Court House, Katterham, 
 
 "Friday, the 12th August, 1642. 
 
 " My deae Faith — 
 
 " Your letter in reply to the 
 first I wrote after hearing of your safe 
 arrival has just been delivered to me by 
 your brother-in-law's man, and since he 
 goes on to London to-morrow and returns 
 within a week to Gloucester, I shall give 
 up the day to writing you all that has 
 passed. 
 
 " But first let me tell you how I rejoice 
 that we can write thus each to each, as we 
 once talked, and that Christopher does not
 
 176 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 demand a si^ht of the letters. For as three 
 is dull company, so also is a correspondence 
 which is enforcedly not betwixt writer and 
 reader, but for a third eye and mind. How 
 greatly would our chat weary him ; as 
 much methinks as the reading of his letters 
 on business would weary us ! In saying 
 that the unity of husband and wife does 
 not demand the laying bare of the con- 
 fidences of kinsfolk or friends, but best 
 proves its reality by its trust, he seems to 
 me to show his wisdom and nobleness, and 
 I feel able to spare you to him with a less 
 grudging heart. But oh, Faith ! there are 
 times when I feel sick for one more sight 
 of you, and the house is sorely changed 
 by the lack of your voice and the want of 
 your face ; indeed, it is scarce like home 
 any more. You see how I need you to 
 drive away my doleful thoughts, and I will 
 w r aste no more of the paper with idle 
 repinings, but make the most of this talk 
 from shire to shire, the chance for which 
 does not come every day. I told you in 
 my last that Mr. Joscelyn Heyworth had,
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 177 
 
 through his talk with Mr. Hampden, come 
 
 to see that he could not, as his father 
 
 wished, serve in the King's array. "Well, 
 
 he took leave of us on Friday the 5th, 
 
 but on the Monday evening unexpectedly 
 
 returned, much spent with the journey from 
 
 Farnham, which he had made on foot, and 
 
 bringing with him sad news. His parents 
 
 had taken his change of views grievously 
 
 to heart, had treated him with great 
 
 severity, and he had escaped from a sort 
 
 of home imprisonment, making his way to 
 
 Katterham penniless and unarmed. He 
 
 had intended to journey to London, there 
 
 to seek Mr. Hampden, but at Farnham he 
 
 chanced to hear the intention of Mr. Giles 
 
 Graham and others to brino- a force to the 
 
 attack of certain wealthy houses of our 
 
 county, and among others of Katterham 
 
 Court. Hester and the children were not 
 
 told of it, for we thought it would but 
 
 frighten them to no good purpose. But 
 
 grandfather let me sit by whilst he and Nat 
 
 Tamplin, the new steward, whom we all 
 
 greatly like, talked till late in the evening, 
 VOL. i. N
 
 178 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 planning what steps had best be taken. 
 They agreed that Tamplin should order 
 several of the farm men to sleep on the 
 premises, and as we had but little powder 
 it was arranged that Mr. Heyworth, 
 attended by Jack Morrison, should ride 
 over to Croydon the next morning at 
 sunrise to bring back a supply, and also to 
 acquaint the Committee of Public Safety 
 with the plot he had heard. None of the 
 servants but Charlotte knew there was any 
 danger, and she, dear soul, made light of 
 it lest I should be anxious, though all the 
 same I could see, when in the early 
 morning she brought me my bowl of new 
 milk, that her face was careworn and as if 
 she had not slept. 
 
 " ' Did you think they would murder us 
 all in our beds ? ' I asked, laughing; — for it 
 was easy to laugh with the darkness past 
 and the sunshine streaming in at the 
 window, and the lowing of the oxen and 
 the bleating of the sheep and the singing 
 of the birds just as we have heard it every 
 morning of our lives.
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 179 
 
 " ' I'm not thinking they would trouble 
 us in the house/ protested Charlotte. ' It's 
 the harvest I'm thinking of, for they do say 
 that foraging parties are wandering over 
 the country and reaping the corn by stealth 
 in the night, and off with it before the 
 owner is well awake, to store the garrisons.' 
 
 " But thousrh she made much of the corn, 
 I know her real care was for us children : 
 and, Faith, I truly think that if it had 
 come to it dear old Charlotte would have 
 laid down her life to protect us without so 
 much as a thought that she was doing any- 
 thing; unusual. And neither would it have 
 been unusual, for when one thinks of it 
 she is giving herself up to other people 
 and serving others all day and every 
 day. What should we have been without 
 her ? 
 
 " I had just made an end of the house- 
 keeping and was in the garden with Monnie 
 cutting off the withered roses, when up 
 came Original Smith with a long; face and 
 a long story ; he had heard of the report 
 brought back by Mr. Hey worth, and saw
 
 180 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 fit to complain that lie had not been the 
 one to be sent over to the Committee of 
 Public Safety. Why did we put so much 
 confidence in a stranger, and not allow one 
 who had known us all our lives to be of 
 service ? I told him that it was natural 
 that Mr. Hey worth should have been chosen 
 to go since he was the one who had heard 
 the talk at Farnham. To which he made 
 answer, ' I see you prefer new friends to 
 old, but 'tis seldom they prove the most 
 faithful.' 
 
 " I said it was not a question of friend- 
 ship at all, but of what grandfather thought 
 best to arrange, and then to give the talk 
 a turn asked if the children had been good 
 and whether their lessons were done. He 
 answered shortly, and went on much in the 
 dumps, and I think I must somehow have 
 ofl ended him, for his manner has been 
 strange ever since. I would not have him 
 think that we do not value old friends. 
 His father seems to me as fine a specimen 
 of a yeoman as one could wish, and his 
 mother is one of the saints of the earth,
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 181 
 
 and though Original himself would be more 
 to my liking if he did not crop his hair 
 and anathematise all whose views square 
 not with his own, yet I have always 
 respected him, and he is the best tutor the 
 children could have. When, at eleven 
 o'clock, we met again in the hall at dinner, 
 he was still in his dumps, but of course no 
 more could be said because Hester and the 
 children were present. In the afternoon 
 Mr. Hey worth and Morrison rode back 
 from Croydon, and with them came Captain 
 Johnston and half-a-dozen men, whom we 
 had to entertain as best we could for the 
 night. The children were told that they 
 had come to beat up recruits in the 
 neighbouring villages, which was indeed 
 true, and I made a pretext to send them 
 over to the homestead to see the cows 
 milked and to order Mrs. Purnell to send 
 over an extra supply. Then, when they 
 were gone, Captain Johnston and grand- 
 father and Mr. Hey worth and the new 
 steward, Nat Tamplin, went over the house, 
 and planned how it had best be defended
 
 182 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 in case of attack, and somehow with the 
 coming and going, and the excitement, and 
 the having so many orders to give as to 
 the food, I had no time to feel afraid until 
 after supper that night, when, having left 
 the men-folk talking; with grandfather in 
 the study, I went up to our bedroom, which 
 seems lonesome always without you, though 
 I'have little Monnie for company. 
 
 " It was a dark cloudy night, and when I 
 looked from the window I felt for the first 
 time afraid of the stillness, and could have 
 blessed Monnie for waking as she did and 
 begging me to sing her to sleep again. I 
 shut the casement and drew the curtain, 
 still with that sort of creeping terror of 
 what might be out there in the darkness ; 
 and to feel nearer the rest of the house I 
 set the bedroom door ajar, and felt a 
 cowardly relief at hearing steps on the 
 stair and knowing that either Mr. Hey worth 
 or Captain Johnston must have come up 
 to their room. Monnie kept saying, ' Sing, 
 Clemency, sing/ and as much to comfort 
 myself as to soothe her, I began —
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 183 
 
 ' The Lord is both my health and light, 
 Shall men make me dismay'd % 
 Sith God doth give me strength and might, 
 Why should I be afraid V 
 
 " When I got to the verse about ' My 
 pareots both their sonne forsooke,' I fell to 
 thinking of Mr. Hey worth. It is strange 
 how the Psalms always do fit in with our 
 life of to-day, and that what David said 
 loner aao should be just what I wanted to 
 say in this seventeenth century. But the 
 sinonno; cheered me as nothing else could 
 have done, in especial those last verses — 
 
 1 Teach me, Lord, the way to Thee, 
 And lead me on forth right, 
 For fear of such as watch for me 
 To trap me if they might. 
 
 My heart would faint but that in me 
 
 This hope is fixed fast, 
 The Lord God's good grace shall I see 
 
 In life that aye shall last. 
 
 Trust then in God whose whole thou art ; 
 
 His will abide thou must ; 
 And He shall ease and strength thy heart, 
 
 If thou on Him do trust.' 
 
 " Monnie was sound asleep by the time 
 the psalm was sung, and the last words
 
 184 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 had scarcely left my lips when some one 
 knocked from without ; throwing the door 
 wider open I saw Mr. Heyworth standing 
 there, and he, with many apologies, asked 
 me to sing no longer, but to listen with 
 him for a moment at the open window of 
 the passage. I knelt on the old oak chest, 
 and we both listened intently ; this time 
 there was something more terrible than the 
 intense stillness — the sound of horses' hoofs 
 on the road from Willey Farm — the quarter 
 from which we had fancied the enemy 
 would come. I think if Mr. Heyworth had 
 not been so quiet my fears would have all 
 returned, but if panic is apt to prove 
 infectious, so, I think, is calmness. 
 
 " ' The unwelcome visitors, if I mistake 
 not,' he said. ' Sir Robert must be told.' 
 
 " We ran down-stairs to the study, where 
 grandfather and Captain Johnston sat 
 smoking their pipes ; they flung open the 
 side window, and more clearly than ever 
 we heard the beat of the horse-hoofs on the 
 road. I heard Captain Johnston discussing 
 with Mr. Heyworth as to how T they should
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 185 
 
 rouse Tamplin and the men from Croydon, 
 and how reach Morrison at the gatehouse. 
 Before it was settled, however, grandfather 
 had insisted that I should go up-stairs, and 
 I had promised to stay in the upper part 
 of the house and to keep the great oak door 
 at the head of the front stairs closely barred. 
 Having drawn both the upper and lower 
 bolts, I went again to the passage window 
 and, kneeling once more on the chest, 
 looked out into the night. Some one was 
 let out at the front door. I supposed it 
 was Captain Johnston going across to the 
 gate-house ; and as I heard his steps 
 crunching the gravel in the courtyard I 
 thought to myself, ' If it were a man one 
 cared for, how one would fear for his 
 safety ! ' And then, oh, Faith ! I saw 
 that it was not Captain Johnston at all, 
 but Mr. Hey worth, and my heart seemed 
 to stand still, and when it went on asrain 
 it was no longer my own. I saw him 
 plainly, for the light streamed out from 
 the opened door and shone upon his hair, 
 and though he and Captain Johnston are
 
 186 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 of much the same height, yet there was 
 no mistaking that. He was gone in a 
 minute, and I was left to look and look, 
 till my eyes ached, at the inner gate of the 
 court, and the two pillars with their round 
 balls, and to listen in an agony to the 
 horrible tramp coming steadily nearer and 
 nearer. I do not know how the time went ; 
 I heard the front door being locked and 
 bolted, and steps hurrying hither and 
 thither, and after awhile Charlotte came 
 down and insisted on closing the casement 
 and fastening the shutters, though I begged 
 hard to keep watch still. She would not 
 hear of it ; yet when the horsemen seemed 
 actually to be just outside the courtyard 
 her anxiety for grandfather got the better 
 of her, and she let me unfasten the bolts 
 of the oak door, and stole quietly down- 
 stairs to see how matters were going. I 
 waited with the door partly open, straining 
 my ears to hear what passed. There were 
 steps on the gravel, and then a loud knock- 
 ing; at the front door. I heard Charlotte 
 and grandfather speaking together, and
 
 TO RIGHT THE WEONG. 187 
 
 then the grille was opened, and grandfather 
 asked, ' Who is there ? And why do you 
 seek admittance at this hour of the night ? ' 
 
 " ' Open, in the King's name,' was the 
 summons from without. 
 
 " ' I refuse to open,' said grandfather, 
 with a ring in his voice which made it 
 sound like the voice of a young man. 
 
 " ' We have forces here enough to storm 
 your house and burn it about your ears,' 
 said the voice from without ' Open, in the 
 King's name, and yield your arms and your 
 plate in the King's service.' 
 
 " For all answer grandfather sharply 
 closed the grille. 
 
 " The spokesman had scarcely moved a 
 couple of steps on the gravel when I heard 
 a gun fired, and another and another, and 
 in my sickening anxiety to know how 
 matters were going, I think I must have 
 broken my word and thrown back the 
 shutters to look out, or even run down- 
 stairs to grandfather, had not Monnie 
 waked with a cry of terror, and fastening 
 the bolts of the door again, I ran back to
 
 188 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 my room and sat on the bed beside her, 
 singing the psalm through once more, and 
 as lustily as I could, that my voice might 
 drown the sound of the guns and the cries 
 and shouts from without. I thought my 
 brain must have given way with the strain 
 of the fearful anxiety for those without, 
 and for grandfather below and for all the 
 children, when one remembered that hateful 
 threat of firing the house. Yet there were 
 times when I knew that One was soothing 
 me much as I soothed Monnie, and stilling 
 the storm of fears that again and again 
 tried to rise in my heart. After what 
 seemed a long time the firing ceased, and 
 the shouts and cries died down to a con- 
 fused murmur, and Gyp and Rover, who 
 had been barking furiously, grew less ex- 
 cited. To my relief Monnie fell asleep too, 
 and hearing steps ascending, I went to un- 
 bolt the door at the head of the stairs, yet 
 paused for a moment in deadly terror at 
 the thought that the quiet without might 
 after all mean our defeat and that the 
 footsteps might be those of the enemy.
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 189 
 
 "'Who is there?' I cried, as some one 
 knocked ; and the answer came back in a 
 clear ringing voice, ' It is I, Joscelyn Hey- 
 worth.' Then I flung back the door, and in 
 one breath we both cried, ' Are you safe ? ' 
 and there and then I felt thankful that Hal 
 was not by to cry out, as he assuredly 
 would have done, ' Hook fingers and wish, 
 for you spoke the same words.' 
 
 "I seem still to feel his hands grasping 
 mine, still to see his eyes striving, as they 
 did that night, to read my very soul. Oh, 
 Faith ! tell me, is it my fancy that he 
 had feared for me as I feared for him — 
 that to him, too, it had been a night of 
 revelation ? 
 
 " We went down to the entrance-hall, 
 and there I heard how the enemy had 
 ignominiously retreated, being utterly sur- 
 prised and routed by a sadden attack made 
 from the shelter of the nut trees beside the 
 bowling-green by Captain Johnston and his 
 men. Mr. Hey worth and Morrison, with 
 some of the farm men who had been sleep- 
 ing in the gate-house, followed up the^
 
 190 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 advantage and pressed them hard from the 
 other side, and having doubtless expected 
 to find us unprepared with any defence, 
 they were the more easily disheartened and 
 repulsed. Several were wounded, among 
 others young Sir Andrew Grey, who this 
 time last year, you remember, asked grand- 
 father for my hand in marriage, and was 
 for many months one of my most weari- 
 some and importunate servants. Methinks 
 Original Smith is wrong, and that new 
 friends are sometimes more desirable than 
 old ! Morrison got a slight cut on the 
 head, which, however, has only enamoured 
 him of war and fighting, and two of 
 Captain Johnston's men were hurt, yet not 
 severely. Charlotte made much of them 
 and bandaged their wounds, and we had 
 a second supper somewhere in the small 
 hours of the night, at which I felt merrier 
 far than at your wedding feast, so great 
 was the relief after the fears of the 
 evening. 
 
 " But now we are sober and sad enough. 
 There is not much fear that the house will
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 191 
 
 be attacked again, and Katterham being off 
 the main road we do not bear much of 
 what is passing, and Mr. Hey worth started 
 yesterday at sunrise for London. 
 
 "There must be thunder in the air, or 
 else I am going to be seized with a fit of 
 the spleen, for there seems an intolerable 
 weight on everything ; I must write no 
 more, but take the dogs and go to White- 
 hill and, as Charlotte would say, blow the 
 cobwebs from my brain with the fresh air 
 from the downs. Do, an you love me, write 
 ere long. Oh, Faith, why do half-a-dozen 
 men for whom one cares naught protest 
 that they are ready to die for you, while 
 one other man witches the very heart out 
 of you without so much as a ' By your 
 leave,' and rides off to the wars with never 
 a word but just 'Farewell'? In truth I 
 fare anything but well, yet could beat 
 myself for acknowledging it even to you. 
 Burn this when read. And, dear Faith, 
 write soon. 
 
 " I am 3'our affectionate sister, 
 
 " Clemency Copjton.
 
 192 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 "Postscript. — Charlotte hopes you do not 
 over-weary yourself with your new house- 
 hold. All here are well, and grandfather 
 has suffered no ill effects from the com- 
 motion of Tuesday night."
 
 193 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Not stirring words, nor gallant deeds alone, 
 
 Plain patient Work fulfilled that length of life ; 
 
 Duty, not Glory — Service, not a Throne, 
 Inspired his effort, set for him the strife. 
 
 CliOUGH. 
 
 Jack Morrison had, as Clemency expressed 
 it, become so enamoured of noditino* from 
 his brief experience during the attack on 
 Katterham Court, that the very next clay 
 he had asked Sir Robert's permission to 
 join the Parliamentary troops. In the end 
 it had been arranged that he should accom- 
 pany Joscelyn, for Sir Eobert insisted on 
 furnishing his guest with horse, arms, 
 money, and all necessaries, overcoming 
 Joscelyn's scruples by making much of the 
 
 service he had been to them as a protector. 
 vol. I. o
 
 194 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 Morrison, a sturdy fellow of five-and-twenty, 
 broad-shouldered, sinewy, and of Scotch 
 descent, promised to be a first-rate soldier, 
 and was already as good a groom and 
 servant as could be wished for ; moreover, 
 he had become much attached to Joscelyn, 
 whose gift of winning hearts stood him 
 now in good stead. Morrison wondered a 
 little at his silence and his grave, set face 
 as they rode to London ; he himself was 
 full of excitement at the prospect of the 
 new life which was that day to begin, and 
 had no suspicion that his new master had 
 received a far more serious wound during 
 the attack on that Tuesday night than his 
 own insignificant sword-cut. 
 
 But Joscelyn as he rode saw nothing of 
 the landscape, thought nothing of the war. 
 He saw instead a staircase with a half- 
 opened door at the head of it, and a slight, 
 white-robed figure with chestnut curls 
 against a white neck and round white 
 throat. He saw a face of loveliest outline, 
 and hazel eyes whose glance changed from 
 consuming anxiety to rapturous relief, eyes
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 195 
 
 which seemed but the windows from which 
 a spirit of purity and love looked forth. 
 
 And now after the manner of lovers he 
 alternated between joy and pain, at one 
 moment ready to deem that brief meeting 
 of soul with soul enough to content him for 
 years, at another distracted at the thought 
 of the hopeless gulf which separated them, 
 and counting; it the most cruel turn of 
 fortune's wheel that he should have been 
 robbed of home and kindred, and then as 
 a penniless tramp should have fallen in love 
 with the best, the most beautiful, and — as 
 ill luck would have it — the richest girl in 
 Surrey. He wondered whether, had he 
 foreseen this, he could have adopted so 
 unflinchingly the course of conduct which 
 had cost him his inheritance, but was glad 
 that on reflection he honestly could feel that 
 even had he known all that lay before him, 
 love of Clemency could not have induced 
 him to temporise. The bare thought of it 
 was intolerable. As it was, the only course 
 he could rightly take was that of honourable 
 silence. Yet the prospect was far from
 
 196 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 cheerful, and accounted fully enough for 
 the gravity of expression which had sur- 
 prised his servant. He went to offer his 
 services to his country without Morrison's 
 gay alacrity, but soberly and thoughtfully, 
 having counted the cost, and deliberately 
 chosen to sacrifice himself. They rode 
 straight to Mr. Hampden's London house, 
 where Joscelyn asked to deliver in person 
 a letter from Sir Robert Neal. Learning;, 
 however, that the member for the county of 
 Buckingham was in the House of Commons, 
 Joscelyn dismounted, leaving Morrison to 
 take the horses to the nearest inn, and 
 made his way past the Abbey, the towers 
 of which were plainly seen in the distance, 
 enclosed, as in a frame, by the high, gabled 
 houses. 
 
 Crossing Palace Yard, where several 
 coaches and sedans were in waiting, be 
 entered Westminster Hall and was making 
 his way past the stalls, where booksellers 
 and milliners vied with each other in trying 
 to tempt customers with the latest pamphlet 
 or the newest thing in gloves and ribbons,
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 197 
 
 when he was accosted by one of his old 
 Cambridge companions. 
 
 " Why, Heyworth," exclaimed his friend, 
 " what are you doing here among the law- 
 yers ? I thought you had started on the 
 grand tour 1 " 
 
 " I am passing through London, and am 
 charged with a letter for Mr. Hampden," 
 explained Joscelyn. 
 
 " What, old Ship-money ? " replied his 
 friend. " I saw him pass into the House but 
 now. Folk say some report will be made upon 
 the late doings at Cambridge. Come and let 
 us see if we can get into one of the galleries 
 and hear the rights of the business." 
 
 The two passed through the entrance 
 leading from Westminster Hall to the House 
 of Commons, the door which then as now 
 was usually employed by members of 
 Parliament. Not without heart-stirring 
 emotion and a thrill of excitement, Joscelyn 
 glanced round the plainly-fitted room where, 
 of late, scenes of such absorbing interest 
 had been enacted. He was amazed to find 
 a place of such vast importance so small and
 
 198 TO RIGHT THE WKONG. 
 
 insignificant. The wainscoted walls were 
 unadorned by tapestry or hangings of any 
 sort ; the galleries at the sides and at the 
 west end rested on plain iron pillars with 
 ugly gilt capitals ; there was a wide open 
 space in the centre of the House flanked by 
 rows of uncomfortable-looking seats for the 
 members, and some way from the wall, sur- 
 mounted by the royal arms, was the 
 Speaker's chair, the only richly-decorated 
 object in the place. 
 
 It was not a very full House, for many of 
 the members were absent in their respective 
 counties, furthering the preparations for the 
 war. Joscelyn soon descried Hampden, and 
 as he looked down at the noble face and 
 lofty brow of the patriot, he felt once more 
 that he was indeed in the presence of the 
 greatest man of the day. Pym, with his 
 vigorous intellect and shrewd astuteness, 
 might be the more practical statesman of 
 the two, but there was a breadth, a complete- 
 ness, a geniality about Hampden which was 
 not even approached by any other leader of 
 those times.
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 199 
 
 To the satisfaction of the two Cambridge 
 graduates, they were in time to hear the 
 member for Aldborough, Sir Philip Staple- 
 ton, one of the Committee for Defence of 
 the Kingdom, make his report. It appeared 
 that Mr. Cromwell had taken possession of 
 the magazine in the castle at Cambridge, 
 and had hindered the carrying of the plate 
 from that university, " which, as some 
 report, was to the value of £20,000 or 
 thereabouts." 
 
 When the House adjourned, Joscelyu, 
 taking leave of his companion, made all 
 speed to deliver his letter, and overtook 
 Hampden just as he had entered West- 
 minster Hall. 
 
 " So you have come," said the patriot, 
 grasping his hand with a warmth of welcome 
 which made the young man's heart bound. 
 " To tell the truth, I have been expecting 
 you, for I had not much doubt which way 
 your studies would lead an unbiassed mind." 
 
 He paused for a minute, hastily reading 
 Sir Eobert's letter, and gathering from it the 
 facts of Joscelyn's story.
 
 200 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " You must be my guest," he said, 
 putting his arm within Joscelyn's as they 
 walked down the Hall to the great doorway. 
 "Is it true that you have a special wish to 
 be in my regiment ? Is there none other 
 you would prefer % " 
 
 "Nay, sir," said Joscelyn, eagerly, "let 
 me be but with you and I will be content to 
 be a private, a servant — what you will." 
 
 " You shall carry our colours," said 
 Hampden. " It so happens that young 
 Wilmotj our ensign, or cornet, has been 
 forced to send in his resignation owin^ to 
 ill-health. To-morrow you and I will ride 
 down to Buckinghamshire together, and 
 you shall begin work in good earnest. But 
 already, Sir Bobert tells me. you have been 
 under fire. I hope the children and pretty 
 Mistress Clemency suffered no ill effects ? 
 She is a brave maid, but over delicate for 
 times like these." 
 
 " She is brave indeed, sir," said Joscelyn. 
 " I asked her what she did during the 
 attack, and she made answer very simply, 
 ' I* sang to Monnie very loud and cheer-
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 201 
 
 fully lest she should be frightened by the 
 firing.' " 
 
 Something in his voice made Hampden 
 glance at him searchingly, and the 
 heightened colour in bis face and the light 
 in his eyes told their own tale. The states- 
 man smiled a little but sighed too, thinking; 
 to himself that " war, death, and sickness " 
 would but too probably turn this opening 
 love-tale to a tragedy. His face grew sad 
 as they left the Hall and walked together 
 to his rooms. 
 
 " The true spirit of womanhood breathes 
 in those words of hers," he said. " How 
 many wives and mothers and sisters will 
 try their best to sing c very loud and 
 cheerfully ' for the sake of those they love ! 
 God grant this war may be sharp and short 
 — not a protracted struggle." 
 
 " Have there been many of these attacks 
 on private houses, sir? " asked Joscelyn. 
 
 " I have heard of some on either side," 
 replied Hampden. " Indeed, I myself was 
 concerned in one but a short time since. 
 We were mustering the Buckinghamshire
 
 202 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 and Oxfordshire men on Chalgrove Field, 
 when word was sent us by Mr. Whitelocke 
 that the Earl of Berkshire with a consider- 
 able following of gentlemen had come to 
 Watlington to make proclamation for troops 
 in the King's name, under the Commission 
 of Array. So we left the bulk of the levies 
 still on Chalgrove, and set off promptly with 
 a company of my own regiment and a troop 
 of Good wy n's horse. The commissioners, 
 however, got wind of the muster and 
 retired in consternation to Ascott, took 
 refuge in Sir Robert Dormer's house, pulled 
 up the drawbridge, and stood upon their 
 defence, I verily think they fancied the 
 moat, with the stout w T alls of the house and 
 a few shots they fired from within, would 
 scare us away, but as soon as they saw 
 us making ready for the assault they 
 yielded upon quarter, and the Earl and Sir 
 John Curzon and three of the chief com- 
 missioners were sent prisoners to London. 
 This, I take it, with our success at Oxford, 
 will leave us unmolested in getting matters 
 forward in Buckinghamshire, and lms, I am
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 203 
 
 told, greatly vexed and disconcerted the 
 Koyalists." 
 
 The evening passed by only too quickly 
 for Joscelyn, who was intensely interested 
 by the glimpse it afforded him into the busy 
 life of Hampden, with its countless demands 
 for help, counsel, orders, and directions. 
 Like all really great men, he had the capacity 
 for taking infinite pains, and his way of 
 making time to help other people was very 
 remarkable. With all the cares of his double 
 position as soldier and statesman thronging 
 upon him, to say nothing of his private 
 anxieties and sorrows, he nevertheless con- 
 trived to throw himself heart and soul into 
 the affairs of his protege ; and the next day, 
 during their ride to Buckinghamshire, learnt 
 both the strong and the weak points of 
 Joscelyn's character. 
 
 Friendship is generally the result of a cer- 
 tain similarity of taste between two natures, 
 or of a very striking contrast. In this case 
 it was the similarity of disposition which 
 drew into close relationship the middle-aged 
 leader of men and the young ensign w T ho
 
 204 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 had just made his first perilous plunge into 
 independent life. Perhaps, too, it was the 
 lad's solitariness which made Hampden treat 
 him in so fatherly a fashion. For it was 
 not difficult to see that Joscelyn was one of 
 those who stand in special need of the 
 presence of a companion whom they can 
 revere. Genial by nature and keenly appre- 
 ciating the popularity which he usually 
 evoked, there was yet in him a vein of 
 strong reserve ; cut off from a wise sympathy, 
 he might either develop into a self-contained, 
 stern man, or, on the other hand, might 
 neglect the higher side of his nature and 
 fall a prey to the love of pleasing and the 
 love of pleasure, which, unless held in check, 
 might altogether wreck his life. 
 
 By the time they had reached the Chiltern 
 Hills and the welcome shade of the green 
 beech woods of Buckinghamshire, the two 
 were better known to each other than many 
 people find themselves after years of inter- 
 course. A perception that at twenty he had 
 been much like his young companion, gave 
 Hampden the clue to Joscelyn's thoughts
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 205 
 
 and feelings, and with all the tact and the 
 gentle kindliness of his noble nature, he set 
 himself to help in every possible way. 
 
 It was not till the cool of the evening; 
 that they entered the park and came into 
 sight of Hampden House. The setting sun 
 lighted up the somewhat gloomy battle- 
 mented walls and the heavily-mullioned 
 windows, and made the old red brickwork 
 glow with that warm, mellow colour which 
 the most skilful of artists cannot reproduce. 
 To the left stood a square-towered church, 
 and the shade of sadness that had passed 
 over Hampden's face was quickly chased 
 away by a glad cry which greeted him from 
 the churchyard. 
 
 " Father ! father ! " exclaimed a chorus of 
 voices. And, looking round, the riders saw 
 a pretty group of girls and boys, the younger 
 members of Colonel Hampden's family by 
 his first wife. In a minute they had flocked 
 out into the road with the spontaneous, 
 demonstrative welcome which children only 
 know how to give, and Hampden, dismount- 
 ing, stooped to embrace them with less cere-
 
 206 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 mony and more eager warmth than the 
 stiff conventionality of those times usually 
 permitted. 
 
 Joscelyn looked with special interest at 
 the two youngest children, Richard and 
 William, auburn-haired, bright-faced boys of 
 eleven and nine, who were besieging their 
 father with eager petitions. 
 
 " Let me lead your horse to the stable, 
 sir, do let me ! " cried Richard. 
 
 " I could, father, I truly could," pleaded 
 the little one. 
 
 " Come, there is a horse apiece for you," 
 said Hampden. "Let Will take Mr. Hey- 
 worth's. This is my daughter Ruth, Mr. 
 Hey worth, and this is Judith, and this 
 Mary." 
 
 The three maidens greeted him charm- 
 ingly, having inherited much of their father's 
 genial and kindly nature ; the little twelve- 
 year-old Mary specially delighted Joscelyn, 
 perhaps because in height and bearing she 
 much resembled Rosamond. She seemed 
 also to have rather a special place in her 
 father's heart, being the youngest girl, and
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 207 
 
 bearing the name of another little daughter 
 who had died years before in infancy. 
 
 Judith ran on to the house to announce 
 her father's arrival, so that when they 
 reached the old porch, with its stone shield 
 bearing the cross and eagles of the Hamp- 
 dens, the Lady Letitia, Hampden's second 
 wife, stood at the head of the steps to 
 welcome them, and beside her one of the 
 married daughters, Anne, and her husband, 
 Sir Robert Pye. 
 
 The house, which dated back to the time 
 of King John, had a delightful air of anti- 
 quity about it, while many additions and 
 restorations, made in the reign of Elizabeth, 
 added greatly to its comfort as a dwelling- 
 place. Owing to the troubled times there 
 had been of late very few guests at Hamp- 
 den House, but this perhaps served to make 
 it all the more peaceful and home-like. 
 Indeed, as Joscelyn sat that night at supper 
 in the old hall, and listened to the family 
 talk, he found it hard to believe that so calm 
 and restful a bit of life was being lived in 
 the midst of divided England. The supper-
 
 '208 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 table, with its silver candlesticks, made a 
 little oasis of light in the dim vast hall ; 
 faint features gleamed out in ghostly fashion 
 from the portraits hanging upon the wains- 
 coted walls ; the heavy balustrades of the 
 galleries which ran around the place on all 
 sides were revealed by four small lamps at 
 each corner, while from the gallery above 
 the entrance some one made soft music on 
 the organ which had lately been built there. 
 Never surely had there been an interval so 
 quiet — a pause so strangely peaceful in the 
 heart of a storm ! 
 
 The next morning, after a turn in the 
 park, Hampden took Joscelyn into the brick 
 parlour, a small snug room opening by a 
 Gothic doorway into the dining-hall ; its 
 square windows looked upon a sunny 
 pleasance laid out with quaint beds, rose- 
 bushes, and fountains, called King John's 
 garden. 
 
 " One w T ould fain see from here that vista 
 through, the beech trees which, you showed 
 me from the park, sir," said Joscelyn. 
 
 Hampden leant his arms on the window-
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 209 
 
 sill for a minute, and a smile played on his 
 lips as he looked forth at the roses. 
 
 " We owe that view to Queen Elizabeth," 
 he said. "She stayed here once, and with 
 excellent judgment remarked to my grand- 
 father how vastly the place would be im- 
 proved by a vista cut through the beeches. 
 That very night all the retainers were 
 summoned by my grandfather, and in the 
 morning when her Majesty rose, behold, 
 the avenue was cut." 
 
 " That showed great devotion to the 
 Queen," said Joscelyn. 
 
 " You see we are, after all, no disloyal 
 family," said Hampden, laughing, " but can 
 sacrifice noble beeches for such a ruler as 
 Good Queen Bess, though refusing to pay 
 twenty shillings to King Charles for an 
 unjust tax." 
 
 " And yet surely, sir, by resisting, you 
 were more truly serving the King than those 
 who encouraged the tyranny ? " 
 
 " In truth I think so," said Hampden. 
 " It was in this very room, by the bye, that 
 they summoned me. 'Tis no fiction that 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 those on our side fight for King and Parlia- 
 ment. But 'tis true that we war to the 
 death against the false notion of the sove- 
 reign's divine right to govern wrongly. Ever 
 since the time of the coronation, when Laud 
 tried to alter the form of the Kind's engrave- 
 ment by leaving out the acknowledgment of 
 the legislative power of Parliament, and 
 attempting to put in the phrase 'salvo 
 prerogative* regali,' there has been a steady 
 conspiracy to destroy the liberties of the 
 English people. Every effort at a peaceable 
 settling of the matter having failed, there is 
 nothing for it now but war. You and I are 
 happy in having a chance of serving in the 
 cause of justice, in offering our lives for the 
 safeguarding of the country's freedom." 
 
 Joscelyn remembered the vista through 
 the beech trees, and thought of the destruc- 
 tion that had been necessary to open out the 
 wider view, and Hampden's words, " offering 
 our lives for the country's freedom," returned 
 to him with a force and significance and 
 breadth of meaning indescribable. He 
 looked back into the parlour and thought of
 
 TO RIGHT THE WKONG. 211 
 
 all that had passed there, and he looked at 
 the patriot himself. There are some scenes 
 which without any apparent reason fix 
 themselves indelibly on the memory, and to 
 the end of his life Joscelyn could always 
 call up a distinct vision of Hampden's look 
 and bearing as he stood opposite him that 
 August morning, his thoughtful eyes full of 
 light and animation, his winning face aglow 
 with earnestness, his long waving hair stirred 
 by the breeze which came through the open 
 casement, and his hand laid caressingly on 
 the shoulder of his little daughter Mary, who 
 had stolen up to him. 
 
 During the next week Joscelyn found his 
 time fully occupied ; his host put him to the 
 study of D'Avila's history of the civil wars in 
 France — a work which was popularly termed 
 "Colonel Hampden's Prayer-Book," as it 
 was so great a favourite with him that he 
 never travelled without it. Then, too, a 
 great part of each day was spent in drilling 
 and active preparation for the war, while 
 old Madam Hampden, the patriot's mother, 
 loved to talk with him about her son, and
 
 212 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 the children were always ready to dance 
 attendance on him when he was disengaged. 
 At length the day came on which the regi- 
 ment was to march. Joscelyn, clad in his 
 green uniform, with the tawny orange scarf 
 worn by the Parliamentarians, and proudly 
 bearing in his hand the regimental colours, 
 felt that now at last the work of his life had 
 begun. A crowd of country people, and 
 many of the more wealthy neighbours, 
 gathered to see the soldiers as they set out 
 on their march to Northampton, at which 
 place Hampden was to take the command. 
 Accompanying the infantry and some guns 
 was a cavalry regiment, under the command 
 of Hampden's colleague, Arthur Goodwin, 
 and all the onlookers cheered them as they 
 mustered in the park. 
 
 Joscelyn's heart beat high as the in- 
 spiriting sound fell on his ears, yet a great 
 sadness stole over him as he watched his 
 leader. The Colonel's face was pale and 
 stern, for his heart was wrung by the pain- 
 ful farewells he had just made, but his 
 voice rang out clear and strong when he
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 213 
 
 gave the word to advance, bidding the men 
 sing the 121st Psalm as they marched. 
 And to these words the Parliamentarians 
 set forth. Joscelyn took one glance back 
 at the battlemented walls of Hampden 
 House, and at the peaceful church and 
 churchyard, then he looked up at the blue 
 flag which he bore and thought of the 
 words inscribed on it — upon one side 
 Hampden's own motto, " Vestigia nulla 
 retrorsum" on the other the motto of the 
 whole Parliamentary army, " God with us."
 
 214 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Let Liberty, the charter' d right of Englishmen 
 Won by our fathers on many a glorious field, 
 Ennerve my soldiers. — Blake. 
 
 A time of waiting and preparation always 
 seems long, and to Joscelyn those summer 
 days at Northampton seemed endless. The 
 suspense was most trying to all, and the 
 anxiety and the great heat made both men 
 and officers irritable. They were longing to 
 test their strength, to be brought face to face 
 with the enemy, to strike an effective blow 
 for the cause on whose behalf they had 
 risked so much. Joscelyn began to wonder 
 whether after all they would be cheated out 
 of their share in the struggle, and left to 
 defend a place which would never be at- 
 tacked. Like most people in England, he 
 fancied that one great battle would decide
 
 TO EIGHT THE WEOXG. 215 
 
 the whole war, and he felt that to have lost 
 all for the cause, and then to be denied a 
 share in the actual conflict, would be intoler- 
 able. The novelty of military life wore off 
 in a few clays, and in itself perhaps it was 
 the very last life he would have chosen ; it 
 was actual and effective service for which he 
 craved, and an intense restlessness consumed 
 him as night after night passed and found 
 him still in the lodging which he shared 
 with two of his brother officers in the 
 Northampton market-place. Eumours of 
 the Kind's doings at Nottingham had of 
 course reached them, but it was not till 
 early in September that they heard from 
 an eye-witness what had passed. 
 
 It chanced one evening that Joscelyn was 
 sitting with Hampden, acting, as he was 
 often allowed to do, as the Colonel's private 
 secretary, when a servant knocked at the 
 door to ask whether Mr. John Hutchinson 
 could be admitted. The Colonel gave orders 
 that he should be shown up at once. 
 
 " Tis a son of the member for the county 
 of Nottingham — Sir Thomas Hutchinson,"
 
 216 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 he remarked. " I trust he has come to join 
 us. 
 
 Joscelyn, looking up, saw a very well- 
 clressed man of about six-and-twenty, of 
 medium height and fair complexion, with an 
 unusual amount of long light-brown hair, 
 and a pair of keen grey eyes which seemed 
 in admirable keeping with his firm and 
 slightly underhung mouth. 
 
 He greeted Hampden respectfully, asking 
 whether Lord Essex had yet arrived. 
 
 "He is expected in a few days' time/' 
 replied the Colonel. Then, as Joscelyn rose 
 to go, " Nay, do not leave us, Mr. Hey worth ; 
 let me present you to Mr. Hutchinson. Mr. 
 Hey worth is a new adherent to the good 
 cause, and has sacrificed much to join us." 
 
 "He is happy to have had a clear call," 
 said John Hutchinson, attracted, as most 
 people were, by the straight look of Joscelyn's 
 clear blue eyes, and by the mingled frankness 
 and modesty of his manner and expression. 
 " As for me, though I have declared for the 
 Parliament, yet I have not fully made up 
 my mind to join the army."
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 217 
 
 " There is much need of such men as 
 you," said Hampden. " Your moderation, 
 your education, both alike are wanted. Is 
 it true, the report that reached us, that 
 already you have been in some little danger 
 from the King's party ? " 
 
 " 'Tis quite true," said John Hutchinson. 
 " There is a warrant out to seize me because 
 I thrust the Quartermaster-General from 
 my father's house at Nottingham, when he 
 would have taken possession of it the other 
 day for the use of my Lord Lindsey. 
 When my lord himself came he was civility 
 itself, used but one room, and was pleasant 
 enough to the household ; but the Quarter- 
 master, having taken umbrage, would be 
 revenged upon me, and being warned by 
 a friend I left home and took refuge in 
 Leicestershire. However, a warrant was 
 sent to the sheriff to seize me there, and 
 so, escaping with the help of my servant, I 
 came to the house of an honest fellow at 
 Kelmarsh in this county." 
 
 " And what is the true account of the 
 setting up of the royal standard ? " asked
 
 218 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 Hampden. " Many conflicting rumours 
 have reached us." 
 
 " The truth is this," said John Hutchin- 
 son. " At six o'clock on the evening of the 
 23rd August his Majesty, attended by some 
 of the militia and about eight hundred horse, 
 mounted the hill overlooking Nottingham 
 and ordered his proclamation to be read. 
 But after the herald had begun, the King, 
 with his customary changeableness, caused 
 him to stop and, sitting there with the 
 paper on his knee, wrote some corrections 
 and gave it back to the herald, who, they 
 say, bungled horribly at the hastily-scrawled 
 amendments. Then came a great blowing 
 of trumpets and the standard was unfurled, 
 with the motto broidered on it, ' Kender 
 unto Cc'Bsar the things which are Caesar's/ 
 not — one would have thought — a well- 
 chosen watchword, all things considered. 
 No one seemed to know what to do or 
 where to set up the standard, and heavy 
 clouds gathered, throwing a gloom over the 
 scene, and the wind blew in such gusts that 
 the Cavaliers could scarce stand against it.
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 219 
 
 At last they agreed to set the standard on 
 one of the towers of the castle, but the 
 wind blew it down the following day. 
 They next set it up in the park, but found 
 the ground little but rock, so the heralds 
 dug out a hole with their daggers, but 
 could not get the staff to stand firm, and 
 for hours had to support it with their 
 hands." 
 
 "An ominous beginning," said Hampden, 
 thoughtfully. " What is going on down 
 below, Mr. Heyworth \ I hear a great 
 tumult of voices." 
 
 Joscelyn looked from the open casement 
 into the market-place. The shades of even- 
 ing were falling, and already lights shone 
 from some of the windows. 
 
 "The people are all crowding round a 
 rider, sir, who seems to be asking his way," 
 said Joscelyn. " His horse is covered with 
 foam, and he himself turned copper-coloured 
 with the heat. Ah ! he draws rein at your 
 door, sir ; he bears despatches." 
 
 In another minute the weary messenger 
 was led into the room.
 
 220 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " Do you come from London ? " asked 
 Hampden, eagerly. 
 
 " Nay, sir ; from my Lord Brooke at War- 
 wick," said the messenger, handing in the 
 despatches which had been entrusted to him. 
 
 With eagerness indescribable, Joscelyn 
 watched his Colonel, his heart giving a great 
 bound when upon the stillness of the room 
 there fell at length the welcome news, in 
 Hampden's clear, inspiriting voice — 
 
 " Lord Brooke sends word that intelligence 
 has reached Warwick that the Royalists 
 under the Earl of Northampton are in full 
 march towards Northamptonshire, and begs 
 that we will, if possible, hasten to his 
 support." 
 
 In but a few minutes Joscelyn was speed- 
 ing across the market-place with messages 
 from his chief, and before long the bugles 
 sounded to arms, and the whole population 
 of Northampton turned out to see the 
 Parliamentary troops muster and to cheer 
 them with all the strength of their voices 
 as, in the cool summer night, they started 
 on their march.
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 221 
 
 With a leader whom he loved — nay, 
 almost worshipped, with that inspiriting 
 motto on the standard he bore, surrounded 
 by men of courage and, even in that early 
 stage of the war, admirably disciplined, 
 Joscelyn could hardly have been more 
 favourably placed, and he did not wonder 
 that John Hutchinson, as he bade him fare- 
 well, regarded him almost enviously. In 
 after days he used to look back to this 
 beo'innhw of his career as to a sort of 
 paradise. Yet it was a stiff march, all 
 through the night and, with but a brief 
 rest, all through the following day, and he 
 was tired out when the next evening they 
 joined Lord Brooke, who, with about three 
 thousand men, had taken up his quarters 
 at Southam. With the men from North- 
 ampton there were altogether nearly six 
 thousand infantry and three hundred 
 cavalry, so that the town was severely 
 taxed to accommodate them all. 
 
 Joscelyn, after a good supper, supplied 
 by one of the townsfolk, was glad enough 
 to avail himself of a makeshift bed on the
 
 222 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 floor of his host's parlour, and, thanks to 
 the long hours he had spent in the open 
 air and to the fatigue of the march, he 
 was asleep in five minutes, notwithstanding 
 the lights and the buzz of eager talk in 
 the room. 
 
 For three hours his sleep was unbroken, 
 then a stir and commotion without began 
 to make him restless ; he dreamed that he 
 and Dick were boys again ; they stood with 
 Barnaby, at the corner of Castle Street, 
 watching the trial gallops of the horses at 
 the Farnham horse-fair ; over by the market- 
 place a cheap-jack, mounted on his car, 
 harangued the crowd, relieved at intervals 
 by a man who beat a drum and blew a 
 trumpet at the same moment. " Look, 
 look ! " cried Dick, shaking with laughter, 
 " the fellow blows as if he would burst." 
 
 Joscelyn started upon his elbow ; the 
 vision of Farnham faded, only the ghost of 
 Dick's laughter seemed to fill the strange 
 room, and a very real sound of horse-hoofs 
 without in the street, of drums beating to 
 arms all through the town, and of bugles
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 223 
 
 sounding the alarm, made the blood dance 
 in his veins. He sprang to his feet, and in 
 a few minutes had joined his comrades ; the 
 host, whose face had a scared look in the 
 dim candlelight, unbolting the door for 
 them and wishing them good speed. Men 
 with lighted torches were hurrying along 
 the street. 
 
 " What news ? " shouted Wagstaffe, the 
 lieutenant-colonel of Hampden's regiment, 
 as, with Joscelyn at his side, he pressed on. 
 
 " The enemy is at hand," came back the 
 reply. 
 
 " The Earl of Northampton with all his 
 forces is but two miles off." 
 
 So eager were the soldiers to try their 
 powers, so enthusiastic were they for the 
 cause, that their great shouts of joy at 
 hearing these tidings made the whole place 
 ring ; hats were thrown into the air, arms 
 clattered on the stones, and in the highest 
 spirits the little army, led by Colonel 
 Hampden and Lord Brooke, marched into 
 the fields near the town, where till day- 
 break they waited in battle array. In the
 
 224 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 first line, posted on some rising ground, was 
 Hampden's brigade with the guns ; with 
 the second line was Lord Brooke, and the 
 cavalry was in reserve, sheltered by the 
 brow of the hill. Standard in hand, Josce- 
 lyn stood through the long, weary waiting- 
 time, and at length, as day broke, the 
 enemy, who had been afraid to attack 
 Southam in the night, having heard that 
 the Parliamentarians were on the qui vive, 
 appeared on the Dunsmore road and began 
 to form opposite. Then, in dead silence, 
 the two armies faced each other for some 
 three hours. At length, about eight o'clock, 
 Lord Brooke moved up his cavalry on the 
 right, and the Parliamentary cannon opened 
 fire, Hampden charging with his infantry 
 the instant the King's artillery had taken 
 up their ground. 
 
 What passed in the sharp skirmish that 
 followed, Joscelyn would have found it 
 difficult to describe. He was conscious 
 only of pressing on with his standard, of 
 the strange contagion of enthusiasm which 
 made the regiment like one man, of the
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 225 
 
 thunder of the guns, then of a confused 
 and desperate hand-to-hand combat, amid 
 the clash of steel, the shouted watchwords, 
 the groans of the dying, the ghastly cry 
 of wounded horses. The Parliamentarians 
 were outnumbered, but by the promptness 
 with which they had opened fire they had 
 gained an advantage. On and yet on they 
 pressed against the living wall opposed to 
 them, Hampden, the very ideal of a leader, 
 urging them forward, and himself ever in 
 the forefront of the struggle. So complete 
 was the melee that Joscelyn made prisoner 
 with the greatest ease a Royalist captain, 
 named Legge, who had actually mistaken 
 Hampden's green-coated men for his own. 
 At length the King's troops utterly gave 
 way, and were hotly chased by Brooke's 
 cavalry as far as the river. Beyond this, 
 however, pursuit was impossible, for the 
 Eoyalists formed behind it and showed a 
 force quite four times as strong as their 
 opponents. But the day had clearly been 
 won by the Parliamentarians, and the 
 country-folk of the district rose upon the 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 retreating forces, harassing the stragglers 
 with cudgels and staves, but making much 
 of the victorious troops under Hampden 
 and Brooke, and bringing them a welcome 
 supply of provisions. 
 
 In a few days' time they found them- 
 selves in their old quarters at Northampton, 
 the townspeople receiving them with open 
 arms, for not only were they inspirited by 
 the news of the victory at Southam, but 
 they had been seriously apprehensive of an 
 attack during their absence ; the petition of 
 Withers, the mayor, for troops from London 
 to garrison Northampton had unavoidably 
 been refused by the Parliament, and the 
 sturdy inhabitants, left to their own devices, 
 had employed the time to good purpose, 
 both men and women working day and 
 night at earthworks and fortifications. 
 
 The good news that Portsmouth had 
 capitulated to Sir William Waller, and that 
 almost the whole of the south of England, 
 with the exception of Cornwall, was now in 
 possession of the Parliament, made further 
 matter for rejoicing at Northampton ; but
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 227 
 
 about the middle of September, Lord Essex 
 having taken the command there, Joscelyn 
 had once more to leave the place, march- 
 ing with his regiment to Aylesbury, where 
 Hampden had been despatched to take the 
 command, guarding the Buckinghamshire 
 magazines, and protecting the London road 
 in Essex's rear, which was threatened by 
 the Earl of Northampton. 
 
 At Aylesbury another sharp skirmish took 
 place, Hampden's well-disciplined regiment, 
 combined with that of Holies, again over- 
 coming the Royalists ; many were made 
 prisoners, many were killed, and the darker 
 side of war began to unfold itself to Jos- 
 celyn. There were scenes during the hot 
 pursuit of the retreating Royalists to Ox- 
 ford which never left his memory ; scenes 
 which he recalled whenever he thought of 
 that first sight of the university town, 
 its calm, impressive grandeur contrasting 
 strangely with the miserable, exhausted 
 soldiers, chased by Hampden as by an 
 avenging angel, dislodged from Oxford with 
 Lord Byron, the Royalist commander, fol-
 
 228 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 lowed relentlessly into the Vale of Evesham, 
 and there hopelessly routed and scattered. 
 
 Aylesbury had, in the meantime, been 
 garrisoned by a fresh detachment of the 
 Parliamentary forces, and Hampden, with 
 his gallant green-coats, pressed on to Wor- 
 cester, there to join the main body of 
 Essex's army. 
 
 Then followed a weary three weeks of 
 inaction, and grave anxiety began to fill 
 the minds of all, for both money and arms 
 were grievously needed. Much satisfaction 
 was caused by the successful capture, on 
 behalf of the Parliament, of a ship at 
 Yarmouth, laden with arms which the 
 Queen had purchased in Holland, and the 
 feeling against the King deepened inex- 
 pressibly when it was discovered that he 
 had sent two commissioners to the King 
 of Denmark asking him to send arms for 
 twelve thousand men, twenty-four cannon, 
 money to the amount of £100,000, some 
 ships of war, three thousand infantry, and 
 one thousand horse. The notion of this 
 foreign aid almost maddened the people,
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 229 
 
 and the King's orders that Roman Catholics 
 should be admitted to his army greatly 
 prejudiced his cause. An idea gained 
 ground that he was but a tool in the 
 hands of the Pope, and that a great Papist 
 conspiracy was being fomented by the 
 Queen — a suspicion natural enough to a 
 generation whose fathers had told them of 
 the martyrdoms they had witnessed at 
 Smithfield. Matters were not mended by 
 the publication of a protestation, in which 
 the King declared Essex and his followers 
 to be traitors, Brownists, Anabaptists, and 
 atheists. 
 
 About the middle of October the King, 
 who had shown great skill in the man- 
 oeuvres round Worcester, managed to join 
 his forces with those of Lord Northampton. 
 He was now at the head of about twenty 
 thousand men, and had cut off Essex's 
 retreat to London. A battle became im- 
 peratively necessary, and at length, on the 
 18th, to Joscelyn's inexpressible relief, 
 Hampden's regiment received orders to 
 march, and once more active work lay
 
 230 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 before them. After a night's rest at Strat- 
 ford -on- Avon, they found they had but 
 just arrived in time to hold the town and 
 the bridge against a severe attack on the 
 part of the Royalists. The passage of the 
 river secured, the regiment and the excited 
 townsfolk who had lent their aid were crlad 
 enough of a brief rest, but it was prolonged 
 in a most unfortunate way. Not until the 
 evening of Saturday, the^22nd, were Hamp- 
 den's green-coats able to leave Stratford, for 
 they had been ordered to take charge of 
 the greater part of the Parliamentary artil- 
 lery, which had been left behind by the 
 main body of Essex's army, owing to the 
 negligence of their engineer, who had 
 forgotten to provide horses. 
 
 The delay chafed Hampden almost be- 
 yond endurance, for though neither army 
 knew exactly where the other was, there 
 was every reason to apprehend a speedy 
 meeting, and when at last the necessary 
 horses had been procured, he pushed for- 
 ward in desperate haste, grudging every 
 moment of wasted time.
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 231 
 
 The march was a terrible one ; thick 
 clouds shut out even the faint starlight, 
 and through the black night, guided by a 
 few flickering lanterns and the uncertain 
 glare of torches, the four regiments com- 
 posing the rear-guard of the Parliamentary 
 army struggled on. In all there were 
 about three thousand infantry ; and their 
 leaders, Colonel Hampden, Lord Brooke, 
 Colonel Grantham, and Colonel Barkham, 
 rode to and fro, cheering them on, and 
 superintending the desperate exertions ne- 
 cessary to get the guns through the deep 
 lanes, almost impassable by reason of the 
 thick mud and the ditch-like ruts. The 
 autumn wind was piercingly cold ; at 
 intervals heavy showers drenched the men 
 to the skin, and Joscelyn, tired and de- 
 pressed, found the hours drag by with 
 intolerable slowness. 
 
 He thought of Clemencv, and recalled 
 her sweet voice as he had heard it on the 
 night of the attack on the Court House. 
 Toiling painfully along the weary way, he 
 tried to march to the psalm tune he so well
 
 232 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 remembered, and to cheer himself in the 
 darkness with the recollection of the hazel 
 eyes which he so greatly longed to see 
 again. 
 
 At last the clouds dispersed, the sun rose, 
 and with the beginning of that clear cold 
 morning came fresh vigour, and the chill 
 depression of the all-night march passed 
 away. Just as the men had halted at a 
 little wayside village and were making a 
 hasty breakfast, a trooper galloped up with 
 a message from Essex to Hampden. In a 
 few minutes the news spread through the 
 ranks. It appeared that the main body 
 of the Parliamentary army had occupied 
 Kineton on the previous afternoon, and 
 when day dawned had been astonished to 
 find the King, with all his forces, confront- 
 ing them on the top of Edge Hill. A 
 great cheer rose from the men of the rear- 
 guard when they heard these tidings ; 
 fatigue was forgotten, and with renewed 
 zeal they forced their way on. No Sun- 
 day's rest was possible for them, though the 
 bells rang from the tower of every village
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 233 
 
 church, and the labourers in clean smocks, 
 and the country women in their scarlet 
 cloaks and best beaver bonnets, all told of 
 the weekly holiday. At about half-past 
 two in the afternoon the first dull roar of 
 cannon shook the ground and echoed among 
 the hills ; again a ringing cheer broke from 
 the infantry ; the battle had begun, and 
 they made almost superhuman efforts to 
 press on. Hampden, with his inspiring 
 presence and stimulating voice, urged them 
 ever forward, and it was he himself who 
 seized the bridle of one who was galloping 
 desperately past them, and forced the terri- 
 fied man to give an account of what was 
 happening. 
 
 Joscelyn saw with an indescribable pang 
 that the runaway soldier, who looked like 
 a hunted cur, wore the orange ribbons of 
 Essex's army in his hat. 
 
 "Speak," said Hampden; "how goes the 
 battle ? " 
 
 "Lost, lost ! " said the man, in a panic- 
 stricken, breathless voice. " Lost through 
 foul treachery."
 
 234 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " Tell the whole truth," said Hampden, 
 sternly. 
 
 "Before God, sir, 'tis true," cried the 
 man. " 'Twas at the very first charge. 
 Our regiment was in the left wing, behind 
 that of Sir Faithful Fortescue, and we were 
 charging the King's right, when Sir Faithful 
 ordered his men to fire on the ground, and 
 galloping forward, presented himself and 
 his troop to Prince Kupert — deserted on the 
 field, sir, and turned and charged upon us. 
 We were thrown into utter confusion and 
 scattered, and most of us pursued and cut 
 down." 
 
 Hampden's brow contracted. 
 " Turn about, my good fellow," he said, 
 " and save your reputation. March on, 
 boys ! Hasten to the rescue. Methinks Sir 
 Faithful Fortescue needs re-christening." 
 
 With a shout of enthusiasm the soldiers 
 pressed forward, the dull roar of the 
 cannon, the sharp rattle of musketry, 
 growing ever clearer and clearer, and the 
 wretched sight of runaways becoming more 
 and more frequent.
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 235 
 
 At last Kineton came into sight, and 
 about a mile to the north-east of the little 
 town Prince Rupert, who had wasted nearly 
 an hour in plundering the baggage-waggons 
 which the Parliamentarians had left in the 
 street, rallied his cavalry for a fresh charge. 
 With rapture Hampden's green-coats found 
 themselves just in time. Hastily forming, 
 they threw themselves into the breach be- 
 tween the Prince and the disorganised and 
 flying troops from Edge Hill, while the 
 guns which they had dragged with such 
 infinite difficulty through the heavy lanes 
 opened a deadly fire. Joscelyn saw at least 
 a dozen of Prince Rupert's men killed by 
 the first volley ; he was watching the mad 
 plunging of a dying horse in the opposite 
 ranks when a sudden shock for a moment 
 half paralysed his arm ; a bullet had cloven 
 the staff of his standard in two, and he 
 knew that he had narrowly escaped death. 
 By the time he had picked up the colours 
 the confusion in Prince Rupert's troop had 
 increased ; more and more men and horses 
 fell under the vig-orous fire of the Parlia-
 
 236 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 mentaiy guns, and at length the Royalists 
 turned and fled across the plain in great 
 disorder. It was impossible for the infantry 
 to pursue them, but Hampden and Grantham 
 pressed forward as fast as might be with 
 their regiments, and were relieved to find 
 that the battle which had at first seemed 
 hopelessly lost was still in progress, and that 
 the advantage lay now with the Parliament- 
 arians, who had rallied with great vigour, 
 and during Prince Rupert's absence in 
 Kineton had totally changed the aspect 
 of affairs. 
 
 The two colonels were soon summoned 
 to a council by Essex, and they eagerly 
 pressed him to continue the attack, to force 
 the King's position and secure the London 
 road, but the over-cautious Essex was not 
 to be persuaded ; he represented that the 
 night was approaching, and that the men 
 were worn out. 
 
 Joscelyn, looking into his Colonel's face as 
 he left the council, knew by its expression 
 the disappointment that awaited the men. 
 They received orders to remain as they were
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 237 
 
 on the field, and amid much grumbling 
 preparations were made for the night. Food 
 there was none. Utterly spent with exertion, 
 and no longer sustained by the hope of 
 active work, Joscelyn threw himself down 
 on the trampled grass on which but a short 
 time before the battle had raged. The twi- 
 light just revealed the horrors of the plain, 
 strewn with hundreds of the dead ; here and 
 there he saw little groups of helpers going to 
 and fro, removing; the wounded or giving 
 them such rough aid as was possible on the 
 field. With a sick feeling of dread he won- 
 dered whether his own father mio-ht be lying 
 among the heaps of slain, or whether Dick's 
 voice mingled in the faint groans which 
 rose from all sides. At last he could endure 
 the miserable suspense no longer ; groping 
 his way as best he could he stumbled on in 
 the dim light, seeing many a sight which in 
 after times haunted him in his dreams, but 
 coming to no familiar face, and in time 
 gaining a sort of relief from the non-fulfil- 
 ment of his fears. 
 
 Suddenly the sound of a voice which he
 
 238 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 seemed to know startled him into an agony 
 of apprehension. 
 
 "Help, help," moaned a wounded man, 
 lying half stifled under the weight of a dead 
 horse. Joscelyn, stooping over him, saw that 
 it was the youngest son of honest old Bar- 
 naby the gatekeeper, one of the grooms at 
 Shortell Manor. 
 
 " Why, Kobin ! " he cried, "is it you, my 
 poor fellow ? " 
 
 With some difficulty he succeeded in 
 freeing him from the dead weight of the 
 horse, and kneeling down, raised him into a 
 less painful position. 
 
 "God bless you, sir!" said the groom. 
 Then straining his dim eyes to scan the 
 face of his rescuer, he all at once recognised 
 him. 
 
 "Is it you, sir ? " he exclaimed ; " I made 
 sure 'twas Master Dick." 
 
 "Is he safe?" cried Joscelyn, with a 
 choking feeling in his throat. " For heaven's 
 sake, tell me, Kobin. And my father ? was 
 he in the battle 1 " 
 
 " Ay, sir, Master Dick and Master Jervis
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 239 
 
 and Sir Thomas himself all here, and unhurt 
 as far as I know." 
 
 Joscelyn made an exclamation of relief. 
 
 " But you are sorely hurt, and I waste 
 moments which might save you from bleed- 
 ing to death ! " he cried the next instant. 
 
 " Nay, sir, I'm past saving," groaned 
 Robin. " But if you would give me just 
 a drink of water." 
 
 "There is not a drop to be had ! " cried 
 Joscelyn in despair. " Our men are parched 
 with thirst after their march. Nay, but 
 you shall be saved. I'll have you carried 
 to Kineton, Robin, if only I can staunch 
 this wound first. See," and he tore off 
 his orange scarf and used it, not unskilfully, 
 as a bandage. " You must change sides 
 
 © © 
 
 for the nonce, and wear Parliamentary 
 colours." 
 
 " You were ever one for a jest, sir," said 
 the groom, smiling faintly as he looked into 
 the resolute face of his helper. 
 
 " I shall assuredly not find you again," 
 said Joscelyn, in perplexity, " if I go to 
 fetch my servant to help lift you ; and if
 
 240 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 I lift you alone I shall probably half kill 
 you with pain. AVhich will you have, 
 Kobin ? " 
 
 " Don't leave me, sir," pleaded the groom. 
 " I'll trust you with anything, but in 
 this darkness how could you find me 
 again ? " 
 
 " You are but slightly built, and I have 
 often carried heavier weights in the sports 
 at home," said Joscelyn. And in a few 
 minutes he had triumphantly landed the 
 oroom amonor the green-coats, and with 
 the help of Morrison and two of the other 
 men laid him on a horsecloth and bore 
 him to a barn near Kineton, where with 
 much trouble they were able to get him 
 the food and drink of which he stood in 
 such grievous need. 
 
 Hearing that a surgeon was attending 
 to some of the wounded in a neighbouring 
 cottage, Joscelyn left Morrison in charge, 
 and knocking at the door of the poor- 
 looking house to which he had been directed, 
 was admitted into a bare and forlorn room 
 where, to his surprise, he found Hampden,
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 241 
 
 Sir William Balfour, and three or four 
 other Parliamentary officers. They were 
 gathered round a dying man who lay on 
 a heap of straw, the only bed the cottage 
 could afford. Hampden, perceiving his 
 entrance, crossed the room to speak to him. 
 
 " They told me a surgeon w T as to be found 
 here, sir," said Joscelyn. " I did not know 
 you w T ere present." 
 
 " I came from the General to ask after his 
 prisoner — 'tis my Lord Lindsey, the General 
 of the King's army, and dying, I fear. The 
 surgeon could not be fetched to him soon 
 enough." 
 
 " Who is the one who supports him ? " 
 asked Joscelyn, in an undertone. 
 
 " His son, who, endeavouring to rescue 
 his father, was also taken prisoner. I hear, 
 too, that my old neighbour, Sir Edmund 
 Verney, the King's standard-bearer, is slain 
 — a brave, true man whose heart I believe 
 was with the country, though from some 
 private scruple of having eaten the King's 
 bread he thought it his duty to oppose us 
 now. Who wants the surgeon's aid ? " 
 
 R
 
 242 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " 'Tis a poor groom of my father's, whom 
 I found on the field sorely wounded and 
 carried here." 
 
 "Wait but a few minutes, and one of 
 these will be at liberty," said Hampden. 
 " And when you have played the Good 
 Samaritan I will return with you to the 
 regiment. There is naught to be done for 
 yonder poor man, and as long as we are 
 here he will but exhaust himself with re- 
 proaching us. One cannot argue with a 
 dying prisoner — he would be best left in 
 peace with his son." 
 
 For the first time Joscelyn began to listen 
 to the words of the dying earl, who, while 
 the surgeons dressed his wounds, poured 
 forth vehement remonstrances to the Parlia- 
 mentary officers who had come to inquire 
 after his welfare. 
 
 " Rebels every one of you ! accursed 
 rebels ! " he cried, looking from one to the 
 other. " Go and tell my Lord Essex that 
 he ought to cast himself at the King's feet, 
 and crave his Majesty's pardon, or speedily 
 he will find his memory odious to the nation.
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 243 
 
 And you, too, Mr. Hampden, if you would 
 not have the ancient name you bear exe- 
 crated by every Englishman, repent and 
 turn while yet there is time." 
 
 " I will not harass you at such a moment 
 with words, my lord," said Hampden, with 
 grave courtesy, " nor thrust my opinions 
 upon you. I wish I could get you better 
 accommodation than this poor hut, but 
 the surgeons will not risk moving you, I 
 fear." 
 
 The earl protested that he wanted nothing 
 but to convince them of the error of their 
 ways, and grew so increasingly vehement 
 that the Parliamentarians thought it better 
 to withdraw, leaving the prisoner with his 
 son, Lord Willoughby. Hampden signed 
 to one of the surgeons to follow them. 
 
 " A virulent, bitter-tongued malignant as 
 I ever saw," said one of the officers, as the 
 door closed behind them. His somewhat 
 harsh-looking face and rasping voice inspired 
 Joscelyn with strong dislike, while a rough 
 jest which followed disgusted him yet more. 
 
 " He is dying, cousin, so let us not take
 
 244 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 his words in ill part," said Hampden, 
 quietly. " Mr. Hey worth, I should like to 
 present you to my kinsman, Colonel Crom- 
 well." 
 
 Joscelyn was amazed to feel a sort of 
 strange magnetic attraction when, slightly 
 lowering a torch that he might the better 
 see, this unkempt-looking colonel grasped 
 his hand. 
 
 " I have heard of you, Mr. Hey worth," 
 said Cromwell, genuine kindliness lighting 
 up his keen, grey eyes, and softening his 
 rugged features. " God grant that, having 
 volunteered in the service of your country 
 at much cost to yourself, you may be per- 
 mitted to serve throughout this struggle, and 
 to witness the establishment of righteousness 
 and peace in our borders." 
 
 There was a fervour, a contagious en- 
 thusiasm, a depth of sincere devotion in this 
 man's beliefs, both religious and political, 
 which exercised an extraordinary influence 
 on those about him ; and Joscelyn, though 
 sensitive, fastidious, and with a young 
 man's tendency to judge severely any offence
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 245 
 
 against good taste, found his prejudices 
 melting away beneath the force of Crom- 
 well's wonderful zeal like snow beneath the 
 mid-day sun. 
 
 When Robin, the groom, had been placed 
 in the surgeon's hands, Joscelyn, having 
 charged him with many messages to Dick 
 and little Rosamond, walked back to the 
 battle-field with Hampden and his kinsman, 
 listening with keen interest to the conversa- 
 tion between them. As they approached the 
 place where the green-coats were encamped, 
 Cromwell bade them good-night, and walked 
 briskly on, Joscelyn watching his powerful 
 figure as it disappeared into the darkness, 
 and listening to his vigorous footsteps 
 ringing sharply on the frosty ground. 
 
 " Come, boy, you will freeze if you stand 
 still much longer," said Hampden, laughing. 
 " What do you think of my cousin Crom- 
 well ? " 
 
 " Is he indeed your cousin, sir ? " said 
 Joscelyn, dubiously. " If only he were 
 somewhat more like you — one is ashamed 
 to think of externals when there is such
 
 246 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 wonderful power — such a grand nature, but 
 _but " 
 
 " But," interrupted Hampden, smiling, 
 " as some one remarked to me once on the 
 Parliament stairs, ' He is a sloven.' That 
 is what you would say. Never mind, my 
 boy ; a rough diamond, I grant you, but 
 the finest you and I shall ever look on. 
 Mark my words ! that sloven will be the 
 greatest man in England." 
 
 Joscelyn was silent ; he looked sadly over 
 the dim battle-field with its heaps of slain, 
 at the fires burning here and there to warm 
 the weary and shivering soldiers, at the 
 purple sky, where the stars shone brightly 
 in the frosty atmosphere. If Cromwell 
 were indeed the greatest man in England, 
 the true leader to steer the nation through 
 these stormy times, he hoped that Hampden 
 might be at hand to help his kinsman with 
 that broad tolerant spirit, that mingled zeal 
 and wisdom, that deep sympathetic insight 
 which characterised him. 
 
 Glancing round, he saw that his Colonel 
 had already wrapped a cloak about him
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 247 
 
 and thrown himself down on the turf, where 
 a few low bushes offered a slight shelter 
 from the cold night wind. His long, hair 
 waved in the breeze, and the ruddy glow 
 from the nearest fire fell athwart his 
 shoulder, and across the grass and daisies 
 on which his head was pillowed. Joscelyn 
 thought of little Monnie's daisv chain, which 
 had proved too small to crown the patriot, 
 and then, with a shudder, a terrible fancy 
 crossed his mind. 
 
 " You look scared," said Hampden, glanc- 
 ing up at him with a smile. " Do ghosts 
 walk abroad ? " 
 
 " It — it is nothing, sir," he faltered. 
 " But I seemed to see down there a great 
 pool of blood." 
 
 " You are over- tired, and the horrors you 
 have been through prey on your mind," 
 said Hampden. " Lie down here by the 
 bushes and sleep, my son. You and I may 
 perchance lie in a pool of blood to-morrow, 
 if God sees 'tis best for the country, but 
 at present let us take comfort in the red 
 firelight."
 
 248 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A benediction was her face, 
 Her heart a very tender place 
 Where love conceived the potent rule 
 To ache for others, merciful 
 Beyond the boundaries of race. 
 
 Norman E. Gale. 
 
 Clemency had found during those trying 
 autumn months that the best remedy for 
 the anxiety which constantly burdened her 
 lay in a vigorous attention to the needs 
 of other people. What with her household 
 duties and the oversight of the children, a 
 good deal of writing and reading with her 
 grandfather, and the visiting of sundry old 
 or sick neighbours, her time was well 
 occupied. Gaieties she had none; the few 
 merrymakings that had been wont to take 
 place at the country houses within reach
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 249 
 
 had all been put a stop to by the war ; 
 some friends were alienated from them, 
 some were mourning for relatives slain in 
 battle, and all were impoverished and 
 anxious, not in the mood for social 
 gatherings. 
 
 One afternoon, about the middle of 
 November, she had walked with Hester to 
 the farm, nearly a mile from the Court 
 House, where the parents of Original Sin 
 Smith, the children's tutor, lived. Willey 
 Farm, with its red-tiled roof, its picturesque 
 gables, and its quaint round pigeon-cote, 
 stood close to the summit of the ridge of 
 curiously-rounded downs known as White 
 Hill ; but Clemency thought little of the 
 beauty of the glorious plain which it com- 
 manded from its windows, or of the triple 
 chain of downs in the distance ; what she 
 cared for was the comfort and snugness 
 of the delightful old kitchen, with its 
 blazing logs and its exquisite neatness. 
 Leaving Hester to see the live-stock with 
 their master, the fine old yeoman, she sat 
 cosily and contentedly in the chimney
 
 250 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 corner, listening to the homely wisdom of 
 Salome Smith, the mistress of the house, 
 who, with her dark gown, white cap and 
 neckerchief, and strong pure face, was 
 perhaps as good a specimen as could have 
 been found of a Puritan dame. 
 
 Stern indeed was the Calvinism of this 
 old Englishwoman. A short day of grace, 
 a few ultimately saved, a vast majority to 
 be everlastingly enthralled by a triumphant 
 devil who — oddly enough — proved stronger 
 than the Saviour of the world : such were 
 the articles of her belief. 
 
 But, as is so often the case, she was very 
 unlike her creed ; the love to God and man 
 which filled her heart left no room for the 
 dark doctrines she had been taught to work 
 harm ; while the intense earnestness of 
 purpose, which was the special feature of 
 Puritanism, the individual consecration of 
 the will to God, gave her a wonderful force. 
 She seldom said anything remarkable, and 
 yet those who talked with her came away 
 braced and strengthened. 
 
 "And what news have you of your
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 251 
 
 sister ? " asked Salome, twisting the flax on 
 her distaff with deft ringers. 
 
 " 1 had a letter yesterday," said Clemency, 
 " and Faith writes that all is well, but that 
 they are anxious lest the way to London be 
 cut off. She says that but lately Prince 
 Kupert's troopers seized some waggon-loads 
 of cloth on their way from Gloucestershire 
 to the London market, and that the country- 
 folk groan under his devastations." 
 
 "He is w r ell named Prince Kobber," said 
 Salome Smith. " 'Twas he that spent so 
 much time in robbing; the bag-o-agre-wao'aons 
 in Kineton Street." 
 
 " Yes," said Clemency ; " or, as they say, 
 in ' plundering,' a new T -fangled word which 
 some believe w 7 as expressly invented for 
 this practice of Prince Kupert's, but my 
 grandfather says 'twas brought over some 
 years back by those that served in the 
 Swedish war." 
 
 "Has Sir Eobert heard again from Mr. 
 Heyworth ? " 
 
 "Not since the account of Edge Hill," 
 said Clemency. "That was written the
 
 252 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 end of October at Northampton, and he was 
 expecting to march, but spoke of suffering 
 again with his knee, which was injured here 
 last summer." 
 
 " That would be hard for him in the long 
 marches," said Salome, thoughtfully. "And 
 often there is marching hither and thither 
 with little seeming use or profit. But I 
 take it there's service in it all the same. 
 'Tis like our coming's and o-oing-s in the 
 house : it don't seem that I help on the 
 Lord's kingdom just by sweeping away the 
 dust and redding up the furniture, and all 
 to do over again in a few hours' time, but 
 yet I know 'tis serving somehow." 
 
 " I should sometimes like to see how it 
 serves," said Clemency, with a sigh. 
 
 " Well, dear, and so you shall see and 
 ' be satisfied,' but not here, I take it — not 
 here." 
 
 Just then there entered a sombre-faced 
 man, with dark hair cropped close to his 
 head, and wearing the smallest and plainest 
 of white bands between his scraggy throat 
 and his ill- cut suit of rusty black.
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 2dS 
 
 Clemency, who by nature hated all ex- 
 tremes, could scarcely look at Original Sin 
 Smith without a feeling of irritation, and 
 though she tried hard to respect him and 
 to see his good points, she was conscious 
 of a perpetual desire to escape from his 
 presence. She soon contrived to take leave, 
 dexterously planning a call at one of the 
 cottages near the " Harrow," in order to 
 have an excuse for refusing; the escort which 
 Original was not slow to offer. 
 
 The short afternoon was beoinnino- to 
 close in, and the western sky glowed red 
 through the trees as the two sisters, with 
 Gyp, the deerhound, bounding along in 
 front of them, passed through the little 
 wood or shaw which bordered the lane after 
 they had crossed Stansted Heath. Clemency 
 paused beneath an old yew tree of which 
 she was specially fond, and broke off a little 
 branch which was covered with ripe red 
 berries. Then they walked briskly on, 
 crossing a stile into the park, and entering 
 the garden by a long path bordered by 
 shrubs, commonly known as the Ghost-
 
 254 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 walk, owing to the trunk of an old tree, 
 covered with ivy, which in the twilight 
 assumed grotesque shapes and had scared 
 many a wayfarer. 
 
 " See," said Hester, as they crossed the 
 small courtyard, "some visitor must have 
 ridden to the door since we left ; there are 
 hoof-prints on the ground." 
 
 " One of the Evelyns from Godstone or 
 Wotton, maybe," said Clemency, entering 
 the hall, and with some little curiosity 
 turning towards the study. The lamp was 
 already lighted, and the blazing fire dazzled 
 her eyes. For a minute she could not see 
 distinctly. 
 
 " I am glad you have returned, Clemency," 
 said her grandfather. " Here is a welcome 
 guest just arrived." 
 
 Her colour deepened and spread as, with 
 a sudden rapture of surprise, she perceived, 
 not one of the Evelyns, but Joscelyn Hey- 
 worth. 
 
 Id the first minute of confusion she 
 scarcely realised anything, only knew that 
 pnce more there passed between them that
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 255 
 
 glance from soul to soul, that strange con- 
 sciousness of union which, during the night 
 of the attack on the house, had changed her 
 whole life. When the greetings were over, 
 and, with her fur-bordered cloak and hood 
 thrown aside, she had taken her place by 
 the hearth, she was able to note more 
 quietly the changes that had come over 
 her lover. 
 
 For Joscelyn was changed, as every 
 thoughtful man is changed by the first 
 entrance upon a great struggle. He had 
 looked death in the face many times, he had 
 seen strife and bloodshed, had borne hard- 
 ship and weariness and pain, had chafed 
 under injustice and treacherous betrayal, 
 had been stirred to enthusiasm by the 
 courage and devotion of others. He looked 
 years older, and there was a strength and 
 steadfastness in his expression which did 
 not quench its humorous brightness, but 
 greatly mellowed it. 
 
 " Has peace been declared ? " asked Clem- 
 ency, a great hope filling her heart. 
 
 " Alas, no/' said Joscelyn. " There were
 
 256 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 hopes of peace at the end of last week, but 
 little likelihood of it now. The indignation 
 against the King's conduct has w T axed 
 greater than ever. His needless insult to 
 your friend, Sir John Evelyn, was seen to 
 be only an excuse to put off the negotia- 
 tions till the city had been attacked. No one 
 had heard that Sir John was a proclaimed 
 traitor, and it is thought the proclamation 
 was antedated." 
 
 " Ay, ay," said Sir Eobert, dryly, " such 
 craft is possible enough to those who deem 
 themselves above law." 
 
 " Then, too," continued Joscelyn, " all 
 London was furious at the King's treachery 
 in ordering Prince Eupert to attack Brent- 
 ford when the Parliament had proclaimed a 
 cessation of hostilities, and while his own 
 message, calling God to witness his great 
 desire of peace, and offering to treat in order 
 to avoid further blood-shedding, was actually 
 being read at Westminster." 
 
 " What passed at Brentford ? " asked Sir 
 Bobert. " Were you there ? " 
 
 " Our regiment was quartered at Ux-
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 257 
 
 bridge, sir," replied Joscelyn, " and Brent- 
 ford was occupied only by Colonel Denzil 
 Holies and his brave red-coats, who did so 
 nobly at Edge Hill. The early morning 
 was foggy, and the men were resting under 
 the security of the flag of truce, when 
 suddenly they were surprised by eight 
 regiments of the King's foot and some 
 twenty troops of horse. Colonel Holies, 
 though so vastly outnumbered, held out 
 bravely, and as soon as Colonel Hampden 
 heard the firing he hurried to the rescue 
 with his green-coats, and Lord Brooke did 
 the same with his purple-coats." 
 
 " But you must still have been greatly 
 outnumbered ? " said Sir Eobert, bending 
 eagerly forward, his shrewd old face full of 
 intense interest. 
 
 "Yes, sir, desperately. Five times we 
 charged the streets, trying to open a retreat 
 for Colonel Holies and his men, but the 
 King's troops attacked us on all sides. We 
 could but just hold out till my Lord Essex 
 and the trained-bands of the city were in 
 sight, and before they arrived our ammuni- 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 tion was spent, and all we could do was to 
 tiing ourselves into the Thames. Many 
 brave fellows were drowned, many swam to 
 the other bank, some crossed in barges, 
 some in boats, and those that survived 
 joined my Lord Essex, and, returning to 
 Brentford, managed to beat the Kovalists 
 through the town and take possession 
 again." 
 
 " Did the trained-bands all turn out ? " 
 asked Sir Eobert. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; 'twas a grand sight. The 
 feeling against the King was most bitter, 
 and all through the night the trained-bands 
 poured out of the city to block his road. 
 On Sunday morning there were twenty-four 
 thousand men drawn up on Turnham Green, 
 and if only prompt action had been taken 
 the war might perchance have been brought 
 to a successful close. Colonel Hampden and 
 his regiment were despatched to Acton in 
 order to sweep round the King's army and 
 put it between two fires ; but we had but 
 just got there when we received the General's 
 orders to return. There was much murmur- 

 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 259 
 
 ing among the men. London was saved 
 from the attack planned by the King, his 
 army retiring to Kingston and Reading, but 
 it was like the day after Edge Hill — no 
 decisive blow was struck — a great oppor- 
 tunity was just cast away." 
 
 " Colonel Hampden is much dispirited, I 
 fear,'' said Sir Robert. 
 
 "He is very patient and full of loyalty to 
 those in command," replied Joscelyn ; " but 
 he is sorely tried by the lack of energy and 
 promptitude. On Sunday, at Acton, he 
 looked for a moment almost heart-broken 
 when we were recalled." 
 
 " But is there an armistice ? " asked 
 Clemency. " How is it you could leave 
 your regiment ? " 
 
 " Alas ! " said Joscelyn, " I have been 
 forced to leave it, and to exchange into a 
 cavalry regiment; the old injury to my 
 knee has been giving me much trouble 
 ever since the march to Edge Hill, and the 
 surgeons say I shall never be fit to be in the 
 infantry." 
 
 " But I thought the officers rode ? "
 
 2 GO TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " Only the senior officers — I was but a 
 cornet. Had there been a vacancy in Good- 
 win's horse I should not regret the change 
 so sorely, for that is generally in company 
 with Colonel Hampden's regiment — but 
 there was none. And now, through Colonel 
 Hampden's good offices, I have been ap- 
 pointed lieutenant to his friend, Sir William 
 Waller ; a piece of promotion, but one 
 which I would gladly have renounced had 
 there been a chance of staying in the 
 infantry." 
 
 " Are you on your way to join him now ? " 
 asked Sir Robert. 
 
 " No ; I am to return to London by 
 Friday night, to take leave of Colonel Hamp- 
 den and bear him news of you, sir ; and 
 then at Westminster to receive despatches 
 for Sir William Waller and to set off 
 westward." 
 
 " I am heartily glad Colonel Hampden 
 persuaded you to come here," said Sir 
 Robert. " If you knew how we had thirsted 
 for something more trustworthy and com- 
 plete than the vague reports and the news-
 
 TO PJGHT THE WROXG. 261 
 
 letters, you would have needed no per- 
 
 suasion." 
 
 " The letter I brought from the Colonel 
 will perhaps explain my hesitation," said 
 Joscelyn, colouring. 
 
 " Well, w T ell," said the old man, cheer- 
 fully, " I will read it ; and meantime you 
 will find your way to your former room, for 
 you will be glad to prepare for supper." 
 
 Clemency, having given sundry orders to 
 the servants, returned slowly to the parlour, 
 glad of a moment's solitude in which to enjoy 
 her happiness. That sober talk about trea- 
 chery and fighting and bloodshed could not 
 quench the rapture which made her eyes 
 shine with a strange new lustre, and wreathed 
 her lips in smiles as she crossed the deserted 
 hall, pausing for a shy glance at the steel 
 cap which hung on the wall, and running 
 away with a mixture of shame and amuse- 
 ment from the sight of her own face 
 
 o 
 
 mirrored in it. 
 
 In the parlour she found her grandfather 
 alone, trying in vain to decipher Hampden's 
 hastily-written letter.
 
 262 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " 'Tis of no use," lie said. " My eyes are 
 failing, child, and that is the truth. Eead 
 it aloud, an you will." 
 
 Kneeling by the oaken table, that the 
 lamplight might the better fall on the paper, 
 Clemency read the following lines — 
 
 "'Dear Sir— 
 
 " ' I have taken upon me to per- 
 suade our young friend, Joscelyn Heyworth, 
 to visit you again at Katterham Court, and 
 to bring you the latest news of the war. It 
 is with great sorrow that I part with him from 
 my regiment, but this is rendered necessary 
 by his health. He has to-day learned that he 
 is not, as he deemed, a penniless adventurer, 
 for we chanced in the Strand to meet an 
 acquaintance of his from Lincoln, who gave 
 him the news that his godfather, the late 
 Mr. Gainsborough, had bequeathed to him 
 all his estate, and so he finds himself pos- 
 sessed of comfortable means — just that which 
 Solomon desired of the Lord, £ neither 
 poverty nor riches.' 'Tis not this source of 
 income, 1 take it, that commends him either
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 263 
 
 to me or to you, but his nobility in sacrificing 
 home and kindred and the comfortable 
 maintenance he would otherwise have had 
 from his father. I have learnt thoroughly to 
 know him during these months, and 'tis a 
 great hazard, methinks, to see one of so 
 sweet a disposition cast alone upon the world 
 with no natural ties. He needs a home in 
 this distracted land, and the assurance that 
 there are those who care for his welfare and 
 pray for the right guiding of his career. I 
 am so perfectly acquainted with your clear 
 insight into the dispositions of men, that I 
 doubt not you have long ere this discovered 
 all of which I write, and perchance you have 
 already perceived — though he assures me 
 this is impossible — his passion for your 
 grand-daughter.' " 
 
 Clemency broke down in utter confusion. 
 Sir Robert laid his hand tenderly on her 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Do not blush in that fashion, dear child. 
 Are we not alone? Has Mr. Hey worth 
 spoken of love to you ? ''
 
 264 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " Never, grandfather ; never a word," said 
 Clemency. 
 
 " He is an honourable, brave man," said 
 Sir Robert. " But, child, though 'tis hard 
 to ask you to read this, yet I must hear the 
 rest of the letter. Better that you should 
 read it than any other person, and my eyes 
 are too dim." 
 
 " There is little more," said Clemency. 
 " Mr. Hampden adds — 
 
 " ' I am one who owes much to an early 
 and happy marriage, and would fain hope 
 that my Mend, Mistress Clemency, may 
 treat this servant less severely than the 
 many she has dismissed. God, who only 
 knows the periods of life and opportunities 
 to come, has designed Joscelyn Heyworth 
 (I hope) for His own service betime, and 
 whether happy in the possession of the love 
 he craves or not, he will, I am well assured, 
 find in his need Him that Joseph found in 
 Egypt, under whose wing alone is perfect 
 safety. Concerning public events, Mr. 
 Heyworth will be able fully to inform you ;
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 265 
 
 time is not mine now. Present my service 
 to fair Mistress Clemency and her sisters. 
 
 " ' And let me ever be honoured with the 
 style of 
 
 " ' Your affectionate friend and servant, 
 " ' Johx Hampdex. 
 
 " ' Westminster', Nov. 14, 1642.' " 
 
 " Well, my dear, Mr. Hey worth shall 
 speak to you to-morrow," said Sir Eobert, 
 " and to-night I will myself broach the 
 subject with him. You will doubtless be 
 glad of a brief time in which to think the 
 matter over." 
 
 He kissed her forehead, and Clemency 
 was thankful to be spared any reply, Hester 
 and Prue at that moment enterino;. 
 
 Joscelyn's patience was sorely taxed the 
 next day. Sir Eobert had willingly con- 
 sented that he should speak to Clemency, 
 but everything seemed to combine to hinder 
 them from having five minutes' uninter- 
 rupted talk. Mrs. Arbella paid a lengthy 
 morning visit, servants appeared at awkward 
 moments to ask for orders, and as for
 
 266 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 Original Sin Smith lie seemed to be ubi- 
 quitous, appearing in the hall, in the Ghost- 
 walk, in the park, in the withdra wing-room, 
 always with a specious excuse, profound 
 apologies, and a sanctimonious solemnity of 
 manner which made Joscelyn feel inclined 
 to kick him. But when the twelve o'clock 
 dinner was over, Sir Eobert kindly took 
 matters into his own hands. 
 
 " Clemency," he said, the children and 
 their tutor having left the table, "you 
 might take old Noah Snelling that cure for 
 the rheumatism of which we were speaking 
 last night, and maybe Mr. Heyworth would 
 enjoy a walk this bright day, and would 
 escort you." 
 
 So the two set out, shyly enough now r 
 that the loug-awaited time had come, and, 
 though no one interrupted them, they talked 
 of every subject but the one which was 
 filling their hearts. 
 
 Noah's mud hovel was not far from the 
 south-east boundary of the park, half- 
 way down a steep hill, in a wilderness of 
 brambles and brake fern. The old man
 
 TO EIGHT THE WEOXG. 267 
 
 was so stiff and crippled that he could hardly 
 stir from his seat by the peat fire, but his 
 eyes gleamed with excitement as he listened 
 to Joscelyn's tale of the war. 
 
 " You have a fine country to fight for, 
 young sir," he said, as they bade him fare- 
 well, "and may the Almighty grant you a 
 good wife that will keep your heart tender 
 through the strife." 
 
 His eyes rested so curiously upon Clemency 
 that her cheeks began to burn, and she 
 was glad to feel the fresh outside air as 
 they left the close little hovel. 
 
 "How beautiful it is here," she said, 
 pausing on the steep bridle-path which led 
 up the hill. " See, over yonder is War 
 Coppice and the Pilgrims' Way, as they 
 call it— the path the Canterbury pilgrims 
 went ; I like to fancy Chaucer's folk passing 
 along — ' the veray parfit gentil knight,' and 
 the clerk who spent all his money on books, 
 and the young squire of twenty years of 
 age, ' as fresh as is the month of May,' 
 with his ' lockes crull ' and his flower- 
 broidered clothes."
 
 268 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " And the prioress," said Joscelyn, " with 
 her brooch of gold on which was writ ' Amor 
 vincit omnia.'' But best of all," he added, 
 offering his hand to help her over the rough 
 ground, " I like to think of two latter-clay 
 pilgrims on a longer and more serious pil- 
 grimage. Tell me, do you think you could 
 be willing to fulfil old Noah's prophecy, and 
 keep my heart tender through the strife % " 
 
 " It needs it not," said Clemency, glancing 
 up into the eyes that were eagerly regarding 
 her ; " 'tis tender already." 
 
 " 'Twill not long: be so without vour 
 help," he said. " You little know from what 
 already you have guarded me, or how un- 
 worthy I feel to offer you my heart. 'Tis 
 presumptuous to hope where so many have 
 failed — ye t " 
 
 " Do not speak of the others ! " said 
 Clemency, her eyes flashing with a scorn 
 which astonished him. " There was not one 
 disinterested lover among them all. Most 
 of them loved my inheritance ; perchance 
 two or three loved my face ; not one loved 
 me ! — not one ! "
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 269 
 
 " How can I prove that my love is true ? " 
 said Joscelyn, eagerly. 
 
 " You cannot prove it," she replied. 
 
 There was a silence ; they walked together 
 over the springy turf, picking their way 
 among the brake fern. Joscelyn, not under- 
 standing these last words, had grown grave ; 
 when they passed into the lane, and there 
 was no longer any excuse for helping her, 
 he relinquished her hand. Then, quickly, 
 yet with a gentle grace indescribable, she 
 deliberately stretched out her hand again 
 and put it in his. 
 
 " You cannot prove it," she repeated. 
 " But I do not want proof." 
 
 He bent over the hand that had put itself 
 so trustfully in his, and kissed it with a 
 reverence and devotion which no words could 
 have expressed. And Clemency, weary of 
 suitors who did "protest too much," gave 
 her whole heart to this wordless lover, and 
 was at rest. 
 
 It was a late season, and a few crimson 
 and gold leaves still lingered on the over- 
 arching trees ; away in the distance, framed
 
 270 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 by the elras and oaks, one could see the 
 roofs and chimneys of the little village. 
 Close by, an old yew tree stood out darkly 
 above a bank covered with sun-dried moss. 
 
 " Let us rest here," said Joscelyn, loth to 
 leave the quiet little wood; "why should 
 we hasten home ? " 
 
 " Yes, let us stay," said Clemency. " I 
 love this old tree. Only yesterday I gathered 
 a spray from it covered with berries, little 
 thinking how light my heart would be when 
 I again passed by." 
 
 Joscelyn wrapped a fold of his cloak about 
 her as they sat hand in hand on the bank. 
 " You were not light-hearted then ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 She gave him a sweet, shy glance, which 
 clearly said, " How could I be when I knew 
 not what was befalling you ? " 
 
 " I was thinking of war and death," she 
 added, aloud, " and of this old tree as the 
 symbol of both. But now 'tis the symbol 
 of love and joy to us." 
 
 " And yet a reminder that our love and 
 joy begins in troubled times," said Joscelyn,
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 271 
 
 thoughtfully. " My beloved, are you wise 
 to give your heart to oue pledged to serve 
 the country — pledged to fight till liberty 
 be gained ? " 
 
 " Could I love you were you not pledged ? " 
 said Clemency. " Surely not so well, Jos- 
 celyn. Was it not the good cause that first 
 taught us to know each other ? " 
 
 " 'Tis true. Yet — to love you — and to 
 leave you " 
 
 He broke off, his whole face shadowed. 
 Then with an effort he called back his cheer- 
 fulness. " We will not spoil the present 
 with forebodings," he said, resolutely. "This 
 yew tree shade makes one think of church- 
 yards, and of the old Britons who, they say, 
 planted the yews for making their bows. 
 But what do we care for omens ? " 
 
 " Nay," said Clemency, " let it be our 
 good omen — the sign of that which outlasts 
 time and change, the sign of immortality." 
 
 Her thought seemed to fill him with light 
 and comfort. Love had but just begun for 
 them, and it w 7 as eternal ; the perils and 
 wars, the strife and separation of time, could
 
 272 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 not cast more than a passing shadow over 
 their pure happiness. And while overhead 
 the robins sano* their autumn sons; and the 
 golden leaves floated silently down to the 
 ground, these two, in the rapture of Love's 
 spring-time, began to understand something 
 of the true meaning of life.
 
 273 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 It is the glory of Puritanism that it found its highest 
 
 of the will. 
 S. It. Gardiner. 
 
 work in the strengthening of the will. 
 
 On the following Sunday, early in the 
 morning, a little party of horsemen might 
 have been seen in another part of Surrey 
 making their way from London to the head- 
 quarters of Sir William Waller's army. In 
 front rode Joscelyn, accompanied by no 
 other than Original Sin Smith ; behind came 
 Jack Morrison and three new recruits who 
 had joined them at Westminster. Original 
 had suddenly received what he termed " a 
 divine call " to enter the Parliamentary 
 army, and Joscelyn, willing to do anything 
 for one connected with Katterham, had 
 taken some pains to procure him an outfit 
 and the necessary introductions, at the same 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 time trying to conquer a certain prejudice 
 against the man which he felt but could not 
 explain. 
 
 " The Almighty has highly favoured you," 
 said Original, in his sanctimonious voice. 
 " Not only have you received many choice 
 blessings, but you are entrusted with these 
 important missives from the Close Com- 
 mittee to Sir William Waller, in itself an 
 honour for one so young — a sign, too, of 
 the trust you inspire." 
 
 " Nay," said Joscelyn, who could appre- 
 ciate praise, but had a contemptuous loathing 
 for flattery, " I was merely the messenger 
 most ready to hand. Honest Jack Morrison 
 would have borne them just as well." 
 
 " They would scarce have told a common 
 soldier the key to the cipher," said Original. 
 And then he launched into a discussion on 
 writing in cipher, not without many a veiled 
 attempt to discover from his companion the 
 key to the packet he bore to Sir William. 
 
 Joscelyn was not responsive, however ; 
 he seemed much more interested in studying 
 the country than in discoursing of ciphers,
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 275 
 
 and Original began to rally him on his fit of 
 abstraction. 
 
 " Well, well," the ex-tutor remarked, " 'tis 
 natural enough for one in love to be deaf to 
 questions." 
 
 Joseelyn smiled. " In truth, I was think- 
 ing rather of old times," he replied. " Do 
 you see the elm trees over yonder ? That 
 is Farnham Park : we are in the neigh- 
 bourhood of my home. What do you say ? 
 Shall we bait our horses at the Bush in 
 Farnham ? " 
 
 Original thought it would be a good plan 
 and they entered the little country town and 
 were just turning their horses under the 
 archway of the inn when Joscelyn suddenly 
 drew back, for in the square yard of the 
 Bush he perceived to his dismay a number 
 of his father's troop of horse, and, worst of 
 all, caught sight of Jervis himself standing 
 booted and spurred at the entrance to the 
 bar. 
 
 If only it had been Dick there would have 
 been little risk of a disturbance, but from the 
 bitter hostility of Jervis no truce was to be
 
 276 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 expected. Hastily retreating, Joscelyn gave 
 the word to make all speed to the Holt 
 Forest, and the men, aware that they were 
 vastly outnumbered, urged on their tired 
 horses and galloped up the quiet street, 
 startling the inhabitants, who came hurry- 
 ing to their doors and windows to see what 
 caused the excitement. The bells were 
 ringing for morning service, and, as they 
 approached the opening called Church Pas- 
 sage, Joscelyn glanced back along the street 
 they had traversed to see if there were signs 
 of pursuit. To his dismay he found that the 
 Borough was already crowded, and in the 
 sunlight could see the flash of helmets and 
 pikes and the flutter of red ribbons. 
 
 He shouted to his men to push onward ; 
 faster and yet faster they galloped up the 
 long length of West Street, past red-tiled 
 houses, past a row of pollarded limes, past 
 thatched cottages, but ever with the despair- 
 ing consciousness that the Royalist troop 
 was fast gaining on them. Two or three 
 shots were fired, the bullets whizzed past 
 them ; if they could but get clear of the
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 277 
 
 town and gain the open country there was 
 yet a chance of escape. Just, however, as 
 they reached the Plough, an inn on the out- 
 skirts of the town, a bullet struck Joscelyn's 
 horse ; it plunged, struggled wildly for a 
 minute, and finally fell beneath him. Then 
 the true character of Original Sin Smith all 
 at once revealed itself. He glanced from 
 his captain to the Cavaliers, drove the 
 spurs into his steed, and bounded over the 
 hedge of the nearest hop-ground. 
 
 When Joscelyn gained his feet he found 
 that the four other men had formed in front 
 of him, and, summoning up all his resolu- 
 tion, he gave the word to fire on the attack- 
 ing party. His voice sounded hoarse and 
 unlike his own. Had it not been for the 
 thought of the despatches he bore and of 
 his duty to deliver them safely at all costs, 
 no power on earth would have dragged the 
 words from his lips. The men fired ; but 
 the next minute they were engaged in a 
 hand-to-hand fight, and Sir Thomas shouted 
 to them to yield on quarter. 
 
 The three recruits, seeing that resistance
 
 278 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 was hopeless, allowed themselves to be 
 taken ; Joscelyn on foot, with his back to 
 the wall of the inn, resisted to the last, and 
 Morrison did not fail his master until his 
 horse was killed beneath him, and in the 
 confusion he was made prisoner. 
 
 " Yield, in God's name," cried Sir Thomas. 
 
 But Joscelyn showed no signs of yielding. 
 Perhaps the Hampshire Volunteers, who all 
 knew him and loved him, were not over- 
 skilful in their attack, for he parried every 
 thrust, until Jervis, with an oath, pressed 
 forward and dealt him a terrific blow on the 
 head. With a stifled groan he fell to the 
 ground, and Dick flung himself from his 
 horse and rushed towards him. 
 
 " You have killed him," cried the boy, in 
 an agony of grief. 
 
 Sir Thomas did not speak a word ; he 
 dared not trust his voice, neither could he 
 trust himself to dismount, for he was trem- 
 bling like a palsied man. He looked en- 
 viously at Dick as the boy unfastened 
 Joscelyn's helmet, lifted the drooping head 
 on his knee, and bent over the still white face.
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 279 
 
 " He is no more dead, sir, than the devil," 
 said Jervis, scornfully ; "a blow like that 
 could only stun him. Bring forward the 
 prisoners. Where were you going this 
 Sunday morning in such hot haste ? " 
 
 "We were going to join Sir William 
 Waller's army, sir," said one of the recruits. 
 
 " Where did you come from ? " 
 
 " From Westminster," replied the man. 
 
 " Doubtless they bear despatches," said 
 Jervis, with a look of satisfaction. " This 
 day's work, sir, will prove useful, an I 
 mistake not," he observed, turning to his 
 father. " The men's faces bear out my idea. 
 Stand back, Dick, and let me search this 
 cock-a-hoop young captain." 
 
 " You shall not touch him," protested 
 Dick ; " it is unfair." 
 
 " A plague on your scruples — all's fair in 
 love and war. Stand back, I say." 
 
 But Dick did not stir. 
 
 "He is coming to himself; wait till he 
 can answer a question. Are you much 
 hurt, Joscelyn ? " 
 
 "My head," said Joscelyn, confusedly.
 
 280 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " What startled the horses ? Where is 
 Clemency ? She was here but now." 
 
 " You are thinking of that day at Katter- 
 ham," said Dick, " before this accursed war 
 began. Look up — we are in Farn ham- 
 Street." 
 
 With a dawning recollection Joscelyn 
 opened his eyes, caught sight of the party 
 of horsemen, caught sight of Jervis in the 
 fore-front regarding him with an expression 
 of scornful curiosity — caught sight of his 
 father waiting with averted face at a little 
 distance. 
 
 This last sight gave him so sharp a pang, 
 that even Jervis was struck by the sudden 
 look of pain which could not be hid. 
 
 " He is more hurt than I thought for," 
 he remarked, drawing nearer. " Dick, you 
 fool, I tell you he is my prisoner, not yours," 
 and disregarding Joscelyn's half-conscious 
 effort at resistance, Jervis deliberately un- 
 fastened his armour and his buff coat, and 
 in triumph drew forth a pocket-case and 
 promptly opened it. " Despatches for Sir 
 William Waller; just as I thought," he
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 281 
 
 cried. " But in cipher — of which, no doubt, 
 the bearer holds the key." 
 
 Joscelyn, with Dick's help, had now 
 struggled to his feet. He looked appeal- 
 ing]) 7 towards his father. 
 
 " Come," urged Jervis, impatiently, " do 
 you intend to keep us all day here ? What 
 is the key to this cipher? Say but that, 
 and you are free to go." 
 
 " Do you expect me to turn traitor ? " 
 asked Joscelyn, indignantly. 
 
 " You are a traitor already ! " said Sir 
 Thomas, passionately. " Here is an oppor- 
 tunity to return to your allegiance and to 
 serve your King." 
 
 " Why did not you let me die ? " said 
 Joscelyn, turning to Dick ; " it would have 
 saved us from this." 
 
 Dick, with an eager appeal in his eyes, 
 approached his father. 
 
 " Sir, he has surely suffered enough. For 
 God's sake let him pass. You have the 
 despatches — now let him go." 
 
 " What ! " cried Sir Thomas, all the more 
 vehement! v because Dick's words coincided
 
 282 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 with his own desire, " would you have me 
 favour my own son when he is false to his 
 King ? Nay, indeed, let me rather follow 
 the example of Brutus. Jervis, these pris- 
 oners had best be taken to Farnham Castle, 
 and Sir John Denham will know how to 
 deal with — with the bearer of this treason- 
 able packet." 
 
 Jervis assented. 
 
 " Sir John may bring him to reason/' he 
 said, " and he appears to enjoy showing off 
 the split in the family. Come, Joscelyn, 
 you shall have it to your liking and be 
 made a spectacle to men and angels. 
 Buckle all five prisoners to your stirrup- 
 leathers, my men, and let them walk in the 
 usual way ; but lest the good folk of Farn- 
 ham should be scandalised, their officer had 
 best not be stripped." 
 
 " Sir," protested poor Dick, almost broken- 
 hearted at this speech, " you cannot permit 
 Joscelyn to be dragged through the town in 
 such a fashion. He is still suffering from 
 the blow and unfit for it." 
 
 But Sir Thomas had steeled his heart to
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 283 
 
 resist all tenderness to the culprit, and Dick 
 only met with a rebuff. All he could do 
 was to get a few words aside with Joscelyn. 
 
 " Here is your sword," he said, returning 
 it to the scabbard. " No one has yet 
 ordered you to yield it ; and see what a 
 dint Jervis made in your helmet." 
 
 " I cannot bear the weight of it." said 
 Joscelyn, faintly ; " my head aches too much. 
 Give the helmet to my servant." 
 
 " If I could only save you from this vile 
 treatment ! " 
 
 " You cannot," he replied. " But it is 
 good to see you, dear old Dick. There is 
 much I would ask you were my head but 
 clear." 
 
 " Now, sir," said a burly soldier approach- 
 ing him, and Joscelyn had to submit to be 
 strapped to the stirrup of a man whom he 
 recognized as the son of the Shortell black- 
 smith. At any other time he would have 
 perceived with satisfaction and some amuse- 
 ment the man's intense dislike to the work 
 he was set to, but now he was too miserable 
 in mind and body to observe it. Bareheaded,
 
 284 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 with pale, stern face, his right hand clutch- 
 ing for support at the mane of the horse, he 
 walked down the street. The way was lined 
 with people, every gibe, every rough word 
 reached him, and he heard all as it were 
 with Dick's ears as well as with his own. 
 
 " Good Lord ! 'tis one of the Hey worths ! " 
 " Ay, ay, the one that turned traitor." 
 "Draped his father's name in the mud." 
 " x\ pestilent Roundhead." " A sneaking 
 hypocrite." " Look at him now ! " " He's 
 not gained much by his treason ! " " Down 
 with all rebels ! " 
 
 Joscelyn turned a shade paler, but as the 
 horrible hooting and groaning; grew more 
 clamorous, he shook back the long hair 
 from his face and drew himself up with an 
 unconscious dignity of demeanour which 
 was not lost on Sir Thomas. 
 
 " All the time he is the best of the lads," 
 thought the poor old father. Then, as 
 Jervis rode up to him, he inquired what was 
 amiss, for the procession had come to a halt. 
 
 " Sir John Denham has been seen to pass 
 on horseback from the Borough to Downing
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 285 
 
 Street/' said Jervis. " They say he goes by 
 the eastern gate to church. If we dismount 
 here and go up this passage we shall doubt- 
 less meet him in the churchyard." 
 
 The six bells had ceased chiming, only 
 the big bell tolled solemnly as the strange 
 cavalcade walked up the narrow alley and 
 along the flagged pathway between the 
 graves. Sir John Denham was just dis- 
 appearing into the north door as the Hey- 
 worths came into sight ; but Jervis was not 
 to be baulked. 
 
 " There will be time to make over the 
 prisoners before service begins," he said, 
 hurrying into the church. " I will prepare 
 Sir John." 
 
 The congregation was already assembled, 
 but talking was not then considered unsuit- 
 able in the nave, and Jervis f%und no diffi- 
 culty in explaining all to the governor of 
 the Castle, a middle-aged man, with a sen- 
 sual mouth and a high, intellectual forehead. 
 He was sitting in one of the front seats near 
 the pulpit, and came out into the middle 
 aisle to speak to Jervis, watching with some
 
 286 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 interest the strange procession that had 
 entered the church and was now approach- 
 ing him. Sir Thomas trying to seem un- 
 conscious and disdainful ; Dick miserable 
 and haggard, — looking as if he wished the 
 ground would open and swallow him ; and 
 behind them the unwilling; soldier leading 
 the young Parliamentary officer, whose buff 
 coat, tawny orange scarf, and wealth of 
 golden hair only served to make his pallor 
 the more noticeable. 
 
 That he should be drao-o-ed into the 
 
 DO 
 
 presence of this peaceful congregation, that 
 the bitter hostility of his father and brother 
 should be carried even into the house of 
 God, seemed to Joscelyn the last drop in his 
 cup of bitterness. Famham Church, more- 
 over, was full of memories for him. It was 
 here that he and Dick had been confirmed 
 five years before, and the contrast of the 
 present sharp division struck both of them 
 very painfully. Then, although the people 
 did not hoot him as those in the street had 
 done, their silent surprise and their looks 
 of scorn and disapproval were almost more
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 287 
 
 hard to endure. For Joscelyn was no sea- 
 soned warrior, neither was he clothed with 
 that utter self- forge tfulness which makes 
 some men practically invulnerable. He was 
 very young, very sensitive, very fond of 
 popularity ; the ordeal by fire would have 
 pained him infinitely less than this walk up 
 the middle aisle of the church. The people 
 in the transepts and the chancel stood up 
 on the benches that they might stare the 
 better, the occupants of the side aisles craned 
 their necks forward to see this unusual 
 sight ; Joscelyn was conscious of it all, yet 
 the worst pang awaited him. 
 
 " Sir John, as the governor of Farnham 
 Castle I deliver to your hands five prisoners 
 of war," said Sir Thomas, in a voice which 
 betrayed nothing of his real emotion. 
 " Four of them wait without ; their captain, 
 formerly my son, but now a disinherited 
 rebel, will yield up his sword to you." 
 
 A wave of burning colour surged over 
 Joscelyn's face ; the more generous among 
 the congregation felt genuine pity for him, 
 as he unfastened his sword, and in silence,
 
 288 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 with the look of one cut to the heart, 
 handed it to Sir John Denham. 
 
 61 The Rector comes, gentlemen," said the 
 clerk, bustling up and motioning them to 
 their places. 
 
 Joscelyn glanced at his father ; their eyes 
 met, but there was no relenting in Sir 
 Thomas's face, though all the time his 
 sympathy was with the son whom in words 
 he had disowned, and probably he had 
 never loved him better than at this moment. 
 As for the prisoner — having met that cold 
 gaze he saw nothing clearly for some time ; 
 he staggered a little as he stood ; the floor 
 of the church seemed to rise and fall like 
 the deck of a ship. Then he felt a strong 
 hand grasping his arm. 
 
 " Come to a seat," whispered Dick. 
 " The service is beginning — at least we are 
 together in this." 
 
 " Dick is still faithful to me," thought 
 Joscelyn, yet, nevertheless, the cruel words, 
 "formerly my son," rankled bitterly in his 
 heart. He knelt down in the place to 
 which Dick had guided him, conscious of a
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 289 
 
 sort of relief in being able to bury his face 
 in his hands. 
 
 Then, in strange contrast to what had 
 passed before, the voice of the Eector of 
 Farnham rang through the old church. 
 
 " To the Lord our God belong mercies 
 and forgivenesses, though we have rebelled 
 against Him : neither have we obeyed the 
 voice of the Lord our God, to walk in His 
 laws which He set before us." "Dearly 
 beloved brethren " 
 
 Joscelyn heard no more of the exhorta- 
 tion ; still kneeling, with hidden face, he 
 had passed beyond the thought of the 
 present distress and separation, and had 
 firmly grasped the idea of an eternal 
 kinship which was absolutely indestructible 
 — a kinship against which the passing 
 blows of envy, hatred, malice, and all 
 uncharitableness were powerless to prevail. 
 
 Sir Thomas and many of the people were 
 much surprised when the prisoner, who had 
 knelt from the beoinnins; of the service like 
 one too miserable and crushed to heed what 
 was passing, stood up promptly the moment 
 vol. i. u
 
 290 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 the Venite was given out, singing as if lie 
 did indeed " heartily rejoice in the strength 
 of our salvation." They were utterly 
 puzzled — Dick alone understood, and 
 realised that it was just what might have 
 been expected of Joscelyn. 
 
 It is to be feared that very few paid 
 much attention to the Rector's long and 
 learned sermon. The people were occupied 
 in staring at the prisoner. Old Sir Thomas 
 mused sadly over his son's political views, 
 and wondered how it could have come to 
 pass that a child of his should make the 
 disastrous mistake of fighting for that mis- 
 leading will-o'-the-wisp called Liberty and 
 freedom of conscience, when Church, father, 
 and self-interest, all would have urged him 
 to think only of the Divine right of kings. 
 With bitterness of soul he watched the 
 resolute face of the prisoner, and asked 
 himself what he had done that this grievous 
 trial should be laid upon him by one of his 
 own children. 
 
 "I have been no Eli, weakly spoiling the 
 lads," he thought. " I have been loyal to
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 291 
 
 my God and to my King, and yet the 
 flower of the flock has left my fold." 
 
 Jervis, on the other hand, was absorbed 
 in plans for his brother's farther humilia- 
 tion : Dick was wondering how he could 
 best secure a talk with Joscelyn at the 
 Castle ; and Joscelyn himself sat with closed 
 eyes, rigidly still, hearing no single word 
 that was said, but living; over again a 
 hundred past scenes. 
 
 When the Rector ceased and the congre- 
 gation rose he started up in confusion, 
 returning to a very miserable consciousness 
 of all that awaited him. Jervis's un- 
 brotherly plan was, however, frustrated. 
 Sir John Denham took no heed of his 
 suggestion, but motioning to a young officer 
 of his party, who had watched the pro- 
 ceedings with considerable interest, spoke 
 a few words in his ear, and then introduced 
 him courteously to Joscelyn. 
 
 "My kinsman — Mr. Arthur Denham — 
 will take charge of you, Mr. Heyworth," he 
 said. 
 
 No one could have desired a more
 
 292 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 pleasant gaoler, and Joscelyn ran the 
 gauntlet of the spectators both in church 
 and churchyard with but little discomfort, 
 for he walked between Dick and the 
 governor's young kinsman, who seemed 
 bent on making things easy for him. At 
 the eastern gate of the churchyard there 
 was a brief pause ; he suddenly remembered 
 that he might not see Dick again, and, 
 passing his hand over his aching forehead, 
 tried hard to collect his thoughts. 
 
 " I am losing what may be our last 
 moments together," he said, miserably ; 
 "yet for the life of me, Dick, I can't talk." 
 
 "You are still feeling the effects of the 
 blow, and no wonder," said Dick. "You 
 look fit for nothing but bed. As for 
 talking, we may yet, with Mr. Denham's 
 permission, get time for that presently at 
 the Castle, to which, if I can prevent it, 
 you shall not be dragged on foot." 
 
 '•' Faith ! I should think not," said Arthur 
 Denham, his brown eyes kindling and his 
 dark face flushing at the remembrance of 
 Sir John's hurried account of Jervis Hey-
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 293 
 
 worth's malice. "My horse is at your 
 disposal," he said, looking with mingled 
 curiosity and sympathy at his prisoner. 
 " Or, stay, here is my brother William, who 
 will be olad enough to lend liis. ,:> 
 
 William Denham, a clever-looking lad of 
 seventeen, was only too happy to be 
 released from attendance on his kinsman, 
 the governor. He cared nothing for politics, 
 being a keen naturalist, and far more intent 
 on securing moths and butterflies than 
 prisoners of war. With much satisfaction 
 he received his brother's permission to go 
 down to the river after some specimens 
 he was bent on finding, and Joscelyn, 
 mounting his horse, was taken through 
 the town, past the familiar market-place, 
 and up the broad, picturesque Castle Street.
 
 294 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 And there is a frown of hate, 
 And there is a frown of disdain, 
 
 And there is a frown of frowns 
 
 Which you strive to forget in vain. 
 
 Blake. 
 
 Fabnham Castle, one of the fortresses 
 built during the Civil Wars in the reion of 
 King Stephen, had for some time been the 
 residence of the Bishops of Winchester, but 
 at the beginning of the war it had been 
 turned into a garrison by the King's Com- 
 missioners of Arrav. It was a most im- 
 posing building, with its old grey walls, 
 its more modern entrance tower and keep 
 of red brickwork ornamented with lozenges 
 of blue, and its gate-house, where a practised 
 eye would have discovered a vulnerable 
 point of attack. The afternoon had clouded
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 295 
 
 over and the place looked gloomy and for- 
 bidding enough. Joscelyn's heart sank as 
 he passed up the stone steps which led 
 under a porch to the main entrance, and 
 glanced at the warders and men-at-arms 
 and wondered whether the Castle was 
 strongly garrisoned. 
 
 Sir John Denham, who had entered first 
 w T ith Sir Thomas Heyworth and Jervis, 
 turned towards his prisoner as he came into 
 the old banqueting-hall, addressing him 
 very pleasantly. 
 
 "I am sorry," he said, " to be in the 
 position of gaoler to you, Captain Hey- 
 worth ; but we will endeavour to make 
 your confinement as little irksome as may 
 be, if you will give us your word not to 
 attempt to escape." 
 
 Joscelyn thanked him, and gave the 
 necessary promise. 
 
 " I see you are much spent," said Sir 
 John. " Let us dine at once, and after- 
 wards I will put a few questions to you." 
 
 " Pardon me, Sir John," said old Sir 
 Thomas, his colour rising and his voice
 
 296 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 trembling, " but I must decline to sit 
 down to table with that rebel. I beg 
 that you will examine him at once as 
 to the treasonable correspondence, and 
 then I and my two sons will go on to 
 Shortell." 
 
 Joscelyn winced. The speech made him 
 feel as if he were a sort of leper. 
 
 " Pray do not think of continuing your 
 journey to-day," said Sir John. " I will, if 
 you please, question Captain Hey worth at 
 once and he can dine elsewhere, but I 
 cannot permit you to leave us so hastily. 
 You will all, I hope, be my guests, at any 
 rate till the morrow." 
 
 Sir Thomas was fain to consent to this 
 arrangement ; Dick brightened a little, 
 foreseeing that he was now secure of some 
 hours with his brother ; but Joscelyn was 
 too wretched to take any comfort from the 
 thought. His father's persistent enmity 
 weighed heavily on him ; moreover, some" 
 thing in the great hall, with its old windows 
 and its dark oak galleries, made him think 
 of Hampden House, and he felt a sick
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 297 
 
 longing for the presence of his leader, with 
 his genial face and winning manner and 
 strong, wise sympathy. A sense of utter 
 loneliness overpowered him as, obeying a 
 signal from Sir John Denham, he followed 
 him across the flagged floor to the open 
 hearth where, upon the brass dogs, lay a 
 heap of blazing wood. On the chimney- 
 piece was traced the legend, " A Dieu Foi 
 mix amis foyer." Sir Thomas and the 
 governor took their places on the oak settle 
 drawn up to the left side of the fire, Jervis 
 stood behind them, and a little in the back- 
 ground, near a low side-gallery, were Arthur 
 Denham and Dick. Facing them all stood 
 Joscelyn, alone. 
 
 " Now, Captain Heyworth," said the 
 governor, taking up the small letter-case 
 which Jervis had discovered ; " this com- 
 munication, which I see is in cipher, is 
 directed to Sir William Waller, and was 
 found upon your person. I know that you 
 and your men came yesterday from West- 
 minster ; from whose hands did you receive 
 this ? '•'
 
 298 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 " From the hands of Mr. Pym," replied 
 Joscelyn. 
 
 At the hated name of Pym the faces of 
 all present changed. Sir Thomas swore a 
 great oath, and Sir John Denham's manner 
 became a little less urbane. 
 
 " King Pym ! " he ejaculated, glancing 
 towards Jervis, who, with scarcely-veiled 
 triumph, stood watching Joscelyn's troubled 
 face. 
 
 " Was any one else present ? " 
 
 " Mr. John Hampden." 
 
 " No one beside ? " 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " Were you made acquainted with the 
 contents of the missive ? " 
 
 " I was not." 
 
 " Do you know the key to this cipher ? " 
 
 Joscelyn made no reply. 
 
 " I repeat, were you entrusted with the 
 key?" 
 
 Still Joscelyn kept silence. His eyes were 
 fixed on the flagged floor, his face had grown 
 set and stern. 
 
 " Your silence gives consent," said Sir
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 299 
 
 John, irritated by the prisoner's obstinacy. 
 " I fully understand that you can read the 
 despatch." 
 
 " Sir, that is precisely what I cannot do," 
 said Joscelyn, looking up and speaking 
 emphatically. 
 
 " Yet you know the key." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And cannot read the letter ? " said Sir 
 John, sarcastically. 
 
 " No, for 'tis against my honour and 
 conscience to do so." 
 
 " Honour ! " broke in Sir Thomas. " Oh, 
 ye gods ! that such as you should dare to 
 speak of honour ! " 
 
 Sir John turned with a laugh to Jervis. 
 
 " Your good brother Zeal-of-the-land Busy 
 is indeed ' zealous for the cause.' ' 
 
 " ' As a dog for a bone,' " retorted Jervis, 
 readily taking up the quotation from Bar- 
 tholomeiv Fair. 
 
 " I wish, my good fellow," said the 
 governor, turning with his mocking smile 
 to the prisoner, " that you would think less 
 of your own honour, and, instead, obey the
 
 300 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 Bible precept, ' Honour the king,' by 
 furnishing us with this key." 
 
 Indignation lit up Joscelyn's face ; with 
 dilated eyes and a voice whose vibrating 
 tones wakened responsive echoes in Dick's 
 heart, he turned passionately to the governor. 
 
 " I will try, sir, to ' honour all men/ but 
 it is hard to honour those who deliberately 
 tempt a messenger to be false to a trust." 
 
 Sir John looked uncomfortable. 
 
 " You forget, Captain Hey worth," he 
 said, after a brief pause, " that we are living 
 in times of war. In most countries, one in 
 your position would be tortured for refusing 
 to read this despatch ; even here there are 
 some who would perchance employ torture." 
 
 " Certainly," said Jervis, " worthy men 
 employed it but a few years since. Time is 
 saved, valuable information gained, and no 
 one is the worse ; the prisoner merely surfers 
 for a few minutes instead of dragging 
 through weeks or months of imprisonment." 
 
 "Yes, I would have you consider that 
 thought of imprisonment," said the governor. 
 " For although I will certainly do my best
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 301 
 
 for you here, yet elsewhere you will meet 
 with less lenient governors ; months or years 
 of imprisonment at your age will be no light 
 punishment." 
 
 Then Dick suddenly started forward, his 
 eyes full of tears. 
 
 "Joscelyn," he cried, "for God's sake, 
 yield ! Don't you see that you are in their 
 power, that they can do anything with 
 
 you?" 
 
 " What, you, Dick, even you ? " said Jos- 
 celyn, reproachfully. His face grew whiter, 
 his lips quivered with pain. 
 
 " We do but waste time," said Jervis, im- 
 patiently. " Really, Sir John, 'tis hard that 
 loyal gentlemen should be kept waiting for 
 dinner. Will you not order the roast from 
 the kitchen and the thumbscrew from the 
 armoury ? " 
 
 He laughed at his own pleasantry, but no 
 one else even smiled. Old Sir Thomas, 
 however, started to his feet and fixed his 
 keen blue eyes on Joscelyn. 
 
 " Torture is illegal," he said, in a voice 
 which trembled with strong feeling. " But
 
 302 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 I understand that it is still lawful for a 
 father to curse his son. May the Almighty 
 desert you in the day of judgment as you 
 have deserted your King, may He turn from 
 you as you have turned from me — may my 
 curse " 
 
 He was interrupted. 
 
 " Do you say that torture is illegal ? " 
 cried Joscelyn, in a voice that rang through 
 the hall ; " do you think you are not tortur- 
 ing me ? " 
 
 The silence that followed was broken by a 
 gasping sound like the sob of a hunted 
 animal, and Sir Thomas Heyworth's curse 
 was never completed, for the prisoner stag- 
 gered, then fell heavily to the ground, where 
 he lay like one dead. 
 
 The old baronet, assuming an air of indif- 
 ference, dropped back to his former position 
 on the oak settle, and made a show of 
 warming himself at the fire. But his 
 thoughts were all the time with Joscelyn, 
 and not a detail of the scene escaped him 
 when the men-at-arms roughly lifted up the 
 prisoner and bore him out of the hall. He
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 303 
 
 saw the helpless droop of the head, the 
 deathly face ; he saw too, with a pang of 
 wrath, the ends of the orange scarf — the 
 symbol of their division — sweeping the 
 white flag-stones as the men moved towards 
 the door. Arthur Denham followed, and 
 Dick clearly longed to follow too, but this 
 was more than Sir Thomas could endure. 
 He would fain have gone himself, but that 
 Dick should enjoy what he felt bound to 
 forego was intolerable. He called him 
 sharply back, and the boy, with a look of 
 misery which moved Sir John Denham's 
 compassion, was forced to obey. 
 
 " Bide your time," said Sir John, in a 
 good-natured aside. " You shall see your 
 brother later on. Pity that so gallant a 
 youth should be on the wrong side ! " 
 
 In the meantime Joscelyn began to be 
 dimly conscious that he was being carried 
 up a winding staircase, then along a passage. 
 Finally, above the tramp of his bearers, he 
 heard a voice saying — 
 
 " To the inner room ; lay him on my 
 bed."
 
 304 TO RIGHT THE WEOXG. 
 
 Tliere seemed to be some question about 
 keeping guard, for the same voice replied — 
 
 " No need : lie is on parole. You may 
 go. 
 
 Then the door closed, and he thought 
 himself alone till he felt a hand deftly 
 unfastening his gorget and untying the 
 strings of his collar. 
 
 " Dick," he murmured, without opening 
 his eyes. 
 
 " You shall see him by and by," said the 
 same voice. 
 
 Joscelyn looked up and met the gaze of a 
 pair of kindly brown eyes, which lighted up 
 a thoughtful, refined face shaded by dark 
 curls. 
 
 For a minute he was perplexed ; then all 
 that had passed flashed back into his mind, 
 and a spasm of pain convulsed his face. 
 
 " I remember now," he said, with a 
 shudder. " This is Far n ham Castle. They 
 said they were not torturing me. What " — 
 he gave a short laugh much like a sob — 
 4 'what do you think ?" 
 
 " I thought it was worse than the thumb-
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 305 
 
 screw," said Arthur Denhain. " But don't 
 speak of it. It is over, and. some amongst 
 us honoured you for your resistance, though 
 it made us wish all the more that you were 
 on our side. But you are faint. I will tell 
 them to bring you food and wine." 
 
 " I could not eat," said Joscelyn ; " my 
 head aches too much." 
 
 Arthur Denham went into the adjoining 
 room, and, filling a goblet with water, 
 brought it to his charge. Then, promising 
 to bring Dick at the first opportunity, 
 he left the prisoner and returned to the 
 banque ting-hall, where he was beset by 
 questions. 
 
 " As for his head, I am responsible for 
 that," said Jervis. " It would have been 
 more to the purpose had I hit a trifle harder. 
 In a brain fever he might easily have parted 
 with the secret of this cipher." 
 
 " Well, well," said Sir John, " leave him 
 to me. If you invoke the aid of Bacchus, 
 who knows but the hospitality of Farnham 
 Castle may bring about the discovery. He 
 is not the sort of lad to yield to threats." 
 vol. I. x
 
 306 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 Jervis laughed, but Sir Thomas looked 
 ill-pleased, and hardly spoke throughout the 
 meal. By and by, when the servants had 
 withdrawn, and both Sir John Denham and 
 Jervis were far from sober, he made an 
 excuse to leave the table, and, beckoning 
 Arthur Denham to the end of the hall, asked 
 to be taken to the prisoner. 
 
 " After all, perchance Sir John is right, 
 and we went the wrong way to work with 
 the lad; I have been, perhaps, over-harsh 
 with him," he said. " I will try what argu- 
 ment will do." 
 
 " Heaven help the poor fellow ! " thought 
 Arthur Denham. " I would as lief argue 
 with a mule as with Sir Thomas." 
 
 But it was impossible to make any objec- 
 tion to the proposal of the old baronet, and 
 having taken him to the door of the outer 
 room, the young man left him to his own 
 devices and returned to the gallery to talk 
 things over with Dick. 
 
 Sir Thomas closed the door of the ante- 
 room behind him and listened for a moment. 
 All was still ; the door of the inner room
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 307 
 
 had been left open : lie passed quietly in 
 and looked round. On the bed in the 
 corner lay Joscelyn. Worn out with all 
 that he had gone through he had fallen 
 fast asleep, and he lay now in that absolute 
 calm which smoothes out of the face all 
 care, anxiety, and distress ; he looked the 
 veriest boy, utterly unlike the harassed 
 man who had stood but an hour ago in 
 the banqueting-hall. 
 
 " His youth is an excuse," thought Sir 
 Thomas. " He has been led astray by 
 wily deceivers. I shall surely convince 
 him by patient argument. If I can but 
 be patient ! Wake, my son, wake ! " he 
 cried. 
 
 But Joscelyn did not stir. 
 
 " So sound asleep," thought Sir Thomas. 
 " Only a boy could sleep like that. What 
 would I not give for the power ! Sir John 
 shall not try to corrupt him. I will not 
 hear of it. Not that he could succeed. 
 Joscelyn has too much self-control ; with 
 Jervis it would be easy enough. Great 
 God ! why was it not Jervis who forsook
 
 308 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 me ? Why was it the best of the lads — ■ 
 the very best ? But I will convince him 
 yet. I will show him his error. Wake up, 
 Joscelyn," he repeated, laying a hand on his 
 shoulder. " Wake up, my son ! " 
 
 Joscelyn opened his eyes, caught sight of 
 his father's softened face, felt the pressure 
 of his hand, and with a rapturous sense of 
 relief thought their estrangement was at 
 an end. 
 
 " Father ! " he cried, springing up, " I 
 knew it could not separate us. Thank God, 
 you have come ! " 
 
 " You see your mistake % " asked Sir 
 Thomas, eagerly. " You will join me in 
 fighting for the right ? " 
 
 The light died out of Joscelyn's face. 
 Overwhelmed with disappointment he turned 
 away. 
 
 " Alas," he said, " that is the very point 
 on which we ditfer." 
 
 " But how is it possible to differ as to 
 actual right and wrong ? " said Sir Thomas, 
 with a desperate effort at patience. "All 
 truth-loving, God-fearing people must think
 
 TO EIGHT THE WRONG, 309 
 
 alike as to the duty of loyalty to the King 
 and to the Church." 
 
 " But when they see the King and the 
 Church false to their trust — abusing their 
 position — then they must defend the right," 
 said Joscelyn. 
 
 " False to their trust, do you say ? " cried 
 Sir Thomas, furiously. " You presumptuous, 
 arrogant fool ! The powers that be are 
 ordained of God. Do you not remember 
 the words of the Apostle ? " 
 
 " Nevertheless God brought to an end 
 the rule of the very emperors of whom the 
 Apostle wrote," said Joscelyn. 
 
 " Would you compare our most Christian 
 sovereign to the Caesars % " cried Sir Thomas, 
 " our most religious and gracious King ! I 
 tell you your views are abominable ! The 
 King can do no wrong-." 
 
 "You say so," said Joscelyn, bitterly. 
 " Yet had we been as ud truthful even as 
 mere lads, you would have Hogged us. His 
 Majesty keeps faith neither with friends nor 
 foes." 
 
 Sir Thomas strode up and down the room,
 
 310 TO EIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 making heroic efforts to restrain his ang;er. 
 "I must be calm — I will be calm," he 
 thought. " He is deceived. I must try to 
 reason with him. Others are more to be 
 blamed who have filled his head with these 
 false notions of liberty. I will entreat him 
 to return while yet there is time. The boy 
 loves me. He will surely see his error and 
 turn, if I can but humble myself to entreat 
 him." 
 
 He glanced towards the window. The 
 room was in an angle of the tower, above 
 the great door, and Joseelyn stood looking 
 out over the moat and the battlemented 
 walls, and across the bare hop-grounds to 
 the green hills beyond. In the valley 
 between lay the picturesque little town of 
 Farnham, the low white tower of the 
 church rising above the clustering;, red-tiled 
 houses. ' The bells were ringing; for after- 
 noon service : their cheerful sound fell 
 strangely and sadly on the prisoner's ear ; 
 the dreary conviction that nothing in this 
 world could ever make men of one mind, 
 that to the end of time there must be
 
 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 311 
 
 divided households, took strong possession 
 of him. For a while he lost sight of the 
 deeper truth, and forgot the uniting bond 
 of eternal kinship. 
 
 " JoscelyD," said his father, speaking very 
 gently, " I have been perchance over-harsh 
 with you. At home, in the heat of the 
 moment, I treated you with much severity. 
 I came up here thinking to argue quietly 
 with you, but we Hey worths are ill at that 
 sort of work, and are betrayed by our hot 
 tempers. There yet remains one way which, 
 with God's blessing, may move you to 
 repent and take the right side. I empty 
 myself of all pride and entreat you, my 
 son. If you have any reverence, any love 
 for me, I beg you to show it by giving up 
 your rebellious schemes, by refusing to fight 
 any longer with these blind leaders of the 
 blind. By the love I have shown you all 
 these years I implore you, my son." 
 
 Once more the tortured, hunted look 
 came back to Joscelyn's eyes ; he sank 
 clown on the window-seat, and buried his 
 face in his hands.
 
 312 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 Sir Thomas could see that tears were 
 dropping slowly down between his fingers ; 
 the sight encouraged him. 
 
 " I thought you would respond to that," 
 he said, laying his hand kindly on the bent 
 head. " I thought you were not wanting in 
 loyalty and in love to me. Let us forget 
 the past. You shall have a place in my 
 troop. We will work together." 
 
 Joscelyn started to his feet, and dashed 
 the tears from his eyes. 
 
 " Wait ! wait ! You mistake me, sir. 
 For God's sake, father, believe me when I 
 tell you that I love and honour you, and, as 
 far as may be, will always serve you. But 
 I cannot prove it by being false to my con- 
 science. I cannot give up my most firm 
 convictions." 
 
 There was a painful silence. Once more 
 the big bell of the church tolled sadly and 
 solemnly, as it had tolled when Joscelyn was 
 brought a prisoner through the churchyard. 
 
 The glow of hope faded from Sir Thomas's 
 face, a hard look dawned in his eyes. " I 
 have tried to save you," he said, hoarsely,
 
 TO EIGHT THE WEONG. 313 
 
 '•' but you persist in your wilful opposition. 
 It is useless to say more. Don't talk of love 
 and reverence ; give me deeds, not words. 
 You cannot care for me, or you would 
 not persist in this wicked, headstrong 
 rebellion." 
 
 Joscelyn stood absolutely silent ; of what 
 use were further protestations 1 The bitter- 
 ness of death seemed to surge over him, 
 while from below the great bell in the valley 
 tolled with solemn, heavy monotony. Sir 
 Thomas, torn with conflicting emotions, 
 looked despairingly at the dauntless face 
 opposite him, at one moment constrained to 
 admiration, at the next filled with wrath and 
 grief, and above all with his strong family 
 pride mortally wounded. 
 
 " I have humiliated myself for naught," 
 he said at length, with intense bitterness. 
 " I now finally disown you ; from henceforth 
 you are no more my son." 
 
 Joscelyn choked back his emotion. His 
 voice rang strangely ; there was a touch of 
 triumph in his tone. 
 
 " You may disown me in words, sir," he
 
 314 TO RIGHT THE WRONG. 
 
 said, " but kinship is just the one thing that 
 never can in truth fail." 
 
 Sir Thomas could endure no more. With 
 a curse — inarticulate from its very vehem- 
 ence — he strode out of the room, banging 
 the outer door behind him. 
 
 END OF VOLUME I.
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
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