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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Pigeon Pie, by Charlotte M. Yonge
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions 
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at 
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Pigeon Pie
+
+
+Author: Charlotte M. Yonge
+
+
+
+Release Date: January 10, 2015  [eBook #2606]
+[This file was first posted on May 16, 2000]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PIGEON PIE***
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1905 A. R. Mowbray & Co. edition by David Price,
+email ccx074@pglaf.org
+
+                          [Picture: Book cover]
+
+
+
+
+
+                              THE PIGEON PIE
+
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                                    BY
+                            CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
+                  _Author of_ “_The Heir of Redclyffe_”
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                               NEW EDITION
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                       A. R. MOWBRAY & CO. LIMITED
+                     OXFORD: 106, S. Aldate’s Street
+            LONDON: 34, Great Castle Street, Oxford Circus, W
+                                   1905
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+                       PAGE
+CHAPTER I.                1
+CHAPTER II.              19
+CHAPTER III.             34
+CHAPTER IV.              47
+CHAPTER V.               62
+CHAPTER VI.              77
+CHAPTER VII.             97
+CHAPTER VIII.           107
+CHAPTER IX.             117
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+EARLY in the September of the year 1651 the afternoon sun was shining
+pleasantly into the dining-hall of Forest Lea House.  The sunshine came
+through a large bay-window, glazed in diamonds, and with long branches of
+a vine trailing across it, but in parts the glass had been broken and had
+never been mended.  The walls were wainscoted with dark oak, as well as
+the floor, which shone bright with rubbing, and stag’s antlers projected
+from them, on which hung a sword in its sheath, one or two odd gauntlets,
+an old-fashioned helmet, a gun, some bows and arrows, and two of the
+broad shady hats then in use, one with a drooping black feather, the
+other plainer and a good deal the worse for wear, both of a small size,
+as if belonging to a young boy.
+
+An oaken screen crossed the hall, close to the front door, and there was
+a large open fireplace, a settle on each side under the great yawning
+chimney, where however at present no fire was burning.  Before it was a
+long dining-table covered towards the upper end with a delicately white
+cloth, on which stood, however, a few trenchers, plain drinking-horns,
+and a large old-fashioned black-jack, that is to say, a pitcher formed of
+leather.  An armchair was at the head of the table, and heavy oaken
+benches along the side.
+
+A little boy of six years old sat astride on the end of one of the
+benches, round which he had thrown a bridle of plaited rushes, and, with
+a switch in his other hand, was springing himself up and down, calling
+out, “Come, Eleanor, come, Lucy; come and ride on a pillion behind me to
+Worcester, to see King Charles and brother Edmund.”
+
+“I’ll come, I am coming!” cried Eleanor, a little girl about a year
+older, her hair put tightly away under a plain round cap, and she was
+soon perched sideways behind her brother.
+
+“Oh, fie, Mistress Eleanor; why, you would not ride to the wars?”  This
+was said by a woman of about four or five-and-twenty, tall, thin and
+spare, with a high colour, sharp black eyes, and a waist which the long
+stiff stays, laced in front, had pinched in till it was not much bigger
+than a wasp’s, while her quilted green petticoat, standing out full below
+it, showed a very trim pair of ankles encased in scarlet stockings, and a
+pair of bony red arms came forth from the full short sleeves of a sort of
+white jacket, gathered in at the waist.  She was clattering backwards and
+forwards, removing the dinner things, and talking to the children as she
+did so in a sharp shrill tone: “Such a racket as you make, to be sure,
+and how you can have the heart to do so I can’t guess, not I, considering
+what may be doing this very moment.”
+
+“Oh, but Walter says they will all come back again, brother Edmund, and
+Diggory, and all,” said little Eleanor, “and then we shall be merry.”
+
+“Yes,” said Lucy, who, though two years older, wore the same prim round
+cap and long frock as her little sister, “then we shall have Edmund here
+again.  You can’t remember him at all, Eleanor and Charlie, for we have
+not seen him these six years!”
+
+“No,” said Deborah, the maid.  “Ah! these be weary wars, what won’t let a
+gentleman live at home in peace, nor his poor servants, who have no call
+to them.”
+
+“For shame, Deb!” cried Lucy; “are not you the King’s own subject?”
+
+But Deborah maundered on, “It is all very well for gentlefolks, but now
+it had all got quiet again, ’tis mortal hard it should be stirred up
+afresh, and a poor soul marched off, he don’t know where, to fight with
+he don’t know who, for he don’t know what.”
+
+“He ought to know what!” exclaimed Lucy, growing very angry.  “I tell
+you, Deb, I only wish I was a man!  I would take the great two-handled
+sword, and fight in the very front rank for our Church and our King!  You
+would soon see what a brave cavalier’s daughter—son I mean,” said Lucy,
+getting into a puzzle, “could do.”
+
+The more eager Lucy grew, the more unhappy Deborah was, and putting her
+apron to her eyes, she said in a dismal voice, “Ah! ’tis little poor
+Diggory wots of kings and cavaliers!”
+
+What Lucy’s indignation would have led her to say next can never be
+known, for at this moment in bounced a tall slim boy of thirteen, his
+long curling locks streaming tangled behind him.  “Hollo!” he shouted,
+“what is the matter now?  Dainty Deborah in the dumps?  Cheer up, my
+lass!  I’ll warrant that doughty Diggory is discreet enough to encounter
+no more bullets than he can reasonably avoid!”
+
+This made Deborah throw down her apron and reply, with a toss of the
+head, “None of your nonsense, Master Walter, unless you would have me
+speak to my lady.  Cry for Diggory, indeed!”
+
+“She was really crying for him, Walter,” interposed Lucy.
+
+“Mistress Lucy!” exclaimed Deborah, angrily, “the life I lead among you
+is enough—”
+
+“Not enough to teach you good temper,” said Walter.  “Do you want a
+little more?”
+
+“I wish someone was here to teach you good manners,” answered the
+tormented Deborah.  “As if it was not enough for one poor girl to have
+the work of ten servants on her hands, here must you be mock, mock, jeer,
+jeer, worrit, worrit, all day long!  I had rather be a mark for all the
+musketeers in the Parliamentary army.”
+
+This Deborah always said when she was out of temper, and it therefore
+made Walter and Lucy laugh the more; but in the midst of their merriment
+in came a girl of sixteen or seventeen, tall and graceful.  Her head was
+bare, her hair fastened in a knot behind, and in little curls round her
+face; she had an open bodice of green silk, and a white dress under it,
+very plain and neat; her step was quick and active, but her large dark
+eyes had a grave thoughtful look, as if she was one who would naturally
+have loved to sit still and think, better than to bustle about and be
+busy.  Eleanor ran up to her at once, complaining that Walter was teasing
+Deborah shamefully.  She was going to speak, but Deborah cut her short.
+
+“No Mistress Rose, I will not have even you excuse him, I’ll go and tell
+my lady how a poor faithful wench is served;” and away she flounced,
+followed by Rose.
+
+“Will she tell mamma?” asked little Charlie.
+
+“Oh no, Rose will pacify her,” said Lucy.
+
+“I am sure I wish she would tell,” said Eleanor, a much graver little
+person than Lucy; “Walter is too bad.”
+
+“It is only to save Diggory the trouble of taking a crabstick to her when
+he returns from the wars,” said Walter.  “Heigh ho!” and he threw himself
+on the bench, and drummed on the table.  “I wish I was there!  I wonder
+what is doing at Worcester this minute!”
+
+“When will brother Edmund come?” asked Charlie for about the hundredth
+time.
+
+“When the battle is fought, and the battle is won, and King Charles
+enjoys his own again!  Hurrah!” shouted Walter, jumping up, and beginning
+to sing—
+
+    “For forty years our royal throne
+    Has been his father’s and his own.”
+
+Lucy joined in with—
+
+    “Nor is there anyone but he
+    With right can there a sharer be.”
+
+“How can you make such a noise?” said Eleanor, stopping her ears, by
+which she provoked Walter to go on roaring into them, while he pulled
+down her hand—
+
+    “For who better may
+    The right sceptre sway
+    Than he whose right it is to reign;
+    Then look for no peace,
+    For the war will never cease
+    Till the King enjoys his own again.”
+
+As he came to the last line, Rose returning exclaimed, “Oh, hush, Lucy.
+Pray don’t, Walter!”
+
+“Ha!  Rose turned Roundhead?” cried Walter.  “You don’t deserve to hear
+the good news from Worcester.”
+
+“O, what?” cried the girls, eagerly.
+
+“When it comes,” said Walter, delighted to have taken in Rose herself;
+but Rose, going up to him gently, implored him to be quiet, and listen to
+her.
+
+“All this noisy rejoicing grieves our mother,” said she.  “If you could
+but have seen her yesterday evening, when she heard your loyal songs.
+She sighed, and said, ‘Poor fellow, how high his hopes are!’ and then she
+talked of our father and that evening before the fight at Naseby.”
+
+Walter looked grave and said, “I remember!  My father lifted me on the
+table to drink King Charles’s health, and Prince Rupert—I remember his
+scarlet mantle and white plume—patted my head, and called me his little
+cavalier.”
+
+“We sat apart with mother,” said Rose, “and heard the loud cheers and
+songs till we were half frightened at the noise.”
+
+“I can’t recollect all that,” said Lucy.
+
+“At least you ought not to forget how our dear father came in with
+Edmund, and kissed us, and bade mother keep up a good heart.  Don’t you
+remember that, Lucy?”
+
+“I do,” said Walter; “it was the last time we ever saw him.”
+
+And Walter sat on the table, resting one foot on the bench, while the
+other dangled down, and leaning his elbow on his knee and his head on his
+hand; Rose sat on the bench close by him, with Charlie on her lap, and
+the two little girls pressing close against her, all earnest to hear from
+her the story of the great fight of Naseby, where they had all been in a
+farmhouse about a mile from the field of battle.
+
+“I don’t forget how the cannon roared all day,” said Lucy.
+
+“Ah! that dismal day!” said Rose.  “Then by came our troopers,
+blood-stained and disorderly, riding so fast that scarcely one waited to
+tell my mother that the day was lost and she had better fly.  But not a
+step did she stir from the gate, where she stood with you, Charlie, in
+her arms; she only asked of each as he passed if he had seen my father or
+Edmund, and ever her cheek grew whiter and whiter.  At last came a
+Parliament officer on horseback—it was Mr. Enderby, who had been a
+college mate of my father’s, and he told us that my dear father was
+wounded, and had sent him to fetch her.”
+
+“But I never knew where Edmund was then,” said Eleanor.  “No one ever
+told me.”
+
+“Edmund lifted up my father when he fell,” said Walter, “and was trying
+to bind his wound; but when Colonel Enderby’s troop was close upon them,
+my father charged him upon his duty to fly, saying that he should fall
+into the hands of an old friend, and it was Edmund’s duty to save himself
+to fight for the King another time.”
+
+“So Edmund followed Prince Rupert?” said Eleanor.
+
+“Yes,” said Lucy; “you know my father once saved Prince Rupert’s life in
+the skirmish where his horse was killed, so for his sake the Prince made
+Edmund his page, and has had him with him in all his voyages and
+wanderings.  But go on about our father, Rose.  Did we go to see him?”
+
+“No; Mr. Enderby said he was too far off, so he left a trooper to guard
+us, and my mother only took her little babe with her.  Don’t you
+remember, Walter, how Eleanor screamed after her, as she rode away on the
+colonel’s horse; and how we could not comfort the little ones, till they
+had cried themselves to sleep, poor little things?  And in the morning
+she came back, and told us our dear father was dead!  O Walter, how can
+we look back to that day, and rejoice in a new war?  How can you wonder
+her heart should sink at sounds of joy which have so often ended in
+tears?”
+
+Walter twisted about and muttered, but he could not resist his sister’s
+earnest face and tearful eyes, and said something about not making so
+much noise in the house.
+
+“There’s my own dear brother,” said Rose.  “And you won’t tease Deborah?”
+
+“That is too much, Rose.  It is all the sport I have, to see the faces
+she makes when I plague her about Diggory.  Besides, it serves her right
+for having such a temper.”
+
+“She has not a good temper, poor thing!” said Rose; “but if you would
+only think how true and honest she is, how hard she toils, and how ill
+she fares, and yet how steadily she holds to us, you would surely not
+plague and torment her.”
+
+Rose was interrupted by a great outcry, and in rushed Deborah, screaming
+out, “Lack-a-day!  Mistress Rose!  O Master Walter! what will become of
+us?  The fight is lost, the King fled, and a whole regiment of red-coats
+burning and plundering the whole country.  Our throats will be cut, every
+one of them!”
+
+“You’ll have a chance of being a mark for all the musketeers in the
+Parliament army,” said Walter, who even then could not miss a piece of
+mischief.
+
+“Joking now, Master Walter!” cried Deborah, very much shocked.  “That is
+what I call downright sinful.  I hope you’ll be made a mark of yourself,
+that I do.”
+
+The children were running off to tell their mother, when Rose stopped
+them, and desired to know how Deborah had heard the tidings.  It was from
+two little children from the village who had come to bring a present of
+some pigeons to my lady.  Rose went herself to examine the children, but
+she could only learn that a packman had come into the village and brought
+the report that the King had been defeated, and had fled from the field.
+They knew no more, and Walter pronouncing it to be all a cock-and-bull
+story of some rascally prick-eared pedlar, declared he would go down to
+the village and enquire into the rights of it.
+
+These were the saddest times of English history, when the wrong cause had
+been permitted for a time to triumph, and the true and rightful side was
+persecuted; and among those who endured affliction for the sake of their
+Church and their King, none suffered more, or more patiently, than Lady
+Woodley, or, as she was called in the old English fashion, Dame Mary
+Woodley, of Forest Lea.
+
+When first the war broke out she was living happily in her pleasant home
+with her husband and children; but when King Charles raised his standard
+at Nottingham, all this comfort and happiness had to be given up.  Sir
+Walter Woodley joined the royal army, and it soon became unsafe for his
+wife and children to remain at home, so that they were forced to go about
+with him, and suffer all the hardships of the sieges and battles.  Lady
+Woodley was never strong, and her health was very much hurt by all she
+went through; she was almost always unwell, and if Rose, though then
+quite a child, had not shown care and sense beyond her years for the
+little ones, it would be hard to say what would have become of them.
+
+Yet all she endured while dragging about her little babies through the
+country, with bad or insufficient food, uncomfortable lodgings, pain,
+weariness and anxiety, would have been as nothing but for the heavy
+sorrows that came upon her also.  First she lost her only brother, Edmund
+Mowbray, and in the battle of Naseby her husband was killed; besides
+which there were the sorrows of the whole nation in seeing the King sold,
+insulted, misused, and finally slain, by his own subjects.  After Sir
+Walter’s death, Lady Woodley went home with her five younger children to
+her father’s house at Forest Lea; for her husband’s estate, Edmund’s own
+inheritance, had been seized and sequestrated by the rebels.  She was the
+heiress of Forest Lea since the loss of her brother, but the old Mr.
+Mowbray, her father, had given almost all his wealth for the royal cause,
+and had been oppressed by the exactions of the rebels, so that he had
+nothing to leave his daughter but the desolate old house and a few bare
+acres of land.  For the shelter, however, Lady Woodley was very thankful;
+and there she lived with her children and a faithful servant, Deborah,
+whose family had always served the Mowbrays, and who would not desert
+their daughter now.
+
+The neighbours in the village loved, and were sorry for, their lady, and
+used to send her little presents; there was a large garden in which
+Diggory Stokes, who had also served her father, raised vegetables for her
+use; the cow wandered in the deserted park, and so they contrived to find
+food; while all the work of the house was done by Rose and Deborah.  Rose
+was her mother’s great comfort, nursing her, cheering her, taking care of
+the little ones, teaching them, working for them, and making light of all
+her exertions.  Everyone in the village loved Rose Woodley, for everyone
+had in some way been helped or cheered by her.  Her mother was only
+sometimes afraid she worked too hard, and would try her strength too
+much; but she was always bright and cheerful, and when the day’s work was
+done no one was more gay and lively and ready for play with the little
+ones.
+
+Rose had more trial than anyone knew with Deborah.  Deborah was as
+faithful as possible, and bore a great deal for the sake of her mistress,
+worked hard day and night, had little to eat and no wages, yet lived on
+with them rather than forsake her dear lady and the children.  One thing,
+however, Deborah would not do, and that was to learn to rule her tongue
+and her temper.  She did not know, nor do many excellent servants, how
+much trial and discomfort she gave to those she loved so earnestly, by
+her constant bursting out into hasty words whenever she was vexed—her
+grumbling about whatever she disliked, and her ill-judged scolding of the
+children.  Servants in those days were allowed to speak more freely to
+their masters and mistresses than at present, so that Deborah had more
+opportunity of making such speeches, and it was Rose’s continual work to
+try to keep her temper from being fretted, or Lady Woodley from being
+teased with her complaints.  Rose was very forbearing, and but for this
+there would have been little peace in the house.
+
+Walter was thirteen, an age when it is not easy to keep boys in order,
+unless they will do so for themselves.  Though a brave generous boy, he
+was often unruly and inconsiderate, apt not to obey, and to do what he
+knew to be unkind or wrong, just for the sake of present amusement.  He
+was thus his mother’s great anxiety, for she knew that she was not fit
+either to teach or to restrain him, and she feared that his present wild
+disobedient ways might hurt his character for ever, and lead to
+dispositions which would in time swallow up all the good about him, and
+make him what he would now tremble to think of.
+
+She used to talk of her anxieties to Doctor Bathurst, the good old
+clergyman who had been driven away from his parish, but used to come in
+secret to help, teach, and use his ministry for the faithful ones of his
+flock.  He would tell her that while she did her best for her son, she
+must trust the rest to his FATHER above, and she might do so hopefully,
+since it had been in His own cause that the boy had been made fatherless.
+Then he would speak to Walter, showing him how wrong and how cruel were
+his overbearing, disobedient ways.  Walter was grieved, and resolved to
+improve and become steadier, that he might be a comfort and blessing to
+his mother; but in his love of fun and mischief he was apt to forget
+himself, and then drove away what might have been in time repentance and
+improvement, by fancying he did no harm.  Teasing Deborah served her
+right, he would tell himself, she was so ill-tempered and foolish;
+Diggory was a clod, and would do nothing without scolding; it was a good
+joke to tease Charlie; Eleanor was a vexatious little thing, and he would
+not be ordered by her; so he went his own way, and taught the merry
+chattering Lucy to be very nearly as bad as himself, neglected his
+duties, set a bad example, tormented a faithful servant, and seriously
+distressed his mother.  Give him some great cause, he thought, and he
+would be the first and the best, bring back the King, protect his mother
+and sisters, and perform glorious deeds, such as would make his name be
+remembered for ever.  Then it would be seen what he was worth; in the
+meantime he lived a dull life, with nothing to do, and he must have some
+fun.  It did not signify if he was not particular about little things,
+they were women’s affairs, and all very well for Rose, but when some
+really important matter came, that would be his time for distinguishing
+himself.
+
+In the meantime Charles II. had been invited to Scotland, and had brought
+with him, as an attendant, Edmund Woodley, the eldest son.  As soon as he
+was known to have entered England, some of the loyal gentlemen of the
+neighbourhood of Forest Lea went to join the King, and among their
+followers went Farmer Ewins, who had fought bravely in the former war
+under Edmund Mowbray, several other of the men of the village, and
+lastly, Diggory Stokes, Lady Woodley’s serving man, who had lately shown
+symptoms of discontent with his place, and fancied that as a soldier he
+might fare better, make his fortune, and come home prosperously to marry
+his sweetheart, Deborah.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+WALTER ran down to the village at full speed.  He first bent his steps
+towards the “Half-Moon,” the little public-house, where news was sure to
+be met with.  As he came towards it, however, he heard the loud sound of
+a man’s voice going steadily on as if with some discourse.  “Some
+preachment,” said he to himself: “they’ve got a thorough-going Roundhead,
+I can hear his twang through his nose!  Shall I go in or not?”
+
+While he was asking himself this question, an old peasant in a round
+frock came towards him.
+
+“Hollo, Will!” shouted Walter, “what prick-eared rogue have you got
+there?”
+
+“Hush, hush, Master Walter!” said the old man, taking off his hat very
+respectfully.  “Best take care what you say, there be plenty of red-coats
+about.  There’s one of them now preaching away in marvellous pied words.
+It is downright shocking to hear the Bible hollaed out after that sort,
+so I came away.  Don’t you go nigh him, sir, ’specially with your hat set
+on in that—”
+
+“Never mind my hat,” said Walter, impatiently, “it is no business of
+yours, and I’ll wear it as I please in spite of old Noll and all his
+crew.”
+
+For his forefathers’ sake, and for the love of his mother and sister, the
+good village people bore with Walter’s haughtiness and discourtesy far
+more than was good for him, and the old man did not show how much he was
+hurt by his rough reception of his good advice.  Walter was not reminded
+that he ought to rise up before the hoary head, and reverence the old
+man, and went on hastily, “But tell me, Will, what do you hear of the
+battle?”
+
+“The battle, sir! why, they say it is lost.  That’s what the fellow there
+is preaching about.”
+
+“And where was it?  Did you hear?  Don’t you know?”
+
+“Don’t be so hasty, don’t ye, sir!” said the old slow-spoken man, growing
+confused.  “Where was it?  At some town—some town, they said, but I don’t
+know rightly the name of it.”
+
+“And the King?  Who was it?  Not Cromwell?  Had Lord Derby joined?” cried
+Walter, hurrying on his questions so as to puzzle and confuse the old man
+more and more, till at last he grew angry at getting no explanation, and
+vowed it was no use to talk to such an old fool.  At that moment a sound
+as of feet and horses came along the road.  “’Tis the soldiers!” said
+Walter.
+
+“Ay, sir, best get out of sight.”
+
+Walter thought so too, and, springing over a hedge, ran off into a
+neighbouring wood, resolving to take a turn, and come back by the longer
+way to the house, so as to avoid the road.  He walked across the wood,
+looking up at the ripening nuts, and now and then springing up to reach
+one, telling himself all the time that it was untrue, and that the King
+could not, and should not be defeated.  The wood grew less thick after a
+time, and ended in low brushwood, upon an open common.  Just as Walter
+was coming to this place, he saw an unusual sight: a man and a horse
+crossing the down.  Slowly and wearily they came, the horse drooping its
+head and stumbling in its pace, as though worn out with fatigue, but he
+saw that it was a war-horse, and the saddle and other equipments were
+such as he well remembered in the royal army long ago.  The rider wore
+buff coat, cuirass, gauntlets guarded with steel, sword, and pistols, and
+Walter’s first impulse was to avoid him; but on giving a second glance,
+he changed his mind, for though there was neither scarf, plume, nor any
+badge of party, the long locks, the set of the hat, and the general air
+of the soldier were not those of a rebel.  He must be a cavalier, but,
+alas! far unlike the triumphant cavaliers whom Walter had hoped to
+receive, for he was covered with dust and blood, as if he had fought and
+ridden hard.  Walter sprung forward to meet him, and saw that he was a
+young man, with dark eyes and hair, looking very pale and exhausted, and
+both he and his horse seemed hardly able to stir a step further.
+
+“Young sir,” said the stranger, “what place is this?  Am I near Forest
+Lea?”
+
+A flash of joy crossed Walter.  “Edmund! are you Edmund?” he exclaimed,
+colouring deeply, and looking up in his face with one quick glance, then
+casting down his eyes.
+
+“And you are little Walter,” returned the cavalier, instantly
+dismounting, and flinging his arm around his brother; “why, what a fine
+fellow you are grown!  How are my mother and all?”
+
+“Well, quite well!” cried Walter, in a transport of joy.  “Oh! how happy
+she will be!  Come, make haste home!”
+
+“Alas!  I dare not as yet.  I must not enter the house till nightfall, or
+I should bring danger on you all.  Are there any troopers near?”
+
+“Yes, the village is full of the rascals.  But what has happened?  It is
+not true that—”  He could not bear to say the rest.
+
+“Too true!” said Edmund, leading his tired horse within the shelter of
+the bushes.  “It is all over with us!”
+
+“The battle lost!” said Walter, in a stifled tone; and in all the
+bitterness of the first disappointment of his youth, he turned away,
+overcome by a gush of tears and sobs, stamping as he walked up and down,
+partly with the intensity of his grief, partly with shame at being seen
+by his brother, in tears.
+
+“Had you set your heart on it so much?” said Edmund, kindly, pleased to
+see his young brother so ardent a loyalist.  “Poor fellow!  But at least
+the King was safe when I parted from him.  Come, cheer up, Walter, the
+right will be uppermost some day or other.”
+
+“But, oh, that battle!  I had so longed to see old Noll get his deserts,”
+said Walter, “I made so sure.  But how did it happen, Edmund?”
+
+“I cannot tell you all now, Walter.  You must find me some covert where I
+can be till night fall.  The rebels are hot in pursuit of all the
+fugitives.  I have ridden from Worcester by byroads day and night, and I
+am fairly spent.  I must be off to France or Holland as soon as may be,
+for my life is not safe a moment here.  Cromwell is bitterer than ever
+against all honest men, but I could not help coming this way, I so much
+longed to see my mother and all of you.”
+
+“You are not wounded?” said Walter, anxiously.
+
+“Nothing to speak of, only a sword-cut on my shoulder, by which I have
+lost more blood than convenient for such a journey.”
+
+“Here, I’ll lead your horse; lean on me,” said Walter, alarmed at the
+faint, weary voice in which his brother spoke after the first excitement
+of the recognition.  “I’ll show you what Lucy and I call our bower, where
+no one ever comes but ourselves.  There you can rest till night.”
+
+“And poor Bayard?” said Edmund.
+
+“I think I could put him into the out-house in the field next to the
+copse, hide his trappings here, and get him provender from Ewins’s farm.
+Will that do?”
+
+“Excellently.  Poor Ewins!—that is a sad story.  He fell, fighting
+bravely by my side, cut down in Sidbury Street in the last charge.  Alas!
+these are evil days!”
+
+“And Diggory Stokes, our own knave?”
+
+“I know nothing of him after the first onset.  Rogues and cowards enough
+were there.  Think, Walter, of seeing his Majesty strive in vain to rally
+them, when the day might yet have been saved, and the traitors hung down
+their heads, and stood like blocks while he called on them rather to
+shoot him dead than let him live to see such a day!”
+
+“Oh, had I but been there, to turn them all to shame!”
+
+“There were a few, Walter; Lord Cleveland, Hamilton, Careless, Giffard,
+and a few more of us, charged down Sidbury Street, and broke into the
+ranks of the rebels, while the King had time to make off by S. Martin’s
+Gate.  Oh, how I longed for a few more!  But the King was saved so far;
+Careless, Giffard, and I came up with him again, and we parted at
+nightfall.  Lord Derby’s counsel was that he should seek shelter at
+Boscobel, and he was to disguise himself, and go thither under Giffard’s
+guidance.  Heaven guard him, whatever becomes of us!”
+
+“Amen!” said Walter, earnestly.  “And here we are.  Here is Lucy’s bank
+of turf, and my throne, and here we will wait till the sun is down.”
+
+It was a beautiful green slope, covered with soft grass, short thyme, and
+cushion-like moss, and overshadowed by a thick, dark yew-tree, shut in by
+brushwood on all sides, and forming just such a retreat as children love
+to call their own.  Edmund threw himself down at full length on it, laid
+aside his hat, and passed his hand across his weary forehead.  “How
+quiet!” said he; “but, hark! is that the bubbling of water?” he added,
+raising himself eagerly.
+
+“Yes, here,” said Walter, showing him where, a little further off on the
+same slope, a little clear spring rose in a natural basin of red earth,
+fringed along the top with fresh green mosses.
+
+“Delicious!” said the tired soldier, kneeling over the spring, scooping
+it up in his hand to drink, opening his collar, and bathing hands and
+face in the clear cool fountain, till his long black hair hung straight,
+saturated with wet.
+
+“Now, Bayard, it is your turn,” and he patted the good steed as it sucked
+up the refreshing water, and Walter proceeded to release it from saddle
+and bridle.  Edmund, meanwhile, stretched himself out on the mossy bank,
+asked a few questions about his mother, Rose, and the other children, but
+was too tired to say much, and presently fell sound asleep, while Walter
+sat by watching him, grieving for the battle lost, but proud and
+important in being the guardian of his brother’s safety, and delighting
+himself with the thought of bringing him home at night.
+
+More was happening at home than Walter guessed.  The time of his absence
+seemed very long, more especially when the twilight began to close in,
+and Lady Woodley began to fear that he might, with his rashness, have
+involved himself in some quarrel with the troopers in the village.  Lady
+Woodley and her children had closed around the wood fire which had been
+lighted on the hearth at the approach of evening, and Rose was trying by
+the bad light to continue her darning of stockings, when a loud hasty
+knocking was heard at the door, and all, in a general vague impression of
+dread, started and drew together.
+
+“Oh my lady!” cried Deborah, “don’t bid me go to the door, I could not if
+you offered me fifty gold caroluses!  I had rather stand up to be a
+mark—”
+
+“Then I will,” said Rose, advancing.
+
+“No, no, Mistress Rose,” said Deborah, running forward.  “Don’t I know
+what is fit for the like of you?  You go opening the door to rogues and
+vagabonds, indeed!” and with these words she undrew the bolts and opened
+the door.
+
+“Is this the way you keep us waiting?” said an impatient voice; and a
+tall youth, handsomely accoutred, advanced authoritatively into the room.
+“Prepare to—” but as he saw himself alone with women and children, and
+his eyes fell on the pale face, mourning dress, and graceful air of the
+lady of the house, he changed his tone, removed his hat, and said, “Your
+pardon, madam, I came to ask a night’s lodging for my father, who has
+been thrown from his horse, and badly bruised.”
+
+“I cannot refuse you, sir,” said Lady Woodley, who instantly perceived
+that this was an officer of the Parliamentary force, and was only
+thankful to see that he was a gentleman, and enforced with courtesy a
+request which was in effect a command.
+
+The youth turned and went out, while Lady Woodley hastily directed her
+daughters and servant.  “Deborah, set the blue chamber in order; Rose,
+take the key of the oak press, Eleanor will help you to take out the
+holland sheets.  Lucy, run down to old Margery, and bid her kill a couple
+of fowls for supper.”
+
+As the girls obeyed there entered at the front door the young officer and
+a soldier, supporting between them an elderly man in the dress of an
+officer of rank.  Lady Woodley, ready of course to give her help to any
+person who had suffered an injury, came forward to set a chair, and at
+the same moment she exclaimed, in a tone of recognition, “Mr. Enderby!  I
+am grieved to see you so much hurt.”
+
+“My Lady Woodley,” he returned, recognising her at the same time, as he
+seated himself in the chair, “I am sorry thus to have broken in on your
+ladyship, but my son, Sylvester, would have me halt here.”
+
+“This gentleman is your son, then?” and a courteous greeting passed
+between Lady Woodley and young Sylvester Enderby, after which she again
+enquired after his father’s accident.
+
+“No great matter,” was the reply; “a blow on the head, and a twist of the
+knee, that is all.  Thanks to a stumbling horse, wearied out with work, I
+have little mind to—the pursuit of this poor young man.”
+
+“Not the King?” exclaimed Lady Woodley, breathless with alarm.
+
+It was with no apparent satisfaction that the rebel colonel replied,
+“Even so, madam.  Cromwell’s fortune has not forsaken him; he has driven
+the Scots and their allies out of Worcester.”
+
+Lady Woodley was too much accustomed to evil tidings to be as much
+overcome by them as her young son had been; she only turned somewhat
+paler, and asked, “The King lives?”
+
+“He was last seen on Worcester bridge.  Troops are sent to every port
+whence he might attempt an escape.”
+
+“May the GOD of his father protect him,” said the lady, fervently.  “And
+my son?” she added, faintly, scarcely daring to ask the question.
+
+“Safe, I hope,” replied the colonel.  “I saw him, and I could have
+thought him my dear old friend himself, as he joined Charles in his last
+desperate attempt to rally his forces, and then charged down Sidbury
+Street with a few bold spirits who were resolved to cover their master’s
+retreat.  He is not among the slain; he was not a prisoner when I left
+the headquarters.  I trust he may have escaped, for Cromwell is fearfully
+incensed against your party.”
+
+Colonel Enderby was interrupted by Lucy’s running in calling out,
+“Mother, mother! there are no fowls but Partlet and the sitting hen, and
+the old cock, and I won’t have my dear old Partlet killed to be eaten by
+wicked Roundheads.”
+
+“Come here, my little lady,” said the colonel, holding out his hand,
+amused by her vehemence.
+
+“I won’t speak to a Roundhead,” returned Lucy, with a droll air of
+petulance, pleased at being courted.
+
+Her mother spoke gravely.  “You forget yourself, Lucy.  This is Mr.
+Enderby, a friend of your dear father.”
+
+Lucy’s cheeks glowed, and she looked down as she gave her hand to the
+colonel; but as he spoke kindly to her, her forward spirit revived, and
+she returned to the charge.
+
+“You won’t have Partlet killed?”
+
+Her mother would have silenced her, but the colonel smiled and said, “No,
+no, little lady; I would rather go without supper than let one feather of
+Dame Partlet be touched.”
+
+“Nay, you need not do that either, sir,” said the little chatter-box,
+confidentially, “for we are to have a pie made of little Jenny’s pigeons;
+and I’ll tell you what, sir, no one makes raised crust half so well as
+sister Rose.”
+
+Lady Woodley was not sorry to stop the current of her little girl’s
+communications by despatching her on another message, and asking Colonel
+Enderby whether he would not prefer taking a little rest in his room
+before supper-time, offering, at the same time all the remedies for
+bruises and wounds that every good housekeeper of the time was sure to
+possess.
+
+She had a real regard for Mr. Enderby, who had been a great friend of her
+husband before the unhappy divisions of the period arrayed them on
+opposite sides, and even then, though true friendship could not last, a
+kindly feeling had always existed.
+
+Mr. Enderby was a conscientious man, but those were difficult times; and
+he had regarded loyalty to the King less than what he considered the
+rights of the people.  He had been an admirer of Hampden and his
+principles, and had taken up arms on the same side, becoming a rebel on
+political, not on religious, grounds.  When, as time went on, the evils
+of the rebellion developed themselves more fully, he was already high in
+command, and so involved with his own party that he had not the
+resolution requisite for a change of course and renunciation of his
+associates.  He would willingly have come to terms with the King, and was
+earnest in the attempt at the time of the conferences at Hampden Court.
+He strongly disapproved of the usurpation of power by the army, and was
+struck with horror, grief, and dismay, at the execution of King Charles;
+but still he would not, or fancied that he could not, separate himself
+from the cause of the Parliament, and continued in their service,
+following Cromwell to Scotland, and fighting at Worcester on the rebel
+side, disliking Cromwell all the time, and with a certain inclination to
+the young King, and desire to see the old constitution restored.
+
+He was just one of those men who cause such great evil by giving a sort
+of respectability to the wrong cause, “following a multitude to do evil,”
+and doubtless bringing a fearful responsibility on their own heads; yet
+with many good qualities and excellent principles, that make those on the
+right side have a certain esteem for them, and grieve to see them thus
+perverted.
+
+Lady Woodley, who knew him well, though sorry to have a rebel in her
+house at such a time, was sure that in him she had a kind and considerate
+guest, who would do his utmost to protect her and her children.
+
+On his side, Colonel Enderby was much grieved and shocked at the pale,
+altered looks of the fair young bride he remembered, as well as the
+evidences of poverty throughout her house, and perhaps he had a secret
+wish that he was as well assured as his friend, Sir Walter, that his
+blood had been shed for the maintenance of the right.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+ROSE WOODLEY ran up and down indefatigably, preparing everything for the
+accommodation of the guests, smoothing down Deborah’s petulance, and
+keeping her mother from over-exertion or anxiety.  Much contrivance was
+indeed required, for besides the colonel and his son, two soldiers had to
+be lodged, and four horses, which, to the consternation of old Margery,
+seemed likely to devour the cow’s winter store of hay, while the troopers
+grumbled at the desolate, half-ruined, empty stables, and at the want of
+corn.
+
+Rose had to look to everything; to provide blankets from the bed of the
+two little girls, send Eleanor to sleep with her mother, and take Lucy to
+her own room; despatch them on messages to the nearest cottage to borrow
+some eggs, and to gather vegetables in the garden, whilst she herself
+made the pigeon pie with the standing crust, much wishing that the
+soldiers were out of the way.  It was a pretty thing to see her in her
+white apron, with her neat dexterous fingers, and nimble quiet step,
+doing everything in so short a time, and so well, without the least
+bustle.
+
+She was at length in the hall, laying the white home-spun, home-bleached
+cloth, and setting the trenchers (all the Mowbray plate had long ago gone
+in the King’s service), wondering anxiously, meantime, what could have
+become of Walter, with many secret and painful misgivings, though she had
+been striving to persuade her mother that he was only absent on some
+freak of his own.
+
+Presently the door which led to the garden was opened, and to her great
+joy Walter put his head into the room.
+
+“O Walter,” she exclaimed, “the battle is lost! but Edmund and the King
+have both escaped.”
+
+“Say you so?” said Walter, smiling.  “Here is a gentleman who can give
+you some news of Edmund.”
+
+At the same moment Rose saw her beloved eldest brother enter the room.
+It would be hard to say which was her first thought, joy or dismay—she
+had no time to ask herself.  Quick as lightning she darted to the door
+leading to the staircase, bolted it, threw the bar across the fastening
+of the front entrance, and then, flying to her brother, clung fast round
+his neck, kissed him on each cheek, and felt his ardent kiss on her brow,
+as she exclaimed in a frightened whisper, “You must not stay here: there
+are troopers in the house!”
+
+“Troopers!—quartered on us?” cried Walter.
+
+Rose hastily explained, trembling lest anyone should attempt to enter.
+Walter paced up and down in despair, vowing that it was a trick to get a
+spy into the house.  Edmund sat down in the large arm-chair with a calm
+resolute look, saying, “I must surrender, then.  Neither I nor my horse
+can go further without rest.  I will yield as a prisoner of war, and well
+that it is to a man of honour.”
+
+“Oh no, no!” cried Rose: “he says Cromwell treats his prisoners as
+rebels.  It would be certain death!”
+
+“What news of the King?” asked Edmund, anxiously.
+
+“Not seen since the flight? but—”
+
+“And Lord Derby, Wilmot—”
+
+“I cannot tell, I heard no names,” said Rose, “only that the enemy’s
+cruelties are worse than ever.”
+
+Walter stood with his back against the table, gazing at his brother and
+sister in mute consternation.
+
+“I know!” cried Rose, suddenly: “the out-house in the upper field.  No
+one ever goes up into the loft but ourselves.  You know, Walter, where
+Eleanor found the kittens.  Go thither, I will bring Edmund food at
+night.  Oh, consent, Edmund!”
+
+“It will do! it will do!” cried Walter.
+
+“Very well, it may spare my mother,” said Edmund; and as footsteps and
+voices were heard on the stairs, the two brothers hurried off without
+another word, while Rose, trying to conceal her agitation, undid the
+door, and admitted her two little sisters, who were asking if they had
+not heard Walter’s voice.
+
+She scarcely attended to them, but, bounding upstairs to her mother’s
+room, flung her arms round her neck, and poured into her ear her precious
+secret.  The tremour, the joy, the fears, the tears, the throbbings of
+the heart, and earnest prayers, may well be imagined, crowded by the
+mother and daughter into those few minutes.  The plan was quickly
+arranged.  They feared to trust even Deborah; so that the only way that
+they could provide the food that Edmund so much needed was by Rose and
+Walter attempting to save all they could at supper, and Rose could steal
+out when everyone was gone to rest, and carry it to him.  Lady Woodley
+was bent on herself going to her son that night; but Rose prevailed on
+her to lay aside the intention, as it would have been fatal, in her weak
+state of health, for her to expose herself to the chills of an autumn
+night, and, what was with her a much more conclusive reason, Rose was
+much more likely to be able to slip out unobserved.  Rose had an
+opportunity of explaining all this to Walter, and imploring him to be
+cautious, before the colonel and his son came down, and the whole party
+assembled round the supper-table.
+
+Lady Woodley had the eggs and bacon before her; Walter insisted on
+undertaking the carving of the pigeon-pie, and looked considerably
+affronted when young Sylvester Enderby offered to take the office, as a
+more experienced carver.  Poor Rose, how her heart beat at every word and
+look, and how hard she strove to seem perfectly at her ease and
+unconscious!  Walter was in a fume of anxiety and vexation, and could
+hardly control himself so far as to speak civilly to either of the
+guests, so that he was no less a cause of fear to his mother and sister
+than the children, who were unconscious how much depended on discretion.
+
+Young Sylvester Enderby was a fine young man of eighteen, very
+good-natured, and not at all like a Puritan in appearance or manner.  He
+had hardly yet begun to think for himself, and was merely obeying his
+father in joining the army with him, without questioning whether it was
+the right cause or not.  He was a kind elder brother at home, and here he
+was ready to be pleased with the children of the house.
+
+Lucy was a high-spirited talkative child, very little used to seeing
+strangers, and perhaps hardly reined in enough, for her poor mother’s
+weak health had interfered with strict discipline; and as this evening
+Walter and Rose were both grave and serious under their anxieties, Lucy
+was less restrained even than usual.
+
+She was a pretty creature, with bright blue eyes, and an arch expression,
+all the droller under her prim round cap; and Sylvester was a good deal
+amused with her pert bold little nods and airs.  He paid a good deal of
+attention to her, and she in return grew more forward and chattering.  It
+is what little girls will sometimes do under the pleasure and excitement
+of the notice of gentlemen, and it makes their friends very uneasy, since
+the only excuse they can have is in being _very little_, and it shows a
+most undesirable want of self-command and love of attention.
+
+In addition to this feeling, Lady Woodley dreaded every word that was
+spoken, lest it should lead to suspicion, for though she was sure Mr.
+Enderby would not willingly apprehend her son, yet she could not tell
+what he might consider his duty to his employers; besides, there were the
+two soldiers to observe and report, and the discovery that Edmund was at
+hand might lead to frightful consequences.  She tried to converse
+composedly with him on his family and the old neighbourhood where they
+had both lived, often interrupting herself to send a look or word of
+warning to the lower end of the table; but Lucy and Charles were too wild
+to see or heed her, and grew more and more unrestrained, till at last, to
+the dismay of her mother, brother, and sister, Charles’ voice was heard
+so loud as to attract everyone’s notice, in a shout of wonder and
+complaint, “Mother, mother, look!  Rose has gobbled up a whole pigeon to
+her own share!”
+
+Rose could not keep herself from blushing violently, as she whispered
+reprovingly that he must not be rude.  Lucy did not mend the matter by
+saying with an impertinent nod, “Rose does not like to be found out.”
+
+“Children,” said Lady Woodley, gravely, “I shall send you away if you do
+not behave discreetly.”
+
+“But, mother, Rose is greedy,” said Lucy.
+
+“Hold your tongues, little mischief makers!” burst out Walter, who had
+been boiling over with anxiety and indignation the whole time.
+
+“Walter is cross now,” said Lucy, pleased to have produced a sensation,
+and to have shocked Eleanor, who sat all the time as good, demure, and
+grave, as if she had been forty years old.
+
+“Pray excuse these children,” said Lady Woodley, trying to hide her
+anxiety under cover of displeasure at them; “no doubt Mrs. Enderby keeps
+much better order at home.  Lucy, Charles, silence at once.  Walter, is
+there no wine?”
+
+“If there is, it is too good for rebels,” muttered Walter to himself, as
+he rose.  “Light me, Deborah, and I’ll see.”
+
+“La!  Master Walter,” whispered Deborah, “you know there is nothing but
+the dregs of the old cask of Malmsey, that was drunk up at the old
+squire’s burying.”
+
+“Hush, hush, Deb,” returned the boy; “fill it up with water, and it will
+be quite good enough for those who won’t drink the King’s health.”
+
+Deborah gave a half-puzzled smile.  “Ye’re a madcap, Master Walter!  But
+sure, Sir, the spirit of a wolf must have possessed Mistress Rose—she
+that eats no supper at all, in general!  D’ye think it is wearying about
+Master Edmund that gives her a craving?”
+
+It might be dangerous, but Walter was so much diverted, that he could not
+help saying, “I have no doubt it is on his account.”
+
+“I know,” said Deborah, “that I get so faint at heart that I am forced to
+be taking something all day long to keep about at all!”
+
+By this time they were re-entering the hall, when there was a sound from
+the kitchen as of someone calling.  Deborah instantly turned, screaming
+out joyfully, “Bless me! is it you?” and though out of sight, her voice
+was still heard in its high notes of joy.  “You good-for-nothing rogue!
+are you turned up again like a bad tester, staring into the kitchen like
+a great oaf, as you be?”
+
+There was a general laugh, and Eleanor said, “That must be Diggory.”
+
+“A poor country clown,” said Lady Woodley, “whom we sent to join my son’s
+troop.  I hope he is in no danger.”
+
+“Oh no,” said Mr. Enderby; “he has only to return to his plough.”
+
+“Hollo there!” shouted Walter.  “Come in, Diggory, and show yourself.”
+
+In came Diggory, an awkward thick-set fellow, with a shock head of hair,
+high leathern gaiters, and a buff belt over his rough leathern jerkin.
+There he stood, pulling his forelock, and looking sheepish.
+
+“Come in, Diggory,” said his mistress; “I am glad to see you safe.  You
+need not be afraid of these gentlemen.  Where are the rest?”
+
+“Slain, every man of them, an’t please your ladyship.”
+
+“And your master, Mr. Woodley?”
+
+“Down, too, an’t please your ladyship.”
+
+Lucy screamed aloud; Eleanor ran to her mother, and hid her face in her
+lap; Charles sat staring, with great round frightened eyes.  Very
+distressing it was to be obliged to leave the poor children in such grief
+and alarm, when it was plain all the time that Diggory was an arrant
+coward, who had fancied more deaths and dangers than were real, and was
+describing more than he had even thought he beheld, in order to make
+himself into a hero instead of a runaway.  Moreover, Lady Woodley and
+Rose had to put on a show of grief, lest they should betray that they
+were better informed; and they were in agonies lest Walter’s fury at the
+falsehoods should be as apparent to their guests as it was to themselves.
+
+“Are you sure of what you say, Diggory?” said Lady Woodley.
+
+“Sure as that I stand here, my lady.  There was sword and shot and smoke
+all round.  I stood it all till Farmer Ewins was cut down a-one-side of
+me, ma’am, and Master Edmund, more’s the pity, with his brains scattered
+here and there on the banks of the river.”
+
+There was another cry among the children, and Walter made such a violent
+gesture, that Rose, covering her face with her handkerchief, whispered to
+him, “Walter dear, take care.”  Walter relieved his mind by returning,
+“Oh that I could cudgel the rogue soundly!”
+
+At the same time Colonel Enderby turned to their mother, saying, “Take
+comfort, madam, this fellow’s tale carries discredit on the face of it.
+Let me examine him, with your permission.  Where did you last see your
+master?”
+
+“I know none of your places, sir,” answered Diggory, sullenly.
+
+Colonel Enderby spoke sternly and peremptorily.  “In the town, or in the
+fields?  Answer me that, sirrah.  In the field on the bank of the river?”
+
+“Ay.”
+
+“There you left your ranks, you rogue; that was the way you lost sight of
+your master!” said the colonel.  Then, turning to Lady Woodley, as
+Diggory slunk off, “Your ladyship need not be alarmed.  An hour after the
+encounter, in which he pretends to have seen your son slain, I saw him in
+full health and soundness.”
+
+“A cowardly villain!” cried Walter, delighted to let out some of his
+indignation.  “I knew he was not speaking a word of truth.”
+
+The children cheered up in a moment; but Lady Woodley was not sorry to
+make this agitating scene an excuse for retiring with all her children.
+Lucy and Eleanor were quite comforted, and convinced that Edmund must be
+safe; but poor little Charlie had been so dreadfully frightened by the
+horrors of Diggory’s description, that after Rose had put him to bed he
+kept on starting up in his sleep, half waking, and sobbing about brother
+Edmund’s brains.
+
+Rose was obliged to go to him and soothe him.  She longed to assure the
+poor little fellow that dear Edmund was perfectly safe, well, and near at
+hand; but the secret was too important to be trusted to one so young, so
+she could only coax and comfort him, and tell him they all thought it was
+not true, and Edmund would come back again.
+
+“Sister,” said Charlie, “may I say my prayers again for him?”
+
+“Yes, do, dear Charlie,” said Rose; “and say a prayer for King Charles
+too, that he may be safe from the wicked man.”
+
+So little Charlie knelt by Rose, with his hands joined, and his little
+bare legs folded together, and said his prayer: and did not his sister’s
+heart go with him?  Then she kissed him, covered him up warmly, and
+repeated to him in her soft voice the ninety-first Psalm: “Whoso dwelleth
+under the defence of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the
+Almighty.”
+
+By the time it was ended, the little boy was fast asleep, and the
+faithful loyal girl felt her failing heart cheered and strengthened for
+whatever might be before her, sure that she, her mother, her brother, and
+her King, were under the shadow of the Almighty wings.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+IN a very strong fit of restlessness did little Mistress Lucy Woodley go
+to bed in Rose’s room that night.  She was quite comforted on Edmund’s
+account, for she had discernment enough to see that her mother and sister
+did not believe Diggory’s dreadful narration; and she had been so
+unsettled and excited by Mr. Sylvester Enderby’s notice, and by the way
+in which she had allowed her high spirits to get the better of her
+discretion, as well as by the sudden change from terror to joy, that when
+first she went to Rose’s room she could not attend to her prayers, and
+next she could not go to sleep.
+
+Perhaps the being in a different apartment from usual, and the missing
+her accustomed sleeping companion, Eleanor, had something to do with it,
+for little Eleanor had a gravity and steadiness about her that was very
+apt to compose and quiet her in her idlest moods.  To-night she lay broad
+awake, tumbling about on the very hard mattress, stuffed with chaff,
+wondering how Rose could bear to sleep on it, trying to guess how there
+could be room for both when her sister came to bed, and nevertheless in a
+great fidget for her to come.  She listened to the howling and moaning of
+the wind, the creaking of the doors, and the rattling of the boards with
+which Rose had stopped up the broken panes of her lattice; she rolled
+from side to side, fancied odd shapes in the dark, and grew so restless
+and anxious for Rose’s coming that she was just ready to jump out of bed
+and go in the passage to call her when Rose came into the room.
+
+“O Rose, what a time you have been!”
+
+It was no satisfaction to Rose to find the curious little chatter-box so
+wide awake at this very inconvenient time, but she did not lose her
+patience, and answered that she had been first with Charlie, and then
+with their mother.
+
+“And now I hope you are coming to bed.  I can’t go to sleep without you.”
+
+“Oh, but indeed you must, Lucy dear, for I shall not be ready this long
+time.  Look, here is a great rent in Walter’s coat, which I must mend, or
+he won’t be fit to be seen to-morrow.”
+
+“What shall we have for dinner to-morrow, Rose?  What made you eat so
+much supper to-night?”
+
+“I’ll tell you what, Lucy, I am not going to talk to you, or you will lie
+awake all night, and that will be very bad for you.  I shall put my
+candle out of your sight, and say some Psalms, but I cannot talk.”
+
+So Rose began, and, wakeful as Lucy was, she found the low sweet tones
+lulled her a little.  But she did not like this; she had a perverse
+intention of staying awake till Rose got into bed, so instead of
+attending to the holy words, she pinched herself, and pulled herself, and
+kept her eyes staring open, gazing at the flickering shadows cast by the
+dim home-made rush candle.
+
+She went to sleep for a moment, then started into wakefulness again; Rose
+had ceased to repeat her Psalms aloud, but was still at her needlework;
+another doze, another waking.  There was some hope of Rose now, for she
+was kneeling down to say her prayers.  Lucy thought they lasted very
+long, and at her next waking she was just in time to hear the latch of
+the door closing, and find herself left in darkness.  Rose was not in
+bed, did not answer when she called.  Oh, she must be gone to take
+Walter’s coat back to his room.  But surely she might have done that in
+one moment; and how long she was staying!  Lucy could bear it no longer,
+or rather she did not try to bear it, for she was an impetuous,
+self-willed child, without much control over herself.  She jumped out of
+bed, and stole to the door.  A light was just disappearing on the
+ceiling, as if someone was carrying a candle down stairs; what could it
+mean?  Lucy scampered, pit-pat, with her bare feet along the passage, and
+came to the top of the stairs in time to peep over and discover Rose
+silently opening the door of the hall, a large dark cloak hung over her
+arm, and her head and neck covered by her black silk hood and a thick
+woollen kerchief, as if she was going out.
+
+Lucy’s curiosity knew no bounds.  She would not call, for fear she should
+be sent back to bed, but she was determined to see what her sister could
+possibly be about.  Down the cold stone steps pattered she, and luckily,
+as she thought, Rose, probably to avoid noise, had only shut to the door,
+so that the little inquisitive maiden had a chink to peep through, and
+beheld Rose at a certain oaken corner-cupboard, whence she took out a
+napkin, and in it she folded what Lucy recognised as the very same
+three-cornered segment of pie-crust, containing the pigeon that she had
+last night been accused of devouring.  She placed it in a basket, and
+then proceeded to take a lantern from the cupboard, put in her rushlight,
+and, thus prepared, advanced to the garden-door, softly opened it, and
+disappeared.
+
+Lucy, in an extremity of amazement, came forward.  The wind howled in
+moaning gusts, and the rain dashed against the windows; Lucy was chilly
+and frightened.  The fire was not out, and gave a dim light, and she
+crept towards the window, but a sudden terror came over her; she dashed
+back, looked again, heard another gust of wind, fell into another panic,
+rushed back to the stairs, and never stopped till she had tumbled into
+bed, her teeth chattering, shivering from head to foot with fright and
+cold, rolled herself up tight in the bed-clothes, and, after suffering
+excessively from terror and chill, fell sound asleep without seeing her
+sister return.
+
+Causeless fears pursue those who are not in the right path, and turn from
+what alone can give them confidence.  A sense of protection supports
+those who walk in innocence, though their way may seem surrounded with
+perils; and thus, while Lucy trembled in an agony of fright in her warm
+bed, Rose walked forth with a firm and fearless step through the dark
+gusty night, heedless of the rain that pattered round her, and the wild
+wind that snatched at her cloak and gown, and flapped her hood into her
+eyes.
+
+She was not afraid of fancied terrors, and real perils and anxieties were
+at this moment lost in the bounding of her young heart at the thought of
+seeing, touching, speaking to her brother, her dear Edmund.  She had been
+eleven years old when they last had parted, the morning of the battle of
+Naseby, and he was five years older; but they had always been very happy
+and fond companions and playfellows as long as she could remember, and
+she alone had been on anything like an equality with him, or missed him
+with a feeling of personal loss, that had been increased by the death of
+her elder sister, Mary.
+
+Quickly, and concealing her light as much as possible, she walked down
+the damp ash-strewn paths of the kitchen-garden, and came out into the
+overgrown and neglected shrubbery, or pleasance, where the long wet-laden
+shoots came beating in her face, and now and then seeming to hold her
+back, and strange rustlings were heard that would have frightened a
+maiden of a less stout and earnest heart.  Her anxiety was lest she
+should be confused by the unwonted aspect of things in the dark, and miss
+the path; and very, very long did it seem, while her light would only
+show her leaves glistening with wet.  At last she gained a clearer space,
+the border of a field: something dark rose before her, she knew the
+outline of the shed, and entered the lower part.  It was meant for a
+cart-shed, with a loft above for hay or straw; but the cart had been lost
+or broken, and there was only a heap of rubbish in the corner, by which
+the children were wont to climb up to inspect their kittens.  Here Rose
+was for a moment startled by a glare close to her of what looked like two
+fiery lamps in the darkness, but the next instant a long, low, growling
+sound explained it, and the tabby stripes of the cat quickly darted
+across her lantern’s range of light.  She heard a slight rustling above,
+and ventured to call, in a low whisper, “Edmund.”
+
+“Is that you, Walter?” and as Rose proceeded to mount the pile of
+rubbish, his pale and haggard face looked down at her.
+
+“What?  Rose herself!  I did not think you would have come on such a
+night as this.  Can you come up?  Shall I help you?”
+
+“Thank you.  Take the lantern first—take care.  There.  Now the basket
+and the cloak.”  And this done, with Edmund’s hand, Rose scrambled up
+into the loft.  It was only the height of the roof, and there was not
+room, even in the middle, to stand upright; the rain soaked through the
+old thatch, the floor was of rough boards, and there was but very little
+of the hay that had served as a bed for the kittens.
+
+“O Edmund, this is a wretched place!” exclaimed Rose, as, crouching by
+his side, one hand in his, and the other round his neck, she gazed
+around.
+
+“Better than a prison,” he answered.  “I only wish I knew that others
+were in as good a one.  And you—why, Rose, how you are altered; you are
+my young lady now!  And how does my dear mother?”
+
+“Pretty well.  I could hardly prevail on her not to come here to-night;
+but it would have been too much, she is so weak, and takes cold so soon.
+But, Edmund, how pale you are, how weary!  Have you slept?  I fear not,
+on these hard boards—your wound, too.”
+
+“It hardly deserves such a dignified name as a wound,” said Edmund.  “I
+am more hungry than aught else; I could have slept but for hunger, and
+now”—as he spoke he was opening the basket—“I shall be lodged better, I
+fear, than a king, with that famous cloak.  What a notable piece of
+pasty!  Well done, Rose!  Are you housewife?  Store of candles, too.
+This is noble!”
+
+“How hungry you must be!  How long is it since you have eaten?”
+
+“Grey sent his servant into a village to buy some bread and cheese; we
+divided it when we parted, and it lasted me until this morning.  Since
+then I have fasted.”
+
+“Dear brother, I wish I could do more for you; but till Mr. Enderby goes,
+I cannot, for the soldiers are about the kitchen, and our maid, Deborah,
+talks too much to be trustworthy, though she is thoroughly faithful.”
+
+“This is excellent fare,” said Edmund, eating with great relish.  “And
+now tell me of yourselves.  My mother is feeble and unwell, you say?”
+
+“Never strong, but tolerably well at present.”
+
+“So Walter said.  By the way, Walter is a fine spirited fellow.  I should
+like to have him with me if we take another African voyage.”
+
+“He would like nothing better, poor fellow.  But what strange things you
+have seen and done since we met!  How little we thought that morning that
+it would be six years before we should sit side by side again!  And
+Prince Rupert is kind to you?”
+
+“He treats me like a son or brother: never was man kinder,” said Edmund,
+warmly.  “But the children?  I must see them before I depart.  Little
+Lucy, is she as bold and pert as she was as a young child?”
+
+“Little changed,” said Rose, smiling, and telling her brother the
+adventures at the dinner.
+
+As cheerfully as might be they talked till Edmund had finished his meal,
+and then Rose begged him to let her examine and bind up the wound.  It
+was a sword-cut on the right shoulder, and, though not very deep, had
+become stiff and painful from neglect, and had soaked his sleeve deeply
+with blood.  Rose’s dexterous fingers applied the salve and linen she had
+brought, and she promised that at her next visit she would bring him some
+clean clothes, which was what he said he most wished for.  Then she
+arranged the large horseman’s cloak, the hay, and his own mantle, so well
+as to form, he said, the most luxurious resting place he had seen since
+he left Dunbar; and rolled up in this he lay, his head supported on his
+hand, talking earnestly with her on the measures next to be taken for his
+safety, and on the state of the family.  He must be hidden there till the
+chase was a little slackened, and then escape, by Bosham or some other
+port, to the royal fleet, which was hovering on the coast.  Money,
+however—how was he to get a passage without it?
+
+“The Prince, at parting—heaven knows he has little enough himself—gave me
+twenty gold crowns, which he said was my share of prize-money for our
+captures,” said Edmund, “but this is the last of them.”
+
+“And I don’t know how we can get any,” said Rose.  “We never see money.
+Our tenants, if they pay at all, pay in kind—a side of bacon, or a sack
+of corn; they are very good, poor people, and love our mother heartily, I
+do believe.  I wish I knew what was to be done.”
+
+“Time will show,” said Edmund.  “I have been in as bad a case as this ere
+now, and it is something to be near you all again.  So you like this
+place, do you?  As well as our own home?”
+
+Rose shook her head, and tears sprang into her eyes.  “Oh no, Edmund; I
+try to think it home, and the children feel it so, but it is not like
+Woodley.  Do you remember the dear old oak-tree, with the branches that
+came down so low, where you used to swing Mary and me?”
+
+“And the high branch where I used to watch for my father coming home from
+the justice-meeting.  And the meadow where the hounds killed the fox that
+had baffled them so long!  Do you hear anything of the place now, Rose?”
+
+“Mr. Enderby told us something,” said Rose, sadly.  “You know who has got
+it, Edmund?”
+
+“Who?
+
+“That Master Priggins, who was once justices’ clerk.”
+
+“Ha!” cried Edmund.  “That pettifogging scrivener in my father’s
+house!—in my ancestors’ house!  A rogue that ought to have been branded a
+dozen years ago!  I could have stood anything but that!  Pretty work he
+is making there, I suppose!  Go on, Rose.”
+
+“O Edmund, you know it is but what the King himself has to bear.”
+
+“Neighbour’s fare! as you say,” replied Edmund, with a short dry laugh.
+“Poverty and wandering I could bear; peril is what any brave man
+naturally seeks; the acres that have been ours for centuries could not go
+in a better cause; but to hear of a rascal such as that in my father’s
+place is enough to drive one mad with rage!  Come, what has he been
+doing?  How has he used the poor people?”
+
+“He turned out old Davy and Madge at once from keeping the house, but Mr.
+Enderby took them in, and gave them a cottage.”
+
+“I wonder what unlucky fate possessed that Enderby to take the wrong
+side!  Well?”
+
+“He could not tell us much of the place, for he cannot endure Master
+Priggins, and Master Sylvester laughs at his Puritanical manner; but he
+says—O Edmund—that the fish-ponds are filled up—those dear old fish-ponds
+where the water-lilies used to blow, and you once pulled me out of the
+water.”
+
+“Ay, ay! we shall not know it again if ever our turn comes, and we enjoy
+our own again.  But it is of no use to think about such matters.”
+
+“No; we must be thankful that we have a home at all, and are not like so
+many, who are actually come to beggary, like poor Mrs. Forde.  You
+remember her, our old clergyman’s widow.  He died on board ship, and she
+was sent for by her cousin, who promised her a home; but she had no
+money, and was forced to walk all the way, with her two little boys,
+getting a lodging at night from any loyal family who would shelter her
+for the love of heaven.  My mother wept when she saw how sadly she was
+changed; we kept her with us a week to rest her, and when she went she
+had our last gold carolus, little guessing, poor soul, that it was our
+last.  Then, when she was gone, my mother called us all round her, and
+gave thanks that she could still give us shelter and daily bread.”
+
+“There is a Judge above!” exclaimed Edmund; “yet sometimes it is hard to
+believe, when we see such a state of things here below!”
+
+“Dr. Bathurst tells us to think it will all be right in the other world,
+even if we do have to see the evil prosper here,” said Rose, gravely.
+“The sufferings will all turn to glory, just as they did with our blessed
+King, out of sight.”
+
+Edmund sat thoughtful.  “If our people abroad would but hope and trust
+and bear as you do here, Rose.  But I had best not talk of these things,
+only your patience makes me feel how deficient in it we are, who have not
+a tithe to bear of what you have at home.  Are you moving to go?  Must
+you?”
+
+“I fear so, dear brother; the light seems to be beginning to dawn, and if
+Lucy wakes and misses me—Is your shoulder comfortable?”
+
+“I was never more comfortable in my life.  My loving duty to my dear
+mother.  Farewell, you, sweet Rose.”
+
+“Farewell, dear Edmund.  Perhaps Walter may manage to visit you, but do
+not reckon on it.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+THE vigils of the night had been as unwonted for Lucy as for her sister,
+and she slept soundly till Rose was already up and dressed.  Her first
+reflection was on the strange sights she had seen, followed by a doubt
+whether they were real, or only a dream; but she was certain it was no
+such thing; she recollected too well the chill of the stone to her feet,
+and the sound of the blasts of wind.  She wondered over it, wished to
+make out the cause, but decided that she should only be scolded for
+peeping, and she had better keep her own counsel.
+
+That Lucy should keep silence when she thought she knew more than other
+people was, however, by no means to be expected; and though she would say
+not a word to her mother or Rose, of whom she was afraid, she was quite
+ready to make the most of her knowledge with Eleanor.
+
+When she came down stairs she found Walter, with his elbows on the table
+and his book before him, learning the task which his mother required of
+him every day; Eleanor had just come in with her lapfull of the still
+lingering flowers, and called her to help to make them up into nosegays.
+
+Lucy came and sat down by her on the floor, but paid little attention to
+the flowers, so intent was she on showing her knowledge.
+
+“Ah! you don’t know what I have seen.”
+
+“I dare say it is only some nonsense,” said Eleanor, gravely, for she was
+rather apt to plume herself on being steadier than her elder sister.
+
+“It is no nonsense,” said Lucy.  “I know what I know.”
+
+Before Eleanor had time to answer this speech, the mystery of which was
+enhanced by a knowing little nod of the head, young Mr. Enderby made his
+appearance in the hall, with a civil good-morning to Walter, which the
+boy hardly deigned to acknowledge by a gruff reply and little nod, and
+then going on to the little girls, renewed with them yesterday’s war of
+words.  “Weaving posies, little ladies?”
+
+“Not for rebels,” replied Lucy, pertly.
+
+“May I not have one poor daisy?”
+
+“Not one; the daisy is a royal flower.”
+
+“If I take one?”
+
+“Rebels take what they can’t get fairly,” said Lucy, with the smartness
+of a forward child; and Sylvester, laughing heartily, continued, “What
+would General Cromwell say to such a nest of little malignants?”
+
+“That is an ugly name,” said Eleanor.
+
+“Quite as pretty as Roundhead.”
+
+“Yes, but we don’t deserve it.”
+
+“Not when you make that pretty face so sour?”
+
+“Ah!” interposed Lucy, “she is sour because I won’t tell her my secret of
+the pie.”
+
+“Oh, what?” said Eleanor.
+
+“Now I have you!” cried Lucy, delighted.  “I know what became of the
+pigeon pie.”
+
+In extreme alarm and anger, Walter turned round as he caught these words.
+“Lucy, naughty child!” he began, in a voice of thunder; then,
+recollecting the danger of exciting further suspicion, he stammered,
+“what—what—what—are you doing here?  Go along to mother.”
+
+Lucy rubbed her fingers into her eyes, and answered sharply, in a pettish
+tone, that she was doing no harm.  Eleanor, in amazement, asked what
+could be the matter.
+
+“Intolerable!” exclaimed Walter.  “So many girls always in the way?”
+
+Sylvester Enderby could not help smiling, as he asked, “Is that all you
+have to complain of?”
+
+“I could complain of something much worse,” muttered Walter.  “Get away,
+Lucy?”
+
+“I won’t at your bidding, sir.”
+
+To Walter’s great relief, Rose entered at that moment, and all was smooth
+and quiet; Lucy became silent, and the conversation was kept up in safe
+terms between Rose and the young officer.  The colonel, it appeared, was
+so much better that he intended to leave Forest Lea that very day; and it
+was not long before he came down, and presently afterwards Lady Woodley,
+looking very pale and exhausted, for her anxieties had kept her awake all
+night.
+
+After a breakfast on bread, cheese, rashers of bacon, and beer, the
+horses were brought to the door, and the colonel took his leave of Lady
+Woodley, thanking her much for her hospitality.
+
+“I wish it had been better worth accepting,” said she.
+
+“I wish it had, though not for my own sake,” said the colonel.  “I wish
+you would allow me to attempt something in your favour.  One thing,
+perhaps, you will deign to accept.  Every royalist house, especially
+those belonging to persons engaged at Worcester, is liable to be
+searched, and to have soldiers quartered on them, to prevent fugitives
+from being harboured there.  I will send Sylvester at once to obtain a
+protection for you, which may prevent you from being thus disturbed.”
+
+“That will be a kindness, indeed,” said Lady Woodley, hardly able to
+restrain the eagerness with which she heard the offer made, that gave the
+best hope of saving her son.  She was not certain that the colonel had
+not some suspicion of the true state of the case, and would not take
+notice, unwilling to ruin the son of his friend, and at the same time
+reluctant to fail in his duty to his employers.
+
+He soon departed; Mistress Lucy’s farewell to Sylvester being thus:
+“Good-bye, Mr. Roundhead, rebel, crop-eared traitor.”  At which Sylvester
+and his father turned and laughed, and their two soldiers looked very
+much astonished.
+
+Lady Woodley called Lucy at once, and spoke to her seriously on her
+forwardness and impertinence.  “I could tell you, Lucy, that it is not
+like a young lady, but I must tell you more, it is not like a young
+Christian maiden.  Do you remember the text that I gave you to learn a
+little while ago—the ornament fit for a woman?”
+
+Lucy hung her head, and with tears filling her eyes, as her mother
+prompted her continually, repeated the text in a low mumbling voice, half
+crying: “Whose adorning, let it not be the putting on of gold, or the
+plaiting of hair, or the putting on of apparel, but let it be the hidden
+man of the heart, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is
+in the sight of GOD of great price.”
+
+“And does my little Lucy think she showed that ornament when she pushed
+herself forward to talk idle nonsense, and make herself be looked at and
+taken notice of?”
+
+Lucy put her finger in her mouth; she did not like to be scolded, as she
+called it, gentle as her mother was, and she would not open her mind to
+take in the kind reproof.
+
+Lady Woodley took the old black-covered Bible, and finding two of the
+verses in S. James about the government of the tongue, desired Lucy to
+learn them by heart before she went out of the house; and the little girl
+sat down with them in the window-seat, in a cross impatient mood, very
+unfit for learning those sacred words.  “She had done no harm,” she
+thought; “she could not help it if the young gentleman would talk to
+her!”
+
+So there she sat, with the Bible in her lap, alone, for Lady Woodley was
+so harassed and unwell, in consequence of her anxieties, that Rose had
+persuaded her to go and lie down on her bed, since it would be better for
+her not to try to see Edmund till the promised protection had arrived,
+lest suspicion should be excited.  Rose was busy about her household
+affairs; Eleanor, a handy little person, was helping her; and Walter and
+Charles were gone out to gather apples for a pudding which she had
+promised them.
+
+Lucy much wished to be with them; and after a long brooding over her
+ill-temper, it began to wear out, not to be conquered, but to depart of
+itself; she thought she might as well learn her lesson and have done with
+it; so by way of getting rid of the task, not of profiting by the warning
+it conveyed, she hurried through the two verses ending with—“Behold how
+great a matter a little fire kindleth!”
+
+As soon as she could say them perfectly, she raced upstairs, and into her
+mother’s room, gave her the book, and repeated them at her fastest pace.
+Poor Lady Woodley was too weary and languid to exert herself to speak to
+the little girl about her unsuitable manner, or to try to bring the
+lesson home to her; she dismissed her, only saying, “I hope, my dear, you
+will remember this,” and away ran Lucy, first to the orchard in search of
+her brothers, and not finding them there, round and round the garden and
+pleasance.  Edmund, in his hiding-place, heard the voice calling “Walter!
+Charlie!” and peeping out, caught a glimpse of a little figure, her long
+frock tucked over her arm, and long locks of dark hair blowing out from
+under her small, round, white cap.  What a pleasure it was to him to have
+that one view of his little sister!
+
+At last, tired with her search, Lucy returned to the house, and there
+found Deborah ironing at the long table in the hall, and crooning away
+her one dismal song of “Barbara Allen’s cruelty.”
+
+“So you can sing again, Deb,” she began, “now the Roundheads are gone and
+Diggory come back?”
+
+“Little girls should not meddle with what does not concern them,”
+answered Deborah.
+
+“You need not call me a little girl,” said Lucy.  “I am almost eleven
+years old; and I know a secret, a real secret.”
+
+“A secret, Mistress Lucy?  Who would tell their secrets to the like of
+you?” said Deborah, contemptuously.
+
+“No one told me; I found it out for myself!” cried Lucy, in high
+exultation.  “I know what became of the pigeon pie that we thought Rose
+ate up!”
+
+“Eh?  Mistress Lucy!” exclaimed Deborah, pausing in her ironing, full of
+curiosity.
+
+Lucy was delighted to detail the whole of what she had observed.
+
+“Well!” cried Deborah, “if ever I heard tell the like!  That slip of a
+thing out in all the blackness of the night!  I should be afraid of my
+life of the ghosts and hobgoblins.  Oh!  I had rather be set up for a
+mark for all the musketeers in the Parliament army, than set one foot out
+of doors after dark!”
+
+As Deborah spoke, Walter came into the hall.  He saw that Lucy had
+observed something, and was anxious every time she opened her lips.  This
+made him rough and sharp with her, and he instantly exclaimed, “How now,
+Lucy, still gossipping?”
+
+“You are so cross, I can’t speak a word for you,” said Lucy, fretfully,
+walking out of the room, while Walter, in his usual imperious way, began
+to shout for Diggory and his boots.  “Diggory, knave!”
+
+“Anon, sir!” answered the dogged voice.
+
+“Bring them, I say, you laggard!”
+
+“Coming, sir, coming.”
+
+“Coming, are you, you snail?” cried Walter, impatiently.  “Your heels are
+tardier now than they were at Worcester!”
+
+“A man can’t do more nor he can do, sir,” said Diggory, sullenly, as he
+plodded into the hall.
+
+“Answering again, lubber?” said Walter.  “Is this what you call cleaned?
+You are not fit for your own shoe-blacking trade!  Get along with you!”
+and he threw the boots at Diggory in a passion.  “I must wear them,
+though, as they are, or wait all day.  Bring them to me again.”
+
+Walter had some idle notion in his head that it was Puritanical to speak
+courteously to servants, and despising Diggory for his cowardice and
+stupidity, he was especially overbearing with him, and went on rating him
+all the time he was putting on his boots, to go out and try to catch some
+fish for the morrow’s dinner, which was likely to be but scanty.  As soon
+as he was gone, Diggory, who had listened in sulky silence, began to
+utter his complaints.
+
+“Chicken-heart, moon-calf, awkward lubber, those be the best words a poor
+fellow gets.  I can tell Master Walter that these are no times for
+gentlefolks to be hectoring, especially when they haven’t a penny to pay
+wages with.”
+
+“You learnt that in the wars, Diggory,” said Deborah, turning round, for,
+grumble as she might herself, she could not bear to have a word said by
+anyone else against her lady’s family, and loved to scold her sweetheart,
+Diggory.  “Never mind Master Walter.  If he has not a penny in his
+pocket, and the very green coat to his back is cut out of his
+grandmother’s farthingale, more’s the pity.  How should he show he is a
+gentleman but by hectoring a bit now and then, ’specially to such a rogue
+as thou, coming back when thy betters are lost.  That is always the way,
+as I found when I lost my real silver crown, and kept my trumpery
+Parliament bit.”
+
+“Ah, Deb!” pleaded Diggory, “thou knowst not what danger is!  I thought
+thou wouldst never have set eyes on poor Diggory again.”
+
+“Much harm would that have been,” retorted Mrs. Deb, tossing her head.
+“D’ye think I’d have broke my heart?  That I’ll never do for a runaway.”
+
+“’Twas time to run when poor Farmer Ewins was cut down, holloaing for
+quarter, and Master Edmund’s brains lying strewn about on the ground, for
+all the world like a calf’s.”
+
+“’Tis your own brains be like a calf’s,” said Deborah.  “I’d bargain to
+eat all of Master Edmund’s brains you ever saw.”
+
+“He’s as dead as a red herring.”
+
+“I say he is as life-like as you or I.”
+
+“I say I saw him stretched out, covered with blood, and a sword-cut on
+his head big enough to be the death of twenty men.”
+
+“Didn’t that colonel man, as they call him, see him alive and merry long
+after?  It’s my belief that Master Edmund is not a dozen miles off.”
+
+“Master Edmund! hey, Deb?  I’ll never believe that, after what I’ve seen
+at Worcester.”
+
+“Then pray why does Mistress Rose save a whole pigeon out of the pie,
+hide it in her lap, and steal out of the house with it at midnight?
+Either Master Edmund is in hiding, or some other poor gentleman from the
+wars, and I verily believe it is Master Edmund himself; so a fig for his
+brains or yours, and there’s for you, for a false-tongued runaway!
+Coming, mistress, coming!” and away ran Deborah at a call from Rose.
+
+Now Deborah was faithful to the backbone, and would have given all she
+had in the world, almost her life itself, for her lady and the children;
+she was a good and honest woman in the main, but tongue and temper were
+two things that she had never learnt to restrain, and she had given her
+love to the first person by whom it was sought, without consideration
+whether he was worthy of affection or not.  That Diggory was a sullen,
+ill-conditioned, selfish fellow, was evident to everyone else; but he had
+paid court to Deborah, and therefore the foolish woman had allowed
+herself to be taken with him, see perfections in him, promise to become
+his wife, and confide in him.
+
+When Deborah left the hall, Diggory returned to his former employment of
+chopping wood, and began to consider very intently for him.
+
+He had really believed, at the moment of his panic-terror, that he saw
+Edmund Woodley fall, and had at once taken flight, without attempting to
+afford him any assistance.  The story of the brains had, of course, been
+invented on the spur of the moment, by way of excusing his flight, and he
+was obliged to persist in the falsehood he had once uttered, though he
+was not by any means certain that it had been his master whom he saw
+killed, especially after hearing Colonel Enderby’s testimony.  And now
+there came alluringly before him the promise of the reward offered for
+the discovery of the fugitive cavaliers, the idea of being able to rent
+and stock poor Ewins’s farm, and setting up there with Deborah.  It was
+money easily come by, he thought, and he would like to be revenged on
+Master Walter, and show him that the lubber and moon-calf could do some
+harm, after all.  A relenting came across him as he thought of his lady
+and Mistress Rose, though he had no personal regard for Edmund, who had
+never lived at Forest Lea; and his stolid mind was too much enclosed in
+selfishness to admit much feeling for anyone.  Besides, it might not be
+Master Edmund; he was probably killed; it might be one of the lords in
+the battle, or even the King himself, and that would be worth £1,000.
+Master Cantwell called them all tyrants and sons of Belial, and what not;
+and though Dr. Bathurst said differently, who was to know what was right?
+Dr. Bathurst had had his day, and this was Cantwell’s turn.  There was a
+comedown now of feathered hats, and point collars, and curled hair; and
+leathern jerkin should have its day.  And as for being an informer, he
+would keep his own counsel; at any rate, the reward he would have.  It
+was scarcely likely to be a hanging matter, after all; and if the
+gentleman, whoever he might be, did chance to be taken, he would get off
+scot free, no harm done to him.  “Diggory Stokes, you’re a made man!” he
+finished, throwing his bill-hook from him.
+
+Ah!  Lucy, Lucy, you little thought of the harm your curiosity and
+chattering had done, as you saw Diggory stealing along the side of the
+wood, in the direction leading to Chichester!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+IN the afternoon Lady Woodley was so much better as to be able to come
+downstairs, and all the party sat round the fire in the twilight.  Walter
+was just come in from his fishing, bringing a basket of fine trout;
+Eleanor and Charles were admiring their beautiful red spots, Lucy
+wondering what made him so late, while he cast a significant look at his
+eldest sister, showing her that he had been making a visit to Edmund.
+
+At that moment a loud authoritative knocking was heard at the door;
+Walter shouted to Diggory to open it, and was answered by Deborah’s
+shrill scream from the kitchen, “He’s not here, sir; I’ve not seen him
+since you threw your boots at him, sir.”
+
+Another thundering knock brought Deborah to open the door; and what was
+the dismay of the mother and children as there entered six tall men,
+their buff coats, steeple-crowned hats, plain collars, and thick
+calf-skin boots, marking them as Parliamentary soldiers.  With a shriek
+of terror the little ones clung round their mother, while he who, by his
+orange scarf, was evidently the commanding officer, standing in the
+middle of the hall, with his hat on, announced, in a Puritanical tone,
+“We are here by order of his Excellency, General Cromwell, to search for
+and apprehend the body of the desperate malignant Edmund Woodley, last
+seen in arms against the Most High Court of Parliament.  Likewise to
+arrest the person of Dame Mary Woodley, widow, suspected of harbouring
+and concealing traitors:” and he advanced to lay his hand upon her.
+Walter, in an impulse of passion, rushed forward, and aimed a blow at him
+with the butt-end of the fishing-rod; but it was the work of a moment to
+seize the boy and tie his hands, while his mother earnestly implored the
+soldier to have pity on him, and excuse his thoughtless haste to protect
+her.
+
+The officer sat down in the arm-chair, and without replying to Lady
+Woodley, ordered a soldier to bring the boy before him, and spoke
+thus:—“Hear me, son of an ungodly seed.  So merciful are the lessons of
+the light that thou contemnest, that I will even yet overlook and forgive
+the violence wherewith thou didst threaten my life, so thou wilt turn
+again, and confess where thou hast hidden the bloody-minded traitor.”
+
+“This house harbours no traitor,” answered Walter, undauntedly.
+
+“If thou art too hardened to confess,” continued the officer, frowning,
+and speaking slowly and sternly, as he kept his eyes steadily fixed on
+Walter, “if thou wilt not reveal his hiding-place, I lead thee hence to
+abide the penalty of attempted murder.”
+
+“I am quite ready,” answered Walter, returning frown for frown, and not
+betraying how his heart throbbed.
+
+The officer signed to the soldier, who roughly dragged him aside by the
+cord that tied his hands, cutting them severely, though he disdained to
+show any sign of pain.
+
+“Young maiden,” continued the rebel, turning to Rose, “what sayest thou?
+Wilt thou see thy brother led away to death, when the breath of thy mouth
+might save him?”
+
+Poor Rose turned as pale as death, but her answer was steady: “I will say
+nothing.”
+
+“Little ones, then,” said the officer, fiercely, “speak, or you shall
+taste the rod.  Do you know where your brother is?”
+
+“No—no,” sobbed Lucy; and her mother added, “They know nothing, sir.”
+
+“It is loss of time to stand parleying with women and children,” said the
+officer, rising.  “Here,” to one of his men, “keep the door.  Let none
+quit the chamber, and mark the children’s talk.  The rest with me.  Where
+is the fellow that brought the tidings?”
+
+Diggory, who had slunk out of sight, was pushed forward by two of the
+soldiers, and at the same time there was a loud scream from Deborah.
+“Oh!  Diggory, is it you?  Oh! my Lady, my Lady, forgive me!  I meant no
+harm!  Oh! who would have thought it?”  And in an agony of distress, she
+threw her apron over her face, and, sinking on the bench, rocked herself
+to and fro, sobbing violently.
+
+In the meantime, the officer and his men, all but the sentinel, had left
+the room to search for the fugitive, leaving Lady Woodley sitting
+exhausted and terrified in her chair, the little ones clinging around
+her, Walter standing opposite, with his hands bound; Rose stood by him,
+her arm round his neck, proud of his firmness, but in dreadful terror for
+him, and in such suspense for Edmund, that her whole being seemed
+absorbed in agonised prayer.  Deborah’s sobs, and the children’s
+frightened weeping, were all the sounds that could be heard; Rose was
+obliged to attempt to soothe them, but her first kind word to Deborah
+produced a fresh burst of violent weeping, and then a loud lamentation:
+“Oh! the rogue—the rogue.  If I could have dreamt it!”
+
+“What has she done?” exclaimed Walter, impatiently.  “Come, stop your
+crying.  What have you done, Deb?”
+
+“I thought—Oh! if I had known what was in the villain!” continued
+Deborah, “I’d sooner have bit out my tongue than have said one word to
+him about the pigeon pie.”
+
+“Pigeon pie!” repeated Rose.
+
+Lucy now gave a cry, for she was, with all her faults, a truth-telling
+child.  “Mother! mother!  I told Deb about the pigeon pie!  Oh, what have
+I done?  Was it for Edmund?  Is Edmund here?”
+
+And to increase the danger and perplexity, the other two children
+exclaimed together, “Is Edmund here?”
+
+“Hush, hush, my dears, be quiet; I cannot answer you now,” whispered Lady
+Woodley, trying to silence them by caresses, and looking with terror at
+the rigid, stern guard, who, instead of remaining at the door where he
+had been posted, had come close up to them, and sat himself down at the
+end of the table, as if to catch every word they uttered.
+
+Eleanor and Charles obeyed their mother’s command that they should be
+silent; Rose took Lucy on her lap, let her rest her head on her shoulder,
+and whispered to her that she should hear and tell all another time, but
+she must be quiet now, and listen.  Deborah kept her apron over her face,
+and Walter, leaning his shoulder against the wall, stood gazing at them
+all; and while he was intently watching for every sound that could enable
+him to judge whether the search was successful or not, at the same time
+his heart was beating and his head swimming at the threat of the rebel.
+Was he to die?  To be taken away from that bright world, from sunshine,
+youth, and health, from his mother, and all of them, and be laid, a stiff
+mangled corpse, in some cold, dark, unregarded grave; his pulses, that
+beat so fast, all still and silent—senseless, motionless, like the birds
+he had killed?  And that was not all: that other world!  To enter on what
+would last for ever and ever and ever, on a state which he had never
+dwelt on or realised to himself, filled him with a blank, shuddering awe;
+and next came a worse, a sickening thought: if his feeling for the bliss
+of heaven was almost distaste, could he be fit for it? could he dare to
+hope for it?  It was his Judge Whom he was about to meet, and he had been
+impatient and weary of Bible and Catechism, and Dr. Bathurst’s teaching;
+he had been inattentive and careless at his prayers; he had been
+disobedient and unruly, violent, and unkind!  Such a horror and agony
+came over the poor boy, so exceeding a dread of death, that he was ready
+at that moment to struggle to do anything to save himself; but there came
+the recollection that the price of his rescue must be the betrayal of
+Edmund.  He would almost have spoken at that instant; the next he
+sickened at the thought.  Never, never—he could not, would not; better
+not live at all than be a traitor!  He was too confused and anxious to
+pray, for he had not taught himself to fix his attention in quiet
+moments.  He would not speak before the rebel soldier; but only looked
+with an earnest gaze at his sister, who, as their eyes met, understood
+all it conveyed.
+
+His mother, after the first moment’s fright, had reassured herself
+somewhat on his account; he was so mere a boy that it was not likely that
+Algernon Sydney, who then commanded at Chichester, would put him to
+death; a short imprisonment was the worst that was likely to befall him;
+and though that was enough to fill her with terror and anxiety, it could
+at that moment be scarcely regarded in comparison with her fears for her
+eldest son.
+
+A long time passed away, so long, that they began to hope that the
+enemies might be baffled in their search, in spite of Diggory’s intimate
+knowledge of every nook and corner.  They had been once to the shrubbery,
+and had been heard tramping back to the stable, where they were welcome
+to search as long as they chose, then to the barn-yard, all over the
+house from garret to cellar.  Was it over?  Joy! joy!  But the feet were
+heard turning back to the pleasance, as though to recommence the search,
+and ten minutes after the steps came nearer.  The rebel officer entered
+the hall first, but, alas! behind him came, guarded by two soldiers,
+Edmund Woodley himself, his step firm, his head erect, and his hands
+unbound.  His mother sank back in her chair, and he, going straight up to
+her, knelt on one knee before her, saying, “Mother, dear mother, your
+blessing.  Let me see your face again.”
+
+She threw her arms round his neck, “My son! and is it thus we meet?”
+
+“We only meet as we parted,” he answered firmly and cheerfully.  “Still
+sufferers in the same good cause; still, I trust, with the same willing
+hearts.”
+
+“Come, sir,” said the officer, “I must see you safely bestowed for the
+night.”
+
+“One moment, gentlemen,” entreated Lady Woodley.  “It is six years since
+I saw my son, and this may be our last meeting.”  She led him to the
+light, and looked earnestly up into his face, saying, with a smile, which
+had in it much of pride and pleasure, as well as sadness, “How you are
+altered, Edmund!  See, Rose, how brown he is, and how much darker his
+hair has grown; and does not his moustache make him just like your
+father?”
+
+“And my little sisters,” said Edmund.  “Ha!  Lucy, I know your little
+round face.”
+
+“Oh,” sobbed Lucy, “is it my fault?  Can you pardon me?  The pigeon pie!”
+
+“What does she mean?” asked Edmund, turning to Rose.
+
+“I saw you take it out at night, Rose,” said poor Lucy.  “I told Deb!”
+
+“And poor Deborah,” added Rose, “from the same thoughtlessness repeated
+her chatter to Diggory, who has betrayed us.”
+
+“The cowardly villain,” cried Walter, who had come forward to the group
+round his brother.
+
+“Hush, Walter,” said Edmund.  “But what do I see?  Your hands bound?  You
+a prisoner?”
+
+“Poor Walter was rash enough to attempt resistance,” said his mother.
+
+“So, sir,” said Edmund, turning to the rebel captain, “you attach great
+importance to the struggles of a boy of thirteen!”
+
+“A blow with the butt-end of a fishing-rod is no joke from boy or man,”
+answered the officer.
+
+“When last I served in England,” continued the cavalier, “Cromwell’s
+Ironsides did not take notice of children with fishing-rods.  You can
+have no warrant, no order, or whatever you pretend to act by, against
+him.”
+
+“Why—no, sir; but—however, the young gentleman has had a lesson, and I do
+not care if I do loose his hands.  Here, unfasten him.  But I cannot
+permit him to be at large while you are in the house.”
+
+“Very well, then, perhaps you will allow him to share my chamber.  We
+have been separated for so many years, and it may be our last meeting.”
+
+“So let it be.  Since you are pleased to be conformable, sir, I am
+willing to oblige you,” answered the rebel, whose whole demeanour had
+curiously changed in the presence of one of such soldierly and
+gentleman-like bearing as Edmund, prisoner though he was.  “Now, madam,
+to your own chamber.  You will all meet to-morrow.”
+
+“Good-night, mother,” said Edmund.  “Sleep well; think this is but a
+dream, and only remember that your eldest son is in your own house.”
+
+“Good-night, my brave boy,” said Lady Woodley, as she embraced him
+ardently.  “A comfort, indeed, I have in knowing that with your father’s
+face you have his steadfast, loving, unselfish heart.  We meet to-morrow.
+GOD’S blessing be upon you, my boy.”
+
+And tenderly embracing the children she left the hall, followed by a
+soldier, who was to guard her door, and allow no one to enter.  Edmund
+next kissed his sisters and little Charles, affectionately wishing them
+good-night, and assuring the sobbing Lucy of his pardon.  Rose whispered
+to him to say something to comfort Deborah, who continued to weep
+piteously.
+
+“Deborah,” he said, “I must thank you for your long faithful service to
+my mother in her poverty and distress.  I am sure you knew not that you
+were doing me any harm.”
+
+“Oh, sir,” cried poor Deborah, “Oh don’t speak so kind!  I had rather
+stand up to be a mark for all the musketeers in the Parliament army than
+be where I am now.”
+
+Edmund did not hear half what she said, for he and Walter were obliged to
+hasten upstairs to the chamber which was to be their prison for the
+night.  Rose, at the same time, led away the children, poor little
+Charles almost asleep in the midst of the confusion.
+
+Deborah’s troubles were not over yet; the captain called for supper, and
+seeing Walter’s basket of fish, ordered her to prepare them at once for
+him.  Afraid to refuse, she took them down to the kitchen, and proceeded
+to her cookery, weeping and lamenting all the time.
+
+“Oh, the sweet generous-hearted young gentleman!  That I should have been
+the death of such as he, and he thanking me for my poor services!  ’Tis
+little I could do, with my crooked temper, that plagues all I love the
+very best, and my long tongue!  Oh that it had been bitten out at the
+root!  I wish—I wish I was a mark for all the musketeers in the
+Parliament army this minute!  And Diggory, the rogue!  Oh, after having
+known him all my life, who would have thought of his turning informer?
+Why was not he killed in the great fight?  It would have broke my heart
+less.”
+
+And having set her fish to boil, Deborah sank on the chair, her apron
+over her head, and proceeded to rock herself backwards and forwards as
+before.  She was startled by a touch, and a lumpish voice, attempted to
+be softened into an insinuating tone.  “I say, Deb, don’t take on.”
+
+She sprung up as if an adder had stung her, and jumped away from him.
+“Ha! is it you?  Dost dare to speak to an honest girl?”
+
+“Come, come, don’t be fractious, my pretty one,” said Diggory, in the
+amiable tones that had once gained her heart.
+
+But now her retort was in a still sharper, more angry key.  “Your’n,
+indeed!  I’d rather stand up to be a mark for all the musketeers in the
+Parliament army, as poor Master Edmund is like to be, all along of you.
+O Diggory Stokes,” she added ruefully, “I’d not have believed it of you,
+if my own father had sworn it.”
+
+“Hush, hush, Deb!” said Diggory, rather sheepishly, “they’ve done hanging
+the folk.”
+
+“Don’t be for putting me off with such trash,” she returned, more
+passionately; “you’ve murdered him as much as if you had cut his throat,
+and pretty nigh Master Walter into the bargain; and you’ve broke my
+lady’s heart, you, as was born on her land and fed with her bread.  And
+now you think to make up to me, do you?”
+
+“Wasn’t it all along of you I did it?  For your sake?”
+
+“Well, and what would you be pleased to say next?” cried Deb, her voice
+rising in shrillness with her indignation.
+
+“Patience, Deb,” said Diggory, showing a heavy leathern bag.  “No more
+toiling in this ruinous old hall, with scanty scraps, hard words, and no
+wages; but a tidy little homestead, pig, cow, and horse, your own.  See
+here, Deb,” and he held up a piece of money.
+
+“Silver!” she exclaimed.
+
+“Ay, ay,” said Diggory, grinning, and jingling the bag, “and there be
+plenty more where that came from.”
+
+“It is the price of Master Edmund’s blood.”
+
+“Don’t ye say that now, Deb; ’tis all for you!” he answered, thinking he
+was prevailing because she was less violent, too stupid to perceive the
+difference between her real indignation and perpetual scolding.
+
+“So you still have the face to tell me so!” she burst out, still more
+vehemently.  “I tell you, I’d rather serve my lady and Mistress Rose, if
+they had not a crust to give me, than roll in gold with a rogue like you.
+Get along with you, and best get out of the county, for not a boy in
+Dorset but will cry shame on you.”
+
+“But Deb, Deb,” he still pleaded.
+
+“You will have it, then!”  And dealing him a hearty box on the ear, away
+ran Deborah.  Down fell bag, money, and all, and Diggory stood gaping and
+astounded for a moment, then proceeded to grope after the coins on his
+hands and knees.
+
+Suddenly a voice exclaimed, “How now, knave, stealing thy mistress’s
+goods?” and a tall, grim, steeple-hatted figure, armed with a formidable
+halberd, stood over him.
+
+“Good master corporal,” he began, trembling; but the soldier would not
+hear him.
+
+“Away with thee, son of iniquity or I will straightway lay mine halberd
+about thine ears.  I bethink me that I saw thee at the fight of
+Worcester, on the part of the man Charles Stuart.”  Here Diggory judged
+it prudent to slink away through the back door.  “And so,” continued the
+Puritan corporal, as he swept the silver into his pouch, “and so the
+gains of iniquity fall into the hands of the righteous!”
+
+In the meantime Edmund and Walter had been conducted up stairs to
+Walter’s bed-room, and there locked in, a sentinel standing outside the
+door.  No sooner were they there than Walter swung himself round with a
+gesture of rage and despair.  “The villains! the rogues!  To be betrayed
+by such a wretch, who has eaten our bread all his life.  O Edmund,
+Edmund!”
+
+“It is a most unusual, as well as an unhappy chance,” returned Edmund.
+“Hitherto it has generally happened that servants have given remarkable
+proofs of fidelity.  Of course this fellow can have no attachment for me;
+but I should have thought my mother’s gentle kindness must have won the
+love of all who came near her, both for herself and all belonging to
+her.”
+
+A recollection crossed Walter: he stood for a few moments in silence,
+then suddenly exclaimed, “The surly rascal!  I verily believe it was all
+spite at me, for—”
+
+“For—” repeated Edmund.
+
+“For rating him as he deserved,” answered Walter.  “I wish I had given it
+to him more soundly, traitor as he is.  No, no, after all,” added he,
+hesitating, “perhaps if I had been civiller—”
+
+“I should guess you to be a little too prompt of tongue,” said Edmund,
+smiling.
+
+“It is what my mother is always blaming me for,” said Walter; “but
+really, now, Edmund, doesn’t it savour of the crop-ear to be picking
+one’s words to every rogue in one’s way?”
+
+“Nay, Walter, you should not ask me that question, just coming from
+France.  There we hold that the best token, in our poverty, that we are
+cavaliers and gentlemen, is to be courteous to all, high and low.  You
+should see our young King’s frank bright courtesy; and as to the little
+King Louis, he is the very pink of civility to every old _poissarde_ in
+the streets.”
+
+Walter coloured a little, and looked confused; then repeated, as if
+consoling himself, “He is a sullen, spiteful, good-for-nothing rogue,
+whom hanging is too good for.”
+
+“Don’t let us spend our whole night in abusing him,” said Edmund; “I want
+to make the most of you, Walter, for this our last sight of each other.”
+
+“O, Edmund! you don’t mean—they shall not—you shall escape.  Oh! is there
+no way out of this room?” cried Walter, running round it like one
+distracted, and bouncing against the wainscot, as if he would shake it
+down.
+
+“Hush! this is of no use, Walter,” said his brother.  “The window is, I
+see, too high from the ground, and there is no escape.”
+
+Walter stood regarding him with blank dismay.
+
+“For one thing I am thankful to them,” continued Edmund; “I thought they
+might have shot me down before my mother’s door, and so filled the place
+with horror for her ever after.  Now they have given me time for
+preparation, and she will grow accustomed to the thought of losing me.”
+
+“Then you think there is no hope?  O Edmund!”
+
+“I see none.  Sydney is unlikely to spare a friend of Prince Rupert’s.”
+
+Walter squeezed his hands fast together.  “And how—how can you?  Don’t
+think me cowardly, Edmund, for that I will never be; never—”
+
+“Never, I am sure,” repeated Edmund.
+
+“But when that base Puritan threatened me just now—perhaps it was foolish
+to believe him—I could answer him freely enough; but when I thought of
+dying, then—”
+
+“You have not stood face to face with death so often as I have, Walter,”
+said Edmund; “nor have you led so wandering and weary a life.”
+
+“I thought I could lead any sort of life rather than die,” said Walter.
+
+“Yes, our flesh will shrink and tremble at the thought of the Judge we
+must meet,” said Edmund; “but He is a gracious Judge, and He knows that
+it is rather than turn from our duty that we are exposed to death.  We
+may have a good hope, sinners as we are in His sight, that He will grant
+us His mercy, and be with us when the time comes.  But it is late,
+Walter, we ought to rest, to fit ourselves for what may come to-morrow.”
+
+Edmund knelt in prayer, his young brother feeling meantime both sorrowful
+and humiliated, loving Edmund and admiring him heartily, following what
+he had said, grieving and rebelling at the fate prepared for him, and at
+the same time sensible of shame at having so far fallen short of all he
+had hoped to feel and to prove himself in the time of trial.  He had been
+of very little use to Edmund; his rash interference had only done harm,
+and added to his mother’s distress; he had been nothing but a boy
+throughout, and instead of being a brave champion, he had been in such an
+agony of terror at an empty threat, that if the rebel captain had been in
+the room, he might almost, at one moment, have betrayed his brother.
+Poor Walter! how he felt what it was never to have learnt self-control!
+
+The brothers arranged themselves for the night without undressing, both
+occupying Walter’s bed.  They were both too anxious and excited to sleep,
+and Walter sat up after a time, listening more calmly to Edmund, who was
+giving him last messages for Prince Rupert and his other friends, should
+Walter ever meet them, and putting much in his charge, as now likely to
+become heir of Woodley Hall and Forest Lea, warning him earnestly to
+protect his mother and sisters, and be loyal to his King, avoiding all
+compromise with the enemies of the Church.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+FOREST LEA that night was a house of sorrow: the mother and two sons were
+prisoners in their separate rooms, and the anxieties for the future were
+dreadful.  Rose longed to see and help her mother, dreading the effect of
+such misery, to be borne in loneliness, by the weak frame, shattered by
+so many previous sufferings.  How was she to undergo all that might yet
+be in store for her—imprisonment, ill-treatment, above all, the loss of
+her eldest son?  For there was little hope for Edmund.  As a friend and
+follower of Prince Rupert, he was a marked man; and besides, Algernon
+Sydney, the commander of the nearest body of forces, was known to be a
+good deal under the influence of the present owner of Woodley, who was
+likely to be glad to see the rightful heir removed from his path.
+
+Rose perceived all this, and her heart failed her, but she had no time to
+pause on the thought.  The children must be soothed and put to bed, and a
+hard matter it was to comfort poor little Lucy, perhaps the most of all
+to be pitied.  She relieved herself by pouring out the whole confession
+to Rose, crying bitterly, while Eleanor hurried on distressing questions
+whether they would take mamma away, and what they would do to Edmund.
+Now it came back to Lucy, “O if I had but minded what mamma said about
+keeping my tongue in order; but now it is too late!”
+
+Rose, after doing her best to comfort them, and listening as near to her
+mother’s door as she dared, to hear if she were weeping, went to her own
+room.  It adjoined Walter’s, though the doors did not open into the same
+passage; and she shut that which closed in the long gallery, where her
+room and that of her sisters were, so that the Roundhead sentry might not
+be able to look down it.
+
+As soon as she was in her own room, she threw herself on her knees, and
+prayed fervently for help and support in their dire distress.  In the
+stillness, as she knelt, she heard an interchange of voices, which she
+knew must be those of her brothers in the next room.  She went nearer to
+that side, and heard them more distinctly.  She was even able to
+distinguish when Edmund spoke, and when Walter broke forth in impatient
+exclamations.  A sudden thought struck her.  She might be able to join in
+the conversation.  There had once been a door between the two rooms, but
+it had long since been stopped up, and the recess of the doorway was
+occupied by a great oaken cupboard, in which were preserved all the old
+stores of rich farthingales of brocade, and velvet mantles, which had
+been heirlooms from one Dame of Mowbray to another, till poverty had
+caused them to be cut up and adapted into garments for the little
+Woodleys.
+
+Rose looked anxiously at the carved doors of the old wardrobe.  Had she
+the key?  She felt in her pouch.  Yes, she had not given it back to her
+mother since taking out the sheets for Mr. Enderby.  She unlocked the
+folding doors, and, pushing aside some of the piles of old garments, saw
+a narrow line of light between the boards, and heard the tones almost as
+clearly as if she was in the same room.
+
+Eager to tell Edmund how near she was, she stretched herself out, almost
+crept between the shelves, leant her head against the board on the
+opposite side, and was about to speak, when she found that it yielded in
+some degree to her touch.  A gleam of hope darted across her, she drew
+back, fetched her light, tried with her hand, and found that the back of
+the cupboard was in fact a door, secured on her side by a wooden bolt,
+which there was no difficulty in undoing.  Another push, and the door
+yielded below, but only so as to show that there must be another
+fastening above.  Rose clambered up the shelves, and sought.  Here it
+was!  It was one of the secret communications that were by no means
+uncommon in old halls in those times of insecurity.  Edmund might yet be
+saved!  Trembling with the excess of her delight in her new-found hope,
+she forced out the second bolt, and pushed again.  The door gave way, the
+light widened upon her, and she saw into the room!  Edmund was lying on
+the bed, Walter sitting at his feet.
+
+Both started as what had seemed to be part of the wainscoted wall opened,
+but Edmund prevented Walter’s exclamation by a sign to be silent, and the
+next moment Rose’s face was seen squeezing between the shelves.
+
+“Edmund!  Can you get through here?” she exclaimed in a low eager
+whisper.
+
+Edmund was immediately by her side, kissing the flushed anxious forehead:
+“My gallant Rose!” he said.
+
+“Oh, thank heaven! thank heaven! now you may be safe!” continued Rose,
+still in the same whisper.  “I never knew this was a door till this
+moment.  Heaven sent the discovery on purpose for your safety!  Hush,
+Walter!  Oh remember the soldier outside!” as Walter was about to break
+out into tumultuous tokens of gladness.  “But can you get through,
+Edmund?  Or perhaps we might move out some of the shelves.”
+
+“That is easily done,” said Edmund; “but I know not.  Even if I should
+escape, it would be only to fall into the hands of some fresh troop of
+enemies, and I cannot go and leave my mother to their mercy.”
+
+“You could do nothing to save her,” said Rose, “and all that they may do
+to her would scarcely hurt her if she thought you were safe.  O Edmund!
+think of her joy in finding you were escaped! the misery of her anxiety
+now!”
+
+“Yet to leave her thus!  You had not told me half the change in her!  I
+know not how to go!” said Edmund.
+
+“You must, you must!” said Rose and Walter, both at once.  And Rose
+added, “Your death would kill her, I do believe!”
+
+“Well, then; but I do not see my way even when I have squeezed between
+your shelves, my little sister.  Every port is beset, and our hiding
+places here can no longer serve me.”
+
+“Listen,” said Rose, “this is what my mother and I had planned before.
+The old clergyman of this parish, Dr. Bathurst, lives in a little house
+at Bosham, with his daughter, and maintains himself by teaching the
+wealthier boys of the town.  Now, if you could ride to him to-night, he
+would be most glad to serve you, both as a cavalier, and for my mother’s
+sake.  He would find some place of concealment, and watch for the time
+when you may attempt to cross the Channel.”
+
+Edmund considered, and made her repeat her explanation.  “Yes, that might
+answer,” he said at length; “I take you for my general, sweet Rose.  But
+how am I to find your good doctor?”
+
+“I think,” said Rose, after considering a little while, “that I had
+better go with you.  I could ride behind you on your horse, if the rebels
+have not found him, and I know the town, and Dr. Bathurst’s lodging.  I
+only cannot think what is to be done about Walter.”
+
+“Never mind me,” said Walter, “they cannot hurt me.”
+
+“Not if you will be prudent, and not provoke them,” said Edmund.
+
+“Oh, I know!” cried Rose; “wear my gown and hood! these men have only
+seen us by candle-light, and will never find you out if you will only be
+careful.”
+
+“I wear girl’s trumpery!” exclaimed Walter, in such indignation that
+Edmund smiled, saying, “If Rose’s wit went with her gown, you might be
+glad of it.”
+
+“She is a good girl enough,” said Walter, “but as to my putting on her
+petticoat trash, that’s all nonsense.”
+
+“Hear me this once, dear Walter,” pleaded Rose.  “If there is a pursuit,
+and they fancy you and Edmund are gone together, it will quite mislead
+them to hear only of a groom riding before a young lady.”
+
+“There is something in that,” said Walter, “but a pretty sort of lady I
+shall make!”
+
+“Then you consent?  Thank you, dear Walter.  Now, will you help me into
+your room, and I’ll put two rolls of clothes to bed, that the captain may
+find his prisoners fast asleep to-morrow morning.”
+
+Walter could hardly help laughing aloud with delight at the notion of the
+disappointment of the rebels.  The next thing was to consider of Edmund’s
+equipment; Rose turned over her ancient hoards in vain, everything that
+was not too remarkable had been used for the needs of the family, and he
+must go in his present blood-stained buff coat, hoping to enter Bosham
+too early in the morning for gossips to be astir.  Then she dressed
+Walter in her own clothes, not without his making many faces of disgust,
+especially when she fastened his long curled love-locks in a knot behind,
+tried to train little curls over the sides of his face, and drew her
+black silk hood forward so as to shade it.  They were nearly of the same
+height and complexion, and Edmund pronounced that Walter made a very
+pretty girl, so like Rose that he should hardly have known them apart,
+which seemed to vex the boy more than all.
+
+There had been a sort of merriment while this was doing, but when it was
+over, and the moment came when the brother and sister must set off, there
+was lingering, sorrow, and reluctance.  Edmund felt severely the leaving
+his mother in the midst of peril, brought upon her for his sake, and his
+one brief sight of his home had made him cling the closer to it, and
+stirred up in double force the affections for mother, brothers, and
+sisters, which, though never extinct, had been comparatively dormant
+while he was engaged in stirring scenes abroad.  Now that he had once
+more seen the gentle loving countenance of his mother, and felt her
+tender, tearful caress, known that noble-minded Rose, and had a glimpse
+of those pretty little sisters, there was such a yearning for them
+through his whole being, that it seemed to him as if he might as well die
+as continue to be cast up and down the world far from them.
+
+Rose felt as if she was abandoning her mother by going from home at such
+a time, when perhaps she should find on her return that she had been
+carried away to prison.  She could not bear to think of being missed on
+such a morning that was likely to ensue, but she well knew that the
+greatest good she could do would be to effect the rescue of her brother,
+and she could not hesitate a moment.  She crowded charge after charge
+upon Walter, with many a message for her mother, promise to return as
+soon as possible, and entreaty for pardon for leaving her in such a
+strait; and Edmund added numerous like parting greetings, with counsel
+and entreaties that she would ask for Colonel Enderby’s interference,
+which might probably avail to save her from further imprisonment and
+sequestration.
+
+“Good-bye, Walter.  In three or four years, if matters are not righted
+before that, perhaps, if you can come to me, I may find employment for
+you in Prince Rupert’s fleet, or the Duke of York’s troop.”
+
+“O Edmund, thanks! that would be—”
+
+Walter had not time to finish, for Rose kissed him, left her love and
+duty to her mother with him, bade him remember he was a lady, and then
+holding Edmund by the hand, both with their shoes off, stole softly down
+the stairs in the dark.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+AFTER pacing up and down Rose’s room till he was tired, Walter sat down
+to rest, for Rose had especially forbidden him to lie down, lest he
+should derange his hair.  He grew very sleepy, and at last, with his arms
+crossed on the table, and his forehead resting on them, fell sound
+asleep, and did not awaken till it was broad daylight, and calls of
+“Rose!  Rose!” were heard outside the locked door.
+
+He was just going to call out that Rose was not here, when he luckily
+recollected that he was Rose, pulled his hood forward, and opened the
+door.
+
+He was instantly surrounded by the three children, who, poor little
+things, feeling extremely forlorn and desolate without their mother, all
+gathered round him, Lucy and Eleanor seizing each a hand, and Charles
+clinging to the skirts of his dress.  He by no means understood this; and
+Rose was so used to it, as to have forgotten he would not like it.  “How
+you crowd?” he exclaimed.
+
+“Mistress Rose,” began Deborah, coming half way up stairs—Lucy let go his
+hand, but Charles instantly grasped it, and he felt as if he could not
+move.  “Don’t be troublesome, children,” said he, trying to shake them
+off; “can’t you come near one without pulling off one’s hands?”
+
+“Mistress!” continued Deborah; but as he forgot he was addressed, and did
+not immediately attend, she exclaimed, “Oh, she won’t even look at me!  I
+thought she had forgiven me.”
+
+“Forgiven you!” said he, starting.  “Stuff and nonsense; what’s all this
+about?  You were a fool, that’s all.”
+
+Deborah stared at this most unwonted address on the part of her young
+lady; and Lucy, a sudden light breaking on her, smiled at Eleanor, and
+held up her finger.  Deborah proceeded with her inquiry: “Mistress Rose,
+shall I take some breakfast to my lady, and the young gentlemen, poor
+souls?”
+
+“Yes, of course,” he answered.  “No, wait a bit.  Only to my mother, I
+mean, just at present.”
+
+“And the soldiers,” continued Deborah—“they’re roaring for breakfast;
+what shall I give them?”
+
+“A halter,” he had almost said, but he caught himself up in time, and
+answered, “What you can—bread, beef, beer—”
+
+“Bread! beef! beer!” almost shrieked Deborah, “when she knows the colonel
+man had the last of our beer; beef we have not seen for two Christmases,
+and bread, there’s barely enough for my lady and the children, till we
+bake.”
+
+“Well, whatever there is, then,” said Walter, anxious to get rid of her.
+
+“I could fry some bacon,” pursued Deborah, “only I don’t know whether to
+cut the new flitch so soon; and there be some cabbages in the garden.
+Should I fry or boil them, Mistress Rose?  The bottom is out of the
+frying-pan, and the tinker is not come this way.”
+
+The tinker was too much for poor Walter’s patience, and flinging away
+from her, he exclaimed, “Mercy on me, woman, you’ll plague the life out
+of me!”
+
+Poor Deborah stood aghast.  “Mistress Rose! what is it? you look wildly,
+I declare, and your hood is all I don’t know how.  Shall I set it right?”
+
+“Mind your own business, and I’ll mind mine!” cried Walter.
+
+“Alack! alack!” lamented Deborah, as she hastily retreated down stairs,
+Charlie running after her.  “Mistress Rose is gone clean demented with
+trouble, and that is the worst that has befallen this poor house yet.”
+
+“There!” said Lucy, as soon as she was gone; “I have held my tongue this
+time.  O Walter, you don’t do it a bit like Rose!”
+
+“Where is Rose!” said Eleanor.  “How did you get out?”
+
+“Well!” said Walter, “it is hard that, whatever we do, women and babies
+are mixed up with it.  I must trust you since you have found me out, but
+mind, Lucy, not one word or look that can lead anyone to guess what I am
+telling you.  Edmund is safe out of this house, Rose is gone with
+him—’tis safest not to say where.”
+
+“But is not she coming back?” asked Eleanor.
+
+“Oh yes, very soon—to-day, or to-morrow perhaps.  So I am Rose till she
+comes back, and little did I guess what I was undertaking!  I never was
+properly thankful till now that I was not born a woman!”
+
+“Oh don’t stride along so, or they will find you out,” exclaimed Eleanor.
+
+“And don’t mince and amble, that is worse!” added Lucy.  “Oh you will
+make me laugh in spite of everything.”
+
+“Pshaw!  I shall shut myself into my—her room, and see nobody!” said
+Walter; “you must keep Charlie off, Lucy, and don’t let Deb drive me
+distracted.  I dare say, if necessary, I can fool it enough for the
+rebels, who never spoke to a gentlewoman in their lives.”
+
+“But only tell me, how did you get out?” said Lucy.
+
+“Little Miss Curiosity must rest without knowing,” said Walter, shutting
+the door in her face.
+
+“Now, don’t be curious, dear Lucy,” said Eleanor, taking her hand.  “We
+shall know in time.”
+
+“I will not, I am not,” said Lucy, magnanimously.  “We will not say one
+single word, Eleanor, and I will not look as if I knew anything.  Come
+down, and we will see if we can do any of Rose’s work, for we must be
+very useful, you know; I wish I might tell poor Deb that Edmund is safe.”
+
+Walter was wise in secluding himself in his disguise.  He remained
+undisturbed for some time, while Deborah’s unassisted genius was exerted
+to provide the rebels with breakfast.  The first interruption was from
+Eleanor, who knocked at the door, beginning to call “Walter,” and then
+hastily turning it into “Rose!”  He opened, and she said, with tears in
+her eyes, “O Walter, Walter, the wicked men are really going to take dear
+mother away to prison.  She is come down with her cloak and hood on, and
+is asking for you—Rose I mean—to wish good-bye.  Will you come?”
+
+“Yes,” said Walter; “and Edmund—”
+
+“They were just sending up to call him,” said Eleanor; “they will find it
+out in—”
+
+Eleanor’s speech was cut short by a tremendous uproar in the next room.
+“Ha!  How?  Where are they?  How now?  Escaped!” with many confused
+exclamations, and much trampling of heavy boots.  Eleanor stood
+frightened, Walter clapped his hands, cut a very unfeminine caper,
+clenched his fist, and shook it at the wall, and exclaimed in an exulting
+whisper, “Ha! ha! my fine fellows!  You may look long enough for him!”
+then ran downstairs at full speed, and entered the hall.  His mother,
+dressed for a journey, stood by the table; a glance of hope and joy
+lighting on her pale features, but her swollen eyelids telling of a night
+of tears and sleeplessness.  Lucy and Charles were by her side, the front
+door open, and the horses were being led up and down before it.  Walter
+and Eleanor hurried up to her, but before they had time to speak, the
+rebel captain dashed into the room, exclaiming, “Thou treacherous woman,
+thou shalt abye this!  Here! mount, pursue, the nearest road to the
+coast.  Smite them rather than let them escape.  The malignant nursling
+of the blood-thirsty Palatine at large again!  Follow, and overtake, I
+say!”
+
+“Which way, sir?” demanded the corporal.
+
+“The nearest to the coast.  Two ride to Chichester, two to Gosport.  Or
+here!  Where is that maiden, young in years, but old in wiles?  Ah,
+there! come hither, maiden.  Wilt thou purchase grace for thy mother by
+telling which way the prisoners are fled?  I know thy wiles, and will
+visit them on thee and on thy father’s house, unless thou dost somewhat
+to merit forgiveness.”
+
+“What do you mean?” demanded Walter, swelling with passion.
+
+“Do not feign, maiden.  Thy heart is rejoicing that the enemies of the
+righteous are escaped.”
+
+“You are not wrong there, sir,” said Walter.
+
+“I tell thee,” said the captain, sternly, “thy joy shall be turned to
+mourning.  Thou shalt see thy mother thrown into a dungeon, and thou and
+thy sisters shall beg your bread, unless—”
+
+Walter could not endure these empty threats, and exclaimed, “You know you
+have no power to do this.  Is this what you call manliness to use such
+threats to a poor girl in your power?  Out upon you!”
+
+“Ha!” said the rebel, considerably surprised at the young lady’s manner
+of replying.  “Is it thus the malignants breed up their daughters, in
+insolence as well as deceit?”
+
+The last word made Walter entirely forget his assumed character, and
+striking at the captain with all his force, he exclaimed, “Take that, for
+giving the lie to a gentleman.”
+
+“How now?” cried the rebel, seizing his arm.  Walter struggled, the hood
+fell back.  “’Tis the boy!  Ha! deceived again!  Here! search the house
+instantly, every corner.  I will not be balked a second time.”
+
+He rushed out of the room, while Walter, rending off the hood, threw
+himself into his mother’s arms, exclaiming, “O mother dear, I bore it as
+long as I could.”
+
+“My dear rash boy!” said she.  “But is he safe?  No, do not say where.
+Thanks, thanks to heaven.  Now I am ready for anything!” and so indeed
+her face proved.
+
+“All owing to Rose, mother; she will soon be back again, she—but I’ll say
+no more, for fear.  He left love—duty—Rose left all sorts of greetings,
+that I will tell you by and by.  Ha! do you hear them lumbering about the
+house?  They fancy he is hid there!  Yes, you are welcome—”
+
+“Hush! hush, Walter! the longer they look the more time he will gain,”
+whispered his mother.  “Oh this is joy indeed!”
+
+“Mamma, I found out Walter, and said not one word,” interposed Lucy; but
+there was no more opportunity for converse permitted, for the captain
+returned, and ordered the whole party into the custody of a soldier, who
+was not to lose sight of any of them till the search was completed.
+
+After putting the whole house in disorder, and seeking in vain through
+the grounds, the captain himself, and one of his men, went off to scour
+the neighbouring country, and examine every village on the coast.
+
+Lady Woodley and her three younger children were in the meantime locked
+into her room, while the soldier left in charge was ordered not to let
+Walter for a moment out of his sight; and both she and Walter were warned
+that they were to be carried the next morning to Chichester, to answer
+for having aided and abetted the escape of the notorious traitor, Edmund
+Woodley.
+
+It was plain that he really meant it, but hope for Edmund made Lady
+Woodley cheerful about all she might have to undergo; and even trust that
+the poor little ones she was obliged to leave behind, might be safe with
+Rose and Deborah.  Her great fear was lest the rebels should search the
+villages before Edmund had time to escape.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+
+CAUTIOUSLY stealing down stairs, Rose first, to spy where the rebels
+might be, the brother and sister reached the kitchen, where Rose provided
+Edmund with a grey cloak, once belonging to a former serving-man, and
+after a short search in an old press, brought out various equipments,
+saddle, belt, and skirt, with which her mother had once been wont to ride
+pillion-fashion.  These they carried to the outhouse where Edmund’s horse
+had been hidden; and when all was set in order by the light of the
+lantern, Rose thought that her brother looked more like a groom and less
+like a cavalier than she had once dared to hope.  They mounted, and on
+they rode, across the downs, through narrow lanes, past farm houses,
+dreading that each yelping dog might rouse his master to report which way
+they were gone.  It was not till day had dawned, and the eastern sky was
+red with the approaching sun, that they came down the narrow lane that
+led to the little town of Bosham, a low flat place, sloping very
+gradually to the water.  Here Rose left her brother, advising him to keep
+close under the hedge, while she softly opened a little gate, and entered
+a garden, long and narrow, with carefully cultivated flowers and
+vegetables.  At the end was a low cottage; and going up to the door, Rose
+knocked gently.  The door was presently cautiously opened by a girl a few
+years older, very plainly dressed, as if busy in household work.  She
+started with surprise, then held out her hand, which Rose pressed
+affectionately, as she said, “Dear Anne, will you tell your father that I
+should be very glad to speak to him?”
+
+“I will call him,” said Anne; “he is just rising.  What is—  But I will
+not delay.”
+
+“Oh no, do not, thank you, I cannot tell you now.”  Rose was left by Anne
+Bathurst standing in a small cleanly-sanded kitchen, with a few wooden
+chairs neatly ranged, some trenchers and pewter dishes against the wall,
+and nothing like decoration except a beau-pot, as Anne would have called
+it, filled with flowers.  Here the good doctor and his daughter lived,
+and tried to eke out a scanty maintenance by teaching a little school.
+
+After what was really a very short interval, but which seemed to Rose a
+very long one, Dr. Bathurst, a thin, spare, middle-aged man, with a small
+black velvet cap over his grey hair, came down the creaking rough wooden
+stairs.  “My dear child,” he asked, “in what can I help you?  Your mother
+is well, I trust.”
+
+“Oh yes, sir!” said Rose; and with reliance and hope, as if she had been
+speaking to a father, she explained their distress and perplexity, then
+stood in silence while the good doctor, a slow thinker, considered.
+
+“First, to hide him,” he said; “he may not be here, for this—the old
+parson’s house—will be the very first spot they will search.  But we will
+try.  You rode, you say, Mistress Rose; where is your horse?”
+
+“Ah! there is one difficulty,” said Rose, “Edmund is holding him now; but
+where shall we leave him?”
+
+“Let us come first to see the young gentleman,” said Dr. Bathurst; and
+they walked together to the lane where Edmund was waiting, the doctor
+explaining by the way that he placed his chief dependence on Harry
+Fletcher, a fisherman, thoroughly brave, trustworthy, and loyal, who had
+at one time been a sailor, and had seen, and been spoken to by King
+Charles himself.  He lived in a little lonely hut about half a mile
+distant; he was unmarried, and would have been quite alone, but that he
+had taken a young nephew, whose father had been killed on the Royalist
+side, to live with him, and to be brought up to his fishing business.
+
+Edmund and Rose both agreed that there could be no better hope of escape
+than in trusting to this good man; and as no time was to be lost, they
+parted for the present, Rose returning to the cottage to spend the day
+with Anne Bathurst, and the clergyman walking with the young cavalier to
+the place where the fisherman lived.  They led the horse with them for
+some distance, then tied him to a gate, a little out of sight, and went
+on to the hut, which stood, built of the shingle of the beach, just
+beyond the highest reach of the tide, with the boat beside it, and the
+nets spread out to dry.
+
+Before there was time to knock, the door was opened by Harry Fletcher
+himself, his open sunburnt face showing honesty and good faith in every
+feature.  He put his hand respectfully to his woollen cap, and said, with
+a sort of smile, as he looked at Edmund, “I see what work you have for
+me, your reverence.”
+
+“You are right, Harry,” said Dr. Bathurst; “this is one of the gentlemen
+that fought for his Majesty at Worcester, and if we cannot get him safe
+out of the country, with heaven’s blessing, he is as good as a dead man.”
+
+“Come in, sir,” said Fletcher, “you had best not be seen.  There’s no one
+here but little Dick, and I’ll answer for him.”
+
+They came in, and Dr. Bathurst explained Edmund’s circumstances.  The
+honest fellow looked a little perplexed, but after a moment said, “Well,
+I’ll do what in me lies, sir; but ’tis a long way across.”
+
+“I should tell you, my good man,” said Edmund, “that I have nothing to
+repay you with for all the trouble and danger to which you may be
+exposing yourself on my behalf.  Nothing but my horse, which would only
+be bringing suspicion on you.”
+
+“As to that, your honour,” replied Harry, “I’d never think of waiting for
+pay in a matter of life and death.  I am glad if I can help off a
+gentleman that has been on the King’s side.”
+
+So the plan was arranged.  Edmund was to be disguised in the fisherman’s
+clothes, spend the day at his hut, and at night, if the weather served,
+Fletcher would row him out to sea, assisted by the little boy, in hopes
+of falling in with a French vessel; or, if not, they must pull across to
+Havre or Dieppe.  The doctor promised to bring Rose at ten o’clock to
+meet him on the beach and bid him farewell.  As to the horse, Fletcher
+sent the little boy to turn it out on the neighbouring down, and hide the
+saddle.
+
+All this arranged, Dr. Bathurst returned to his school; and Rose, dressed
+in Anne’s plainest clothes, rested on her bed as long as her anxiety
+would allow her, then came down and helped in her household work.  It was
+well that Rose was thus employed, for in the afternoon they had a great
+fright.  Two soldiers came knocking violently at the door, exhibiting an
+order to search for the escaped prisoner.  Rose recognised two of the
+party who had been at Forest Lea; but happily they had not seen enough of
+her to know her in the coarse blue stuff petticoat that she now wore.
+One of them asked who she was, and Anne readily replied, “Oh, a friend
+who is helping me;” after which they paid her no further attention.
+
+Her anxiety for Edmund was of course at its height during this search,
+and it was not till the evening that she could gain any intelligence.
+Edmund’s danger had indeed been great.  Harry Fletcher saw the rebels
+coming in time to prepare.  He advised his guest not to remain in the
+house, as if he wished to avoid observation, but to come out, as if
+afraid of nothing.  His cavalier dress had been carefully destroyed or
+concealed; he wore the fisherman’s rough clothes, and had even sacrificed
+his long dark hair, covering his head with one of Harry’s red woollen
+caps.  He was altogether so different in appearance from what he had been
+yesterday, that he ventured forward, and leant whistling against the side
+of the boat, while Harry parleyed with the soldiers.  Perhaps they
+suspected Harry a little, for they insisted on searching his hut, and as
+they were coming out, one of them began to tell him of the penalties that
+fishermen would incur by favouring the escape of the Royalists.  Harry
+did not lose countenance, but went on hammering at his boat as if he
+cared not at all, till observing that one of the soldiers was looking
+hard at Edmund, he called out, “I say, Ned, what’s the use of loitering
+there, listening to what’s no concern of yours?  Fetch the oar out of yon
+shed.  I never lit on such a lazy comrade in my life.”
+
+This seemed to turn away all suspicion, the soldiers left them, and no
+further mischance occurred.  At night, just as the young moon was
+setting, the boat was brought out, and Harry, with little Dick and a
+comrade whom he engaged could be trusted, prepared their oars.  At the
+same time, Dr. Bathurst and Rose came silently to meet them along the
+shingly beach.  Rose hardly knew her brother in his fisherman’s garb.
+The time was short, and their hearts were too full for many words, as
+that little party stood together in the light of the crescent moon, the
+sea sounding with a low constant ripple, spread out in the grey hazy blue
+distance, and here and there the crests of the nearer waves swelling up
+and catching the moonlight.
+
+Edmund and his sister held their hands tightly clasped, loving each
+other, if possible, better than ever.  He now and then repeated some
+loving greeting which she was to bear home; and she tried to restrain her
+tears, at the separation she was forced to rejoice in, a parting which
+gave no augury of meeting again, the renewal of an exile from which there
+was no present hope of return.  Harry looked at Dr. Bathurst to intimate
+it was time to be gone.  The clergyman came close to the brother and
+sister, and instead of speaking his own words, used these:—
+
+“Turn our captivity, O LORD, as the rivers in the south.”
+
+“They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.”
+
+“He that now goeth on his way weeping, and beareth forth good seed, shall
+doubtless come again with joy, and bring his sheaves with him.”
+
+“Amen,” answered Edmund and Rose; and they loosened their hold of each
+other with hearts less sore.  Then Edmund bared his head, and knelt down,
+and the good clergyman called down a blessing from heaven on him; Harry,
+the faithful man who was going to risk himself for him, did the same, and
+received the same blessing.  There were no more words, the boat pushed
+off, and the splash of the oars resounded regularly.
+
+Rose’s tears came thick, fast, blinding, and she sat down on a block of
+wood and wept long and bitterly; then she rose up, and in answer to Dr.
+Bathurst’s cheering words, she said, “Yes, I do thank GOD with all my
+heart!”
+
+That night Rose slept at Dr. Bathurst’s, and early in the morning was
+rejoiced by the tidings which Harry Fletcher sent little Dick to carry to
+the cottage.  The voyage had been prosperous, they had fallen in with a
+French vessel, and Mr. Edmund Woodley had been safely received on board.
+
+She was very anxious to return home; and as it was Saturday, and
+therefore a holiday at the school, Dr. Bathurst undertook to go with her
+and spend the Sunday at Forest Lea.  One of the farmers of Bosham helped
+them some little way with his harvest cart, but the rest of the journey
+had to be performed on foot.  It was not till noon that they came out
+upon the high road between Chichester and Forest Lea; and they had not
+been upon it more than ten minutes, before the sound of horses’ tread was
+heard, as if coming from Chichester.  Looking round, they saw a gentleman
+riding fast, followed by a soldier also on horseback.  There was
+something in his air that Rose recognised, and as he came nearer she
+perceived it was Sylvester Enderby.  He was much amazed, when, at the
+same moment, he perceived it was Mistress Rose Woodley, and stopping his
+horse, and taking off his hat, with great respect both towards her and
+the clergyman, he hoped all the family were well in health.
+
+“Yes, yes, I believe so, thank you,” replied Rose, looking anxiously at
+him.
+
+“I am on my way to Forest Lea,” he said.  “I bring the order my father
+hoped to obtain from General Cromwell.”
+
+“The Protection!  Oh, thanks! ten thousand thanks!” cried Rose.  “Oh! it
+may save—But hasten on, pray hasten on, sir.  The soldiers are already at
+home; I feared she might be already a prisoner at Chichester.  Pray go on
+and restrain them by your authority.  Don’t ask me to explain—you will
+understand all when you are there.”
+
+She prevailed on him to go on, while she, with Dr. Bathurst, more slowly
+proceeded up the chalky road which led to the summit of the green hill or
+down, covered with short grass, which commanded a view of all the country
+round, and whence they would turn off upon the down leading to Forest
+Lea.  Just as they came to the top, Rose cast an anxious glance in the
+direction of her home, and gave a little cry.  Sylvester Enderby and his
+attendant could be seen speeding down the green slope of the hill; but at
+some distance further on, was a little troop of horsemen, coming from the
+direction of Forest Lea, the sun now and then flashing on a steel cap or
+on the point of a pike.  Fast rode on Sylvester, nearer and nearer came
+the troop; Rose almost fancied she could discern on one of the horses
+something muffled in black that could be no other than her mother.  How
+she longed for wings to fly to meet her and cheer her heart with the
+assurance of Edmund’s safety!  How she longed to be on Sylvester’s horse,
+as she saw the distance between him and the party fast diminishing!  At
+length he was close to it, he had mingled with it; and at the same time
+Dr. Bathurst and Rose had to mount a slightly rising ground, which for a
+time entirely obscured their view.  When at length they had reached the
+summit of this eminence, the party were standing still, as if in parley;
+there was presently a movement, a parting, Rose clasped her hands in
+earnestness.  The main body continued their course to Chichester, a few
+remained stationary.  How many?  One, two, three—yes, four, or was it
+five? and among them the black figure she had watched so anxiously!  “She
+is safe, she is safe!” cried Rose.  “Oh, GOD has been so very good to us,
+I wish I could thank Him enough!”
+
+Leaving the smoother slope to avoid encountering the baffled rebels, Dr.
+Bathurst and Rose descended the steep, the good man exerting himself that
+her eagerness might not be disappointed.  Down they went, sliding on the
+slippery green banks, helping themselves with the doctor’s trusty staff,
+taking a short run at the lowest and steepest part of each, creeping down
+the rude steps, or rather foot-holes, cut out by the shepherd-boys in the
+more perpendicular descents, and fairly sliding or running down the
+shorter ones.  They saw their friends waiting for them; and a lesser
+figure than the rest hastened towards them, scaling the steep slopes with
+a good will, precipitancy, and wild hurrahs of exultation, that would not
+let them doubt it was Walter, before they could see his form distinctly,
+or hear his words.  Rose ran headlong down the last green slope, and was
+saved from falling by fairly rushing into his arms.
+
+“Is he safe?  I need not ask!” exclaimed Walter.
+
+“Safe! in a French vessel.  And mother?”
+
+“Safe! well! happy!  You saw, you heard!  Hurrah!  The crop-ears are sent
+to the right about; the captain has done mother and me the favour to
+forgive us, as a Christian, all that has passed, he says.  We are all
+going home again as fast as we can, young Enderby and all, to chase out
+the two rogues that are quartered on us to afflict poor Deb and the
+little ones.”
+
+By this time Dr. Bathurst had descended, more cautiously, and Walter went
+to greet him, and repeat his news.  Together they proceeded to meet the
+rest; and who can tell the tearful happiness when Rose and her mother
+were once more pressed in each other’s arms!
+
+“My noble girl! under Providence you have saved him!” whispered Lady
+Woodley.
+
+The next evening, in secrecy, with the shutters shut, and the light
+screened, the true pastor of Forest Lea gathered the faithful ones of his
+flock for a service in the old hall.  There knelt many a humble, loyal,
+trustful peasant; there was the widowed Dame Ewins, trying to be
+comforted, as they told her she ought; there was the lady herself, at
+once sorrowful and yet earnestly thankful; there was Sylvester Enderby,
+hearing and following the prayers he had been used to in his early
+childhood, with a growing feeling that here lay the right and the truth;
+there was Deborah, weeping, grieving over her own fault, and almost
+heart-broken at the failure of him on whom she had set her warm
+affections, yet perhaps in a way made wiser, and taught to trust no
+longer to a broken reed, but to look for better things; there were Walter
+and Lucy, both humbled and subdued, repenting in earnest of the
+misbehaviour each of them had been guilty of.  Walter did not show his
+contrition much in manner, but it was real, and he proved it by many a
+struggle with his self-willed overbearing temper.  It was a real
+resolution that he took now, and in a spirit of humility, which made him
+glad to pray that what was past might be forgiven, and that he might be
+helped for the future.  That was the first time Walter had ever kept up
+his attention through the whole service, but it all came home to him now.
+
+Each of that little congregation had their own sorrow of heart, their own
+prayer and thanksgiving, to pour out in secret; but all could join in one
+thank-offering for the safety of the heir of that house; all joined in
+one prayer for the rescue of their hunted King, and for the restoration
+of their oppressed and afflicted Church.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+Nine years had passed away, and Forest Lea still stood among the stumps
+of its cut-down trees; but one fair long day in early June there was much
+that was changed in its aspect.  The park was carefully mown and swept;
+the shrubs were trained back; the broken windows were repaired; and
+within the hall the appearance of everything was still more strikingly
+cheerful, as the setting sun looked smilingly in at the western window.
+Green boughs filled the hearth, and were suspended round the walls; fresh
+branches of young oak leaves, tasselled with the pale green catkins; the
+helmets and gauntlets hanging on the wall were each adorned with a spray,
+and polished to the brightest; the chairs and benches were ranged round
+the long table, covered with a spotless cloth, and bearing in the middle
+a large bowl filled with oak boughs, roses, lilac, honey-suckle, and all
+the pride of the garden.
+
+At the head of the table sat, less pale, and her face beaming with deep,
+quiet, heartfelt joy, Lady Woodley herself; and near her were Dr.
+Bathurst and his happy daughter, who in a few days more were to resume
+their abode in his own parsonage.  Opposite to her was a dark soldierly
+sun-burnt man, on whose countenance toil, weather, and privation had set
+their traces, but whose every tone and smile told of the ecstasy of being
+once more at home.
+
+Merry faces were at each side of the table; Walter, grown up into a tall
+noble-looking youth of two-and-twenty, particularly courteous and
+gracious in demeanour, and most affectionate to his mother; Charles, a
+gentle sedate boy of fifteen, so much given to books and gravity, that
+his sisters called him their little scholar; Rose, with the same sweet
+thoughtful face, active step, and helpful hand, that she had always
+possessed, but very pale, and more pensive and grave than became a time
+of rejoicing, as if the cares and toils of her youth had taken away her
+light heart, and had given her a soft subdued melancholy that was always
+the same.  She was cheerful when others were cast down and overwhelmed;
+but when they were gay, she, though not sorrowful, seemed almost grave,
+in spite of her sweet smiles and ready sympathy.  Yet Rose was very
+happy, no less happy than Eleanor, with her fair, lovely, laughing face,
+or—
+
+“But where is Lucy?” Edmund asked, as he saw her chair vacant.
+
+“Lucy?” said Rose; “she will come in a moment.  She is going to bring in
+the dish you especially ordered, and which Deborah wonders at.”
+
+“Good, faithful Deborah!” said Edmund.  “Did she never find a second
+love?”
+
+“Oh no, never,” said Eleanor.  “She says she has seen enough of men in
+her time.”
+
+“She is grown sharper than ever,” said Walter, “now she is Mistress
+Housekeeper Deborah; I shall pity the poor maidens under her.”
+
+“She will always be kind in the main,” rejoined Rose.
+
+“And did you ever hear what became of that precious sweetheart of hers?”
+asked Edmund.
+
+“Hanged for sheep stealing,” replied Walter, “according to the report of
+Sylvester Enderby.  But hush, for enter—”
+
+There entered Lucy, smiling and blushing, her dark hair decorated with
+the spray of oak, and her hands supporting a great pewter dish, in which
+stood a noble pie, of pale-brown, well-baked crust, garnished with many a
+pair of little claws, showing what were the contents.  She set it down in
+the middle of the table, just opposite to Walter.  The grace was said,
+the supper began, and great was the merriment when Walter, raising a
+whole pigeon on his fork, begged to know if Rose had appetite enough for
+it, and if she still possessed the spirit of a wolf.  “And,” said he, as
+they finished, “now Rose will never gainsay me more when I sing—
+
+    “For forty years our Royal throne
+    Has been his father’s and his own,
+    Nor is there anyone but he
+    With right can there a sharer be.
+       For who better may
+       The right sceptre sway,
+    Than he whose right it is to reign?
+       Then look for no peace,
+       For the war will never cease
+    Till the King enjoys his own again.
+
+    “Then far upon the distant hill
+    My hope has cast her anchor still,
+    Until I saw the peaceful dove
+    Bring home the branch I dearly love.
+       And there did I wait
+       Till the waters abate
+    That did surround my swimming brain;
+       For rejoice could never I
+       Till I heard the joyful cry
+    That the King enjoys his own again!”
+
+
+
+
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+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" />
+<title>The Pigeon Pie, by Charlotte M. Yonge</title>
+    <style type="text/css">
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Pigeon Pie, by Charlotte M. Yonge
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions 
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at 
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Pigeon Pie
+
+
+Author: Charlotte M. Yonge
+
+
+
+Release Date: January 10, 2015  [eBook #2606]
+[This file was first posted on May 16, 2000]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PIGEON PIE***
+</pre>
+<p>Transcribed from the 1905 A. R. Mowbray &amp; Co. edition by
+David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/coverb.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Book cover"
+title=
+"Book cover"
+ src="images/covers.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h1>THE PIGEON PIE</h1>
+
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br
+/>
+CHARLOTTE M. YONGE<br />
+<i>Author of</i> &ldquo;<i>The Heir of Redclyffe</i>&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">NEW
+EDITION</span></p>
+
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: center">A. R. MOWBRAY &amp; CO. <span
+class="smcap">Limited</span><br />
+<span class="smcap">Oxford</span>: 106, S. Aldate&rsquo;s
+Street<br />
+<span class="smcap">London</span>: 34, Great Castle Street,
+Oxford Circus, W<br />
+1905</p>
+<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
+<table>
+<tr>
+<td><p>&nbsp;</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span
+class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Chapter</span> I.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page1">1</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Chapter</span> II.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page19">19</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Chapter</span> III.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page34">34</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Chapter</span> IV.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page47">47</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Chapter</span> V.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page62">62</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Chapter</span> VI.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page77">77</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Chapter</span> VII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page97">97</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Chapter</span> VIII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page107">107</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p><span class="smcap">Chapter</span> IX.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page117">117</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>CHAPTER
+I.</h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">Early</span> in the September of the year
+1651 the afternoon sun was shining pleasantly into the
+dining-hall of Forest Lea House.&nbsp; The sunshine came through
+a large bay-window, glazed in diamonds, and with long branches of
+a vine trailing across it, but in parts the glass had been broken
+and had never been mended.&nbsp; The walls were wainscoted with
+dark oak, as well as the floor, which shone bright with rubbing,
+and stag&rsquo;s antlers projected from them, on which hung a
+sword in its sheath, one or two odd gauntlets, an old-fashioned
+helmet, a gun, some bows and arrows, and two of the broad shady
+hats then in use, one with a drooping black feather, the other
+plainer and a good deal the worse for wear, both of a small size,
+as if belonging to a young boy.</p>
+<p>An oaken screen crossed the hall, close to the front door, and
+there was a large open fireplace, a settle on each side under the
+great yawning chimney, where however at present no fire was
+burning.&nbsp; Before it was a long dining-table covered towards
+the upper end with a delicately white cloth, on which stood,
+however, a few trenchers, plain drinking-horns, and a large
+old-fashioned black-jack, that is to say, a pitcher formed of
+leather.&nbsp; An armchair was at the head of the table, and
+heavy oaken benches along the side.</p>
+<p>A little boy of six years old sat astride on the end of one of
+the benches, round which he had thrown a bridle of plaited
+rushes, and, with a switch in his other hand, was springing
+himself up and down, calling out, &ldquo;Come, Eleanor, come,
+Lucy; come and ride on a pillion behind me to Worcester, to see
+King Charles and brother Edmund.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll come, I am coming!&rdquo; cried Eleanor, a
+little girl about a year older, her hair put tightly away under a
+plain round cap, and she was soon perched sideways behind her
+brother.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, fie, Mistress Eleanor; why, you would not ride to
+the wars?&rdquo;&nbsp; This was said by a woman of about four or
+five-and-twenty, tall, thin and spare, with a high colour, sharp
+black eyes, and a waist which the long stiff stays, laced in
+front, had pinched in till it was not much bigger than a
+wasp&rsquo;s, while her quilted green petticoat, standing out
+full below it, showed a very trim pair of ankles encased in
+scarlet stockings, and a pair of bony red arms came forth from
+the full short sleeves of a sort of white jacket, gathered in at
+the waist.&nbsp; She was clattering backwards and forwards,
+removing the dinner things, and talking to the children as she
+did so in a sharp shrill tone: &ldquo;Such a racket as you make,
+to be sure, and how you can have the heart to do so I can&rsquo;t
+guess, not I, considering what may be doing this very
+moment.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, but Walter says they will all come back again,
+brother Edmund, and Diggory, and all,&rdquo; said little Eleanor,
+&ldquo;and then we shall be merry.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Lucy, who, though two years older,
+wore the same prim round cap and long frock as her little sister,
+&ldquo;then we shall have Edmund here again.&nbsp; You
+can&rsquo;t remember him at all, Eleanor and Charlie, for we have
+not seen him these six years!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Deborah, the maid.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ah!
+these be weary wars, what won&rsquo;t let a gentleman live at
+home in peace, nor his poor servants, who have no call to
+them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For shame, Deb!&rdquo; cried Lucy; &ldquo;are not you
+the King&rsquo;s own subject?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Deborah maundered on, &ldquo;It is all very well for
+gentlefolks, but now it had all got quiet again, &rsquo;tis
+mortal hard it should be stirred up afresh, and a poor soul
+marched off, he don&rsquo;t know where, to fight with he
+don&rsquo;t know who, for he don&rsquo;t know what.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He ought to know what!&rdquo; exclaimed Lucy, growing
+very angry.&nbsp; &ldquo;I tell you, Deb, I only wish I was a
+man!&nbsp; I would take the great two-handled sword, and fight in
+the very front rank for our Church and our King!&nbsp; You would
+soon see what a brave cavalier&rsquo;s daughter&mdash;son I
+mean,&rdquo; said Lucy, getting into a puzzle, &ldquo;could
+do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The more eager Lucy grew, the more unhappy Deborah was, and
+putting her apron to her eyes, she said in a dismal voice,
+&ldquo;Ah! &rsquo;tis little poor Diggory wots of kings and
+cavaliers!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>What Lucy&rsquo;s indignation would have led her to say next
+can never be known, for at this moment in bounced a tall slim boy
+of thirteen, his long curling locks streaming tangled behind
+him.&nbsp; &ldquo;Hollo!&rdquo; he shouted, &ldquo;what is the
+matter now?&nbsp; Dainty Deborah in the dumps?&nbsp; Cheer up, my
+lass!&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll warrant that doughty Diggory is discreet
+enough to encounter no more bullets than he can reasonably
+avoid!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This made Deborah throw down her apron and reply, with a toss
+of the head, &ldquo;None of your nonsense, Master Walter, unless
+you would have me speak to my lady.&nbsp; Cry for Diggory,
+indeed!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She was really crying for him, Walter,&rdquo;
+interposed Lucy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mistress Lucy!&rdquo; exclaimed Deborah, angrily,
+&ldquo;the life I lead among you is enough&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not enough to teach you good temper,&rdquo; said
+Walter.&nbsp; &ldquo;Do you want a little more?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish someone was here to teach you good
+manners,&rdquo; answered the tormented Deborah.&nbsp; &ldquo;As
+if it was not enough for one poor girl to have the work of ten
+servants on her hands, here must you be mock, mock, jeer, jeer,
+worrit, worrit, all day long!&nbsp; I had rather be a mark for
+all the musketeers in the Parliamentary army.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This Deborah always said when she was out of temper, and it
+therefore made Walter and Lucy laugh the more; but in the midst
+of their merriment in came a girl of sixteen or seventeen, tall
+and graceful.&nbsp; Her head was bare, her hair fastened in a
+knot behind, and in little curls round her face; she had an open
+bodice of green silk, and a white dress under it, very plain and
+neat; her step was quick and active, but her large dark eyes had
+a grave thoughtful look, as if she was one who would naturally
+have loved to sit still and think, better than to bustle about
+and be busy.&nbsp; Eleanor ran up to her at once, complaining
+that Walter was teasing Deborah shamefully.&nbsp; She was going
+to speak, but Deborah cut her short.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No Mistress Rose, I will not have even you excuse him,
+I&rsquo;ll go and tell my lady how a poor faithful wench is
+served;&rdquo; and away she flounced, followed by Rose.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will she tell mamma?&rdquo; asked little Charlie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh no, Rose will pacify her,&rdquo; said Lucy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am sure I wish she would tell,&rdquo; said Eleanor, a
+much graver little person than Lucy; &ldquo;Walter is too
+bad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is only to save Diggory the trouble of taking a
+crabstick to her when he returns from the wars,&rdquo; said
+Walter.&nbsp; &ldquo;Heigh ho!&rdquo; and he threw himself on the
+bench, and drummed on the table.&nbsp; &ldquo;I wish I was
+there!&nbsp; I wonder what is doing at Worcester this
+minute!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When will brother Edmund come?&rdquo; asked Charlie for
+about the hundredth time.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When the battle is fought, and the battle is won, and
+King Charles enjoys his own again!&nbsp; Hurrah!&rdquo; shouted
+Walter, jumping up, and beginning to sing&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;For forty years our royal throne<br />
+Has been his father&rsquo;s and his own.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>Lucy joined in with&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Nor is there anyone but he<br />
+With right can there a sharer be.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&ldquo;How can you make such a noise?&rdquo; said Eleanor,
+stopping her ears, by which she provoked Walter to go on roaring
+into them, while he pulled down her hand&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;For who better may<br />
+The right sceptre sway<br />
+Than he whose right it is to reign;<br />
+Then look for no peace,<br />
+For the war will never cease<br />
+Till the King enjoys his own again.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>As he came to the last line, Rose returning exclaimed,
+&ldquo;Oh, hush, Lucy.&nbsp; Pray don&rsquo;t, Walter!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ha!&nbsp; Rose turned Roundhead?&rdquo; cried
+Walter.&nbsp; &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t deserve to hear the good
+news from Worcester.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O, what?&rdquo; cried the girls, eagerly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When it comes,&rdquo; said Walter, delighted to have
+taken in Rose herself; but Rose, going up to him gently, implored
+him to be quiet, and listen to her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All this noisy rejoicing grieves our mother,&rdquo;
+said she.&nbsp; &ldquo;If you could but have seen her yesterday
+evening, when she heard your loyal songs.&nbsp; She sighed, and
+said, &lsquo;Poor fellow, how high his hopes are!&rsquo; and then
+she talked of our father and that evening before the fight at
+Naseby.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Walter looked grave and said, &ldquo;I remember!&nbsp; My
+father lifted me on the table to drink King Charles&rsquo;s
+health, and Prince Rupert&mdash;I remember his scarlet mantle and
+white plume&mdash;patted my head, and called me his little
+cavalier.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We sat apart with mother,&rdquo; said Rose, &ldquo;and
+heard the loud cheers and songs till we were half frightened at
+the noise.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t recollect all that,&rdquo; said Lucy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At least you ought not to forget how our dear father
+came in with Edmund, and kissed us, and bade mother keep up a
+good heart.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you remember that, Lucy?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do,&rdquo; said Walter; &ldquo;it was the last time
+we ever saw him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And Walter sat on the table, resting one foot on the bench,
+while the other dangled down, and leaning his elbow on his knee
+and his head on his hand; Rose sat on the bench close by him,
+with Charlie on her lap, and the two little girls pressing close
+against her, all earnest to hear from her the story of the great
+fight of Naseby, where they had all been in a farmhouse about a
+mile from the field of battle.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t forget how the cannon roared all
+day,&rdquo; said Lucy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! that dismal day!&rdquo; said Rose.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Then by came our troopers, blood-stained and disorderly,
+riding so fast that scarcely one waited to tell my mother that
+the day was lost and she had better fly.&nbsp; But not a step did
+she stir from the gate, where she stood with you, Charlie, in her
+arms; she only asked of each as he passed if he had seen my
+father or Edmund, and ever her cheek grew whiter and
+whiter.&nbsp; At last came a Parliament officer on
+horseback&mdash;it was Mr. Enderby, who had been a college mate
+of my father&rsquo;s, and he told us that my dear father was
+wounded, and had sent him to fetch her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But I never knew where Edmund was then,&rdquo; said
+Eleanor.&nbsp; &ldquo;No one ever told me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Edmund lifted up my father when he fell,&rdquo; said
+Walter, &ldquo;and was trying to bind his wound; but when Colonel
+Enderby&rsquo;s troop was close upon them, my father charged him
+upon his duty to fly, saying that he should fall into the hands
+of an old friend, and it was Edmund&rsquo;s duty to save himself
+to fight for the King another time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So Edmund followed Prince Rupert?&rdquo; said
+Eleanor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Lucy; &ldquo;you know my father once
+saved Prince Rupert&rsquo;s life in the skirmish where his horse
+was killed, so for his sake the Prince made Edmund his page, and
+has had him with him in all his voyages and wanderings.&nbsp; But
+go on about our father, Rose.&nbsp; Did we go to see
+him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No; Mr. Enderby said he was too far off, so he left a
+trooper to guard us, and my mother only took her little babe with
+her.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you remember, Walter, how Eleanor screamed
+after her, as she rode away on the colonel&rsquo;s horse; and how
+we could not comfort the little ones, till they had cried
+themselves to sleep, poor little things?&nbsp; And in the morning
+she came back, and told us our dear father was dead!&nbsp; O
+Walter, how can we look back to that day, and rejoice in a new
+war?&nbsp; How can you wonder her heart should sink at sounds of
+joy which have so often ended in tears?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Walter twisted about and muttered, but he could not resist his
+sister&rsquo;s earnest face and tearful eyes, and said something
+about not making so much noise in the house.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s my own dear brother,&rdquo; said
+Rose.&nbsp; &ldquo;And you won&rsquo;t tease Deborah?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is too much, Rose.&nbsp; It is all the sport I
+have, to see the faces she makes when I plague her about
+Diggory.&nbsp; Besides, it serves her right for having such a
+temper.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She has not a good temper, poor thing!&rdquo; said
+Rose; &ldquo;but if you would only think how true and honest she
+is, how hard she toils, and how ill she fares, and yet how
+steadily she holds to us, you would surely not plague and torment
+her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Rose was interrupted by a great outcry, and in rushed Deborah,
+screaming out, &ldquo;Lack-a-day!&nbsp; Mistress Rose!&nbsp; O
+Master Walter! what will become of us?&nbsp; The fight is lost,
+the King fled, and a whole regiment of red-coats burning and
+plundering the whole country.&nbsp; Our throats will be cut,
+every one of them!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll have a chance of being a mark for all the
+musketeers in the Parliament army,&rdquo; said Walter, who even
+then could not miss a piece of mischief.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Joking now, Master Walter!&rdquo; cried Deborah, very
+much shocked.&nbsp; &ldquo;That is what I call downright
+sinful.&nbsp; I hope you&rsquo;ll be made a mark of yourself,
+that I do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The children were running off to tell their mother, when Rose
+stopped them, and desired to know how Deborah had heard the
+tidings.&nbsp; It was from two little children from the village
+who had come to bring a present of some pigeons to my lady.&nbsp;
+Rose went herself to examine the children, but she could only
+learn that a packman had come into the village and brought the
+report that the King had been defeated, and had fled from the
+field.&nbsp; They knew no more, and Walter pronouncing it to be
+all a cock-and-bull story of some rascally prick-eared pedlar,
+declared he would go down to the village and enquire into the
+rights of it.</p>
+<p>These were the saddest times of English history, when the
+wrong cause had been permitted for a time to triumph, and the
+true and rightful side was persecuted; and among those who
+endured affliction for the sake of their Church and their King,
+none suffered more, or more patiently, than Lady Woodley, or, as
+she was called in the old English fashion, Dame Mary Woodley, of
+Forest Lea.</p>
+<p>When first the war broke out she was living happily in her
+pleasant home with her husband and children; but when King
+Charles raised his standard at Nottingham, all this comfort and
+happiness had to be given up.&nbsp; Sir Walter Woodley joined the
+royal army, and it soon became unsafe for his wife and children
+to remain at home, so that they were forced to go about with him,
+and suffer all the hardships of the sieges and battles.&nbsp;
+Lady Woodley was never strong, and her health was very much hurt
+by all she went through; she was almost always unwell, and if
+Rose, though then quite a child, had not shown care and sense
+beyond her years for the little ones, it would be hard to say
+what would have become of them.</p>
+<p>Yet all she endured while dragging about her little babies
+through the country, with bad or insufficient food, uncomfortable
+lodgings, pain, weariness and anxiety, would have been as nothing
+but for the heavy sorrows that came upon her also.&nbsp; First
+she lost her only brother, Edmund Mowbray, and in the battle of
+Naseby her husband was killed; besides which there were the
+sorrows of the whole nation in seeing the King sold, insulted,
+misused, and finally slain, by his own subjects.&nbsp; After Sir
+Walter&rsquo;s death, Lady Woodley went home with her five
+younger children to her father&rsquo;s house at Forest Lea; for
+her husband&rsquo;s estate, Edmund&rsquo;s own inheritance, had
+been seized and sequestrated by the rebels.&nbsp; She was the
+heiress of Forest Lea since the loss of her brother, but the old
+Mr. Mowbray, her father, had given almost all his wealth for the
+royal cause, and had been oppressed by the exactions of the
+rebels, so that he had nothing to leave his daughter but the
+desolate old house and a few bare acres of land.&nbsp; For the
+shelter, however, Lady Woodley was very thankful; and there she
+lived with her children and a faithful servant, Deborah, whose
+family had always served the Mowbrays, and who would not desert
+their daughter now.</p>
+<p>The neighbours in the village loved, and were sorry for, their
+lady, and used to send her little presents; there was a large
+garden in which Diggory Stokes, who had also served her father,
+raised vegetables for her use; the cow wandered in the deserted
+park, and so they contrived to find food; while all the work of
+the house was done by Rose and Deborah.&nbsp; Rose was her
+mother&rsquo;s great comfort, nursing her, cheering her, taking
+care of the little ones, teaching them, working for them, and
+making light of all her exertions.&nbsp; Everyone in the village
+loved Rose Woodley, for everyone had in some way been helped or
+cheered by her.&nbsp; Her mother was only sometimes afraid she
+worked too hard, and would try her strength too much; but she was
+always bright and cheerful, and when the day&rsquo;s work was
+done no one was more gay and lively and ready for play with the
+little ones.</p>
+<p>Rose had more trial than anyone knew with Deborah.&nbsp;
+Deborah was as faithful as possible, and bore a great deal for
+the sake of her mistress, worked hard day and night, had little
+to eat and no wages, yet lived on with them rather than forsake
+her dear lady and the children.&nbsp; One thing, however, Deborah
+would not do, and that was to learn to rule her tongue and her
+temper.&nbsp; She did not know, nor do many excellent servants,
+how much trial and discomfort she gave to those she loved so
+earnestly, by her constant bursting out into hasty words whenever
+she was vexed&mdash;her grumbling about whatever she disliked,
+and her ill-judged scolding of the children.&nbsp; Servants in
+those days were allowed to speak more freely to their masters and
+mistresses than at present, so that Deborah had more opportunity
+of making such speeches, and it was Rose&rsquo;s continual work
+to try to keep her temper from being fretted, or Lady Woodley
+from being teased with her complaints.&nbsp; Rose was very
+forbearing, and but for this there would have been little peace
+in the house.</p>
+<p>Walter was thirteen, an age when it is not easy to keep boys
+in order, unless they will do so for themselves.&nbsp; Though a
+brave generous boy, he was often unruly and inconsiderate, apt
+not to obey, and to do what he knew to be unkind or wrong, just
+for the sake of present amusement.&nbsp; He was thus his
+mother&rsquo;s great anxiety, for she knew that she was not fit
+either to teach or to restrain him, and she feared that his
+present wild disobedient ways might hurt his character for ever,
+and lead to dispositions which would in time swallow up all the
+good about him, and make him what he would now tremble to think
+of.</p>
+<p>She used to talk of her anxieties to Doctor Bathurst, the good
+old clergyman who had been driven away from his parish, but used
+to come in secret to help, teach, and use his ministry for the
+faithful ones of his flock.&nbsp; He would tell her that while
+she did her best for her son, she must trust the rest to his
+<span class="smcap">Father</span> above, and she might do so
+hopefully, since it had been in His own cause that the boy had
+been made fatherless.&nbsp; Then he would speak to Walter,
+showing him how wrong and how cruel were his overbearing,
+disobedient ways.&nbsp; Walter was grieved, and resolved to
+improve and become steadier, that he might be a comfort and
+blessing to his mother; but in his love of fun and mischief he
+was apt to forget himself, and then drove away what might have
+been in time repentance and improvement, by fancying he did no
+harm.&nbsp; Teasing Deborah served her right, he would tell
+himself, she was so ill-tempered and foolish; Diggory was a clod,
+and would do nothing without scolding; it was a good joke to
+tease Charlie; Eleanor was a vexatious little thing, and he would
+not be ordered by her; so he went his own way, and taught the
+merry chattering Lucy to be very nearly as bad as himself,
+neglected his duties, set a bad example, tormented a faithful
+servant, and seriously distressed his mother.&nbsp; Give him some
+great cause, he thought, and he would be the first and the best,
+bring back the King, protect his mother and sisters, and perform
+glorious deeds, such as would make his name be remembered for
+ever.&nbsp; Then it would be seen what he was worth; in the
+meantime he lived a dull life, with nothing to do, and he must
+have some fun.&nbsp; It did not signify if he was not particular
+about little things, they were women&rsquo;s affairs, and all
+very well for Rose, but when some really important matter came,
+that would be his time for distinguishing himself.</p>
+<p>In the meantime Charles II. had been invited to Scotland, and
+had brought with him, as an attendant, Edmund Woodley, the eldest
+son.&nbsp; As soon as he was known to have entered England, some
+of the loyal gentlemen of the neighbourhood of Forest Lea went to
+join the King, and among their followers went Farmer Ewins, who
+had fought bravely in the former war under Edmund Mowbray,
+several other of the men of the village, and lastly, Diggory
+Stokes, Lady Woodley&rsquo;s serving man, who had lately shown
+symptoms of discontent with his place, and fancied that as a
+soldier he might fare better, make his fortune, and come home
+prosperously to marry his sweetheart, Deborah.</p>
+<h2><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+19</span>CHAPTER II.</h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">Walter</span> ran down to the village at
+full speed.&nbsp; He first bent his steps towards the
+&ldquo;Half-Moon,&rdquo; the little public-house, where news was
+sure to be met with.&nbsp; As he came towards it, however, he
+heard the loud sound of a man&rsquo;s voice going steadily on as
+if with some discourse.&nbsp; &ldquo;Some preachment,&rdquo; said
+he to himself: &ldquo;they&rsquo;ve got a thorough-going
+Roundhead, I can hear his twang through his nose!&nbsp; Shall I
+go in or not?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>While he was asking himself this question, an old peasant in a
+round frock came towards him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hollo, Will!&rdquo; shouted Walter, &ldquo;what
+prick-eared rogue have you got there?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hush, hush, Master Walter!&rdquo; said the old man,
+taking off his hat very respectfully.&nbsp; &ldquo;Best take care
+what you say, there be plenty of red-coats about.&nbsp;
+There&rsquo;s one of them now preaching away in marvellous pied
+words.&nbsp; It is downright shocking to hear the Bible hollaed
+out after that sort, so I came away.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you go
+nigh him, sir, &rsquo;specially with your hat set on in
+that&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never mind my hat,&rdquo; said Walter, impatiently,
+&ldquo;it is no business of yours, and I&rsquo;ll wear it as I
+please in spite of old Noll and all his crew.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For his forefathers&rsquo; sake, and for the love of his
+mother and sister, the good village people bore with
+Walter&rsquo;s haughtiness and discourtesy far more than was good
+for him, and the old man did not show how much he was hurt by his
+rough reception of his good advice.&nbsp; Walter was not reminded
+that he ought to rise up before the hoary head, and reverence the
+old man, and went on hastily, &ldquo;But tell me, Will, what do
+you hear of the battle?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The battle, sir! why, they say it is lost.&nbsp;
+That&rsquo;s what the fellow there is preaching about.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And where was it?&nbsp; Did you hear?&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t
+you know?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be so hasty, don&rsquo;t ye, sir!&rdquo;
+said the old slow-spoken man, growing confused.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Where was it?&nbsp; At some town&mdash;some town, they
+said, but I don&rsquo;t know rightly the name of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And the King?&nbsp; Who was it?&nbsp; Not
+Cromwell?&nbsp; Had Lord Derby joined?&rdquo; cried Walter,
+hurrying on his questions so as to puzzle and confuse the old man
+more and more, till at last he grew angry at getting no
+explanation, and vowed it was no use to talk to such an old
+fool.&nbsp; At that moment a sound as of feet and horses came
+along the road.&nbsp; &ldquo;&rsquo;Tis the soldiers!&rdquo; said
+Walter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ay, sir, best get out of sight.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Walter thought so too, and, springing over a hedge, ran off
+into a neighbouring wood, resolving to take a turn, and come back
+by the longer way to the house, so as to avoid the road.&nbsp; He
+walked across the wood, looking up at the ripening nuts, and now
+and then springing up to reach one, telling himself all the time
+that it was untrue, and that the King could not, and should not
+be defeated.&nbsp; The wood grew less thick after a time, and
+ended in low brushwood, upon an open common.&nbsp; Just as Walter
+was coming to this place, he saw an unusual sight: a man and a
+horse crossing the down.&nbsp; Slowly and wearily they came, the
+horse drooping its head and stumbling in its pace, as though worn
+out with fatigue, but he saw that it was a war-horse, and the
+saddle and other equipments were such as he well remembered in
+the royal army long ago.&nbsp; The rider wore buff coat, cuirass,
+gauntlets guarded with steel, sword, and pistols, and
+Walter&rsquo;s first impulse was to avoid him; but on giving a
+second glance, he changed his mind, for though there was neither
+scarf, plume, nor any badge of party, the long locks, the set of
+the hat, and the general air of the soldier were not those of a
+rebel.&nbsp; He must be a cavalier, but, alas! far unlike the
+triumphant cavaliers whom Walter had hoped to receive, for he was
+covered with dust and blood, as if he had fought and ridden
+hard.&nbsp; Walter sprung forward to meet him, and saw that he
+was a young man, with dark eyes and hair, looking very pale and
+exhausted, and both he and his horse seemed hardly able to stir a
+step further.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Young sir,&rdquo; said the stranger, &ldquo;what place
+is this?&nbsp; Am I near Forest Lea?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A flash of joy crossed Walter.&nbsp; &ldquo;Edmund! are you
+Edmund?&rdquo; he exclaimed, colouring deeply, and looking up in
+his face with one quick glance, then casting down his eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you are little Walter,&rdquo; returned the
+cavalier, instantly dismounting, and flinging his arm around his
+brother; &ldquo;why, what a fine fellow you are grown!&nbsp; How
+are my mother and all?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, quite well!&rdquo; cried Walter, in a transport
+of joy.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh! how happy she will be!&nbsp; Come, make
+haste home!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Alas!&nbsp; I dare not as yet.&nbsp; I must not enter
+the house till nightfall, or I should bring danger on you
+all.&nbsp; Are there any troopers near?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, the village is full of the rascals.&nbsp; But what
+has happened?&nbsp; It is not true that&mdash;&rdquo;&nbsp; He
+could not bear to say the rest.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Too true!&rdquo; said Edmund, leading his tired horse
+within the shelter of the bushes.&nbsp; &ldquo;It is all over
+with us!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The battle lost!&rdquo; said Walter, in a stifled tone;
+and in all the bitterness of the first disappointment of his
+youth, he turned away, overcome by a gush of tears and sobs,
+stamping as he walked up and down, partly with the intensity of
+his grief, partly with shame at being seen by his brother, in
+tears.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Had you set your heart on it so much?&rdquo; said
+Edmund, kindly, pleased to see his young brother so ardent a
+loyalist.&nbsp; &ldquo;Poor fellow!&nbsp; But at least the King
+was safe when I parted from him.&nbsp; Come, cheer up, Walter,
+the right will be uppermost some day or other.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But, oh, that battle!&nbsp; I had so longed to see old
+Noll get his deserts,&rdquo; said Walter, &ldquo;I made so
+sure.&nbsp; But how did it happen, Edmund?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I cannot tell you all now, Walter.&nbsp; You must find
+me some covert where I can be till night fall.&nbsp; The rebels
+are hot in pursuit of all the fugitives.&nbsp; I have ridden from
+Worcester by byroads day and night, and I am fairly spent.&nbsp;
+I must be off to France or Holland as soon as may be, for my life
+is not safe a moment here.&nbsp; Cromwell is bitterer than ever
+against all honest men, but I could not help coming this way, I
+so much longed to see my mother and all of you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You are not wounded?&rdquo; said Walter, anxiously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing to speak of, only a sword-cut on my shoulder,
+by which I have lost more blood than convenient for such a
+journey.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here, I&rsquo;ll lead your horse; lean on me,&rdquo;
+said Walter, alarmed at the faint, weary voice in which his
+brother spoke after the first excitement of the
+recognition.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll show you what Lucy and I
+call our bower, where no one ever comes but ourselves.&nbsp;
+There you can rest till night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And poor Bayard?&rdquo; said Edmund.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think I could put him into the out-house in the field
+next to the copse, hide his trappings here, and get him provender
+from Ewins&rsquo;s farm.&nbsp; Will that do?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Excellently.&nbsp; Poor Ewins!&mdash;that is a sad
+story.&nbsp; He fell, fighting bravely by my side, cut down in
+Sidbury Street in the last charge.&nbsp; Alas! these are evil
+days!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And Diggory Stokes, our own knave?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know nothing of him after the first onset.&nbsp;
+Rogues and cowards enough were there.&nbsp; Think, Walter, of
+seeing his Majesty strive in vain to rally them, when the day
+might yet have been saved, and the traitors hung down their
+heads, and stood like blocks while he called on them rather to
+shoot him dead than let him live to see such a day!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, had I but been there, to turn them all to
+shame!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There were a few, Walter; Lord Cleveland, Hamilton,
+Careless, Giffard, and a few more of us, charged down Sidbury
+Street, and broke into the ranks of the rebels, while the King
+had time to make off by S. Martin&rsquo;s Gate.&nbsp; Oh, how I
+longed for a few more!&nbsp; But the King was saved so far;
+Careless, Giffard, and I came up with him again, and we parted at
+nightfall.&nbsp; Lord Derby&rsquo;s counsel was that he should
+seek shelter at Boscobel, and he was to disguise himself, and go
+thither under Giffard&rsquo;s guidance.&nbsp; Heaven guard him,
+whatever becomes of us!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Amen!&rdquo; said Walter, earnestly.&nbsp; &ldquo;And
+here we are.&nbsp; Here is Lucy&rsquo;s bank of turf, and my
+throne, and here we will wait till the sun is down.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was a beautiful green slope, covered with soft grass, short
+thyme, and cushion-like moss, and overshadowed by a thick, dark
+yew-tree, shut in by brushwood on all sides, and forming just
+such a retreat as children love to call their own.&nbsp; Edmund
+threw himself down at full length on it, laid aside his hat, and
+passed his hand across his weary forehead.&nbsp; &ldquo;How
+quiet!&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;but, hark! is that the bubbling of
+water?&rdquo; he added, raising himself eagerly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, here,&rdquo; said Walter, showing him where, a
+little further off on the same slope, a little clear spring rose
+in a natural basin of red earth, fringed along the top with fresh
+green mosses.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Delicious!&rdquo; said the tired soldier, kneeling over
+the spring, scooping it up in his hand to drink, opening his
+collar, and bathing hands and face in the clear cool fountain,
+till his long black hair hung straight, saturated with wet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, Bayard, it is your turn,&rdquo; and he patted the
+good steed as it sucked up the refreshing water, and Walter
+proceeded to release it from saddle and bridle.&nbsp; Edmund,
+meanwhile, stretched himself out on the mossy bank, asked a few
+questions about his mother, Rose, and the other children, but was
+too tired to say much, and presently fell sound asleep, while
+Walter sat by watching him, grieving for the battle lost, but
+proud and important in being the guardian of his brother&rsquo;s
+safety, and delighting himself with the thought of bringing him
+home at night.</p>
+<p>More was happening at home than Walter guessed.&nbsp; The time
+of his absence seemed very long, more especially when the
+twilight began to close in, and Lady Woodley began to fear that
+he might, with his rashness, have involved himself in some
+quarrel with the troopers in the village.&nbsp; Lady Woodley and
+her children had closed around the wood fire which had been
+lighted on the hearth at the approach of evening, and Rose was
+trying by the bad light to continue her darning of stockings,
+when a loud hasty knocking was heard at the door, and all, in a
+general vague impression of dread, started and drew together.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh my lady!&rdquo; cried Deborah, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t
+bid me go to the door, I could not if you offered me fifty gold
+caroluses!&nbsp; I had rather stand up to be a
+mark&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I will,&rdquo; said Rose, advancing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no, Mistress Rose,&rdquo; said Deborah, running
+forward.&nbsp; &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t I know what is fit for the like
+of you?&nbsp; You go opening the door to rogues and vagabonds,
+indeed!&rdquo; and with these words she undrew the bolts and
+opened the door.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is this the way you keep us waiting?&rdquo; said an
+impatient voice; and a tall youth, handsomely accoutred, advanced
+authoritatively into the room.&nbsp; &ldquo;Prepare
+to&mdash;&rdquo; but as he saw himself alone with women and
+children, and his eyes fell on the pale face, mourning dress, and
+graceful air of the lady of the house, he changed his tone,
+removed his hat, and said, &ldquo;Your pardon, madam, I came to
+ask a night&rsquo;s lodging for my father, who has been thrown
+from his horse, and badly bruised.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I cannot refuse you, sir,&rdquo; said Lady Woodley, who
+instantly perceived that this was an officer of the Parliamentary
+force, and was only thankful to see that he was a gentleman, and
+enforced with courtesy a request which was in effect a
+command.</p>
+<p>The youth turned and went out, while Lady Woodley hastily
+directed her daughters and servant.&nbsp; &ldquo;Deborah, set the
+blue chamber in order; Rose, take the key of the oak press,
+Eleanor will help you to take out the holland sheets.&nbsp; Lucy,
+run down to old Margery, and bid her kill a couple of fowls for
+supper.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As the girls obeyed there entered at the front door the young
+officer and a soldier, supporting between them an elderly man in
+the dress of an officer of rank.&nbsp; Lady Woodley, ready of
+course to give her help to any person who had suffered an injury,
+came forward to set a chair, and at the same moment she
+exclaimed, in a tone of recognition, &ldquo;Mr. Enderby!&nbsp; I
+am grieved to see you so much hurt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My Lady Woodley,&rdquo; he returned, recognising her at
+the same time, as he seated himself in the chair, &ldquo;I am
+sorry thus to have broken in on your ladyship, but my son,
+Sylvester, would have me halt here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This gentleman is your son, then?&rdquo; and a
+courteous greeting passed between Lady Woodley and young
+Sylvester Enderby, after which she again enquired after his
+father&rsquo;s accident.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No great matter,&rdquo; was the reply; &ldquo;a blow on
+the head, and a twist of the knee, that is all.&nbsp; Thanks to a
+stumbling horse, wearied out with work, I have little mind
+to&mdash;the pursuit of this poor young man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not the King?&rdquo; exclaimed Lady Woodley, breathless
+with alarm.</p>
+<p>It was with no apparent satisfaction that the rebel colonel
+replied, &ldquo;Even so, madam.&nbsp; Cromwell&rsquo;s fortune
+has not forsaken him; he has driven the Scots and their allies
+out of Worcester.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Lady Woodley was too much accustomed to evil tidings to be as
+much overcome by them as her young son had been; she only turned
+somewhat paler, and asked, &ldquo;The King lives?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He was last seen on Worcester bridge.&nbsp; Troops are
+sent to every port whence he might attempt an escape.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;May the <span class="smcap">God</span> of his father
+protect him,&rdquo; said the lady, fervently.&nbsp; &ldquo;And my
+son?&rdquo; she added, faintly, scarcely daring to ask the
+question.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Safe, I hope,&rdquo; replied the colonel.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I saw him, and I could have thought him my dear old friend
+himself, as he joined Charles in his last desperate attempt to
+rally his forces, and then charged down Sidbury Street with a few
+bold spirits who were resolved to cover their master&rsquo;s
+retreat.&nbsp; He is not among the slain; he was not a prisoner
+when I left the headquarters.&nbsp; I trust he may have escaped,
+for Cromwell is fearfully incensed against your party.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Colonel Enderby was interrupted by Lucy&rsquo;s running in
+calling out, &ldquo;Mother, mother! there are no fowls but
+Partlet and the sitting hen, and the old cock, and I won&rsquo;t
+have my dear old Partlet killed to be eaten by wicked
+Roundheads.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come here, my little lady,&rdquo; said the colonel,
+holding out his hand, amused by her vehemence.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t speak to a Roundhead,&rdquo; returned
+Lucy, with a droll air of petulance, pleased at being
+courted.</p>
+<p>Her mother spoke gravely.&nbsp; &ldquo;You forget yourself,
+Lucy.&nbsp; This is Mr. Enderby, a friend of your dear
+father.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Lucy&rsquo;s cheeks glowed, and she looked down as she gave
+her hand to the colonel; but as he spoke kindly to her, her
+forward spirit revived, and she returned to the charge.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t have Partlet killed?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her mother would have silenced her, but the colonel smiled and
+said, &ldquo;No, no, little lady; I would rather go without
+supper than let one feather of Dame Partlet be
+touched.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nay, you need not do that either, sir,&rdquo; said the
+little chatter-box, confidentially, &ldquo;for we are to have a
+pie made of little Jenny&rsquo;s pigeons; and I&rsquo;ll tell you
+what, sir, no one makes raised crust half so well as sister
+Rose.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Lady Woodley was not sorry to stop the current of her little
+girl&rsquo;s communications by despatching her on another
+message, and asking Colonel Enderby whether he would not prefer
+taking a little rest in his room before supper-time, offering, at
+the same time all the remedies for bruises and wounds that every
+good housekeeper of the time was sure to possess.</p>
+<p>She had a real regard for Mr. Enderby, who had been a great
+friend of her husband before the unhappy divisions of the period
+arrayed them on opposite sides, and even then, though true
+friendship could not last, a kindly feeling had always
+existed.</p>
+<p>Mr. Enderby was a conscientious man, but those were difficult
+times; and he had regarded loyalty to the King less than what he
+considered the rights of the people.&nbsp; He had been an admirer
+of Hampden and his principles, and had taken up arms on the same
+side, becoming a rebel on political, not on religious,
+grounds.&nbsp; When, as time went on, the evils of the rebellion
+developed themselves more fully, he was already high in command,
+and so involved with his own party that he had not the resolution
+requisite for a change of course and renunciation of his
+associates.&nbsp; He would willingly have come to terms with the
+King, and was earnest in the attempt at the time of the
+conferences at Hampden Court.&nbsp; He strongly disapproved of
+the usurpation of power by the army, and was struck with horror,
+grief, and dismay, at the execution of King Charles; but still he
+would not, or fancied that he could not, separate himself from
+the cause of the Parliament, and continued in their service,
+following Cromwell to Scotland, and fighting at Worcester on the
+rebel side, disliking Cromwell all the time, and with a certain
+inclination to the young King, and desire to see the old
+constitution restored.</p>
+<p>He was just one of those men who cause such great evil by
+giving a sort of respectability to the wrong cause,
+&ldquo;following a multitude to do evil,&rdquo; and doubtless
+bringing a fearful responsibility on their own heads; yet with
+many good qualities and excellent principles, that make those on
+the right side have a certain esteem for them, and grieve to see
+them thus perverted.</p>
+<p>Lady Woodley, who knew him well, though sorry to have a rebel
+in her house at such a time, was sure that in him she had a kind
+and considerate guest, who would do his utmost to protect her and
+her children.</p>
+<p>On his side, Colonel Enderby was much grieved and shocked at
+the pale, altered looks of the fair young bride he remembered, as
+well as the evidences of poverty throughout her house, and
+perhaps he had a secret wish that he was as well assured as his
+friend, Sir Walter, that his blood had been shed for the
+maintenance of the right.</p>
+<h2><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+34</span>CHAPTER III.</h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">Rose Woodley</span> ran up and down
+indefatigably, preparing everything for the accommodation of the
+guests, smoothing down Deborah&rsquo;s petulance, and keeping her
+mother from over-exertion or anxiety.&nbsp; Much contrivance was
+indeed required, for besides the colonel and his son, two
+soldiers had to be lodged, and four horses, which, to the
+consternation of old Margery, seemed likely to devour the
+cow&rsquo;s winter store of hay, while the troopers grumbled at
+the desolate, half-ruined, empty stables, and at the want of
+corn.</p>
+<p>Rose had to look to everything; to provide blankets from the
+bed of the two little girls, send Eleanor to sleep with her
+mother, and take Lucy to her own room; despatch them on messages
+to the nearest cottage to borrow some eggs, and to gather
+vegetables in the garden, whilst she herself made the pigeon pie
+with the standing crust, much wishing that the soldiers were out
+of the way.&nbsp; It was a pretty thing to see her in her white
+apron, with her neat dexterous fingers, and nimble quiet step,
+doing everything in so short a time, and so well, without the
+least bustle.</p>
+<p>She was at length in the hall, laying the white home-spun,
+home-bleached cloth, and setting the trenchers (all the Mowbray
+plate had long ago gone in the King&rsquo;s service), wondering
+anxiously, meantime, what could have become of Walter, with many
+secret and painful misgivings, though she had been striving to
+persuade her mother that he was only absent on some freak of his
+own.</p>
+<p>Presently the door which led to the garden was opened, and to
+her great joy Walter put his head into the room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O Walter,&rdquo; she exclaimed, &ldquo;the battle is
+lost! but Edmund and the King have both escaped.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say you so?&rdquo; said Walter, smiling.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Here is a gentleman who can give you some news of
+Edmund.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At the same moment Rose saw her beloved eldest brother enter
+the room.&nbsp; It would be hard to say which was her first
+thought, joy or dismay&mdash;she had no time to ask
+herself.&nbsp; Quick as lightning she darted to the door leading
+to the staircase, bolted it, threw the bar across the fastening
+of the front entrance, and then, flying to her brother, clung
+fast round his neck, kissed him on each cheek, and felt his
+ardent kiss on her brow, as she exclaimed in a frightened
+whisper, &ldquo;You must not stay here: there are troopers in the
+house!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Troopers!&mdash;quartered on us?&rdquo; cried
+Walter.</p>
+<p>Rose hastily explained, trembling lest anyone should attempt
+to enter.&nbsp; Walter paced up and down in despair, vowing that
+it was a trick to get a spy into the house.&nbsp; Edmund sat down
+in the large arm-chair with a calm resolute look, saying,
+&ldquo;I must surrender, then.&nbsp; Neither I nor my horse can
+go further without rest.&nbsp; I will yield as a prisoner of war,
+and well that it is to a man of honour.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh no, no!&rdquo; cried Rose: &ldquo;he says Cromwell
+treats his prisoners as rebels.&nbsp; It would be certain
+death!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What news of the King?&rdquo; asked Edmund,
+anxiously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not seen since the flight? but&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And Lord Derby, Wilmot&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I cannot tell, I heard no names,&rdquo; said Rose,
+&ldquo;only that the enemy&rsquo;s cruelties are worse than
+ever.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Walter stood with his back against the table, gazing at his
+brother and sister in mute consternation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know!&rdquo; cried Rose, suddenly: &ldquo;the
+out-house in the upper field.&nbsp; No one ever goes up into the
+loft but ourselves.&nbsp; You know, Walter, where Eleanor found
+the kittens.&nbsp; Go thither, I will bring Edmund food at
+night.&nbsp; Oh, consent, Edmund!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It will do! it will do!&rdquo; cried Walter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very well, it may spare my mother,&rdquo; said Edmund;
+and as footsteps and voices were heard on the stairs, the two
+brothers hurried off without another word, while Rose, trying to
+conceal her agitation, undid the door, and admitted her two
+little sisters, who were asking if they had not heard
+Walter&rsquo;s voice.</p>
+<p>She scarcely attended to them, but, bounding upstairs to her
+mother&rsquo;s room, flung her arms round her neck, and poured
+into her ear her precious secret.&nbsp; The tremour, the joy, the
+fears, the tears, the throbbings of the heart, and earnest
+prayers, may well be imagined, crowded by the mother and daughter
+into those few minutes.&nbsp; The plan was quickly
+arranged.&nbsp; They feared to trust even Deborah; so that the
+only way that they could provide the food that Edmund so much
+needed was by Rose and Walter attempting to save all they could
+at supper, and Rose could steal out when everyone was gone to
+rest, and carry it to him.&nbsp; Lady Woodley was bent on herself
+going to her son that night; but Rose prevailed on her to lay
+aside the intention, as it would have been fatal, in her weak
+state of health, for her to expose herself to the chills of an
+autumn night, and, what was with her a much more conclusive
+reason, Rose was much more likely to be able to slip out
+unobserved.&nbsp; Rose had an opportunity of explaining all this
+to Walter, and imploring him to be cautious, before the colonel
+and his son came down, and the whole party assembled round the
+supper-table.</p>
+<p>Lady Woodley had the eggs and bacon before her; Walter
+insisted on undertaking the carving of the pigeon-pie, and looked
+considerably affronted when young Sylvester Enderby offered to
+take the office, as a more experienced carver.&nbsp; Poor Rose,
+how her heart beat at every word and look, and how hard she
+strove to seem perfectly at her ease and unconscious!&nbsp;
+Walter was in a fume of anxiety and vexation, and could hardly
+control himself so far as to speak civilly to either of the
+guests, so that he was no less a cause of fear to his mother and
+sister than the children, who were unconscious how much depended
+on discretion.</p>
+<p>Young Sylvester Enderby was a fine young man of eighteen, very
+good-natured, and not at all like a Puritan in appearance or
+manner.&nbsp; He had hardly yet begun to think for himself, and
+was merely obeying his father in joining the army with him,
+without questioning whether it was the right cause or not.&nbsp;
+He was a kind elder brother at home, and here he was ready to be
+pleased with the children of the house.</p>
+<p>Lucy was a high-spirited talkative child, very little used to
+seeing strangers, and perhaps hardly reined in enough, for her
+poor mother&rsquo;s weak health had interfered with strict
+discipline; and as this evening Walter and Rose were both grave
+and serious under their anxieties, Lucy was less restrained even
+than usual.</p>
+<p>She was a pretty creature, with bright blue eyes, and an arch
+expression, all the droller under her prim round cap; and
+Sylvester was a good deal amused with her pert bold little nods
+and airs.&nbsp; He paid a good deal of attention to her, and she
+in return grew more forward and chattering.&nbsp; It is what
+little girls will sometimes do under the pleasure and excitement
+of the notice of gentlemen, and it makes their friends very
+uneasy, since the only excuse they can have is in being <i>very
+little</i>, and it shows a most undesirable want of self-command
+and love of attention.</p>
+<p>In addition to this feeling, Lady Woodley dreaded every word
+that was spoken, lest it should lead to suspicion, for though she
+was sure Mr. Enderby would not willingly apprehend her son, yet
+she could not tell what he might consider his duty to his
+employers; besides, there were the two soldiers to observe and
+report, and the discovery that Edmund was at hand might lead to
+frightful consequences.&nbsp; She tried to converse composedly
+with him on his family and the old neighbourhood where they had
+both lived, often interrupting herself to send a look or word of
+warning to the lower end of the table; but Lucy and Charles were
+too wild to see or heed her, and grew more and more unrestrained,
+till at last, to the dismay of her mother, brother, and sister,
+Charles&rsquo; voice was heard so loud as to attract
+everyone&rsquo;s notice, in a shout of wonder and complaint,
+&ldquo;Mother, mother, look!&nbsp; Rose has gobbled up a whole
+pigeon to her own share!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Rose could not keep herself from blushing violently, as she
+whispered reprovingly that he must not be rude.&nbsp; Lucy did
+not mend the matter by saying with an impertinent nod,
+&ldquo;Rose does not like to be found out.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Children,&rdquo; said Lady Woodley, gravely, &ldquo;I
+shall send you away if you do not behave discreetly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But, mother, Rose is greedy,&rdquo; said Lucy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hold your tongues, little mischief makers!&rdquo; burst
+out Walter, who had been boiling over with anxiety and
+indignation the whole time.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Walter is cross now,&rdquo; said Lucy, pleased to have
+produced a sensation, and to have shocked Eleanor, who sat all
+the time as good, demure, and grave, as if she had been forty
+years old.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pray excuse these children,&rdquo; said Lady Woodley,
+trying to hide her anxiety under cover of displeasure at them;
+&ldquo;no doubt Mrs. Enderby keeps much better order at
+home.&nbsp; Lucy, Charles, silence at once.&nbsp; Walter, is
+there no wine?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If there is, it is too good for rebels,&rdquo; muttered
+Walter to himself, as he rose.&nbsp; &ldquo;Light me, Deborah,
+and I&rsquo;ll see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;La!&nbsp; Master Walter,&rdquo; whispered Deborah,
+&ldquo;you know there is nothing but the dregs of the old cask of
+Malmsey, that was drunk up at the old squire&rsquo;s
+burying.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hush, hush, Deb,&rdquo; returned the boy; &ldquo;fill
+it up with water, and it will be quite good enough for those who
+won&rsquo;t drink the King&rsquo;s health.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Deborah gave a half-puzzled smile.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ye&rsquo;re a
+madcap, Master Walter!&nbsp; But sure, Sir, the spirit of a wolf
+must have possessed Mistress Rose&mdash;she that eats no supper
+at all, in general!&nbsp; D&rsquo;ye think it is wearying about
+Master Edmund that gives her a craving?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It might be dangerous, but Walter was so much diverted, that
+he could not help saying, &ldquo;I have no doubt it is on his
+account.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know,&rdquo; said Deborah, &ldquo;that I get so faint
+at heart that I am forced to be taking something all day long to
+keep about at all!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>By this time they were re-entering the hall, when there was a
+sound from the kitchen as of someone calling.&nbsp; Deborah
+instantly turned, screaming out joyfully, &ldquo;Bless me! is it
+you?&rdquo; and though out of sight, her voice was still heard in
+its high notes of joy.&nbsp; &ldquo;You good-for-nothing rogue!
+are you turned up again like a bad tester, staring into the
+kitchen like a great oaf, as you be?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a general laugh, and Eleanor said, &ldquo;That must
+be Diggory.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A poor country clown,&rdquo; said Lady Woodley,
+&ldquo;whom we sent to join my son&rsquo;s troop.&nbsp; I hope he
+is in no danger.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh no,&rdquo; said Mr. Enderby; &ldquo;he has only to
+return to his plough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hollo there!&rdquo; shouted Walter.&nbsp; &ldquo;Come
+in, Diggory, and show yourself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In came Diggory, an awkward thick-set fellow, with a shock
+head of hair, high leathern gaiters, and a buff belt over his
+rough leathern jerkin.&nbsp; There he stood, pulling his
+forelock, and looking sheepish.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come in, Diggory,&rdquo; said his mistress; &ldquo;I am
+glad to see you safe.&nbsp; You need not be afraid of these
+gentlemen.&nbsp; Where are the rest?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Slain, every man of them, an&rsquo;t please your
+ladyship.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And your master, Mr. Woodley?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Down, too, an&rsquo;t please your ladyship.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Lucy screamed aloud; Eleanor ran to her mother, and hid her
+face in her lap; Charles sat staring, with great round frightened
+eyes.&nbsp; Very distressing it was to be obliged to leave the
+poor children in such grief and alarm, when it was plain all the
+time that Diggory was an arrant coward, who had fancied more
+deaths and dangers than were real, and was describing more than
+he had even thought he beheld, in order to make himself into a
+hero instead of a runaway.&nbsp; Moreover, Lady Woodley and Rose
+had to put on a show of grief, lest they should betray that they
+were better informed; and they were in agonies lest
+Walter&rsquo;s fury at the falsehoods should be as apparent to
+their guests as it was to themselves.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you sure of what you say, Diggory?&rdquo; said Lady
+Woodley.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure as that I stand here, my lady.&nbsp; There was
+sword and shot and smoke all round.&nbsp; I stood it all till
+Farmer Ewins was cut down a-one-side of me, ma&rsquo;am, and
+Master Edmund, more&rsquo;s the pity, with his brains scattered
+here and there on the banks of the river.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was another cry among the children, and Walter made such
+a violent gesture, that Rose, covering her face with her
+handkerchief, whispered to him, &ldquo;Walter dear, take
+care.&rdquo;&nbsp; Walter relieved his mind by returning,
+&ldquo;Oh that I could cudgel the rogue soundly!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At the same time Colonel Enderby turned to their mother,
+saying, &ldquo;Take comfort, madam, this fellow&rsquo;s tale
+carries discredit on the face of it.&nbsp; Let me examine him,
+with your permission.&nbsp; Where did you last see your
+master?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know none of your places, sir,&rdquo; answered
+Diggory, sullenly.</p>
+<p>Colonel Enderby spoke sternly and peremptorily.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;In the town, or in the fields?&nbsp; Answer me that,
+sirrah.&nbsp; In the field on the bank of the river?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There you left your ranks, you rogue; that was the way
+you lost sight of your master!&rdquo; said the colonel.&nbsp;
+Then, turning to Lady Woodley, as Diggory slunk off, &ldquo;Your
+ladyship need not be alarmed.&nbsp; An hour after the encounter,
+in which he pretends to have seen your son slain, I saw him in
+full health and soundness.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A cowardly villain!&rdquo; cried Walter, delighted to
+let out some of his indignation.&nbsp; &ldquo;I knew he was not
+speaking a word of truth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The children cheered up in a moment; but Lady Woodley was not
+sorry to make this agitating scene an excuse for retiring with
+all her children.&nbsp; Lucy and Eleanor were quite comforted,
+and convinced that Edmund must be safe; but poor little Charlie
+had been so dreadfully frightened by the horrors of
+Diggory&rsquo;s description, that after Rose had put him to bed
+he kept on starting up in his sleep, half waking, and sobbing
+about brother Edmund&rsquo;s brains.</p>
+<p>Rose was obliged to go to him and soothe him.&nbsp; She longed
+to assure the poor little fellow that dear Edmund was perfectly
+safe, well, and near at hand; but the secret was too important to
+be trusted to one so young, so she could only coax and comfort
+him, and tell him they all thought it was not true, and Edmund
+would come back again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sister,&rdquo; said Charlie, &ldquo;may I say my
+prayers again for him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, do, dear Charlie,&rdquo; said Rose; &ldquo;and say
+a prayer for King Charles too, that he may be safe from the
+wicked man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So little Charlie knelt by Rose, with his hands joined, and
+his little bare legs folded together, and said his prayer: and
+did not his sister&rsquo;s heart go with him?&nbsp; Then she
+kissed him, covered him up warmly, and repeated to him in her
+soft voice the ninety-first Psalm: &ldquo;Whoso dwelleth under
+the defence of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the
+Almighty.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>By the time it was ended, the little boy was fast asleep, and
+the faithful loyal girl felt her failing heart cheered and
+strengthened for whatever might be before her, sure that she, her
+mother, her brother, and her King, were under the shadow of the
+Almighty wings.</p>
+<h2><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+47</span>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">In</span> a very strong fit of
+restlessness did little Mistress Lucy Woodley go to bed in
+Rose&rsquo;s room that night.&nbsp; She was quite comforted on
+Edmund&rsquo;s account, for she had discernment enough to see
+that her mother and sister did not believe Diggory&rsquo;s
+dreadful narration; and she had been so unsettled and excited by
+Mr. Sylvester Enderby&rsquo;s notice, and by the way in which she
+had allowed her high spirits to get the better of her discretion,
+as well as by the sudden change from terror to joy, that when
+first she went to Rose&rsquo;s room she could not attend to her
+prayers, and next she could not go to sleep.</p>
+<p>Perhaps the being in a different apartment from usual, and the
+missing her accustomed sleeping companion, Eleanor, had something
+to do with it, for little Eleanor had a gravity and steadiness
+about her that was very apt to compose and quiet her in her
+idlest moods.&nbsp; To-night she lay broad awake, tumbling about
+on the very hard mattress, stuffed with chaff, wondering how Rose
+could bear to sleep on it, trying to guess how there could be
+room for both when her sister came to bed, and nevertheless in a
+great fidget for her to come.&nbsp; She listened to the howling
+and moaning of the wind, the creaking of the doors, and the
+rattling of the boards with which Rose had stopped up the broken
+panes of her lattice; she rolled from side to side, fancied odd
+shapes in the dark, and grew so restless and anxious for
+Rose&rsquo;s coming that she was just ready to jump out of bed
+and go in the passage to call her when Rose came into the
+room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O Rose, what a time you have been!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was no satisfaction to Rose to find the curious little
+chatter-box so wide awake at this very inconvenient time, but she
+did not lose her patience, and answered that she had been first
+with Charlie, and then with their mother.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And now I hope you are coming to bed.&nbsp; I
+can&rsquo;t go to sleep without you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, but indeed you must, Lucy dear, for I shall not be
+ready this long time.&nbsp; Look, here is a great rent in
+Walter&rsquo;s coat, which I must mend, or he won&rsquo;t be fit
+to be seen to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What shall we have for dinner to-morrow, Rose?&nbsp;
+What made you eat so much supper to-night?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell you what, Lucy, I am not going to talk
+to you, or you will lie awake all night, and that will be very
+bad for you.&nbsp; I shall put my candle out of your sight, and
+say some Psalms, but I cannot talk.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So Rose began, and, wakeful as Lucy was, she found the low
+sweet tones lulled her a little.&nbsp; But she did not like this;
+she had a perverse intention of staying awake till Rose got into
+bed, so instead of attending to the holy words, she pinched
+herself, and pulled herself, and kept her eyes staring open,
+gazing at the flickering shadows cast by the dim home-made rush
+candle.</p>
+<p>She went to sleep for a moment, then started into wakefulness
+again; Rose had ceased to repeat her Psalms aloud, but was still
+at her needlework; another doze, another waking.&nbsp; There was
+some hope of Rose now, for she was kneeling down to say her
+prayers.&nbsp; Lucy thought they lasted very long, and at her
+next waking she was just in time to hear the latch of the door
+closing, and find herself left in darkness.&nbsp; Rose was not in
+bed, did not answer when she called.&nbsp; Oh, she must be gone
+to take Walter&rsquo;s coat back to his room.&nbsp; But surely
+she might have done that in one moment; and how long she was
+staying!&nbsp; Lucy could bear it no longer, or rather she did
+not try to bear it, for she was an impetuous, self-willed child,
+without much control over herself.&nbsp; She jumped out of bed,
+and stole to the door.&nbsp; A light was just disappearing on the
+ceiling, as if someone was carrying a candle down stairs; what
+could it mean?&nbsp; Lucy scampered, pit-pat, with her bare feet
+along the passage, and came to the top of the stairs in time to
+peep over and discover Rose silently opening the door of the
+hall, a large dark cloak hung over her arm, and her head and neck
+covered by her black silk hood and a thick woollen kerchief, as
+if she was going out.</p>
+<p>Lucy&rsquo;s curiosity knew no bounds.&nbsp; She would not
+call, for fear she should be sent back to bed, but she was
+determined to see what her sister could possibly be about.&nbsp;
+Down the cold stone steps pattered she, and luckily, as she
+thought, Rose, probably to avoid noise, had only shut to the
+door, so that the little inquisitive maiden had a chink to peep
+through, and beheld Rose at a certain oaken corner-cupboard,
+whence she took out a napkin, and in it she folded what Lucy
+recognised as the very same three-cornered segment of pie-crust,
+containing the pigeon that she had last night been accused of
+devouring.&nbsp; She placed it in a basket, and then proceeded to
+take a lantern from the cupboard, put in her rushlight, and, thus
+prepared, advanced to the garden-door, softly opened it, and
+disappeared.</p>
+<p>Lucy, in an extremity of amazement, came forward.&nbsp; The
+wind howled in moaning gusts, and the rain dashed against the
+windows; Lucy was chilly and frightened.&nbsp; The fire was not
+out, and gave a dim light, and she crept towards the window, but
+a sudden terror came over her; she dashed back, looked again,
+heard another gust of wind, fell into another panic, rushed back
+to the stairs, and never stopped till she had tumbled into bed,
+her teeth chattering, shivering from head to foot with fright and
+cold, rolled herself up tight in the bed-clothes, and, after
+suffering excessively from terror and chill, fell sound asleep
+without seeing her sister return.</p>
+<p>Causeless fears pursue those who are not in the right path,
+and turn from what alone can give them confidence.&nbsp; A sense
+of protection supports those who walk in innocence, though their
+way may seem surrounded with perils; and thus, while Lucy
+trembled in an agony of fright in her warm bed, Rose walked forth
+with a firm and fearless step through the dark gusty night,
+heedless of the rain that pattered round her, and the wild wind
+that snatched at her cloak and gown, and flapped her hood into
+her eyes.</p>
+<p>She was not afraid of fancied terrors, and real perils and
+anxieties were at this moment lost in the bounding of her young
+heart at the thought of seeing, touching, speaking to her
+brother, her dear Edmund.&nbsp; She had been eleven years old
+when they last had parted, the morning of the battle of Naseby,
+and he was five years older; but they had always been very happy
+and fond companions and playfellows as long as she could
+remember, and she alone had been on anything like an equality
+with him, or missed him with a feeling of personal loss, that had
+been increased by the death of her elder sister, Mary.</p>
+<p>Quickly, and concealing her light as much as possible, she
+walked down the damp ash-strewn paths of the kitchen-garden, and
+came out into the overgrown and neglected shrubbery, or
+pleasance, where the long wet-laden shoots came beating in her
+face, and now and then seeming to hold her back, and strange
+rustlings were heard that would have frightened a maiden of a
+less stout and earnest heart.&nbsp; Her anxiety was lest she
+should be confused by the unwonted aspect of things in the dark,
+and miss the path; and very, very long did it seem, while her
+light would only show her leaves glistening with wet.&nbsp; At
+last she gained a clearer space, the border of a field: something
+dark rose before her, she knew the outline of the shed, and
+entered the lower part.&nbsp; It was meant for a cart-shed, with
+a loft above for hay or straw; but the cart had been lost or
+broken, and there was only a heap of rubbish in the corner, by
+which the children were wont to climb up to inspect their
+kittens.&nbsp; Here Rose was for a moment startled by a glare
+close to her of what looked like two fiery lamps in the darkness,
+but the next instant a long, low, growling sound explained it,
+and the tabby stripes of the cat quickly darted across her
+lantern&rsquo;s range of light.&nbsp; She heard a slight rustling
+above, and ventured to call, in a low whisper,
+&ldquo;Edmund.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is that you, Walter?&rdquo; and as Rose proceeded to
+mount the pile of rubbish, his pale and haggard face looked down
+at her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What?&nbsp; Rose herself!&nbsp; I did not think you
+would have come on such a night as this.&nbsp; Can you come
+up?&nbsp; Shall I help you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you.&nbsp; Take the lantern first&mdash;take
+care.&nbsp; There.&nbsp; Now the basket and the
+cloak.&rdquo;&nbsp; And this done, with Edmund&rsquo;s hand, Rose
+scrambled up into the loft.&nbsp; It was only the height of the
+roof, and there was not room, even in the middle, to stand
+upright; the rain soaked through the old thatch, the floor was of
+rough boards, and there was but very little of the hay that had
+served as a bed for the kittens.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O Edmund, this is a wretched place!&rdquo; exclaimed
+Rose, as, crouching by his side, one hand in his, and the other
+round his neck, she gazed around.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Better than a prison,&rdquo; he answered.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I only wish I knew that others were in as good a
+one.&nbsp; And you&mdash;why, Rose, how you are altered; you are
+my young lady now!&nbsp; And how does my dear mother?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pretty well.&nbsp; I could hardly prevail on her not to
+come here to-night; but it would have been too much, she is so
+weak, and takes cold so soon.&nbsp; But, Edmund, how pale you
+are, how weary!&nbsp; Have you slept?&nbsp; I fear not, on these
+hard boards&mdash;your wound, too.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It hardly deserves such a dignified name as a
+wound,&rdquo; said Edmund.&nbsp; &ldquo;I am more hungry than
+aught else; I could have slept but for hunger, and
+now&rdquo;&mdash;as he spoke he was opening the
+basket&mdash;&ldquo;I shall be lodged better, I fear, than a
+king, with that famous cloak.&nbsp; What a notable piece of
+pasty!&nbsp; Well done, Rose!&nbsp; Are you housewife?&nbsp;
+Store of candles, too.&nbsp; This is noble!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How hungry you must be!&nbsp; How long is it since you
+have eaten?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Grey sent his servant into a village to buy some bread
+and cheese; we divided it when we parted, and it lasted me until
+this morning.&nbsp; Since then I have fasted.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dear brother, I wish I could do more for you; but till
+Mr. Enderby goes, I cannot, for the soldiers are about the
+kitchen, and our maid, Deborah, talks too much to be trustworthy,
+though she is thoroughly faithful.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is excellent fare,&rdquo; said Edmund, eating with
+great relish.&nbsp; &ldquo;And now tell me of yourselves.&nbsp;
+My mother is feeble and unwell, you say?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never strong, but tolerably well at present.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So Walter said.&nbsp; By the way, Walter is a fine
+spirited fellow.&nbsp; I should like to have him with me if we
+take another African voyage.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He would like nothing better, poor fellow.&nbsp; But
+what strange things you have seen and done since we met!&nbsp;
+How little we thought that morning that it would be six years
+before we should sit side by side again!&nbsp; And Prince Rupert
+is kind to you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He treats me like a son or brother: never was man
+kinder,&rdquo; said Edmund, warmly.&nbsp; &ldquo;But the
+children?&nbsp; I must see them before I depart.&nbsp; Little
+Lucy, is she as bold and pert as she was as a young
+child?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Little changed,&rdquo; said Rose, smiling, and telling
+her brother the adventures at the dinner.</p>
+<p>As cheerfully as might be they talked till Edmund had finished
+his meal, and then Rose begged him to let her examine and bind up
+the wound.&nbsp; It was a sword-cut on the right shoulder, and,
+though not very deep, had become stiff and painful from neglect,
+and had soaked his sleeve deeply with blood.&nbsp; Rose&rsquo;s
+dexterous fingers applied the salve and linen she had brought,
+and she promised that at her next visit she would bring him some
+clean clothes, which was what he said he most wished for.&nbsp;
+Then she arranged the large horseman&rsquo;s cloak, the hay, and
+his own mantle, so well as to form, he said, the most luxurious
+resting place he had seen since he left Dunbar; and rolled up in
+this he lay, his head supported on his hand, talking earnestly
+with her on the measures next to be taken for his safety, and on
+the state of the family.&nbsp; He must be hidden there till the
+chase was a little slackened, and then escape, by Bosham or some
+other port, to the royal fleet, which was hovering on the
+coast.&nbsp; Money, however&mdash;how was he to get a passage
+without it?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Prince, at parting&mdash;heaven knows he has little
+enough himself&mdash;gave me twenty gold crowns, which he said
+was my share of prize-money for our captures,&rdquo; said Edmund,
+&ldquo;but this is the last of them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And I don&rsquo;t know how we can get any,&rdquo; said
+Rose.&nbsp; &ldquo;We never see money.&nbsp; Our tenants, if they
+pay at all, pay in kind&mdash;a side of bacon, or a sack of corn;
+they are very good, poor people, and love our mother heartily, I
+do believe.&nbsp; I wish I knew what was to be done.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Time will show,&rdquo; said Edmund.&nbsp; &ldquo;I have
+been in as bad a case as this ere now, and it is something to be
+near you all again.&nbsp; So you like this place, do you?&nbsp;
+As well as our own home?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Rose shook her head, and tears sprang into her eyes.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Oh no, Edmund; I try to think it home, and the children
+feel it so, but it is not like Woodley.&nbsp; Do you remember the
+dear old oak-tree, with the branches that came down so low, where
+you used to swing Mary and me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And the high branch where I used to watch for my father
+coming home from the justice-meeting.&nbsp; And the meadow where
+the hounds killed the fox that had baffled them so long!&nbsp; Do
+you hear anything of the place now, Rose?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Enderby told us something,&rdquo; said Rose,
+sadly.&nbsp; &ldquo;You know who has got it, Edmund?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That Master Priggins, who was once justices&rsquo;
+clerk.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; cried Edmund.&nbsp; &ldquo;That pettifogging
+scrivener in my father&rsquo;s house!&mdash;in my
+ancestors&rsquo; house!&nbsp; A rogue that ought to have been
+branded a dozen years ago!&nbsp; I could have stood anything but
+that!&nbsp; Pretty work he is making there, I suppose!&nbsp; Go
+on, Rose.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O Edmund, you know it is but what the King himself has
+to bear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Neighbour&rsquo;s fare! as you say,&rdquo; replied
+Edmund, with a short dry laugh.&nbsp; &ldquo;Poverty and
+wandering I could bear; peril is what any brave man naturally
+seeks; the acres that have been ours for centuries could not go
+in a better cause; but to hear of a rascal such as that in my
+father&rsquo;s place is enough to drive one mad with rage!&nbsp;
+Come, what has he been doing?&nbsp; How has he used the poor
+people?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He turned out old Davy and Madge at once from keeping
+the house, but Mr. Enderby took them in, and gave them a
+cottage.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wonder what unlucky fate possessed that Enderby to
+take the wrong side!&nbsp; Well?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He could not tell us much of the place, for he cannot
+endure Master Priggins, and Master Sylvester laughs at his
+Puritanical manner; but he says&mdash;O Edmund&mdash;that the
+fish-ponds are filled up&mdash;those dear old fish-ponds where
+the water-lilies used to blow, and you once pulled me out of the
+water.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ay, ay! we shall not know it again if ever our turn
+comes, and we enjoy our own again.&nbsp; But it is of no use to
+think about such matters.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No; we must be thankful that we have a home at all, and
+are not like so many, who are actually come to beggary, like poor
+Mrs. Forde.&nbsp; You remember her, our old clergyman&rsquo;s
+widow.&nbsp; He died on board ship, and she was sent for by her
+cousin, who promised her a home; but she had no money, and was
+forced to walk all the way, with her two little boys, getting a
+lodging at night from any loyal family who would shelter her for
+the love of heaven.&nbsp; My mother wept when she saw how sadly
+she was changed; we kept her with us a week to rest her, and when
+she went she had our last gold carolus, little guessing, poor
+soul, that it was our last.&nbsp; Then, when she was gone, my
+mother called us all round her, and gave thanks that she could
+still give us shelter and daily bread.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There is a Judge above!&rdquo; exclaimed Edmund;
+&ldquo;yet sometimes it is hard to believe, when we see such a
+state of things here below!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dr. Bathurst tells us to think it will all be right in
+the other world, even if we do have to see the evil prosper
+here,&rdquo; said Rose, gravely.&nbsp; &ldquo;The sufferings will
+all turn to glory, just as they did with our blessed King, out of
+sight.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Edmund sat thoughtful.&nbsp; &ldquo;If our people abroad would
+but hope and trust and bear as you do here, Rose.&nbsp; But I had
+best not talk of these things, only your patience makes me feel
+how deficient in it we are, who have not a tithe to bear of what
+you have at home.&nbsp; Are you moving to go?&nbsp; Must
+you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I fear so, dear brother; the light seems to be
+beginning to dawn, and if Lucy wakes and misses me&mdash;Is your
+shoulder comfortable?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was never more comfortable in my life.&nbsp; My
+loving duty to my dear mother.&nbsp; Farewell, you, sweet
+Rose.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Farewell, dear Edmund.&nbsp; Perhaps Walter may manage
+to visit you, but do not reckon on it.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+62</span>CHAPTER V.</h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> vigils of the night had been as
+unwonted for Lucy as for her sister, and she slept soundly till
+Rose was already up and dressed.&nbsp; Her first reflection was
+on the strange sights she had seen, followed by a doubt whether
+they were real, or only a dream; but she was certain it was no
+such thing; she recollected too well the chill of the stone to
+her feet, and the sound of the blasts of wind.&nbsp; She wondered
+over it, wished to make out the cause, but decided that she
+should only be scolded for peeping, and she had better keep her
+own counsel.</p>
+<p>That Lucy should keep silence when she thought she knew more
+than other people was, however, by no means to be expected; and
+though she would say not a word to her mother or Rose, of whom
+she was afraid, she was quite ready to make the most of her
+knowledge with Eleanor.</p>
+<p>When she came down stairs she found Walter, with his elbows on
+the table and his book before him, learning the task which his
+mother required of him every day; Eleanor had just come in with
+her lapfull of the still lingering flowers, and called her to
+help to make them up into nosegays.</p>
+<p>Lucy came and sat down by her on the floor, but paid little
+attention to the flowers, so intent was she on showing her
+knowledge.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! you don&rsquo;t know what I have seen.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I dare say it is only some nonsense,&rdquo; said
+Eleanor, gravely, for she was rather apt to plume herself on
+being steadier than her elder sister.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is no nonsense,&rdquo; said Lucy.&nbsp; &ldquo;I
+know what I know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Before Eleanor had time to answer this speech, the mystery of
+which was enhanced by a knowing little nod of the head, young Mr.
+Enderby made his appearance in the hall, with a civil
+good-morning to Walter, which the boy hardly deigned to
+acknowledge by a gruff reply and little nod, and then going on to
+the little girls, renewed with them yesterday&rsquo;s war of
+words.&nbsp; &ldquo;Weaving posies, little ladies?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not for rebels,&rdquo; replied Lucy, pertly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;May I not have one poor daisy?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not one; the daisy is a royal flower.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I take one?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rebels take what they can&rsquo;t get fairly,&rdquo;
+said Lucy, with the smartness of a forward child; and Sylvester,
+laughing heartily, continued, &ldquo;What would General Cromwell
+say to such a nest of little malignants?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is an ugly name,&rdquo; said Eleanor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Quite as pretty as Roundhead.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, but we don&rsquo;t deserve it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not when you make that pretty face so sour?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; interposed Lucy, &ldquo;she is sour because
+I won&rsquo;t tell her my secret of the pie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, what?&rdquo; said Eleanor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now I have you!&rdquo; cried Lucy, delighted.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I know what became of the pigeon pie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In extreme alarm and anger, Walter turned round as he caught
+these words.&nbsp; &ldquo;Lucy, naughty child!&rdquo; he began,
+in a voice of thunder; then, recollecting the danger of exciting
+further suspicion, he stammered,
+&ldquo;what&mdash;what&mdash;what&mdash;are you doing here?&nbsp;
+Go along to mother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Lucy rubbed her fingers into her eyes, and answered sharply,
+in a pettish tone, that she was doing no harm.&nbsp; Eleanor, in
+amazement, asked what could be the matter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Intolerable!&rdquo; exclaimed Walter.&nbsp; &ldquo;So
+many girls always in the way?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Sylvester Enderby could not help smiling, as he asked,
+&ldquo;Is that all you have to complain of?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I could complain of something much worse,&rdquo;
+muttered Walter.&nbsp; &ldquo;Get away, Lucy?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t at your bidding, sir.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>To Walter&rsquo;s great relief, Rose entered at that moment,
+and all was smooth and quiet; Lucy became silent, and the
+conversation was kept up in safe terms between Rose and the young
+officer.&nbsp; The colonel, it appeared, was so much better that
+he intended to leave Forest Lea that very day; and it was not
+long before he came down, and presently afterwards Lady Woodley,
+looking very pale and exhausted, for her anxieties had kept her
+awake all night.</p>
+<p>After a breakfast on bread, cheese, rashers of bacon, and
+beer, the horses were brought to the door, and the colonel took
+his leave of Lady Woodley, thanking her much for her
+hospitality.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish it had been better worth accepting,&rdquo; said
+she.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish it had, though not for my own sake,&rdquo; said
+the colonel.&nbsp; &ldquo;I wish you would allow me to attempt
+something in your favour.&nbsp; One thing, perhaps, you will
+deign to accept.&nbsp; Every royalist house, especially those
+belonging to persons engaged at Worcester, is liable to be
+searched, and to have soldiers quartered on them, to prevent
+fugitives from being harboured there.&nbsp; I will send Sylvester
+at once to obtain a protection for you, which may prevent you
+from being thus disturbed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That will be a kindness, indeed,&rdquo; said Lady
+Woodley, hardly able to restrain the eagerness with which she
+heard the offer made, that gave the best hope of saving her
+son.&nbsp; She was not certain that the colonel had not some
+suspicion of the true state of the case, and would not take
+notice, unwilling to ruin the son of his friend, and at the same
+time reluctant to fail in his duty to his employers.</p>
+<p>He soon departed; Mistress Lucy&rsquo;s farewell to Sylvester
+being thus: &ldquo;Good-bye, Mr. Roundhead, rebel, crop-eared
+traitor.&rdquo;&nbsp; At which Sylvester and his father turned
+and laughed, and their two soldiers looked very much
+astonished.</p>
+<p>Lady Woodley called Lucy at once, and spoke to her seriously
+on her forwardness and impertinence.&nbsp; &ldquo;I could tell
+you, Lucy, that it is not like a young lady, but I must tell you
+more, it is not like a young Christian maiden.&nbsp; Do you
+remember the text that I gave you to learn a little while
+ago&mdash;the ornament fit for a woman?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Lucy hung her head, and with tears filling her eyes, as her
+mother prompted her continually, repeated the text in a low
+mumbling voice, half crying: &ldquo;Whose adorning, let it not be
+the putting on of gold, or the plaiting of hair, or the putting
+on of apparel, but let it be the hidden man of the heart, even
+the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of
+<span class="smcap">God</span> of great price.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And does my little Lucy think she showed that ornament
+when she pushed herself forward to talk idle nonsense, and make
+herself be looked at and taken notice of?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Lucy put her finger in her mouth; she did not like to be
+scolded, as she called it, gentle as her mother was, and she
+would not open her mind to take in the kind reproof.</p>
+<p>Lady Woodley took the old black-covered Bible, and finding two
+of the verses in S. James about the government of the tongue,
+desired Lucy to learn them by heart before she went out of the
+house; and the little girl sat down with them in the window-seat,
+in a cross impatient mood, very unfit for learning those sacred
+words.&nbsp; &ldquo;She had done no harm,&rdquo; she thought;
+&ldquo;she could not help it if the young gentleman would talk to
+her!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So there she sat, with the Bible in her lap, alone, for Lady
+Woodley was so harassed and unwell, in consequence of her
+anxieties, that Rose had persuaded her to go and lie down on her
+bed, since it would be better for her not to try to see Edmund
+till the promised protection had arrived, lest suspicion should
+be excited.&nbsp; Rose was busy about her household affairs;
+Eleanor, a handy little person, was helping her; and Walter and
+Charles were gone out to gather apples for a pudding which she
+had promised them.</p>
+<p>Lucy much wished to be with them; and after a long brooding
+over her ill-temper, it began to wear out, not to be conquered,
+but to depart of itself; she thought she might as well learn her
+lesson and have done with it; so by way of getting rid of the
+task, not of profiting by the warning it conveyed, she hurried
+through the two verses ending with&mdash;&ldquo;Behold how great
+a matter a little fire kindleth!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As soon as she could say them perfectly, she raced upstairs,
+and into her mother&rsquo;s room, gave her the book, and repeated
+them at her fastest pace.&nbsp; Poor Lady Woodley was too weary
+and languid to exert herself to speak to the little girl about
+her unsuitable manner, or to try to bring the lesson home to her;
+she dismissed her, only saying, &ldquo;I hope, my dear, you will
+remember this,&rdquo; and away ran Lucy, first to the orchard in
+search of her brothers, and not finding them there, round and
+round the garden and pleasance.&nbsp; Edmund, in his
+hiding-place, heard the voice calling &ldquo;Walter!&nbsp;
+Charlie!&rdquo; and peeping out, caught a glimpse of a little
+figure, her long frock tucked over her arm, and long locks of
+dark hair blowing out from under her small, round, white
+cap.&nbsp; What a pleasure it was to him to have that one view of
+his little sister!</p>
+<p>At last, tired with her search, Lucy returned to the house,
+and there found Deborah ironing at the long table in the hall,
+and crooning away her one dismal song of &ldquo;Barbara
+Allen&rsquo;s cruelty.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So you can sing again, Deb,&rdquo; she began,
+&ldquo;now the Roundheads are gone and Diggory come
+back?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Little girls should not meddle with what does not
+concern them,&rdquo; answered Deborah.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You need not call me a little girl,&rdquo; said
+Lucy.&nbsp; &ldquo;I am almost eleven years old; and I know a
+secret, a real secret.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A secret, Mistress Lucy?&nbsp; Who would tell their
+secrets to the like of you?&rdquo; said Deborah,
+contemptuously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No one told me; I found it out for myself!&rdquo; cried
+Lucy, in high exultation.&nbsp; &ldquo;I know what became of the
+pigeon pie that we thought Rose ate up!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Eh?&nbsp; Mistress Lucy!&rdquo; exclaimed Deborah,
+pausing in her ironing, full of curiosity.</p>
+<p>Lucy was delighted to detail the whole of what she had
+observed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well!&rdquo; cried Deborah, &ldquo;if ever I heard tell
+the like!&nbsp; That slip of a thing out in all the blackness of
+the night!&nbsp; I should be afraid of my life of the ghosts and
+hobgoblins.&nbsp; Oh!&nbsp; I had rather be set up for a mark for
+all the musketeers in the Parliament army, than set one foot out
+of doors after dark!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As Deborah spoke, Walter came into the hall.&nbsp; He saw that
+Lucy had observed something, and was anxious every time she
+opened her lips.&nbsp; This made him rough and sharp with her,
+and he instantly exclaimed, &ldquo;How now, Lucy, still
+gossipping?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You are so cross, I can&rsquo;t speak a word for
+you,&rdquo; said Lucy, fretfully, walking out of the room, while
+Walter, in his usual imperious way, began to shout for Diggory
+and his boots.&nbsp; &ldquo;Diggory, knave!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Anon, sir!&rdquo; answered the dogged voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bring them, I say, you laggard!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Coming, sir, coming.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Coming, are you, you snail?&rdquo; cried Walter,
+impatiently.&nbsp; &ldquo;Your heels are tardier now than they
+were at Worcester!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A man can&rsquo;t do more nor he can do, sir,&rdquo;
+said Diggory, sullenly, as he plodded into the hall.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Answering again, lubber?&rdquo; said Walter.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Is this what you call cleaned?&nbsp; You are not fit for
+your own shoe-blacking trade!&nbsp; Get along with you!&rdquo;
+and he threw the boots at Diggory in a passion.&nbsp; &ldquo;I
+must wear them, though, as they are, or wait all day.&nbsp; Bring
+them to me again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Walter had some idle notion in his head that it was
+Puritanical to speak courteously to servants, and despising
+Diggory for his cowardice and stupidity, he was especially
+overbearing with him, and went on rating him all the time he was
+putting on his boots, to go out and try to catch some fish for
+the morrow&rsquo;s dinner, which was likely to be but
+scanty.&nbsp; As soon as he was gone, Diggory, who had listened
+in sulky silence, began to utter his complaints.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Chicken-heart, moon-calf, awkward lubber, those be the
+best words a poor fellow gets.&nbsp; I can tell Master Walter
+that these are no times for gentlefolks to be hectoring,
+especially when they haven&rsquo;t a penny to pay wages
+with.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You learnt that in the wars, Diggory,&rdquo; said
+Deborah, turning round, for, grumble as she might herself, she
+could not bear to have a word said by anyone else against her
+lady&rsquo;s family, and loved to scold her sweetheart,
+Diggory.&nbsp; &ldquo;Never mind Master Walter.&nbsp; If he has
+not a penny in his pocket, and the very green coat to his back is
+cut out of his grandmother&rsquo;s farthingale, more&rsquo;s the
+pity.&nbsp; How should he show he is a gentleman but by hectoring
+a bit now and then, &rsquo;specially to such a rogue as thou,
+coming back when thy betters are lost.&nbsp; That is always the
+way, as I found when I lost my real silver crown, and kept my
+trumpery Parliament bit.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, Deb!&rdquo; pleaded Diggory, &ldquo;thou knowst not
+what danger is!&nbsp; I thought thou wouldst never have set eyes
+on poor Diggory again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Much harm would that have been,&rdquo; retorted Mrs.
+Deb, tossing her head.&nbsp; &ldquo;D&rsquo;ye think I&rsquo;d
+have broke my heart?&nbsp; That I&rsquo;ll never do for a
+runaway.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas time to run when poor Farmer Ewins was cut
+down, holloaing for quarter, and Master Edmund&rsquo;s brains
+lying strewn about on the ground, for all the world like a
+calf&rsquo;s.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis your own brains be like a
+calf&rsquo;s,&rdquo; said Deborah.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;d bargain
+to eat all of Master Edmund&rsquo;s brains you ever
+saw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s as dead as a red herring.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I say he is as life-like as you or I.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I say I saw him stretched out, covered with blood, and
+a sword-cut on his head big enough to be the death of twenty
+men.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t that colonel man, as they call him, see
+him alive and merry long after?&nbsp; It&rsquo;s my belief that
+Master Edmund is not a dozen miles off.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Master Edmund! hey, Deb?&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll never believe
+that, after what I&rsquo;ve seen at Worcester.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then pray why does Mistress Rose save a whole pigeon
+out of the pie, hide it in her lap, and steal out of the house
+with it at midnight?&nbsp; Either Master Edmund is in hiding, or
+some other poor gentleman from the wars, and I verily believe it
+is Master Edmund himself; so a fig for his brains or yours, and
+there&rsquo;s for you, for a false-tongued runaway!&nbsp; Coming,
+mistress, coming!&rdquo; and away ran Deborah at a call from
+Rose.</p>
+<p>Now Deborah was faithful to the backbone, and would have given
+all she had in the world, almost her life itself, for her lady
+and the children; she was a good and honest woman in the main,
+but tongue and temper were two things that she had never learnt
+to restrain, and she had given her love to the first person by
+whom it was sought, without consideration whether he was worthy
+of affection or not.&nbsp; That Diggory was a sullen,
+ill-conditioned, selfish fellow, was evident to everyone else;
+but he had paid court to Deborah, and therefore the foolish woman
+had allowed herself to be taken with him, see perfections in him,
+promise to become his wife, and confide in him.</p>
+<p>When Deborah left the hall, Diggory returned to his former
+employment of chopping wood, and began to consider very intently
+for him.</p>
+<p>He had really believed, at the moment of his panic-terror,
+that he saw Edmund Woodley fall, and had at once taken flight,
+without attempting to afford him any assistance.&nbsp; The story
+of the brains had, of course, been invented on the spur of the
+moment, by way of excusing his flight, and he was obliged to
+persist in the falsehood he had once uttered, though he was not
+by any means certain that it had been his master whom he saw
+killed, especially after hearing Colonel Enderby&rsquo;s
+testimony.&nbsp; And now there came alluringly before him the
+promise of the reward offered for the discovery of the fugitive
+cavaliers, the idea of being able to rent and stock poor
+Ewins&rsquo;s farm, and setting up there with Deborah.&nbsp; It
+was money easily come by, he thought, and he would like to be
+revenged on Master Walter, and show him that the lubber and
+moon-calf could do some harm, after all.&nbsp; A relenting came
+across him as he thought of his lady and Mistress Rose, though he
+had no personal regard for Edmund, who had never lived at Forest
+Lea; and his stolid mind was too much enclosed in selfishness to
+admit much feeling for anyone.&nbsp; Besides, it might not be
+Master Edmund; he was probably killed; it might be one of the
+lords in the battle, or even the King himself, and that would be
+worth &pound;1,000.&nbsp; Master Cantwell called them all tyrants
+and sons of Belial, and what not; and though Dr. Bathurst said
+differently, who was to know what was right?&nbsp; Dr. Bathurst
+had had his day, and this was Cantwell&rsquo;s turn.&nbsp; There
+was a comedown now of feathered hats, and point collars, and
+curled hair; and leathern jerkin should have its day.&nbsp; And
+as for being an informer, he would keep his own counsel; at any
+rate, the reward he would have.&nbsp; It was scarcely likely to
+be a hanging matter, after all; and if the gentleman, whoever he
+might be, did chance to be taken, he would get off scot free, no
+harm done to him.&nbsp; &ldquo;Diggory Stokes, you&rsquo;re a
+made man!&rdquo; he finished, throwing his bill-hook from
+him.</p>
+<p>Ah!&nbsp; Lucy, Lucy, you little thought of the harm your
+curiosity and chattering had done, as you saw Diggory stealing
+along the side of the wood, in the direction leading to
+Chichester!</p>
+<h2><a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+77</span>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the afternoon Lady Woodley was
+so much better as to be able to come downstairs, and all the
+party sat round the fire in the twilight.&nbsp; Walter was just
+come in from his fishing, bringing a basket of fine trout;
+Eleanor and Charles were admiring their beautiful red spots, Lucy
+wondering what made him so late, while he cast a significant look
+at his eldest sister, showing her that he had been making a visit
+to Edmund.</p>
+<p>At that moment a loud authoritative knocking was heard at the
+door; Walter shouted to Diggory to open it, and was answered by
+Deborah&rsquo;s shrill scream from the kitchen, &ldquo;He&rsquo;s
+not here, sir; I&rsquo;ve not seen him since you threw your boots
+at him, sir.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Another thundering knock brought Deborah to open the door; and
+what was the dismay of the mother and children as there entered
+six tall men, their buff coats, steeple-crowned hats, plain
+collars, and thick calf-skin boots, marking them as Parliamentary
+soldiers.&nbsp; With a shriek of terror the little ones clung
+round their mother, while he who, by his orange scarf, was
+evidently the commanding officer, standing in the middle of the
+hall, with his hat on, announced, in a Puritanical tone,
+&ldquo;We are here by order of his Excellency, General Cromwell,
+to search for and apprehend the body of the desperate malignant
+Edmund Woodley, last seen in arms against the Most High Court of
+Parliament.&nbsp; Likewise to arrest the person of Dame Mary
+Woodley, widow, suspected of harbouring and concealing
+traitors:&rdquo; and he advanced to lay his hand upon her.&nbsp;
+Walter, in an impulse of passion, rushed forward, and aimed a
+blow at him with the butt-end of the fishing-rod; but it was the
+work of a moment to seize the boy and tie his hands, while his
+mother earnestly implored the soldier to have pity on him, and
+excuse his thoughtless haste to protect her.</p>
+<p>The officer sat down in the arm-chair, and without replying to
+Lady Woodley, ordered a soldier to bring the boy before him, and
+spoke thus:&mdash;&ldquo;Hear me, son of an ungodly seed.&nbsp;
+So merciful are the lessons of the light that thou contemnest,
+that I will even yet overlook and forgive the violence wherewith
+thou didst threaten my life, so thou wilt turn again, and confess
+where thou hast hidden the bloody-minded traitor.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This house harbours no traitor,&rdquo; answered Walter,
+undauntedly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If thou art too hardened to confess,&rdquo; continued
+the officer, frowning, and speaking slowly and sternly, as he
+kept his eyes steadily fixed on Walter, &ldquo;if thou wilt not
+reveal his hiding-place, I lead thee hence to abide the penalty
+of attempted murder.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am quite ready,&rdquo; answered Walter, returning
+frown for frown, and not betraying how his heart throbbed.</p>
+<p>The officer signed to the soldier, who roughly dragged him
+aside by the cord that tied his hands, cutting them severely,
+though he disdained to show any sign of pain.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Young maiden,&rdquo; continued the rebel, turning to
+Rose, &ldquo;what sayest thou?&nbsp; Wilt thou see thy brother
+led away to death, when the breath of thy mouth might save
+him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Poor Rose turned as pale as death, but her answer was steady:
+&ldquo;I will say nothing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Little ones, then,&rdquo; said the officer, fiercely,
+&ldquo;speak, or you shall taste the rod.&nbsp; Do you know where
+your brother is?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No&mdash;no,&rdquo; sobbed Lucy; and her mother added,
+&ldquo;They know nothing, sir.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is loss of time to stand parleying with women and
+children,&rdquo; said the officer, rising.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Here,&rdquo; to one of his men, &ldquo;keep the
+door.&nbsp; Let none quit the chamber, and mark the
+children&rsquo;s talk.&nbsp; The rest with me.&nbsp; Where is the
+fellow that brought the tidings?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Diggory, who had slunk out of sight, was pushed forward by two
+of the soldiers, and at the same time there was a loud scream
+from Deborah.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh!&nbsp; Diggory, is it you?&nbsp;
+Oh! my Lady, my Lady, forgive me!&nbsp; I meant no harm!&nbsp;
+Oh! who would have thought it?&rdquo;&nbsp; And in an agony of
+distress, she threw her apron over her face, and, sinking on the
+bench, rocked herself to and fro, sobbing violently.</p>
+<p>In the meantime, the officer and his men, all but the
+sentinel, had left the room to search for the fugitive, leaving
+Lady Woodley sitting exhausted and terrified in her chair, the
+little ones clinging around her, Walter standing opposite, with
+his hands bound; Rose stood by him, her arm round his neck, proud
+of his firmness, but in dreadful terror for him, and in such
+suspense for Edmund, that her whole being seemed absorbed in
+agonised prayer.&nbsp; Deborah&rsquo;s sobs, and the
+children&rsquo;s frightened weeping, were all the sounds that
+could be heard; Rose was obliged to attempt to soothe them, but
+her first kind word to Deborah produced a fresh burst of violent
+weeping, and then a loud lamentation: &ldquo;Oh! the
+rogue&mdash;the rogue.&nbsp; If I could have dreamt
+it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What has she done?&rdquo; exclaimed Walter,
+impatiently.&nbsp; &ldquo;Come, stop your crying.&nbsp; What have
+you done, Deb?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought&mdash;Oh! if I had known what was in the
+villain!&rdquo; continued Deborah, &ldquo;I&rsquo;d sooner have
+bit out my tongue than have said one word to him about the pigeon
+pie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pigeon pie!&rdquo; repeated Rose.</p>
+<p>Lucy now gave a cry, for she was, with all her faults, a
+truth-telling child.&nbsp; &ldquo;Mother! mother!&nbsp; I told
+Deb about the pigeon pie!&nbsp; Oh, what have I done?&nbsp; Was
+it for Edmund?&nbsp; Is Edmund here?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And to increase the danger and perplexity, the other two
+children exclaimed together, &ldquo;Is Edmund here?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hush, hush, my dears, be quiet; I cannot answer you
+now,&rdquo; whispered Lady Woodley, trying to silence them by
+caresses, and looking with terror at the rigid, stern guard, who,
+instead of remaining at the door where he had been posted, had
+come close up to them, and sat himself down at the end of the
+table, as if to catch every word they uttered.</p>
+<p>Eleanor and Charles obeyed their mother&rsquo;s command that
+they should be silent; Rose took Lucy on her lap, let her rest
+her head on her shoulder, and whispered to her that she should
+hear and tell all another time, but she must be quiet now, and
+listen.&nbsp; Deborah kept her apron over her face, and Walter,
+leaning his shoulder against the wall, stood gazing at them all;
+and while he was intently watching for every sound that could
+enable him to judge whether the search was successful or not, at
+the same time his heart was beating and his head swimming at the
+threat of the rebel.&nbsp; Was he to die?&nbsp; To be taken away
+from that bright world, from sunshine, youth, and health, from
+his mother, and all of them, and be laid, a stiff mangled corpse,
+in some cold, dark, unregarded grave; his pulses, that beat so
+fast, all still and silent&mdash;senseless, motionless, like the
+birds he had killed?&nbsp; And that was not all: that other
+world!&nbsp; To enter on what would last for ever and ever and
+ever, on a state which he had never dwelt on or realised to
+himself, filled him with a blank, shuddering awe; and next came a
+worse, a sickening thought: if his feeling for the bliss of
+heaven was almost distaste, could he be fit for it? could he dare
+to hope for it?&nbsp; It was his Judge Whom he was about to meet,
+and he had been impatient and weary of Bible and Catechism, and
+Dr. Bathurst&rsquo;s teaching; he had been inattentive and
+careless at his prayers; he had been disobedient and unruly,
+violent, and unkind!&nbsp; Such a horror and agony came over the
+poor boy, so exceeding a dread of death, that he was ready at
+that moment to struggle to do anything to save himself; but there
+came the recollection that the price of his rescue must be the
+betrayal of Edmund.&nbsp; He would almost have spoken at that
+instant; the next he sickened at the thought.&nbsp; Never,
+never&mdash;he could not, would not; better not live at all than
+be a traitor!&nbsp; He was too confused and anxious to pray, for
+he had not taught himself to fix his attention in quiet
+moments.&nbsp; He would not speak before the rebel soldier; but
+only looked with an earnest gaze at his sister, who, as their
+eyes met, understood all it conveyed.</p>
+<p>His mother, after the first moment&rsquo;s fright, had
+reassured herself somewhat on his account; he was so mere a boy
+that it was not likely that Algernon Sydney, who then commanded
+at Chichester, would put him to death; a short imprisonment was
+the worst that was likely to befall him; and though that was
+enough to fill her with terror and anxiety, it could at that
+moment be scarcely regarded in comparison with her fears for her
+eldest son.</p>
+<p>A long time passed away, so long, that they began to hope that
+the enemies might be baffled in their search, in spite of
+Diggory&rsquo;s intimate knowledge of every nook and
+corner.&nbsp; They had been once to the shrubbery, and had been
+heard tramping back to the stable, where they were welcome to
+search as long as they chose, then to the barn-yard, all over the
+house from garret to cellar.&nbsp; Was it over?&nbsp; Joy!
+joy!&nbsp; But the feet were heard turning back to the pleasance,
+as though to recommence the search, and ten minutes after the
+steps came nearer.&nbsp; The rebel officer entered the hall
+first, but, alas! behind him came, guarded by two soldiers,
+Edmund Woodley himself, his step firm, his head erect, and his
+hands unbound.&nbsp; His mother sank back in her chair, and he,
+going straight up to her, knelt on one knee before her, saying,
+&ldquo;Mother, dear mother, your blessing.&nbsp; Let me see your
+face again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She threw her arms round his neck, &ldquo;My son! and is it
+thus we meet?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We only meet as we parted,&rdquo; he answered firmly
+and cheerfully.&nbsp; &ldquo;Still sufferers in the same good
+cause; still, I trust, with the same willing hearts.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come, sir,&rdquo; said the officer, &ldquo;I must see
+you safely bestowed for the night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One moment, gentlemen,&rdquo; entreated Lady
+Woodley.&nbsp; &ldquo;It is six years since I saw my son, and
+this may be our last meeting.&rdquo;&nbsp; She led him to the
+light, and looked earnestly up into his face, saying, with a
+smile, which had in it much of pride and pleasure, as well as
+sadness, &ldquo;How you are altered, Edmund!&nbsp; See, Rose, how
+brown he is, and how much darker his hair has grown; and does not
+his moustache make him just like your father?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And my little sisters,&rdquo; said Edmund.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Ha!&nbsp; Lucy, I know your little round face.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; sobbed Lucy, &ldquo;is it my fault?&nbsp;
+Can you pardon me?&nbsp; The pigeon pie!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What does she mean?&rdquo; asked Edmund, turning to
+Rose.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I saw you take it out at night, Rose,&rdquo; said poor
+Lucy.&nbsp; &ldquo;I told Deb!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And poor Deborah,&rdquo; added Rose, &ldquo;from the
+same thoughtlessness repeated her chatter to Diggory, who has
+betrayed us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The cowardly villain,&rdquo; cried Walter, who had come
+forward to the group round his brother.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hush, Walter,&rdquo; said Edmund.&nbsp; &ldquo;But what
+do I see?&nbsp; Your hands bound?&nbsp; You a
+prisoner?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Poor Walter was rash enough to attempt
+resistance,&rdquo; said his mother.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So, sir,&rdquo; said Edmund, turning to the rebel
+captain, &ldquo;you attach great importance to the struggles of a
+boy of thirteen!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A blow with the butt-end of a fishing-rod is no joke
+from boy or man,&rdquo; answered the officer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When last I served in England,&rdquo; continued the
+cavalier, &ldquo;Cromwell&rsquo;s Ironsides did not take notice
+of children with fishing-rods.&nbsp; You can have no warrant, no
+order, or whatever you pretend to act by, against him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why&mdash;no, sir; but&mdash;however, the young
+gentleman has had a lesson, and I do not care if I do loose his
+hands.&nbsp; Here, unfasten him.&nbsp; But I cannot permit him to
+be at large while you are in the house.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very well, then, perhaps you will allow him to share my
+chamber.&nbsp; We have been separated for so many years, and it
+may be our last meeting.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So let it be.&nbsp; Since you are pleased to be
+conformable, sir, I am willing to oblige you,&rdquo; answered the
+rebel, whose whole demeanour had curiously changed in the
+presence of one of such soldierly and gentleman-like bearing as
+Edmund, prisoner though he was.&nbsp; &ldquo;Now, madam, to your
+own chamber.&nbsp; You will all meet to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good-night, mother,&rdquo; said Edmund.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Sleep well; think this is but a dream, and only remember
+that your eldest son is in your own house.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good-night, my brave boy,&rdquo; said Lady Woodley, as
+she embraced him ardently.&nbsp; &ldquo;A comfort, indeed, I have
+in knowing that with your father&rsquo;s face you have his
+steadfast, loving, unselfish heart.&nbsp; We meet
+to-morrow.&nbsp; <span class="smcap">God&rsquo;s</span> blessing
+be upon you, my boy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And tenderly embracing the children she left the hall,
+followed by a soldier, who was to guard her door, and allow no
+one to enter.&nbsp; Edmund next kissed his sisters and little
+Charles, affectionately wishing them good-night, and assuring the
+sobbing Lucy of his pardon.&nbsp; Rose whispered to him to say
+something to comfort Deborah, who continued to weep
+piteously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Deborah,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I must thank you for
+your long faithful service to my mother in her poverty and
+distress.&nbsp; I am sure you knew not that you were doing me any
+harm.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, sir,&rdquo; cried poor Deborah, &ldquo;Oh
+don&rsquo;t speak so kind!&nbsp; I had rather stand up to be a
+mark for all the musketeers in the Parliament army than be where
+I am now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Edmund did not hear half what she said, for he and Walter were
+obliged to hasten upstairs to the chamber which was to be their
+prison for the night.&nbsp; Rose, at the same time, led away the
+children, poor little Charles almost asleep in the midst of the
+confusion.</p>
+<p>Deborah&rsquo;s troubles were not over yet; the captain called
+for supper, and seeing Walter&rsquo;s basket of fish, ordered her
+to prepare them at once for him.&nbsp; Afraid to refuse, she took
+them down to the kitchen, and proceeded to her cookery, weeping
+and lamenting all the time.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, the sweet generous-hearted young gentleman!&nbsp;
+That I should have been the death of such as he, and he thanking
+me for my poor services!&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis little I could do, with
+my crooked temper, that plagues all I love the very best, and my
+long tongue!&nbsp; Oh that it had been bitten out at the
+root!&nbsp; I wish&mdash;I wish I was a mark for all the
+musketeers in the Parliament army this minute!&nbsp; And Diggory,
+the rogue!&nbsp; Oh, after having known him all my life, who
+would have thought of his turning informer?&nbsp; Why was not he
+killed in the great fight?&nbsp; It would have broke my heart
+less.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And having set her fish to boil, Deborah sank on the chair,
+her apron over her head, and proceeded to rock herself backwards
+and forwards as before.&nbsp; She was startled by a touch, and a
+lumpish voice, attempted to be softened into an insinuating
+tone.&nbsp; &ldquo;I say, Deb, don&rsquo;t take on.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She sprung up as if an adder had stung her, and jumped away
+from him.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ha! is it you?&nbsp; Dost dare to speak to
+an honest girl?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come, come, don&rsquo;t be fractious, my pretty
+one,&rdquo; said Diggory, in the amiable tones that had once
+gained her heart.</p>
+<p>But now her retort was in a still sharper, more angry
+key.&nbsp; &ldquo;Your&rsquo;n, indeed!&nbsp; I&rsquo;d rather
+stand up to be a mark for all the musketeers in the Parliament
+army, as poor Master Edmund is like to be, all along of
+you.&nbsp; O Diggory Stokes,&rdquo; she added ruefully,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d not have believed it of you, if my own father
+had sworn it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hush, hush, Deb!&rdquo; said Diggory, rather
+sheepishly, &ldquo;they&rsquo;ve done hanging the
+folk.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be for putting me off with such
+trash,&rdquo; she returned, more passionately;
+&ldquo;you&rsquo;ve murdered him as much as if you had cut his
+throat, and pretty nigh Master Walter into the bargain; and
+you&rsquo;ve broke my lady&rsquo;s heart, you, as was born on her
+land and fed with her bread.&nbsp; And now you think to make up
+to me, do you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wasn&rsquo;t it all along of you I did it?&nbsp; For
+your sake?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, and what would you be pleased to say next?&rdquo;
+cried Deb, her voice rising in shrillness with her
+indignation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Patience, Deb,&rdquo; said Diggory, showing a heavy
+leathern bag.&nbsp; &ldquo;No more toiling in this ruinous old
+hall, with scanty scraps, hard words, and no wages; but a tidy
+little homestead, pig, cow, and horse, your own.&nbsp; See here,
+Deb,&rdquo; and he held up a piece of money.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Silver!&rdquo; she exclaimed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ay, ay,&rdquo; said Diggory, grinning, and jingling the
+bag, &ldquo;and there be plenty more where that came
+from.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is the price of Master Edmund&rsquo;s
+blood.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t ye say that now, Deb; &rsquo;tis all for
+you!&rdquo; he answered, thinking he was prevailing because she
+was less violent, too stupid to perceive the difference between
+her real indignation and perpetual scolding.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So you still have the face to tell me so!&rdquo; she
+burst out, still more vehemently.&nbsp; &ldquo;I tell you,
+I&rsquo;d rather serve my lady and Mistress Rose, if they had not
+a crust to give me, than roll in gold with a rogue like
+you.&nbsp; Get along with you, and best get out of the county,
+for not a boy in Dorset but will cry shame on you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But Deb, Deb,&rdquo; he still pleaded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You will have it, then!&rdquo;&nbsp; And dealing him a
+hearty box on the ear, away ran Deborah.&nbsp; Down fell bag,
+money, and all, and Diggory stood gaping and astounded for a
+moment, then proceeded to grope after the coins on his hands and
+knees.</p>
+<p>Suddenly a voice exclaimed, &ldquo;How now, knave, stealing
+thy mistress&rsquo;s goods?&rdquo; and a tall, grim,
+steeple-hatted figure, armed with a formidable halberd, stood
+over him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good master corporal,&rdquo; he began, trembling; but
+the soldier would not hear him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Away with thee, son of iniquity or I will straightway
+lay mine halberd about thine ears.&nbsp; I bethink me that I saw
+thee at the fight of Worcester, on the part of the man Charles
+Stuart.&rdquo;&nbsp; Here Diggory judged it prudent to slink away
+through the back door.&nbsp; &ldquo;And so,&rdquo; continued the
+Puritan corporal, as he swept the silver into his pouch,
+&ldquo;and so the gains of iniquity fall into the hands of the
+righteous!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In the meantime Edmund and Walter had been conducted up stairs
+to Walter&rsquo;s bed-room, and there locked in, a sentinel
+standing outside the door.&nbsp; No sooner were they there than
+Walter swung himself round with a gesture of rage and
+despair.&nbsp; &ldquo;The villains! the rogues!&nbsp; To be
+betrayed by such a wretch, who has eaten our bread all his
+life.&nbsp; O Edmund, Edmund!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is a most unusual, as well as an unhappy
+chance,&rdquo; returned Edmund.&nbsp; &ldquo;Hitherto it has
+generally happened that servants have given remarkable proofs of
+fidelity.&nbsp; Of course this fellow can have no attachment for
+me; but I should have thought my mother&rsquo;s gentle kindness
+must have won the love of all who came near her, both for herself
+and all belonging to her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A recollection crossed Walter: he stood for a few moments in
+silence, then suddenly exclaimed, &ldquo;The surly rascal!&nbsp;
+I verily believe it was all spite at me, for&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For&mdash;&rdquo; repeated Edmund.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For rating him as he deserved,&rdquo; answered
+Walter.&nbsp; &ldquo;I wish I had given it to him more soundly,
+traitor as he is.&nbsp; No, no, after all,&rdquo; added he,
+hesitating, &ldquo;perhaps if I had been
+civiller&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I should guess you to be a little too prompt of
+tongue,&rdquo; said Edmund, smiling.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is what my mother is always blaming me for,&rdquo;
+said Walter; &ldquo;but really, now, Edmund, doesn&rsquo;t it
+savour of the crop-ear to be picking one&rsquo;s words to every
+rogue in one&rsquo;s way?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nay, Walter, you should not ask me that question, just
+coming from France.&nbsp; There we hold that the best token, in
+our poverty, that we are cavaliers and gentlemen, is to be
+courteous to all, high and low.&nbsp; You should see our young
+King&rsquo;s frank bright courtesy; and as to the little King
+Louis, he is the very pink of civility to every old
+<i>poissarde</i> in the streets.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Walter coloured a little, and looked confused; then repeated,
+as if consoling himself, &ldquo;He is a sullen, spiteful,
+good-for-nothing rogue, whom hanging is too good for.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t let us spend our whole night in abusing
+him,&rdquo; said Edmund; &ldquo;I want to make the most of you,
+Walter, for this our last sight of each other.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O, Edmund! you don&rsquo;t mean&mdash;they shall
+not&mdash;you shall escape.&nbsp; Oh! is there no way out of this
+room?&rdquo; cried Walter, running round it like one distracted,
+and bouncing against the wainscot, as if he would shake it
+down.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hush! this is of no use, Walter,&rdquo; said his
+brother.&nbsp; &ldquo;The window is, I see, too high from the
+ground, and there is no escape.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Walter stood regarding him with blank dismay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For one thing I am thankful to them,&rdquo; continued
+Edmund; &ldquo;I thought they might have shot me down before my
+mother&rsquo;s door, and so filled the place with horror for her
+ever after.&nbsp; Now they have given me time for preparation,
+and she will grow accustomed to the thought of losing
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you think there is no hope?&nbsp; O
+Edmund!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I see none.&nbsp; Sydney is unlikely to spare a friend
+of Prince Rupert&rsquo;s.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Walter squeezed his hands fast together.&nbsp; &ldquo;And
+how&mdash;how can you?&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t think me cowardly,
+Edmund, for that I will never be; never&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never, I am sure,&rdquo; repeated Edmund.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But when that base Puritan threatened me just
+now&mdash;perhaps it was foolish to believe him&mdash;I could
+answer him freely enough; but when I thought of dying,
+then&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You have not stood face to face with death so often as
+I have, Walter,&rdquo; said Edmund; &ldquo;nor have you led so
+wandering and weary a life.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought I could lead any sort of life rather than
+die,&rdquo; said Walter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, our flesh will shrink and tremble at the thought
+of the Judge we must meet,&rdquo; said Edmund; &ldquo;but He is a
+gracious Judge, and He knows that it is rather than turn from our
+duty that we are exposed to death.&nbsp; We may have a good hope,
+sinners as we are in His sight, that He will grant us His mercy,
+and be with us when the time comes.&nbsp; But it is late, Walter,
+we ought to rest, to fit ourselves for what may come
+to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Edmund knelt in prayer, his young brother feeling meantime
+both sorrowful and humiliated, loving Edmund and admiring him
+heartily, following what he had said, grieving and rebelling at
+the fate prepared for him, and at the same time sensible of shame
+at having so far fallen short of all he had hoped to feel and to
+prove himself in the time of trial.&nbsp; He had been of very
+little use to Edmund; his rash interference had only done harm,
+and added to his mother&rsquo;s distress; he had been nothing but
+a boy throughout, and instead of being a brave champion, he had
+been in such an agony of terror at an empty threat, that if the
+rebel captain had been in the room, he might almost, at one
+moment, have betrayed his brother.&nbsp; Poor Walter! how he felt
+what it was never to have learnt self-control!</p>
+<p>The brothers arranged themselves for the night without
+undressing, both occupying Walter&rsquo;s bed.&nbsp; They were
+both too anxious and excited to sleep, and Walter sat up after a
+time, listening more calmly to Edmund, who was giving him last
+messages for Prince Rupert and his other friends, should Walter
+ever meet them, and putting much in his charge, as now likely to
+become heir of Woodley Hall and Forest Lea, warning him earnestly
+to protect his mother and sisters, and be loyal to his King,
+avoiding all compromise with the enemies of the Church.</p>
+<h2><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+97</span>CHAPTER VII.</h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">Forest Lea</span> that night was a house
+of sorrow: the mother and two sons were prisoners in their
+separate rooms, and the anxieties for the future were
+dreadful.&nbsp; Rose longed to see and help her mother, dreading
+the effect of such misery, to be borne in loneliness, by the weak
+frame, shattered by so many previous sufferings.&nbsp; How was
+she to undergo all that might yet be in store for
+her&mdash;imprisonment, ill-treatment, above all, the loss of her
+eldest son?&nbsp; For there was little hope for Edmund.&nbsp; As
+a friend and follower of Prince Rupert, he was a marked man; and
+besides, Algernon Sydney, the commander of the nearest body of
+forces, was known to be a good deal under the influence of the
+present owner of Woodley, who was likely to be glad to see the
+rightful heir removed from his path.</p>
+<p>Rose perceived all this, and her heart failed her, but she had
+no time to pause on the thought.&nbsp; The children must be
+soothed and put to bed, and a hard matter it was to comfort poor
+little Lucy, perhaps the most of all to be pitied.&nbsp; She
+relieved herself by pouring out the whole confession to Rose,
+crying bitterly, while Eleanor hurried on distressing questions
+whether they would take mamma away, and what they would do to
+Edmund.&nbsp; Now it came back to Lucy, &ldquo;O if I had but
+minded what mamma said about keeping my tongue in order; but now
+it is too late!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Rose, after doing her best to comfort them, and listening as
+near to her mother&rsquo;s door as she dared, to hear if she were
+weeping, went to her own room.&nbsp; It adjoined Walter&rsquo;s,
+though the doors did not open into the same passage; and she shut
+that which closed in the long gallery, where her room and that of
+her sisters were, so that the Roundhead sentry might not be able
+to look down it.</p>
+<p>As soon as she was in her own room, she threw herself on her
+knees, and prayed fervently for help and support in their dire
+distress.&nbsp; In the stillness, as she knelt, she heard an
+interchange of voices, which she knew must be those of her
+brothers in the next room.&nbsp; She went nearer to that side,
+and heard them more distinctly.&nbsp; She was even able to
+distinguish when Edmund spoke, and when Walter broke forth in
+impatient exclamations.&nbsp; A sudden thought struck her.&nbsp;
+She might be able to join in the conversation.&nbsp; There had
+once been a door between the two rooms, but it had long since
+been stopped up, and the recess of the doorway was occupied by a
+great oaken cupboard, in which were preserved all the old stores
+of rich farthingales of brocade, and velvet mantles, which had
+been heirlooms from one Dame of Mowbray to another, till poverty
+had caused them to be cut up and adapted into garments for the
+little Woodleys.</p>
+<p>Rose looked anxiously at the carved doors of the old
+wardrobe.&nbsp; Had she the key?&nbsp; She felt in her
+pouch.&nbsp; Yes, she had not given it back to her mother since
+taking out the sheets for Mr. Enderby.&nbsp; She unlocked the
+folding doors, and, pushing aside some of the piles of old
+garments, saw a narrow line of light between the boards, and
+heard the tones almost as clearly as if she was in the same
+room.</p>
+<p>Eager to tell Edmund how near she was, she stretched herself
+out, almost crept between the shelves, leant her head against the
+board on the opposite side, and was about to speak, when she
+found that it yielded in some degree to her touch.&nbsp; A gleam
+of hope darted across her, she drew back, fetched her light,
+tried with her hand, and found that the back of the cupboard was
+in fact a door, secured on her side by a wooden bolt, which there
+was no difficulty in undoing.&nbsp; Another push, and the door
+yielded below, but only so as to show that there must be another
+fastening above.&nbsp; Rose clambered up the shelves, and
+sought.&nbsp; Here it was!&nbsp; It was one of the secret
+communications that were by no means uncommon in old halls in
+those times of insecurity.&nbsp; Edmund might yet be saved!&nbsp;
+Trembling with the excess of her delight in her new-found hope,
+she forced out the second bolt, and pushed again.&nbsp; The door
+gave way, the light widened upon her, and she saw into the
+room!&nbsp; Edmund was lying on the bed, Walter sitting at his
+feet.</p>
+<p>Both started as what had seemed to be part of the wainscoted
+wall opened, but Edmund prevented Walter&rsquo;s exclamation by a
+sign to be silent, and the next moment Rose&rsquo;s face was seen
+squeezing between the shelves.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Edmund!&nbsp; Can you get through here?&rdquo; she
+exclaimed in a low eager whisper.</p>
+<p>Edmund was immediately by her side, kissing the flushed
+anxious forehead: &ldquo;My gallant Rose!&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, thank heaven! thank heaven! now you may be
+safe!&rdquo; continued Rose, still in the same whisper.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I never knew this was a door till this moment.&nbsp;
+Heaven sent the discovery on purpose for your safety!&nbsp; Hush,
+Walter!&nbsp; Oh remember the soldier outside!&rdquo; as Walter
+was about to break out into tumultuous tokens of gladness.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;But can you get through, Edmund?&nbsp; Or perhaps we might
+move out some of the shelves.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is easily done,&rdquo; said Edmund; &ldquo;but I
+know not.&nbsp; Even if I should escape, it would be only to fall
+into the hands of some fresh troop of enemies, and I cannot go
+and leave my mother to their mercy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You could do nothing to save her,&rdquo; said Rose,
+&ldquo;and all that they may do to her would scarcely hurt her if
+she thought you were safe.&nbsp; O Edmund! think of her joy in
+finding you were escaped! the misery of her anxiety
+now!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet to leave her thus!&nbsp; You had not told me half
+the change in her!&nbsp; I know not how to go!&rdquo; said
+Edmund.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You must, you must!&rdquo; said Rose and Walter, both
+at once.&nbsp; And Rose added, &ldquo;Your death would kill her,
+I do believe!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, then; but I do not see my way even when I have
+squeezed between your shelves, my little sister.&nbsp; Every port
+is beset, and our hiding places here can no longer serve
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; said Rose, &ldquo;this is what my mother
+and I had planned before.&nbsp; The old clergyman of this parish,
+Dr. Bathurst, lives in a little house at Bosham, with his
+daughter, and maintains himself by teaching the wealthier boys of
+the town.&nbsp; Now, if you could ride to him to-night, he would
+be most glad to serve you, both as a cavalier, and for my
+mother&rsquo;s sake.&nbsp; He would find some place of
+concealment, and watch for the time when you may attempt to cross
+the Channel.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Edmund considered, and made her repeat her explanation.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Yes, that might answer,&rdquo; he said at length; &ldquo;I
+take you for my general, sweet Rose.&nbsp; But how am I to find
+your good doctor?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think,&rdquo; said Rose, after considering a little
+while, &ldquo;that I had better go with you.&nbsp; I could ride
+behind you on your horse, if the rebels have not found him, and I
+know the town, and Dr. Bathurst&rsquo;s lodging.&nbsp; I only
+cannot think what is to be done about Walter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never mind me,&rdquo; said Walter, &ldquo;they cannot
+hurt me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not if you will be prudent, and not provoke
+them,&rdquo; said Edmund.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I know!&rdquo; cried Rose; &ldquo;wear my gown and
+hood! these men have only seen us by candle-light, and will never
+find you out if you will only be careful.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wear girl&rsquo;s trumpery!&rdquo; exclaimed Walter,
+in such indignation that Edmund smiled, saying, &ldquo;If
+Rose&rsquo;s wit went with her gown, you might be glad of
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She is a good girl enough,&rdquo; said Walter,
+&ldquo;but as to my putting on her petticoat trash, that&rsquo;s
+all nonsense.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hear me this once, dear Walter,&rdquo; pleaded
+Rose.&nbsp; &ldquo;If there is a pursuit, and they fancy you and
+Edmund are gone together, it will quite mislead them to hear only
+of a groom riding before a young lady.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There is something in that,&rdquo; said Walter,
+&ldquo;but a pretty sort of lady I shall make!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you consent?&nbsp; Thank you, dear Walter.&nbsp;
+Now, will you help me into your room, and I&rsquo;ll put two
+rolls of clothes to bed, that the captain may find his prisoners
+fast asleep to-morrow morning.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Walter could hardly help laughing aloud with delight at the
+notion of the disappointment of the rebels.&nbsp; The next thing
+was to consider of Edmund&rsquo;s equipment; Rose turned over her
+ancient hoards in vain, everything that was not too remarkable
+had been used for the needs of the family, and he must go in his
+present blood-stained buff coat, hoping to enter Bosham too early
+in the morning for gossips to be astir.&nbsp; Then she dressed
+Walter in her own clothes, not without his making many faces of
+disgust, especially when she fastened his long curled love-locks
+in a knot behind, tried to train little curls over the sides of
+his face, and drew her black silk hood forward so as to shade
+it.&nbsp; They were nearly of the same height and complexion, and
+Edmund pronounced that Walter made a very pretty girl, so like
+Rose that he should hardly have known them apart, which seemed to
+vex the boy more than all.</p>
+<p>There had been a sort of merriment while this was doing, but
+when it was over, and the moment came when the brother and sister
+must set off, there was lingering, sorrow, and reluctance.&nbsp;
+Edmund felt severely the leaving his mother in the midst of
+peril, brought upon her for his sake, and his one brief sight of
+his home had made him cling the closer to it, and stirred up in
+double force the affections for mother, brothers, and sisters,
+which, though never extinct, had been comparatively dormant while
+he was engaged in stirring scenes abroad.&nbsp; Now that he had
+once more seen the gentle loving countenance of his mother, and
+felt her tender, tearful caress, known that noble-minded Rose,
+and had a glimpse of those pretty little sisters, there was such
+a yearning for them through his whole being, that it seemed to
+him as if he might as well die as continue to be cast up and down
+the world far from them.</p>
+<p>Rose felt as if she was abandoning her mother by going from
+home at such a time, when perhaps she should find on her return
+that she had been carried away to prison.&nbsp; She could not
+bear to think of being missed on such a morning that was likely
+to ensue, but she well knew that the greatest good she could do
+would be to effect the rescue of her brother, and she could not
+hesitate a moment.&nbsp; She crowded charge after charge upon
+Walter, with many a message for her mother, promise to return as
+soon as possible, and entreaty for pardon for leaving her in such
+a strait; and Edmund added numerous like parting greetings, with
+counsel and entreaties that she would ask for Colonel
+Enderby&rsquo;s interference, which might probably avail to save
+her from further imprisonment and sequestration.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good-bye, Walter.&nbsp; In three or four years, if
+matters are not righted before that, perhaps, if you can come to
+me, I may find employment for you in Prince Rupert&rsquo;s fleet,
+or the Duke of York&rsquo;s troop.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O Edmund, thanks! that would be&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Walter had not time to finish, for Rose kissed him, left her
+love and duty to her mother with him, bade him remember he was a
+lady, and then holding Edmund by the hand, both with their shoes
+off, stole softly down the stairs in the dark.</p>
+<h2><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+107</span>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">After</span> pacing up and down
+Rose&rsquo;s room till he was tired, Walter sat down to rest, for
+Rose had especially forbidden him to lie down, lest he should
+derange his hair.&nbsp; He grew very sleepy, and at last, with
+his arms crossed on the table, and his forehead resting on them,
+fell sound asleep, and did not awaken till it was broad daylight,
+and calls of &ldquo;Rose!&nbsp; Rose!&rdquo; were heard outside
+the locked door.</p>
+<p>He was just going to call out that Rose was not here, when he
+luckily recollected that he was Rose, pulled his hood forward,
+and opened the door.</p>
+<p>He was instantly surrounded by the three children, who, poor
+little things, feeling extremely forlorn and desolate without
+their mother, all gathered round him, Lucy and Eleanor seizing
+each a hand, and Charles clinging to the skirts of his
+dress.&nbsp; He by no means understood this; and Rose was so used
+to it, as to have forgotten he would not like it.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;How you crowd?&rdquo; he exclaimed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mistress Rose,&rdquo; began Deborah, coming half way up
+stairs&mdash;Lucy let go his hand, but Charles instantly grasped
+it, and he felt as if he could not move.&nbsp; &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t
+be troublesome, children,&rdquo; said he, trying to shake them
+off; &ldquo;can&rsquo;t you come near one without pulling off
+one&rsquo;s hands?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mistress!&rdquo; continued Deborah; but as he forgot he
+was addressed, and did not immediately attend, she exclaimed,
+&ldquo;Oh, she won&rsquo;t even look at me!&nbsp; I thought she
+had forgiven me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Forgiven you!&rdquo; said he, starting.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Stuff and nonsense; what&rsquo;s all this about?&nbsp; You
+were a fool, that&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Deborah stared at this most unwonted address on the part of
+her young lady; and Lucy, a sudden light breaking on her, smiled
+at Eleanor, and held up her finger.&nbsp; Deborah proceeded with
+her inquiry: &ldquo;Mistress Rose, shall I take some breakfast to
+my lady, and the young gentlemen, poor souls?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, of course,&rdquo; he answered.&nbsp; &ldquo;No,
+wait a bit.&nbsp; Only to my mother, I mean, just at
+present.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And the soldiers,&rdquo; continued
+Deborah&mdash;&ldquo;they&rsquo;re roaring for breakfast; what
+shall I give them?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A halter,&rdquo; he had almost said, but he caught
+himself up in time, and answered, &ldquo;What you
+can&mdash;bread, beef, beer&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bread! beef! beer!&rdquo; almost shrieked Deborah,
+&ldquo;when she knows the colonel man had the last of our beer;
+beef we have not seen for two Christmases, and bread,
+there&rsquo;s barely enough for my lady and the children, till we
+bake.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, whatever there is, then,&rdquo; said Walter,
+anxious to get rid of her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I could fry some bacon,&rdquo; pursued Deborah,
+&ldquo;only I don&rsquo;t know whether to cut the new flitch so
+soon; and there be some cabbages in the garden.&nbsp; Should I
+fry or boil them, Mistress Rose?&nbsp; The bottom is out of the
+frying-pan, and the tinker is not come this way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The tinker was too much for poor Walter&rsquo;s patience, and
+flinging away from her, he exclaimed, &ldquo;Mercy on me, woman,
+you&rsquo;ll plague the life out of me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Poor Deborah stood aghast.&nbsp; &ldquo;Mistress Rose! what is
+it? you look wildly, I declare, and your hood is all I
+don&rsquo;t know how.&nbsp; Shall I set it right?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mind your own business, and I&rsquo;ll mind
+mine!&rdquo; cried Walter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Alack! alack!&rdquo; lamented Deborah, as she hastily
+retreated down stairs, Charlie running after her.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Mistress Rose is gone clean demented with trouble, and
+that is the worst that has befallen this poor house
+yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There!&rdquo; said Lucy, as soon as she was gone;
+&ldquo;I have held my tongue this time.&nbsp; O Walter, you
+don&rsquo;t do it a bit like Rose!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where is Rose!&rdquo; said Eleanor.&nbsp; &ldquo;How
+did you get out?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well!&rdquo; said Walter, &ldquo;it is hard that,
+whatever we do, women and babies are mixed up with it.&nbsp; I
+must trust you since you have found me out, but mind, Lucy, not
+one word or look that can lead anyone to guess what I am telling
+you.&nbsp; Edmund is safe out of this house, Rose is gone with
+him&mdash;&rsquo;tis safest not to say where.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But is not she coming back?&rdquo; asked Eleanor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes, very soon&mdash;to-day, or to-morrow
+perhaps.&nbsp; So I am Rose till she comes back, and little did I
+guess what I was undertaking!&nbsp; I never was properly thankful
+till now that I was not born a woman!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh don&rsquo;t stride along so, or they will find you
+out,&rdquo; exclaimed Eleanor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And don&rsquo;t mince and amble, that is worse!&rdquo;
+added Lucy.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh you will make me laugh in spite of
+everything.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pshaw!&nbsp; I shall shut myself into my&mdash;her
+room, and see nobody!&rdquo; said Walter; &ldquo;you must keep
+Charlie off, Lucy, and don&rsquo;t let Deb drive me
+distracted.&nbsp; I dare say, if necessary, I can fool it enough
+for the rebels, who never spoke to a gentlewoman in their
+lives.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But only tell me, how did you get out?&rdquo; said
+Lucy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Little Miss Curiosity must rest without knowing,&rdquo;
+said Walter, shutting the door in her face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, don&rsquo;t be curious, dear Lucy,&rdquo; said
+Eleanor, taking her hand.&nbsp; &ldquo;We shall know in
+time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I will not, I am not,&rdquo; said Lucy,
+magnanimously.&nbsp; &ldquo;We will not say one single word,
+Eleanor, and I will not look as if I knew anything.&nbsp; Come
+down, and we will see if we can do any of Rose&rsquo;s work, for
+we must be very useful, you know; I wish I might tell poor Deb
+that Edmund is safe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Walter was wise in secluding himself in his disguise.&nbsp; He
+remained undisturbed for some time, while Deborah&rsquo;s
+unassisted genius was exerted to provide the rebels with
+breakfast.&nbsp; The first interruption was from Eleanor, who
+knocked at the door, beginning to call &ldquo;Walter,&rdquo; and
+then hastily turning it into &ldquo;Rose!&rdquo;&nbsp; He opened,
+and she said, with tears in her eyes, &ldquo;O Walter, Walter,
+the wicked men are really going to take dear mother away to
+prison.&nbsp; She is come down with her cloak and hood on, and is
+asking for you&mdash;Rose I mean&mdash;to wish good-bye.&nbsp;
+Will you come?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Walter; &ldquo;and
+Edmund&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They were just sending up to call him,&rdquo; said
+Eleanor; &ldquo;they will find it out in&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Eleanor&rsquo;s speech was cut short by a tremendous uproar in
+the next room.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ha!&nbsp; How?&nbsp; Where are
+they?&nbsp; How now?&nbsp; Escaped!&rdquo; with many confused
+exclamations, and much trampling of heavy boots.&nbsp; Eleanor
+stood frightened, Walter clapped his hands, cut a very unfeminine
+caper, clenched his fist, and shook it at the wall, and exclaimed
+in an exulting whisper, &ldquo;Ha! ha! my fine fellows!&nbsp; You
+may look long enough for him!&rdquo; then ran downstairs at full
+speed, and entered the hall.&nbsp; His mother, dressed for a
+journey, stood by the table; a glance of hope and joy lighting on
+her pale features, but her swollen eyelids telling of a night of
+tears and sleeplessness.&nbsp; Lucy and Charles were by her side,
+the front door open, and the horses were being led up and down
+before it.&nbsp; Walter and Eleanor hurried up to her, but before
+they had time to speak, the rebel captain dashed into the room,
+exclaiming, &ldquo;Thou treacherous woman, thou shalt abye
+this!&nbsp; Here! mount, pursue, the nearest road to the
+coast.&nbsp; Smite them rather than let them escape.&nbsp; The
+malignant nursling of the blood-thirsty Palatine at large
+again!&nbsp; Follow, and overtake, I say!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Which way, sir?&rdquo; demanded the corporal.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The nearest to the coast.&nbsp; Two ride to Chichester,
+two to Gosport.&nbsp; Or here!&nbsp; Where is that maiden, young
+in years, but old in wiles?&nbsp; Ah, there! come hither,
+maiden.&nbsp; Wilt thou purchase grace for thy mother by telling
+which way the prisoners are fled?&nbsp; I know thy wiles, and
+will visit them on thee and on thy father&rsquo;s house, unless
+thou dost somewhat to merit forgiveness.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; demanded Walter, swelling with
+passion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do not feign, maiden.&nbsp; Thy heart is rejoicing that
+the enemies of the righteous are escaped.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You are not wrong there, sir,&rdquo; said Walter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I tell thee,&rdquo; said the captain, sternly,
+&ldquo;thy joy shall be turned to mourning.&nbsp; Thou shalt see
+thy mother thrown into a dungeon, and thou and thy sisters shall
+beg your bread, unless&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Walter could not endure these empty threats, and exclaimed,
+&ldquo;You know you have no power to do this.&nbsp; Is this what
+you call manliness to use such threats to a poor girl in your
+power?&nbsp; Out upon you!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; said the rebel, considerably surprised at
+the young lady&rsquo;s manner of replying.&nbsp; &ldquo;Is it
+thus the malignants breed up their daughters, in insolence as
+well as deceit?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The last word made Walter entirely forget his assumed
+character, and striking at the captain with all his force, he
+exclaimed, &ldquo;Take that, for giving the lie to a
+gentleman.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How now?&rdquo; cried the rebel, seizing his arm.&nbsp;
+Walter struggled, the hood fell back.&nbsp; &ldquo;&rsquo;Tis the
+boy!&nbsp; Ha! deceived again!&nbsp; Here! search the house
+instantly, every corner.&nbsp; I will not be balked a second
+time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He rushed out of the room, while Walter, rending off the hood,
+threw himself into his mother&rsquo;s arms, exclaiming, &ldquo;O
+mother dear, I bore it as long as I could.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My dear rash boy!&rdquo; said she.&nbsp; &ldquo;But is
+he safe?&nbsp; No, do not say where.&nbsp; Thanks, thanks to
+heaven.&nbsp; Now I am ready for anything!&rdquo; and so indeed
+her face proved.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All owing to Rose, mother; she will soon be back again,
+she&mdash;but I&rsquo;ll say no more, for fear.&nbsp; He left
+love&mdash;duty&mdash;Rose left all sorts of greetings, that I
+will tell you by and by.&nbsp; Ha! do you hear them lumbering
+about the house?&nbsp; They fancy he is hid there!&nbsp; Yes, you
+are welcome&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hush! hush, Walter! the longer they look the more time
+he will gain,&rdquo; whispered his mother.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh this
+is joy indeed!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mamma, I found out Walter, and said not one
+word,&rdquo; interposed Lucy; but there was no more opportunity
+for converse permitted, for the captain returned, and ordered the
+whole party into the custody of a soldier, who was not to lose
+sight of any of them till the search was completed.</p>
+<p>After putting the whole house in disorder, and seeking in vain
+through the grounds, the captain himself, and one of his men,
+went off to scour the neighbouring country, and examine every
+village on the coast.</p>
+<p>Lady Woodley and her three younger children were in the
+meantime locked into her room, while the soldier left in charge
+was ordered not to let Walter for a moment out of his sight; and
+both she and Walter were warned that they were to be carried the
+next morning to Chichester, to answer for having aided and
+abetted the escape of the notorious traitor, Edmund Woodley.</p>
+<p>It was plain that he really meant it, but hope for Edmund made
+Lady Woodley cheerful about all she might have to undergo; and
+even trust that the poor little ones she was obliged to leave
+behind, might be safe with Rose and Deborah.&nbsp; Her great fear
+was lest the rebels should search the villages before Edmund had
+time to escape.</p>
+<h2><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+117</span>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">Cautiously</span> stealing down stairs,
+Rose first, to spy where the rebels might be, the brother and
+sister reached the kitchen, where Rose provided Edmund with a
+grey cloak, once belonging to a former serving-man, and after a
+short search in an old press, brought out various equipments,
+saddle, belt, and skirt, with which her mother had once been wont
+to ride pillion-fashion.&nbsp; These they carried to the outhouse
+where Edmund&rsquo;s horse had been hidden; and when all was set
+in order by the light of the lantern, Rose thought that her
+brother looked more like a groom and less like a cavalier than
+she had once dared to hope.&nbsp; They mounted, and on they rode,
+across the downs, through narrow lanes, past farm houses,
+dreading that each yelping dog might rouse his master to report
+which way they were gone.&nbsp; It was not till day had dawned,
+and the eastern sky was red with the approaching sun, that they
+came down the narrow lane that led to the little town of Bosham,
+a low flat place, sloping very gradually to the water.&nbsp; Here
+Rose left her brother, advising him to keep close under the
+hedge, while she softly opened a little gate, and entered a
+garden, long and narrow, with carefully cultivated flowers and
+vegetables.&nbsp; At the end was a low cottage; and going up to
+the door, Rose knocked gently.&nbsp; The door was presently
+cautiously opened by a girl a few years older, very plainly
+dressed, as if busy in household work.&nbsp; She started with
+surprise, then held out her hand, which Rose pressed
+affectionately, as she said, &ldquo;Dear Anne, will you tell your
+father that I should be very glad to speak to him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I will call him,&rdquo; said Anne; &ldquo;he is just
+rising.&nbsp; What is&mdash;&nbsp; But I will not
+delay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh no, do not, thank you, I cannot tell you
+now.&rdquo;&nbsp; Rose was left by Anne Bathurst standing in a
+small cleanly-sanded kitchen, with a few wooden chairs neatly
+ranged, some trenchers and pewter dishes against the wall, and
+nothing like decoration except a beau-pot, as Anne would have
+called it, filled with flowers.&nbsp; Here the good doctor and
+his daughter lived, and tried to eke out a scanty maintenance by
+teaching a little school.</p>
+<p>After what was really a very short interval, but which seemed
+to Rose a very long one, Dr. Bathurst, a thin, spare, middle-aged
+man, with a small black velvet cap over his grey hair, came down
+the creaking rough wooden stairs.&nbsp; &ldquo;My dear
+child,&rdquo; he asked, &ldquo;in what can I help you?&nbsp; Your
+mother is well, I trust.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes, sir!&rdquo; said Rose; and with reliance and
+hope, as if she had been speaking to a father, she explained
+their distress and perplexity, then stood in silence while the
+good doctor, a slow thinker, considered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;First, to hide him,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;he may not
+be here, for this&mdash;the old parson&rsquo;s house&mdash;will
+be the very first spot they will search.&nbsp; But we will
+try.&nbsp; You rode, you say, Mistress Rose; where is your
+horse?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! there is one difficulty,&rdquo; said Rose,
+&ldquo;Edmund is holding him now; but where shall we leave
+him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let us come first to see the young gentleman,&rdquo;
+said Dr. Bathurst; and they walked together to the lane where
+Edmund was waiting, the doctor explaining by the way that he
+placed his chief dependence on Harry Fletcher, a fisherman,
+thoroughly brave, trustworthy, and loyal, who had at one time
+been a sailor, and had seen, and been spoken to by King Charles
+himself.&nbsp; He lived in a little lonely hut about half a mile
+distant; he was unmarried, and would have been quite alone, but
+that he had taken a young nephew, whose father had been killed on
+the Royalist side, to live with him, and to be brought up to his
+fishing business.</p>
+<p>Edmund and Rose both agreed that there could be no better hope
+of escape than in trusting to this good man; and as no time was
+to be lost, they parted for the present, Rose returning to the
+cottage to spend the day with Anne Bathurst, and the clergyman
+walking with the young cavalier to the place where the fisherman
+lived.&nbsp; They led the horse with them for some distance, then
+tied him to a gate, a little out of sight, and went on to the
+hut, which stood, built of the shingle of the beach, just beyond
+the highest reach of the tide, with the boat beside it, and the
+nets spread out to dry.</p>
+<p>Before there was time to knock, the door was opened by Harry
+Fletcher himself, his open sunburnt face showing honesty and good
+faith in every feature.&nbsp; He put his hand respectfully to his
+woollen cap, and said, with a sort of smile, as he looked at
+Edmund, &ldquo;I see what work you have for me, your
+reverence.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You are right, Harry,&rdquo; said Dr. Bathurst;
+&ldquo;this is one of the gentlemen that fought for his Majesty
+at Worcester, and if we cannot get him safe out of the country,
+with heaven&rsquo;s blessing, he is as good as a dead
+man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come in, sir,&rdquo; said Fletcher, &ldquo;you had best
+not be seen.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s no one here but little Dick, and
+I&rsquo;ll answer for him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They came in, and Dr. Bathurst explained Edmund&rsquo;s
+circumstances.&nbsp; The honest fellow looked a little perplexed,
+but after a moment said, &ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;ll do what in me
+lies, sir; but &rsquo;tis a long way across.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I should tell you, my good man,&rdquo; said Edmund,
+&ldquo;that I have nothing to repay you with for all the trouble
+and danger to which you may be exposing yourself on my
+behalf.&nbsp; Nothing but my horse, which would only be bringing
+suspicion on you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to that, your honour,&rdquo; replied Harry,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d never think of waiting for pay in a matter of
+life and death.&nbsp; I am glad if I can help off a gentleman
+that has been on the King&rsquo;s side.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So the plan was arranged.&nbsp; Edmund was to be disguised in
+the fisherman&rsquo;s clothes, spend the day at his hut, and at
+night, if the weather served, Fletcher would row him out to sea,
+assisted by the little boy, in hopes of falling in with a French
+vessel; or, if not, they must pull across to Havre or
+Dieppe.&nbsp; The doctor promised to bring Rose at ten
+o&rsquo;clock to meet him on the beach and bid him
+farewell.&nbsp; As to the horse, Fletcher sent the little boy to
+turn it out on the neighbouring down, and hide the saddle.</p>
+<p>All this arranged, Dr. Bathurst returned to his school; and
+Rose, dressed in Anne&rsquo;s plainest clothes, rested on her bed
+as long as her anxiety would allow her, then came down and helped
+in her household work.&nbsp; It was well that Rose was thus
+employed, for in the afternoon they had a great fright.&nbsp; Two
+soldiers came knocking violently at the door, exhibiting an order
+to search for the escaped prisoner.&nbsp; Rose recognised two of
+the party who had been at Forest Lea; but happily they had not
+seen enough of her to know her in the coarse blue stuff petticoat
+that she now wore.&nbsp; One of them asked who she was, and Anne
+readily replied, &ldquo;Oh, a friend who is helping me;&rdquo;
+after which they paid her no further attention.</p>
+<p>Her anxiety for Edmund was of course at its height during this
+search, and it was not till the evening that she could gain any
+intelligence.&nbsp; Edmund&rsquo;s danger had indeed been
+great.&nbsp; Harry Fletcher saw the rebels coming in time to
+prepare.&nbsp; He advised his guest not to remain in the house,
+as if he wished to avoid observation, but to come out, as if
+afraid of nothing.&nbsp; His cavalier dress had been carefully
+destroyed or concealed; he wore the fisherman&rsquo;s rough
+clothes, and had even sacrificed his long dark hair, covering his
+head with one of Harry&rsquo;s red woollen caps.&nbsp; He was
+altogether so different in appearance from what he had been
+yesterday, that he ventured forward, and leant whistling against
+the side of the boat, while Harry parleyed with the
+soldiers.&nbsp; Perhaps they suspected Harry a little, for they
+insisted on searching his hut, and as they were coming out, one
+of them began to tell him of the penalties that fishermen would
+incur by favouring the escape of the Royalists.&nbsp; Harry did
+not lose countenance, but went on hammering at his boat as if he
+cared not at all, till observing that one of the soldiers was
+looking hard at Edmund, he called out, &ldquo;I say, Ned,
+what&rsquo;s the use of loitering there, listening to
+what&rsquo;s no concern of yours?&nbsp; Fetch the oar out of yon
+shed.&nbsp; I never lit on such a lazy comrade in my
+life.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This seemed to turn away all suspicion, the soldiers left
+them, and no further mischance occurred.&nbsp; At night, just as
+the young moon was setting, the boat was brought out, and Harry,
+with little Dick and a comrade whom he engaged could be trusted,
+prepared their oars.&nbsp; At the same time, Dr. Bathurst and
+Rose came silently to meet them along the shingly beach.&nbsp;
+Rose hardly knew her brother in his fisherman&rsquo;s garb.&nbsp;
+The time was short, and their hearts were too full for many
+words, as that little party stood together in the light of the
+crescent moon, the sea sounding with a low constant ripple,
+spread out in the grey hazy blue distance, and here and there the
+crests of the nearer waves swelling up and catching the
+moonlight.</p>
+<p>Edmund and his sister held their hands tightly clasped, loving
+each other, if possible, better than ever.&nbsp; He now and then
+repeated some loving greeting which she was to bear home; and she
+tried to restrain her tears, at the separation she was forced to
+rejoice in, a parting which gave no augury of meeting again, the
+renewal of an exile from which there was no present hope of
+return.&nbsp; Harry looked at Dr. Bathurst to intimate it was
+time to be gone.&nbsp; The clergyman came close to the brother
+and sister, and instead of speaking his own words, used
+these:&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Turn our captivity, O <span class="smcap">Lord</span>,
+as the rivers in the south.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He that now goeth on his way weeping, and beareth forth
+good seed, shall doubtless come again with joy, and bring his
+sheaves with him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Amen,&rdquo; answered Edmund and Rose; and they
+loosened their hold of each other with hearts less sore.&nbsp;
+Then Edmund bared his head, and knelt down, and the good
+clergyman called down a blessing from heaven on him; Harry, the
+faithful man who was going to risk himself for him, did the same,
+and received the same blessing.&nbsp; There were no more words,
+the boat pushed off, and the splash of the oars resounded
+regularly.</p>
+<p>Rose&rsquo;s tears came thick, fast, blinding, and she sat
+down on a block of wood and wept long and bitterly; then she rose
+up, and in answer to Dr. Bathurst&rsquo;s cheering words, she
+said, &ldquo;Yes, I do thank <span class="smcap">God</span> with
+all my heart!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>That night Rose slept at Dr. Bathurst&rsquo;s, and early in
+the morning was rejoiced by the tidings which Harry Fletcher sent
+little Dick to carry to the cottage.&nbsp; The voyage had been
+prosperous, they had fallen in with a French vessel, and Mr.
+Edmund Woodley had been safely received on board.</p>
+<p>She was very anxious to return home; and as it was Saturday,
+and therefore a holiday at the school, Dr. Bathurst undertook to
+go with her and spend the Sunday at Forest Lea.&nbsp; One of the
+farmers of Bosham helped them some little way with his harvest
+cart, but the rest of the journey had to be performed on
+foot.&nbsp; It was not till noon that they came out upon the high
+road between Chichester and Forest Lea; and they had not been
+upon it more than ten minutes, before the sound of horses&rsquo;
+tread was heard, as if coming from Chichester.&nbsp; Looking
+round, they saw a gentleman riding fast, followed by a soldier
+also on horseback.&nbsp; There was something in his air that Rose
+recognised, and as he came nearer she perceived it was Sylvester
+Enderby.&nbsp; He was much amazed, when, at the same moment, he
+perceived it was Mistress Rose Woodley, and stopping his horse,
+and taking off his hat, with great respect both towards her and
+the clergyman, he hoped all the family were well in health.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, yes, I believe so, thank you,&rdquo; replied Rose,
+looking anxiously at him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am on my way to Forest Lea,&rdquo; he said.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I bring the order my father hoped to obtain from General
+Cromwell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Protection!&nbsp; Oh, thanks! ten thousand
+thanks!&rdquo; cried Rose.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh! it may save&mdash;But
+hasten on, pray hasten on, sir.&nbsp; The soldiers are already at
+home; I feared she might be already a prisoner at
+Chichester.&nbsp; Pray go on and restrain them by your
+authority.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t ask me to explain&mdash;you will
+understand all when you are there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She prevailed on him to go on, while she, with Dr. Bathurst,
+more slowly proceeded up the chalky road which led to the summit
+of the green hill or down, covered with short grass, which
+commanded a view of all the country round, and whence they would
+turn off upon the down leading to Forest Lea.&nbsp; Just as they
+came to the top, Rose cast an anxious glance in the direction of
+her home, and gave a little cry.&nbsp; Sylvester Enderby and his
+attendant could be seen speeding down the green slope of the
+hill; but at some distance further on, was a little troop of
+horsemen, coming from the direction of Forest Lea, the sun now
+and then flashing on a steel cap or on the point of a pike.&nbsp;
+Fast rode on Sylvester, nearer and nearer came the troop; Rose
+almost fancied she could discern on one of the horses something
+muffled in black that could be no other than her mother.&nbsp;
+How she longed for wings to fly to meet her and cheer her heart
+with the assurance of Edmund&rsquo;s safety!&nbsp; How she longed
+to be on Sylvester&rsquo;s horse, as she saw the distance between
+him and the party fast diminishing!&nbsp; At length he was close
+to it, he had mingled with it; and at the same time Dr. Bathurst
+and Rose had to mount a slightly rising ground, which for a time
+entirely obscured their view.&nbsp; When at length they had
+reached the summit of this eminence, the party were standing
+still, as if in parley; there was presently a movement, a
+parting, Rose clasped her hands in earnestness.&nbsp; The main
+body continued their course to Chichester, a few remained
+stationary.&nbsp; How many?&nbsp; One, two, three&mdash;yes,
+four, or was it five? and among them the black figure she had
+watched so anxiously!&nbsp; &ldquo;She is safe, she is
+safe!&rdquo; cried Rose.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh, <span
+class="smcap">God</span> has been so very good to us, I wish I
+could thank Him enough!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Leaving the smoother slope to avoid encountering the baffled
+rebels, Dr. Bathurst and Rose descended the steep, the good man
+exerting himself that her eagerness might not be
+disappointed.&nbsp; Down they went, sliding on the slippery green
+banks, helping themselves with the doctor&rsquo;s trusty staff,
+taking a short run at the lowest and steepest part of each,
+creeping down the rude steps, or rather foot-holes, cut out by
+the shepherd-boys in the more perpendicular descents, and fairly
+sliding or running down the shorter ones.&nbsp; They saw their
+friends waiting for them; and a lesser figure than the rest
+hastened towards them, scaling the steep slopes with a good will,
+precipitancy, and wild hurrahs of exultation, that would not let
+them doubt it was Walter, before they could see his form
+distinctly, or hear his words.&nbsp; Rose ran headlong down the
+last green slope, and was saved from falling by fairly rushing
+into his arms.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is he safe?&nbsp; I need not ask!&rdquo; exclaimed
+Walter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Safe! in a French vessel.&nbsp; And mother?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Safe! well! happy!&nbsp; You saw, you heard!&nbsp;
+Hurrah!&nbsp; The crop-ears are sent to the right about; the
+captain has done mother and me the favour to forgive us, as a
+Christian, all that has passed, he says.&nbsp; We are all going
+home again as fast as we can, young Enderby and all, to chase out
+the two rogues that are quartered on us to afflict poor Deb and
+the little ones.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>By this time Dr. Bathurst had descended, more cautiously, and
+Walter went to greet him, and repeat his news.&nbsp; Together
+they proceeded to meet the rest; and who can tell the tearful
+happiness when Rose and her mother were once more pressed in each
+other&rsquo;s arms!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My noble girl! under Providence you have saved
+him!&rdquo; whispered Lady Woodley.</p>
+<p>The next evening, in secrecy, with the shutters shut, and the
+light screened, the true pastor of Forest Lea gathered the
+faithful ones of his flock for a service in the old hall.&nbsp;
+There knelt many a humble, loyal, trustful peasant; there was the
+widowed Dame Ewins, trying to be comforted, as they told her she
+ought; there was the lady herself, at once sorrowful and yet
+earnestly thankful; there was Sylvester Enderby, hearing and
+following the prayers he had been used to in his early childhood,
+with a growing feeling that here lay the right and the truth;
+there was Deborah, weeping, grieving over her own fault, and
+almost heart-broken at the failure of him on whom she had set her
+warm affections, yet perhaps in a way made wiser, and taught to
+trust no longer to a broken reed, but to look for better things;
+there were Walter and Lucy, both humbled and subdued, repenting
+in earnest of the misbehaviour each of them had been guilty
+of.&nbsp; Walter did not show his contrition much in manner, but
+it was real, and he proved it by many a struggle with his
+self-willed overbearing temper.&nbsp; It was a real resolution
+that he took now, and in a spirit of humility, which made him
+glad to pray that what was past might be forgiven, and that he
+might be helped for the future.&nbsp; That was the first time
+Walter had ever kept up his attention through the whole service,
+but it all came home to him now.</p>
+<p>Each of that little congregation had their own sorrow of
+heart, their own prayer and thanksgiving, to pour out in secret;
+but all could join in one thank-offering for the safety of the
+heir of that house; all joined in one prayer for the rescue of
+their hunted King, and for the restoration of their oppressed and
+afflicted Church.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
+<p>Nine years had passed away, and Forest Lea still stood among
+the stumps of its cut-down trees; but one fair long day in early
+June there was much that was changed in its aspect.&nbsp; The
+park was carefully mown and swept; the shrubs were trained back;
+the broken windows were repaired; and within the hall the
+appearance of everything was still more strikingly cheerful, as
+the setting sun looked smilingly in at the western window.&nbsp;
+Green boughs filled the hearth, and were suspended round the
+walls; fresh branches of young oak leaves, tasselled with the
+pale green catkins; the helmets and gauntlets hanging on the wall
+were each adorned with a spray, and polished to the brightest;
+the chairs and benches were ranged round the long table, covered
+with a spotless cloth, and bearing in the middle a large bowl
+filled with oak boughs, roses, lilac, honey-suckle, and all the
+pride of the garden.</p>
+<p>At the head of the table sat, less pale, and her face beaming
+with deep, quiet, heartfelt joy, Lady Woodley herself; and near
+her were Dr. Bathurst and his happy daughter, who in a few days
+more were to resume their abode in his own parsonage.&nbsp;
+Opposite to her was a dark soldierly sun-burnt man, on whose
+countenance toil, weather, and privation had set their traces,
+but whose every tone and smile told of the ecstasy of being once
+more at home.</p>
+<p>Merry faces were at each side of the table; Walter, grown up
+into a tall noble-looking youth of two-and-twenty, particularly
+courteous and gracious in demeanour, and most affectionate to his
+mother; Charles, a gentle sedate boy of fifteen, so much given to
+books and gravity, that his sisters called him their little
+scholar; Rose, with the same sweet thoughtful face, active step,
+and helpful hand, that she had always possessed, but very pale,
+and more pensive and grave than became a time of rejoicing, as if
+the cares and toils of her youth had taken away her light heart,
+and had given her a soft subdued melancholy that was always the
+same.&nbsp; She was cheerful when others were cast down and
+overwhelmed; but when they were gay, she, though not sorrowful,
+seemed almost grave, in spite of her sweet smiles and ready
+sympathy.&nbsp; Yet Rose was very happy, no less happy than
+Eleanor, with her fair, lovely, laughing face, or&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But where is Lucy?&rdquo; Edmund asked, as he saw her
+chair vacant.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lucy?&rdquo; said Rose; &ldquo;she will come in a
+moment.&nbsp; She is going to bring in the dish you especially
+ordered, and which Deborah wonders at.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good, faithful Deborah!&rdquo; said Edmund.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Did she never find a second love?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh no, never,&rdquo; said Eleanor.&nbsp; &ldquo;She
+says she has seen enough of men in her time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She is grown sharper than ever,&rdquo; said Walter,
+&ldquo;now she is Mistress Housekeeper Deborah; I shall pity the
+poor maidens under her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She will always be kind in the main,&rdquo; rejoined
+Rose.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And did you ever hear what became of that precious
+sweetheart of hers?&rdquo; asked Edmund.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hanged for sheep stealing,&rdquo; replied Walter,
+&ldquo;according to the report of Sylvester Enderby.&nbsp; But
+hush, for enter&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There entered Lucy, smiling and blushing, her dark hair
+decorated with the spray of oak, and her hands supporting a great
+pewter dish, in which stood a noble pie, of pale-brown,
+well-baked crust, garnished with many a pair of little claws,
+showing what were the contents.&nbsp; She set it down in the
+middle of the table, just opposite to Walter.&nbsp; The grace was
+said, the supper began, and great was the merriment when Walter,
+raising a whole pigeon on his fork, begged to know if Rose had
+appetite enough for it, and if she still possessed the spirit of
+a wolf.&nbsp; &ldquo;And,&rdquo; said he, as they finished,
+&ldquo;now Rose will never gainsay me more when I sing&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;For forty years our Royal throne<br />
+Has been his father&rsquo;s and his own,<br />
+Nor is there anyone but he<br />
+With right can there a sharer be.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; For who better may<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The right sceptre sway,<br />
+Than he whose right it is to reign?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Then look for no peace,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; For the war will never cease<br />
+Till the King enjoys his own again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then far upon the distant hill<br />
+My hope has cast her anchor still,<br />
+Until I saw the peaceful dove<br />
+Bring home the branch I dearly love.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And there did I wait<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Till the waters abate<br />
+That did surround my swimming brain;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; For rejoice could never I<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Till I heard the joyful cry<br />
+That the King enjoys his own again!&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PIGEON PIE***</p>
+<pre>
+
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+Project Gutenberg Etext of The Pigeon Pie, by Charlotte M. Yonge
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+Title:  The Pigeon Pie
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+This etext was prepared by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
+from the 1905 A. R. Mowbray & Co. edition.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE PIGEON PIE
+
+by Charlotte M. Yonge
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+
+Early in the September of the year 1651 the afternoon sun was shining
+pleasantly into the dining-hall of Forest Lea House.  The sunshine
+came through a large bay-window, glazed in diamonds, and with long
+branches of a vine trailing across it, but in parts the glass had
+been broken and had never been mended.  The walls were wainscoted
+with dark oak, as well as the floor, which shone bright with rubbing,
+and stag's antlers projected from them, on which hung a sword in its
+sheath, one or two odd gauntlets, an old-fashioned helmet, a gun,
+some bows and arrows, and two of the broad shady hats then in use,
+one with a drooping black feather, the other plainer and a good deal
+the worse for wear, both of a small size, as if belonging to a young
+boy.
+
+An oaken screen crossed the hall, close to the front door, and there
+was a large open fireplace, a settle on each side under the great
+yawning chimney, where however at present no fire was burning.
+Before it was a long dining-table covered towards the upper end with
+a delicately white cloth, on which stood, however, a few trenchers,
+plain drinking-horns, and a large old-fashioned black-jack, that is
+to say, a pitcher formed of leather.  An armchair was at the head of
+the table, and heavy oaken benches along the side.
+
+A little boy of six years old sat astride on the end of one of the
+benches, round which he had thrown a bridle of plaited rushes, and,
+with a switch in his other hand, was springing himself up and down,
+calling out, "Come, Eleanor, come, Lucy; come and ride on a pillion
+behind me to Worcester, to see King Charles and brother Edmund."
+
+"I'll come, I am coming!" cried Eleanor, a little girl about a year
+older, her hair put tightly away under a plain round cap, and she was
+soon perched sideways behind her brother.
+
+"Oh, fie, Mistress Eleanor; why, you would not ride to the wars?"
+This was said by a woman of about four or five-and-twenty, tall, thin
+and spare, with a high colour, sharp black eyes, and a waist which
+the long stiff stays, laced in front, had pinched in till it was not
+much bigger than a wasp's, while her quilted green petticoat,
+standing out full below it, showed a very trim pair of ankles encased
+in scarlet stockings, and a pair of bony red arms came forth from the
+full short sleeves of a sort of white jacket, gathered in at the
+waist.  She was clattering backwards and forwards, removing the
+dinner things, and talking to the children as she did so in a sharp
+shrill tone:  "Such a racket as you make, to be sure, and how you can
+have the heart to do so I can't guess, not I, considering what may be
+doing this very moment."
+
+"Oh, but Walter says they will all come back again, brother Edmund,
+and Diggory, and all," said little Eleanor, "and then we shall be
+merry."
+
+"Yes," said Lucy, who, though two years older, wore the same prim
+round cap and long frock as her little sister, "then we shall have
+Edmund here again.  You can't remember him at all, Eleanor and
+Charlie, for we have not seen him these six years!"
+
+"No," said Deborah, the maid.  "Ah! these be weary wars, what won't
+let a gentleman live at home in peace, nor his poor servants, who
+have no call to them."
+
+ "For shame, Deb!" cried Lucy; "are not you the King's own subject?"
+
+But Deborah maundered on, "It is all very well for gentlefolks, but
+now it had all got quiet again, 'tis mortal hard it should be stirred
+up afresh, and a poor soul marched off, he don't know where, to fight
+with he don't know who, for he don't know what."
+
+"He ought to know what!" exclaimed Lucy, growing very angry.  "I tell
+you, Deb, I only wish I was a man!  I would take the great two-
+handled sword, and fight in the very front rank for our Church and
+our King!  You would soon see what a brave cavalier's daughter--son I
+mean," said Lucy, getting into a puzzle, "could do."
+
+The more eager Lucy grew, the more unhappy Deborah was, and putting
+her apron to her eyes, she said in a dismal voice, "Ah! 'tis little
+poor Diggory wots of kings and cavaliers!"
+
+What Lucy's indignation would have led her to say next can never be
+known, for at this moment in bounced a tall slim boy of thirteen, his
+long curling locks streaming tangled behind him.  "Hollo!" he
+shouted, "what is the matter now?  Dainty Deborah in the dumps?
+Cheer up, my lass!  I'll warrant that doughty Diggory is discreet
+enough to encounter no more bullets than he can reasonably avoid!"
+
+This made Deborah throw down her apron and reply, with a toss of the
+head, "None of your nonsense, Master Walter, unless you would have me
+speak to my lady.  Cry for Diggory, indeed!"
+
+"She was really crying for him, Walter," interposed Lucy.
+
+"Mistress Lucy!" exclaimed Deborah, angrily, "the life I lead among
+you is enough--"
+
+"Not enough to teach you good temper," said Walter.  "Do you want a
+little more?"
+
+"I wish someone was here to teach you good manners," answered the
+tormented Deborah.  "As if it was not enough for one poor girl to
+have the work of ten servants on her hands, here must you be mock,
+mock, jeer, jeer, worrit, worrit, all day long!  I had rather be a
+mark for all the musketeers in the Parliamentary army."
+
+This Deborah always said when she was out of temper, and it therefore
+made Walter and Lucy laugh the more; but in the midst of their
+merriment in came a girl of sixteen or seventeen, tall and graceful.
+Her head was bare, her hair fastened in a knot behind, and in little
+curls round her face; she had an open bodice of green silk, and a
+white dress under it, very plain and neat; her step was quick and
+active, but her large dark eyes had a grave thoughtful look, as if
+she was one who would naturally have loved to sit still and think,
+better than to bustle about and be busy.  Eleanor ran up to her at
+once, complaining that Walter was teasing Deborah shamefully.  She
+was going to speak, but Deborah cut her short.
+
+"No Mistress Rose, I will not have even you excuse him, I'll go and
+tell my lady how a poor faithful wench is served;" and away she
+flounced, followed by Rose.
+
+"Will she tell mamma?" asked little Charlie.
+
+"Oh no, Rose will pacify her," said Lucy.
+
+"I am sure I wish she would tell," said Eleanor, a much graver little
+person than Lucy; "Walter is too bad."
+
+"It is only to save Diggory the trouble of taking a crabstick to her
+when he returns from the wars," said Walter.  "Heigh ho!" and he
+threw himself on the bench, and drummed on the table.  "I wish I was
+there!  I wonder what is doing at Worcester this minute!"
+
+"When will brother Edmund come?" asked Charlie for about the
+hundredth time.
+
+"When the battle is fought, and the battle is won, and King Charles
+enjoys his own again!  Hurrah!" shouted Walter, jumping up, and
+beginning to sing -
+
+
+"For forty years our royal throne
+Has been his father's and his own."
+
+
+Lucy joined in with -
+
+
+"Nor is there anyone but he
+With right can there a sharer be."
+
+
+"How can you make such a noise?" said Eleanor, stopping her ears, by
+which she provoked Walter to go on roaring into them, while he pulled
+down her hand -
+
+
+"For who better may
+The right sceptre sway
+Than he whose right it is to reign;
+Then look for no peace,
+For the war will never cease
+Till the King enjoys his own again."
+
+
+As he came to the last line, Rose returning exclaimed, "Oh, hush,
+Lucy.  Pray don't, Walter!"
+
+"Ha!  Rose turned Roundhead?" cried Walter.  "You don't deserve to
+hear the good news from Worcester."
+
+"O, what?" cried the girls, eagerly.
+
+"When it comes," said Walter, delighted to have taken in Rose
+herself; but Rose, going up to him gently, implored him to be quiet,
+and listen to her.
+
+"All this noisy rejoicing grieves our mother," said she.  "If you
+could but have seen her yesterday evening, when she heard your loyal
+songs.  She sighed, and said, 'Poor fellow, how high his hopes are!'
+and then she talked of our father and that evening before the fight
+at Naseby."
+
+Walter looked grave and said, "I remember!  My father lifted me on
+the table to drink King Charles's health, and Prince Rupert--I
+remember his scarlet mantle and white plume--patted my head, and
+called me his little cavalier."
+
+"We sat apart with mother," said Rose, "and heard the loud cheers and
+songs till we were half frightened at the noise."
+
+"I can't recollect all that," said Lucy.
+
+"At least you ought not to forget how our dear father came in with
+Edmund, and kissed us, and bade mother keep up a good heart.  Don't
+you remember that, Lucy?"
+
+"I do," said Walter; "it was the last time we ever saw him."
+
+And Walter sat on the table, resting one foot on the bench, while the
+other dangled down, and leaning his elbow on his knee and his head on
+his hand; Rose sat on the bench close by him, with Charlie on her
+lap, and the two little girls pressing close against her, all earnest
+to hear from her the story of the great fight of Naseby, where they
+had all been in a farmhouse about a mile from the field of battle.
+
+"I don't forget how the cannon roared all day," said Lucy.
+
+"Ah! that dismal day!" said Rose.  "Then by came our troopers, blood-
+stained and disorderly, riding so fast that scarcely one waited to
+tell my mother that the day was lost and she had better fly.  But not
+a step did she stir from the gate, where she stood with you, Charlie,
+in her arms; she only asked of each as he passed if he had seen my
+father or Edmund, and ever her cheek grew whiter and whiter.  At last
+came a Parliament officer on horseback--it was Mr. Enderby, who had
+been a college mate of my father's, and he told us that my dear
+father was wounded, and had sent him to fetch her."
+
+"But I never knew where Edmund was then," said Eleanor.  "No one ever
+told me."
+
+"Edmund lifted up my father when he fell," said Walter, "and was
+trying to bind his wound; but when Colonel Enderby's troop was close
+upon them, my father charged him upon his duty to fly, saying that he
+should fall into the hands of an old friend, and it was Edmund's duty
+to save himself to fight for the King another time."
+
+"So Edmund followed Prince Rupert?" said Eleanor.
+
+"Yes," said Lucy; "you know my father once saved Prince Rupert's life
+in the skirmish where his horse was killed, so for his sake the
+Prince made Edmund his page, and has had him with him in all his
+voyages and wanderings.  But go on about our father, Rose.  Did we go
+to see him?"
+
+"No; Mr. Enderby said he was too far off, so he left a trooper to
+guard us, and my mother only took her little babe with her.  Don't
+you remember, Walter, how Eleanor screamed after her, as she rode
+away on the colonel's horse; and how we could not comfort the little
+ones, till they had cried themselves to sleep, poor little things?
+And in the morning she came back, and told us our dear father was
+dead!  O Walter, how can we look back to that day, and rejoice in a
+new war?  How can you wonder her heart should sink at sounds of joy
+which have so often ended in tears?"
+
+Walter twisted about and muttered, but he could not resist his
+sister's earnest face and tearful eyes, and said something about not
+making so much noise in the house.
+
+"There's my own dear brother," said Rose.  "And you won't tease
+Deborah?"
+
+"That is too much, Rose.  It is all the sport I have, to see the
+faces she makes when I plague her about Diggory.  Besides, it serves
+her right for having such a temper."
+
+"She has not a good temper, poor thing!" said Rose; "but if you would
+only think how true and honest she is, how hard she toils, and how
+ill she fares, and yet how steadily she holds to us, you would surely
+not plague and torment her."
+
+Rose was interrupted by a great outcry, and in rushed Deborah,
+screaming out, "Lack-a-day!  Mistress Rose!  O Master Walter! what
+will become of us?  The fight is lost, the King fled, and a whole
+regiment of red-coats burning and plundering the whole country.  Our
+throats will be cut, every one of them!"
+
+"You'll have a chance of being a mark for all the musketeers in the
+Parliament army," said Walter, who even then could not miss a piece
+of mischief.
+
+"Joking now, Master Walter!" cried Deborah, very much shocked.  "That
+is what I call downright sinful.  I hope you'll be made a mark of
+yourself, that I do."
+
+The children were running off to tell their mother, when Rose stopped
+them, and desired to know how Deborah had heard the tidings.  It was
+from two little children from the village who had come to bring a
+present of some pigeons to my lady.  Rose went herself to examine the
+children, but she could only learn that a packman had come into the
+village and brought the report that the King had been defeated, and
+had fled from the field.  They knew no more, and Walter pronouncing
+it to be all a cock-and-bull story of some rascally prick-eared
+pedlar, declared he would go down to the village and enquire into the
+rights of it.
+
+These were the saddest times of English history, when the wrong cause
+had been permitted for a time to triumph, and the true and rightful
+side was persecuted; and among those who endured affliction for the
+sake of their Church and their King, none suffered more, or more
+patiently, than Lady Woodley, or, as she was called in the old
+English fashion, Dame Mary Woodley, of Forest Lea.
+
+When first the war broke out she was living happily in her pleasant
+home with her husband and children; but when King Charles raised his
+standard at Nottingham, all this comfort and happiness had to be
+given up.  Sir Walter Woodley joined the royal army, and it soon
+became unsafe for his wife and children to remain at home, so that
+they were forced to go about with him, and suffer all the hardships
+of the sieges and battles.  Lady Woodley was never strong, and her
+health was very much hurt by all she went through; she was almost
+always unwell, and if Rose, though then quite a child, had not shown
+care and sense beyond her years for the little ones, it would be hard
+to say what would have become of them.
+
+Yet all she endured while dragging about her little babies through
+the country, with bad or insufficient food, uncomfortable lodgings,
+pain, weariness and anxiety, would have been as nothing but for the
+heavy sorrows that came upon her also.  First she lost her only
+brother, Edmund Mowbray, and in the battle of Naseby her husband was
+killed; besides which there were the sorrows of the whole nation in
+seeing the King sold, insulted, misused, and finally slain, by his
+own subjects.  After Sir Walter's death, Lady Woodley went home with
+her five younger children to her father's house at Forest Lea; for
+her husband's estate, Edmund's own inheritance, had been seized and
+sequestrated by the rebels.  She was the heiress of Forest Lea since
+the loss of her brother, but the old Mr. Mowbray, her father, had
+given almost all his wealth for the royal cause, and had been
+oppressed by the exactions of the rebels, so that he had nothing to
+leave his daughter but the desolate old house and a few bare acres of
+land.  For the shelter, however, Lady Woodley was very thankful; and
+there she lived with her children and a faithful servant, Deborah,
+whose family had always served the Mowbrays, and who would not desert
+their daughter now.
+
+The neighbours in the village loved, and were sorry for, their lady,
+and used to send her little presents; there was a large garden in
+which Diggory Stokes, who had also served her father, raised
+vegetables for her use; the cow wandered in the deserted park, and so
+they contrived to find food; while all the work of the house was done
+by Rose and Deborah.  Rose was her mother's great comfort, nursing
+her, cheering her, taking care of the little ones, teaching them,
+working for them, and making light of all her exertions.  Everyone in
+the village loved Rose Woodley, for everyone had in some way been
+helped or cheered by her.  Her mother was only sometimes afraid she
+worked too hard, and would try her strength too much; but she was
+always bright and cheerful, and when the day's work was done no one
+was more gay and lively and ready for play with the little ones.
+
+Rose had more trial than anyone knew with Deborah.  Deborah was as
+faithful as possible, and bore a great deal for the sake of her
+mistress, worked hard day and night, had little to eat and no wages,
+yet lived on with them rather than forsake her dear lady and the
+children.  One thing, however, Deborah would not do, and that was to
+learn to rule her tongue and her temper.  She did not know, nor do
+many excellent servants, how much trial and discomfort she gave to
+those she loved so earnestly, by her constant bursting out into hasty
+words whenever she was vexed--her grumbling about whatever she
+disliked, and her ill-judged scolding of the children.  Servants in
+those days were allowed to speak more freely to their masters and
+mistresses than at present, so that Deborah had more opportunity of
+making such speeches, and it was Rose's continual work to try to keep
+her temper from being fretted, or Lady Woodley from being teased with
+her complaints.  Rose was very forbearing, and but for this there
+would have been little peace in the house.
+
+Walter was thirteen, an age when it is not easy to keep boys in
+order, unless they will do so for themselves.  Though a brave
+generous boy, he was often unruly and inconsiderate, apt not to obey,
+and to do what he knew to be unkind or wrong, just for the sake of
+present amusement.  He was thus his mother's great anxiety, for she
+knew that she was not fit either to teach or to restrain him, and she
+feared that his present wild disobedient ways might hurt his
+character for ever, and lead to dispositions which would in time
+swallow up all the good about him, and make him what he would now
+tremble to think of.
+
+She used to talk of her anxieties to Doctor Bathurst, the good old
+clergyman who had been driven away from his parish, but used to come
+in secret to help, teach, and use his ministry for the faithful ones
+of his flock.  He would tell her that while she did her best for her
+son, she must trust the rest to his FATHER above, and she might do so
+hopefully, since it had been in His own cause that the boy had been
+made fatherless.  Then he would speak to Walter, showing him how
+wrong and how cruel were his overbearing, disobedient ways.  Walter
+was grieved, and resolved to improve and become steadier, that he
+might be a comfort and blessing to his mother; but in his love of fun
+and mischief he was apt to forget himself, and then drove away what
+might have been in time repentance and improvement, by fancying he
+did no harm.  Teasing Deborah served her right, he would tell
+himself, she was so ill-tempered and foolish; Diggory was a clod, and
+would do nothing without scolding; it was a good joke to tease
+Charlie; Eleanor was a vexatious little thing, and he would not be
+ordered by her; so he went his own way, and taught the merry
+chattering Lucy to be very nearly as bad as himself, neglected his
+duties, set a bad example, tormented a faithful servant, and
+seriously distressed his mother.  Give him some great cause, he
+thought, and he would be the first and the best, bring back the King,
+protect his mother and sisters, and perform glorious deeds, such as
+would make his name be remembered for ever.  Then it would be seen
+what he was worth; in the meantime he lived a dull life, with nothing
+to do, and he must have some fun.  It did not signify if he was not
+particular about little things, they were women's affairs, and all
+very well for Rose, but when some really important matter came, that
+would be his time for distinguishing himself.
+
+In the meantime Charles II. had been invited to Scotland, and had
+brought with him, as an attendant, Edmund Woodley, the eldest son.
+As soon as he was known to have entered England, some of the loyal
+gentlemen of the neighbourhood of Forest Lea went to join the King,
+and among their followers went Farmer Ewins, who had fought bravely
+in the former war under Edmund Mowbray, several other of the men of
+the village, and lastly, Diggory Stokes, Lady Woodley's serving man,
+who had lately shown symptoms of discontent with his place, and
+fancied that as a soldier he might fare better, make his fortune, and
+come home prosperously to marry his sweetheart, Deborah.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+
+Walter ran down to the village at full speed.  He first bent his
+steps towards the "Half-Moon," the little public-house, where news
+was sure to be met with.  As he came towards it, however, he heard
+the loud sound of a man's voice going steadily on as if with some
+discourse.  "Some preachment," said he to himself:  "they've got a
+thorough-going Roundhead, I can hear his twang through his nose!
+Shall I go in or not?"
+
+While he was asking himself this question, an old peasant in a round
+frock came towards him.
+
+"Hollo, Will!" shouted Walter, "what prick-eared rogue have you got
+there?"
+
+"Hush, hush, Master Walter!" said the old man, taking off his hat
+very respectfully.  "Best take care what you say, there be plenty of
+red-coats about.  There's one of them now preaching away in
+marvellous pied words.  It is downright shocking to hear the Bible
+hollaed out after that sort, so I came away.  Don't you go nigh him,
+sir, 'specially with your hat set on in that--"
+
+"Never mind my hat," said Walter, impatiently, "it is no business of
+yours, and I'll wear it as I please in spite of old Noll and all his
+crew."
+
+For his forefathers' sake, and for the love of his mother and sister,
+the good village people bore with Walter's haughtiness and
+discourtesy far more than was good for him, and the old man did not
+show how much he was hurt by his rough reception of his good advice.
+Walter was not reminded that he ought to rise up before the hoary
+head, and reverence the old man, and went on hastily, "But tell me,
+Will, what do you hear of the battle?"
+
+"The battle, sir! why, they say it is lost.  That's what the fellow
+there is preaching about."
+
+"And where was it?  Did you hear?  Don't you know?"
+
+"Don't be so hasty, don't ye, sir!" said the old slow-spoken man,
+growing confused.  "Where was it?  At some town--some town, they
+said, but I don't know rightly the name of it."
+
+"And the King?  Who was it?  Not Cromwell?  Had Lord Derby joined?"
+cried Walter, hurrying on his questions so as to puzzle and confuse
+the old man more and more, till at last he grew angry at getting no
+explanation, and vowed it was no use to talk to such an old fool.  At
+that moment a sound as of feet and horses came along the road.  "'Tis
+the soldiers!" said Walter.
+
+"Ay, sir, best get out of sight."
+
+Walter thought so too, and, springing over a hedge, ran off into a
+neighbouring wood, resolving to take a turn, and come back by the
+longer way to the house, so as to avoid the road.  He walked across
+the wood, looking up at the ripening nuts, and now and then springing
+up to reach one, telling himself all the time that it was untrue, and
+that the King could not, and should not be defeated.  The wood grew
+less thick after a time, and ended in low brushwood, upon an open
+common.  Just as Walter was coming to this place, he saw an unusual
+sight:  a man and a horse crossing the down.  Slowly and wearily they
+came, the horse drooping its head and stumbling in its pace, as
+though worn out with fatigue, but he saw that it was a war-horse, and
+the saddle and other equipments were such as he well remembered in
+the royal army long ago.  The rider wore buff coat, cuirass,
+gauntlets guarded with steel, sword, and pistols, and Walter's first
+impulse was to avoid him; but on giving a second glance, he changed
+his mind, for though there was neither scarf, plume, nor any badge of
+party, the long locks, the set of the hat, and the general air of the
+soldier were not those of a rebel.  He must be a cavalier, but, alas!
+far unlike the triumphant cavaliers whom Walter had hoped to receive,
+for he was covered with dust and blood, as if he had fought and
+ridden hard.  Walter sprung forward to meet him, and saw that he was
+a young man, with dark eyes and hair, looking very pale and
+exhausted, and both he and his horse seemed hardly able to stir a
+step further.
+
+"Young sir," said the stranger, "what place is this?  Am I near
+Forest Lea?"
+
+A flash of joy crossed Walter.  "Edmund! are you Edmund?" he
+exclaimed, colouring deeply, and looking up in his face with one
+quick glance, then casting down his eyes.
+
+"And you are little Walter," returned the cavalier, instantly
+dismounting, and flinging his arm around his brother; "why, what a
+fine fellow you are grown!  How are my mother and all?"
+
+"Well, quite well!" cried Walter, in a transport of joy.  "Oh! how
+happy she will be!  Come, make haste home!"
+
+"Alas!  I dare not as yet.  I must not enter the house till
+nightfall, or I should bring danger on you all.  Are there any
+troopers near?"
+
+"Yes, the village is full of the rascals.  But what has happened?  It
+is not true that--"  He could not bear to say the rest.
+
+"Too true!" said Edmund, leading his tired horse within the shelter
+of the bushes.  "It is all over with us!"
+
+"The battle lost!" said Walter, in a stifled tone; and in all the
+bitterness of the first disappointment of his youth, he turned away,
+overcome by a gush of tears and sobs, stamping as he walked up and
+down, partly with the intensity of his grief, partly with shame at
+being seen by his brother, in tears.
+
+"Had you set your heart on it so much?" said Edmund, kindly, pleased
+to see his young brother so ardent a loyalist.  "Poor fellow!  But at
+least the King was safe when I parted from him.  Come, cheer up,
+Walter, the right will be uppermost some day or other."
+
+"But, oh, that battle!  I had so longed to see old Noll get his
+deserts," said Walter, "I made so sure.  But how did it happen,
+Edmund?"
+
+"I cannot tell you all now, Walter.  You must find me some covert
+where I can be till night fall.  The rebels are hot in pursuit of all
+the fugitives.  I have ridden from Worcester by byroads day and
+night, and I am fairly spent.  I must be off to France or Holland as
+soon as may be, for my life is not safe a moment here.  Cromwell is
+bitterer than ever against all honest men, but I could not help
+coming this way, I so much longed to see my mother and all of you."
+
+"You are not wounded?" said Walter, anxiously.
+
+"Nothing to speak of, only a sword-cut on my shoulder, by which I
+have lost more blood than convenient for such a journey."
+
+"Here, I'll lead your horse; lean on me," said Walter, alarmed at the
+faint, weary voice in which his brother spoke after the first
+excitement of the recognition.  "I'll show you what Lucy and I call
+our bower, where no one ever comes but ourselves.  There you can rest
+till night."
+
+"And poor Bayard?" said Edmund.
+
+"I think I could put him into the out-house in the field next to the
+copse, hide his trappings here, and get him provender from Ewins's
+farm.  Will that do?"
+
+"Excellently.  Poor Ewins!--that is a sad story.  He fell, fighting
+bravely by my side, cut down in Sidbury Street in the last charge.
+Alas! these are evil days!"
+
+"And Diggory Stokes, our own knave?"
+
+"I know nothing of him after the first onset.  Rogues and cowards
+enough were there.  Think, Walter, of seeing his Majesty strive in
+vain to rally them, when the day might yet have been saved, and the
+traitors hung down their heads, and stood like blocks while he called
+on them rather to shoot him dead than let him live to see such a
+day!"
+
+"Oh, had I but been there, to turn them all to shame!"
+
+"There were a few, Walter; Lord Cleveland, Hamilton, Careless,
+Giffard, and a few more of us, charged down Sidbury Street, and broke
+into the ranks of the rebels, while the King had time to make off by
+S. Martin's Gate.  Oh, how I longed for a few more!  But the King was
+saved so far; Careless, Giffard, and I came up with him again, and we
+parted at nightfall.  Lord Derby's counsel was that he should seek
+shelter at Boscobel, and he was to disguise himself, and go thither
+under Giffard's guidance.  Heaven guard him, whatever becomes of us!"
+
+"Amen!" said Walter, earnestly.  "And here we are.  Here is Lucy's
+bank of turf, and my throne, and here we will wait till the sun is
+down."
+
+It was a beautiful green slope, covered with soft grass, short thyme,
+and cushion-like moss, and overshadowed by a thick, dark yew-tree,
+shut in by brushwood on all sides, and forming just such a retreat as
+children love to call their own.  Edmund threw himself down at full
+length on it, laid aside his hat, and passed his hand across his
+weary forehead.  "How quiet!" said he; "but, hark! is that the
+bubbling of water?" he added, raising himself eagerly.
+
+"Yes, here," said Walter, showing him where, a little further off on
+the same slope, a little clear spring rose in a natural basin of red
+earth, fringed along the top with fresh green mosses.
+
+"Delicious!" said the tired soldier, kneeling over the spring,
+scooping it up in his hand to drink, opening his collar, and bathing
+hands and face in the clear cool fountain, till his long black hair
+hung straight, saturated with wet.
+
+"Now, Bayard, it is your turn," and he patted the good steed as it
+sucked up the refreshing water, and Walter proceeded to release it
+from saddle and bridle.  Edmund, meanwhile, stretched himself out on
+the mossy bank, asked a few questions about his mother, Rose, and the
+other children, but was too tired to say much, and presently fell
+sound asleep, while Walter sat by watching him, grieving for the
+battle lost, but proud and important in being the guardian of his
+brother's safety, and delighting himself with the thought of bringing
+him home at night.
+
+More was happening at home than Walter guessed.  The time of his
+absence seemed very long, more especially when the twilight began to
+close in, and Lady Woodley began to fear that he might, with his
+rashness, have involved himself in some quarrel with the troopers in
+the village.  Lady Woodley and her children had closed around the
+wood fire which had been lighted on the hearth at the approach of
+evening, and Rose was trying by the bad light to continue her darning
+of stockings, when a loud hasty knocking was heard at the door, and
+all, in a general vague impression of dread, started and drew
+together.
+
+"Oh my lady!" cried Deborah, "don't bid me go to the door, I could
+not if you offered me fifty gold caroluses!  I had rather stand up to
+be a mark--"
+
+"Then I will," said Rose, advancing.
+
+"No, no, Mistress Rose," said Deborah, running forward.  "Don't I
+know what is fit for the like of you?  You go opening the door to
+rogues and vagabonds, indeed!" and with these words she undrew the
+bolts and opened the door.
+
+"Is this the way you keep us waiting?" said an impatient voice; and a
+tall youth, handsomely accoutred, advanced authoritatively into the
+room.  "Prepare to--" but as he saw himself alone with women and
+children, and his eyes fell on the pale face, mourning dress, and
+graceful air of the lady of the house, he changed his tone, removed
+his hat, and said, "Your pardon, madam, I came to ask a night's
+lodging for my father, who has been thrown from his horse, and badly
+bruised."
+
+"I cannot refuse you, sir," said Lady Woodley, who instantly
+perceived that this was an officer of the Parliamentary force, and
+was only thankful to see that he was a gentleman, and enforced with
+courtesy a request which was in effect a command.
+
+The youth turned and went out, while Lady Woodley hastily directed
+her daughters and servant.  "Deborah, set the blue chamber in order;
+Rose, take the key of the oak press, Eleanor will help you to take
+out the holland sheets.  Lucy, run down to old Margery, and bid her
+kill a couple of fowls for supper."
+
+As the girls obeyed there entered at the front door the young officer
+and a soldier, supporting between them an elderly man in the dress of
+an officer of rank.  Lady Woodley, ready of course to give her help
+to any person who had suffered an injury, came forward to set a
+chair, and at the same moment she exclaimed, in a tone of
+recognition, "Mr. Enderby!  I am grieved to see you so much hurt."
+
+"My Lady Woodley," he returned, recognising her at the same time, as
+he seated himself in the chair, "I am sorry thus to have broken in on
+your ladyship, but my son, Sylvester, would have me halt here."
+
+"This gentleman is your son, then?" and a courteous greeting passed
+between Lady Woodley and young Sylvester Enderby, after which she
+again enquired after his father's accident.
+
+"No great matter," was the reply; "a blow on the head, and a twist of
+the knee, that is all.  Thanks to a stumbling horse, wearied out with
+work, I have little mind to--the pursuit of this poor young man."
+
+"Not the King?" exclaimed Lady Woodley, breathless with alarm.
+
+It was with no apparent satisfaction that the rebel colonel replied,
+"Even so, madam.  Cromwell's fortune has not forsaken him; he has
+driven the Scots and their allies out of Worcester."
+
+Lady Woodley was too much accustomed to evil tidings to be as much
+overcome by them as her young son had been; she only turned somewhat
+paler, and asked, "The King lives?"
+
+"He was last seen on Worcester bridge.  Troops are sent to every port
+whence he might attempt an escape."
+
+"May the GOD of his father protect him," said the lady, fervently.
+"And my son?" she added, faintly, scarcely daring to ask the
+question.
+
+"Safe, I hope," replied the colonel.  "I saw him, and I could have
+thought him my dear old friend himself, as he joined Charles in his
+last desperate attempt to rally his forces, and then charged down
+Sidbury Street with a few bold spirits who were resolved to cover
+their master's retreat.  He is not among the slain; he was not a
+prisoner when I left the headquarters.  I trust he may have escaped,
+for Cromwell is fearfully incensed against your party."
+
+Colonel Enderby was interrupted by Lucy's running in calling out,
+"Mother, mother! there are no fowls but Partlet and the sitting hen,
+and the old cock, and I won't have my dear old Partlet killed to be
+eaten by wicked Roundheads."
+
+"Come here, my little lady," said the colonel, holding out his hand,
+amused by her vehemence.
+
+"I won't speak to a Roundhead," returned Lucy, with a droll air of
+petulance, pleased at being courted.
+
+Her mother spoke gravely.  "You forget yourself, Lucy.  This is Mr.
+Enderby, a friend of your dear father."
+
+Lucy's cheeks glowed, and she looked down as she gave her hand to the
+colonel; but as he spoke kindly to her, her forward spirit revived,
+and she returned to the charge.
+
+"You won't have Partlet killed?"
+
+Her mother would have silenced her, but the colonel smiled and said,
+"No, no, little lady; I would rather go without supper than let one
+feather of Dame Partlet be touched."
+
+"Nay, you need not do that either, sir," said the little chatter-box,
+confidentially, "for we are to have a pie made of little Jenny's
+pigeons; and I'll tell you what, sir, no one makes raised crust half
+so well as sister Rose."
+
+Lady Woodley was not sorry to stop the current of her little girl's
+communications by despatching her on another message, and asking
+Colonel Enderby whether he would not prefer taking a little rest in
+his room before supper-time, offering, at the same time all the
+remedies for bruises and wounds that every good housekeeper of the
+time was sure to possess.
+
+She had a real regard for Mr. Enderby, who had been a great friend of
+her husband before the unhappy divisions of the period arrayed them
+on opposite sides, and even then, though true friendship could not
+last, a kindly feeling had always existed.
+
+Mr. Enderby was a conscientious man, but those were difficult times;
+and he had regarded loyalty to the King less than what he considered
+the rights of the people.  He had been an admirer of Hampden and his
+principles, and had taken up arms on the same side, becoming a rebel
+on political, not on religious, grounds.  When, as time went on, the
+evils of the rebellion developed themselves more fully, he was
+already high in command, and so involved with his own party that he
+had not the resolution requisite for a change of course and
+renunciation of his associates.  He would willingly have come to
+terms with the King, and was earnest in the attempt at the time of
+the conferences at Hampden Court.  He strongly disapproved of the
+usurpation of power by the army, and was struck with horror, grief,
+and dismay, at the execution of King Charles; but still he would not,
+or fancied that he could not, separate himself from the cause of the
+Parliament, and continued in their service, following Cromwell to
+Scotland, and fighting at Worcester on the rebel side, disliking
+Cromwell all the time, and with a certain inclination to the young
+King, and desire to see the old constitution restored.
+
+He was just one of those men who cause such great evil by giving a
+sort of respectability to the wrong cause, "following a multitude to
+do evil," and doubtless bringing a fearful responsibility on their
+own heads; yet with many good qualities and excellent principles,
+that make those on the right side have a certain esteem for them, and
+grieve to see them thus perverted.
+
+Lady Woodley, who knew him well, though sorry to have a rebel in her
+house at such a time, was sure that in him she had a kind and
+considerate guest, who would do his utmost to protect her and her
+children.
+
+On his side, Colonel Enderby was much grieved and shocked at the
+pale, altered looks of the fair young bride he remembered, as well as
+the evidences of poverty throughout her house, and perhaps he had a
+secret wish that he was as well assured as his friend, Sir Walter,
+that his blood had been shed for the maintenance of the right.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+
+Rose Woodley ran up and down indefatigably, preparing everything for
+the accommodation of the guests, smoothing down Deborah's petulance,
+and keeping her mother from over-exertion or anxiety.  Much
+contrivance was indeed required, for besides the colonel and his son,
+two soldiers had to be lodged, and four horses, which, to the
+consternation of old Margery, seemed likely to devour the cow's
+winter store of hay, while the troopers grumbled at the desolate,
+half-ruined, empty stables, and at the want of corn.
+
+Rose had to look to everything; to provide blankets from the bed of
+the two little girls, send Eleanor to sleep with her mother, and take
+Lucy to her own room; despatch them on messages to the nearest
+cottage to borrow some eggs, and to gather vegetables in the garden,
+whilst she herself made the pigeon pie with the standing crust, much
+wishing that the soldiers were out of the way.  It was a pretty thing
+to see her in her white apron, with her neat dexterous fingers, and
+nimble quiet step, doing everything in so short a time, and so well,
+without the least bustle.
+
+She was at length in the hall, laying the white home-spun, home-
+bleached cloth, and setting the trenchers (all the Mowbray plate had
+long ago gone in the King's service), wondering anxiously, meantime,
+what could have become of Walter, with many secret and painful
+misgivings, though she had been striving to persuade her mother that
+he was only absent on some freak of his own.
+
+Presently the door which led to the garden was opened, and to her
+great joy Walter put his head into the room.
+
+"O Walter," she exclaimed, "the battle is lost! but Edmund and the
+King have both escaped."
+
+"Say you so?" said Walter, smiling.  "Here is a gentleman who can
+give you some news of Edmund."
+
+At the same moment Rose saw her beloved eldest brother enter the
+room.  It would be hard to say which was her first thought, joy or
+dismay--she had no time to ask herself.  Quick as lightning she
+darted to the door leading to the staircase, bolted it, threw the bar
+across the fastening of the front entrance, and then, flying to her
+brother, clung fast round his neck, kissed him on each cheek, and
+felt his ardent kiss on her brow, as she exclaimed in a frightened
+whisper, "You must not stay here:  there are troopers in the house!"
+
+"Troopers!--quartered on us?" cried Walter.
+
+Rose hastily explained, trembling lest anyone should attempt to
+enter.  Walter paced up and down in despair, vowing that it was a
+trick to get a spy into the house.  Edmund sat down in the large arm-
+chair with a calm resolute look, saying, "I must surrender, then.
+Neither I nor my horse can go further without rest.  I will yield as
+a prisoner of war, and well that it is to a man of honour."
+
+"Oh no, no!" cried Rose:  "he says Cromwell treats his prisoners as
+rebels.  It would be certain death!"
+
+"What news of the King?" asked Edmund, anxiously.
+
+"Not seen since the flight? but--"
+
+"And Lord Derby, Wilmot--"
+
+"I cannot tell, I heard no names," said Rose, "only that the enemy's
+cruelties are worse than ever."
+
+Walter stood with his back against the table, gazing at his brother
+and sister in mute consternation.
+
+"I know!" cried Rose, suddenly:  "the out-house in the upper field.
+No one ever goes up into the loft but ourselves.  You know, Walter,
+where Eleanor found the kittens.  Go thither, I will bring Edmund
+food at night.  Oh, consent, Edmund!"
+
+"It will do! it will do!" cried Walter.
+
+"Very well, it may spare my mother," said Edmund; and as footsteps
+and voices were heard on the stairs, the two brothers hurried off
+without another word, while Rose, trying to conceal her agitation,
+undid the door, and admitted her two little sisters, who were asking
+if they had not heard Walter's voice.
+
+She scarcely attended to them, but, bounding upstairs to her mother's
+room, flung her arms round her neck, and poured into her ear her
+precious secret.  The tremour, the joy, the fears, the tears, the
+throbbings of the heart, and earnest prayers, may well be imagined,
+crowded by the mother and daughter into those few minutes.  The plan
+was quickly arranged.  They feared to trust even Deborah; so that the
+only way that they could provide the food that Edmund so much needed
+was by Rose and Walter attempting to save all they could at supper,
+and Rose could steal out when everyone was gone to rest, and carry it
+to him.  Lady Woodley was bent on herself going to her son that
+night; but Rose prevailed on her to lay aside the intention, as it
+would have been fatal, in her weak state of health, for her to expose
+herself to the chills of an autumn night, and, what was with her a
+much more conclusive reason, Rose was much more likely to be able to
+slip out unobserved.  Rose had an opportunity of explaining all this
+to Walter, and imploring him to be cautious, before the colonel and
+his son came down, and the whole party assembled round the supper-
+table.
+
+Lady Woodley had the eggs and bacon before her; Walter insisted on
+undertaking the carving of the pigeon-pie, and looked considerably
+affronted when young Sylvester Enderby offered to take the office, as
+a more experienced carver.  Poor Rose, how her heart beat at every
+word and look, and how hard she strove to seem perfectly at her ease
+and unconscious!  Walter was in a fume of anxiety and vexation, and
+could hardly control himself so far as to speak civilly to either of
+the guests, so that he was no less a cause of fear to his mother and
+sister than the children, who were unconscious how much depended on
+discretion.
+
+Young Sylvester Enderby was a fine young man of eighteen, very good-
+natured, and not at all like a Puritan in appearance or manner.  He
+had hardly yet begun to think for himself, and was merely obeying his
+father in joining the army with him, without questioning whether it
+was the right cause or not.  He was a kind elder brother at home, and
+here he was ready to be pleased with the children of the house.
+
+Lucy was a high-spirited talkative child, very little used to seeing
+strangers, and perhaps hardly reined in enough, for her poor mother's
+weak health had interfered with strict discipline; and as this
+evening Walter and Rose were both grave and serious under their
+anxieties, Lucy was less restrained even than usual.
+
+She was a pretty creature, with bright blue eyes, and an arch
+expression, all the droller under her prim round cap; and Sylvester
+was a good deal amused with her pert bold little nods and airs.  He
+paid a good deal of attention to her, and she in return grew more
+forward and chattering.  It is what little girls will sometimes do
+under the pleasure and excitement of the notice of gentlemen, and it
+makes their friends very uneasy, since the only excuse they can have
+is in being VERY LITTLE, and it shows a most undesirable want of
+self-command and love of attention.
+
+In addition to this feeling, Lady Woodley dreaded every word that was
+spoken, lest it should lead to suspicion, for though she was sure Mr.
+Enderby would not willingly apprehend her son, yet she could not tell
+what he might consider his duty to his employers; besides, there were
+the two soldiers to observe and report, and the discovery that Edmund
+was at hand might lead to frightful consequences.  She tried to
+converse composedly with him on his family and the old neighbourhood
+where they had both lived, often interrupting herself to send a look
+or word of warning to the lower end of the table; but Lucy and
+Charles were too wild to see or heed her, and grew more and more
+unrestrained, till at last, to the dismay of her mother, brother, and
+sister, Charles' voice was heard so loud as to attract everyone's
+notice, in a shout of wonder and complaint, "Mother, mother, look!
+Rose has gobbled up a whole pigeon to her own share!"
+
+Rose could not keep herself from blushing violently, as she whispered
+reprovingly that he must not be rude.  Lucy did not mend the matter
+by saying with an impertinent nod, "Rose does not like to be found
+out."
+
+"Children," said Lady Woodley, gravely, "I shall send you away if you
+do not behave discreetly."
+
+"But, mother, Rose is greedy," said Lucy.
+
+"Hold your tongues, little mischief makers!" burst out Walter, who
+had been boiling over with anxiety and indignation the whole time.
+
+"Walter is cross now," said Lucy, pleased to have produced a
+sensation, and to have shocked Eleanor, who sat all the time as good,
+demure, and grave, as if she had been forty years old.
+
+"Pray excuse these children," said Lady Woodley, trying to hide her
+anxiety under cover of displeasure at them; "no doubt Mrs. Enderby
+keeps much better order at home.  Lucy, Charles, silence at once.
+Walter, is there no wine?"
+
+"If there is, it is too good for rebels," muttered Walter to himself,
+as he rose.  "Light me, Deborah, and I'll see."
+
+"La!  Master Walter," whispered Deborah, "you know there is nothing
+but the dregs of the old cask of Malmsey, that was drunk up at the
+old squire's burying."
+
+"Hush, hush, Deb," returned the boy; "fill it up with water, and it
+will be quite good enough for those who won't drink the King's
+health."
+
+Deborah gave a half-puzzled smile.  "Ye're a madcap, Master Walter!
+But sure, Sir, the spirit of a wolf must have possessed Mistress
+Rose--she that eats no supper at all, in general!  D'ye think it is
+wearying about Master Edmund that gives her a craving?"
+
+It might be dangerous, but Walter was so much diverted, that he could
+not help saying, "I have no doubt it is on his account."
+
+"I know," said Deborah, "that I get so faint at heart that I am
+forced to be taking something all day long to keep about at all!"
+
+By this time they were re-entering the hall, when there was a sound
+from the kitchen as of someone calling.  Deborah instantly turned,
+screaming out joyfully, "Bless me! is it you?" and though out of
+sight, her voice was still heard in its high notes of joy.  "You
+good-for-nothing rogue! are you turned up again like a bad tester,
+staring into the kitchen like a great oaf, as you be?"
+
+There was a general laugh, and Eleanor said, "That must be Diggory."
+
+"A poor country clown," said Lady Woodley, "whom we sent to join my
+son's troop.  I hope he is in no danger."
+
+"Oh no," said Mr. Enderby; "he has only to return to his plough."
+
+"Hollo there!" shouted Walter.  "Come in, Diggory, and show
+yourself."
+
+In came Diggory, an awkward thick-set fellow, with a shock head of
+hair, high leathern gaiters, and a buff belt over his rough leathern
+jerkin.  There he stood, pulling his forelock, and looking sheepish.
+
+"Come in, Diggory," said his mistress; "I am glad to see you safe.
+You need not be afraid of these gentlemen.  Where are the rest?"
+
+"Slain, every man of them, an't please your ladyship."
+
+"And your master, Mr. Woodley?"
+
+"Down, too, an't please your ladyship."
+
+Lucy screamed aloud; Eleanor ran to her mother, and hid her face in
+her lap; Charles sat staring, with great round frightened eyes.  Very
+distressing it was to be obliged to leave the poor children in such
+grief and alarm, when it was plain all the time that Diggory was an
+arrant coward, who had fancied more deaths and dangers than were
+real, and was describing more than he had even thought he beheld, in
+order to make himself into a hero instead of a runaway.  Moreover,
+Lady Woodley and Rose had to put on a show of grief, lest they should
+betray that they were better informed; and they were in agonies lest
+Walter's fury at the falsehoods should be as apparent to their guests
+as it was to themselves.
+
+"Are you sure of what you say, Diggory?" said Lady Woodley.
+
+"Sure as that I stand here, my lady.  There was sword and shot and
+smoke all round.  I stood it all till Farmer Ewins was cut down a-
+one-side of me, ma'am, and Master Edmund, more's the pity, with his
+brains scattered here and there on the banks of the river."
+
+There was another cry among the children, and Walter made such a
+violent gesture, that Rose, covering her face with her handkerchief,
+whispered to him, "Walter dear, take care."  Walter relieved his mind
+by returning, "Oh that I could cudgel the rogue soundly!"
+
+At the same time Colonel Enderby turned to their mother, saying,
+"Take comfort, madam, this fellow's tale carries discredit on the
+face of it.  Let me examine him, with your permission.  Where did you
+last see your master?"
+
+"I know none of your places, sir," answered Diggory, sullenly.
+
+Colonel Enderby spoke sternly and peremptorily.  "In the town, or in
+the fields?  Answer me that, sirrah.  In the field on the bank of the
+river?"
+
+"Ay."
+
+"There you left your ranks, you rogue; that was the way you lost
+sight of your master!" said the colonel.  Then, turning to Lady
+Woodley, as Diggory slunk off, "Your ladyship need not be alarmed.
+An hour after the encounter, in which he pretends to have seen your
+son slain, I saw him in full health and soundness."
+
+"A cowardly villain!" cried Walter, delighted to let out some of his
+indignation.  "I knew he was not speaking a word of truth."
+
+The children cheered up in a moment; but Lady Woodley was not sorry
+to make this agitating scene an excuse for retiring with all her
+children.  Lucy and Eleanor were quite comforted, and convinced that
+Edmund must be safe; but poor little Charlie had been so dreadfully
+frightened by the horrors of Diggory's description, that after Rose
+had put him to bed he kept on starting up in his sleep, half waking,
+and sobbing about brother Edmund's brains.
+
+Rose was obliged to go to him and soothe him.  She longed to assure
+the poor little fellow that dear Edmund was perfectly safe, well, and
+near at hand; but the secret was too important to be trusted to one
+so young, so she could only coax and comfort him, and tell him they
+all thought it was not true, and Edmund would come back again.
+
+"Sister," said Charlie, "may I say my prayers again for him?"
+
+"Yes, do, dear Charlie," said Rose; "and say a prayer for King
+Charles too, that he may be safe from the wicked man."
+
+So little Charlie knelt by Rose, with his hands joined, and his
+little bare legs folded together, and said his prayer:  and did not
+his sister's heart go with him?  Then she kissed him, covered him up
+warmly, and repeated to him in her soft voice the ninety-first Psalm:
+"Whoso dwelleth under the defence of the Most High shall abide under
+the shadow of the Almighty."
+
+By the time it was ended, the little boy was fast asleep, and the
+faithful loyal girl felt her failing heart cheered and strengthened
+for whatever might be before her, sure that she, her mother, her
+brother, and her King, were under the shadow of the Almighty wings.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+
+In a very strong fit of restlessness did little Mistress Lucy Woodley
+go to bed in Rose's room that night.  She was quite comforted on
+Edmund's account, for she had discernment enough to see that her
+mother and sister did not believe Diggory's dreadful narration; and
+she had been so unsettled and excited by Mr. Sylvester Enderby's
+notice, and by the way in which she had allowed her high spirits to
+get the better of her discretion, as well as by the sudden change
+from terror to joy, that when first she went to Rose's room she could
+not attend to her prayers, and next she could not go to sleep.
+
+Perhaps the being in a different apartment from usual, and the
+missing her accustomed sleeping companion, Eleanor, had something to
+do with it, for little Eleanor had a gravity and steadiness about her
+that was very apt to compose and quiet her in her idlest moods.  To-
+night she lay broad awake, tumbling about on the very hard mattress,
+stuffed with chaff, wondering how Rose could bear to sleep on it,
+trying to guess how there could be room for both when her sister came
+to bed, and nevertheless in a great fidget for her to come.  She
+listened to the howling and moaning of the wind, the creaking of the
+doors, and the rattling of the boards with which Rose had stopped up
+the broken panes of her lattice; she rolled from side to side,
+fancied odd shapes in the dark, and grew so restless and anxious for
+Rose's coming that she was just ready to jump out of bed and go in
+the passage to call her when Rose came into the room.
+
+"O Rose, what a time you have been!"
+
+It was no satisfaction to Rose to find the curious little chatter-box
+so wide awake at this very inconvenient time, but she did not lose
+her patience, and answered that she had been first with Charlie, and
+then with their mother.
+
+"And now I hope you are coming to bed.  I can't go to sleep without
+you."
+
+"Oh, but indeed you must, Lucy dear, for I shall not be ready this
+long time.  Look, here is a great rent in Walter's coat, which I must
+mend, or he won't be fit to be seen to-morrow."
+
+"What shall we have for dinner to-morrow, Rose?  What made you eat so
+much supper to-night?"
+
+"I'll tell you what, Lucy, I am not going to talk to you, or you will
+lie awake all night, and that will be very bad for you.  I shall put
+my candle out of your sight, and say some Psalms, but I cannot talk."
+
+So Rose began, and, wakeful as Lucy was, she found the low sweet
+tones lulled her a little.  But she did not like this; she had a
+perverse intention of staying awake till Rose got into bed, so
+instead of attending to the holy words, she pinched herself, and
+pulled herself, and kept her eyes staring open, gazing at the
+flickering shadows cast by the dim home-made rush candle.
+
+She went to sleep for a moment, then started into wakefulness again;
+Rose had ceased to repeat her Psalms aloud, but was still at her
+needlework; another doze, another waking.  There was some hope of
+Rose now, for she was kneeling down to say her prayers.  Lucy thought
+they lasted very long, and at her next waking she was just in time to
+hear the latch of the door closing, and find herself left in
+darkness.  Rose was not in bed, did not answer when she called.  Oh,
+she must be gone to take Walter's coat back to his room.  But surely
+she might have done that in one moment; and how long she was staying!
+Lucy could bear it no longer, or rather she did not try to bear it,
+for she was an impetuous, self-willed child, without much control
+over herself.  She jumped out of bed, and stole to the door.  A light
+was just disappearing on the ceiling, as if someone was carrying a
+candle down stairs; what could it mean?  Lucy scampered, pit-pat,
+with her bare feet along the passage, and came to the top of the
+stairs in time to peep over and discover Rose silently opening the
+door of the hall, a large dark cloak hung over her arm, and her head
+and neck covered by her black silk hood and a thick woollen kerchief,
+as if she was going out.
+
+Lucy's curiosity knew no bounds.  She would not call, for fear she
+should be sent back to bed, but she was determined to see what her
+sister could possibly be about.  Down the cold stone steps pattered
+she, and luckily, as she thought, Rose, probably to avoid noise, had
+only shut to the door, so that the little inquisitive maiden had a
+chink to peep through, and beheld Rose at a certain oaken corner-
+cupboard, whence she took out a napkin, and in it she folded what
+Lucy recognised as the very same three-cornered segment of pie-crust,
+containing the pigeon that she had last night been accused of
+devouring.  She placed it in a basket, and then proceeded to take a
+lantern from the cupboard, put in her rushlight, and, thus prepared,
+advanced to the garden-door, softly opened it, and disappeared.
+
+Lucy, in an extremity of amazement, came forward.  The wind howled in
+moaning gusts, and the rain dashed against the windows; Lucy was
+chilly and frightened.  The fire was not out, and gave a dim light,
+and she crept towards the window, but a sudden terror came over her;
+she dashed back, looked again, heard another gust of wind, fell into
+another panic, rushed back to the stairs, and never stopped till she
+had tumbled into bed, her teeth chattering, shivering from head to
+foot with fright and cold, rolled herself up tight in the bed-
+clothes, and, after suffering excessively from terror and chill, fell
+sound asleep without seeing her sister return.
+
+Causeless fears pursue those who are not in the right path, and turn
+from what alone can give them confidence.  A sense of protection
+supports those who walk in innocence, though their way may seem
+surrounded with perils; and thus, while Lucy trembled in an agony of
+fright in her warm bed, Rose walked forth with a firm and fearless
+step through the dark gusty night, heedless of the rain that pattered
+round her, and the wild wind that snatched at her cloak and gown, and
+flapped her hood into her eyes.
+
+She was not afraid of fancied terrors, and real perils and anxieties
+were at this moment lost in the bounding of her young heart at the
+thought of seeing, touching, speaking to her brother, her dear
+Edmund.  She had been eleven years old when they last had parted, the
+morning of the battle of Naseby, and he was five years older; but
+they had always been very happy and fond companions and playfellows
+as long as she could remember, and she alone had been on anything
+like an equality with him, or missed him with a feeling of personal
+loss, that had been increased by the death of her elder sister, Mary.
+
+Quickly, and concealing her light as much as possible, she walked
+down the damp ash-strewn paths of the kitchen-garden, and came out
+into the overgrown and neglected shrubbery, or pleasance, where the
+long wet-laden shoots came beating in her face, and now and then
+seeming to hold her back, and strange rustlings were heard that would
+have frightened a maiden of a less stout and earnest heart.  Her
+anxiety was lest she should be confused by the unwonted aspect of
+things in the dark, and miss the path; and very, very long did it
+seem, while her light would only show her leaves glistening with wet.
+At last she gained a clearer space, the border of a field:  something
+dark rose before her, she knew the outline of the shed, and entered
+the lower part.  It was meant for a cart-shed, with a loft above for
+hay or straw; but the cart had been lost or broken, and there was
+only a heap of rubbish in the corner, by which the children were wont
+to climb up to inspect their kittens.  Here Rose was for a moment
+startled by a glare close to her of what looked like two fiery lamps
+in the darkness, but the next instant a long, low, growling sound
+explained it, and the tabby stripes of the cat quickly darted across
+her lantern's range of light.  She heard a slight rustling above, and
+ventured to call, in a low whisper, "Edmund."
+
+"Is that you, Walter?" and as Rose proceeded to mount the pile of
+rubbish, his pale and haggard face looked down at her.
+
+"What?  Rose herself!  I did not think you would have come on such a
+night as this.  Can you come up?  Shall I help you?"
+
+"Thank you.  Take the lantern first--take care.  There.  Now the
+basket and the cloak."  And this done, with Edmund's hand, Rose
+scrambled up into the loft.  It was only the height of the roof, and
+there was not room, even in the middle, to stand upright; the rain
+soaked through the old thatch, the floor was of rough boards, and
+there was but very little of the hay that had served as a bed for the
+kittens.
+
+"O Edmund, this is a wretched place!" exclaimed Rose, as, crouching
+by his side, one hand in his, and the other round his neck, she gazed
+around.
+
+"Better than a prison," he answered.  "I only wish I knew that others
+were in as good a one.  And you--why, Rose, how you are altered; you
+are my young lady now!  And how does my dear mother?"
+
+"Pretty well.  I could hardly prevail on her not to come here to-
+night; but it would have been too much, she is so weak, and takes
+cold so soon.  But, Edmund, how pale you are, how weary!  Have you
+slept?  I fear not, on these hard boards--your wound, too."
+
+"It hardly deserves such a dignified name as a wound," said Edmund.
+"I am more hungry than aught else; I could have slept but for hunger,
+and now"--as he spoke he was opening the basket--"I shall be lodged
+better, I fear, than a king, with that famous cloak.  What a notable
+piece of pasty!  Well done, Rose!  Are you housewife?  Store of
+candles, too.  This is noble!"
+
+"How hungry you must be!  How long is it since you have eaten?"
+
+"Grey sent his servant into a village to buy some bread and cheese;
+we divided it when we parted, and it lasted me until this morning.
+Since then I have fasted."
+
+"Dear brother, I wish I could do more for you; but till Mr. Enderby
+goes, I cannot, for the soldiers are about the kitchen, and our maid,
+Deborah, talks too much to be trustworthy, though she is thoroughly
+faithful."
+
+"This is excellent fare," said Edmund, eating with great relish.
+"And now tell me of yourselves.  My mother is feeble and unwell, you
+say?"
+
+"Never strong, but tolerably well at present."
+
+"So Walter said.  By the way, Walter is a fine spirited fellow.  I
+should like to have him with me if we take another African voyage."
+
+"He would like nothing better, poor fellow.  But what strange things
+you have seen and done since we met!  How little we thought that
+morning that it would be six years before we should sit side by side
+again!  And Prince Rupert is kind to you?"
+
+"He treats me like a son or brother:  never was man kinder," said
+Edmund, warmly.  "But the children?  I must see them before I depart.
+Little Lucy, is she as bold and pert as she was as a young child?"
+
+"Little changed," said Rose, smiling, and telling her brother the
+adventures at the dinner.
+
+As cheerfully as might be they talked till Edmund had finished his
+meal, and then Rose begged him to let her examine and bind up the
+wound.  It was a sword-cut on the right shoulder, and, though not
+very deep, had become stiff and painful from neglect, and had soaked
+his sleeve deeply with blood.  Rose's dexterous fingers applied the
+salve and linen she had brought, and she promised that at her next
+visit she would bring him some clean clothes, which was what he said
+he most wished for.  Then she arranged the large horseman's cloak,
+the hay, and his own mantle, so well as to form, he said, the most
+luxurious resting place he had seen since he left Dunbar; and rolled
+up in this he lay, his head supported on his hand, talking earnestly
+with her on the measures next to be taken for his safety, and on the
+state of the family.  He must be hidden there till the chase was a
+little slackened, and then escape, by Bosham or some other port, to
+the royal fleet, which was hovering on the coast.  Money, however--
+how was he to get a passage without it?
+
+"The Prince, at parting--heaven knows he has little enough himself--
+gave me twenty gold crowns, which he said was my share of prize-money
+for our captures," said Edmund, "but this is the last of them."
+
+"And I don't know how we can get any," said Rose.  "We never see
+money.  Our tenants, if they pay at all, pay in kind--a side of
+bacon, or a sack of corn; they are very good, poor people, and love
+our mother heartily, I do believe.  I wish I knew what was to be
+done."
+
+"Time will show," said Edmund.  "I have been in as bad a case as this
+ere now, and it is something to be near you all again.  So you like
+this place, do you?  As well as our own home?"
+
+Rose shook her head, and tears sprang into her eyes.  "Oh no, Edmund;
+I try to think it home, and the children feel it so, but it is not
+like Woodley.  Do you remember the dear old oak-tree, with the
+branches that came down so low, where you used to swing Mary and me?"
+
+"And the high branch where I used to watch for my father coming home
+from the justice-meeting.  And the meadow where the hounds killed the
+fox that had baffled them so long!  Do you hear anything of the place
+now, Rose?"
+
+"Mr. Enderby told us something," said Rose, sadly.  "You know who has
+got it, Edmund?"
+
+"Who?
+
+"That Master Priggins, who was once justices' clerk."
+
+"Ha!" cried Edmund.  "That pettifogging scrivener in my father's
+house!--in my ancestors' house!  A rogue that ought to have been
+branded a dozen years ago!  I could have stood anything but that!
+Pretty work he is making there, I suppose!  Go on, Rose."
+
+"O Edmund, you know it is but what the King himself has to bear."
+
+"Neighbour's fare! as you say," replied Edmund, with a short dry
+laugh.  "Poverty and wandering I could bear; peril is what any brave
+man naturally seeks; the acres that have been ours for centuries
+could not go in a better cause; but to hear of a rascal such as that
+in my father's place is enough to drive one mad with rage!  Come,
+what has he been doing?  How has he used the poor people?"
+
+"He turned out old Davy and Madge at once from keeping the house, but
+Mr. Enderby took them in, and gave them a cottage."
+
+"I wonder what unlucky fate possessed that Enderby to take the wrong
+side!  Well?"
+
+"He could not tell us much of the place, for he cannot endure Master
+Priggins, and Master Sylvester laughs at his Puritanical manner; but
+he says--O Edmund--that the fish-ponds are filled up--those dear old
+fish-ponds where the water-lilies used to blow, and you once pulled
+me out of the water."
+
+"Ay, ay! we shall not know it again if ever our turn comes, and we
+enjoy our own again.  But it is of no use to think about such
+matters."
+
+"No; we must be thankful that we have a home at all, and are not like
+so many, who are actually come to beggary, like poor Mrs. Forde.  You
+remember her, our old clergyman's widow.  He died on board ship, and
+she was sent for by her cousin, who promised her a home; but she had
+no money, and was forced to walk all the way, with her two little
+boys, getting a lodging at night from any loyal family who would
+shelter her for the love of heaven.  My mother wept when she saw how
+sadly she was changed; we kept her with us a week to rest her, and
+when she went she had our last gold carolus, little guessing, poor
+soul, that it was our last.  Then, when she was gone, my mother
+called us all round her, and gave thanks that she could still give us
+shelter and daily bread."
+
+"There is a Judge above!" exclaimed Edmund; "yet sometimes it is hard
+to believe, when we see such a state of things here below!"
+
+"Dr. Bathurst tells us to think it will all be right in the other
+world, even if we do have to see the evil prosper here," said Rose,
+gravely.  "The sufferings will all turn to glory, just as they did
+with our blessed King, out of sight."
+
+Edmund sat thoughtful.  "If our people abroad would but hope and
+trust and bear as you do here, Rose.  But I had best not talk of
+these things, only your patience makes me feel how deficient in it we
+are, who have not a tithe to bear of what you have at home.  Are you
+moving to go?  Must you?"
+
+"I fear so, dear brother; the light seems to be beginning to dawn,
+and if Lucy wakes and misses me--Is your shoulder comfortable?"
+
+"I was never more comfortable in my life.  My loving duty to my dear
+mother.  Farewell, you, sweet Rose."
+
+"Farewell, dear Edmund.  Perhaps Walter may manage to visit you, but
+do not reckon on it."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+
+The vigils of the night had been as unwonted for Lucy as for her
+sister, and she slept soundly till Rose was already up and dressed.
+Her first reflection was on the strange sights she had seen, followed
+by a doubt whether they were real, or only a dream; but she was
+certain it was no such thing; she recollected too well the chill of
+the stone to her feet, and the sound of the blasts of wind.  She
+wondered over it, wished to make out the cause, but decided that she
+should only be scolded for peeping, and she had better keep her own
+counsel.
+
+That Lucy should keep silence when she thought she knew more than
+other people was, however, by no means to be expected; and though she
+would say not a word to her mother or Rose, of whom she was afraid,
+she was quite ready to make the most of her knowledge with Eleanor.
+
+When she came down stairs she found Walter, with his elbows on the
+table and his book before him, learning the task which his mother
+required of him every day; Eleanor had just come in with her lapfull
+of the still lingering flowers, and called her to help to make them
+up into nosegays.
+
+Lucy came and sat down by her on the floor, but paid little attention
+to the flowers, so intent was she on showing her knowledge.
+
+"Ah! you don't know what I have seen."
+
+"I dare say it is only some nonsense," said Eleanor, gravely, for she
+was rather apt to plume herself on being steadier than her elder
+sister.
+
+"It is no nonsense," said Lucy.  "I know what I know."
+
+Before Eleanor had time to answer this speech, the mystery of which
+was enhanced by a knowing little nod of the head, young Mr. Enderby
+made his appearance in the hall, with a civil good-morning to Walter,
+which the boy hardly deigned to acknowledge by a gruff reply and
+little nod, and then going on to the little girls, renewed with them
+yesterday's war of words.  "Weaving posies, little ladies?"
+
+"Not for rebels," replied Lucy, pertly.
+
+"May I not have one poor daisy?"
+
+"Not one; the daisy is a royal flower."
+
+"If I take one?"
+
+"Rebels take what they can't get fairly," said Lucy, with the
+smartness of a forward child; and Sylvester, laughing heartily,
+continued, "What would General Cromwell say to such a nest of little
+malignants?"
+
+"That is an ugly name," said Eleanor.
+
+"Quite as pretty as Roundhead."
+
+"Yes, but we don't deserve it."
+
+"Not when you make that pretty face so sour?"
+
+"Ah!" interposed Lucy, "she is sour because I won't tell her my
+secret of the pie."
+
+"Oh, what?" said Eleanor.
+
+"Now I have you!" cried Lucy, delighted.  "I know what became of the
+pigeon pie."
+
+In extreme alarm and anger, Walter turned round as he caught these
+words.  "Lucy, naughty child!" he began, in a voice of thunder; then,
+recollecting the danger of exciting further suspicion, he stammered,
+"what--what--what--are you doing here?  Go along to mother."
+
+Lucy rubbed her fingers into her eyes, and answered sharply, in a
+pettish tone, that she was doing no harm.  Eleanor, in amazement,
+asked what could be the matter.
+
+"Intolerable!" exclaimed Walter.  "So many girls always in the way?"
+
+Sylvester Enderby could not help smiling, as he asked, "Is that all
+you have to complain of?"
+
+"I could complain of something much worse," muttered Walter.  "Get
+away, Lucy?"
+
+"I won't at your bidding, sir."
+
+To Walter's great relief, Rose entered at that moment, and all was
+smooth and quiet; Lucy became silent, and the conversation was kept
+up in safe terms between Rose and the young officer.  The colonel, it
+appeared, was so much better that he intended to leave Forest Lea
+that very day; and it was not long before he came down, and presently
+afterwards Lady Woodley, looking very pale and exhausted, for her
+anxieties had kept her awake all night.
+
+After a breakfast on bread, cheese, rashers of bacon, and beer, the
+horses were brought to the door, and the colonel took his leave of
+Lady Woodley, thanking her much for her hospitality.
+
+"I wish it had been better worth accepting," said she.
+
+"I wish it had, though not for my own sake," said the colonel.  "I
+wish you would allow me to attempt something in your favour.  One
+thing, perhaps, you will deign to accept.  Every royalist house,
+especially those belonging to persons engaged at Worcester, is liable
+to be searched, and to have soldiers quartered on them, to prevent
+fugitives from being harboured there.  I will send Sylvester at once
+to obtain a protection for you, which may prevent you from being thus
+disturbed."
+
+"That will be a kindness, indeed," said Lady Woodley, hardly able to
+restrain the eagerness with which she heard the offer made, that gave
+the best hope of saving her son.  She was not certain that the
+colonel had not some suspicion of the true state of the case, and
+would not take notice, unwilling to ruin the son of his friend, and
+at the same time reluctant to fail in his duty to his employers.
+
+He soon departed; Mistress Lucy's farewell to Sylvester being thus:
+"Good-bye, Mr. Roundhead, rebel, crop-eared traitor."  At which
+Sylvester and his father turned and laughed, and their two soldiers
+looked very much astonished.
+
+Lady Woodley called Lucy at once, and spoke to her seriously on her
+forwardness and impertinence.  "I could tell you, Lucy, that it is
+not like a young lady, but I must tell you more, it is not like a
+young Christian maiden.  Do you remember the text that I gave you to
+learn a little while ago--the ornament fit for a woman?"
+
+Lucy hung her head, and with tears filling her eyes, as her mother
+prompted her continually, repeated the text in a low mumbling voice,
+half crying:  "Whose adorning, let it not be the putting on of gold,
+or the plaiting of hair, or the putting on of apparel, but let it be
+the hidden man of the heart, even the ornament of a meek and quiet
+spirit, which is in the sight of GOD of great price."
+
+"And does my little Lucy think she showed that ornament when she
+pushed herself forward to talk idle nonsense, and make herself be
+looked at and taken notice of?"
+
+Lucy put her finger in her mouth; she did not like to be scolded, as
+she called it, gentle as her mother was, and she would not open her
+mind to take in the kind reproof.
+
+Lady Woodley took the old black-covered Bible, and finding two of the
+verses in S. James about the government of the tongue, desired Lucy
+to learn them by heart before she went out of the house; and the
+little girl sat down with them in the window-seat, in a cross
+impatient mood, very unfit for learning those sacred words.  "She had
+done no harm," she thought; "she could not help it if the young
+gentleman would talk to her!"
+
+So there she sat, with the Bible in her lap, alone, for Lady Woodley
+was so harassed and unwell, in consequence of her anxieties, that
+Rose had persuaded her to go and lie down on her bed, since it would
+be better for her not to try to see Edmund till the promised
+protection had arrived, lest suspicion should be excited.  Rose was
+busy about her household affairs; Eleanor, a handy little person, was
+helping her; and Walter and Charles were gone out to gather apples
+for a pudding which she had promised them.
+
+Lucy much wished to be with them; and after a long brooding over her
+ill-temper, it began to wear out, not to be conquered, but to depart
+of itself; she thought she might as well learn her lesson and have
+done with it; so by way of getting rid of the task, not of profiting
+by the warning it conveyed, she hurried through the two verses ending
+with--"Behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth!"
+
+As soon as she could say them perfectly, she raced upstairs, and into
+her mother's room, gave her the book, and repeated them at her
+fastest pace.  Poor Lady Woodley was too weary and languid to exert
+herself to speak to the little girl about her unsuitable manner, or
+to try to bring the lesson home to her; she dismissed her, only
+saying, "I hope, my dear, you will remember this," and away ran Lucy,
+first to the orchard in search of her brothers, and not finding them
+there, round and round the garden and pleasance.  Edmund, in his
+hiding-place, heard the voice calling "Walter!  Charlie!" and peeping
+out, caught a glimpse of a little figure, her long frock tucked over
+her arm, and long locks of dark hair blowing out from under her
+small, round, white cap.  What a pleasure it was to him to have that
+one view of his little sister!
+
+At last, tired with her search, Lucy returned to the house, and there
+found Deborah ironing at the long table in the hall, and crooning
+away her one dismal song of "Barbara Allen's cruelty."
+
+"So you can sing again, Deb," she began, "now the Roundheads are gone
+and Diggory come back?"
+
+"Little girls should not meddle with what does not concern them,"
+answered Deborah.
+
+"You need not call me a little girl," said Lucy.  "I am almost eleven
+years old; and I know a secret, a real secret."
+
+"A secret, Mistress Lucy?  Who would tell their secrets to the like
+of you?" said Deborah, contemptuously.
+
+"No one told me; I found it out for myself!" cried Lucy, in high
+exultation.  "I know what became of the pigeon pie that we thought
+Rose ate up!"
+
+"Eh?  Mistress Lucy!" exclaimed Deborah, pausing in her ironing, full
+of curiosity.
+
+Lucy was delighted to detail the whole of what she had observed.
+
+"Well!" cried Deborah, "if ever I heard tell the like!  That slip of
+a thing out in all the blackness of the night!  I should be afraid of
+my life of the ghosts and hobgoblins.  Oh!  I had rather be set up
+for a mark for all the musketeers in the Parliament army, than set
+one foot out of doors after dark!"
+
+As Deborah spoke, Walter came into the hall.  He saw that Lucy had
+observed something, and was anxious every time she opened her lips.
+This made him rough and sharp with her, and he instantly exclaimed,
+"How now, Lucy, still gossipping?"
+
+"You are so cross, I can't speak a word for you," said Lucy,
+fretfully, walking out of the room, while Walter, in his usual
+imperious way, began to shout for Diggory and his boots.  "Diggory,
+knave!"
+
+"Anon, sir!" answered the dogged voice.
+
+"Bring them, I say, you laggard!"
+
+"Coming, sir, coming."
+
+"Coming, are you, you snail?" cried Walter, impatiently.  "Your heels
+are tardier now than they were at Worcester!"
+
+"A man can't do more nor he can do, sir," said Diggory, sullenly, as
+he plodded into the hall.
+
+"Answering again, lubber?" said Walter.  "Is this what you call
+cleaned?  You are not fit for your own shoe-blacking trade!  Get
+along with you!" and he threw the boots at Diggory in a passion.  "I
+must wear them, though, as they are, or wait all day.  Bring them to
+me again."
+
+Walter had some idle notion in his head that it was Puritanical to
+speak courteously to servants, and despising Diggory for his
+cowardice and stupidity, he was especially overbearing with him, and
+went on rating him all the time he was putting on his boots, to go
+out and try to catch some fish for the morrow's dinner, which was
+likely to be but scanty.  As soon as he was gone, Diggory, who had
+listened in sulky silence, began to utter his complaints.
+
+"Chicken-heart, moon-calf, awkward lubber, those be the best words a
+poor fellow gets.  I can tell Master Walter that these are no times
+for gentlefolks to be hectoring, especially when they haven't a penny
+to pay wages with."
+
+"You learnt that in the wars, Diggory," said Deborah, turning round,
+for, grumble as she might herself, she could not bear to have a word
+said by anyone else against her lady's family, and loved to scold her
+sweetheart, Diggory.  "Never mind Master Walter.  If he has not a
+penny in his pocket, and the very green coat to his back is cut out
+of his grandmother's farthingale, more's the pity.  How should he
+show he is a gentleman but by hectoring a bit now and then,
+'specially to such a rogue as thou, coming back when thy betters are
+lost.  That is always the way, as I found when I lost my real silver
+crown, and kept my trumpery Parliament bit."
+
+"Ah, Deb!" pleaded Diggory, "thou knowst not what danger is!  I
+thought thou wouldst never have set eyes on poor Diggory again."
+
+"Much harm would that have been," retorted Mrs. Deb, tossing her
+head.  "D'ye think I'd have broke my heart?  That I'll never do for a
+runaway."
+
+"'Twas time to run when poor Farmer Ewins was cut down, holloaing for
+quarter, and Master Edmund's brains lying strewn about on the ground,
+for all the world like a calf's."
+
+"'Tis your own brains be like a calf's," said Deborah.  "I'd bargain
+to eat all of Master Edmund's brains you ever saw."
+
+"He's as dead as a red herring."
+
+"I say he is as life-like as you or I."
+
+"I say I saw him stretched out, covered with blood, and a sword-cut
+on his head big enough to be the death of twenty men."
+
+"Didn't that colonel man, as they call him, see him alive and merry
+long after?  It's my belief that Master Edmund is not a dozen miles
+off."
+
+"Master Edmund! hey, Deb?  I'll never believe that, after what I've
+seen at Worcester."
+
+"Then pray why does Mistress Rose save a whole pigeon out of the pie,
+hide it in her lap, and steal out of the house with it at midnight?
+Either Master Edmund is in hiding, or some other poor gentleman from
+the wars, and I verily believe it is Master Edmund himself; so a fig
+for his brains or yours, and there's for you, for a false-tongued
+runaway!  Coming, mistress, coming!" and away ran Deborah at a call
+from Rose.
+
+Now Deborah was faithful to the backbone, and would have given all
+she had in the world, almost her life itself, for her lady and the
+children; she was a good and honest woman in the main, but tongue and
+temper were two things that she had never learnt to restrain, and she
+had given her love to the first person by whom it was sought, without
+consideration whether he was worthy of affection or not.  That
+Diggory was a sullen, ill-conditioned, selfish fellow, was evident to
+everyone else; but he had paid court to Deborah, and therefore the
+foolish woman had allowed herself to be taken with him, see
+perfections in him, promise to become his wife, and confide in him.
+
+When Deborah left the hall, Diggory returned to his former employment
+of chopping wood, and began to consider very intently for him.
+
+He had really believed, at the moment of his panic-terror, that he
+saw Edmund Woodley fall, and had at once taken flight, without
+attempting to afford him any assistance.  The story of the brains
+had, of course, been invented on the spur of the moment, by way of
+excusing his flight, and he was obliged to persist in the falsehood
+he had once uttered, though he was not by any means certain that it
+had been his master whom he saw killed, especially after hearing
+Colonel Enderby's testimony.  And now there came alluringly before
+him the promise of the reward offered for the discovery of the
+fugitive cavaliers, the idea of being able to rent and stock poor
+Ewins's farm, and setting up there with Deborah.  It was money easily
+come by, he thought, and he would like to be revenged on Master
+Walter, and show him that the lubber and moon-calf could do some
+harm, after all.  A relenting came across him as he thought of his
+lady and Mistress Rose, though he had no personal regard for Edmund,
+who had never lived at Forest Lea; and his stolid mind was too much
+enclosed in selfishness to admit much feeling for anyone.  Besides,
+it might not be Master Edmund; he was probably killed; it might be
+one of the lords in the battle, or even the King himself, and that
+would be worth 1,000 pounds.  Master Cantwell called them all tyrants
+and sons of Belial, and what not; and though Dr. Bathurst said
+differently, who was to know what was right?  Dr. Bathurst had had
+his day, and this was Cantwell's turn.  There was a comedown now of
+feathered hats, and point collars, and curled hair; and leathern
+jerkin should have its day.  And as for being an informer, he would
+keep his own counsel; at any rate, the reward he would have.  It was
+scarcely likely to be a hanging matter, after all; and if the
+gentleman, whoever he might be, did chance to be taken, he would get
+off scot free, no harm done to him.  "Diggory Stokes, you're a made
+man!" he finished, throwing his bill-hook from him.
+
+Ah!  Lucy, Lucy, you little thought of the harm your curiosity and
+chattering had done, as you saw Diggory stealing along the side of
+the wood, in the direction leading to Chichester!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+
+In the afternoon Lady Woodley was so much better as to be able to
+come downstairs, and all the party sat round the fire in the
+twilight.  Walter was just come in from his fishing, bringing a
+basket of fine trout; Eleanor and Charles were admiring their
+beautiful red spots, Lucy wondering what made him so late, while he
+cast a significant look at his eldest sister, showing her that he had
+been making a visit to Edmund.
+
+At that moment a loud authoritative knocking was heard at the door;
+Walter shouted to Diggory to open it, and was answered by Deborah's
+shrill scream from the kitchen, "He's not here, sir; I've not seen
+him since you threw your boots at him, sir."
+
+Another thundering knock brought Deborah to open the door; and what
+was the dismay of the mother and children as there entered six tall
+men, their buff coats, steeple-crowned hats, plain collars, and thick
+calf-skin boots, marking them as Parliamentary soldiers.  With a
+shriek of terror the little ones clung round their mother, while he
+who, by his orange scarf, was evidently the commanding officer,
+standing in the middle of the hall, with his hat on, announced, in a
+Puritanical tone, "We are here by order of his Excellency, General
+Cromwell, to search for and apprehend the body of the desperate
+malignant Edmund Woodley, last seen in arms against the Most High
+Court of Parliament.  Likewise to arrest the person of Dame Mary
+Woodley, widow, suspected of harbouring and concealing traitors:" and
+he advanced to lay his hand upon her.  Walter, in an impulse of
+passion, rushed forward, and aimed a blow at him with the butt-end of
+the fishing-rod; but it was the work of a moment to seize the boy and
+tie his hands, while his mother earnestly implored the soldier to
+have pity on him, and excuse his thoughtless haste to protect her.
+
+The officer sat down in the arm-chair, and without replying to Lady
+Woodley, ordered a soldier to bring the boy before him, and spoke
+thus:- "Hear me, son of an ungodly seed.  So merciful are the lessons
+of the light that thou contemnest, that I will even yet overlook and
+forgive the violence wherewith thou didst threaten my life, so thou
+wilt turn again, and confess where thou hast hidden the bloody-minded
+traitor."
+
+"This house harbours no traitor," answered Walter, undauntedly.
+
+"If thou art too hardened to confess," continued the officer,
+frowning, and speaking slowly and sternly, as he kept his eyes
+steadily fixed on Walter, "if thou wilt not reveal his hiding-place,
+I lead thee hence to abide the penalty of attempted murder."
+
+"I am quite ready," answered Walter, returning frown for frown, and
+not betraying how his heart throbbed.
+
+The officer signed to the soldier, who roughly dragged him aside by
+the cord that tied his hands, cutting them severely, though he
+disdained to show any sign of pain.
+
+"Young maiden," continued the rebel, turning to Rose, "what sayest
+thou?  Wilt thou see thy brother led away to death, when the breath
+of thy mouth might save him?"
+
+Poor Rose turned as pale as death, but her answer was steady:  "I
+will say nothing."
+
+"Little ones, then," said the officer, fiercely, "speak, or you shall
+taste the rod.  Do you know where your brother is?"
+
+"No--no," sobbed Lucy; and her mother added, "They know nothing,
+sir."
+
+"It is loss of time to stand parleying with women and children," said
+the officer, rising.  "Here," to one of his men, "keep the door.  Let
+none quit the chamber, and mark the children's talk.  The rest with
+me.  Where is the fellow that brought the tidings?"
+
+Diggory, who had slunk out of sight, was pushed forward by two of the
+soldiers, and at the same time there was a loud scream from Deborah.
+"Oh!  Diggory, is it you?  Oh! my Lady, my Lady, forgive me!  I meant
+no harm!  Oh! who would have thought it?"  And in an agony of
+distress, she threw her apron over her face, and, sinking on the
+bench, rocked herself to and fro, sobbing violently.
+
+In the meantime, the officer and his men, all but the sentinel, had
+left the room to search for the fugitive, leaving Lady Woodley
+sitting exhausted and terrified in her chair, the little ones
+clinging around her, Walter standing opposite, with his hands bound;
+Rose stood by him, her arm round his neck, proud of his firmness, but
+in dreadful terror for him, and in such suspense for Edmund, that her
+whole being seemed absorbed in agonised prayer.  Deborah's sobs, and
+the children's frightened weeping, were all the sounds that could be
+heard; Rose was obliged to attempt to soothe them, but her first kind
+word to Deborah produced a fresh burst of violent weeping, and then a
+loud lamentation:  "Oh! the rogue--the rogue.  If I could have dreamt
+it!"
+
+"What has she done?" exclaimed Walter, impatiently.  "Come, stop your
+crying.  What have you done, Deb?"
+
+"I thought--Oh! if I had known what was in the villain!" continued
+Deborah, "I'd sooner have bit out my tongue than have said one word
+to him about the pigeon pie."
+
+"Pigeon pie!" repeated Rose.
+
+Lucy now gave a cry, for she was, with all her faults, a truth-
+telling child.  "Mother! mother!  I told Deb about the pigeon pie!
+Oh, what have I done?  Was it for Edmund?  Is Edmund here?"
+
+And to increase the danger and perplexity, the other two children
+exclaimed together, "Is Edmund here?"
+
+"Hush, hush, my dears, be quiet; I cannot answer you now," whispered
+Lady Woodley, trying to silence them by caresses, and looking with
+terror at the rigid, stern guard, who, instead of remaining at the
+door where he had been posted, had come close up to them, and sat
+himself down at the end of the table, as if to catch every word they
+uttered.
+
+Eleanor and Charles obeyed their mother's command that they should be
+silent; Rose took Lucy on her lap, let her rest her head on her
+shoulder, and whispered to her that she should hear and tell all
+another time, but she must be quiet now, and listen.  Deborah kept
+her apron over her face, and Walter, leaning his shoulder against the
+wall, stood gazing at them all; and while he was intently watching
+for every sound that could enable him to judge whether the search was
+successful or not, at the same time his heart was beating and his
+head swimming at the threat of the rebel.  Was he to die?  To be
+taken away from that bright world, from sunshine, youth, and health,
+from his mother, and all of them, and be laid, a stiff mangled
+corpse, in some cold, dark, unregarded grave; his pulses, that beat
+so fast, all still and silent--senseless, motionless, like the birds
+he had killed?  And that was not all:  that other world!  To enter on
+what would last for ever and ever and ever, on a state which he had
+never dwelt on or realised to himself, filled him with a blank,
+shuddering awe; and next came a worse, a sickening thought:  if his
+feeling for the bliss of heaven was almost distaste, could he be fit
+for it? could he dare to hope for it?  It was his Judge Whom he was
+about to meet, and he had been impatient and weary of Bible and
+Catechism, and Dr. Bathurst's teaching; he had been inattentive and
+careless at his prayers; he had been disobedient and unruly, violent,
+and unkind!  Such a horror and agony came over the poor boy, so
+exceeding a dread of death, that he was ready at that moment to
+struggle to do anything to save himself; but there came the
+recollection that the price of his rescue must be the betrayal of
+Edmund.  He would almost have spoken at that instant; the next he
+sickened at the thought.  Never, never--he could not, would not;
+better not live at all than be a traitor!  He was too confused and
+anxious to pray, for he had not taught himself to fix his attention
+in quiet moments.  He would not speak before the rebel soldier; but
+only looked with an earnest gaze at his sister, who, as their eyes
+met, understood all it conveyed.
+
+His mother, after the first moment's fright, had reassured herself
+somewhat on his account; he was so mere a boy that it was not likely
+that Algernon Sydney, who then commanded at Chichester, would put him
+to death; a short imprisonment was the worst that was likely to
+befall him; and though that was enough to fill her with terror and
+anxiety, it could at that moment be scarcely regarded in comparison
+with her fears for her eldest son.
+
+A long time passed away, so long, that they began to hope that the
+enemies might be baffled in their search, in spite of Diggory's
+intimate knowledge of every nook and corner.  They had been once to
+the shrubbery, and had been heard tramping back to the stable, where
+they were welcome to search as long as they chose, then to the barn-
+yard, all over the house from garret to cellar.  Was it over?  Joy!
+joy!  But the feet were heard turning back to the pleasance, as
+though to recommence the search, and ten minutes after the steps came
+nearer.  The rebel officer entered the hall first, but, alas! behind
+him came, guarded by two soldiers, Edmund Woodley himself, his step
+firm, his head erect, and his hands unbound.  His mother sank back in
+her chair, and he, going straight up to her, knelt on one knee before
+her, saying, "Mother, dear mother, your blessing.  Let me see your
+face again."
+
+She threw her arms round his neck, "My son! and is it thus we meet?"
+
+"We only meet as we parted," he answered firmly and cheerfully.
+"Still sufferers in the same good cause; still, I trust, with the
+same willing hearts."
+
+"Come, sir," said the officer, "I must see you safely bestowed for
+the night."
+
+"One moment, gentlemen," entreated Lady Woodley.  "It is six years
+since I saw my son, and this may be our last meeting."  She led him
+to the light, and looked earnestly up into his face, saying, with a
+smile, which had in it much of pride and pleasure, as well as
+sadness, "How you are altered, Edmund!  See, Rose, how brown he is,
+and how much darker his hair has grown; and does not his moustache
+make him just like your father?"
+
+"And my little sisters," said Edmund.  "Ha!  Lucy, I know your little
+round face."
+
+"Oh," sobbed Lucy, "is it my fault?  Can you pardon me?  The pigeon
+pie!"
+
+"What does she mean?" asked Edmund, turning to Rose.
+
+"I saw you take it out at night, Rose," said poor Lucy.  "I told
+Deb!"
+
+"And poor Deborah," added Rose, "from the same thoughtlessness
+repeated her chatter to Diggory, who has betrayed us."
+
+"The cowardly villain," cried Walter, who had come forward to the
+group round his brother.
+
+"Hush, Walter," said Edmund.  "But what do I see?  Your hands bound?
+You a prisoner?"
+
+"Poor Walter was rash enough to attempt resistance," said his mother.
+
+"So, sir," said Edmund, turning to the rebel captain, "you attach
+great importance to the struggles of a boy of thirteen!"
+
+"A blow with the butt-end of a fishing-rod is no joke from boy or
+man," answered the officer.
+
+"When last I served in England," continued the cavalier, "Cromwell's
+Ironsides did not take notice of children with fishing-rods.  You can
+have no warrant, no order, or whatever you pretend to act by, against
+him."
+
+"Why--no, sir; but--however, the young gentleman has had a lesson,
+and I do not care if I do loose his hands.  Here, unfasten him.  But
+I cannot permit him to be at large while you are in the house."
+
+"Very well, then, perhaps you will allow him to share my chamber.  We
+have been separated for so many years, and it may be our last
+meeting."
+
+"So let it be.  Since you are pleased to be conformable, sir, I am
+willing to oblige you," answered the rebel, whose whole demeanour had
+curiously changed in the presence of one of such soldierly and
+gentleman-like bearing as Edmund, prisoner though he was.  "Now,
+madam, to your own chamber.  You will all meet to-morrow."
+
+"Good-night, mother," said Edmund.  "Sleep well; think this is but a
+dream, and only remember that your eldest son is in your own house."
+
+"Good-night, my brave boy," said Lady Woodley, as she embraced him
+ardently.  "A comfort, indeed, I have in knowing that with your
+father's face you have his steadfast, loving, unselfish heart.  We
+meet to-morrow.  GOD'S blessing be upon you, my boy."
+
+And tenderly embracing the children she left the hall, followed by a
+soldier, who was to guard her door, and allow no one to enter.
+Edmund next kissed his sisters and little Charles, affectionately
+wishing them good-night, and assuring the sobbing Lucy of his pardon.
+Rose whispered to him to say something to comfort Deborah, who
+continued to weep piteously.
+
+"Deborah," he said, "I must thank you for your long faithful service
+to my mother in her poverty and distress.  I am sure you knew not
+that you were doing me any harm."
+
+"Oh, sir," cried poor Deborah, "Oh don't speak so kind!  I had rather
+stand up to be a mark for all the musketeers in the Parliament army
+than be where I am now."
+
+Edmund did not hear half what she said, for he and Walter were
+obliged to hasten upstairs to the chamber which was to be their
+prison for the night.  Rose, at the same time, led away the children,
+poor little Charles almost asleep in the midst of the confusion.
+
+Deborah's troubles were not over yet; the captain called for supper,
+and seeing Walter's basket of fish, ordered her to prepare them at
+once for him.  Afraid to refuse, she took them down to the kitchen,
+and proceeded to her cookery, weeping and lamenting all the time.
+
+"Oh, the sweet generous-hearted young gentleman!  That I should have
+been the death of such as he, and he thanking me for my poor
+services!  'Tis little I could do, with my crooked temper, that
+plagues all I love the very best, and my long tongue!  Oh that it had
+been bitten out at the root!  I wish--I wish I was a mark for all the
+musketeers in the Parliament army this minute!  And Diggory, the
+rogue!  Oh, after having known him all my life, who would have
+thought of his turning informer?  Why was not he killed in the great
+fight?  It would have broke my heart less."
+
+And having set her fish to boil, Deborah sank on the chair, her apron
+over her head, and proceeded to rock herself backwards and forwards
+as before.  She was startled by a touch, and a lumpish voice,
+attempted to be softened into an insinuating tone.  "I say, Deb,
+don't take on."
+
+She sprung up as if an adder had stung her, and jumped away from him.
+"Ha! is it you?  Dost dare to speak to an honest girl?"
+
+"Come, come, don't be fractious, my pretty one," said Diggory, in the
+amiable tones that had once gained her heart.
+
+But now her retort was in a still sharper, more angry key.  "Your'n,
+indeed!  I'd rather stand up to be a mark for all the musketeers in
+the Parliament army, as poor Master Edmund is like to be, all along
+of you.  O Diggory Stokes," she added ruefully, "I'd not have
+believed it of you, if my own father had sworn it."
+
+"Hush, hush, Deb!" said Diggory, rather sheepishly, "they've done
+hanging the folk."
+
+"Don't be for putting me off with such trash," she returned, more
+passionately; "you've murdered him as much as if you had cut his
+throat, and pretty nigh Master Walter into the bargain; and you've
+broke my lady's heart, you, as was born on her land and fed with her
+bread.  And now you think to make up to me, do you?"
+
+"Wasn't it all along of you I did it?  For your sake?"
+
+"Well, and what would you be pleased to say next?" cried Deb, her
+voice rising in shrillness with her indignation.
+
+"Patience, Deb," said Diggory, showing a heavy leathern bag.  "No
+more toiling in this ruinous old hall, with scanty scraps, hard
+words, and no wages; but a tidy little homestead, pig, cow, and
+horse, your own.  See here, Deb," and he held up a piece of money.
+
+"Silver!" she exclaimed.
+
+"Ay, ay," said Diggory, grinning, and jingling the bag, "and there be
+plenty more where that came from."
+
+"It is the price of Master Edmund's blood."
+
+"Don't ye say that now, Deb; 'tis all for you!" he answered, thinking
+he was prevailing because she was less violent, too stupid to
+perceive the difference between her real indignation and perpetual
+scolding.
+
+"So you still have the face to tell me so!" she burst out, still more
+vehemently.  "I tell you, I'd rather serve my lady and Mistress Rose,
+if they had not a crust to give me, than roll in gold with a rogue
+like you.  Get along with you, and best get out of the county, for
+not a boy in Dorset but will cry shame on you."
+
+"But Deb, Deb," he still pleaded.
+
+"You will have it, then!"  And dealing him a hearty box on the ear,
+away ran Deborah.  Down fell bag, money, and all, and Diggory stood
+gaping and astounded for a moment, then proceeded to grope after the
+coins on his hands and knees.
+
+Suddenly a voice exclaimed, "How now, knave, stealing thy mistress's
+goods?" and a tall, grim, steeple-hatted figure, armed with a
+formidable halberd, stood over him.
+
+"Good master corporal," he began, trembling; but the soldier would
+not hear him.
+
+"Away with thee, son of iniquity or I will straightway lay mine
+halberd about thine ears.  I bethink me that I saw thee at the fight
+of Worcester, on the part of the man Charles Stuart."  Here Diggory
+judged it prudent to slink away through the back door.  "And so,"
+continued the Puritan corporal, as he swept the silver into his
+pouch, "and so the gains of iniquity fall into the hands of the
+righteous!"
+
+In the meantime Edmund and Walter had been conducted up stairs to
+Walter's bed-room, and there locked in, a sentinel standing outside
+the door.  No sooner were they there than Walter swung himself round
+with a gesture of rage and despair.  "The villains! the rogues!  To
+be betrayed by such a wretch, who has eaten our bread all his life.
+O Edmund, Edmund!"
+
+"It is a most unusual, as well as an unhappy chance," returned
+Edmund.  "Hitherto it has generally happened that servants have given
+remarkable proofs of fidelity.  Of course this fellow can have no
+attachment for me; but I should have thought my mother's gentle
+kindness must have won the love of all who came near her, both for
+herself and all belonging to her."
+
+A recollection crossed Walter:  he stood for a few moments in
+silence, then suddenly exclaimed, "The surly rascal!  I verily
+believe it was all spite at me, for--"
+
+"For--" repeated Edmund.
+
+"For rating him as he deserved," answered Walter.  "I wish I had
+given it to him more soundly, traitor as he is.  No, no, after all,"
+added he, hesitating, "perhaps if I had been civiller--"
+
+"I should guess you to be a little too prompt of tongue," said
+Edmund, smiling.
+
+"It is what my mother is always blaming me for," said Walter; "but
+really, now, Edmund, doesn't it savour of the crop-ear to be picking
+one's words to every rogue in one's way?"
+
+"Nay, Walter, you should not ask me that question, just coming from
+France.  There we hold that the best token, in our poverty, that we
+are cavaliers and gentlemen, is to be courteous to all, high and low.
+You should see our young King's frank bright courtesy; and as to the
+little King Louis, he is the very pink of civility to every old
+poissarde in the streets."
+
+Walter coloured a little, and looked confused; then repeated, as if
+consoling himself, "He is a sullen, spiteful, good-for-nothing rogue,
+whom hanging is too good for."
+
+"Don't let us spend our whole night in abusing him," said Edmund; "I
+want to make the most of you, Walter, for this our last sight of each
+other."
+
+"O, Edmund! you don't mean--they shall not--you shall escape.  Oh! is
+there no way out of this room?" cried Walter, running round it like
+one distracted, and bouncing against the wainscot, as if he would
+shake it down.
+
+"Hush! this is of no use, Walter," said his brother.  "The window is,
+I see, too high from the ground, and there is no escape."
+
+Walter stood regarding him with blank dismay.
+
+"For one thing I am thankful to them," continued Edmund; "I thought
+they might have shot me down before my mother's door, and so filled
+the place with horror for her ever after.  Now they have given me
+time for preparation, and she will grow accustomed to the thought of
+losing me."
+
+"Then you think there is no hope?  O Edmund!"
+
+"I see none.  Sydney is unlikely to spare a friend of Prince
+Rupert's."
+
+Walter squeezed his hands fast together.  "And how--how can you?
+Don't think me cowardly, Edmund, for that I will never be; never--"
+
+"Never, I am sure," repeated Edmund.
+
+"But when that base Puritan threatened me just now--perhaps it was
+foolish to believe him--I could answer him freely enough; but when I
+thought of dying, then--"
+
+"You have not stood face to face with death so often as I have,
+Walter," said Edmund; "nor have you led so wandering and weary a
+life."
+
+"I thought I could lead any sort of life rather than die," said
+Walter.
+
+"Yes, our flesh will shrink and tremble at the thought of the Judge
+we must meet," said Edmund; "but He is a gracious Judge, and He knows
+that it is rather than turn from our duty that we are exposed to
+death.  We may have a good hope, sinners as we are in His sight, that
+He will grant us His mercy, and be with us when the time comes.  But
+it is late, Walter, we ought to rest, to fit ourselves for what may
+come to-morrow."
+
+Edmund knelt in prayer, his young brother feeling meantime both
+sorrowful and humiliated, loving Edmund and admiring him heartily,
+following what he had said, grieving and rebelling at the fate
+prepared for him, and at the same time sensible of shame at having so
+far fallen short of all he had hoped to feel and to prove himself in
+the time of trial.  He had been of very little use to Edmund; his
+rash interference had only done harm, and added to his mother's
+distress; he had been nothing but a boy throughout, and instead of
+being a brave champion, he had been in such an agony of terror at an
+empty threat, that if the rebel captain had been in the room, he
+might almost, at one moment, have betrayed his brother.  Poor Walter!
+how he felt what it was never to have learnt self-control!
+
+The brothers arranged themselves for the night without undressing,
+both occupying Walter's bed.  They were both too anxious and excited
+to sleep, and Walter sat up after a time, listening more calmly to
+Edmund, who was giving him last messages for Prince Rupert and his
+other friends, should Walter ever meet them, and putting much in his
+charge, as now likely to become heir of Woodley Hall and Forest Lea,
+warning him earnestly to protect his mother and sisters, and be loyal
+to his King, avoiding all compromise with the enemies of the Church.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+
+Forest Lea that night was a house of sorrow:  the mother and two sons
+were prisoners in their separate rooms, and the anxieties for the
+future were dreadful.  Rose longed to see and help her mother,
+dreading the effect of such misery, to be borne in loneliness, by the
+weak frame, shattered by so many previous sufferings.  How was she to
+undergo all that might yet be in store for her--imprisonment, ill-
+treatment, above all, the loss of her eldest son?  For there was
+little hope for Edmund.  As a friend and follower of Prince Rupert,
+he was a marked man; and besides, Algernon Sydney, the commander of
+the nearest body of forces, was known to be a good deal under the
+influence of the present owner of Woodley, who was likely to be glad
+to see the rightful heir removed from his path.
+
+Rose perceived all this, and her heart failed her, but she had no
+time to pause on the thought.  The children must be soothed and put
+to bed, and a hard matter it was to comfort poor little Lucy, perhaps
+the most of all to be pitied.  She relieved herself by pouring out
+the whole confession to Rose, crying bitterly, while Eleanor hurried
+on distressing questions whether they would take mamma away, and what
+they would do to Edmund.  Now it came back to Lucy, "O if I had but
+minded what mamma said about keeping my tongue in order; but now it
+is too late!"
+
+Rose, after doing her best to comfort them, and listening as near to
+her mother's door as she dared, to hear if she were weeping, went to
+her own room.  It adjoined Walter's, though the doors did not open
+into the same passage; and she shut that which closed in the long
+gallery, where her room and that of her sisters were, so that the
+Roundhead sentry might not be able to look down it.
+
+As soon as she was in her own room, she threw herself on her knees,
+and prayed fervently for help and support in their dire distress.  In
+the stillness, as she knelt, she heard an interchange of voices,
+which she knew must be those of her brothers in the next room.  She
+went nearer to that side, and heard them more distinctly.  She was
+even able to distinguish when Edmund spoke, and when Walter broke
+forth in impatient exclamations.  A sudden thought struck her.  She
+might be able to join in the conversation.  There had once been a
+door between the two rooms, but it had long since been stopped up,
+and the recess of the doorway was occupied by a great oaken cupboard,
+in which were preserved all the old stores of rich farthingales of
+brocade, and velvet mantles, which had been heirlooms from one Dame
+of Mowbray to another, till poverty had caused them to be cut up and
+adapted into garments for the little Woodleys.
+
+Rose looked anxiously at the carved doors of the old wardrobe.  Had
+she the key?  She felt in her pouch.  Yes, she had not given it back
+to her mother since taking out the sheets for Mr. Enderby.  She
+unlocked the folding doors, and, pushing aside some of the piles of
+old garments, saw a narrow line of light between the boards, and
+heard the tones almost as clearly as if she was in the same room.
+
+Eager to tell Edmund how near she was, she stretched herself out,
+almost crept between the shelves, leant her head against the board on
+the opposite side, and was about to speak, when she found that it
+yielded in some degree to her touch.  A gleam of hope darted across
+her, she drew back, fetched her light, tried with her hand, and found
+that the back of the cupboard was in fact a door, secured on her side
+by a wooden bolt, which there was no difficulty in undoing.  Another
+push, and the door yielded below, but only so as to show that there
+must be another fastening above.  Rose clambered up the shelves, and
+sought.  Here it was!  It was one of the secret communications that
+were by no means uncommon in old halls in those times of insecurity.
+Edmund might yet be saved!  Trembling with the excess of her delight
+in her new-found hope, she forced out the second bolt, and pushed
+again.  The door gave way, the light widened upon her, and she saw
+into the room!  Edmund was lying on the bed, Walter sitting at his
+feet.
+
+Both started as what had seemed to be part of the wainscoted wall
+opened, but Edmund prevented Walter's exclamation by a sign to be
+silent, and the next moment Rose's face was seen squeezing between
+the shelves.
+
+"Edmund!  Can you get through here?" she exclaimed in a low eager
+whisper.
+
+Edmund was immediately by her side, kissing the flushed anxious
+forehead:  "My gallant Rose!" he said.
+
+"Oh, thank heaven! thank heaven! now you may be safe!" continued
+Rose, still in the same whisper.  "I never knew this was a door till
+this moment.  Heaven sent the discovery on purpose for your safety!
+Hush, Walter!  Oh remember the soldier outside!" as Walter was about
+to break out into tumultuous tokens of gladness.  "But can you get
+through, Edmund?  Or perhaps we might move out some of the shelves."
+
+"That is easily done," said Edmund; "but I know not.  Even if I
+should escape, it would be only to fall into the hands of some fresh
+troop of enemies, and I cannot go and leave my mother to their
+mercy."
+
+"You could do nothing to save her," said Rose, "and all that they may
+do to her would scarcely hurt her if she thought you were safe.  O
+Edmund! think of her joy in finding you were escaped! the misery of
+her anxiety now!"
+
+"Yet to leave her thus!  You had not told me half the change in her!
+I know not how to go!" said Edmund.
+
+"You must, you must!" said Rose and Walter, both at once.  And Rose
+added, "Your death would kill her, I do believe!"
+
+"Well, then; but I do not see my way even when I have squeezed
+between your shelves, my little sister.  Every port is beset, and our
+hiding places here can no longer serve me."
+
+"Listen," said Rose, "this is what my mother and I had planned
+before.  The old clergyman of this parish, Dr. Bathurst, lives in a
+little house at Bosham, with his daughter, and maintains himself by
+teaching the wealthier boys of the town.  Now, if you could ride to
+him to-night, he would be most glad to serve you, both as a cavalier,
+and for my mother's sake.  He would find some place of concealment,
+and watch for the time when you may attempt to cross the Channel."
+
+Edmund considered, and made her repeat her explanation.  "Yes, that
+might answer," he said at length; "I take you for my general, sweet
+Rose.  But how am I to find your good doctor?"
+
+"I think," said Rose, after considering a little while, "that I had
+better go with you.  I could ride behind you on your horse, if the
+rebels have not found him, and I know the town, and Dr. Bathurst's
+lodging.  I only cannot think what is to be done about Walter."
+
+"Never mind me," said Walter, "they cannot hurt me."
+
+"Not if you will be prudent, and not provoke them," said Edmund.
+
+"Oh, I know!" cried Rose; "wear my gown and hood! these men have only
+seen us by candle-light, and will never find you out if you will only
+be careful."
+
+"I wear girl's trumpery!" exclaimed Walter, in such indignation that
+Edmund smiled, saying, "If Rose's wit went with her gown, you might
+be glad of it."
+
+"She is a good girl enough," said Walter, "but as to my putting on
+her petticoat trash, that's all nonsense."
+
+"Hear me this once, dear Walter," pleaded Rose.  "If there is a
+pursuit, and they fancy you and Edmund are gone together, it will
+quite mislead them to hear only of a groom riding before a young
+lady."
+
+"There is something in that," said Walter, "but a pretty sort of lady
+I shall make!"
+
+"Then you consent?  Thank you, dear Walter.  Now, will you help me
+into your room, and I'll put two rolls of clothes to bed, that the
+captain may find his prisoners fast asleep to-morrow morning."
+
+Walter could hardly help laughing aloud with delight at the notion of
+the disappointment of the rebels.  The next thing was to consider of
+Edmund's equipment; Rose turned over her ancient hoards in vain,
+everything that was not too remarkable had been used for the needs of
+the family, and he must go in his present blood-stained buff coat,
+hoping to enter Bosham too early in the morning for gossips to be
+astir.  Then she dressed Walter in her own clothes, not without his
+making many faces of disgust, especially when she fastened his long
+curled love-locks in a knot behind, tried to train little curls over
+the sides of his face, and drew her black silk hood forward so as to
+shade it.  They were nearly of the same height and complexion, and
+Edmund pronounced that Walter made a very pretty girl, so like Rose
+that he should hardly have known them apart, which seemed to vex the
+boy more than all.
+
+There had been a sort of merriment while this was doing, but when it
+was over, and the moment came when the brother and sister must set
+off, there was lingering, sorrow, and reluctance.  Edmund felt
+severely the leaving his mother in the midst of peril, brought upon
+her for his sake, and his one brief sight of his home had made him
+cling the closer to it, and stirred up in double force the affections
+for mother, brothers, and sisters, which, though never extinct, had
+been comparatively dormant while he was engaged in stirring scenes
+abroad.  Now that he had once more seen the gentle loving countenance
+of his mother, and felt her tender, tearful caress, known that noble-
+minded Rose, and had a glimpse of those pretty little sisters, there
+was such a yearning for them through his whole being, that it seemed
+to him as if he might as well die as continue to be cast up and down
+the world far from them.
+
+Rose felt as if she was abandoning her mother by going from home at
+such a time, when perhaps she should find on her return that she had
+been carried away to prison.  She could not bear to think of being
+missed on such a morning that was likely to ensue, but she well knew
+that the greatest good she could do would be to effect the rescue of
+her brother, and she could not hesitate a moment.  She crowded charge
+after charge upon Walter, with many a message for her mother, promise
+to return as soon as possible, and entreaty for pardon for leaving
+her in such a strait; and Edmund added numerous like parting
+greetings, with counsel and entreaties that she would ask for Colonel
+Enderby's interference, which might probably avail to save her from
+further imprisonment and sequestration.
+
+"Good-bye, Walter.  In three or four years, if matters are not
+righted before that, perhaps, if you can come to me, I may find
+employment for you in Prince Rupert's fleet, or the Duke of York's
+troop."
+
+"O Edmund, thanks! that would be--"
+
+Walter had not time to finish, for Rose kissed him, left her love and
+duty to her mother with him, bade him remember he was a lady, and
+then holding Edmund by the hand, both with their shoes off, stole
+softly down the stairs in the dark.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+
+After pacing up and down Rose's room till he was tired, Walter sat
+down to rest, for Rose had especially forbidden him to lie down, lest
+he should derange his hair.  He grew very sleepy, and at last, with
+his arms crossed on the table, and his forehead resting on them, fell
+sound asleep, and did not awaken till it was broad daylight, and
+calls of "Rose!  Rose!" were heard outside the locked door.
+
+He was just going to call out that Rose was not here, when he luckily
+recollected that he was Rose, pulled his hood forward, and opened the
+door.
+
+He was instantly surrounded by the three children, who, poor little
+things, feeling extremely forlorn and desolate without their mother,
+all gathered round him, Lucy and Eleanor seizing each a hand, and
+Charles clinging to the skirts of his dress.  He by no means
+understood this; and Rose was so used to it, as to have forgotten he
+would not like it.  "How you crowd?" he exclaimed.
+
+"Mistress Rose," began Deborah, coming half way up stairs--Lucy let
+go his hand, but Charles instantly grasped it, and he felt as if he
+could not move.  "Don't be troublesome, children," said he, trying to
+shake them off; "can't you come near one without pulling off one's
+hands?"
+
+"Mistress!" continued Deborah; but as he forgot he was addressed, and
+did not immediately attend, she exclaimed, "Oh, she won't even look
+at me!  I thought she had forgiven me."
+
+"Forgiven you!" said he, starting.  "Stuff and nonsense; what's all
+this about?  You were a fool, that's all."
+
+Deborah stared at this most unwonted address on the part of her young
+lady; and Lucy, a sudden light breaking on her, smiled at Eleanor,
+and held up her finger.  Deborah proceeded with her inquiry:
+"Mistress Rose, shall I take some breakfast to my lady, and the young
+gentlemen, poor souls?"
+
+"Yes, of course," he answered.  "No, wait a bit.  Only to my mother,
+I mean, just at present."
+
+"And the soldiers," continued Deborah--"they're roaring for
+breakfast; what shall I give them?"
+
+"A halter," he had almost said, but he caught himself up in time, and
+answered, "What you can--bread, beef, beer--"
+
+"Bread! beef! beer!" almost shrieked Deborah, "when she knows the
+colonel man had the last of our beer; beef we have not seen for two
+Christmases, and bread, there's barely enough for my lady and the
+children, till we bake."
+
+"Well, whatever there is, then," said Walter, anxious to get rid of
+her.
+
+"I could fry some bacon," pursued Deborah, "only I don't know whether
+to cut the new flitch so soon; and there be some cabbages in the
+garden.  Should I fry or boil them, Mistress Rose?  The bottom is out
+of the frying-pan, and the tinker is not come this way."
+
+The tinker was too much for poor Walter's patience, and flinging away
+from her, he exclaimed, "Mercy on me, woman, you'll plague the life
+out of me!"
+
+Poor Deborah stood aghast.  "Mistress Rose! what is it? you look
+wildly, I declare, and your hood is all I don't know how.  Shall I
+set it right?"
+
+"Mind your own business, and I'll mind mine!" cried Walter.
+
+"Alack! alack!" lamented Deborah, as she hastily retreated down
+stairs, Charlie running after her.  "Mistress Rose is gone clean
+demented with trouble, and that is the worst that has befallen this
+poor house yet."
+
+"There!" said Lucy, as soon as she was gone; "I have held my tongue
+this time.  O Walter, you don't do it a bit like Rose!"
+
+"Where is Rose!" said Eleanor.  "How did you get out?"
+
+"Well!" said Walter, "it is hard that, whatever we do, women and
+babies are mixed up with it.  I must trust you since you have found
+me out, but mind, Lucy, not one word or look that can lead anyone to
+guess what I am telling you.  Edmund is safe out of this house, Rose
+is gone with him--'tis safest not to say where."
+
+"But is not she coming back?" asked Eleanor.
+
+"Oh yes, very soon--to-day, or to-morrow perhaps.  So I am Rose till
+she comes back, and little did I guess what I was undertaking!  I
+never was properly thankful till now that I was not born a woman!"
+
+"Oh don't stride along so, or they will find you out," exclaimed
+Eleanor.
+
+"And don't mince and amble, that is worse!" added Lucy.  "Oh you will
+make me laugh in spite of everything."
+
+"Pshaw!  I shall shut myself into my--her room, and see nobody!" said
+Walter; "you must keep Charlie off, Lucy, and don't let Deb drive me
+distracted.  I dare say, if necessary, I can fool it enough for the
+rebels, who never spoke to a gentlewoman in their lives."
+
+"But only tell me, how did you get out?" said Lucy.
+
+"Little Miss Curiosity must rest without knowing," said Walter,
+shutting the door in her face.
+
+"Now, don't be curious, dear Lucy," said Eleanor, taking her hand.
+"We shall know in time."
+
+"I will not, I am not," said Lucy, magnanimously.  "We will not say
+one single word, Eleanor, and I will not look as if I knew anything.
+Come down, and we will see if we can do any of Rose's work, for we
+must be very useful, you know; I wish I might tell poor Deb that
+Edmund is safe."
+
+Walter was wise in secluding himself in his disguise.  He remained
+undisturbed for some time, while Deborah's unassisted genius was
+exerted to provide the rebels with breakfast.  The first interruption
+was from Eleanor, who knocked at the door, beginning to call
+"Walter," and then hastily turning it into "Rose!"  He opened, and
+she said, with tears in her eyes, "O Walter, Walter, the wicked men
+are really going to take dear mother away to prison.  She is come
+down with her cloak and hood on, and is asking for you--Rose I mean--
+to wish good-bye.  Will you come?"
+
+"Yes," said Walter; "and Edmund--"
+
+"They were just sending up to call him," said Eleanor; "they will
+find it out in--"
+
+Eleanor's speech was cut short by a tremendous uproar in the next
+room.  "Ha!  How?  Where are they?  How now?  Escaped!" with many
+confused exclamations, and much trampling of heavy boots.  Eleanor
+stood frightened, Walter clapped his hands, cut a very unfeminine
+caper, clenched his fist, and shook it at the wall, and exclaimed in
+an exulting whisper, "Ha! ha! my fine fellows!  You may look long
+enough for him!" then ran downstairs at full speed, and entered the
+hall.  His mother, dressed for a journey, stood by the table; a
+glance of hope and joy lighting on her pale features, but her swollen
+eyelids telling of a night of tears and sleeplessness.  Lucy and
+Charles were by her side, the front door open, and the horses were
+being led up and down before it.  Walter and Eleanor hurried up to
+her, but before they had time to speak, the rebel captain dashed into
+the room, exclaiming, "Thou treacherous woman, thou shalt abye this!
+Here! mount, pursue, the nearest road to the coast.  Smite them
+rather than let them escape.  The malignant nursling of the blood-
+thirsty Palatine at large again!  Follow, and overtake, I say!"
+
+"Which way, sir?" demanded the corporal.
+
+"The nearest to the coast.  Two ride to Chichester, two to Gosport.
+Or here!  Where is that maiden, young in years, but old in wiles?
+Ah, there! come hither, maiden.  Wilt thou purchase grace for thy
+mother by telling which way the prisoners are fled?  I know thy
+wiles, and will visit them on thee and on thy father's house, unless
+thou dost somewhat to merit forgiveness."
+
+"What do you mean?" demanded Walter, swelling with passion.
+
+"Do not feign, maiden.  Thy heart is rejoicing that the enemies of
+the righteous are escaped."
+
+"You are not wrong there, sir," said Walter.
+
+"I tell thee," said the captain, sternly, "thy joy shall be turned to
+mourning.  Thou shalt see thy mother thrown into a dungeon, and thou
+and thy sisters shall beg your bread, unless--"
+
+Walter could not endure these empty threats, and exclaimed, "You know
+you have no power to do this.  Is this what you call manliness to use
+such threats to a poor girl in your power?  Out upon you!"
+
+"Ha!" said the rebel, considerably surprised at the young lady's
+manner of replying.  "Is it thus the malignants breed up their
+daughters, in insolence as well as deceit?"
+
+The last word made Walter entirely forget his assumed character, and
+striking at the captain with all his force, he exclaimed, "Take that,
+for giving the lie to a gentleman."
+
+"How now?" cried the rebel, seizing his arm.  Walter struggled, the
+hood fell back.  "'Tis the boy!  Ha! deceived again!  Here! search
+the house instantly, every corner.  I will not be balked a second
+time."
+
+He rushed out of the room, while Walter, rending off the hood, threw
+himself into his mother's arms, exclaiming, "O mother dear, I bore it
+as long as I could."
+
+"My dear rash boy!" said she.  "But is he safe?  No, do not say
+where.  Thanks, thanks to heaven.  Now I am ready for anything!" and
+so indeed her face proved.
+
+"All owing to Rose, mother; she will soon be back again, she--but
+I'll say no more, for fear.  He left love--duty--Rose left all sorts
+of greetings, that I will tell you by and by.  Ha! do you hear them
+lumbering about the house?  They fancy he is hid there!  Yes, you are
+welcome--"
+
+"Hush! hush, Walter! the longer they look the more time he will
+gain," whispered his mother.  "Oh this is joy indeed!"
+
+"Mamma, I found out Walter, and said not one word," interposed Lucy;
+but there was no more opportunity for converse permitted, for the
+captain returned, and ordered the whole party into the custody of a
+soldier, who was not to lose sight of any of them till the search was
+completed.
+
+After putting the whole house in disorder, and seeking in vain
+through the grounds, the captain himself, and one of his men, went
+off to scour the neighbouring country, and examine every village on
+the coast.
+
+Lady Woodley and her three younger children were in the meantime
+locked into her room, while the soldier left in charge was ordered
+not to let Walter for a moment out of his sight; and both she and
+Walter were warned that they were to be carried the next morning to
+Chichester, to answer for having aided and abetted the escape of the
+notorious traitor, Edmund Woodley.
+
+It was plain that he really meant it, but hope for Edmund made Lady
+Woodley cheerful about all she might have to undergo; and even trust
+that the poor little ones she was obliged to leave behind, might be
+safe with Rose and Deborah.  Her great fear was lest the rebels
+should search the villages before Edmund had time to escape.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+
+
+Cautiously stealing down stairs, Rose first, to spy where the rebels
+might be, the brother and sister reached the kitchen, where Rose
+provided Edmund with a grey cloak, once belonging to a former
+serving-man, and after a short search in an old press, brought out
+various equipments, saddle, belt, and skirt, with which her mother
+had once been wont to ride pillion-fashion.  These they carried to
+the outhouse where Edmund's horse had been hidden; and when all was
+set in order by the light of the lantern, Rose thought that her
+brother looked more like a groom and less like a cavalier than she
+had once dared to hope.  They mounted, and on they rode, across the
+downs, through narrow lanes, past farm houses, dreading that each
+yelping dog might rouse his master to report which way they were
+gone.  It was not till day had dawned, and the eastern sky was red
+with the approaching sun, that they came down the narrow lane that
+led to the little town of Bosham, a low flat place, sloping very
+gradually to the water.  Here Rose left her brother, advising him to
+keep close under the hedge, while she softly opened a little gate,
+and entered a garden, long and narrow, with carefully cultivated
+flowers and vegetables.  At the end was a low cottage; and going up
+to the door, Rose knocked gently.  The door was presently cautiously
+opened by a girl a few years older, very plainly dressed, as if busy
+in household work.  She started with surprise, then held out her
+hand, which Rose pressed affectionately, as she said, "Dear Anne,
+will you tell your father that I should be very glad to speak to
+him?"
+
+"I will call him," said Anne; "he is just rising.  What is--But I
+will not delay."
+
+"Oh no, do not, thank you, I cannot tell you now."  Rose was left by
+Anne Bathurst standing in a small cleanly-sanded kitchen, with a few
+wooden chairs neatly ranged, some trenchers and pewter dishes against
+the wall, and nothing like decoration except a beau-pot, as Anne
+would have called it, filled with flowers.  Here the good doctor and
+his daughter lived, and tried to eke out a scanty maintenance by
+teaching a little school.
+
+After what was really a very short interval, but which seemed to Rose
+a very long one, Dr. Bathurst, a thin, spare, middle-aged man, with a
+small black velvet cap over his grey hair, came down the creaking
+rough wooden stairs.  "My dear child," he asked, "in what can I help
+you?  Your mother is well, I trust."
+
+"Oh yes, sir!" said Rose; and with reliance and hope, as if she had
+been speaking to a father, she explained their distress and
+perplexity, then stood in silence while the good doctor, a slow
+thinker, considered.
+
+"First, to hide him," he said; "he may not be here, for this--the old
+parson's house--will be the very first spot they will search.  But we
+will try.  You rode, you say, Mistress Rose; where is your horse?"
+
+"Ah! there is one difficulty," said Rose, "Edmund is holding him now;
+but where shall we leave him?"
+
+"Let us come first to see the young gentleman," said Dr. Bathurst;
+and they walked together to the lane where Edmund was waiting, the
+doctor explaining by the way that he placed his chief dependence on
+Harry Fletcher, a fisherman, thoroughly brave, trustworthy, and
+loyal, who had at one time been a sailor, and had seen, and been
+spoken to by King Charles himself.  He lived in a little lonely hut
+about half a mile distant; he was unmarried, and would have been
+quite alone, but that he had taken a young nephew, whose father had
+been killed on the Royalist side, to live with him, and to be brought
+up to his fishing business.
+
+Edmund and Rose both agreed that there could be no better hope of
+escape than in trusting to this good man; and as no time was to be
+lost, they parted for the present, Rose returning to the cottage to
+spend the day with Anne Bathurst, and the clergyman walking with the
+young cavalier to the place where the fisherman lived.  They led the
+horse with them for some distance, then tied him to a gate, a little
+out of sight, and went on to the hut, which stood, built of the
+shingle of the beach, just beyond the highest reach of the tide, with
+the boat beside it, and the nets spread out to dry.
+
+Before there was time to knock, the door was opened by Harry Fletcher
+himself, his open sunburnt face showing honesty and good faith in
+every feature.  He put his hand respectfully to his woollen cap, and
+said, with a sort of smile, as he looked at Edmund, "I see what work
+you have for me, your reverence."
+
+"You are right, Harry," said Dr. Bathurst; "this is one of the
+gentlemen that fought for his Majesty at Worcester, and if we cannot
+get him safe out of the country, with heaven's blessing, he is as
+good as a dead man."
+
+"Come in, sir," said Fletcher, "you had best not be seen.  There's no
+one here but little Dick, and I'll answer for him."
+
+They came in, and Dr. Bathurst explained Edmund's circumstances.  The
+honest fellow looked a little perplexed, but after a moment said,
+"Well, I'll do what in me lies, sir; but 'tis a long way across."
+
+"I should tell you, my good man," said Edmund, "that I have nothing
+to repay you with for all the trouble and danger to which you may be
+exposing yourself on my behalf.  Nothing but my horse, which would
+only be bringing suspicion on you."
+
+"As to that, your honour," replied Harry, "I'd never think of waiting
+for pay in a matter of life and death.  I am glad if I can help off a
+gentleman that has been on the King's side."
+
+So the plan was arranged.  Edmund was to be disguised in the
+fisherman's clothes, spend the day at his hut, and at night, if the
+weather served, Fletcher would row him out to sea, assisted by the
+little boy, in hopes of falling in with a French vessel; or, if not,
+they must pull across to Havre or Dieppe.  The doctor promised to
+bring Rose at ten o'clock to meet him on the beach and bid him
+farewell.  As to the horse, Fletcher sent the little boy to turn it
+out on the neighbouring down, and hide the saddle.
+
+All this arranged, Dr. Bathurst returned to his school; and Rose,
+dressed in Anne's plainest clothes, rested on her bed as long as her
+anxiety would allow her, then came down and helped in her household
+work.  It was well that Rose was thus employed, for in the afternoon
+they had a great fright.  Two soldiers came knocking violently at the
+door, exhibiting an order to search for the escaped prisoner.  Rose
+recognised two of the party who had been at Forest Lea; but happily
+they had not seen enough of her to know her in the coarse blue stuff
+petticoat that she now wore.  One of them asked who she was, and Anne
+readily replied, "Oh, a friend who is helping me;" after which they
+paid her no further attention.
+
+Her anxiety for Edmund was of course at its height during this
+search, and it was not till the evening that she could gain any
+intelligence.  Edmund's danger had indeed been great.  Harry Fletcher
+saw the rebels coming in time to prepare.  He advised his guest not
+to remain in the house, as if he wished to avoid observation, but to
+come out, as if afraid of nothing.  His cavalier dress had been
+carefully destroyed or concealed; he wore the fisherman's rough
+clothes, and had even sacrificed his long dark hair, covering his
+head with one of Harry's red woollen caps.  He was altogether so
+different in appearance from what he had been yesterday, that he
+ventured forward, and leant whistling against the side of the boat,
+while Harry parleyed with the soldiers.  Perhaps they suspected Harry
+a little, for they insisted on searching his hut, and as they were
+coming out, one of them began to tell him of the penalties that
+fishermen would incur by favouring the escape of the Royalists.
+Harry did not lose countenance, but went on hammering at his boat as
+if he cared not at all, till observing that one of the soldiers was
+looking hard at Edmund, he called out, "I say, Ned, what's the use of
+loitering there, listening to what's no concern of yours?  Fetch the
+oar out of yon shed.  I never lit on such a lazy comrade in my life."
+
+This seemed to turn away all suspicion, the soldiers left them, and
+no further mischance occurred.  At night, just as the young moon was
+setting, the boat was brought out, and Harry, with little Dick and a
+comrade whom he engaged could be trusted, prepared their oars.  At
+the same time, Dr. Bathurst and Rose came silently to meet them along
+the shingly beach.  Rose hardly knew her brother in his fisherman's
+garb.  The time was short, and their hearts were too full for many
+words, as that little party stood together in the light of the
+crescent moon, the sea sounding with a low constant ripple, spread
+out in the grey hazy blue distance, and here and there the crests of
+the nearer waves swelling up and catching the moonlight.
+
+Edmund and his sister held their hands tightly clasped, loving each
+other, if possible, better than ever.  He now and then repeated some
+loving greeting which she was to bear home; and she tried to restrain
+her tears, at the separation she was forced to rejoice in, a parting
+which gave no augury of meeting again, the renewal of an exile from
+which there was no present hope of return.  Harry looked at Dr.
+Bathurst to intimate it was time to be gone.  The clergyman came
+close to the brother and sister, and instead of speaking his own
+words, used these:-
+
+"Turn our captivity, O LORD, as the rivers in the south."
+
+"They that sow in tears shall reap in joy."
+
+"He that now goeth on his way weeping, and beareth forth good seed,
+shall doubtless come again with joy, and bring his sheaves with him."
+
+"Amen," answered Edmund and Rose; and they loosened their hold of
+each other with hearts less sore.  Then Edmund bared his head, and
+knelt down, and the good clergyman called down a blessing from heaven
+on him; Harry, the faithful man who was going to risk himself for
+him, did the same, and received the same blessing.  There were no
+more words, the boat pushed off, and the splash of the oars resounded
+regularly.
+
+Rose's tears came thick, fast, blinding, and she sat down on a block
+of wood and wept long and bitterly; then she rose up, and in answer
+to Dr. Bathurst's cheering words, she said, "Yes, I do thank GOD with
+all my heart!"
+
+That night Rose slept at Dr. Bathurst's, and early in the morning was
+rejoiced by the tidings which Harry Fletcher sent little Dick to
+carry to the cottage.  The voyage had been prosperous, they had
+fallen in with a French vessel, and Mr. Edmund Woodley had been
+safely received on board.
+
+She was very anxious to return home; and as it was Saturday, and
+therefore a holiday at the school, Dr. Bathurst undertook to go with
+her and spend the Sunday at Forest Lea.  One of the farmers of Bosham
+helped them some little way with his harvest cart, but the rest of
+the journey had to be performed on foot.  It was not till noon that
+they came out upon the high road between Chichester and Forest Lea;
+and they had not been upon it more than ten minutes, before the sound
+of horses' tread was heard, as if coming from Chichester.  Looking
+round, they saw a gentleman riding fast, followed by a soldier also
+on horseback.  There was something in his air that Rose recognised,
+and as he came nearer she perceived it was Sylvester Enderby.  He was
+much amazed, when, at the same moment, he perceived it was Mistress
+Rose Woodley, and stopping his horse, and taking off his hat, with
+great respect both towards her and the clergyman, he hoped all the
+family were well in health.
+
+"Yes, yes, I believe so, thank you," replied Rose, looking anxiously
+at him.
+
+"I am on my way to Forest Lea," he said.  "I bring the order my
+father hoped to obtain from General Cromwell."
+
+"The Protection!  Oh, thanks! ten thousand thanks!" cried Rose.  "Oh!
+it may save--But hasten on, pray hasten on, sir.  The soldiers are
+already at home; I feared she might be already a prisoner at
+Chichester.  Pray go on and restrain them by your authority.  Don't
+ask me to explain--you will understand all when you are there."
+
+She prevailed on him to go on, while she, with Dr. Bathurst, more
+slowly proceeded up the chalky road which led to the summit of the
+green hill or down, covered with short grass, which commanded a view
+of all the country round, and whence they would turn off upon the
+down leading to Forest Lea.  Just as they came to the top, Rose cast
+an anxious glance in the direction of her home, and gave a little
+cry.  Sylvester Enderby and his attendant could be seen speeding down
+the green slope of the hill; but at some distance further on, was a
+little troop of horsemen, coming from the direction of Forest Lea,
+the sun now and then flashing on a steel cap or on the point of a
+pike.  Fast rode on Sylvester, nearer and nearer came the troop; Rose
+almost fancied she could discern on one of the horses something
+muffled in black that could be no other than her mother.  How she
+longed for wings to fly to meet her and cheer her heart with the
+assurance of Edmund's safety!  How she longed to be on Sylvester's
+horse, as she saw the distance between him and the party fast
+diminishing!  At length he was close to it, he had mingled with it;
+and at the same time Dr. Bathurst and Rose had to mount a slightly
+rising ground, which for a time entirely obscured their view.  When
+at length they had reached the summit of this eminence, the party
+were standing still, as if in parley; there was presently a movement,
+a parting, Rose clasped her hands in earnestness.  The main body
+continued their course to Chichester, a few remained stationary.  How
+many?  One, two, three--yes, four, or was it five? and among them the
+black figure she had watched so anxiously!  "She is safe, she is
+safe!" cried Rose.  "Oh, GOD has been so very good to us, I wish I
+could thank Him enough!"
+
+Leaving the smoother slope to avoid encountering the baffled rebels,
+Dr. Bathurst and Rose descended the steep, the good man exerting
+himself that her eagerness might not be disappointed.  Down they
+went, sliding on the slippery green banks, helping themselves with
+the doctor's trusty staff, taking a short run at the lowest and
+steepest part of each, creeping down the rude steps, or rather foot-
+holes, cut out by the shepherd-boys in the more perpendicular
+descents, and fairly sliding or running down the shorter ones.  They
+saw their friends waiting for them; and a lesser figure than the rest
+hastened towards them, scaling the steep slopes with a good will,
+precipitancy, and wild hurrahs of exultation, that would not let them
+doubt it was Walter, before they could see his form distinctly, or
+hear his words.  Rose ran headlong down the last green slope, and was
+saved from falling by fairly rushing into his arms.
+
+"Is he safe?  I need not ask!" exclaimed Walter.
+
+"Safe! in a French vessel.  And mother?"
+
+"Safe! well! happy!  You saw, you heard!  Hurrah!  The crop-ears are
+sent to the right about; the captain has done mother and me the
+favour to forgive us, as a Christian, all that has passed, he says.
+We are all going home again as fast as we can, young Enderby and all,
+to chase out the two rogues that are quartered on us to afflict poor
+Deb and the little ones."
+
+By this time Dr. Bathurst had descended, more cautiously, and Walter
+went to greet him, and repeat his news.  Together they proceeded to
+meet the rest; and who can tell the tearful happiness when Rose and
+her mother were once more pressed in each other's arms!
+
+"My noble girl! under Providence you have saved him!" whispered Lady
+Woodley.
+
+The next evening, in secrecy, with the shutters shut, and the light
+screened, the true pastor of Forest Lea gathered the faithful ones of
+his flock for a service in the old hall.  There knelt many a humble,
+loyal, trustful peasant; there was the widowed Dame Ewins, trying to
+be comforted, as they told her she ought; there was the lady herself,
+at once sorrowful and yet earnestly thankful; there was Sylvester
+Enderby, hearing and following the prayers he had been used to in his
+early childhood, with a growing feeling that here lay the right and
+the truth; there was Deborah, weeping, grieving over her own fault,
+and almost heart-broken at the failure of him on whom she had set her
+warm affections, yet perhaps in a way made wiser, and taught to trust
+no longer to a broken reed, but to look for better things; there were
+Walter and Lucy, both humbled and subdued, repenting in earnest of
+the misbehaviour each of them had been guilty of.  Walter did not
+show his contrition much in manner, but it was real, and he proved it
+by many a struggle with his self-willed overbearing temper.  It was a
+real resolution that he took now, and in a spirit of humility, which
+made him glad to pray that what was past might be forgiven, and that
+he might be helped for the future.  That was the first time Walter
+had ever kept up his attention through the whole service, but it all
+came home to him now.
+
+Each of that little congregation had their own sorrow of heart, their
+own prayer and thanksgiving, to pour out in secret; but all could
+join in one thank-offering for the safety of the heir of that house;
+all joined in one prayer for the rescue of their hunted King, and for
+the restoration of their oppressed and afflicted Church.
+
+* * *
+
+Nine years had passed away, and Forest Lea still stood among the
+stumps of its cut-down trees; but one fair long day in early June
+there was much that was changed in its aspect.  The park was
+carefully mown and swept; the shrubs were trained back; the broken
+windows were repaired; and within the hall the appearance of
+everything was still more strikingly cheerful, as the setting sun
+looked smilingly in at the western window.  Green boughs filled the
+hearth, and were suspended round the walls; fresh branches of young
+oak leaves, tasselled with the pale green catkins; the helmets and
+gauntlets hanging on the wall were each adorned with a spray, and
+polished to the brightest; the chairs and benches were ranged round
+the long table, covered with a spotless cloth, and bearing in the
+middle a large bowl filled with oak boughs, roses, lilac, honey-
+suckle, and all the pride of the garden.
+
+At the head of the table sat, less pale, and her face beaming with
+deep, quiet, heartfelt joy, Lady Woodley herself; and near her were
+Dr. Bathurst and his happy daughter, who in a few days more were to
+resume their abode in his own parsonage.  Opposite to her was a dark
+soldierly sun-burnt man, on whose countenance toil, weather, and
+privation had set their traces, but whose every tone and smile told
+of the ecstasy of being once more at home.
+
+Merry faces were at each side of the table; Walter, grown up into a
+tall noble-looking youth of two-and-twenty, particularly courteous
+and gracious in demeanour, and most affectionate to his mother;
+Charles, a gentle sedate boy of fifteen, so much given to books and
+gravity, that his sisters called him their little scholar; Rose, with
+the same sweet thoughtful face, active step, and helpful hand, that
+she had always possessed, but very pale, and more pensive and grave
+than became a time of rejoicing, as if the cares and toils of her
+youth had taken away her light heart, and had given her a soft
+subdued melancholy that was always the same.  She was cheerful when
+others were cast down and overwhelmed; but when they were gay, she,
+though not sorrowful, seemed almost grave, in spite of her sweet
+smiles and ready sympathy.  Yet Rose was very happy, no less happy
+than Eleanor, with her fair, lovely, laughing face, or -
+
+"But where is Lucy?" Edmund asked, as he saw her chair vacant.
+
+"Lucy?" said Rose; "she will come in a moment.  She is going to bring
+in the dish you especially ordered, and which Deborah wonders at."
+
+"Good, faithful Deborah!" said Edmund.  "Did she never find a second
+love?"
+
+"Oh no, never," said Eleanor.  "She says she has seen enough of men
+in her time."
+
+"She is grown sharper than ever," said Walter, "now she is Mistress
+Housekeeper Deborah; I shall pity the poor maidens under her."
+
+"She will always be kind in the main," rejoined Rose.
+
+"And did you ever hear what became of that precious sweetheart of
+hers?" asked Edmund.
+
+"Hanged for sheep stealing," replied Walter, "according to the report
+of Sylvester Enderby.  But hush, for enter--"
+
+There entered Lucy, smiling and blushing, her dark hair decorated
+with the spray of oak, and her hands supporting a great pewter dish,
+in which stood a noble pie, of pale-brown, well-baked crust,
+garnished with many a pair of little claws, showing what were the
+contents.  She set it down in the middle of the table, just opposite
+to Walter.  The grace was said, the supper began, and great was the
+merriment when Walter, raising a whole pigeon on his fork, begged to
+know if Rose had appetite enough for it, and if she still possessed
+the spirit of a wolf.  "And," said he, as they finished, "now Rose
+will never gainsay me more when I sing -
+
+
+"For forty years our Royal throne
+Has been his father's and his own,
+Nor is there anyone but he
+With right can there a sharer be.
+For who better may
+The right sceptre sway,
+Than he whose right it is to reign?
+Then look for no peace,
+For the war will never cease
+Till the King enjoys his own again.
+
+"Then far upon the distant hill
+My hope has cast her anchor still,
+Until I saw the peaceful dove
+Bring home the branch I dearly love.
+And there did I wait
+Till the waters abate
+That did surround my swimming brain;
+For rejoice could never I
+Till I heard the joyful cry
+That the King enjoys his own again!"
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg Etext of The Pigeon Pie, by Charlotte M. Yonge
+
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