"This is a day that will be remembered in the history of these times," said the lady at the window.

Her brother made no answer, but continued to lace up his long riding gloves.

They were in an upper chamber of a house of the better sort in the town of Nottingham; the dark panelled walls, the dark floor and ceiling, the heavy furniture, with the fringes to the chairs and the worked covers to the table, showed vividly to the least detail in the strong afternoon rays of the August sun, which was, however, now and then obscured by heavy clouds which veiled the whole town in dun shadow and filled with gloom the apartment.

Both the lady and her brother were very young; but on her countenance was a melancholy, and on his a resolution, ill-suited to their years. The Cavalier was fair-haired, slight, grave, and arrayed in the garb of war, being armed on back and breast, and carrying pistolets and a great sword.

The lady was dressed in a style of fantastical richness which well became her delicate and unusual appearance; she wore a riding habit and it was of pale violet cloth, enriched with silver, and opening on a petticoat of deep-hued amber satin braided with a border of purple and scarlet; at her wrists and over her collar hung deep bands of lace; her hair was dressed in a multitude of little blonde curls which was like a net of gold silk wire about her face, and she wore a black hat crowned with many short ostrich feathers.

Her features were sensitive, well-shaped, and showed both wit and melancholy, her eyes were pale brown and languid-lidded, and her lips were compressed in a decided line which indicated courage and determination; yet the prevailing impression she made was of great modesty and feminine tenderness.

At her breast, fastened with a knot of blue silk, was a long trail of yellow jasmine and a white rose.

"If I had been the Queen," she said, "I would not have gone to France."

"She went to gain succour, Margaret," returned Sir Charles Lucas.

"Another could have gone," insisted the lady, resting her dreamy eyes on her very lovely white hands which bore several curious pearl rings. "If I had a lord and he was in the situation of His Blessed Majesty, I would not have left him, no, not for two worlds packed with joys."

"The Queen went in April," replied the Cavalier, "and then matters did not look to be past mending."

"Yet, methinks," said Margaret Lucas, "that any one might have perceived such a temper in the Roundheads that they would not easily see reason. And, dear Charles, the King had been defied at Hull—what was that but a portent of this?

"However," she added at once, "it is not for me to speak so of my sovereign lady. Oh, Charles, what a heaviness and melancholy doth encumber my spirits! See how the sky is also stormy and doth presage a tempest in the heavens, even as men's actions hasten a tempest on earth."

"Thine is not the only heart filled with foreboding to-day. Many eyes are already bitter with tears which shall be shed till their founts are dry before these troubles end," replied the young man. "But it is not for us to lament the tearing asunder of England, but to remember for which purpose we came hither from Colchester to pay our duty to the King, and renew our oaths of fealty before his banner which shall to-day be raised."

Margaret Lucas came from the window; the brilliant light that streamed through the cracks in the storm-clouds made a dazzling gold of her hair, and slipped in lines of light down the rich silks and satins of her garments.

Glorified by this strong light, she went up to her brother and laid her hands lightly on his shoulders, turning him, with a gentle pressure, to face her and look down on her lesser height.

"Dear," she said, "dear and best—what shall come is hid by God, and no human eye may take a peep at it, yet we may make a guess that the times will be rough and disheartening, and thou wilt be thick in the midst of commotion. Yet whatever happen, remember thy loyal need, thy fair name; heed no chatter, but serve the King, under God, and keep a thought for all of us—and for Margaret, who hath no knight as thou hast yet no lady, have a sweet remembrance. God bless thee according to His will, Charles, and bring thee safely through these sad distresses."

The young Cavalier, much moved, drew her two hands from his shoulders and kissed them, and she, gazing on him with much affection and something of a mother's look, kissed his bent head where the light hair waved apart.

Then, in a humour too solemn for speech, the two young loyalists (their faith was simple and admitted of no argument—to them the King could do no wrong) left the chamber and house, and mounting two well-kept horses and followed by a neat groom, rode through the streets of Nottingham towards the castle on the hill.

There were many people abroad, and several companies of shotmen, musketeers, and of armed citizens marching in the direction of the castle; but all were silent, and most, it seemed, sad, for an air of general gloom overhung the town, and there was no one to break it with rejoicing or shouting or any enthusiasm, and though those gathered within the town might be tenacious in their loyalty, they were either not confident enough or not exalted enough in their spirits to express it by any demonstration.

There was, besides, a rapid storm blowing up; the sun glowed with a fiery light, and black clouds tipped with burning gold rolled threateningly across the heavens. Men's minds, keenly watching for portents and omens, saw one in the wild weather promised in the sky, and beheld, prefigured above them, the black waste and the red blood that from this day on should be spread and spilled over the peaceful richness of England.

Margaret Lucas and her brother rode into the courtyard of the castle, where several companies of soldiers were gathered; some brass guns and demi-culverins reflected the sun in blazes of light, and a band of drummers and trumpeters stood ready.

Sir Charles Lucas perceived that Prince Rupert was already there at the head of a company of finely-equipped gentlemen on horseback, and rode up to pay his respects, having already met the Prince. Margaret remained a little behind among the crowd of courtiers, ladies, and citizens.

Rupert's spirits were ablaze with excitement and satisfaction, he did not even seem to be aware of the general air of depression and apprehension. The King had promised him the command of the cavalry, the most important branch of the army, and to a Prince of his years and temperament, the glory of this was sufficient to obscure everything else.

"Good evening, Sir Charles!" he cried; then his quick eye roved past the youth. "Is not that lady your sister? The likeness is great between you."

"That is indeed Margaret Lucas," replied her brother, "who was visiting near this town, and nothing would satisfy her but joining me to-day in this ceremony."

"I must speak to this loyal lady," smiled the Prince.

He rode up to her and took off his hat, which was heavy with black plumes.

"Would you not know me, Mrs. Lucas," he asked, "that you would stay behind your brother?"

"I would not be uncivil to any, least to a Prince," replied the lady, "but neither would I put my conversation on any man nor be so bold as to look at one unbidden."

"This is a fair sweet loyalist," said Rupert. "Hast thou a cavalier beside the King?"

She looked at him out of untroubled eyes; his bold, hawk-like face, the black eyes, the white teeth flashing in a smile, the waving black hair, the dark complexion above the white collar, and all his attire of scarlet and buff and gold and trappings of war, his great horse, and the background of cannon, halberdiers, and stormy heavens, made a noble and splendid picture.

"I have no cavalier," said Margaret Lucas calmly, "nor have I yet seen the man to whom I could give my troth."

"How many years hast thou?" asked Rupert.

"Highness—nineteen."

He was little older himself, but he smiled at her as he would have smiled at a child.

"Give me your white rose," he said; "as thou art yet free, the gift harms none."

Margaret turned to her brother.

"Charles, shall I?" and a faint smile touched her grave lips.

"With all heartiness," replied Sir Charles.

She took the rose and jasmine from above her true heart, and her small hand laid them on the Prince's outstretched brown palm.

He raised that hand and kissed her glove, and her eyebrows lifted half-humorously under her golden fringe of curls.

"You are in good spirits, my lord," she said. As Rupert, with clumsy carefulness, was fastening the two frail flowers in his doublet, the King rode into the courtyard, followed by the royal standard.

Charles rode a white horse and was wrapped in a dark blue mantle, an unnatural pallor disfigured his cheek, and an unnatural fire sparkled in his restless eyes; he seemed both melancholy and excited. He did not fail of his usual dignity, however, and though shut within himself in an inner gloom, he acknowledged readily the salutes that greeted him. There was but a scanty crowd, both of citizens and soldiers, nor was there much fervour save among the courtiers and personal friends of the King.

Charles glanced up at the wide, darkening sky across which the mighty clouds were marching, trailing fire in the west, then he turned to Prince Maurice, who rode at his side. "When I was crowned," he said, in a low voice, "they did preach a sermon on this text—'Be thou faithful unto death and I will give thee a crown of life'—and unto death I will be faithful to God, the Church of England, and my rightful royal heritage."

He then rode forward, and amid the music of the drums and trumpets and the shouts of the spectators, the royal standard of England was raised and unfurled as sign and symbol that the King called on all loyal subjects for their service and duty.

Many of the citizens threw up their caps and called out, "Long live King Charles and hang up the Roundheads!" but their cries soon ceased, and all gazed in a mournful silence at the great flag straining now at poles and ropes and flaunting the sunset with bravery of leopards and lilies and the rampant lion—crimson, gold, and blue.

It was the symbol of war—of civil war; when it broke on the evening, then was all hope of peace for ever gone. All argument, appeals to law, to reason, all legal dispute, all compromise, was over now; henceforth the sword would decide.

The sensitive soul of Margaret Lucas was touched by a dreadful grief; she bent on her saddle and wept. There was to her an almost unbearable sadness in the silent appeal of the lonely flag.

The King glanced half-wildly round the little knot of faithful friends gathered about him; a silence had fallen which none seemed ready to break.

Suddenly Charles put out his hand; a drop of rain splashed on the bare palm.

"The storm beginneth," he said, and turned his horse's head towards the castle.

So they all went their several ways homeward in a wildness of wind and rain.

The Royal Standard faced the gusty tempests for six days, then the pole snapped and the storm hurled it in the dust.