To account for Walter De Guerre's sudden departure, we must revert to the time when, silent and solitary, he shaded the glare of the night-lamp from his eyes, and threw himself along the black oak form to meditate and mourn over events that appeared to him, at least, now beyond his own control.

Whatever others may think as to our bringing on our own misfortunes, we hardly ever agree in the hard task of self-condemnation—a task of peculiar difficulty to the young and the ardent. They may even be inwardly dissatisfied with themselves, yet they care not to express it openly, lest they may be thought little of;—a timidity natural in youth, and arising, not unfrequently, from diffidence in its own powers. Age may improve the understanding, but it chills the affections; and though the young are ever fitter to invent than to judge, and abler for execution than for counsel; yet, on the other hand, they are happily free from that knowledge of the world which first intoxicates, and then, too frequently, leaves its votaries with enfeebled heads and palsied hands. Had not Walter been schooled in adversity, he would have been as haughty and as unyielding a cavalier as ever drew sword in the cause of the unhappy Stuarts; but his boyhood had been passed amid privations, and they had done the work of wisdom. As in books, so it is in life, we profit more by the afflictions of the righteous Job, than by the felicities of the luxurious Solomon. The only break of summer sunshine in his short but most varied career was the time he had spent with Constance Cecil; nor had he in the least exaggerated his feelings in saying that "the memory of the days passed in her society bad been the soother and brightener of his existence." He sorrowed as much at the idea that she was sacrificing herself from some mysterious cause, as at the termination his affection was likely to suffer. That so high souled a being was about to make such a sacrifice from worldly motives, was, he knew, impossible; and among the bitterest of his regrets was the one, that she did not consider him worthy of her confidence.

"I could give her up, almost cheerfully," he would repeat to himself, "if her happiness depended on it; but I cannot support the idea that she thinks me undeserving her esteem." As to his arrest, he cared but little for it: at another time it would have chafed and perplexed him in no small degree; but Constance—the beloved Constance—the playmate of his childhood—the vision of his boyhood—the reality of his maturer years, was alone in his mind. Often did he wish he had not seen her in her womanly beauty; that he had not spent a day beneath the roof where he was now a prisoner; that she had been any thing but worthy of the passionate affection he endeavoured vainly to recall. Had she been less perfect, he thought he could have been less devoted; and yet he would not have her other than she was. But for such a one to be the victim of Sir Willmott Burrell—a traitor! a coward—the thought was insupportable. After many contending ideas, he came to the resolution that, cost what it would, he would put the case in all its bearings to Major Wellmore—another mystery he vainly sought to unravel, but who had evidently powerful interest with the family at Cecil Place. True, he was a partisan of the Protector; but, nevertheless, there were fine manly feelings about his heart; and it was, moreover, clear that he was by no means well inclined towards Sir Willmott Burrell. With this resolution on his mind, bodily fatigue overcame even his anxieties, and he fell into a deep slumber.

He had slept but for a short time, when he was suddenly awakened by the pressure of a hand upon his shoulder; he looked up, and by the dim light of the fading lamp saw it was Major Wellmore who disturbed his repose. He started at once from his couch; but the officer seated himself upon an opposite chair, placed his steeple-crowned and weather-beaten hat on the floor, and resting his elbows on his knees, and his chin between the palms of his hands, fixed his keen eyes upon the young Cavalier, who, when perfectly awake, perceived that his visitor was dressed and armed as usual.

"Is it morning, sir?" inquired De Guerre, anxious to break the silence.

"No, sir," was the concise reply.

"The whole house sleeps," resumed Walter; "why then are you up and dressed? and why am I disturbed?"

"You are mistaken, young man. Know you a pretty, demure, waiting-gentlewoman, called Barbara?"

"Mistress Cecil's attendant?"

"The same:—she has but now left the house, to communicate, I suppose, with your respectable friends at the Gull's Nest, and devise means for your escape."

"If so, I am sure I know nothing of the foolish plan."

"I believe you. There is another who slumbers not."

"What, Constantia!—is she ill?" inquired the Cavalier, with an earnestness that caused something of a smile to visit the firm-set lip of the hardy soldier.

"No; I know nothing of young ladies' slumbers; I dare say she and her loquacious friend, Lady Frances, have talked themselves to sleep long since.""LadyFrances, I dare say, has," persisted Walter: "light o' lip, light o' sleep."

"I spoke of neither of the women," said the Major, sternly; "I allude to Sir Willmott Burrell—he sleeps not."

"By my troth I am glad of it," exclaimed the Cavalier; "right glad am I that slumber seals not the craven's lids. Would that I were by his side, with my good steel, and where there could be no interruption; the sun should never rise upon his bridal morn."

"Ah! you would show your regard for Mistress Cecil, I presume, by destroying the man she has chosen to be her husband; such is the Malignant's love!"

"Love, sir! I have not spoken of love. But could Constantia Cecil love a dastard like this Burrell? Listen!—I thought to tell you—yet, when I look on you, I cannot—there is that about you which seems at war with tenderness. Age sits upon your brow as if it were enthroned on Wisdom—the wisdom learned in a most troubled land—the wisdom that takes suspicion as its corner stone; yet once, mayhap, blood, warm and gentle too, flowed in those very veins that time hath wrought to sinews; and then, sir—then you looked on love and youth with other eyes:—was it not so?"

"It may have been," replied the soldier: "speak on."

"In my early youth, nay, in very childhood, I was the playmate of her who is now ripened into glorious womanhood. I will not tell you why or wherefore—but 'tis a strange story—my destiny led me to distant but far less happy scenes: my heart panted to be near her once again; yet it was all in vain; for, in truth, I was cast upon the waters—left——"

"Like the infant Moses, doubtless," interrupted the Major; adding, "But found you no Pharaoh's daughter to succour and take pity? Methought there were many to become nursing fathers and mothers to the spawn, the off-sets, of monarchy."

"Sir!" exclaimed the Cavalier with emotion, "why this needless insult? You told me to proceed; and now——"

"I tell you to desist. What care I to hear of the love you bear the woman Cecil? She is the betrothed of another man; and were she not, think you I could wish her wedded to one holding principles such as yours? Have not her gallant brothers, boys fostered, nurtured in freedom, soared to taste the liberty of heaven? Have they not yielded up their breath, their life-blood in the holy cause? The saplings were destroyed, although the Lord's arm was outstretched, and mighty to save! And think ye I would see her, who is part and parcel of such glorious flesh, wedded to one who yearns for the outpouring of slaughter, and the coming again of a race of locusts upon this now free land?"

"If Lady Constance would have broken the unjust contract," replied Walter, reasoning for once with something like coolness, "I should not have thought of asking your opinion, or consulting your wishes, Major Wellmore."

"And yet, had you been different, had the Lord given unto you to discern the right, I could, I might, I would say, have had sufficient influence to order it otherwise—that is, if her affections be not placed on Burrell; for I hold it as a fleshly and most carnal act to bestow the hand in marriage, where the heart goeth not with it."

"If Mistress Cecil were asked," said Walter, "she would not, I am sure, deny that the man is held by her in utter abhorrence."

"I have heard of this," replied the veteran, "but look upon the information most doubtingly. Constantia Cecil is a truth-loving and a God-fearing woman, and I deem her to be one who would die sooner than plight a false faith: it would be difficult to find a motive strong enough to destroy her sense of religion, or the rectitude springing therefrom."

"Ask yourself, acquainted as you are with both natures," persisted De Guerre, "if one like Mistress Cecil could love such as Sir Willmott Burrell?"

"I grant the apparent impossibility of the case; but mark ye, it is easier to believe in the existence of impossibilities, paradoxical as such a phrase may sound, than to fathom the mind of a woman, when she pleases to make secret what is passing within her, or when she has taken some great charge into her heart. Howbeit, whether she loves Sir Willmott or not, she is little likely to love one who seeks, like you, the ruin of his country."

"The ruin of my country!" repeated the Cavalier.

"Even so: dissatisfied with present things in England, you cannot deny that you hunger and thirst after a Restoration, as the souls of the Israelites thirsted after the luxuries of Egypt, and would have endured a second bondage to have tasted of them again. Young man, you should know that those who bring war into their country care little for its prosperity."

"I shall not deny that I desire a change in this afflicted kingdom," he replied; "but as to bringing war again into England, those who first drew the sword should think of that."

Major Wellmore knit his brows, and looked fixedly at the Cavalier. Then, after a few moments' pause, recommenced the conversation, without, however, withdrawing his eyes from their scrutiny.

"We will again talk of your own individual affairs, good youth; for we are not likely to agree upon the political bearing of this land. You believe that Mistress Constance is but little affected towards the man she is about to marry?"

"Affected towards him!" repeated Walter, kindling at the idea. "Unless affected by deep hatred, nothing else affects her, as far as he is concerned. I could swear to the truth of that conviction, on the Saviour's Cross—on the hilt of my own sword, were it necessary."

"Which it is not," observed the Major. "But how reconcile you that with the high opinion you entertain of the lady?"

"I cannot reconcile it. If I could, I should feel almost at peace with her and with myself. It is mystery all—except that the accursed bridal will be the stepping-stone to her grave! That is no mystery."

"You would prevent this marriage?"

"Yes, truly, were my heart's blood to rush forth in so doing; if," he added sorrowfully, "its prevention could be indeed accomplished;—but it is too late now."

"It is not too late," said the old officer, "if you will listen calmly, and learn that there is no necessity for such profaneness as you have used. Oaths and exclamations cannot destroy facts, any more than sunbeams can dissolve iron: so, avoid, I pray you, idle or wicked words, and listen. You would prevent this marriage?"

"Most undoubtedly, were it possible; but I know, I feel it is too late:—the damning——"

"Sir!" interrupted the Roundhead warmly, "I have just cautioned you against the use of profane words; yet you stuff them down my throat. I am crammed, sir, with your blasphemy."

"Is this a time to stand on words?" inquired De Guerre, with great quietude of manner. "We have different modes of expression, but they tend towards the same end—at least so you would have me believe. We have both in view the happiness of Mistress Cecil."

"You speak truly," replied the other; "and having so good an object to attain, it is meet that we use the worthiest means to achieve it; a lily should not be trained and nourished by a sullied hand."

The youth bowed, though, when he afterwards thought upon the simile, he pondered on the strangeness that one like Wellmore should seek metaphors from the flowers of the field. But nature and its feelings are rooted in the heart of the warrior and the statesman, as well as in that of the tenderest maid who tends the sheep or milks the lowing kine; the difference alone is that many things besides find place within the worldling's bosom, while her breast is one sweet and gentle storehouse for God and for his works.

"You would prevent this marriage?" reiterated the soldier. Walter again bowed; but the gesture intimated impatience.

"You are opposed to the present system, and would have it changed?" he continued.

"Where is the use of this repetition?" said De Guerre. "You know all this, and from myself: imprudent I have been, but not deceitful."

"And you would see the Protector of these realms brought to the—— Can you not finish the sentence?"

"I would, and I would not, see him brought to the block," replied Walter, with manly frankness. "I come of a race who loved the Stuarts; in some degree I have been cherished by them. Yet, though a most desperate——"

"Out with it, sir," said the Major hastily, filling up the pause in De Guerre's sentence. "Out with it! I am accustomed to hear him abused."

"A most desperate villain; still there is a boldness—a native majesty—a—— Dalton has so often praised his bravery."

"Dalton! Did Dalton speak well of Cromwell?" interrupted Wellmore.

"Yes, well, greatly of him, as an intrepid soldier, as a being to wonder at. Yet he has no right to the high place whereon he sits; and——"

"You would pull him down?"

"I confess it."

"The time will come when I will discuss the merits of this case with you," said Wellmore, after a pause; "albeit I like not discussion; 'tis not a soldier's weapon; but you are worthy of the effort. I like you, though you are mine enemy, and that is more than I can say of many friends. You know nothing of what the country suffered. You know nothing of the sacrifices that man has made for its good. Were not Cromwell and Ireton accused by their own party of favouring the man Stuart? Was not Cromwell obliged to say to Ashburnham and Berkeley, who came to him, as the Parliament thought, on all occasions, and about all things, 'If I am an honest man, I have said enough of the sincerity of my intentions; and if I am not, nothing is enough?' Was he not overpowered by the people's clamours?—They would have a king no longer; the name, sir, the very name was as a foul stench in their nostrils; the time had arrived when the lawgiver was to depart from Judah. Could he, or could any man—ought he, or ought any man to fight against the Lord, or the Lord's people?" He spoke thus far with strength and energy, then suddenly pausing, he added, "But, as I said before, there is time enough for this. As to yourself, young man, if your love towards the lady be firm and true, if your wishes for her welfare be pure and holy, if you are a true patriot—behold! I will tell you—for this came I hither—say that you will be one of the standing army of England! say but the word—to enjoy rank, opportunities of distinction, honour, and Constance Cecil as your bride!"

He paused as for reply, but the Cavalier made none; he only leaned his head against his hand, as if communing with himself.

"She will be miserable," persisted the crafty soldier; "inevitable misery will be her lot; and you can prevent it, if you please." He fixed his eyes upon Walter, as if to read the secrets of his soul; then, unsatisfied with the scrutiny, continued—"Burrell, as you have observed, cannot make her happy: so much beauty, so much worth!—you cannot hesitate—your single arm could not accomplish the end you aim at."

"Peace, tempter, peace!" exclaimed the Cavalier, bursting as fearlessly and as splendidly from his repose as the sun from behind a dark but yet silent thunder-cloud. "You might have conquered," he continued in a more subdued tone, "had not the knowledge of the love of Constantia Cecil saved me, as it has often done. She would only loathe the man who could change his principles from any motive but conviction. Enough, sir—enough, sir! I know not who you really are; but this I know, I would no more see her despoiled of her rectitude than of her chastity. Had she been here, she would have acted as I have done:—no, she would have acted better, for she would not have hesitated."

The veteran remained silent for a few moments after this burst of strong and noble feeling; he then slowly and deliberately put on his hat, drew the thick buff gloves over his muscular hands, resumed the cloak that had fallen from his shoulder, and pointed to the door.

"Do you mean," inquired Walter, "that I am at liberty to depart?"

"You are to go with me; but you are still to consider yourself under arrest."

"To go—whither?"

"You go with me. You might have been at liberty; but now—you go with me. And, one word more. Walk gently if you value life, or what may be dearer than life. I am not one to have my will disputed. You will learn as much; but now, I say, walk gently. I wish not to disturb this giddy household: they prate, like others of their sort, of people's doings, and 'tis not meet to grant them opportunity."

"I am a man of desperate fortunes now," thought the young Cavalier, as he followed his mysterious guide through some winding and to him unknown passages of the mansion—"a man of desperate fortunes, and care not where I go."

As they passed through the shrubbery, he saw distinctly the rays of a lamp stream from Constantia's window. The light fell on a clump of early roses that grew upon a flat and ancient wall, the vestige of some old moat or turret. As they passed nearly at its base, Walter sprang up and pulled one, then shrouded it within his bosom, as he thought, unobserved by his stern warder; but it was not so—the veteran noted the little act, and, noting, understood it. There was a time when he could feel and not define; that time was past, and succeeded by the present, when he could define, but hardly feel. In this instance, however, his memory did him good service; and the remembrance of what his own course had been came upon him with all the freshness of renewed boyhood, so that he could have pressed his youthful and ardent antagonist to his bosom. This sunbeam of the past was not to continue, for he opened a wicket-gate leading into the park, and blew one note, not loud, but clear, upon a whistle. In an instant, as if the grass had produced men, Walter found himself in the midst of mounted soldiers. He looked around him in amazement, and even touched the nearest horse, to be certain that it was not a dream! There they stood, the moonbeams, broken by the overshadowing trees, coming down in dappled spots upon the chargers and their iron-looking riders: carved centaurs could not be more immovable. True, Walter had been absorbed; yet was all this real! There was for him, too, a stout steed, which he was twice desired to mount ere he obeyed.