The three young men pursued their way; at first laughing and chatting merrily upon the events of the morning; but gradually becoming more and more silent, as persons usually do when the first flush of revelling is over. The taller of the three, who has of course been recognised as the mysterious visiter at Lady Cecil's funeral and in the cave of the Buccaneer, although he bore himself towards them with all the courtesy of a true-born gentleman, received the deference of his more humble associates only as his due, and in a manner that showed he had been accustomed to more than merely respectful treatment. After traversing much low and marshy ground, they suddenly reached a spot where the road divided, the one path leading to Cecil Place, the other to Gull's Nest crag.

"Come with me, Robin; unless, indeed, the master wishes your company. I ask his pardon for not thinking of that afore," said Springall.

"Not I, good Springall," replied the gentleman. "I think you need a guide, for you walk the quarter-deck better than the dry land; and, if I mistake not, there are sundry pit-falls in the way to your present home. I know my path; and, besides, am a regular land-lubber."

"Save and bless your honour!" exclaimed the young sailor, holding all land-lubbers in thorough contempt: "that ye're not: land-lubber, indeed! I'll be at the Nest to-morrow early—if——"

"Hush!" said the more careful Robin, "never speak words of secret, openly—See ye yonder?"

"Yes," replied Springall, "two horsemen on the other road; too far off to hear my words, unless they had the ears of a hare."

"I had better go with you, sir," observed Robin earnestly: "I will go with you, that's the truth of it. Good night, Spring—steer to the left till you come to the red gap; after that, along the stone fence, on the right; it will lead you to the orchard, then you know your way."

"Why did you not go with him?" inquired the Cavalier, kindly; "it is a dark night, poor boy, he has small skill in land-steering."

"He must learn, sir, as I do," answered Robin; "and my duty calls me to attend on you, particularly when strange people are a-stir."

"You are to be my champion, Robin?"

"Your servant, sir. A servant who learned his duty before it was the fashion for servants to forget what they owe their masters. Alack! alack! service now, like liberty, is but a name, and servants do as they please."

"Did you so with the Master of Burrell?"

"But indifferently, sir; I fled, in a very servant-like manner, as you know, when he was in danger. But I had my reasons for it, as well as for going with him to London; only I'd rather not talk of that to-night, sir. It is a mortal pity that such a sweet lady as Mistress Constance should be forced to marry such a brute; for my part, I never could discover any wisdom in those contracts, as they call them. Ah, little Barbara is a discreet girl. But I have heard some one say, that, for all her fine lands, poor lady, her heart is breaking, and chipping away bit by bit. 'Tis very fine to be rich, but, being rich, very hard to be happy, because the troubles we make ourselves are less easy to be borne, than those that come upon us in the course of nature. If I had my wish, it is not gold I'd ask for."

"Indeed! What then, Robin?"

"Just enough of beauty to win one woman's heart; I think I have wit enough to keep it."

"Pshaw, Robin! though you may not be very comely, there are many worse."

"Ay, sir, apes and baboons; but they are like their kind—while I am a poor withered creature, that Nature, in spite, threw from her, coarse and unfinished."

"I wonder a person of your sense, Robin, should fret at such trifles. Remember, beauty is as summer fruits, easy to corrupt, and quick to perish."

"But for all that we look for them in summer, sir, just as youth seeks out beauty."

The stranger turned towards Robin, but made no reply; it is sometimes given to the simple to disconcert the wise, and that alone by their simplicity.

A long silence followed; each ruminating on his own prospects and projects: it was at length broken by Walter, who abruptly asked if Robin was sure he had taken the right path.

"Mercy, sir, am I sure of the sight of my eyes! Behind that tree runs the road we must cross, and then on to Stony Gap! Ah, many's the signal I've hung out for the Fire-fly from that same spot; but, if perilous times are past, and we live in days—as Master Fleetword hath it—of peace, poor Hugh's trade will be soon over. I wish he were back—the coast looks lonesome without him."

"So it does, Robin; but canst tell me what it was that made you look so dull, and astonishingly religious after the hop, step, and jump you took through the hollow oak?"

"Ah, master!"

"Well, Robin——"

"Why, you see, when I sprang through, 'thinking of nothing at all,' as the song says, I found myself on the opposite side of the tree, close—as close as I am to you, or nearly so—to——" As Robin had proceeded thus far with his recital, a sudden turn brought them to the high road, which led into a kind of hollow, flanked on either side by close brushwood. About a hundred yards from where they stood, three men were engaged in violent feud. The scene, at such a moment, and in such a place, seemed produced by the wave of a magician's wand. The Cavalier rubbed his eyes, as if to be assured of its reality; while Robin stood aghast, bewildered, and uncertain how to act:—the moon was shining in all its brightness, so that they could see as clearly as at noon-day.

"By heaven, 'tis two to one!" exclaimed the youth, casting off his cloak, and unsheathing his rapier with the rapidity of lightning.

"So it is!" gasped Robin; "but two to such a one! Save us, sir! you're not going to draw sword for him—?" But ere the sentence was concluded, his companion was in the thick of the fray. "Oh!" exclaimed Robin, as in agony, "that I should live to see true blood stirred in such a cause!—How he lays about him! Poor boy, he little knows who's who! What a noble thrust! hand to hand—how their swords glitter!—A murrain on my shrivelled carcase! they would but laugh to see me among them! O that I could be even with Nature, and hate her as she has hated me! Yet, to be thus without a weapon!—Ah! one murderer's down, and the arch-fiend with him—now are they entwined as with the coil of deadly serpents. Treacherous dog! the other would take advantage; but, ah! well done, gallant young gentleman!—he holds him back with most wonderful strength—And now—see, see—the combatants are separated—one stands over the other! Oh God! oh God! how he stabs!—hold! hold! Now, could the moon show through those deadly wounds, twenty at the least count; and only one such would let the life from out Goliath, or the strongest man in Gath.—But see, the other shows a fleet foot; and that silly boy flies after him! Alack! that he will not learn discretion! There they go, across the fields, and not towards the ferry."

When Robin arrived at this point in his comments, the man whose life had most probably been saved by the young Cavalier's interposition, called to him to come forward,—a summons the manikin obeyed at first but slowly: a second call, however, urged his alacrity; and he stood before one of whom he was evidently in much dread, with a bent head and a tremulous frame.

"Canst tell aught of that vile clay, whom the Lord hath delivered into my hand?" he said, pointing to the lifeless corpse, while his chest still heaved from the violence of the exertion he had undergone, although in other respects he appeared as composed as if he had gone forth only to enjoy the sweet breath of evening, and a ruder breeze than he anticipated had passed across his brow. Robin stooped to examine the distorted features of the dead, smeared as they were by the warm blood that issued from more than one mortal wound.

"He was one of thy party but three hours past," continued the stranger, speaking with energy and rapidity, "and thou knew'st him; heard I not his words beneath the oak? Ay, and if it had been left unto thee, verily I might have been given over to the destroyer, even as Hoshea was given unto Shalmaneser. Speak, thou deformity, lest, finding thy mind as base as its casket, I let it forth from its vile dwelling, even as a thing of nought."

"'Tis poor Grimstone," exclaimed Robin, rising from his scrutiny, and evidently affected by the loss of his boon companion on more occasions than one; "he was ever after some devilry—but his attack upon such as you——"

"Silence, sir. Did I not before intimate my wishes?"

"Well, then," muttered Robin, "his attack must have been purely a matter of plunder. Grim. was never ambitious—never looked beyond a purse of broad pieces;" adding in a lower tone, "he was always a fool."

"The carrion hath fallen in a pleasant place—so let the next comer look to it, and do thou fetch hither my horse. Had it not been that my saddle-girth gave way, I could have mastered twenty such footpads."

This was said in the tone of one who, however grateful for assistance, would have been much better pleased to have found it needless, and to have worked out the victory by his own hands.

Robin hurried to secure the animal, a well-trained war-horse, which had stood quietly in the centre of the road, calmly awaiting the issue of the combat: he observed that the saddle was turned completely round, and hung under the belly. The horseman adjusted his cloak, wiped his sword with the square cape, and had just replaced it in the scabbard, when the Cavalier returned from his fruitless chase. As he advanced towards the person to whom he had rendered such signal service, he noted that he was a hale, stout man, probably past the meridian of life, of a stern and awe-striking presence; and an involuntary feeling of respect made him lift his hat from his head, and even remain uncovered while expressing hopes "that he had received no injury from the cowards who had thus beset his path." The other gave no reply to the inquiry, but fixed a shrewd and penetrating gaze upon the young man's countenance. Apparently the scrutiny pleased him, for he extended his hand, and seizing that of his preserver, held it firmly within his palm for about the space of a minute, then pressed it within his mailed grasp so strenuously, that the youth felt the blood tingle to his finger-ends.

"I owe thanks and gratitude, and would fain know to whom: your name, young sir?"

The Cavalier paused for a moment, and then said,—

"You may call me De Guerre—Walter De Guerre."

"Walter De Guerre!—an English Christian wedded to a French surname!—'tis strange, but let it pass, let it pass: you have been an instrument in the gracious preserving of one who, though unworthy, is of some account; and instruments in the Lord's hand must be regarded. My companions had business in this neighbourhood, and had left me but a little time, when I was set upon by these cowards; but God is merciful, and inspired you with valour. And now, sir, whither wend ye? To Cecil Place?"

"No, sir," replied De Guerre, pondering what he should answer, or how he should designate his present abode.

"To the worshipful sheriff, Sir Michael Livesey, at Little Shurland? He must look to his ferry-warden and boatmen to prevent such villainies as have now occurred."

"To none of these, sir," replied Walter; "in fact, I am a humble traveller, lodging at a humble hostelry not far from hence."

During this dialogue, Robin had adjusted the saddle-girth, and led the horse to its master, who took the bridle from his hand, and held it, examining the girth as he spoke. Robin glided imperceptibly round to De Guerre's side, and standing behind him, pulled his sleeve, and whispered,—

"Don't tell him where."

The intimation was, perhaps, not heard, certainly not heeded, for the young man added,—

"At the widow Hays'."

"I bethink me; the house near East Church. It is called Nest—Nest—Nest—ay, Gull's Nest. 'Tis but a poor abode for one who bears a diamond-hilted sword, and bears it bravely too. An every-day person, Master De Guerre, would sell the diamonds and get a gayer lodging."

"Persons differ in this and all other matters, more or less," replied the young man somewhat haughtily: "I wish you good night, sir."

"Hot!" said the stranger, at the same time laying his hand upon the arm of De Guerre: "Hot and high! Well, it is an ill tree that needs no pruning; but the preserver and the preserved must not part thus. Come with me to Cecil Place, and though I have it not to offer golden recompense, yet I can assure to you a glad welcome; for my friends all love each other."

"Go with him, go with him; never say him nay: why should you not go when he desires it?" whispered Robin.

"But you are mounted, and well too, and I a-foot, and cannot pace it with you," replied De Guerre, hesitatingly.

"And your grey steed is too far away—even for that nimble squire to bring in good time," retorted the other, a kind of smile distending the rugged and untrimmed moustache that garnished his upper lip.

"My grey steed!" repeated Walter in astonishment.

"Yes, and a stout beast it is. But I will rein in my horse, and the Place is not so distant but we may keep together."

"Thanks for your proffered hospitality," said De Guerre; "but must we not do something with the fellow you have slain? His companion was too swift o'foot for me."

"Let the tree lie even where it fell," replied the other, looking on the body for an instant, and then mounting his horse with the greatest composure; "some one will cover it with decent earth in the morning: let us forward, my young friend."

De Guerre signified his consent, and walked, closely followed by Robin, at the stranger's side.

"And so," observed the horseman, turning to the Ranger, "you are accompanying us, uninvited, on our way. Wert thou ever engaged in any of the mummeries of Satan, denominated stage plays? Of all the tricks learned at courts, that of tumbling is the most dangerous; and as thy master, Sir Willmott Burrell, has not practised it yet, I am at a loss to understand how thou couldst be so perfect."

"I have served many masters, sir, and am now out of employ," replied Robin, whose ready wit appeared to have deserted him, and who kept as near as possible to De Guerre.

"Thou sayest truly; and lest one of them may have a demand upon thee ere morning, what say ye to wending onward to that unholy resort of cavaliers and smugglers, called the Gull's Nest, and leaving us to pursue our course unattended to Sir Robert Cecil?"

Robin bowed as respectfully as he could, and was about to whisper some words to De Guerre, when the stranger added, in a stern voice,—

"On, on! no whispering."

Robin held up his hands, as if he would have said, "How can I help it?" and sprang over the adjoining fence with his usual agility.

They proceeded some little time without speaking, De Guerre, discontented with himself at the power his extraordinary companion so strangely possessed over him, yet yielding to an influence against which he felt it impossible to contend.

"And pray, sir," at length inquired the elder, "what news may be now stirring in France? You have, I presume, but recently arrived from thence?"

"I have been in France, but not lately."

"In the Netherlands, then? for I take it you are given to the carnal follies of the times, and have been cherished in the heresies, religious and political, propagated by a person or persons assuming a particular rank, which the Almighty saw fitting to wrest from them now many days past."

"I have not, as I think, been brought up in any heresy," replied the youth, gently but firmly, "and I should be sorry so brave a gentleman and so expert a swordsman thought so: though I do not feel myself bound to give you any information touching my private opinions, which I hold to be as distinctly my own property as my hat or sword——"

"And which," said the stranger, "is, perhaps, the only property you are possessed of."

"Exactly so, sir; but persons of a lower estate than mine have lately risen to high places,—ay, and carry themselves as loftily as if they were born to lord it over not only empire, but empires."

"Ah! true: then, I suppose, you would fain seek service; and if so, I think my poor word would be of use. I am somewhat esteemed by the Protector and other props of this great Commonwealth, and would gladly tender my aid to you, to whom I am already strongly bound."

"I thank you for your bounty, sir; but at present I feel inclined to sheathe, not draw my sword."

"But why? A youth like you, gifted with courage, skill, and health,—the state demands some activity at your hands; 'tis ill to be a laggard."

"Nor am I one. Frankly, I like not innovation, and this state has been experimentalising lately:—in a word, I like it not."

"That is a candid confession, more candid than your former words would have led me to expect. But, young gentleman, it is not safe to trust such sentiments into a stranger's keeping: the Lord Protector has, it is said, his spies in every house; nay, it is reported the highways grow them as rife as blackberries."

"And you may be one, for aught I know or care," said the youth bluntly. "But what of that?—they say Old Noll likes in others what he hath not yet practised himself—a thing called honesty; and at worst, he could but take my life, which, after all, is little worth in comparison to those he has already taken."

A long silence followed this intemperate speech, which at last was broken by the mounted traveller.

"You spoke of innovations, and I also believe it is ill to try experiments in states, unless the need be urgent, and unless it be the reformation that draweth on the change, and not the love of change that urgeth the reformation. Is not time the greatest innovator?—is he not always changing? It hath been said that, as in nature things move violently to their place, and calmly in their place; so virtue in ambition is violent, in authority settled and calm. Steel sharpens steel; so one glory perfecteth another: and I am of belief, that they who are glorious, must have been factious. Yet are there degrees in honour, and amongst the first of them I should rank founders of commonwealths, or even states, such as we read of in history—Romulus——"

"And you would, I suppose, include the name of Cromwell in the list you were about to make?" interrupted De Guerre.

"And why not?" retorted the other proudly; "why not Cromwell? Is the oak to be despised because it was once an acorn? Remember what he suffers for his state; if, like the stars above us, he is much venerated, even like them he hath no rest."

"Nor doth he deserve it," said the youth.

"Ah! say'st so!" exclaimed the stranger, hastily, but instantly adding in a settled voice—"Walter De Guerre, or whatever be your name, beware, and use not such expressions when you know not your company. You said but now, your opinions were your property; then give them not away unasked where we are going. I know you to be brave, and generosity follows bravery as truly as one star succeedeth another; but discretion of speech is more valuable than eloquence. And, as to Cromwell, the people's shepherd has need to keep good count and careful watch; for wolves and foxes in sheep's clothing break into the pinfolds, kill and devour. Did he not act the part of Epimetheus (according to the profane but wise fable), who, when griefs and evils flew abroad, at last shut down the lid, and kept Hope in the bottom of the vessel, verily, indeed, his lot would be severe. We can know but little how hard it is to labour through evil report and good report. Charity in judgment is befitting in all, but most of all in the young."

They were now within sight of Cecil Place. De Guerre had to contend with many painful feelings, and a provoking consciousness of the strange ascendency his companion had acquired over him, so that he dared hardly speak his own words, or think his own thoughts. Nor could he trace this to any external influence: the man was plain almost to vulgarity; his dress common; and though his sword-blade was strong, the handle was perfectly devoid of ornament. His horse was the only thing in his appointments that indicated the station of a gentleman; but the saddle appeared so old and battered, and withal so ill-made, that De Guerre marvelled so noble an animal would condescend to carry such a weight of old leather and damaged flock. It is true, that towards the close of their conversation he had uttered some sentiments that, for a moment, startled the Cavalier; but then he had uttered them in so unskilled and confused a manner, and with such an unmusical voice, that it reminded him, not unaptly, of a blacksmith stringing pearls, so coarse was the medium through which these fine things came. He ventured to console himself, however, by the reflection, that a man of such cool and determined bravery must be, despite external appearances, a person of some consequence: an opinion confirmed by his being a guest, and evidently a privileged guest, of Sir Robert Cecil. He arrived at this conclusion as they passed the postern-gate; and, as the night was now far gone, the old porter lighted his flambeaux to escort them to the house.

As the old man walked some degree in advance, the elder took the opportunity to inquire of his companion,—

"Have you ever seen Mistress Cecil?"

"Seen Mistress Cecil!" repeated De Guerre, in evident embarrassment: "I have seen but few of the ladies of the country—have had few opportunities of doing so."

"Yet you resented the profanation of her name this afternoon under the oak—dost remember that?"

"I know not who you are, sir," retorted Walter, angrily, and at length fully roused from the respectful silence he had so long maintained, "that you should thus cross and question one who sought not your acquaintance. By heavens, if I were a friend (which, thank God, I am not) of him you call Protector, or King, or whatever it be, I would advise him of such persons; for it is the duty of every honest subject to watch over his ruler, as over his father, with the care and the duty—the tenderness and affection of a child. I should like to know how you knew I had a grey steed?"

"Or how I discovered your ruffle with Sir Willmott Burrell after the funeral," interrupted the other; "but be not afraid of meeting him: he left Cecil Place some days ago, to arrange some business. Nay, now, do not crow loudly your defiance, because I mentioned the word fear. What a game-cock it is! pity, that though there is no white feather, there should be no right feather in so gallant a crest!—Methinks the old porter is long in summoning the grooms, so I will enter in the name of the Lord; and do thou mind, 'Old Thunder,'" he added, in a gentle tone, at the same time patting the curved neck of the noble creature, who turned round his head at the caress, as if in appreciation of its value.

De Guerre took the bridle almost mechanically in his hand, and at the same time muttered, "Left here, like a groom, to hold his horse! By the Lord! I'll groom it for no man—yet, 'tis no disgrace, even to knighthood, to handle a good steed; though I'd bet my poor Jubilee against him.—Ah! here they come—" and he was preparing to resign his charge right gladly to two servants, who advanced from a side-door just as the stranger had mounted the last of a series of broad and platform-like steps leading to the principal entrance. No sooner, however, had the first of the attendants caught sight of the horseman's cloak and broad-brimmed hat of the stranger, than he sprang up the steps, and seized the garment, as the wearer was entering the hall. He turned fiercely round at the assault; but the aggressor, whom De Guerre now recognised as Springall, hung upon him too firmly to be easily shaken off:—he drew his sword half out of its scabbard, and kept his eye fixed upon the youth.

"I was sure of it! I was sure of it!" shouted Springall; "the cloak, the hat—all! Now will I be even with thee for hanging me over the cliff, like a poor fish in a heron's claw, and all for nothing."

"Go to, Springall," said De Guerre, coming up, pleased at observing that the wrathful glance of the stranger had changed into a smiling good-humoured look at the boy's harmless impetuosity: "Go to, Springall; the double-dub and the Canary are in thine eyes, and in thy scatter-pate. What could you know of this strange gentleman?"

"I vow by the compass," replied the boy, suffering his grasp on the cloak to relax, as he gazed in no less amazement on the Cavalier; "we are bewitched! all bewitched! I left you, sir, on your way to Gull's Nest with wee Robin; and here you are keeping company with this very hey-ho sort of—But by the Law Harry! he's off again!" exclaimed Springall, whose astonishment had got the better of his watchfulness, and who perceived, on turning round, that the mysterious gentleman had disappeared.

"You are not going to be mad enough to follow any one into Sir Robert Cecil's hall!" argued De Guerre, at the same time seizing Springall's arm.

"Oh, Lord! oh, Lord! that I should ever live to see you, sir, in league with a bogle! Why, I vow I had the mark of that devil's hand on me in black lumps, just as if I was burnt with what our scourer calls ague-fortys. As I am a living man, he went from off the brow of the cliff, just like a foam-wreath."

"Pshaw! Spring; how can you or any one else tell 'who's who,' on a dark night?"

"Could I be deceived in the cut of his jib or mainsail, ye'r honour? to say nothing of the figure-head!—Am I a fool?"

"You are not over wise, just now, my gay sailor; so off to your hammock."

"And must I see no more of that old gentleman?"

"Not to-night, Spring; perhaps to-morrow he may give you satisfaction," added Walter, smiling at his own conceit.

The youth went off, not very steadily, to the little gate by which he entered; and a servant immediately announced to De Guerre, that Sir Robert Cecil waited for him in the supper-hall.

He followed the domestic through the great vestibule, which bore a more cheerful aspect than on the sad but memorable night of Hugh Dalton's most unwelcome visit. Although the spring was considerably advanced, the fagot blazed up the huge chimney, and illumined every corner of the overgrown apartment. The grim portraits which graced the walls looked more repugnant than usual in the red light that was thrown upon them by the glowing fire; while beneath hung the very suits of armour in which, if their most approved chroniclers are to be believed, they had performed feats of valour. Upon the table of massive marble were strewed sundry hawk's hoods, bells and jesses; some fishing-tackle, and a silver-mounted fowling-piece also appeared amid the mÉlange; while a little black spaniel, of the breed that was afterwards distinguished by a royal name, was busily engaged in pulling the ears of a magnificent hound of the wolf kind, who, shaggy and sleepy, seemed little disposed to be roused from his lair by the caprioles of the diminutive creature that hardly reached to the first joint of his fore-leg. The lesser animal, in accordance with the general custom of his kind, ran yelping and barking at the stranger as he advanced up the hall; while the more sagacious and dangerous dog raised his head, shook his ears, stretched forth his paws, and elevated his broad chest, then sniffed the air so as to be able to remember De Guerre if ever he needed to do so; seeing that he was escorted by the servant, and therefore, doubtless, a person of respectability, he composed himself again to rest as De Guerre entered the presence of Sir Robert Cecil.

A few weeks had wrought a fearful change upon his countenance and form: the eyes were more hollow, the cheeks more pale, the hair ribanded with white, where but a little before there had been few grey hairs, and the shoulders were much rounded since his interview with the Buccaneer. He proceeded courteously to meet his guest, bowing, and expressing the honour he felt in being introduced (through the Lord's mercy) to the preserver of his friend. The baronet had approached slowly towards De Guerre during this salutation, but either his dim sight, or the obscurity of the further end of the room, prevented his being at first struck with his appearance. As the young man advanced, Sir Robert Cecil's gaze was fastened on his countenance with a gasping earnestness, that shook every fibre of his frame; his lips trembled, and remained apart, and he seemed for a few moments unable to move to the seat he had quitted.

The "friend" he had alluded to was seated in a carved chair near the fire, his foot placed upon a cushioned stool, and his arms folded over his bosom, his head rested on his chest, but his eyes were fixed on the beautiful face of Constance Cecil, who had risen on the stranger's entrance; nor did it escape the notice of so keen an observer, that the lady's cheek was suddenly suffused by a deep hue of crimson, as suddenly succeeded by a pallor and trembling, that made her cling to the arm of Lady Frances Cromwell for support.

"I beg to present," he rose, and said, "to my worthy friend Sir Robert Cecil, and to you, Lady Frances Cromwell, and to you also, Mistress Cecil, this young gentleman, by the name of Walter de Guerre, who, though of French extraction, hath doubtless had an English godfather, who hath favoured him with an English Christian name. And now, most worthy baronet, as master of this mansion, I pray you to present me to him who hath a swift arm and a ready hand for the defence of an attacked soldier."

"Major Wellmore, young gentleman; a tried and trusty friend to the English Commonwealth and its Protector!" said Sir Robert at last; adding, as if in apology for his emotion—"Constance! this strange megrim in my head!" And Constance, with the watchful care of an affectionate child, led him to his seat, presented him a glass of cordial; and not till he had declared himself quite recovered, did she return to her station on the low sofa, beside her friend Lady Frances Cromwell.

De Guerre was particularly struck, during the brief repast that followed, by the extraordinary change in the manner of his companion, who, from being an animated and sensible speaker, upon matters connected with the state, had become more like a mystified and mystifying preacher than a soldier, but whose out-pourings were listened to with reverence and attention by the company. The Cavalier felt himself ill at ease in his presence, and but for a governing motive, hereafter to be explained, would have withdrawn from the house when the supper was concluded, despite the specious invitation, and much pressing to remain; he, however, accepted the apartment provided for him by Sir Robert Cecil. The ladies, attended by their women, withdrew immediately afterwards, and, as Lady Frances kissed her friend's cheek, she whispered,—

"Didst see how Major—plague upon me to forget his name—eyed both you and the handsome stranger?" And then she whispered so as to be quite inaudible, ending by saying—while Constantia affectionately pressed her hand,—

"Ah! those holy eyes of blue, remaining so silent and so fixed, do more mischief than my poor little brown ones, that are ever roaming about seeking what they can devour, but securing no prey."