Front matter (continued 3)

It was a great matter of wonderment to me how he came to be in Miss Blake's parlour, for I was sure that neither she nor Mrs. Musgrave had any love for him. These ladies and their pupils (such as resided beneath their roof) attended service at St. Mary's Church, as it was considered right and proper to do, and Mr. Axe was revered and beloved by them. But why this evil-faced Mr. Blewer was admitted was a source of much perplexity to me, and my perplexity was turned to alarm when I perceived that upon rising to take his leave he saluted Mistress Mary's hand with a look which could not well be mistaken, and made as though he would have gone further and saluted her lips also had she not drawn herself away with a decision that was not to be mistaken.

I saw an ugly look spring into his eyes at that, and thought his smile more hideous than a frown would have been.

"Ah well, I must be patient, sweetheart," he said. "We shall learn to understand each other better in time."

Then, with a bow which included all the ladies, he retired, and I was almost astonished to see gentle Mistress Mary dash the hand that he had kissed against the marble mantel-shelf with such force that she must have bruised the tender skin.

"That odious man!" she cried, with unwonted heat. "Prithee, dear madam, have pity upon me, and let him come here no more."

"Dear Mary, I like him as little as thou," answered Miss Blake, with a shake of the head. "I know he is an evil creature. But what can I do, when your worthy guardian bids me give him access from time to time, that he may pay his addresses to you, and tells me that he does this with his approval and consent?"

I almost gasped at this, for I began to see that Mistress Mary was like to be made the victim of a plot which seemed vile and base to me, although I was certain that Lord Lonsdale had no idea of acting unjustly or cruelly. Doubtless he would think Mr. Blewer a suitable husband for his ward. No one knew aught against him, so far as I had ever heard, and he had some money, and came of a family as good as Mistress Mary's. To get her safely and quickly married would, of course, be the easiest way of keeping her out of the path of his son. I could not wonder at the turn matters had taken, and yet my heart felt hot within me as I thought of the Viscount and then recalled the cruel, wolfish face of Mr. Blewer.

That night, as I reached my room, I stepped out upon the balcony and eagerly scanned the windows of the house I had just quitted. Once or twice it had been my hap to see the fair face of Mistress Mary looking out from a window not very far away; and to-night fortune favoured me, for I had not been at my post more than a few minutes before a curtain was drawn aside and a gleam of light shone out. Then quickly a casement was flung open as if by an impatient hand, and Mistress Mary leaned out into the clear frosty night as though eager to inhale the fresh cold air. I thought I heard a sound break from her like a sob or a sigh. That she was in perplexity and trouble I could not doubt, and I longed with a longing that would brook no delay to go and comfort her.

I looked into the yard below. All was perfectly quiet and tranquil. I scanned all the windows of both houses, but no light shone from any save Mistress Mary's. I stood above her in my balcony, clasping the letter I had dashed in to fetch in my hand. The next minute I had hidden it in the breast of my doublet, and was swinging myself like a monkey from balcony and waterspout to balcony and waterspout, till my movements attracted her attention, and she gave a little cry of fear.

"Hist, mistress!" I cried in a low voice; "fear not. It is I—Dicon Snowe. I have somewhat to say to thee, and somewhat to give. Have no fear; I will reach thee without hurt."

For if my back was crooked, and my legs not of great service for long walks, I had a length and strength of arm that made amends for much, and such a transit as this was but child's play to me. I was soon upon the balcony outside the window by which she stood; but I came no further, knowing my place better than to intrude upon her.

"Mistress Mary," I said eagerly, "I have a letter for you from my lord the young Viscount Vere. I have had it these three months, but never have seen you to deliver it. I sware to him I would not let it leave my hands till I could place it in yours. Take it and read it; and if there be any answer, I will make shift to deliver that. For I love my lord as much as he deserves to be loved by high and low; and since I know his heart is bound up in love for you, I would fain carry him good tidings."

It was perhaps overbold of me to speak so, but my heart seemed burning within me; and although Mistress Mary's cheek glowed and she turned away with her letter, yet I saw the soft light which had come into her eyes, and I knew that her heart was not cold to him, however she might have schooled herself to think she must thwart his love.

She read her letter from end to end whilst I stood and watched her, though since she discreetly turned her back to me I could not see its effect upon her. Nevertheless, when she turned round I was sure there were tears upon her cheek, and I did not think that they were tears of sorrow.

"O Dicon," she said, coming forward towards me with the confidence that a sister might show to a brother, "Lord Vere says he has told all the story to thee. What must I say? What must I do when there be so many things against it, and it will hurt him so with his father if I let him have his way?"

"Methinks, lady, it will hurt him the more if you be cruel to him," I answered eagerly; "for his very heart is bound up in this matter, and he has been faithful all these years."

"I know it, I know it! How can I doubt it, and how could I help loving him, when he was suffered to be all the world to me in days of yore? But a maid may not always wed as her heart prompts, and I would suffer untold woe myself sooner than hurt him. And it has been said to me that it would hurt him grievously if I were to wed with him; and in very truth there be many and grievous barriers betwixt us," and she sighed heavily, whilst a cloud came over her face.

I guessed of what she was thinking, and that it was the different view they took of the coming strife, and I knew not how to reassure her here; but I ventured to remark,—

"But Mr. Blewer hates the cause of the Duke and of freedom as my lord the Viscount never would. Sure it were better to marry a noble foe than one so cruel and false!"

"Marry Mr. Blewer!" cried Mistress Mary, with a vehemence I scarce believed her capable of; "sooner would I die than do that! Nay, come what will, none shall coerce me there. I can live and die a maid, if Heaven so will it, but I will never wed with yon bad man!"

Right glad was I to hear her speak with such spirit and resolve; for we of the stronger sex are always half afraid that women may be cajoled or coerced into anything if only the persecution be determined enough. Yet I could not get her to intrust me with a letter to Lord Vere, nor yet with a direct message; only when I said that I would tell him what had passed betwixt us twain, she did not say me nay.

I had no rest till I had got speech of the Viscount and had told him all that had passed. His brow darkened ominously as he heard of Mr. Blewer, and of his own father's support of such a suit.

"He had better have a care how he goads me," I heard him mutter through his shut teeth; "he may chance to find he has gone too far an he treat her and me thus."

Then I told of the interview I had had with Mistress Mary, and his face kindled at the recital. As I finished he burst forth,—

"They have made her think she will injure me by her love. I must see her myself, and show her the folly of that belief. Dicon lad, thou art a trusty comrade; thou must do yet one thing more for me. Thou must show me how I may get secretly to the balcony of my lady's room, and so have speech with her, no man but thee knowing it. Once face to face with her, I warrant I will chase away her fears and her doubts. Thou shalt keep thy watch whilst I speak with her; nor will I enter her room, but only stand without as thou hast done. But see her I must, else shipwreck may come of the happiness of two lives. Wilt thou help me in this, good Dicon?"

I think I would have helped him to whatever he asked with such a look and smile; but anything so like a repetition of the romantic story of Romeo and Juliet kindled my ardent enthusiasm and interest. I had very small doubts myself that Mistress Mary would be at her window again to-night, half repenting her of her refusal to send a message, and on the look-out for more news of her lover; therefore as soon as the house was quiet I showed the Viscount how the transit to the balcony might be made, and myself stood in another balcony commanding all the windows, just out of ear-shot, but in full view of the lovers, and ready to give them any assistance by warning or counsel.

It was a bold scheme, but like many such it won its reward. My lord had not waited there above ten minutes before the curtains were drawn back, the casement opened, and then, with a little cry which penetrated even to my ears, Mistress Mary came face to face with her lover.

I was very happy at the success of this experiment; but I confess I had time to grow very cold before the casement closed again and my lord called cautiously to me to join him. I did this without much trouble, and then showed him how he might reach the ground without danger of falling. Soon we stood together in the paved court-yard of the inn, and he grasped my hands in both of his, whilst I could see that his eyes were shining as brilliantly as stars.

"Dicon," he said, "thou art the best and truest of comrades. I will never forget thy good offices this night."

And I felt already abundantly rewarded for what I had done.

It was not my place to ask questions, but surely there was no need in face of my lord's joyous and triumphant bearing. He seemed to tread on air. He passed his arm through mine, and drew me forth into the street with him through the arched gateway, which was not closed at night in quiet times; nor did we pause till we reached the bridge and stood looking down into the flowing dark waters together.

"I could walk all night for very happiness!" cried the Viscount, with that exhilaration of spirit which comes from a deep joy. "Can England itself boast a fairer and more gracious maid than my Mary? Ah, the days will come when my father will rejoice to welcome her as a daughter! None could stand long against such sweetness and beauty."

Then, his energies having been spent in pacing awhile through the frosty night, we turned our steps homewards. I gained ingress by means of a small side door, the key of which I had in my pocket; and my lord slept that night at the Three Cups, and rode forth in the morning; whilst a white hand was waved for a moment from a window above the yard, and then quickly withdrawn.

The next time that I was able, at Will Wiseman's eager instigation, to find my way to Master Simpson's when a meeting had gathered there, I saw Lord Vere enter arm in arm with Mr. Hewling; and Will gave my ribs a triumphant dig with his elbow as he whispered joyfully,—

"See, we are getting nobles to join us at last. Mr. Hewling has prevailed with my lord Vere."

I nodded, keeping my own counsel; but I had a shrewd notion that something else besides the arguments and persuasions of Mr. Hewling had prevailed to make a convert of the Viscount.

CHAPTER VIII.

"LE ROI EST MORT."

"Dicon! Dicon! Come down, lad; come down! The whole town is beside itself, and we want thine eyes and thy tongue here. Get up and come down. Lose not a moment! Heaven help us all if the thing be true!"

I was roused from my sleep on a bright February morning by the hearty tones of my uncle's sonorous voice. I lost not a moment in springing up and hurrying into my clothes, for there was an urgency in his manner which betokened that something unwonted was afoot.

Truth to tell, I was later abed than was my wont, owing to having aided my Lord Vere to another stolen interview with Mistress Mary the previous evening, followed by a second stolen interview at Mr. Hewling's house, where some important letters had been read and discussed, and where Mr. Speke, from Ilminster, had attended, and had given an encouraging report of the state of public feeling in his part of the world.

It was now known all over the country, I suppose, that the King was grievously ill and like to die; albeit there were many who declared that he would be given back in answer to the prayers from the churches. I suppose all men who had any sort of love for their country or interest in public affairs felt grave anxiety just at this time. For there could be small doubt that it would go hard but that bloodshed of some kind there would be, were the Duke of York to succeed to the throne; and yet there seemed no other to take that place, seeing that the Duke of Monmouth was an exile, and that he would have to fight for the crown ere he could hope to wear it. Men who remembered the horrors of civil war a generation back, the disruption of families, and the bloodshed and confusion, shook their heads mournfully, and advised any submission rather than a repetition of such fearsome things; but we of younger and rasher spirit—we who had never tasted of such horrors, but looked only on the glory and honour to be reaped in warfare—felt very differently. I think I, despite my physical deformities, should have been grieved to the heart had any prophet arisen to say that there would be no fighting in our days. The martial spirit had seized upon me. I, in common with others, watched eagerly the marshalling and exercising of the train-bands and militia whenever they assembled under their leaders; and although we knew right well that they were thus mustered and put through their exercises with a view to showing the towns-folk how useless would be any rising of the rabble, when these bands could at once be brought out to crush it, yet knowing the individual men in the ranks, we were certain that half of them at least were hot in the cause of our Duke, and that if the chance for joining him arose, they would come over, arms, ammunition, bright-coloured uniforms, and all.

But I must return to that day when the great news reached Taunton. I rushed downstairs, finishing my toilet as I did so, to find all the lower rooms filled with excited folk who had come in from the streets the moment the news had got wind, and were so crowding round a travel-stained messenger that it was some time before I could approach near enough to hear what he was saying. But I did not need to do that to know what had happened, for the news was in every mouth,—

"The King is dead! the King is dead! God save us all! The Duke of York is proclaimed King in his stead!"

"The King was poisoned by his brother!" whispered a voice in the crowd. I know not whence it came; but the word was taken up in the lowest of tones, and one heard it go surging along accompanied by a sort of shuddering sigh, as though men half feared to utter the fearful words. Other wild whispers soon got afloat. Some vowed it was the Queen who had administered the poison in her intolerant jealousy; others, that it was the notorious Duchess of Portsmouth; but the favourite and most lasting impression of those who believed that foul means had been employed to put the King out of the way, was that his brother the Duke had contrived to poison him, either through his snuff or in his food,—and since he was the man of all others to reap advantage from that death, the opinion flourished and gained ground amongst his enemies apace.

But crowding round the weary messenger, who had galloped to Taunton with the news since noon the previous day, we strove to learn from him every detail of the calamity; and he told his tale again and again.

That the King had been out of health since the fall of the previous year was a thing known to all the country. Some called it gout, and said it was a matter of small moment; others shook their heads over it, and said it showed a break up of the sound constitution which had hitherto marked the monarch. But although there had been much anxious discussion as to the succession, men were not really prepared for this sudden end to the King's life; and when we heard that he had been only four days actually ill, the end did indeed seem to be sudden.

But the terrible thing to us was the story with which the messenger said that all London was ringing—namely, that upon his death-bed the King had been admitted into the Romish Church; that a priest had been found and brought to him by his brother; and that all the courtiers, with the exception of the Earls of Feversham and Bath, had been turned out of the room whilst extreme unction had been administered, and his Majesty confessed and shrived by the priest found with some difficulty for the office.

This was indeed grave news; for if the Duke of York had acted thus, was there any hope but that he would openly profess the Romish faith when he was set upon the throne? At once a vision of Smithfield fires rose before the mind's eye of numbers and numbers of those who heard the story. It seemed to us that with a Papist King, a man notorious for his cruelty and love of inflicting misery and bloodshed, any sort of horror was possible. What wonder that faces grew pale, that we looked at each other in silent amaze, whilst the women wept aloud and gathered their children into their arms as though to protect them from some menacing peril!

"And the King himself, what did he say?" was asked in many quarters. "Did he speak of the Duke—the Duke of Monmouth? Did he say aught of him and his rights?"

The messenger shook his head as this question reached him. The man was one who knew our Duke and thought well of him. He was a West Country fellow himself, and not yet vitiated by the atmosphere of the Court in which he had lived so long.

"His Majesty called for his other children," said he—meaning, of course, children born out of lawful wedlock; for, as all men know, the Queen was childless, to the great grief of the nation—"but of the Duke of Monmouth no word was spoken. The King did not breathe his name—so, at least, it is averred. None dared to speak of him, the Duke of York standing by. Nay, my friends, I fear me there is no hope for England in that quarter. The Duke of York is King in his brother's stead. But what we may lawfully do to stand by the laws and the rights of our nation and our faith, that let every man do to the utmost that is in him. James may wear the crown and be called King, but we will have no tyrant forcing us to a faith against which we have fought and triumphed years ago. He may rule us indeed, but he shall not make of us Papists nor slaves!"

A muffled cheer went round the room as these words were spoken; but many were there standing by who did not endorse the first part of the speech, but cast looks one at another which seemed to say that it would go hard before they would acknowledge a Papist King!

Then a news-letter was produced, and I was called upon to read it loud whilst the weary messenger supped. Of course it stopped short before the death of his Majesty, but it gave an account of the life of the Court up till the time of the King's seizure; and gay and scandalous, indeed, did the history of the last Sunday evening read to us quiet and sober country folks. Women shook their heads as they heard in whose company the King spent his time, and whispered that death had come as a judgment from heaven. Yet few eyes were dry as the letter spoke of the sufferings of the King, and of his fortitude and courage under them.

"After all he was the King, with all his faults and vices," they said; and we all felt how little there was of kingliness in the dark Duke who had succeeded him.

I conjured up before my mental vision the picture of the other Duke as I had seen him a year or two back, his handsome open face, his winning address, his kindly grace of manner, and his care and love for all his poorer subjects (for so did I call them even now in my heart). How could I help trusting in him as the rightful King, when his touch had made me whole, as only the touch of a true King's hand could do?

I found myself telling the story again almost ere I knew it, and the messenger, who was working steadily at the platter of good victuals before him, kept throwing keen glances at me and at the people round, and making odd sounds the while.

I had hardly finished the reading, and the telling of my well-known tale, before a little stir in the crowd announced an arrival; and looking over the heads of the people—for I was set upon a stool to be better heard and seen—I beheld the cadaverous visage and lantern jaws of Mr. Blewer. He came in looking to right and left with his sharp, ferret-like eyes, and his ears seemed to be on the alert to catch any words that might fall from unwary lips. Something in the sinister aspect of the man, and in the loathing with which I had come to regard him, caused the words I was reading to die away upon my lips, and the sudden silence which fell upon me attracted the attention of all present to the entrance of the new-comer.

Mr. Blewer was little beloved in Taunton. It was firmly held by many that he was nothing more nor less than a spy in the interests of the Duke of York, or the King as we must needs learn to call him; unless, indeed—but such things are best not spoken too openly. There were only too many rogues abroad in the world who lived by selling information to one or other of the different parties at Court, and men were strongly of the opinion that the Rev. Nicholas was one of these miscreants. His very appearing so stealthily in our midst at this time of excitement seemed to augur ill, and the murmur of voices died into silence as he made his way into the room.

"Have a care, good people, have a care!" he said, with a leering smile that was uglier than his scowl. "I thought I heard some suspicious word—some phrases that savoured too much of sedition! Have a care how you let your unruly member run away with you! There be birds in the air to carry such words whither ye would not. If God has thought good to take one monarch to Himself, He has given us another of the same name and race to set upon the throne. Let us thank Him from our hearts for this great goodness, and cry aloud in joy and gratitude, 'Long live King James!'"

As he spoke he lifted his hat and waved it above his head, and all who wore theirs instinctively uncovered, and many amongst us, led by the hearty voice of my uncle, strove to raise the shout, "Long live King James the Second!" But the words seemed to stick in the throats of many; and Mr. Blewer looked sharply round upon us, saying, with that evil smile of his,—

"Why, that is but a sorry shout for a new-made King; but perchance your loyal hearts are too full yet of grief for our noble King Charles to give a right royal welcome to his successor!"

"Ay, sir," said my uncle; "that is the case with us. We can scarce yet rejoice in the thought that any other sits in the place of good King Charles, be he never so great and good a prince. Prosperous and peaceful has England been beneath his fatherly sway; and sad are we to learn that he is no more, though I trow that Taunton men will not be lacking in loving loyalty to his successor."

Many asseverations of this kind were made, and the talk grew animated and general. Being no longer required to read the news-letter, which Mr. Blewer had taken into his own hands, I slipped away through the throng, and found myself face to face with Will Wiseman, who caught me by the arm and drew me forth into the street with him.

"It has come then, Dicon!" he whispered, evidently in great excitement: "the King is dead, and another King must sit upon the throne. But whether King James the Second, as in sooth he will be, will be—"

"Hist, Will, be not so rash!" I exclaimed, drawing him into an entry and looking nervously round; for I had caught some caution from the precept and example of my uncle, and I knew that men had paid dear before now for rash words spoken under stress of excitement. "Take heed how thou speakest. If Mr. Blewer were to hear thee, it might go ill with thee in the days to come."

"A pest upon his ugly face and meddlesome, prying ways!" cried Will hotly; for he hated Mr. Blewer even more than I did, and with some reason, since that worthy had done many an ill turn to his master, and had dealt many cuffs and hard words to the lad himself.

Will, as ill-luck would have it, had in his pocket a piece of chalk, and being gifted with the power of drawing lampoons with a wondrous ease and dexterity, he solaced himself by drawing upon the wall, as we stood, two representations of Mr. Blewer, in both of which his hideous face, lantern jaws, and great cavernous mouth were delineated with more truth than flattery. In the first of these pictures the clergyman was represented as preaching from the pulpit, the ungainly action of the man being hit off with wondrous fidelity. In the other he was portrayed as being whipped by the hangman at the cart's tail—a fate we had amused ourselves by prophesying for him sometimes when reckoning upon the good days which Taunton should enjoy when "King Monmouth" should be upon the throne. In both pictures his mouth was equally wide open, and beneath each Will wrote, in rude letters,—

"THE WORSHIPFUL AND REVEREND MR. NICHOLAS BLEWER EXTOLLING THE DIVINE RIGHT OF KINGS."

I doubled myself up with laughter at the clever picture, and a small crowd of laughing men and boys gathered round to admire. We were passing comments far from flattering to Mr. Blewer, and Will was touching up his handiwork so as to make the likeness a little more frightful, when a sudden scattering of the bystanders and a few words of whispered warning made us turn suddenly, to see Mr. Blewer himself regarding us with a baleful light in his eyes, and such a scowl of malevolence upon his brow that I wished Will's talents anywhere else at that moment. I drew him away as fast as I could, but not before we heard the harsh, grating tones of Mr. Blewer's voice following us,—

"Very good, Will Wiseman, very good. It will not be the fault of Nicholas Blewer if thou dost not taste the discipline of the hangman's whip before he has done with thee."

"O Will, why didst thou do it?" I asked, in an access of fear and trembling. "My uncle ever teaches us to speak with respect of dignitaries, even though they be none of the best. I fear me we were wrong in this, and shall suffer for it. Mr. Blewer is not a man who forgives or forgets."

"Let him remember an he pleases—I care not," answered Will, who had a much higher courage than I, and far more of that reckless daring which I read of with envy and admiration, but never attained to myself. It was one of the things I most admired in him, though it sometimes made me fear that he would get into trouble sooner or later.

We walked back to his home together, talking eagerly of the great news of the day. Personally, we had no especial regrets for his late Majesty, and could not but rejoice in the prospect of the coming strife; for that England would calmly accept James Duke of York as her King was a thing incomprehensible to us, owing to the element of faction in which we had been living. We ourselves so thoroughly believed in the rights of the exiled Monmouth, that we could not credit or understand that these had never been greatly believed in by the mass of the nation, and that the King's brother was likely to obtain all the support of the lovers of established monarchy, as well as of those who, whilst personally regretting the character of the man, would not be a party to a measure of exclusion which should keep the true heir from the throne, or favour a possible usurper.

As days went by the excitement did not lessen. All manner of wild rumours were flying about; but from my lord the Viscount, who came daily into Taunton on one errand or another—in hopes, as I knew, of getting sight or speech of Mistress Mary—I heard the truest tidings.

King James had declared, immediately on succeeding to his new estate, that he would guard the established religion of the country as the choicest treasure of his crown; and a thrill of joy and triumph ran through the country, whilst men swore that the Prince had been sorely maligned, and that whatever his wife might be, he was no Papist at heart.

But then, on the very heels of the first good news, came tidings that the King was going openly to Mass with his wife, that the oratory chapel fitted up for her was to be thrown open for public worship, that the Papists all over the country were rejoicing, and that banished priests and Jesuits were beginning to creep back, certain that good days were in store for them at last.

Then still more ugly whispers (as some thought) got abroad. The King had consented to summon a Parliament, having indeed but small choice in the matter; but it was known in many circles that he had received a large sum of money from the French King in order to make him almost independent of that body, and to bribe and corrupt its members when chosen, that it might be merely an engine for the oppression of the people at the will of a tyrannical monarch.

It was steps like these that so roused the scorn and ire of Lord Vere. Had the new monarch been true and upright in his dealings; had he thrown off the fatal yoke of France, and trusted himself to his loyal people as the House of Tudor (with all their faults) had ever been able to do, I think that even the gentle pleadings of Mistress Mary would scarce have served to turn him back from that loyalty to the crown which was his as by natural inheritance. But this crooked statecraft and treacherous dealing roused all the generous indignation and scorn within him which the young are wont to feel when brought face to face with what is base and false. His father and the elder men might shrug their shoulders, and say that these things had to be; that it was part of the essence of kingcraft; that it was useless to hope for better. But the Viscount could not take this view of the matter. Perhaps he had imbibed more of the opinions and feeling of the towns-folk than he well knew at the time. At any rate, as the days flew by, and we heard more and more of the methods of the new King, a dark frown would often rest upon his brow, and he would say with scornful vehemence, "It is shame that such a man should call himself England's King!"

The dissenters of Taunton—and they were very many—were thrown into great commotion and wrath at the news of the treatment received at the hands of Lord Chief-Justice Jeffreys by that great and good man Richard Baxter, who was brought before him to answer for some rash words spoken in the indignation aroused by the harsh treatment given him for no other offence than declining to use the Book of Common Prayer in public worship. We had just before heard with horror of the inhuman punishment inflicted by the same judge upon Oates and Dangerfield. Not that we felt sympathy with the vile informers who had brought so many innocent persons to the block, but that the ribaldry and cruelty of the judge filled men with horror; and the more so because we knew that this same judge was likely to come again to the West Country for the autumn assizes, and that should any luckless dissenter be brought before him here, he might make up his mind to look for neither justice nor mercy from such a judge. The account of the insults and brutal language to which this aged divine and his friends and advocates were subjected by Lord Jeffreys made the blood boil in the veins of those who read and those who heard. No jury save one chosen by the miserable Sheriffs of London, mere tools in the hand of the government, would have dared to return a verdict of guilty. And when it was known that Jeffreys would have had the good old man whipped at the cart's tail through London, had it not been that for once he was overborne by his brethren on the bench, a sense of horror and loathing arose in the minds of honest and merciful men, not only against the wicked Judge himself, but against the King who could smile approval on such a debauched servant, and actually associate him with Lord Guildford, the Keeper of the Seals, with the evident intention of promoting him still higher if he continued to go about his work in the same way.

The elections and the coronation all added to the dismay of the Protestant party. It was asserted that the King had so greatly shortened the service that it was most meagre and insufficient, and that this was plainly due to his Popish reluctance to take part in any function of the church he had sworn to uphold and revere. His parsimony was bitterly and scornfully commented upon; for the same spirit of greed which had made him refuse the usual splendid obsequies to the late King (so that men spoke of King Charles as having received "the burial of an ass"), caused him to do away with much of the pageantry of his own coronation, and greatly was this resented by the people, who were by no means too friendly towards him from the beginning.

We of Taunton heard these stories with a species of sombre joy. There was more afoot in the city just now than I knew at the time. My uncle kept me busily employed reading and telling the news. I still continued to take the news-letter into Miss Blake's house and read it to the ladies there. I was often sent errands hither and thither into the country, and kept more busy than I had ever been before; and though I was dimly aware that much was seething below the surface in the hearts of our towns-folk, I was not at all certain whither it was tending.

The elections to which I have alluded took place in May, and the returns were most wonderfully against our wishes, and in favour of the Tory and Court party. The King was said to have got just that sort of packed Parliament which he desired, and would in all probability keep it all through his reign. This was a heavy blow to some amongst us, who had hoped that the leaven working through the land would have acted differently. But at least if disappointed, we knew now what to expect. Such a Parliament as ours would be little better than a tool in the hand of a tyrant monarch. Some small protection it might be against the encroachments of arbitrary power, but so small that it was better to hope nothing from it.

I must not close this chapter (which I fear has been but a dull one; only these things have to be made something clear, or what follows cannot well be understood) without some mention of a piece of work going on within the walls of Miss Blake's establishment, which was destined to bring Taunton almost as much fame as anything that happened within its environs during the stirring days to come.

I had noted that immediately upon the death of the King, whenever I had gone to read to the ladies in the parlour, they were deeply engrossed upon some large pieces of silken embroidery work, something different from anything I had seen in their hands before.

Mistress Mary's was on a large and more gorgeous scale than those of the others, and it was always the same; whilst Miss Blake's and Mrs. Musgrave's varied continually, as they seemed to be putting in the outlines of a pattern which other hands would fill up.

But Mistress Mary's steadily grew and grew, and although always carefully covered up, yet revealed much gold and crimson raised work, and altogether began to have such a wonderfully gorgeous effect that I could not keep my eyes from straying to it again and again as I sat and talked. Busy as she was, I saw that she noted these glances, and one day just before I was about to leave she gave me one of her rare sweet smiles, and said,—

"Come, Dicon, thou needst not eat thine heart out in curiosity. I have good reason to know that thou art to be trusted. I will show thee my work." A flush mantled her face as she unpinned and unfolded it, and she added, with a sudden light in her eyes, "It is a banner for my Lord of Monmouth, when kind Providence sends him hither as our deliverer."

Then she displayed before my eyes the gorgeous golden-worked banner, and I saw that the raised letters surmounted by a crown were none other than these of momentous meaning—J.R.

Nor could I doubt for a moment that their meaning was "Jacobus Rex."

CHAPTER IX.

THE MUTTERING OF THE STORM.

There was a sense of mystery in the air. Life seemed to be flowing in its accustomed channels and with its wonted smoothness; but yet there was an under-current of excitement and unrest which surged through everything and kept every heart beating with expectancy, every ear alert to catch the first breath of rumour, every eye eagerly scanning the faces even of the passer-by in the street, lest haply he might be the bearer of those tidings which some of us longed and some of us feared to hear.

Taunton appeared quiet and peaceable. Mr. Bernard Smith, our Mayor, a man of some force of character, some cruelty of nature, and of known loyalty to the reigning sovereign, kept a close watch upon us, and let it be very clearly understood that upon the smallest indication of disturbance he should call in the train-bands and keep order by strong methods. He was seconded in his good intentions by the influence of the country gentlemen round. Sir William Portman often appeared in the city, and stayed for a few nights in his fine old timbered house, with its many gables, that is still the pride of Taunton amongst those who are learned in the matter of domestic architecture. He frequently appeared in the streets, and when occasion served spoke to the people in such a way as to encourage them to maintain tranquillity and avoid giving cause of offence. Lord Lonsdale and Sir Ralph Bridges followed his example, and were often to be seen in the city, forward to impart to us any items of news from London likely to be acceptable in our ears, and striving to rid our minds of some of the many convictions which recent events had stamped upon them, and especially of that most favourite one—namely, that King Charles had met his death by poison, and that this poison had been administered by the hand of his brother.

But there are some impressions quickly made upon the minds of men which no after labour will efface. We had heard from trusty men of our own party of the black spots which had appeared upon the King's body, of the agonies of pain which had convulsed him, of the sleepless attendance of his dark brother at his bedside, and we thought we knew better than our Mayor or our nobles. So though we listened in respectful silence to their words, our hearts remained unconvinced.

We hated the Duke of York (for there were some who would not speak of him as the King save where prudence compelled) with a deadly hatred, and prayed day and night for deliverance from his malevolent power.

Now as for my own private concerns at this time, I may speak once again of those rides taken in attendance upon the two Mistresses Mary, which began after the inclement winter had passed, and were continued until the great commotion commenced of which I am about to write.

These rides were a source of the greatest pleasure and satisfaction to all concerned; for by means of them the Viscount was able to prosecute his wooing of gentle Mistress Mary, and we were no longer reduced to the more risky if more romantic method of the balcony meetings.

It was easy for me to let my Lord Vere know when and whither we were to ride forth. He was backwards and forwards between Court House and Taunton many times in the week, like most of the gentry round, and I would make shift to give him the news he wanted. Then upon our next ride, when we were deep in some woodland dell or away across some lonely bit of breezy moorland, the Viscount would ride up, saluting the ladies, and before long the younger Mistress Mary would rein back her steed and join me, leaving the lovers to pace on in front side by side, in the loneliness so dear to all in like case.

Mistress Mary Bridges, albeit but a maid of twelve summers, was wondrous full of life and spirit and imagination. She would talk to me in a fashion which made me marvel at her high courage and dauntless nature; and openly did she lament that she was not a man, so that she might bear a man's part in the struggle which she fully believed was coming.

She came of a family loyal to the Court party and to the reigning sovereign; yet she had heard so much of the other side from her mistresses and comrades in the school, that she might be said scarce to hold either with one party or the other, and in truth this was what she openly averred to be her case.

"If I were but a man," she would cry with kindling eyes, "I would have my own good steed and my own good sword, and I would follow no party, but always fight on the side of right and virtue. I would gather about me a band of followers, as did bold Robin Hood of old, and I would be the champion of truth and liberty and righteousness wherever such were to be found. I hate that false and cruel King James, who will stoop to fondle such vile creatures as Jeffreys and Kirke. Yet I love not your Duke of Monmouth, who can keep a crawling knave like Ferguson in his counsels, and who leaves his virtuous wife and seeks happiness with another fair lady. Were I a man I would follow neither, but be a free lance for the cause of right and liberty!" And the little lady would toss back her ringlets, whilst her face would flush and kindle till I would regard her with admiration akin to awe, and think that a man might well follow such a leader to the death.

But with all her high spirit and courage, she was deeply interested in the courtship of the Viscount and her dear friend the elder Mistress Mary, and confided to me that such a gallant lover was worthy of the prize he had won, though there were few men she had ever seen of whom she would say as much.

"And I trow they had best be quick and wed, even if it be done in secret and in haste," she said one day to me, one bright day in the latter part of May—the last ride (as it turned out, little as we guessed it then) that we were destined to take together; "for I have heard tell that my Lord Lonsdale is anxious to push on his son's marriage with Mistress Edith Portman with all the speed that may be. He thinks that the alliance would be desirable and strengthening for both houses; and the lady is more than willing, since the Viscount is the most gallant youth in these parts. That is why Mr. Nicholas Blewer's suit has been favoured by Lord Lonsdale. He is afraid what the beauty of Mary may effect if Lord Vere ever sees her again. He knows nothing of our rides. He believes his son is forgetting her; but he will not be easy in his mind till one or both are wed. What vile things men are!" cried the little lady, with that flash in her eyes which betokened her headstrong spirit; "they think of naught in the world but their own advancement and their selfish ends! It was told to me, Dicon, by a wise woman, who read my fortune in my hand and in the stars when I was but a tender child, that I should live to slay a man with mine own hands. I trembled when I heard it, and many a time have I lain awake of a night, shivering at the thought; but I shiver not now. Verily I believe I should rejoice to do such a thing were it in a righteous cause. I would it might be the Rev. Nicholas Blewer!" and the maid clinched her right hand and shook it towards Taunton, setting her small white teeth with a ferocity which seemed strange in one so young.

Nor could I greatly marvel at her wrath, for I hated Mr. Blewer as one hates a poisonous and noxious reptile. He was for ever to be seen gliding here and there with his evil smile and stealthy step; and I was certain that he was playing the spy wherever he had the chance. Well did I know that he came to Miss Blake's as much to seek to learn what was passing there as to court Mistress Mary. That the ladies knew or suspected his motive I could not doubt, since in his presence the silken banners were never brought forth, nor was any word spoken of the matters so near and dear to our hearts. He himself would strive to entrap us by seeking to lead us to pass censure on the King or his officers, but we were all resolved not to be thus ensnared; and if cold looks and short answers could have driven the creature away, sure Mr. Blewer would have been long since driven from Miss Blake's parlour. He would have been denied entrance there had the good ladies dared to refuse it; but it was a perilous thing in those days to make an enemy of such a man, and Lord Lonsdale's approval of his courtship made it difficult to exclude him.

As we rode back into Taunton that day—the Viscount leaving us ere ever we reached even the outskirts of the place, since he was very careful never to permit himself to be seen in our company—we were aware of a subdued tumult going on there. Men and women had gathered at their doors or had come out into the streets. Faces were grave and lowering—the faces, that is, of the towns-folk of our fashion of thinking—and one could see that something had occurred greatly to disturb the minds of men.

I dared not pause to ask the reason for it. I feared some disaster had befallen our cause; but my duty to my charges kept me riding close beside them, and, of course, they could not pause to pick up the gossip of the streets, though both must have suspected that something unwonted was afoot. But my curiosity was relieved sooner than I anticipated; for Will Wiseman darted out from a side street at sight of me, and running beside Blackbird at a brisk trot, whispered in my ears the news.

"They have thrown Mr. Vincent into prison!" he said. Now Mr. Vincent, as I have before said, was our minister, and a right godly man, beloved of all his flock; moreover, he was one of those who inculcated maxims of moderation, and patience, and submission to lawful authority—one against whom I am very sure it would be hard to prove either sedition or any other offence. And as I exclaimed in amaze and wrath, Will continued, speaking in the same rapid undertone only just audible through the beat of Blackbird's hoofs, "And they have searched the post-bags here and at Ilminster, and they say that they have found in them enough to hang a score of men in Taunton alone. Dicon, I trow things have gone further than you and I know. The Mayor and Mr. Axe and the gentry have been closeted together this hour and more. Heaven send we be not undone! I would give my right hand to know what they have discovered!"

"I will meet thee anon and hear all I can learn!" I answered in great excitement; "but let me first home with the ladies. I warrant that Mr. Blewer has been at the bottom of Mr. Vincent's arrest. He always hated him with a bitter hatred!"

A fresh shock of surprise awaited us upon our arrival at the Three Cups; for there before the door, looking impatiently up and down the street, stood Sir Ralph Bridges, his horse led up and down by a servant, and several well-stuffed saddle-bags being laid over the shoulder of the man's steed. So soon as he caught sight of the approach of his daughter, he stepped forward and hindered her from alighting, as she was about to do.

"I have come to take thee home, Mary," he said. "Thy place is with thy mother now. Say an adieu to thy companion, and we will get gone. These are no days for thee to be in Taunton."

Mistress Mary looked quickly into her father's rather stern and preoccupied face as though she would fain have asked more. But it was not for a young daughter to question her father's judgment, and all she did was to ask falteringly,—

"Shall I not go to and fro, sir, to continue my studies as heretofore?"

For in other years during the summer months she had often ridden to and fro into the town, as I think I have said, though until to-day she had remained since Christmas beneath the roof of Miss Blake's house.

"No, child," he answered shortly, though not unkindly; "thou wilt remain at home with thy mother. Home is thy place in days such as these."

And in hearing the Knight speak thus, I was more sure, even than when Will Wiseman had been whispering to me, that some unwonted peril was at hand.

I saw that Mistress Mary Mead's eyes had kindled as she heard these words. I read the thought of her heart as well as if it had been spoken in words. The younger Mistress Mary turned and flung her arms about her neck ere she slipped from her palfrey, and I heard her whisper in her friend's ear,—

"It is coming, Mary, it is coming! Heaven send that the cause of right and truth may be victorious! Come what may, nothing shall sever our friendship."

Sir Ralph had already mounted, and after saluting Mistress Mary Mead with courteous good-will, he set spurs to his horse and went clattering down the Fore Street towards North Street with his daughter beside him. I escorted Mistress Mary to her own door and assisted her to alight, and as I did so she said in trembling accents, though it was not fear that made her voice to shake,—

"Go, Dicon, and learn the truth of all this, and bring me word to my balcony to-night. My heart tells me that the deliverer is near. There were fear and anxiety upon the face of Sir Ralph; I am very sure of that. The servants of the tyrant are trembling already. We are thrice armed who know our quarrel just."

With that she turned and went quickly indoors, leaving me with my heart in a flutter of expectation as I led the palfrey to the stable. Will was already there, unable to keep away, and full of the most intense excitement as to what had just transpired.

It seemed that Captain William Speke (the only member of the Speke family who took the contrary side from the master of White Lackington and head of the family) had made a raid on the post-bags at Ilminster—having had notice that suspicious signs had been noted amongst the dissenters of the Western Counties—and had made discoveries which had caused him to send in all haste to the Mayor to counsel him to do likewise. All the Taunton letters, however, had been delivered save eight; but one of these eight, addressed to a certain Mr. Cooke, a good friend of ours, had proved of so incriminating a nature that he was at once summoned before the Mayor and magistrates, and obliged to enter into recognizances for a thousand pounds, and find sureties three in number for five hundred each. Mr. Simpson, Mr. Hucker, and Mr. Herring had willingly come forward for this purpose; and Will told me that they and the Hewlings had gathered in conclave immediately afterwards, and that one of the brothers Hewling had already left the town, though upon what errand he did not know.

"And what was in the letter?" I asked eagerly.

"Marry, that I cannot tell you in full. But this much is in all men's mouths, that it spake of the appearance forthwith in the West of a certain person, and that all the Court party in London are in a most dreadful fear and confusion. It is rumoured, too, that in Scotland the Earl of Argyll is destroying the King's forces right and left. Ah, Dicon, Dicon! With a Monmouth in the south and an Argyll in the north, what may not be done in the cause of liberty and right!"

This was news indeed, and all seemed to confirm it. As Will and I went forth into the streets, we could not but be aware that a great excitement was reigning. The Mayor was hurrying to and fro, and many of his Burgesses with him, seeming scarce to know what he was doing, yet as it were anxious to be everywhere at once to see that the town was quiet. Mr. Axe was likewise walking the streets, but in calmer fashion, and he sought everywhere to persuade the people to remain quiet and orderly. The air was full of whispers and rumours. It was confidently believed that the Duke was nigh at hand. Some said, indeed, that he had already landed, and perhaps might be seen at any moment at the head of a vast army of loving followers marching to the very heart of Taunton.

I knew not what to believe of all we heard; but that more news had reached Taunton than either Will or I knew was more and more evident. We made our way to Mr. Simpson's house, to find Lizzie in a great state of joyful excitement; for she had heard enough to make her quite confident that the Duke was really coming at last. There had been a collection made of money amongst her father's friends—that she was very certain of; and one of the brothers Hewling, she was not sure which, had ridden off with it to the coast, ready to meet the Duke on his landing.

Thomas Dare had had a letter from his father several days ago, in which he had told his son that there had been some trouble in persuading the Duke to take up arms against his uncle. He had been greatly distressed at hearing of his father's death, and had declared at first that, since things were as they were, he should retire into private life, and seek no more to establish what rights he might justly claim. The Prince of Orange had counselled him in this, and the only question under dispute at first was whether the Duke should or should not seek to win distinction in arms by fighting under the Emperor against the Turks, or whether he should retire to Sweden with Lady Henrietta Wentworth, who had followed him into exile, and to whom he considered himself married in the sight of God, and live there in honourable banishment. This course of action had been vehemently opposed by Heywood Dare, who represented to him that all the West Country would rise in his favour if he would but show himself there. Money and men would flow in in streams, so Dare declared he had affirmed, and he called upon his son in strong and eloquent language to do whatever in him lay to get together men and money and arms, that when their deliverer should appear he might find there had been no idle boasting on the part of the citizen of Taunton. This letter had been read with closed doors amongst a select few some weeks ago, and Thomas Dare had been already absent from the town almost ever since, beating up recruits, and preparing the hearts of friends for what might be expected shortly. All this had been made known to-day to Lizzie by her aunt, and she was as full of the excitement as we were. She told us now fully and freely of the seven-and-twenty banners being worked by the hands of the maidens of the school, and how they hoped to present them in person to the gallant young Duke when he should appear in triumph at Taunton, as it was fully believed he would do, and that right quickly.

How our hearts burned within us as we listened! We could not keep still, nor remain long in one place. We were out in the streets erelong, eagerly picking up every scrap of news, and finding that rumours were flying about as thick as hail in a summer storm.

Public indignation was rising hot against the Court and the King. Not only had the arrest of our Mr. Vincent greatly incensed the towns-folk, but there came citizens from Ilminster to tell of the attempted arrest of Mr. John Trenchard at White Lackington House, and how a tumult had been made, and the Sheriffs forced to run without having secured their prisoner. Again and again were old grievances raked up—the scandalous trial of Richard Baxter, not many weeks old; and the notorious cruelty and tyranny of the King.

"Heaven will fight for us and for Monmouth!" men whispered to each other. And indeed I think that it was our hearts that were glad and triumphant, and those of our enemies that were full of fear as the day waned: for the Mayor looked pale and harassed and full of anxiety, I thought; whilst as for Mr. Blewer, he was so hooted in the streets when he showed his ugly face there, that he hastily retired to his lodgings, and we saw him no more.

"Will," I said, as the sun went down, and we felt so little inclined for sleep that the very idea of bed was a mockery, "what sayest thou to a ride across the moorland to-night by moonshine, and a visit to the witch, to know what she can tell us of what is coming? Methinks I shall stifle within doors; but Blackbird and Lady Jane will carry us rarely, and I can loose them, none knowing it, by a little care. Wilt come with me?"

Will simply jumped at such a proposal. He was as loath to think of bed as I was, and he could ride a horse barebacked right well—saddle and stirrups were abominable to him. In the excitement and stir about the inn, I had no trouble in getting the horses out after nightfall; and making excuse of fatigue to my uncle, I stole away as if to bed, but was soon mounted and scudding through the dim lanes by the side of Will, whilst the moon rose higher and higher in the sky, giving us abundant light. The good steeds, delighting in the freshness of the night air, went willingly and easily; and Blackbird, so soon as we had passed the ridge of the hill and were nearing his old home, became as playful and skittish as a young kitten.

But it was not homewards that our steps were bent. The farm-house at such an hour would be fast sleeping, and I had no desire to wake up the sleepers. It was Mother Whale I desired to find and consult, and unless she were abroad upon her broomstick, she would like enough be awake at her fireside concocting her spells and potions; as, indeed, we found to be the case.

Tethering our horses outside, we lifted the latch and went in, the old woman not even turning her head as we did so, but speaking our names, as though she had eyes in the back of her head, and by some occult magic knew every person who approached.

"Good-even, Dicon Snowe, and thou, lad Will. Have a care, Will, lest thou repent thy rashness in tears of blood ere the year be done. What have you come for, boys? What is your errand here? There be fine doings at Taunton, and will be finer yet. But beware the evil eye that will overlook it—ay, and thee too, Will, ere this chapter close."

I do not make any effort in these pages to try to give the soft speech and drawling vowel sounds of our West Country tongue, not having the skill to spell the same word two ways. I can but follow the model given me by the Bible and those works of the great poets I have named, and let those who know the speech of the West figure it for themselves. It takes a greater skill than I possess to set it down here.

"Mother," I said, "we have come to ask thee to read us that chapter. How will the day turn? Which Duke will be England's King? We know that thou canst read the future in the stars, and the cards, and the crystal. Prithee tell us what will betide, and whether the friends or the foes of liberty and religion will triumph."

It was a bold question; but I had not come empty-handed, and I slipped the golden guinea Lord Lonsdale had given me into the witch's palm. She looked at it with glistening eyes. Money was dear to the heart of the old woman, and I did not doubt for a moment that I should get my guinea's worth out of her; for I verily believed that she read the future as I read the page of an open book.

She bent over the pot, crooning to herself, and seeming to take no heed of us; but I silenced Will's exclamation of impatience by a warning sign, for I knew the old woman and her ways, and that nothing was to be gained by trying to hurry her.

At last the great black cat beside the fire jumped upon her shoulder and seemed to whisper in her ear. I confess that a tremor ran through me, for I verily believed that her familiar was speaking to her, and that we were in the presence of some satanic agency.

A minute or two later she threw her arms above her head, and began to speak in detached sentences, filling up the pauses by a strange crooning chant, wordless and unintelligible.

"Blood will be shed—much blood ... but the glory will come first.... A King will rise and a King will fall.... And blood shall run freely, ay, even as from a slaughter-house. Heads shall be lifted up.... Oh, they shall be raised on high for all the world to see!... A brave show, truly! A brave young King.... And he who now sits upon the throne shall die in exile and disgrace."

That was enough for us. We had heard just the answer we wanted, and the old woman lapsed into a silence which no questions served to break, so we bade her good-even, and went forth again into the night.

"The King will die in exile! Dicon, if she be a true witch, we are to see good days yet," cried Will, dancing in the moonlight like a wild thing. "Blood and glory, and the rise and fall of Kings! Ah, heaven be praised that I live in such goodly days! Dicon, Dicon, let us raise a shout for King Monmouth. Hurrah for the good cause and the King! God save him and us all!"

CHAPTER X.

MY RIDE TO LYME.

I returned to find my uncle not a little disturbed in mind.

The Mayor had summoned the Burgesses to meet him in council upon the morning following my visit to the witch; and my uncle looked harassed and anxious upon his return, and paced moodily up and down the passage—a thing most unusual with him—whilst his jovial face looked more perturbed than I had ever seen it before. My good aunt regarded him with troubled eyes, wondering if evil had befallen him; and Meg anxiously whispered in mine ear, asking if I knew what was amiss. But though I knew that all the town was in a fever of excitement and expectation, and that it was confidently supposed that the landing of the Duke was near, I did not know why my uncle should be more disturbed than other men, nor why his anxiety and fear should be greater.

Towards noon there was a great commotion in the streets, and we heard the tread of marching footsteps and the sound of horse-hoofs on the hard road between the houses. Rushing out in great excitement, willing to believe that the Duke was actually entering the town, I was in time to see several companies of the militia, in their gay uniforms with red and yellow facings, marching towards the Cornhill, followed by one company of horse. But, alas! it was plain to see that they were not only not led by the Duke, our expected deliverer, but that they had been brought in to overawe us and keep order in the town, and prevent us from rising in the cause of the deliverer when he should appear. They were led by gentlemen of known loyalty, and behind the horsemen rode Viscount Vere in all the bravery of a semi-military dress. But I noted that his face wore a clouded expression, and there were stern lines about his mouth that I had not seen there before. He rode between his father and one of the Portman family; but I observed that he spoke to neither, and that he wore an air of aloofness and offence that was rather strange to see.

"Uncle, the train-bands have come into the town!" I cried in great excitement, rushing back into the inn. "Didst thou know they were to be called out?"

"Ay, boy, I knew it," he answered, the cloud still hanging heavy on his brow; and then, we being alone together for the nonce, he spoke with more freedom and openness than he had ever shown to me before. "I tell thee, Dicon, I am in a great strait what to think and how to act. I would fain keep out of this struggle and strife. What am I to judge betwixt prince and prince? When the great and learned of the land are at variance, and know not the truth of the matter, how can a simple man who has never meddled with high things come to a knowledge of the truth? I would have none of it could I help it. But the plague of such times is that men will not let you be. Here is our Mayor on one side reproaching me with being a dissenter, and lukewarm in the cause of the King—a matter like to get me into trouble by-and-by should ill befall this expedition of which all men speak; whilst those of the Duke's side trust me not, and fall into a sudden silence at sight of me. And should he win the day, none will have a good word for me with him, nor say that I was forward in his cause. I am like to get nothing but ill-will from both sides, and all because I would fain manage my own affairs and leave those of the nation alone. It is a hard thing that a man should be so ill thought of simply for attending to his own business, and meddling not with matters too hard for him."

Sooth to say, and put in that fashion, the case did seem hard. But mine uncle was something in the position of the ass in the fable with the two bundles of hay. He had been striving all this while to eat of both, and yet to make choice of neither; and the consequence was that he was now in the position of one not trusted by either party, and not prepared to throw in his lot decidedly with either. By training and choice he was a dissenter, and would gladly have welcomed the Duke of Monmouth as England's King. But he was a long-headed and far-sighted man, and did not think that the power of the reigning sovereign would be as easily overturned as his townsmen fancied, wherefore he was fearful of allying himself with them in their designs. He would fain have rested strictly neutral, and that indeed was his purpose; but it was more difficult each day to avoid making open declaration on one side or the other, and he began to see that if the Duke really landed and marched to the town, it would be increasingly hard to stand aloof from both parties.

"If only I knew which way the day would turn!" he said, pacing restlessly up and down. "I tell thee, boy, I would serve the Duke, and be glad to do so; but I am not ready to be ruined for such as he. My business and my goods are more to me than all these questions of kingship and policy. I love not black King James, and I know we may suffer under his sway; but how do we know that we should do better under another? And civil war is a more terrible ill and calamity than a little tyranny and a few unjust imposts. Let well alone, say I; and nothing very bad has followed King James's accession. I like not the thought of stirring up strife. Yet if strife must come, I would fain be found on the right side—if I could but know which that was!"

And by the right side my uncle meant the victorious one, as I very well knew.

Well, it is not of such stuff that heroes and patriots are made. But then my worthy uncle never professed to be either; and a man who has toiled and laboured to get a good business together, and to stand well with those around him, has many excuses for feeling loath to see all swept away for what may seem to him a fantasy or a dream. I could scarce wonder at his words, though I was all for fighting and dying in a noble cause, and was glad that Heaven had not made of me a man of substance, who feared the loss of goods more than the grinding heel of a tyrant usurper. I could afford to feel pity for my uncle's perplexities. I was sorry for him, and longed to be able to relieve him.

"If I did but know more of the feeling of the country!" he said. "I hear such contrary reports. Our Mayor tells me that it is but just in a few places here and there in the land that men are for the Duke, and that the nation at large will have none of him; whilst others say they have full information that the widespread discontent is ready everywhere to burst into a flame, and if the Duke do but land he may march straight to Whitehall if he will, and by the time he reaches it, will have all the nation and all London at his back. If that indeed were so—"

"Uncle!" I cried, struck by a sudden inspiration, "let me fare forth on Blackbird, and reap what news I can as I go, and bring thee word again. Let me to the coast, where the Duke, they say, will shortly land, if he be not landed already; and as I go let me ask news of all men—how things are going all over the country, and what men are saying, and what is doing. I am but a lad. I shall not rouse suspicion, and Blackbird knows not how to tire. Let me go, and I will bring thee word again, or ever the Duke appear, how the chances of the day seem like to go. I will talk with men of every degree. Sure I shall gain information worth the having!"

Now this plan, so congenial to my restlessness and excitement, took the fancy of my uncle; and he forthwith slapped me on the shoulder, and said I was a smart lad and a credit to the family, hunchback or no hunchback. And then he took money from his purse and gave it me, and bid me see well to Blackbird, and make a start upon the following morning, the day being now drawing to its close. He was pleased to think of any plan that might relieve him in some sort of his anxieties. He could remain for some days longer without committing himself to either party, and perchance I might reap information for him which should decide him whether or not openly to embrace the cause of the Duke, towards which his private leanings were.

It was reported that several persons had already left Taunton, and it was shrewdly suspected that they were going forth with the prospect of meeting the Duke. When I went to Master Simpson's shop that evening to tell Will Wiseman of my plan, I heard the Master Hucker had gone, and young Dare, and that he believed his own master would not be long in following.

Will did not know whether any place of landing had been yet settled, but he had heard a whisper of Lyme more than once; and it seemed a likely place, being far smaller and less like to be watched than Weymouth, and much nearer to Taunton, which had the glorious reputation of being the city most in earnest in its loyal attachment to the noble Protestant cause.

Lizzie came and joined us, and said she was certain her father meditated a speedy journey; and hearing that I too was bound for the coast, she became greatly excited, bid me strive to be amongst the first to welcome the gracious and noble Duke, and finally took a ribbon from her neck, and fashioned it into a rosette for my hat. Lizzie and I, I must explain, had for many a day made a pretence of being lovers, and I now felt like a knight going forth on his first feat of arms; so it seemed right and fitting that his lady-love should thus adorn him by her token, as Lizzie had decorated me.

With the first light of the morrow Blackbird and I rode out of Taunton, Will Wiseman trotting beside us for the first mile of our journey, and only wishing that he could be my companion all along.

Glad enough would I have been of his company, but I was not altogether sorry that this could not be. Will had a vein of rashness and daring about him that was lacking in me, despite all my brave imaginings; and on the mission upon which I was bent, discretion was needed almost as much as valour.

I resolved to ride leisurely to Ilminster this first day, which was the first day of June 1685. I should learn from my aunt and her friends what was the feeling in that city. And I meant to join company with all of my own degree, or those inferior to me, upon the road, and glean from them all the news that I could.

In particular I was minded to question all those who came from the Devonshire border. For we knew that the Duke of Albemarle, who was the King's deputy-lieutenant of that county, and his very loyal general, was at Exeter with a fine body of train-bands and other troops, and it was of importance to us of Taunton to know whether he proposed to move out from that city in our direction. One traveller whom I encountered at a cross-road, and who lingered awhile to talk with me, declared his belief that if the Duke were to lead his forces against the person of the Duke of Monmouth, and his men were to see that loved face in the opposite ranks, they would all go over as one man to join him; and that the Duke of Albemarle most likely knew something of the temper of his soldiers, and would be very careful how he brought them into action against the Duke of Monmouth. They did very well for keeping the town and district quiet; but he did not believe they would ever take the field against the champion of the Protestant religion, and against one they persisted in looking upon as their late King's lawful son.

This was excellent news, and sent me on my way glad at heart. If this indeed was the temper of the soldiers against whom the Duke might have to fight, his march would speedily become the triumphal progress his friends had foretold.

Shortly after I had parted from this traveller with expressions of mutual good-will, I heard upon the road behind me the beat of approaching horse-hoofs. Plainly the rider was either in some considerable haste, or labouring under the stress of hot emotion, for he was galloping at a great pace. I pulled on one side of the narrow track which we called a road, and which at this time of year was passable enough, and turned in my saddle to look at him, when, lo and behold, as he approached I saw that it was none other than my young lord Viscount Vere.

Great was my surprise to see him riding thus alone and in haste, and with that same clouded look upon his face which I had noted yesterday; and yet more surprised was I to learn, a few minutes later, what had brought him here. On seeing me he drew rein, and a smile broke over his face which was like a ray of sunshine breaking through storm-clouds, and he gave my shoulder a friendly pat, crying out,—

"Ha, Dicon man, well met! And whither art thou away? Are we travelling the same road? If so, let us join forces. I am tired of my own company and my own black thoughts. Tell me whither thou art bound, and what is thine errand."

I told him all, and he listened to the story of my uncle's perplexities with his gay smile of amusement; but when I had finished he gave me a glance of a different sort, and said,—

"Canst guess whither I am bound, good Dicon?"

I shook my head, for I had been wondering all the while whither he could be going at such a time, when the gentry were all gathered about the city to strive to keep the peace.

"Marry, to join company with the Duke of Monmouth when he lands!" cried the Viscount, with a quick flash of the eyes such as bespoke a mind much disturbed. And upon my uttering an exclamation of surprise, he broke forth with much heat of manner,—

"Ay, they have driven me to it! They have driven me to it with their plots and plans and projects! There is but one way of cutting the knot, and cut it I will at all hazard! My Mary's blessing and sweet approval go with me and rest upon me! I have done with the old life. The new may be what it will, but Mary and Mary's weal are bound up in it, and therefore I fare forth fearlessly. When I return I make her my wife, be the issue of this venture what it may. I saw her last night, and had speech of her; and I care for nothing now, so as I win and hold her love. What is the evil black tyrant James to me that I waste in his cause my youth and my strength, and lose the lady of my choice? Rightful monarch he may be, but a vile creature, unworthy the name of King! I will none of him! I will none of them and their machinations! Henceforth I am my own man, and I win Mary, or perish in the attempt!"

It took me some time to learn from this excited outburst the truth of the whole matter, but bit by bit I made it out. Nor could I wonder at the way in which the young man, badgered and beset, had cut the knot of his difficulties and perplexities. It seems that some treacherous spy had reported to Lord Lonsdale that the Viscount had been seen riding with Mistress Mary Mead in lover-like fashion; that this had so alarmed and angered him that he and his friends had forthwith put their heads together; and when Sir William Portman returned from London a few days back, after having been there for the opening of the Parliament, of which mention has been made, he brought back with him the marriage contract, duly drawn up, for an alliance between his daughter and Viscount Vere, and ever since the young man had had no peace because this contract must be signed, and the marriage celebrated with what speed the times would allow.

Now it is not in my young lord's nature to be brutal; and the lady was as willing and eager for so fair a husband as he was reluctant to have her. To his father he had spoken roundly, but had been treated in a high-handed fashion, as though he were but a refractory boy, and must be reduced to obedience. Yet this is not the treatment which can succeed with natures like my lord the Viscount's, and he had been put into a great heat and anger. Last evening there had been a banquet at Sir William's house in Taunton, and he had been one of the guests. At the board open allusion had been made to the approaching nuptials of the Viscount with Mistress Edith, whose bright eyes gave ready and eager response to the good wishes and gratulations of her friends. Nor could the gentle and chivalrous young lord speak open despite to the lady before her kinsfolk, and do insult to her and to his manhood. But his blood had boiled within him at the intolerable position in which he had been placed; for he had believed beforehand that the banquet was for the officers of the train-bands and the gentlemen who had come into the city to help to maintain order, else he never would have gone.

Being thus trapped, and as it were committed to a match to which he never could consent, there seemed to him but one way out of the difficulty, and that was one to which his reckless, defiant mood inclined him, as well as the knowledge that it would be of all others the measure most likely to be approved by his own true lady. He knew that, let him once be accounted as a rebel, the prudent Sir William would none of him for a husband for his daughter; whilst Mary would regard him the more tenderly for all he might lose or suffer in the good cause. Disgusted by the treachery, chicanery, and avarice of the reigning King, eager after the excitements and the glory of warfare, and keenly moved by the expected approach of one who was looked upon in so many quarters as the deliverer of his country, it was small wonder that the Viscount had flung prudence to the winds, and had resolved to fling in his lot with the Duke who was about to come to the help of the perplexed nation. I had no difficulty at all in understanding and sympathizing with the step; my only regret was that he came alone, and not with a gay and gallant following such as beseemed his rank and station.

But he smiled a little grimly as I spoke of this.

"Nay, Dicon lad," he said, "if I be walking into the lion's jaws, I will e'en walk thither alone, and not bring a luckless following of poor knaves after me. Heaven alone knows what the issue of this day's work will be; but all that I have heard on this vexed question tends to the belief that England will not have your Duke for King, like she her present monarch never so little! If that be so, there will be lives lost and heads will fall—it may be mine amongst others. But no other man shall lose his life through fault of mine. I might have brought a score, perhaps a hundred gallant followers into the field, but I would not tempt one to what may be his doom. Let each man choose his own lot in the struggle. I have chosen mine, but I will be answerable for none other besides."

This speech was not a very blithe one, and showed me well that the Viscount had more fears than hopes for the issue of the contest. Yet having once joined with us, I knew he would never turn back; and I thought that a few more such gallant leaders as he might turn the fortunes of any campaign.

We spent that day in company, my lord and I. At the inn where we baited our horses and refreshed ourselves I passed as his servant, and we both, in different capacities, gleaned all we could from those we met. My lord told me afterwards that he saw small indication of any eagerness on the part of the gentry to flock to the welcome of the Duke when he should appear. They were all for maintaining law and order and the tranquillity of the districts in which they lived; but I, on the other hand, heard from the common people of a great joy and gladness in the thought of the coming arrival, and everywhere it was whispered that the soldiers would desert to his standard almost to a man, whilst every rustic or shopkeeper in country or town would raise a shout for King Monmouth, and fight for him through thick and thin.

Wherefore I was more hopeful than my lord of the issue of the contest, and he listened to me with a smile, and said,—

"Ay, ay, good Dicon, believe all thou hearest, and keep up a good heart; there is nothing like it for making brave soldiers at a pinch. Thinking the day won beforehand sometimes proves the best way of winning it at the last."

But I could see that my lord did not think it won yet.

At Ilminster I persuaded him to accept, for one night at least, the humble hospitality of my aunt's roof. He smilingly thanked me and accepted, for he was always of a gentle and affable nature towards his inferiors. Great was the joy of my good aunt, Mrs. Betsy Marwell, when we rode up to her door and I asked her good offices not only for myself, but for my lord the Viscount, whose gallant air, brave raiment, and nodding plumes entirely captivated her from the first moment, and made her eager to put her whole house at his disposal.

However, he had no following, as he explained to her; and for himself, he asked permission to join us at the board. This was not what my aunt would have chosen, since she would have loved to serve him herself almost on bended knee, I think; but he was allowed his own way when he asked it with such graceful courtesy. We were soon seated together at such a supper-table as methinks can only be found in the hospitable West Country; and my lord was paying his attention to our hostess, and making her beam and almost blush for pleasure at being so addressed by a lord, and such a handsome and dashing one to boot; whilst I did ample justice to the noble repast, and felt proud of my kinswoman and of the manner in which she had been able to receive us.

My lord acceded to her desire that he would remain with her as long as business kept him at Ilminster; and he stayed two nights beneath her roof, winning golden opinions from all who saw him, and leaving us quite sorrowful upon his departure.

I did not accompany him for two reasons: one being that he did not ask me, and I feared to force myself upon him against his will; another, that my aunt was resolved to keep me yet a few days longer. And as I was every day suffered to ride far afield and to pick up all sorts of odd but useful bits of information, I was the more willing to do so. It was quite plain that the Duke could not yet have landed, at any rate upon this coast, or we should have known it of a certainty ere now. I was anxious to be there to witness his landing when it did take place; but I could not well refuse my aunt's request, and so I lingered nigh upon a week at her house, pleasantly assured that Ilminster was loyal to the good cause, although perhaps not quite so fervent and warm as the city of Taunton.

My next halt was at Chard, whither my aunt had sent me with a note to a trusty friend of her own, who gave me lodging for two nights, and put me in the way of obtaining all such information as I desired. I could feel the growing excitement of the people, and I hoped that the Duke would not tarry much longer. Men are apt to grow faint-hearted or cold if disappointment and delay fall upon their first ardent longings. It was now nigh upon fourteen days that we had been expecting tidings of the landing of the Duke, and still he came not.

Axminster was my next halting-place, and here I found the temper of the people very hot and eager. There was an Independent chapel there of some importance, and a martial minister, whose name I cannot recall, who was fervent in the cause of the Duke, and who had given out that he himself would lead forth the men of his flock to join the standard of liberty when it should be set up, and that he would fight to the last drop of his blood in the righteous cause. I heard here, too, all the old stories about the poisoning of the King, and the manifold crimes laid to the charge of James now on the throne. The mind of the people was inflamed against the sovereign almost more hotly than I had seen it yet out of Taunton.