Front matter (continued 5)

Every clause of the Declaration, then, was received with shouts and cries of joy. The long indictment against the present King fell like music on the ears of those who had regarded him from the first with fear and hatred. Enthusiasm was stirred to its highest pitch by the terms of this long document; and the people crowded so close about the herald, that I was glad to get out of the press, lest I should be trodden underfoot and suffocated.

After the Declaration had been read aloud in the ears of the people, a copy of it was affixed in one or two places about the town, where all who could might read it for themselves; and then a proclamation was read which gave great joy to all the people, showing as it did the gentle temper of the Duke, and his anxiety that justice and mercy should always be done in his name.

This proclamation set forth that whereas, to the great reproach and scandal of the good cause, and contrary to the commands and wishes of the Duke, certain lewd and dissolute persons had, under cover of a pretence of zeal, been guilty of acts of pillage and robbery, and in especial had taken horses from the good and peaceable country folk without payment, it is strictly charged that no such acts be committed any more; and that if any person in the future be robbed of aught he possesses, he is invited straightway to repair to the camp, and to lay complaint before the Duke, when justice shall at once be done.

This proclamation gave great satisfaction to all those who could remember, or who had heard stories of the cruel depredations inflicted formerly by the soldiery in times of war, when redress was practically impossible. I will not go so far as to say that this proclamation had the desired effect of putting a stop to all such depredations; but at least it was evidence of the temper and the wishes of the Duke, and was received with loud acclamations of joy and affection by the people.

By this time the day had fast waned; and although the sun was still high in the sky, being nearly at the summer solstice, yet the Duke and his party were fatigued by their long march in the heat, and by the fervour of their reception. So when Captain Hucker came forward to say that he had all in readiness at his house for the entertainment of the Duke and some of his officers, whilst others were to be received by substantial citizens with whom they would find abundant good cheer, the party was glad enough to betake itself to rest and refreshment; and the good folks from the outlying districts, who had ridden in to see and welcome the Duke, now hastened away to get their horses, and to leave the crowded town.

I heard Captain Hucker invite the Viscount to the hospitality of his house; but his invitation was courteously declined, Lord Vere saying quietly that he had business of his own to see to.

I guessed that that business had somewhat to do with Mistress Mary, nor was I surprised when presently he came and linked his arm in mine (in that friendly fashion he was not ashamed to show even in the eyes of the citizens who knew his rank and my humble birth) and said,—

"Good Dicon, thinkest thou thine uncle can find me a bed to-night? I have not slept in one since leaving Lyme, indeed since reaching Lyme. I would sooner lie in his house than in any other to-night, for I must have speech with Mistress Mary to-day if such a thing be possible; and I trow that I shall gain it best through thy good offices."

I knew my uncle would be glad enough to have Lord Vere as his guest. Lord Lonsdale's son was greatly beloved in Taunton, and to harbour him would not be like to do any man hurt, since Lord Lonsdale was known for a very loyal servant of King James, and most like would use such influence on behalf of his son (supposing that evil days fell upon this expedition, which Heaven forfend) that he would escape the penalty of his rashness. My uncle did not desire to hold too sullenly aloof from all the hospitalities offered to the Duke's followers, neither did he wish too deeply to embroil himself with the rising. So that he was very well pleased when I brought back my lord the Viscount, and at once allotted to him the best bed-chamber, and set before him the best viands left in the house after all the feeding and feasting of the day.

I waited on my lord, and when he had appeased the worst of his hunger, he made me sit down and make a meal myself of the fragments; which I was nothing loath to do, having scarce broken my fast since morning, for the excitement and bustle of the day. As I ate he sat thoughtfully toying with some fruit, and at the last asked suddenly,—

"Dicon, is it true that there be many colours worked by the maidens yonder that will be presented to-morrow to the Duke?"

"I trow so, good my lord," I answered, with secret triumph in my heart. "I have heard and seen somewhat of it."

"And will Mistress Mary Mead be amongst those who will present them?"

"Truly I believe it, my lord. Her banner is the best and most beautiful of all, and every stitch her own. Is it like that upon such a day she would be more backward than others?"

My lord's face was very grave and anxious.

"Dicon, I would have speech with her this night. Canst thou obtain it for me? There may be more peril than she wots of in this thing. I would save her from it if it might be. Can I make shift to see her?"

"Why, yes, my lord; I see no great difficulty about it," I answered. "I am always welcome when I go in with news of the day's doing; and after such a day as this I shall be tenfold more welcome. And if you will condescend to accompany me to the house—any gallant Captain of the Duke's forces will be welcomed with honour by Miss Blake. I doubt not that by this she is in Mistress Mary's secret; and whilst I tell all my news to her, you can get speech with Mistress Mary in another part of the room. I see no trouble about it on such a day as this. All Taunton is on the tip-toe of expectation. None bearing news will be denied entrance at such a time."

"Good," answered my lord, rising to his feet: "I will but arrange my dress and wash away these stains of dust, and present myself to Miss Blake, and gain speech of Mistress Mary if it may be."

How gallant and beautiful my lord the Viscount looked when he came down from his sleeping-chamber a few minutes later my poor pen cannot well say. I felt that such a lover might well win the heart of any maid; and I pretty well knew by this time that Miss Blake was in the secret of Mistress Mary's amours, and that she would do everything in her power to bring about the happy union of two such loyal and loving hearts. Any man serving in the army of the Duke would win her regard and respect; and the personal charm of the Viscount could not fail to make itself felt, whilst the romantic story of his love for Mistress Mary, and the sacrifice into which it had led him, could not but touch the heart of any woman, be she never so hard to please. Wherefore I was very sure that Viscount Vere would receive a warm welcome in the parlour of the ladies.

Nor was I deceived in this. The serving-maid, with a flushed and smiling face, admitted us at once into the familiar room, bright with the last flush of day; and there was Mistress Mary still in her white robes, and the two mistresses flushed and exultant, eager after news and ready with the warmest welcome for me, and with words of deep respect and most sincere good-will for my lord, whose appearance in my wake put them quite into a flutter, and caused Mistress Mary's cheeks to glow as though the sunset sky had been reflected in them.

She remained in the deep window seat, and for a while my lord spoke with the other ladies; but presently he made his way across to where his mistress sat, and we at the other end spoke of many things. I told all I had seen of the meeting of the Duke outside the city, and of his gallant entrance therein.

What the lovers spoke of at first I know not. I heard the low tone of Mistress Mary's voice, but not the words, and I guessed that she might be speaking of those fears and anxieties which she had named to me. However, of this I cannot speak certainly. What I can answer for is that presently the Viscount raised his voice so that we all could hear, and said, rather to Miss Blake than to any other,—

"Ladies, I hear that you are to take a bold step to-morrow. Have you bethought you what the consequences may be should the issue of this revolt be other than the well-wishers of the Duke desire?"

"My lord," answered Miss Blake, with an air of unconscious dignity, "we frail human creatures have naught to do with results; those are in the hands of Him who cannot do amiss. Our part is to do our duty, and show forth our love and service in the cause of right and truth and virtue. This we are resolved to do, and no fear of results will serve to fright us from our appointed task. You men can go forth and fight in the righteous cause. There is little that we poor women can do, yet that little shall not be lacking. You would not, gallant sir, strive to deter us from taking our small share in this noble struggle?"

One of the Viscount's strange smiles hovered over his beautiful face. "Madam," he said, with a bow, "after such words as those, mine sound but poor and mean and faint-hearted. But you know that I love Mistress Mary, and that I would lay down my life to keep her from harm. I know more of the forces at the King's disposal than the country folks here seem to do, and my fears are therefore greater, and my hopes less strong, than those which fill the breasts of the citizens of Taunton. If ill betide this rising, there will be evil days to follow; and those who are most known to have taken a part in it will be subject to most danger. I have no right to counsel you, madam; but I have that claim upon Mary which bids me warn her what she is doing. If she carries forth her banner to-morrow, it may be that some hurt she little thinks of now will fall upon her."

"And if it does, what then?" asked Mistress Mary, raising her head, and looking so beautiful in her generous enthusiasm that I could only hold my breath and gaze at her speechlessly. "Dost think, my lord, that it is only men who are willing to suffer and to die in a noble cause? Nay, in so thinking thou dost greatly err, thou dost greatly wrong us women. I would gladly lay down my life for the cause to which I am pledged, the cause of truth and liberty and righteousness." She turned her eyes full upon him as she spoke, and then suddenly the light in them, which had been proud and even tinged with a noble scorn, suddenly softened, and she laid her hand gently upon his arm, speaking her next words in a different key, and with a tenderness that I can never hope to make you hear. "Reginald," she said softly, and in a moment his hand had sought and covered hers, and I think they both forgot just then that there were any beside to hear what they said, "thinkest thou that I would draw back from any cause to which thou hadst pledged thyself? Thinkest thou that I fear any peril that thou too dost share? Hast thou not taken up arms in the same good cause? and if peril threaten me, it will threaten thee also. Shall I fear to share anything with thee? Thou dost know me wondrous little an thou thinkest that. Together we will live, or together we will die. What matters it so that we be always together?"

As she spoke these last words, he raised the hand he held and pressed it to his lips. She did not strive to withdraw it; and we averted our eyes, that we might not seem to see too much of what is infinitely sacred—that mystery of human love which is the mainspring of all the great actions done in the world. There were tears in Miss Blake's eyes, and Mrs. Musgrave was wiping hers furtively. In a low whisper one of them said to the other,—

"Was ever love so true and beautiful? My Lord Lonsdale may rage as he likes an it reaches his ears, it would be sin and shame to strive to part two such hearts. Heaven has made them for one another. What God has joined together, let not man strive to put asunder."

Just at this moment there was a little stir outside the door. It was opened rather suddenly and hastily, and the serving-maid put in her head and exclaimed in half-angry, half-frightened tones,—

"It is no fault of mine, mistress; he will come in."

And the next minute we saw before us in the gathering twilight the lank figure and evil face of Mr. Nicholas Blewer.

Now Miss Blake had ever hated and distrusted this man, and of late days, gaining courage from the approach of the Duke, she had dared to deny him entrance into her house. But I suppose he had to-day found the maid gossiping in the streets, as maids will do in times of excitement, and so had forced his way in, and now stood looking round upon us all with an evil smile upon his cruel face.

In our part of the room there was not much light; but Mistress Mary and her gallant lover sat together on the window seat where the western light shone in upon them, and her white dress and his festal suit of white and blue caught the last of the evening glow, and seemed to stand out against the window like a picture. I saw the sudden change which came over Mr. Blewer's face as he saw who was with Mistress Mary; and there was something in the tones of his voice that made me long to spring at his throat and throttle him then and there, so full was it of covert malice and bitter hostility.

"I trust I do not intrude. I could not deny myself the pleasure of seeing you all so happy after this strange day's masquerade. Doubtless it has seemed to you like the dawn of a new day. But, dear ladies, it were well to remember that all that glitters is not gold. Be not too sure that your millennium has already come. There be strange chances and changes in the fortunes of war.—My sweet young mistress, I must caution you not to be over-rash in the zeal with which you welcome this new Prince Absalom."

He looked straight at Mistress Mary as he spoke these words, and approached as if he would take her hand; but she suddenly rose and slipped it within my lord's arm, and, looking full at Mr. Blewer with a scorn both in face and voice which I think could not well be surpassed, said simply,—

"With my affairs, sir, you have no concern. I never wish to see your face again, nor to hear the sound of your voice. You have been forbidden this house, and you are here only by a trick. Go! I have nothing to say to you. I distrust and I despise you. There! you have my last word."

"Go, sir!" said Miss Blake, taking up the gauntlet so boldly thrown down; "you have ever been a false friend and a spy in this house. Go! and never darken our door again."

He turned fiercely upon her, his face hideous in its cruel passion. "You threaten me, madam! Have a care, else in the days to come you may bitterly repent the slights you have put upon me. My turn will come all too soon for you; see if it does not!—And as for you, proud minx—" wheeling back towards Mistress Mary with flaming eyes. But that was the last word he spoke in that room. My lord the Viscount sprang forward, and stood before him with such a noble anger and scorn in his face that the coward shrank back in affright, as though he feared a blow. But the Viscount's hand was never raised against him.

"Sir," he said, "you are protected by your sacred calling, little as you are worthy of it, and by the presence of ladies. But utter one more word of threatening, and you will be flung into the streets like the craven cur you are. You with impunity thought to insult and intimidate defenceless women. You have made a mistake, and out of this house you go at the bidding of its mistress without more ado. There is the door, sir. If you do not desire to go forth faster than you came in, go! I shall not speak twice."

Mr. Blewer's eyes seemed to flash baleful fire, but he did not pause or hesitate; he was gone before we had time to draw three breaths. The little maid was heard to slam and bolt the door behind him, but came to say that it was awful to hear him swearing on the other side.

"He will do us grievous hurt if he ever can," said Mrs. Musgrave, looking pale.

"He would have done that in any case," answered Miss Blake calmly; "he was always a wolf in sheep's clothing.—My Lord Vere, I give you great thanks for your action in this matter. It is only a coward who dares to threaten women. You showed him in all his cowardice as it was meet it should be shown him. Methinks he will come here no more, and that Mary will be safe from his persecution. That is a good step gained."

"But he will be an implacable foe to you, Reginald," breathed Mistress Mary, softly and timorously, so quickly do the moods of women change. "Oh, I trust he will never have power to harm you!"

"He will harm us all if he can," answered my lord quietly; "but we will not begin to fear him yet. Perchance he may find his own fate one of these days. It may not be given to him to hurt us. And now, ladies, I must wish you adieu. On the morrow, doubtless, we shall meet. We are embarked together upon a somewhat perilous voyage. God grant that we come at last to a fair haven!"

He took Mary in his arms and kissed her before us all, as though he felt it might be the last time. She clung to him half sobbing, half laughing, from excess of joy and sorrow mingled. The next minute we were once more in the streets, and I found myself saying in my heart, "I would that evil man had not come to mar the harmony of our evening. I would that so untoward a thing had not happened."

CHAPTER XV.

THE MAIDS OF TAUNTON.

I dreamed somewhat uneasy dreams all that night, and woke with a sense of oppression on my spirit; but the bright sunshine streaming in at the windows, the air of bustle and gaiety in the streets, the stir and activity of the house, and above all the feeling that my lord the Viscount was at hand to be waited on and considered, all served to put me into a happier frame of mind. As soon as I had performed some of my rougher duties, and seen to Blackbird and the other horses—for the men were as busy as ever with persons arriving to see the events of the day—I got myself into my holiday doublet as on yesterday, and went down to see if I could help the Viscount at his toilet.

But he was already up and out of his room, and I found him sitting in the parlour at breakfast, and my uncle standing beside him, talking earnestly with him. As I entered I heard these words spoken,—

"Thou hadst best go on as thou hast done hitherto, good Master Inn-Keeper. None can say that thou art slack in serving those who come from the Duke; but there is no need to put thyself forward in this matter. The less a man meddles in these affairs the better it often is for him. Do thy business with diligence, but make no profession, and do nothing to draw attention upon thyself. So thou mayest be safe in troubled days. The keeper of an inn is better placed than many; for none can well lay to his charge the sin of harbouring and entertaining rebels. A man must abide by his calling; and it were unreasonable to expect him to inquire into the business and opinions of all who come and go. Guard a discreet silence on these vexed questions, and walk warily as thou hast done hitherto, and thou mayest safely weather the coming storm. And keep an eye upon that nephew of thine, that he adventure himself not too nearly amongst the rebels. He has more courage than discretion, that lad; and it is sometimes safer to cultivate prudence rather than bravery."

But as I came in at that moment and both saw me, the Viscount stopped speaking, and smiled; whilst my uncle gave me a knowing look and went out, leaving me to finish waiting on the guest.

My lord, however, said nothing to me of what he and my uncle had been discussing, but finished his meal in some haste, saying that he must go to Captain Hucker's house to see the Duke, and learn what the day's duties were to be. I could gather from hints dropped by my lord that he thought the Duke was wrong in not pushing more resolutely forward whilst there was no enemy in his path. In lingering first at one place and then at another he was giving the enemy a better chance of mustering against him before he had made himself master of one important stronghold.

We men of Taunton thought much of our town; but, as the Viscount pointed out to me, it was useless for a garrison, since its walls and fortifications had been demolished. Bristol now would be a valuable place, and it was said that it would open its gates at once to the Duke; but unless he moved thither somewhat quicker, it was like enough that Lord Feversham might bring up his troops and intercept the Duke's on the way.

"If Fletcher had been with us, we should not be lingering thus," quoth my lord, as he girded on his sword and put on a plumed hat to-day instead of any head-piece; "but my lord Grey is all for tarrying and prudence, and methinks that this prudence will end in disaster erelong."

So the Viscount went off down the street on foot, followed by the admiring glances and the reverences of all the people. He replied to these very courteously; but I was grieved that all the brave show at Taunton and the welcome received did not make him more hopeful of the result of the great rising. However, there was but little time to think of these things, for already a mighty muster of towns-folk was assembling about the open space at our corner, and I well knew for what purpose they had thus assembled, and was in no mind not to be in the foremost rank of the spectators.

Will Wiseman came pushing towards me at the last moment, wriggling himself through the crowd like an eel, till he stood flushed and panting by my side.

"I would have come earlier," he said, "only I was called upon by so many to read them the Declarations of the Duke, which can be seen and read by all who know how. I have been at it this past hour. They be never satisfied, these good folks. As fast as one lot goes, another comes up to hear. But I say, Dicon, what has happened to our good friend and preacher Mr. Blewer? He is as yellow as a guinea this morning, as though all the gall in his nature had got into his face. I never saw a more spiteful and evil countenance in all my life. He came down the street, the people hooting him, albeit without offering him any indignity; and I asked him as he passed if it would please him to hear the Duke's Declaration, since I had not seen him at the reading in the Cornhill yesterday. He gave me such a look as would have turned milk sour in the pans, and he told me I should rue the day that I had chosen to insult him. He is an evil hound, and methinks he must be possessed of a devil. When the Duke comes into his own, I hope he will rid the country of such pestilent knaves. I would hang every one such at the cross-roads in chains, to be a warning and example to their fellows."

I whispered to Will the story of last night; to which he listened with infinite relish, and slapped his thigh in ecstasy to think how Mr. Blewer had been ejected from Miss Blake's house by the Viscount.

"Marry, but he will do him an ill turn if he can," he remarked, more gravely, at the end. "Dicon, I almost wish I might make an end of that vile man. I verily believe he will do one of us a hurt else."

But I shook my head. I could not counsel Will to commit a crime, even to save ourselves from possible peril. Perhaps he would meet the due reward of his evil ways without any act of ours.

And now the clocks were striking ten, and all other sounds were merged in the silence of expectancy, as upon the last stroke the door of Miss Blake's house opened slowly, and straightway there marched forth first the two schoolmistresses, clad in such a fashion as was appropriate to their years and calling; and after them more than a score of young maidens, all in white, headed by beauteous Mistress Mary; and each of these damsels bore in her hand one of the colours wrought by their united skill. Now at sight of this goodly procession the people broke into loud cheering, for the thing was one in which almost all had had a share; and though the dainty needlework was the handiwork of the maidens, yet the wherewithal had been found by the towns-folk, and the colours were borne by their own daughters and sisters and kinswomen: so that it was no wonder the whole place had turned out to see, nor that the appearance of the white-robed procession should be hailed with such a shout of welcome.

Miss Blake came first, and she carried no colour, but a small and curiously-bound Bible, and a naked sword with a finely-tempered blade and a hilt set with gems. Mrs. Musgrave waited till all the damsels had filed out, and took up her place in the rear. She carried nothing; and the seven-and-twenty colours were borne by seven-and-twenty young maidens, amongst whom were Lizzie Simpson, who looked blooming and intensely happy, Eliza Hucker, and the Herring sisters, and many others whose names I knew, albeit I will not set them down here, as they have no part in my story.

Mistress Mary was by many years older than these other damsels, most of whom were not aged more than ten or twelve years. She walked alone at the head of the procession, just behind Miss Blake, whilst the others followed in pairs behind her. Mistress Mary's dress was of some soft silken texture, very daintily and dexterously garnished with fair embroidery in silver. She wore a flowing veil over her beautiful hair, and upon her feet were dainty shoes of white embossed leather with silver buckles. Amongst many fair and graceful maidens she was fairest of all in her wondrous grace and dignity, and the golden banner that she held took all eyes; for not only were its size and workmanship more imposing than the rest, but the device of the crown and the letters J.R. drew forth first the wonder and then the rapturous cheers of the spectators, as Will Wiseman shouted out, "J.R.—Jacobus Rex. Long live our new King James!" And although the people were half afraid to take up the cry themselves, yet they shouted might and main as the white-robed throng moved onwards, and following close in their wake, escorted them up to the door of Captain Hucker's house, where it was well seen that their coming was expected.

Gay as were all the houses in Taunton that day, it seemed as though the climax of welcome had been reached here. Flags floated from all the windows. Every window-frame was wreathed with garlands or greenery. The balconies were hung with crimson cloth. There was a great triumphal arch over the door, and to-day there had been laid down in the street before the porch one of those great carpets which were beginning now to be brought by merchants from the East, and which were said to cost fabulous sums of money, and scarce to be seen save in the houses of the nobility.

This carpet, however, made a little island as it were, upon which the crowd did not dare to set foot, but stood respectfully round to witness the proceedings in which such keen interest was taken.

Upon the approach of the ladies, the Duke appeared upon the top of the flight of steps leading up to the door, and with him were assembled a number of his officers and gentlemen, who stood behind him, but in view of the spectators. Miss Blake stepped forward with her book and her sword, and her maidens arranged themselves with simple and unconscious grace in a semicircle round her.

I would that my memory would serve me as well in recording the speech of the lady as it does in presenting before my mind's eye the spectacle of so much youth and beauty and virtue all gathered together to do honour to the champion of a noble cause. But although I know that the speech lacked neither in grace of diction nor in skill of delivery, all that I can remember of it was that Miss Blake besought the Duke's acceptance from his loyal town of Taunton of these colours for his army, telling him that every stitch had been set with a prayer for his success or an aspiration for the cause of liberty. And then when the maidens had waved their banners, and the crowd had raised such a shout as must I think have been heard a mile away, she proceeded to present the sword and the Bible, saying that it was for the sake of the true faith and liberty to read the Word of God and study it each in the way which was most acceptable and comprehensible that they welcomed him here to-day as a messenger from on high. She also added that with the sword he was begged to defend the Bible, so that his loyal subjects and followers might enjoy the blessings of peace, and cease to tremble before the ever-increasing faction of Popery, which had been raising its hydra head menacingly ever since the new King had sat upon the throne.

There was another tremendous outburst of cheering at that, and the Duke appeared transported by enthusiasm and ardour.

Making a step forward, he met the lady half-way up the flight, and taking from her hands (which he proceeded to kiss with courtly reverence) the sword and the book, he held both up before the eyes of the people and proclaimed in a loud voice,—

"Brave men and my very good friends and citizens of Taunton, I stand here amongst you pledged to a noble cause; and these two gifts which have been placed in my hands are fitting emblems of the work which shall be done, God helping the righteous cause. With this sword will I fight for the liberties of all subjects of this realm. I come now into the field with the set purpose to defend the truths contained in this book, and to seal it with my blood should there be occasion for it."

At the sound of these brave words women broke into weeping and blessing, and men into lusty shouts and cheers.

"God save the Duke! God bless and protect our noble Duke! A Monmouth! a Monmouth!" shouted the crowd.

The Duke bowed his thanks, saluted the lady once again, and pressing to his heart the book, gave it reverently into the keeping of one from the house, who carried it indoors. At the same time the Duke's charger was brought up just beyond the ring of white-robed maidens; and still holding the sword in his hand, he sprang gallantly upon its back, whilst at the same time his gentlemen stepped down and presented each his hand to one of the maidens, who remained standing with the colours as before.

Lord Grey was the first, and he gave his hand to Miss Blake, who was, in spite of her years, a personable lady, with much grace of bearing, and with fine eyes and good features. Lord Vere followed next, as his rank warranted, and gave his hand to Mistress Mary, whose face was dyed with a beautiful blush. Other gentlemen and officers followed, and each led by the hand one of the smiling maids, all of whom looked brimming over with joy and pride at the grandeur of their escort, and the brave show that was being made.

The procession having thus re-formed, and being headed by the gallant Duke, who kept his horse at a foot's pace, and paraded slowly onward, so that the crowd might drink its fill of the gay spectacle, proceeded leisurely onwards through the streets in the direction of the meadows where the troops had encamped for the night; and when we arrived there we found them all drawn up in companies, presenting, in spite of all drawbacks in the matter of arms and accoutrements, a right goodly and imposing show.

Colonel Wade had seen to this part of it, and had taken care to have in the foremost rank those men who were possessed of uniforms and proper arms, so that to our unaccustomed eyes the whole rank and file of the great army (for to us it looked mighty indeed) was as grand and as gay as the band of gentlemen surrounding the person of His Grace.

Three thousand men had come with the Duke to Taunton; but I think that five thousand must have already assembled beneath his banner in those meadows. I know that when he marched forth a couple of days later, it was with an army seven thousand strong. Every hour fresh men were pouring in, the militia deserting to him as fast as opportunity permitted. Truly it was an inspiriting and invigorating sight that greeted our eyes as we reached the meadow in the wake of the gallant procession of chivalry and beauty; and when the Duke rode from rank to rank, allotting the colours, and telling his soldiers the story of how they had been made and presented, the shouts and cheers that rang forth will scarce be forgotten by any that heard them; and the maidens received a right gallant thanksgiving from the soldiers, albeit somewhat noisily expressed.

A great concourse had gathered from far and near to behold the spectacle, and as I moved about the field my eyes were attracted by the flutter of a white kerchief. Looking more attentively at the owner of it (for it appeared to me to be waved with a purpose, and that to catch my eye), I saw beneath the closely-drawn hood, which almost hid her features, the bright eyes of Mistress Mary Bridges, albeit she was dressed in so homely a fashion, with a long grey cloak covering her gown, that, seated on a pillion as she was, behind a stout fellow who looked like a countryman, I should never have known her had it not been that I looked at her very closely.

Seeing that she had caught my eye, she waved her kerchief again, and I made my way up to her side as fast as I could.

"Mistress Mary," I whispered, wonderingly, for I knew her father to be a stanch supporter of the King in London, "how come you hither?"

"Hist, Dicon, thou wilt not betray me! I knew not how to keep away when all the world said there was such a brave show to be seen here, and I knew well what it all betided. I felt that I must see somewhat of it. I must see the Duke with mine own eyes, else I should never rest satisfied; and so I sallied forth in my long cloak and hood, and found my good foster-father going to the town. I made him take me up behind, and here I be. Dicon, the Duke is a right gallant gentleman, and I marvel not that the people love him. I would fain raise a shout for him myself. But yet I fear me that ill will come out of this day's gallant show. Dicon, I would whisper something in thine ear."

I came yet nearer still, and Mistress Mary leaned down to speak so that none could hear what was said.

"Dicon," she whispered, "when I hear them talk at home of what is like to follow this rising of the people if the King's troops are victorious, as my father says they will be anon, my heart is heavy with fear for those I have come to love in this town, and above all for my beautiful and beloved Mary Mead. Dicon, thou knowest that her banner is, of all others, like to give offence. It may be that she will be in greater peril than the rest. But be the peril what it may, I will give my right hand sooner than harm shall befall her. Dicon, thou lovest Mary, dost thou not?"

"I would lay down my life to save her!" I answered, with sudden energy. "Twice over would I give my life—once for love of her, and once for the love I bear my lord the Viscount, whose heart is bound up with hers."

Little Mistress Mary eyed me with approval. She too thought of the Viscount almost as I did, and regarded him as a very proper lover for her beloved friend.

"Dicon," she went on in a low tone, speaking in my ear, "thou dost know my home at Bishop's Hull, on the road to Wellington?"

"Yes, Mistress, I know it."

"Dost thou know the lane which leads into a thick wood, and a very marshy tract some two furlongs before you reach the gate to the house?"

"Yes; I have seen it, but never pursued it."

"My foster-parents have a cottage in that copse, so cunningly hidden, and so surrounded by the marshy land, that none save those who know the rights of the way can reach it save with great trouble and difficulty. I lived in that cottage for three years, my parents being absent, and my good foster-mother as good as a mother to me. I know every foot of the ground. My foster-mother will do anything that I ask her; and if peril should ever menace my Mary, take her thither without delay. She will be as safe hidden there as though the earth had opened to swallow her up. I have spoken to her of it, and she is ready and willing. No human foot ever invades the environs of their cottage, and the good folks themselves are retainers of my father, and safe from all chance of harm. Remember that Mary will be safe there, should harm come of this, should hurt menace her. It is in part to tell thee as much, and to give thee this charge, that I have made such shift to come hither to-day."

"Let me come back with you, Mistress Mary, and see the place," I answered her eagerly, for after the look I had seen upon Mr. Blewer's face only yesterday, I did truly think that Mistress Mary might stand in need of an asylum of refuge, even did the political storm pass by without hurting her; and the notion pleased the little lady well. I was on foot, but the distance was not great; and though the worthy countryman had to go into the city on his master's errand (he had not come to see the show, but had seen it, as it were, by an accident), he was glad to put his young mistress in my charge (the Snowes were well known and trusted throughout the countryside), and get her safe out of the throng. So when he had set her down a hundred yards away from the outskirts of the press, he bid us adieu and rode for the town; whilst Mistress Mary and I made our way by by-paths to the thick copse standing in the marsh (now almost dry after the long drought), and I was shown by what way the cottage could be approached even in the wettest season. We were made welcome to a homely dinner by Mistress Mary's foster-mother, who listened eagerly to all my tale of the Duke and the reception he had had, and promised to care for and hide and befriend Mistress Mary Mead, should ever the time come when she needed help.

CHAPTER XVI.

"THE TAUNTON KING."

Now although everything had looked so bright and gay since the arrival of the Duke at Taunton, and though his reception had been so cordial, and we unlettered folk began to think the cause already won, yet there were signs which to better-informed minds were ominous and discouraging; and it was noticed even by ourselves that from time to time a look of sadness would cloud the Duke's face, whilst for a few moments he would be lost in thought, and only rouse himself by an effort to respond to the joyous cheering of the crowd.

And not to be further tedious, I may as well state at once what was the main cause of this anxiety, and why it was that even thus early a presage of coming disaster seemed to fall upon the Duke.

When first it had been put into his mind to invade England in the cause of liberty and justice, he had strenuously refused, saying that he had had enough of the strife of factions, and that since his father had left him no charge, he would henceforth remain as he was, a private gentleman, leading a private life in some foreign city. But he had been persuaded that half England would join his standard if he did but show himself, that it was his duty to assert his rights and stand forth as the champion of the rights of the people; and when the Earl of Argyll had sailed for Scotland to stir up a rebellion there, he had promised to follow to England in a few days, and gather round him there all who would join the cause of liberty and Protestantism.

Nevertheless he had passed his word to the Earl that he came not as King, but as the supporter of the Commonwealth, and that it was some such form of government that he should establish were he to be successful. It will be remembered that in the Declaration made first at Lyme, and afterwards read in other places, it was fully stated that he did not insist upon his title as yet, but left that matter to be decided by a Parliament fairly chosen from the people; although he declared that he was a legitimate son of the late King, and could prove as much should need arise.

Directly upon his landing, as I have been told, there were those about him who desired that he should cause himself to be proclaimed King; but he refused, saying that it was contrary to his pledges and to his Declaration—which no man could deny.

But many days had now passed, and instead of the whole of the West Country flocking to him in a body, only the humbler amongst the people had come forward. Not one single gentleman with a following of servants and retainers had placed himself under his standard. The Viscount was the only man of rank who had joined him since his landing, and he came alone and unattended, in defiance of his father's wishes and conviction, and more from personal desire to be quit of the perplexities of his position than from sympathy for the cause. Rustics and yokels came flocking in, as has been shown, and the militiamen likewise by hundreds. But it was too significant a fact that the gentry stood absolutely aloof; and even Mr. Trenchard, who had made brave promises beforehand, and who was known to be forward in the cause of liberty, had betaken himself suddenly to France—a thing which had caused the Duke not a little discomfort and sorrow.

Soon after his landing, two messengers had come in hot haste from London with the news that things were ripe for a revolt there, and that Colonel Danvers was only waiting for the signal of the insurrection in the West to raise the whole city in the Duke's favour. This, together with the expectation, everywhere rife, that Cheshire was on the point of breaking into open rebellion, had cheered his spirits greatly, as had also the brave reception he had met on his route to Taunton. But nothing more had been heard of the rising in London. Many of his followers, who best knew the character of the man, told him plainly that Colonel Danvers was a time-server and hypocrite, and that no reliance could be placed upon him; whilst as day after day went by and still no men of any mark came forward, every person about him began to feel that matters were growing serious.

I have to explain all this at some length in order to make it to be understood why, after his declaration to the contrary, the Duke at last permitted himself to be proclaimed King, to the great joy of the citizens of Taunton, who had desired it from the very first.

It was urged upon him vehemently now that the reason why the gentlemen stood aloof from his cause, even whilst heartily hating and distrusting the reigning King, was partly because they hated the name of Commonwealth even more, and would not take up arms in any cause that did not promise the continuance of the monarchical system; partly because, as things were now, there was too much peril for his followers, and that in case of disaster they were all dead men.

Now at first sight it may seem strange that such should be the case. One might naturally suppose that the peril would be greater to those who followed him (in the case of defeat) if he had proclaimed himself King; but men who understood the law said that this was not so. And they further explained their words to the unlettered by telling us that there was a statute made in the reign of King Henry the Seventh (who, it will be remembered, obtained his crown by force of arms) sheltering all those persons who should obey a king who was king de facto, as it was termed, even though he should not be a king de juro. And I understand by this that a king de facto is one who, like the Duke, comes with a great following, and for the time being proclaiming himself king, and being obeyed as one, does exercise royal prerogative, although in law he may be no monarch, and may never live to wear a crown. If therefore those who obey such a king could shelter themselves behind this statute, it would naturally give men courage to join the standard. For instead of being considered mere rebels following an obscure insurrection, they would be following one who was for the time being their king.

This is what was argued upon one side, whilst others said that if the Duke once took such a step he would make the breach between himself and his uncle irreconcilable, and seal his own doom in case misfortune attended him. But the Duke answered to such words that for himself he cared nothing, that his desire in all things was to do what was right and best for his followers, and that he would abide by the counsel of the majority of his advisers.

There were other matters to discuss also to-day in the council of war which was held after the grand spectacle of the giving of the colours which I have described. It was now known that the Duke of Albemarle was following hard after the rebel army, and that he was either at Wellington or not far away. Scouts had even come in to say he was marching upon Taunton, but that had proved untrue. The question arose as to whether the Duke's army should march back and give battle to him as early as possible, or march on towards Bristol, which, if once captured, would be a weighty prize in the hands of the party; for it would give him a basis of operations which he never could have so long as no garrison town was in his hands.

Whether what was decided was wise or the reverse, I cannot say, having no knowledge of such matters; but I was told by the Viscount that evening, when he returned to his quarters from the council, that it had been decided to march in a northerly direction, and that probably the move would be made on Sunday. It was now Friday night, and when I asked why not to-morrow, since time seemed of much importance in these matters, one of his curious smiles passed over the Viscount's face, and he replied significantly.

"To-morrow is needed for another matter. To-morrow will give to us a new King James."

Then, with a thrill of intense excitement, I realized what was about to happen, and I quickly ran out into the streets to spread the news. It was known already in many quarters, and the town was alive with citizens all crowding together and talking of the coming event. Nothing but approval reigned in Taunton. We were proud to think that our town would be honoured by being the one in which the new King should be first proclaimed. Mistress Mary Mead's banner, although her own workmanship and design, did but reflect in its legend the feelings and opinions of the citizens.

All night long the good folks were up, renewing the wreaths in their windows, and adding to the festive appearance of their city. And when soon after break of day the heralds went about giving notice that all loyal subjects were invited to attend at the Market Cross in the Cornhill to the proclamation to be made, the press of people gathering there was almost greater than even upon the day previous; whilst the windows which gave upon the place were crowded to suffocation, and the city seemed again to have gone mad with joy.

Several magistrates were there as on Thursday, wearing their gowns, and striving to conduct themselves in such a fashion as should give no cause of offence to either side. I believe they were forced out of fear to be present, lest they should be torn to pieces by the populace; but it was against the grain with many to appear, and as soon as they were able they withdrew, and hid themselves in their houses so long as the new King remained in the city.

The Duke was mounted upon his charger, and surrounded by his small band of gentlemen, as usual. His face was pale, I thought, and although he returned the vociferous salutations of the crowd with his usual courtly grace, I thought there was an air of anxiety and restlessness about him, and in my heart I doubted if he himself desired this honour which was thrust upon him.

Places of honour near to the Duke and his cortége had been reserved for Miss Blake and her white-robed maidens, who appeared once more before the eyes of Taunton. I noted that Viscount Vere shifted his position a little so that he stood very close to Mistress Mary Mead, and I think that they had some minutes of conversation together from time to time. At any rate their eyes must often have met, and I suppose that the language of the eyes is often full of eloquence, and says as much as the tongue can do.

After a great blowing of trumpets and the usual preliminaries, the proclamation was read in loud tones by Mr. Tyley, who stood upon the steps of the Market Cross to do so; and whilst he read a deep silence fell upon the listening crowd, who drank in every word with eager avidity:—

"Whereas, upon the decease of our Sovereign Lord Charles the Second, the right of succession to the Crown of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, with the dominions and territories thereunto belonging, did legally descend and devolve upon the most illustrious and high-born Prince James Duke of Monmouth, son and heir apparent to the said King Charles; but James Duke of York (taking advantage of the absence of the said James Duke of Monmouth beyond the seas) did first cause the said late King to be poisoned, and immediately thereupon did usurp and invade the Crown, and doth continue so to do: We therefore, the noblemen, gentlemen, and commons at present assembled, in the names of ourselves and of all the loyal and Protestant noblemen, gentlemen, and commons of England, in pursuance of our duty and allegiance, and for the delivering of the Kingdom from Popery, tyranny, and oppression, do recognize, publish, and proclaim the said high and mighty Prince James Duke of Monmouth our lawful and rightful Sovereign and King, by the name of James the Second, by the Grace of God King of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith.

God save the King. Proclaimed at Taunton, the twentieth day of June 1685."

What cheers and shouts went up from the people as the last words were read!

"God save the King!"—"God save the King!" Men shouted themselves hoarse, women fell a-weeping, and thanked God aloud amid their tears for sending them such a deliverer. Children, held aloft in their fathers' arms, flung posies and wreaths at the feet of the newly-made King; whilst Miss Blake, at the head of her pupils, stepped forward to claim the privilege of being first to kiss the hand of royalty.

All the maidens followed in turn, and the King, after permitting each to kiss his hand, saluted them upon the cheek, as was the custom of the day, though from royalty a marvellous condescension. Then after the white-robed procession of virgins had retired within their own doors, followed by the cheers and good wishes of the people, the Duke was beset by a loving crowd of men and women, all desiring to kiss his hand and do homage to him; whilst from the church towers the bells pealed forth, and that very day in the evening service he was prayed for as King. Mothers with children afflicted by the King's Evil brought them to him to be touched, and I heard that many were thus cured in a few days, though I speak from hearsay and not of mine own knowledge, having more to think of than the matter of the children.

Our hearts were made glad to-day likewise by the arrival of Colonel Basset, one of Cromwell's captains, who came in with a company that he himself had raised. This looked indeed as though good were to come out of this step; yet men said that the Colonel looked ill pleased when he heard of the proclamation just made, being far more in favour himself of the setting up of a Commonwealth.

Thus it may well be seen how hard it is to please all men; and every step gives offence in some quarters, however it may be desired in others.

Another man of some note who joined the Duke here was one Colonel Perrot, from Southwark near London. Men whispered of him that he had been concerned in that extraordinary attempt of Blood's upon the crown and regalia; but as I know not the details of that story, and as it has no concern with the present narrative, I will say no more of it. Colonel Perrot was warmly welcomed, and thought to be an addition to our staff of officers; of which, indeed, we stood in need, so many thousands of common people having flocked to the standard at Taunton.

And now the Duke, being proclaimed King, and so acknowledged throughout the town, sent forth almost at once other proclamations which were eagerly read by the people. The first set a sum of money upon the head of the usurping James of York; the second declared the present Parliament a seditious assembly; a third commanded all men to refrain from paying any taxes levied by the Duke of York; and a fourth declared the Duke of Albemarle and many others rebels, and authorized all loyal subjects to wage war upon them till they were destroyed.

Each proclamation was received with enthusiasm and joy by the people, and Will Wiseman was kept busy until his voice gave out in reading them to all who desired to hear. Such bold words seemed to augur success; and as we said one to another, the Duke would not make such sounding phrases, nor breathe forth such threatenings and slaughter, did he not know himself prepared to carry on the war to a successful issue.

It was soon known also that our King had sent letters both to the Duke of Albemarle and to Lord Churchill commanding them to lay down their arms; and we did not doubt that this would greatly perturb and alarm those generals, who must be by this time finding out the temper of the people, and how little they could depend upon their soldiers to fight against their new King.

But the day was not to be one of entire joy and triumph, for as evening drew on there began to be some fresh commotion in the streets; and running forth to see what it might mean, I found people looking scared and grave, whilst women began to cry out,—

"The Duke of Albemarle is coming! We shall be destroyed! Our town will be demolished! There will be a terrible and bloody battle ere nightfall. God have mercy on us all!"

And amongst these cries I heard several whisper, as though half ashamed of their own words, as well indeed they might be,—

"Would to Heaven he had not come! We had at least peace before. Now no man can say what will become of us!"

In a state of some alarm and more indignation—for it seemed to me a coward trick thus to speak because the hour of danger might be near; but then women have no stomach for fighting, and perhaps mean not the half of what they say—I ran towards the field where the army was encamped, thinking I should get the news soonest there. As I did so I met my lord the Viscount coming towards the town, looking grave and thoughtful, but with no haste or urgency in his manner; and when his eye fell on me he paused and smiled.

"Is there to be a battle, my lord?" I cried, panting in my haste. "In the town they say the Duke's army is upon us. The people seem in a sudden fright. Hath aught of hurt befallen?"

"Nothing of grave moment," answered the Viscount. "A few men of ours have been killed not far from Chard, whither they had gone to reconnoitre. They were fallen upon by a body of the enemy's horse, and some were killed, whilst the rest rode back thither post-haste. But the Duke and Lord Churchill are generals of no mean valour, and their close proximity to the town has decided the Duke—nay, I must now say the King" (and a smile passed over his face that was beyond my power to read)—"to leave Taunton on the morrow, and seek to reach Bristol as soon as possible. If we can find entrance there and make it our own, all may go well for the time; but if we fail in that, it were better to face our enemies now at once, than go forward with them hanging on our rear, and Lord Feversham and Colonel Kirke in front."

"But, my lord, how can we fail, with all the country flocking to the King's standard?"

"My good Dicon," answered the Viscount, "dost thou not know that already we have exhausted our supply of arms, and the recruits who would fain join our muster have perforce to be sent back, because we have nothing wherewith to equip them? Hast not heard yet that one of our frigates sailed away with Colonel Fletcher, after the mischance at Lyme, and that the other two have been seized upon by our enemies, and such arms as they contained have all been lost to us? If gentlemen with armed retainers will now join us, they will be gladly welcomed; but for unarmed country yokels—why, we have enough and to spare of such. We are now forced to send them back to their own homes; nor do I think the cause loses much by so doing. It is not with such forces as these that the kingdoms of the world are won."

"But others will join now that the Duke is made King!" I cried eagerly, having heard some of the reasons for that step.

"We shall see," answered the Viscount, with his peculiar smile. "At present it seemeth to me that we have succeeded in disgusting the advocates of Commonwealth and republican opinion without winning those whom we have sought."

"But, my lord, it is but a few hours."

"Right, Dicon. I speak not from what has happened—-or not happened—in these few hours, but from my own knowledge of the world I come from. A King proclaimed in Taunton forsooth—at the head of five thousand scythe-armed rustics! A wondrous thing indeed! A right royal personage! Dicon, Dicon, methinks the Duke of Monmouth might have won some following, for men are deeply discontented with the rule of the tyrant James; but they will not raise a finger for a puppet-king—the King of a rabble of low-born knaves and varlets! I speak not these words of scorn of mine own self; I do but rehearse what will be the words in the mouths of those gentlemen from whom such brave things are expected. Ferguson, Wade, Hucker—they know no better; but my Lord Grey should have lifted his voice against it. It is a blunder we can never repair now; but methinks it will be the death-blow to the cause."

"My lord, my lord, say not so! All Taunton is rejoicing. All Taunton will stand by His Majesty to the death!"

"Is that so, Dicon? thou wilt see erelong. I think it would not take much misfortune to turn Taunton back to her grudging loyalty to the present King."

"O my lord, Taunton has ever been true to the cause of liberty!"

"Ay, but not to the cause of monarchy. There is the rub. The King is now pledged to rule as a monarch; and methinks Taunton has been dreaming all this while of a Commonwealth."

"But, my lord, think how they greeted the King to-day!"

"True, carried away by love for him, and the excitement of the hour. Well, Dicon, thou mayest know thy towns-folk better than I do. Yet I misdoubt me if Taunton will long lift her voice for her new-made King; and I would that there had been less of pageant within her boundaries, and that it had been some other place which had given him such royal honours. I would that those colours had never been worked and presented in Taunton, and that my Mary had had no hand in the matter."

"Dost think harm will come to her, my lord?" I asked anxiously.

"If this rebellion, or revolution, or what you good folks choose to call it, come to naught, I verily believe that a signal vengeance will be taken by the outraged monarch; and if so, the town of Taunton, thou mayest be sure, will be one to win for herself the first place in the royal disfavour. Dicon, hast thou ever seen the Lord Chief-Justice Jeffreys? He came on circuit not so long since in the West. Didst thou see him then?"

"No, my lord," I answered, slightly shivering at the name of one who was held in terror and execration by all dissenters in the West of England. "It so chanced that when he came I was on a visit to my father's farm. I heard of him when he had gone."

"Dicon," said the Viscount gravely, "if thou hadst seen that man, thou wouldst have felt that thou hadst seen the devil incarnate. If ever the spirit of a devil looked out of human eyes, it does so from the eyes of that man. And, Dicon, he stands high in the King's favour. If a cruel and bloody piece of work has to be done, it will be my Lord Chief-Justice Jeffreys who will be sent to do it. When I think that my peerless Mary may in the days to come be brought face to face with that monster, my blood freezes in my veins with horror. Dicon, I am too deeply implicated now to be of use to her, and she may need a protector in the days to come." He broke off suddenly, biting his lips, as though to subdue an inward agitation, and then he suddenly began again, "Boy, I think that thou dost love me?"

"My lord, I would die for you if I might save you from peril!" And in truth I meant what I said, for it is easy to think and speak of death when the peril is far off. It is another matter when it seems to be looking you in the face; but then I did not know that, and spoke in all sincerity.

My lord smiled, and put his hand for a moment on my shoulder—a thing which sent the blood tingling through my veins.

"I ask none such sacrifice as that, good Dicon," he said. "My life is of none such great value; yet I believe in thy good-will, boy, and I thank thee for it. Thou lovest me, I know well, and methinks that thou dost love my gentle lady too?"

"My lord, I would die for her too," I answered, not able to think of any other way of expressing the devotion I felt.

"Good," he answered; "to die in such sweet service would not, methinks, be hard. Yet I would not have thee die, good Dicon, but live to serve and perchance to save her. Boy, I lay this charge upon thee; and if thou lovest me thou wilt perform it faithfully, in so far as it may be possible. When the issue of this insurrection is known, and if that issue be disaster to this new King's cause, and that peril threaten Taunton and Mary, and I am unable to help or succour her, then do thou watch over her with all such care and diligence as is possible to thee. Guard her from harm if such a thing may be; and strive at all risk to save her from the evil power of Mr. Blewer, if he should seek (as is like enough) to advantage himself by the winning of her hand and her fortune when there be none to defend her from him. It may not be possible, Dicon, that thou canst do this; yet thou hast a shrewd wit, and thou livest so nigh at hand that thou mayest be able to contrive what another could not do. Wilt thou at least take this charge from me, and seek to fulfil it by every means in thy power?"

And with a heart swelling with pride and devotion I answered, "I will, my lord."

CHAPTER XVII.

ON THE WAR-PATH.

"Uncle, I cannot help it! I will do nothing to injure any who bear my name! I will change that name if needs be—but I must go! I cannot stay behind, knowing nothing of what is happening save what the voice of rumour whispers. I must see and know for myself. None shall be hurt through me. But prithee let me go. It may be that I will be able to send thee word of things that thou wouldst fain know. Hinder me not, good uncle, for needs must that I fare forth with the King!"

My uncle regarded me reflectively and gravely, as I poured forth these words early upon the Sunday morning that had so little of Sabbath stillness in the air. I had been up and about already, although the day was yet young. I had heard that the camp was to be broken up forthwith, and a march made towards Bridgewater. The thought of seeing the King and all his soldiers march away, and of remaining behind in the city a prey to all sorts of fancied terrors, and in suspense as to what might be happening elsewhere, seemed intolerable to me. The fever of war had got into my blood, and though I knew I could never be a soldier, I felt that I must needs see war, or I should die of disappointment.

Perhaps my uncle felt sympathy with me; more possibly he thought that such a hot partisan of the new-made King was more of a peril to him in his house than following upon the path of the soldiers in that mob which always waits upon the steps of an army. There few would know or take note of me. Here I was known by pretty well every one in the city. If I was resolved upon throwing in my lot with the army, I might be in less peril myself and cause less danger to others there than in the town of Taunton. So after steadily regarding me for a while, and revolving the matter slowly in his mind, after his fashion, he answered,—

"Well, well, well, a wilful lad will go his own way. Thou must e'en choose thine own path, Dicon. I will not keep thee here against thy will, but I counsel thee not to run into greater danger than needs must be. We may all be in peril of our lives for all I know ere this matter be settled; and where the greater danger lies Heaven knows and not I. Wherefore take thine own way, but use all prudence and caution. Thou hast a good head of thine own, and quick wits when thou dost use them aright. See that thou walkest as warily as may be in the perilous days that be like to fall upon us."

"I will be careful, I will be wary," I answered eagerly. And in great excitement and joy at having so easily won my uncle's good-will, I ran to tell Meg and Will Wiseman, and then to groom and feed Blackbird, and decide what to take with me in my saddle-bags; for I knew little as to what might lie before me, but desired to be at charges with no man, and to pay for everything that I might need.

Meg, whose heart was almost as much in the cause as mine, gave me some crown pieces out of her store for my needs, and my aunt did the like. I had money of mine own too, and some of this I took; yet I would not dip too deeply into my hoard, because I had a feeling that I must keep it for other needs than mine own. Should evil days fall upon us, and should I have cause to keep the pledge I had made to my lord the Viscount, I might need the golden guineas I had earned bit by bit by my letter-writing, and so forth, and had stored away so carefully these two past years in a secret receptacle of mine own. The silver coins I took with me, but the golden guineas I left where they were. A few groats would go far to keep me; to say nothing of shillings and crowns, of which I had many. But gold might prove a peril, and I would none of it.

Out into the streets I went next, to find the citizens in hot discussion together, and not all of them well pleased at what was doing. There were many amongst them who had confidently hoped that before the Duke left he would have raised up fortifications around the city, have built up the ancient walls, and left there a garrison to keep and defend the place for him.

Colonel Hucker was the centre of this group, and he was speaking warmly in favour of this thing.

"What use to the cause is a city without walls?" he was asking. "Why, if we march out to-day, the Duke of Albemarle can march in to-morrow, and none can let or hinder him!" [And in very truth that was just what did happen, for the new King's army left on Sunday afternoon, and the Duke of Albemarle was in the city on Tuesday, albeit he made no long stay, but continued his pursuit of our army towards the north.] "What we want is to leave behind us garrisoned cities holding for his Majesty. If one King can pull down fortifications, surely another can build them up! Taunton has held her own gallantly in times of war, and has stood notable sieges in a good cause; nor has the temper of her citizens changed. Give her but walls and towers and a few good soldiers to lead and direct her citizens, and she would hold out as gallantly as ever. What do you say, fellow-townsmen? Shall not Taunton be restored to her former glories? Can she not do even as she did before?"

"Ay, ay; that she can."—"Give us walls and soldiers, and we will show the usurping tyrant what Taunton can do."—"Where is the King? Let him but give the word, and every man among us will become for the nonce a stonemason, that we may begin to build our walls afresh!"

Such were the cries of the citizens, and such their enthusiasm in the cause. There is nothing so catching as the martial fever, except it be the panic which sometimes sets in afterwards. But though the zeal of the city was great, the young King could not be brought to see the matter as Colonel Hucker sought to show it him. He said there was no time to build walls—which was true enough—and that he could not spare men to garrison it if it were fortified even in a most hasty and rapid way.

Colonel Hucker, who had looked to be made captain of the garrison and Keeper of the City, was not a little disappointed, and all Taunton with him; but there was too much right on the King's side for us to urge the matter beyond a certain point; and as the Viscount said to me, as we rode out at last towards Bridgewater,—

"If we can once secure Bristol, there we shall have a fortified city at our command forthwith. That is the task we should set ourselves to do without delay. Would that we were already before its walls! These delays will be the undoing of us, I fear. Already has the King in London had ten days in which to muster and send forces out west. Had we been quicker, we might have had a fortress of our own already. Heaven send there be no more such tardiness!"

My Lord Vere was one of those men who seem to be soldiers born. He had not had the training and experience of some of the others, including our new King himself, yet it seemed to me that if his counsels had but been followed from the first we should have been marching to victory now, and making the usurper shake upon his tottering throne. As we rode along I could not but tell my lord of the witch we had visited, and of what she had told us. I hoped that it might give him more heart (for I knew by many signs that he thought the enterprise well-nigh desperate), but he only gave me one of his curious smiles.

"A wise woman truly, Dicon, to foresee more blood than glory in this undertaking."

"Nay, but, good my lord, she said that the usurper would die in exile. How may that be, if our gracious King be not victorious?"

"It may be that thou wilt live to see such a thing one day, Dicon," answered my lord, "and yet not see King Monmouth on the throne. Knowest thou not that there be men who have already fixed their eyes upon the Prince of Orange, husband to the King's daughter, as a possible saviour and deliverer? The witch knows more of such things, I trow, than thou dost, boy, in spite of all thy learning."

"The witch hath a familiar who tells her what the future will bring forth," I answered quickly, for I liked not to hear my learning compared with that of an ignorant old woman, who would be nothing without her familiar. And at that my lord smiled again, but said nothing; and indeed I forgot the whole matter next moment, for we saw approaching us from behind, in hot haste, Lord Lonsdale himself, whose face wore a look of such anxiety and pain that I was quite sorry for him.

Now it so chanced that the Viscount was not with his company at this time. He had been detained by some duty which the King had set him to do, and had not been able to leave the camp so soon as the soldiers. This was the reason why, when he came riding after us a little later, he had drawn rein upon seeing me on the outskirts of the crowd of followers, and had paused to ask what I did there, and to gently chide me for my folly in leaving a safe shelter for the uncertainties of war.

It was whilst we were riding together thus in the rear, having by this time left behind the crowd who pressed after us on foot—Will Wiseman amongst them, to see the last of us—that we heard the sound of these hasty pursuing horse-hoofs, and turning round beheld Lord Lonsdale riding apace after us. I thought the Viscount's face changed and hardened slightly as he saw his father; but he drew rein and waited till he came up.

"My son, my son," began Lord Lonsdale, in whose face and voice anger and anxious fear seemed to be struggling together, "what madness, what folly is this? A son of mine to be in arms with a rebel Duke, daring to lay claim to the crown of England! Vere, Vere, you are not like these ignorant rustics whom any one can delude by a specious tale. You know that England will never submit to see a base-born King sitting upon the throne. Be the present King never so much the tyrant, he rules by his hereditary right; and you know that this young Duke has no more chance of being England's King than thou hast thyself. Boy, thou canst not look me in the face and tell me that thy heart is in the cause! I know thee too well for that!"

Lord Vere made no attempt to meet this challenge, although he looked his father unflinchingly in the face for all that.

"Sir," he said, in a low, resolute voice, "your remonstrances come too late. I have unsheathed my sword in the cause, be it a good or an evil one; and honour forbids me to sheathe it again until that cause is either lost or won. You know well who and what drove me forth to break a bondage that had become unendurable. If I give you pain now, it is only because you have driven me to it!"

"Boy, boy, what folly is this! Why didst thou not tell me how thine heart was bound up in that maid?"

"I told you many times, sir, that my heart was so bound up with Mary Mead's that death itself would be preferable to life without her. I said all that a man could say, and my reward was that I was made by strategy to appear in public as the plighted husband of Mistress Edith Portman. It was your hand that severed the bond of mutual confidence which once existed between us. I have no more to say. I follow in the steps of one to whom I have done homage as King."

"Vere, Vere, Vere!" cried the agitated father, almost in tears, as it seemed to me, his face pale with agitation, "only come back with me, only give up this mad folly, and thou shalt wed the girl when thou willest. I will say no word against it. Anything is better than that thou shouldst put a halter round thine own neck. Come but back with me, and all shall be as thou desirest!"

There was sadness now in the Viscount's face—sadness and even a little bitterness—but no sign of wavering.

"Sir, it is too late," he answered. "Hadst thou spoken those words but ten short days ago, I would gladly have followed thee home, and given to thee a sweeter daughter than son has ever given to father yet. But it is too late now. Mine honour is pledged, and not even for the sake of my duty towards you nor my love towards the lady can I lay aside that honour and break my plighted word. Nay, were I to do so my lady would be the first to cry shame upon me. She is a soldier's daughter, and holds honour in more esteem than life itself. A deserter from the cause so near her heart would find no favour with her. She might have let love win the day had I not taken up arms for this young King—"

"King!" breathed Lord Lonsdale, in a tone only just audible, but full of bitter scorn; "knowest thou what he is called—he and his army—by all loyal and honest folk? 'King Scott and his vagabonds' is the name he goes by. My son, my son, to think thou shouldst be following such an one as he!"

The Viscount's face wore a look half sad and half bitter—like his voice when he spoke.

"Yes, it seemeth strange sometimes even to me; but there be strange shifts in a man's life, and a Viscount may sometimes come to be ranked amongst vagabonds. Father," and here his tone changed and became softer, "believe me, I am not ungrateful for your care and thought for me, and it pains me to give you pain. But I cannot go back now. I would things had been different with me; but since they are not—since I have been driven to this step—I cannot and I will not draw back. If you lose your only son by a traitor's death, it will be a grievous sorrow to you, I wot well. But even if things go ill with us, there will be many that may hope to escape with life. Perchance I will be one of these. For my Mary's sake as well as yours I shall make a battle for my life."

Lord Lonsdale would have stayed to reason longer, but his son shook his head as though to say that argument was useless, as indeed it was when both father and son thought really alike upon the question, and only a sense of honour bound Lord Vere to the cause he never professed to believe in with his heart or soul.

"Farewell, father," he said softly, and put out his hand; but the Earl drew back with a look of such pain as I shall not soon forget.

"I may not touch the hand of a rebel," he said; and so father and son parted with more bitterness and sorrow than I like to think of even now.

My lord was very grave and silent for a long time after this, as indeed he well might be, but presently rode on ahead of me to join the army.

As for me, I could please myself what I did and what pace I travelled at. The infantry had gone on in advance that morning, and had covered the distance well. I thought that they would reach Bridgewater easily by nightfall, and I decided that for my part I would stop for the night at my own home and tell all the news there.

I was a little depressed by what I had heard between Lord Lonsdale and his son, and perhaps it had slightly damped my enthusiasm in the cause. I began to see that war could be a very hideous and evil thing, and I almost found it in my heart to wish that the Viscount had consented to return with his father, and marry Mistress Mary Mead forthwith, thus saving both (as I trusted it would) from all future perils. I knew that I loved and honoured him for his words, and for ranking honour above life and happiness, and I well knew that could Mistress Mary have been there she would have upheld him with all the earnestness and enthusiasm of her nature. I was resolved that she should one day hear the story, and know what a noble heart she had won; but just for the moment I was sorrowful and sad, and I thought that the welcomes of my family would prove a pleasant diversion for my grief.

Nor was I mistaken. I found all the house in a great stir, my mother more hot and bustling and excited than I had ever seen her; for it seemed that the Duke (I find it hard to say King as I should; wherefore I think in the future I will still call him the Duke, although for many days we all of us gave him the royal title, and were proud and glad to do so) and his company had paused at the farmstead, and had asked refreshment there. His handsome face and courteous ways had won all hearts. My mother and sisters could talk of nothing but his beauty and grace. They had refused all payment for what they had set before him, and he had kissed my mother ere leaving, and set her all in a flutter of excitement. To have been kissed by a King was an honour which none of her friends or relations had ever received. She felt lifted into a region beyond that of her daily life.

I was pounced upon for news, and made to talk the whole of the day and far into the night—a thing very foreign to our home ways—so that when at last I gained my couch I slept as soundly as a dormouse, and was ashamed to find the sun high in the sky when I awoke.

Although my parents and brothers and sisters intermeddled not with such troublous matters as the rightful succession of Kings, and so forth, their hearts were all for the gallant young Duke, and I received a handsome addition to my small stock of money from my father, who bid me good-speed on my journey and a safe and prosperous return. All the country side in these parts believed that the cause of the Duke would be crowned with glory and success; and it was amusing to hear their stories as to how they had evaded giving any help, and put hindrances in the way of those who were on the royal side, but how they did everything to speed the cause of the Duke.

Blackbird was somewhat heavily laden as we started forth to Bridgewater, for my mother was in sore fear lest I should not find enough to eat on the road, and she would fain have hung all manner of things around my saddle, had I not declared that I should be the laughing-stock of all the army.

Then with many adieus I rode off, and was not long in finding my way to Bridgewater, where, as I have before stated, I had another uncle with whom I was familiarly acquainted.

It really seemed to me as I rode into the town that Bridgewater had striven to outdo Taunton in the welcome she gave the Duke. I heard that already he had been proclaimed King there; that the proclamation had been read in great state, the magistrates in their gowns standing by, and, as I also heard, not unwillingly either. Flags were flying, and windows and balconies were decked as in our town, whilst the faces of the people looked as gay and happy as though no such thing as doubt or fear existed.

I made my way with all speed to my uncle's house, which I found as busy as was like to be on such a day. My kinsfolk had scarce time to give me a welcome; but I set about making myself of use to them, and in so doing picked up many a piece of news of a welcome nature.

It seemed that although the recruits were still of the lower class of the people, much money had been collected for the cause in this place, and that the Duke and his officers were in better spirits on that account, and also because of the warmth with which they had been welcomed.

The citizens and common people were beginning to think scorn of those above them, who showed themselves so backward in the good cause, and to whisper amongst themselves upon the subject.

"We wonder the gentlemen come not in," they began to say. "But we will show them that we can do the work without them; and then when we are the masters we will have their estates!"

That evening, as I wandered through the streets of Bridgewater, I suddenly met Lord Vere walking rapidly and hurriedly, with a preoccupied look upon his face. Seeing him thus thoughtful, I was drawing aside—for I feared to presume upon that kindness which he had ever shown me—when he suddenly saw me and paused.

"Ha, Dicon!" he said, "I was just wondering where thou wert to be found. I want speech with thee, boy."

I was at his side in a moment, eager and flattered by his words.

"The matter is this, Dicon," continued my lord, speaking rapidly and in a low voice:—"Thou knowest enough of matters in the camp to understand that it is of the greatest moment for us to win Bristol. If we fail there, I see naught for it but to be destroyed between the two armies which are marching upon us—the Duke of Albemarle in our rear, and Lord Feversham and perchance Lord Churchill (for there are contrary reports brought in daily and hourly) in front, or marching from the eastward. We hear that the people of Bristol are anxiously awaiting us; but even of this there seems no certainty, for they say, too, that the Duke of Beaufort with a large body of troops has recently come into the city to hold it for the King—the King in London, Dicon—and that we shall find it a tough nut to crack. All agree in saying that if once we can get possession of it we shall find arms and money and provision in abundance, and shall have achieved the first step towards a lasting success. But the question is whether we may find entrance there, and if so what will be the wisest plan of attack; and there be few men here who know the city and have friends therein who may be trusted."

"They say Colonel Wade is from Bristol," I remarked; and the Viscount nodded assent.

"He is; but he cannot be spared from the counsels of the Duke. In fine, Dicon, what I have offered to do is to ride alone, or with but one trusty servant at most, into Bristol myself, to see certain men of the city with whom I have some acquaintance, and to learn how matters be there. I am then to return and advise the Duke what he should do; for never was man so beset before with counsellors all advocating different views, and sure never had general such a strange company of captains under him, scarce a man of them trained to war, and some scarce knowing how to handle arms!"

"You are going to Bristol then, my lord?"

"Yes: I shall start with the first light of dawn to-morrow, which will be shortly after three o'clock; and I have sought thee, Dicon, to know if thou wilt be mine esquire for the nonce and ride with me. That black pony of thine will carry thee bravely and well, as I know; and there be few of the steeds our men have of which I could say the same. Thou hast no air of martial valour to raise suspicion. I shall but appear like a traveller upon the road with my servant behind me. I think we shall not be in danger's way till our errand is done, and—"

"My lord, I would follow you to the world's end, be the dangers never so great!" I cried, my heart swelling with pride that he had made choice of me out of all the company in that great army. "I have been longing this many a day to do some service either for you or for our gracious young King. Let me go with you. I will serve you as no servant would, and lay down my life for you if need be."