"Ha, Francis!" exclaimed Lord Walton, grasping the cavalier's hand with warm eagerness, as soon as he had received the embrace of his sister, "are you here before me? You must have used the spur from Worcester, if your letter left the good town before you."
"I have used the spur, Charles," replied his friend, "on purpose to outrun you, and introduce myself to this fair lady without your assistance. You know I was always the most impatient of mortals, and strange, I fear, she thought me; for I could plainly see that she had never heard the name of Francis Clare before." He spoke the last words with a gay laugh and some emphasis.
"Perhaps not," answered Lord Walton, with a grave smile; "but she must know you now, Francis, as one of her brother's dearest and oldest friends. However, I must send her away from us for a minute, for I have a task for her, sad, but pleasing to perform. I just now found poor Arrah Neil, dear Annie," he continued; "she was sitting by the Bishop's Well, dark and sorrowful, as well she may be. The poor old man Neil is dead. They dragged him as far as Devizes, where the lamp that has burned so faintly for the last two years went out, and the poor girl has found her way back hither. Something must be done for her, Annie; and till we can settle what, she must stay here. I left Langan with her to bring her up; so see to her comfort, sister, for by her dress I think they must have robbed her by the way."
"Poor child!" cried Annie Walton. "I was sure the old man would die. Can these really be Christians, Charles--for a few rash words, spoken in haste, to take a man of seventy from his sick bed?"
"His words meant more than they seemed, Annie," answered her brother; "at least, so I gather from their answer to my application for his release; but see to her comfort, dear girl, and then come back to us, for the poor thing spoke of some evil hanging over me here, and, though at times so strange, I have often remarked she speaks not lightly."
"No indeed, Charles," replied his sister, with an anxious look. "Evil hanging over you? What can she mean?"
"I know not, Annie," replied Lord Walton. "Nothing has happened to cause you alarm, has there?"
"Nothing," she answered. "Dry, of Longsoaken, was here this morning, but he was all smoothness and civility."
"That looks ill," said Sir Francis Clare. "He must be a Roundhead by his name; and whenever they speak smoothly, beware of the serpent in the grass."
"And he is a serpent, if ever the earth produced one," answered Lord Walton, thoughtfully. "Did he speak smoothly and civilly? So, so! What was the object of his visit, Annie? or had he any apparent object?"
"Purely, it seemed," replied Miss Walton, "to ask after my health during what he called your long absence. I told him your absence had not been long--only a week; and that you had already concluded your business with the committee, and would return to-day. So then he left that paper with me, which he said must be marrow and fatness to all well-disposed noblemen like yourself. But, indeed, he seemed well affected towards you, and said, I now recollect, something about the people of Bishop's Merton having encroached upon your land at Sarham, which he should be happy to set right for you, and which he could do, if you pleased, without your name appearing in the matter, so as not to affect your popularity with the God-fearing people of the place."
"Where did he learn I ever feared to have my name appear in any act I did?" asked Charles Walton, proudly. "'Tis but such low and creeping things as he is who do things they dare not own. He had some other object; this is all a pretence. But go, dear Annie; there is Langan with the poor girl: perhaps she will tell you more than she would say to me; but do not press her, Annie, if she be unwilling.--And now, Francis," he continued, as his sister left the room, "first, welcome after so long an absence; next, what is this serious business that you would speak with me upon?"
"Faith, but a little matter as this world goes," replied his friend; "and yet one which would have been considered mighty some ten years ago. Now men draw two straws for the longest, or toss up a crown-piece to know, which party they will choose; whether they will fight for their rightful king or his rebel parliament----"
"Not quite so, Francis," replied Charles Walton, seriously; "With me, at least, the question would ever be a serious one, whether I should draw my sword for the representatives of the people of England, when fighting for the just liberties of the land, or for a sovereign who has somewhat infringed them--even if the case stood exactly as the parliament puts it; but----"
"I am glad you have added those words, Charles," interrupted the cavalier; "for on them hangs all the rest. The king is willing to do ample justice to all men. Granted that he has committed faults--and who has greater cause to complain than I have?--granted that he has had bad advisers--granted that he sacrificed Strafford----"
"A terrible fault indeed," replied Lord Walton.
"Granted that his exactions were unjust--ship-money a breach of the best and soundest laws--the star-chamber an iniquitous tyranny; still these errors were a part of his inheritance; and perhaps, if we looked closely, we should find that our fathers who suffered, and by suffering encouraged such things--who fawned upon the hand that pressed them to the ground--who bowed readily to tyranny whenever it stretched forth its rod--have as great a share of the responsibility as he has who only used the powers transmitted to him by his predecessors. But I came not to discuss such questions, Charles Walton. The king has committed errors; he grieves for them; he is ready to repair them; he has done all that man can do to remedy evils past, and provide security against their recurrence. He calls upon every loyal subject to aid him, not only in defending the throne itself, but the country, from those who would evidently shake its constitution to the ground, overthrow its best institutions, and establish, if not the reign of anarchy, the rule of a many-headed monster, which will, if tolerated, end in a despotism more terrible than any we have yet seen within the land. And will Charles Walton, gallant and chivalrous as he is known to be--will he refuse to obey that call? Or is he, who was wont to be so clear-sighted and so keen, one of those who believe that the pretences of the parliament are true; that they seek but to reduce the power of the crown within due limits, to lop the prerogative of those branches that bore oppression, and secure the freedom of the people, yet leave the stability of the throne? Or does he approve of hypocritical pretexts even to gain such ends? No, no! I know him better."
"Certainly," replied the young nobleman; "I neither approve the practices nor believe the pretences of the parliament. But I have hitherto trusted, my dear friend, though they may be now intoxicated with authority, the exercise of which is new to them, and in their pride may encroach upon both the prerogative of the crown and the liberty of the subject--for I can conceive a parliament to become a more terrible tyrant than even a monarch--yet I say, I have trusted that the wiser and the better members of that body will recover from the drunkenness that some have felt, and the fears that have affected others; and that, at all events, if any dangerous and outrageous exercise of power should take place, those who have never favoured the arbitrary use of the royal prerogative, or the licentious exactions of the commons, may have sufficient weight to counterbalance that authority which is but delegated by the people, and which the people can again resume."
"Fatal confidence," exclaimed the cavalier, with a dark and melancholy look, "which never has been, never will be justified! Yet it is one that in all civil strifes many wise and many good men have entertained, till they discovered, when too late, how cruelly they had deceived themselves; till, hanging between two parties and supporting neither, they saw the one sink lower and lower, and the other, which perhaps they most condemned, rise into power, and go on in evil; and then, when they strove to arrest the course of wrong, found themselves either carried away by the current and involved in wickedness they would fain have opposed, or sunk beneath the torrent with those who endeavoured to divert it while it was yet feeble, and whose efforts they might have rendered successful, had they joined therein in time. Let me tell you, Charles, that in the history of all contentions such as those that now shake the land, there is a time when the balance of sincerity and right is clearly on one side, and that it is then true lovers of their country should