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He sits after supper with a huge goblet of claret untested at his elbow. Leaning his head on his hand he watches his daughter unobserved. Allday she has been busied about little matters for his comfort. He marches to-morrow at dawn, and she too leaves Oxford for Northamptonshire. She was more cheerful. he thinks, this afternoon, and the interest and bustle had brought a color again to her cheek ; but how pale and tired she looks now, bending over that strip of work. The delicate fingers, too, though they fly nimbly as ever in and out, are thin- ner than they used to beâ€"and she always turns her face away from the lump. A father‘s eyes, Grace, are sharper than you think for ; heis watching you narrowly from under his shadedbrows, and he sees the tears mining down thick upon your work and your wasted hands. In the whole of her married life your mother never wept like that He can stand it no longer. “ Gracey,” says he, in his deep kind tones; “ Gracey! little woman! what‘s the matter ‘2" He took her on his knee, as he used to do when she was a little curly-headed thing .and Ihe hid her face on his shoulder, her long dark hair mingling with the old man’s white locks and heard. She clung to him and subbed weaxily, and told him, “it was nothing â€"she was tired, and anxious, and nervous, but wellâ€"quite wellâ€"and, it was nothing." He strove to cheer her up gently and wir- ily,4'vitll a womanly tact and tenderness you could hardly have expected from the war-worn soldier, leading her insensibly from domestic details. to the hopes and" proceedings of the Royalists, and she struggled to be calm, and appeared to lend an anxious earto allhis details. He had 16mg lost his place in his daughter’s heart, though herkuevy it not. A . “ We shall have a large army in the north. Grace," said the old Cavalier ; “and when Prince Rupert has relieved Yorkâ€"and relieve it he will, my lass, for hot as he is, there is not a better officer in the three kingdoms, when his hands are looseâ€"he will efiect a junction with the King. and we shall then be able to Show the Ronndheads a front that will keep their ragged Parliament in check once more. What, girl, we have still Lang- dale and Lisle and the Shrewsbury Foot, and gallant Northampton with all his merry men at his back, not tomention my own' knaves, whose rear-guard you saw march out this morning. I have taken some trouble With them, you know, and they're the best brigade I‘ve commanded yet by a good deal. Why, what said young Bosville when he lay in this very room ?-â€"ay. on the sofa where you always sit at your stitchingâ€"and saw them file past the windows before they were half- drilled. “ Sir Gileé,” said he, “they’re the only cavalry we have that can ride. And there’s no better judge and no better soldier for a yang man than Humphrey, whum I love as my own son. They’ll win your old father his peerage yet before I’ve done with ’em. Fill me out.the claret, my darling, and we’ll drink a. health to Lady Grace 1" HOLMBY HOUSE. She did as she was desired, and he could not have accused her of paleness now. Was it the antmipation of her exalted rank that thus brought the blood in a rush to Grace‘s cheeks ? “ Ay ! if worst comes to worst," proceeded the old knight, after a hearty pull at the claret, “the rebels will be glad to come to terms. I am an old man now, sweetheart, and I want to live at peace with my neigh- bors. When I‘ve had. these new levies in a good rousing fire once and again, and seen the knaves hold their own with Cromwell and his men in iron, I shall be satisfied for my part. Besides. we fight unencumbered now : the Queen’s safe enough down in the West. I heard from Mary this morning by Jermyn, who travelled here post with despntches ; and the Queenâ€"” “From Mary l" interrupted Grace, her face flushing once more; “what says she? Does she talk about herself 2â€"d0es she give you any nuws :7 " “She writes mostly of the cause, as is her wont.” replied Sir Giles, not noticing his daughter’s eagerness. "They have hopes of more men and horses down in the West. Ay, there is talk too of foreign assistance; but for my part I put little faith in that. The Queen’s household is much diminished,â€" that’s a good job at least. I read my Bible, Grace, I hope like a good Christian, and I believe every word in it. but I have never yet seen that “in the multitude of counsel- lors there is safety.” Howsoever. there is but little pomp now in the Queen's court at Exeter. Mary only mentions herself and Mrs. Kirke, and Lady Carlisle, whom I never could abide ; and Dormer and Bosville as gentlemen of the chamber ; and that is all." She spukv in a. sharp tone mud the slender fingers the” rested on her father’s glass clasped it tight around the stem. Grace’s breath came quick and short. She was still on her father’s knee. bnt in such a posture that he could not see her face. Sue would have given much to be able to ask .me simple question but she dared notâ€"«no, she daxed not. She held her peace, feeling as if she was stifled. “The Queen were best on the Coutment, ” pursued Sir Giles, “ and Mary seems to think she will go ere long, taking her household with her. God be with them 1 England is well rid of the half of them.” Grace laughedâ€"such a faint, forced, mis- erable laugh. Poor Grace l the blow had been long coming, and it had fallen at last. Of course he would accompany his Royal mis- tress abroad ; of course, she would never, never see him again; of course he was noth- ing to her, and amidst all his duties and occu- pations she could have no place in his thoughts IlThe portinacity with which she dwelt upon this eonsolatory reflection was sufficiently edi- fying ; and of course she ought to have fore- seen it all long ago, and it was far better that she should know the Worst, and accustom herself to it at once. Oh, for better! A posiâ€" tive relief! And the poor face that she put up to Kiss her rgfether when he wished her “ Good night" tlooked whiter and more drawn than ever; the footfall that he listened to so wistfully going up the stairs dwelt wearily and heavily at every step. Sir Giles shook his head, finished his claret at a draught, and bctook himself too to his couch ; but the old Cavalier was. restless and uneasy, his sleep little lasts unbroken than his daughter’s. Alas, Gracey !â€"she was his own child no} more. He remembered her so well in her white i frock, tottering across the room with her1 merry laugh, and holding his finger tight in the clasp of that warm little hand ; he re- membered her a slender slip of girlhood, galloping on her pony with a certain graceful timidity peculiarly her own, her long dark ringlets floating in the breeze. her bright eyes sparkling with the exercise, and always, frightened or confident, trusting and ap- pealing to “Father” alone. He remembered her. scores and scores of times, sitting on his knee as she had done this evening, nestling her head upon his shoulder, and vowing in her pretty positive wayâ€"positive always and only with himâ€"that she would never marry end leave him, never trust her old father to any hands but her own ; she was sure he oouldn‘t do without her, and if he wasn’t sure he ought to be 1 And now somebody had come and taken away all this affection from him that he con- sidered his by right ; and she was no longer his childâ€"his very ownâ€"and never would be again. Sir Giles could not put his thoughts explicitly into words, but he had a dim 'oonsciousness of the fact, and it sad- dened while it almost angered him. Though he slept but little he was up and astir long before daybreak; and the “God bless thee, Gracey,” which was always his last words at parting with his daughter, was delivered more hoarsely and solemnly than his wont. The pale face with its red eyelids haunted him as he rode ; and except once to give a beggar an aims, and once to swear testily at his best horse for a stumble, Sir And Grace, too, in the train of her kinsman, Lord Vaux, travelled wearily back to his house at Boughton, which she considered her home. Faith, riding alongside of her, to cheer her mistress‘s spirits, forgot her own griefsâ€"for Faith, too, had lost a loverâ€"in sympathy for the lady‘s meek unoompleining sadness. ”It’s all along of the Captain I” thought Faith, whose own affairs had not dimmed the natural sharpness of her sight; “it”: all along of the Captain. and he ought to be ashamed of himself, so, he ought l” Faith. like the rest of her class. was not particular as to the amount of blame she laid upon the absent ; and with the happy impar- tiality of her sex, invariably considered and proclaimed the man to be in the wrong. In this instance she condemned Humphrey without the slightest hesitation. It was clear he had left her young mistress without dis- tinctly promising marriage, and when she contrasted such lukewarm negligence with the ardent passages of leave taking that had been reciprocated by Dymocke and herself, she could scarcely contain her indignation. “If Hugh had used me so," thought Faith, and the color rose to her cheeks as she dwelt on the possible injustice. “as sure as I’ve two hands I’d have scratched his eyes out !” Giles never uttered a. syllable for the first ten miles of his journey. “ Never to bear arms against the Parlia- ment l-never be a soldier again l~scarcely to have a right to draw asword 1 Ah. Mary 1 life would be dear at such a price, were it not that you had offered it ; were it not that your will, your slightest word, is omnipotent to me. But oh 1 how I long to hear the trumpets sounding a charge again, and to see the sorrel in headstall and holsters shaking his bit as he used to do. He’s too good for anything but a charger. Oh. if I could but ride him alongside of Prince Rupert once more l” Half ashamed of his enthusiasm, the speaker‘s color rose. and he laughed as he glanced almost timidly at the lady he ad- dressed. She was tending some roses that drooped r over the; garden bench on which he sat. There was this attraction about Mary Cave that perhaps endeared her to the imagination more than all her wit and all her beautyâ€"she was constantly occupied in some graceful womanly task, and fulfilled it in such a graceful womanly way. Were she writing a letter, or threading a needle. or engaged in any other trifling occupation, her figure seemed to take insensihly the most be- coming attitude, her rich brown hair to throw off the light at the exact angle you would have selected for a picture, the roseate bloom to deepen into the very tint that accorded best with her soft winning eyes. It was not her intellect, though that was of no inferior class ; nor her form and features, though both were dangerously attractive ; it was her ways that captivated and enslaved, that con- stituted the deadliest weapon in the whole ‘ armory of which. womanlike, she knew so ‘well the advantage and the use. As she pruned the roses and trained them downwards from their stems. shaking a, shower of the delicate pink petals into the sun. she looked like a. rose herself â€"-a sweet. blooming moss-rose, shedding its fragrance on all that came within its sphere ; the type of pure loveliness and rich, bright, womanly beauty. He tlioug ht so as he looked up at her, and 1118 heart thrilled to the tones otp her male. dioua voice. It was all over with him nowâ€" Iuch trhircktknee-tleep, o'er head and earsâ€"a. forked one. She knew her power. too, and made no apar- ing use of it. They must be either slaves or tyrants. these women . and, like fire, they make good sexvants but bad misthesses “ You are better here than wasting your life in Gloucester gaol,” answered Mary, “ and you can serve the King as well with your head as with your hands. Any man with the heart of a man can be a soldier ; there is not one in a million that will make a statesman. Do you think I would have taken such care of you iflhad thought you fit for nothing better than the front- rank of one of Prince Rupert’s foolhardy atâ€" tacks ?" She asked the question with an inexpressl- bly mischievous and provoking air. She could not resist the temptation of teasing and irritating him on occasion ; she loved to strike the keys. so to speak. and evoke its every sound, at whatever cost of wear and tear to the instrument itself. He wmced, and his countenance fell at once, so she was satis- fied. and went on. “ If you cannot serve the King on the sorrel'i back, do you think you are of no use to the Queen at her need here in Exeter ? That poor lady, with her infant daughter, has but few friends and protectors now. A loyal and chivalrous gen- tleman always finds his post of honor in de- fending the weak. If you seek for danger you will find enough, and more than enough. in doing your duty by your royal mistressâ€" in fulfilling the orders, Major Bosville, that I shall have the honor of conveying to you." She laughed merrily and made him a grand courtesy as she spoke, spreading out her white robes with a. mock and playful dignity. Mary did not often than unbend, and he could not but confess to himself that she was inex- pressibly charming so ; yet would he have been better pleased had she been in a more serious mood too. ” I am ready. as you know, none better, to sacrifice life and all for the King’s cause. Do me the justice to allow that I have never yet flinched a hair’s breadth from difficulty or danger. I desire no better fate than to shed my blood for his Majesty and the Queen. If I mey not draw my award with my old com- rades, I may yet show them how to ydie like a. Cavalier. My life is of little value to any one," he added in a somewhat bitter tone, “least of all to myself ; and why should I be regretted when so many that were nobler and wiser and better are forgotten ?" In effect that lady’s graceful figure, with 'ts courtly gait and rustling draperies, was seen advancing up the gravel path to put an end to the tetra-tote. Such interruptions are the peculiar lot of those who have any- thing any particular to communicate; but we do not take upon ourselves to affirm that Mary’s quick ear had not caught the sound of a. door opening from Lady Carlisle’s spart- ments ere she permitted herself to bestow on Humphrey such words of encouragement as made the June sunshine and the J une roses brighter and sweeter than roses and sunshine had ever seemed beiore. He rose from the garden bench and stood by her, bending down over the roses, and speaging in a_low, grave_toneâ€" It was a random shaft, but it quivered in the bull’s-eye. She shota sharp quick glance at him. Did he mean it? Was he too thinking, then, of Falkland? No! that pained, sorrowing countenance forbade the suspicion of any arrézre pensee. Her heart smote her as she scanned it. She looked kindly and fondly at him. “‘ Are you nothing to me 1'" she said. ” Should not I miss you and mourn youâ€"â€" and 011! do you think I could do with- out you at all? Hush ! here comes Lady Culisle." With his loyal heart bounding happily be- nth his doublet, and a light on his hand. V0 L.X XII. THE “ THE TRUE DESPO’I‘IBH." CHAPTER XXIII. some face that Lady Cerlisleâ€"no mean judge of masculine attractionsâ€"regarded with criti- cal approval, he followed the two ladies into the enteohember of his royal mistress, now seeking with her new-born baby an asylum in the still faithful town of Exeter, one of the few strongholds m the kingdom left to the Royal cause ; and yet, alas I but a short dis- tnnce removed from the contamination of re. bullion, for Essex was already establishing his headquarters at Chard, and but two-end- twenty miles of the loveliest hill and dale in Britain intervened between the stern Parlia- mentary General and the new vacilleting and intimidated Queen. It was a strange contrast to the magnifi- cence of Whitehall, even to the more chas- tened splendors of Morton College, that quiet residence of majesty in the beautiful old town â€"the town that can afford to challenge all England to rival it in the loveliness of its outskirts and the beauty of its women. Exeter has always particularly plumed itself on the latter qualification ; and many a dragoon of the present day. whose heart is no harder under its covering of scarlet and gold than was that of the chivalrous Cavalier in buff and steel breastplate, has to rue his death- wound from a shaft that penetrated all his defences, when shot deftly home by a pair of wicked Devonshire eyes. Ol‘ the picnics in its vicinity, of the drives home by moonlightâ€"of the strolls to hear “our band play,” and the tender cloakings and shawlings, and putting: on of goloshes after- wards (for in that happy land our natural enemies likewise enjoy the incalculable ad- vantage of an uncertain climate and occa- sional showers), are not the results chroni- cled in every parish register in England ?â€" and do not the beadle of St. George’s, Hanâ€" over Square, and other hymeneal authorities, know “ the reason why ?” The Queen occupied a large quiet house, that had formerly been a convent. on the outskirts of the town. Its roomy apartments and somewhat secluded situation made it a fitting residence for Royalty, particularly for Royalty seeking privacy and repose , while the large garden adjoining. in which the holy sisters had been wont to stroll and ponder, yearning, it may be, for the worldly sunshine they had left without the walls, formed a pleasant haunt for the Queen's diminished household, and A resort on the fine J 11116 mornings of which Mary and Humphrey, who were both early risers, did not fail to make constant use. Their duties about the Queen’s person had of late been unusually light. The birth, under circumstances of difficulty and danger. of a daughter, whose arrival on :the worldly stage seemed to anger the misfor- tunes that. beautiful and gifted as she was, dogged her to her grave, had confined Henri- etta to her chamber. and precluded her from her usual interference in affairs of State. The instincts of maternity were in the ascendant, and what were crowns and kingdoms in com- parison with that little pink morsel of hu- manity lying so helplessly in her bosom? Well is it for us that we cannot foresee the destinies of our children ; merciful the blindâ€" ness that shuts out'from us the long prospec tive of the futureâ€"the coming struggles we should none of us have courage to confront. Could Henrietta have foretold that daughter’s fete, bound in her beauty and freshness for a weary lifetime to the worst of the evil dukes who bore the title d’Orleans, would she have hung over the tiny treasure with such quiet happiness ? Would she have neglected all be- sides in the world at the very faintest cry of the little new-born Princess? We must return to Humphrey Bosville and Mary Cave. and the terms of close friendship, to call it by no softer name, on which they now found themselves. Since his rescue from imminent death by her exertions, his devo- tion to her had assumed, if possible, a more reverential character than before. To owe his life to a woman for whom he had felt a slight attachment. would have been an obligation rather gelling and inconvenient than otherwise; but to owe his life to the woman whom alone of all on earth he had loved with the deep absorbing fervor of which such a nature was capable, brought with it a sensation of delight which was truly intoxicating. It was an additional link to bind him to her for ever ;it made him seem to belong to her now so thoroughly, it was such a good excuse for giving way to her most trifling caprices, and obeying her lightest whim. Come what might, be felt that they could never now be entirely independent of each other; so he entered the Queen’s service immediately on his return to Oxford, giving up his com. mission in the Royal army, and resigning his right to wear asword, as indeed the terms of his parole enjoined. with as little hesita- tion as he would have displayed in jumping with his hands tied into the Isis, had Mary only told him to do the one instead of the other. It was no small inducement either to serve his Royal mistress assiduously, that his sit- uation in her household brought him into ‘ close and daily contract with his lady- love. Probably at no period of his life before had Humphrey been so happy as during the few golden weeks of Henrietta’s confinement at Exeter. To meet Mary day by day in the performance of his duty ; to see her in every phase of courtly l1fe, from the strict observance of etiquette to the joyous moments of relaxation, over which, never- theless, the atmosphere of Royalty shed a cer- tain refinement and reserve ; to admire her ready tact and winning bearing in all the dif- ferent relations of a courtler’s life; and above all. to walk with her morning after morning in those happy gardens, feeling that she, too, enjoyed and counted on their half-hour of un- interrupted conversation, and was little less punctual at the trysting-place than himself ; all this constituted an existence for which it was very seldom he repined that he had bar- tered his life’s ambition, his visions of miliâ€" tary distinction and renown. Mary, too, whose knowledge of human nature was far deeper than that of the generality of her sex, whose organization forced her to be calculat- ing, so to speak, and provident even in her affections, Mary felt herself day by day losing much of the hard. stern, practical force of , character that had encrusted and petrified 1 her woman's heart. She was often surprised , in her moments of reflection (for Mary was a rigid and severe self-examiner) to find how little interested she was comparatively in the progress of the Royal Causeâ€"how satisfied she could be to remain idle week after week at Exeterâ€"how happily she could bask away her time in the summer sunshine, wan- dering, but not alone, through those shady gardens. She was ashamedâ€" yes, ashamedâ€"to confess to herself how often the image of a certain kindly, handsome face, with its long love- locks and dark drooping moustaches, rose between her mental vision and all consider- ations of duty, joyalty. and interestâ€"ay, even between her deep sorrow and the memory of the dead. Yet the shame had in it a burning, thrilling happiness too : and though she drew up her haughty head, and a scornful smile curled her lips as she pondered, she would 1 not have had it otherwise if she could. But she ruled him, nevertheless, with an iron hand. It is unnoessery to admit that the prominent and chief fault of this lady’s character was that destructive quality which, forming as it does, a principal ingredient in the noblest spirits, is yet perhaps the cause of more sorrow and suffering than all the cardinal viees (if such there be) put together â€"Pride, the bane of that resplendent being RICHMOND HILL, THURSDAY, NOV. 20, 1879. whom the angels themselves called “the Son of the Morning; ” the awful and eternal curse of him who made his election “rather to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven.” Pride was with Mary Cave as the very air she breathed. It prompted her to conceal and stifle, nay, even to mock at, the better fleei- ings, cf her nature ; to grudge the man that loved her the full and free confession, to which, if he deserved anything at all.he was fully entitled, and which would have made him the happiest Cav- alier in England ;to check and warp even his kind feelings. overflowing as they did witha fond and chivelrous devotion. that would have made a humbler woman’s heaven, that she herself would have felt it a weary blank to be without; to embitter for him many a moment that but for this would have been tinged with golden hues ; and to pad and madden him for no fault of his own when most he needed soothing and repose. He too had his share of pride, which she never seemed to acknowledge; but in his singleness of heart he sacrificed it to hers, as he did everything else he had. She never knew, and he would never tell her. the long hours and days of grief that she had cost him. If he was sad. he sulfered uncomplain- ing by himself. The kind look was always there to greet her; she never read reproaoh in the fond. frank eyes. She was his first love and his last, that was enough for him. It was a brave, confiding nature, this young gentleman’s; simple and honest, and one that it had been a pity to see delivered over to bitter disappointment, reckless guilt and wild remorse. A council had been assembled, and the increasing hopelessness of the Royal Cause had called up a metal expression of dis- may on the faces of the Queen’s ad. visers as they stared blankly at each other. J ermyn had returned with but little encouragement from the King. Charles was hardly the man to see the shortest way out of a difficulty. and had been so accustomed to rely upon his Queen for advice and assist- ance, that when he found himself in turn applied to by his wife, he was more than usually helpless and undecided. The Queen’s own advisers consisted but of the refuse of her party. Jermyn and a few subordinate courtiers were scarcely a crew to weather the storm when the ship was so crazy and the navigation so intricate. Goring’s pregnant brain and reckless hand might have been useful new ; but Goring was far away, drink- ing and countermarching in the West Riding of Yorkshire. Ashburnham had retired from- Weymouth before “ the Coming man.” whose Ironsides had ere this perfected their drill on many a stricken field. Prince Maurice had lost so many men in the seige of Lynn, he could show no front to the dreaded aud determined Essex. The enemy was near, ay, even at the very gates, and what was to be done ? He did not understand women, poor boy I God forbid he ever should! At this crisis, weakened in body and dis- heartened in mind, Henrietta’s royal spirit gave way. The determination was arrived at to sue the Parliamentary General for mercy. and on the most plausible grounds of common courtesy and chivalrous forbearance towards a woman, to entreat Essex to tem- per with his duty towards the Parliament, and to forfeit his own character by conniving at the Queen’s escape. Like many another measure of policy. this step originated. not in the council, but in the bedcbamber. Supported by a few of net seeping ladies, the Queen came to the esolutlon of thus humbling herself before the Parliamentary General; and of those frightened and des- pairing women. among whom even Lady Cal-hale had lost heart and courage, there was but one dissentient voice to this humili- ating proposition. Need we say it we: Mary (Java’s ' “ I would rather take my child in my arms,” said she, when called on by her Ma- jesty to give her unbiassed opinion, “and placing myself at the head of our garrison here, march at once upon Essex‘e headquar- ters. I would cut my way through them, or leave my body on the field. If we succeeded, we should make a junction with the King in the north, and maybe restore the prestige of the Royal arms; if we failed, 'tii but an honorable death after all, and one right worthy of a Queen." The old Bourbon blood rose for an instant to Honrietta's cheek, and she almost wavered in her purpose; but it ebbed back again chill about her heart as she thought of her help- 1539 condition and her little crying child. “ It could not be.” the said : “ there was a limit to all things, even the courage of a Queen. No ; she would send a flag of truce to Essex. and a message he could not refuse to consider. But whom to send ? Which of her courtiers would undertake the task f Savage reprisals were now the daily custom of the war ; the white flag did not always se- cure the life of its bearer. Who would risk himself in the lion's den f" “ Perhaps Mrs. Mary will go herself ‘2" sug- gested Lady Carlisle in her soft, smooth tones. “ She fears nothing, so she says, but dishonor. She would be safe enough, me- thinks, with Essex.” Mary smiled proudly. ” I have been in the rebel camp ere this.” she said, “ and it was your ladymip’e self that bade me go ; for that counsel I shall alwayl lee] grateful. Your Majesty has one servant at least that will‘be proud to execute your will.” Sh. glanced as she spoke to where Bos- villa, with another gentleman of the cham- ber. stood in attendance in the next room. The Queen smiled inintly and stretched her thin hand towards Mary with a. gesture of «areas. “ He in a. pram chwaliar, mamic,” she said_, “ and would go to the death, I believe, for you or me ; though I think I know which is the queen that owns all hil loyalty. I have watched him often, Mario, and I know." She nodded her head with something of her old playful air, but she sighed after she spoke, and relapsed into the melancholy silence that was becoming habit- ual to her. Was aha thinking thst, Princess and Sover- eign though she were, in the bloom of her beauty and the hay-day of her prosperity, she had never enjoyed such an unqualified do- minion as was possessed by her undemonstra- tivo waiting-woman, proud Mary Cave? Emnghsm had ere this made considerable progress in the favor of the party he had es~ paused. His knowledge of his profession, coupled with a. certain reckless dating of tem- perament, had won him the good opinion of Cromwell, whilst his readiness of resource, deep reflection, and powerful intellect ren- dered him indispensable to Essex, Fairfax, and such of the Parliamentary Generals as cherished liberal views of policy and an un- selfish desire for the liberation of their countrymen. He had fought his way in a short space of time to the colonelcy of a. regiment of pikes, and was now advancing with Essex on Exeter at the head of some five hundred stout hearts, such as have made British soldiers from time imme- moriel the best infantry in the world. Proud of his command, conscious of doing his duty, rising rapidly in his profession and in the opinion of those who were in the road to guide the destinies of England, there was yet in Effinghsm’s beefing s restlessness end a CHAPTER XXIV. “ nnnwnrjn.” They were walking up and down in front of Essex’s headquarters at Chardâ€"s square brick house in the centre of the village. from which the proprietor had been ejeeted with as little ceremony by the Puritan General as he could have been by any one of his noisy Cav- alier opponents. They formed a strange eon- trssi, that pair, as they paced to and fro, bur- ied in deep discourseâ€"the stalwart ironâ€"look- ing sollier. with his tell figure and warlike air and dress, thus listening with such respectful deference to the: 'eoberly-eled divine, whose esger gestures and speaking countenance betrayed the flame of enthusiasm thst consumed him. body and soul. reserve thut denoted n mind ill at ease with itselfâ€"an unquiet sadneu that npoke of some deep anxietyâ€"some bitter disappointment. His friendship with Simeon had grown to a close intimacy, and he seemed to derive much consolation and refreshment from the conver- ntion of that stem enthusiast. The guard was being relieved, with the cus- tomary noise and pong]: of all military pro- ceedings. not to be dispensed with even by the staid and sober Puritans ; but the pair heeded not the clash of arms nor the clang of trumpets, and pursued their walk and their conversation regardless of aught but the topic which seemed to engross their whole at- tention. “There is yet a. black drop in thy heart, my brother," said Simeon, in his deep im- pressive tones; “there is yet one jewel left that thou hast grudged to cast into the treas- uryâ€"and if thou givest not thine all, of what avail is thy silver and gold. thy flocks and herds. thy raiment of needlenwork and thy worldly possessions? The daughter of the Gunmauite is a fair damsel and a comely, but the children of the congregation have no deal- ings with the heathen, and she must hence- forth .be to thee as the forbidden food, and the plague-spot of leprosyâ€"unclean ! un- clean I” “It is hard.” answered Efiingham. and his voice betrayed how bitterly hard it wasâ€"“ it is hard to give up my only dream of earthly happinessâ€"the one bright ray that has light- ened my existence all these weary monthsâ€" that has cheered me in the bivouac, and en- couraged me in the field. I am not like you, Simeon ; would that I were ; I cannot hold to the fntme alone, and resign this world and all it contains with- out a. pang I fear I am of the dooinedâ€"p re- destined to guiltâ€"~predestined to punishment. Last ! Lost! He shuddered as he spoke, and yet some- thing of the old Titan instinct. the daring of despair that bade the sons of Earth confront the power of Heaven. in those old days when good and evil bore gigantic fruit here belowâ€"â€" made him rear his head more proudly, tower above his comrade more erect and bold, as he seemed in his rebellions imagination to “ stand the shot.” “ Whom He loveth He clinsteneth,” was Simeon’s answer. “I tell thee, brother, once and again, it is not so. Thy fight is a. stern and severe conflict, but it has been borne in upon me that thou shalt be victorious; and to him that prevaileth is given the crown of glory. I have wrestled for than long and earn- estly, and I shall not fail. Thou art as the drowning man, whose struggles serve but to drag down into the depths the friend that would save him from perdition. I tell thee, watch and pray!" “I can watch.” answered Emngham. bitter- ly; “none better. Sleep seldom visits my eyelids, and my waking is and and painful in- deed; but I can natApmy!" It was even so. The stubborn human will might be bent and warped from that which was, after all. a holy and God-given instinct, though fanaticism and superstition might vote it folly and sin ; but the poor aching human heart could not force itself to suppli- onte at the throne of Mercy for that forgetful- ness which it felt would be a. more bitter curse than all the pain it was now becoming inured to bear. Fallible sons of men ! Simeon felt he was right ; Effingham thought himself to be wrong. Both were arguing foolishly and presumptuously from strong human pas- sions interpreted by fanaticiems into revel- ations from on high. George had struggled on wearily for months. In occupation and danger he had been striv- ing hard to forget. He thought he was mak- ing eufiicient progress in the lesson, when the eight of his old friend Bosville riding into Essex’a camp under a. flag of trueereewakened all those feelings which he had fondly hoped were stifled, if not eradicated, and made him too painfully conscious that time and distance were not quite such efiective auxiliaries as he hadrhoged. Bosville, too, was indignant at the ill-suc~ ’cess of his embassy; in the presence of Essex he had had the good taste and prudence to diesemble his generous wrath, but it required a. vent, and blazed up afresh as he took the Parliamentary Colonel by the arm, and they strolled out of ear-shot of the listening escort, already under arms to conduct the embassy back to his own lines. The General had called in some of his prin- cipal officers to aid him in his deliberations; nor could he, according to his custom, come to any decision without the assistance of one or two Puritan divines. Caryl had already been sent for; and are long a grim orderly trooper, who had been expounding to his comrades a. knotty text of scripture with interpretations peculiarly his own, was de- spstched to summon Simeon to the Council. and Eflingham was left to pursue his walk and his meditations alone. He did not remain uninterrupted for long. A bustle at the door of Essex’e quarters. the clash of arms as the sentries saluted their de- parting officers, and the roll of a drum mustering a regiment of foot for inspection, announced that the Council was over ; and Bosville, who, contrary to his expectation, had found himself treated with all the respect end consideration due to the bearer of a flag of truce, advanced toward his old comrade with his hand extended, and a. frank air of greeting on his face. He looked somewhat flushed and discon- certed tooâ€"a thought angry, perhaps, and a little discontented besides, as he cast a sol- dier’s eye up and down the ranks of an efiici- ent battalion of pikemen, and thought he must never measure swords with the Round- heads again ; but he was glad to see Efling- ham, nevertheless ; and the latter’s heart eapt within him, for many reasons, to grasp a “ Malignant" by the hand_ _onco more. “ I thought not we should ever have come to this, George,” observed Bosville, half bitterly. half leughingly, after their first greeting was over. “When thou and I rode through Ramsay’s pikes at Edgehill side by side, and drove them pell-mell right through their reserve and off the field, I little thought I should live to see myself a. messenger of peace fit to be clad only in boddice and pin- nersâ€"for ’ifaith ’tis but a. women’s work, after allâ€"and thee, George, a, rank rebel, openly in arms against the King. And yet, ’slife. man, were’t not for thy company, I could find it in my heart to envy thee, too. They behave well these pikemenâ€"hey, George? Dost remember how close the knaves stood upon the slope at Newbury 1’" Eflingham smiled abnently. He was chafing to ask 9. hundred questions of his old com- rade ; and yet, bold stout soldier as he was, his heart failed him like a. girl’s. “ There is no chivalry amongst thy new frlends, George." he proceeded. the blood rising to his handsome face. You can fight, to do you justice, but there’s nothing more of the lion about you than his courage. And as for your minilters! men of peace are they? “ Tee” More like creaking ravens and filthy birds of prey. Don't be oflended, George ; I am like a woman, you know, now, and the only weapon I have to use is my tongue. ’Faith my blood boils when I think of the last hour’s work. Essex is a gentleman, I grant youâ€"â€" I always thought so. We have both of us seen him walk his horse coolly along his line under a raking fire from our culverins ; and he received my message with all the courtesy due to the emissary of a queen. It was not much we required. A safe conduct for her- self and child to Bath, or maybe Bristol, for her health’s sake. She has suffered much, poor lady, and looks so thin and weakâ€"so unlike what she was when we saw her at Merton, George, whilst thou wert honest. Well, he seemed to entertain the proposal at first 1 and one of his Generals, a stout bluff- faced manâ€"Ireton, was it ?-â€"voted point- blank in her favor, with some remarks, I am bound to admit, not flattering to the stability of our party, or the efficiency of her Majesty’s defenders. Had my position allowed it, I had taken leave to differ with him on that point, but I thought the bowl seemed to trundle with the bias, so I held my peace. Then his lordship turned to a spare pale man in a Geneva band and black cassock, and asked him what he thought of the matter. Was that Caryl ? So, I wouldn’t be in his cassock, when the charity that covereth a multitude of sins is wanted to ward off punishment from him! My hands were bound, so to speak. or no man living. minister or layman, should have applied such terms to my royal mistress: Jezebel was the best name he called her; and if blasphemy and indecency be religion, my service to Dr. Carl 1 Goring hasn’t a match for him among his “hell-babes” for piety I They seemed to believe in him devoutly, though, for all that ; and I saw Essex waver as I can see thee, George, wince. Well, one ecclesiastic I suppose wasn’t enough, for there came in another knave, without his ears too ; would the hangman had done his work yeo- manly when he was about it, and cut his tongue out as well. They asked his advice, man (grant me patience), as he had been a bishop ! And what said the Crop-ear in reâ€" ply ? “Go see now this cursed woman,” quoth he, “and bury her, for she is a King’s daughter. ” And againâ€"“What peace so long as the witchcrafts of Jezebel are so many? ” The devil can quote holy writ, we all know ; but it was well they turned me out, to deliberate with closed doors, for I was almost beside myself with passion." “ When I returned," answered Bosville, “ the General looked grave and stern, I thought a little pained and grieved too. ‘ Tell those that sent you, Major Bosville,’ he said, in a slow, deliberate voice, ‘ that if her Maj- esty pleases, I will not only give her a safe conduct, but wait upon her myself to London, where she may have the best advice and means for the recovery of her health ; but as for either of the other places, I cannot obey her Majesty's desires without directions from the Parliament. We will not blindfold you,” he added, courteously, “ You are welcome to take note. and report to their Majesties on the men and munitions of war that you find in my camp.’ 80 he dismissed 'me civilly enough. George. my mind misgives me, that I have come on a sleeveless errand.” The Cavalier paused to také breath. His listener gazed at him wistfully, with a. sort of pitiful ipteyest. “ And what was the result of their delibera- tions 1?” he inquired. “ I see they came to a. speedy conclusion, for the escort is waiting even now to take you back.” “ It is even so,” answered Eflingham. sol- emnly. The Truth is great, and it shall pre- vail. But tell me, Humphrey, of those you have left left behind. We have but few min- utes to spare, and perhaps we may never meet again, unless it be on a stricken field. What of those who were once my friends who ministrated to me in the house of bondage ‘2 What of Mistress Caveâ€"~of Sir Giles Allonby â€"of-of-his daughter ? ” For reasons of his own Eflfingham hesitated as he put the question. the latter part of of which alone, for reasons of his own, Bos- ville thought worthy of a reply. “Sir Giles is hearty and busy as usual," he answered. "He has raised a large force of cavalry, and is with the King. Mistress Grace is anxious and ill at ease. As far as I can learn, they say she grows pale and thin, and has lost her bright look and joyous ways. God forbid she should be really ailing, for if ought should befal her, it would go nigh to break old Sir Giles heart l” He spoke Without the slightest change of voice or color, and looked frank and straight into his companion’e eyes, which neverthe- less refused to meet his glance. It was hard to say whether grief. or joy, or anxious fear was uppermost in Efiingham’s being at that moment. “If you should chance to see her, Hum- phrey," he said, with a quivering, broken voice, “or to write to her mayhap, tell her that I sought tidings of her welfare and Sir Giles, you know, and thatâ€"thatâ€"though I am a rebel, and a Roundhead, and all, I have not for that for- gotten them ; and if ever the time comes that Ican serve them, I will. Fare thee well! fare thee well l”he added, grasping Humphrey warmly by the hand as the latter mounted to depart. “ Would that thou, too, couldat be brought to see the truth ; but God bless thee, lad ! Forget not George Effmgham altogether, whatever comes uppermost.” He gazed wistfully after the horseman’s re- treating figure as the escort closed round their charge and disappeared. It was his last link with the old life that shone back in such glowing hues. Atear glittered on his shaggy eyelashes as he strode 015 towards his quar_tgrs._ _ ‘ “ Weak ! weak!” he muttered. “ Unworthy unprofitable servant. And yet perhaps even now shgris not Ipst entirely and. for ever ‘3’, Bosville was destined to bring with him sad dismay into the mimic court at Exeter. Like all week minds in extremity, Henrietta had fully persuaded herself that the last card she played must win her the game ; that this extreme measure of entreaty and humiliation could not but produce the result she so much desired. When it failed, she was indeed at the utmost of her need. Indignation, too, mingled with alarm ; and like some bitter tonic, helped to brace her mind into a sufiiciently vigorous frame to come to some definite resolution. Impeaohed as she was of treason by both Houses of Parliament, this proposal of Essex thus to carry her into the very jaws of her enemies was almost tanta- mount to an insult , and the queenly spirit, not yet thoroughly broken, felt and resented it accordingly. The foe, too, was in far too close proximity to be pleasant. Exeter was no longer a secure refuge. and she must de- part. But whither ? To join the King with- outbringing him supplies of men or money, was but to clog the sinking monarch’s efiorts at extrication and to drag him deeper and deeper into the slough of his dif- ficulties. No part of England was safe from the dreaded Parliamentary army, numbering as it now did amongst its ,formidable soldiery such tacticians as Fairfax, and such strategists as Cromwell. There was but one haven left, and that was her native country. We may imagine the struggle in the mind of that proud though vain and frivolous naâ€" ture, ere she could bring herself to re- turn ae ahomeless supplicent to the land she had left in her maiden'uood a prosperous and queenly bride. She was altered, too, in her very person, and this to a. woman added WHOLE N0.1,112â€"â€"N0. 24; All these events, however, are matters of history; and except in so far as they affect the proceedings of those subordinate dolls whose strings in our puppetâ€"show we have undertaken to pull, they will bear neither re- lation nor comment at the humble hands of the mere story-teller, who can only flutter to andfro tcnui penna through the shaded gardens of fiction, but dare not trust his feeble pinions to soar aloft into the dazzling sunshine of Fact. Mary Cave followed her Royal mistress to the very shallop in which she left the British shore. It was but a small household she carried with her from England ; and though Mary would fain have accompanied Lher, it was agreed that her talents could be more usefully employed at home, and that living quietly in retirement here she might still aid the Royal cause with all the energies of her astute and farâ€"seeing intellect, whilst she could keep a watchful eye on the state of pub- lic opinion, and communicate constantly and unreservedly by means of their own cipher with Henrietta in France. To one of the household, this arrangement was the only consolation for a parting which he felt far more painfully than even he had ex- pected. By Mary’s wish he had consented to follow the fortunes of his Royal mlstress, who was nothing 10th to retain the services of one who had already proved himself so willing and devoted ; but it was with a heavy heart, and a forboding of evil by no means natural to his temperament, that Humphrey took leave of his ladye-love on the morning of the em- barkation at Falmouth. l So the daughter of Henry of Navarre, and the wife of England’s King. must fly for her very life to the sea- board of her adopted country, must embark from Falmouth in a Dutch man-ofâ€"wer, attended by sundry lighter craft, to the speediest of which it might prove necessary to entrust the destinies of a queen , must sustain the insult of being fired on by her own navyâ€"for Warwwk’s squadron; ste- tioned in Tor- bay, actually gave chase to the Royal lady-and must land in poor and des- perate plight on the shores of her brother’s kingdom, to seek the repose and safety denied her in her :own. He was saddened, too, to think that for the last few days her manner to him had been colder and more reserved than it usually was. She had studiously avoided every chance of a private interview, had ap- parently wantenly and unfeelingly neglected every hint and allusion that he had ventured to make as to his wish of seeing her alone once more to bid her “ farewell ;” and had shown, to his thinking, an amount of heart- lessness and carelessness of his feelings which grieved him as it would have angered another. Humphrey, though a young men, was no inexperienced soldier. He had assisted ere this at the sealing of many a rampart, the es- seult of many a, beleaguered town; yet it never occurred to him that the last efforts of the besieged are desperate in proportion to their extremityâ€"the resistance never so 0b- etinete as on the eve of surrender. The week are sometimes cruel, ande stern front is often but the mask that hides a failing heart. He was leaving the Queen’s apartments to make preparation for her Majesty to go abroad. He walked meodily and sadly, for he thought he should not see Mary again, and he was wondering in his simple faith how he could have offended her, and why she should lthus think it worth while to grieve him, when per- haps they might never meet again. Like a child unjustly punished, he was less irritated than spirit-broken. Alas! like many a brave and gallant man, he was a. sad coward, if only attached in the right place. A" door opened in theugalfery of the hosteh‘y honored by the presence of royalty. Mary advanced towards him, holding outiber hood. “I am some to Wish you good-bye,” she said in her kind, frank tones, “I looked for you an hour ago in the gallery. Humphrey,” she added, her voice trembling as she mark- ed his whole countenance flush and soften, “I have used you ill. Forgive me. I did not mean it â€"at least, Idid not mean to make you so unhappy," and she gave him ever so slighta pressure of that warm soft handâ€"that hand which only to touch he would at any time have given a year of his life. ' He was a sad coward in some things we have already said. He bent over the white hand without speaking a word, but she felt the hot tears dropping on it as he lifted his head and tried to smile unconcernedly in her face. They were both silent. Had any eaves- dropper been watching them in that long gallery, he would have thought the gentleman astrangely uncourteous gallantâ€"the lady a dame of wondrous stiff and reserved demean- or. ‘no inconsiderable ingredient to the bitter- ness of her cup. Sorrow and anxiety had hollowed the fair cheeks and clouded the bril- liant complexion that in girlhood with fine eyes and delicate features had constituted such an attractive countenance; and the fresh bloom of her spring time had withered sadly and prematurely ere ’twas May. It was with gelling self-consciousness that she used to avow no woman could have any pretensions to beauty after two-and-twenty. Humphrey spoke at length, scarcely abovo a Whisper. “ It. is no use," he said. “I am a bad dissembler. Mary, you know all. Only give me one word, one kind word of hope, before I go. I will treasure it for years P: Akain that faint, pressure of the hand quisllgd. He raised her hand to his lips, and im- printed on it one long passionate kiss. Either by accident or design a bow of pink ribbon which she wore on her sleeve had become detached. Somehow it remained in his grasp when she warsgone.’ fl “ The task must be accomplished first," she murmured. , “qualty befgre all.” > The wind blew fresh elf-shore, and the Dutchman made gallant Way, Whilst Hum- phrey stood on deck, and watched the dim headlands of his home with a strange wistful glance that was yet mingled with triumph anfijey. ‘ Hidvhe‘not won hisfilecoration ? And was not his heart beating against the ribbon of his order ? CIRCULATION OF THE BLUOD fllADE VISIBLE. Dr. 0. Enter, a German savant of Greifs- wald, has devised a simple arrangement which demonstrates the circulation of the blood in the human body by making it visible. What is known as Purkinje’s experiment previously enabled an observer to witness the circulation in his own retinal blood vessels, but now, for the first time, can the flow of the vital fluid in one person he watched by another, and that, we are assured, with sufl‘icient accuracy to deâ€" tect anything abnormal. and to obtain invalu- able assistance in the diagnosis of disease. Dr. Huter’s method is as follows : The patient’s head being fixed in a frame, on which is a contrivance for supporting a micro- scope and a lamp, his lower lip is drawn out and fixed on the stage of the microscope by means of clips, the inner surface being upper- most and having a strong light thrown upon it by a condenser. When these preparations are completed all the observer has to do is to bring the microscope to bear on the surface of the lip, using a low power objective, and focusing a small superficial vessel. At once he sees the endless procession of the blood corpuscles through the minute capilliaries, the colorless ones appearing like white specks dotting the red stream. Dr. Huter asserts that from taking careful note of variations in the blood flow and changes in the corpuscles, he had derived great advantages in the treatment of medical casesâ€",Galignanfls Messenger. â€"â€"The novel engmeer feat of building a. bridge onshore and then shoving it across the river has been accomplished at Dinard, France. The structure is 314 feet long, weighs 200 tons, and was projected into its place with twelve strong Windlasses. [To BE CONTINUEDJ scarcely perceptible he had never relin-