A Reputed Changeling

by Charlotte M. Yonge

  CHAPTER XXX: SENTENCE

  "I have hope to live, and am prepared to die."

  Measure for Measure.

  Ralph was bidden to be ready to take his young master home early thenext morning. At eight o'clock the boy, who had slept with hisfather, came down the stair, clinging to his father's hand, and MissWoodford coming closely with him.

  "Yes," said Charles, as he held the little fair fellow in his arms,ere seating him on the horse, "he knows all, Ralph. He knows thathis father did an evil thing, and that what we do in our youth findsus out later, and must be paid for. He has promised me to be acomfort to the old people, and to look on this lady as a mother.Nay, no more, Ralph; 'tis not good-bye to any of you yet. There,Phil, don't lug my head off, nor catch my hair in your buttons.Give my dutiful love to your grandmamma and to Aunt Nutley, and be agood boy to them."

  "And when I come to see you again I'll bring another salad," quothPhilip, as he rode out of the court; and his father, by way ofexcusing a contortion of features, smoothed the entangled lock ofhair, and muttered something about, "This comes of not wearing aperiwig." Then he said--

  "And to think that I have wasted the company of such a boy as that,all his life except for this mere glimpse!"

  "Oh! you will come back to him," was all that could be said.

  For it was time for Charles Archfield to surrender himself to takehis trial.

  He had been instructed over and over again as to the line of hisdefence, and cautioned against candour for himself and delicacytowards others, till he had more than once to declare that he had nointention of throwing his life away; but the lawyers agreed inheartily deploring the rules that thus deprived the accused of theassistance of an advocate in examining witnesses and defendinghimself. All depended, as they knew and told Sir Edmund Nutley, onthe judge and jury. Now Mr. Baron Hatsel had shown himself a well-meaning but weak and vacillating judge, whose summing up was aptrather to confuse than to elucidate the evidence; and as to thejury, Mr. Lee scanned their stolid countenances somewhat ruefullywhen they were marshalled before the prisoner, to be challenged ifdesirable. A few words passed, into which the judge inquired.

  "I am reminded, my Lord," said Colonel Archfield, bowing, "that Ionce incurred Mr. Holt's displeasure as a mischievous boy bythrowing a stone which injured one of his poultry; but I cannotbelieve such a trifle would bias an honest man in a question of lifeand death."

  Nevertheless the judge put aside Mr. Holt.

  "I like his spirit," whispered Mr. Harcourt.

  "But," returned Lee, "I doubt if he has done himself any good withthose fellows by calling it a trifle to kill an old hen. I shouldlike him to have challenged two or three more moody old Whiggishrascals; but he has been too long away from home to know how theland lies."

  "Too generous and high-spirited for this work," sighed Sir Edmund,who sat with them.

  The indictment was read, the first count being "That of maliceaforethought, by the temptation of the Devil, Charles Archfield didwilfully kill and slay Peregrine Oakshott," etc. The secondindictment was that "By misadventure he had killed and slain thesaid Peregrine Oakshott." To the first he pleaded 'Not guilty;' tothe second 'Guilty.'

  Tall, well-made, manly, and soldierly he stood, with a quiet setface, while Mr. Cowper proceeded to open the prosecution, with acertain compliment to the prisoner and regret at having to push thecase against one who had so generously come forward on behalf of akinsman; but he must unwillingly state the circumstances that madeit doubtful, nay, more than doubtful, whether the prisoner's plea ofmere misadventure could stand. The dislike to the unfortunatedeceased existing among the young Tory country gentlemen of thecounty was, he should prove, intensified in the prisoner on accountof not inexcusable jealousies, as well as of the youthful squabbleswhich sometimes lead to fatal results. On the evening of the 30thof June 1688 there had been angry words between the prisoner and thedeceased on Portsdown Hill, respecting the prisoner's late lady. Atfour or five o'clock on the ensuing morning, the 1st of July, theone fell by the sword of the other in the then unfrequented court ofPortchester Castle. It was alleged that the stroke was fatal onlythrough the violence of youthful impetuosity; but was it consistentwith that supposition that the young gentleman's time wasunaccounted for afterwards, and that the body should have beendisposed of in a manner that clearly proved the assistance of anaccomplice, and with so much skill that no suspicion had arisen forseven years and a half, whilst the actual slayer was serving, nothis own country, but a foreign prince, and had only returned at amost suspicious crisis?

  The counsel then proceeded to construct a plausible theory. Hereminded the jury that at that very time, the summer of 1688,messages and invitations were being despatched to his presentGracious Majesty to redress the wrongs of the Protestant Church, andprotect the liberties of the English people. The father of thedeceased was a member of a family of the country party, his uncle adistinguished diplomatist, to whose suite he had belonged. What wasmore obvious than that he should be employed in the correspondence,and that his movements should be dogged by parties connected withthe Stewart family? Already there was too much experience of howfar even the most estimable and conscientious might be blinded bythe sentiment that they dignified by the title of loyalty. Thedeceased had already been engaged in a struggle with one of theArchfield family, who had been acquitted of his actual slaughter;but considering the strangeness of the hour at which the two cousinswere avowedly at or near Portchester, the condition of the clothes,stripped of papers, but not of valuables, and the connection of theprincipal witness with the pretended Prince of Wales, he could nothelp thinking that though personal animosity might have added anedge to the weapon, yet that there were deeper reasons, to promptthe assault and the concealment, than had yet been brought to light.

  "He will make nothing of that," whispered Mr. Lee. "Poor MasterPeregrine was no more a Whig than old Sir Philip there."

  "'Twill prejudice the jury," whispered back Mr. Harcourt, "anddiscredit the lady's testimony."

  Mr. Cowper concluded by observing that half truths had come to lightin the former trial, but whole truths would give a different aspectto the affair, and show the unfortunate deceased to have givenoffence, not only as a man of gallantry, but as a patriot, and tohave fallen a victim to the younger bravoes of the so-called Toryparty. To his (the counsel's) mind, it was plain that the prisoner,who had hoped that his crime was undiscovered and forgotten, hadreturned to take his share in the rising against Government sohappily frustrated. He was certain that the traitor Charnock hadbeen received at his father's house, and that Mr. Sedley Archfieldhad used seditious language on several occasions, so that the causeof the prisoner's return at this juncture was manifest, and only tothe working of Providence could it be ascribed that the evidence ofthe aggravated murder should have at that very period been broughtto light.

  There was an evident sensation, and glances were cast at theupright, military figure, standing like a sentinel, as if theaudience expected him to murder them all.

  As before, the examination began with Robert Oakshott'sidentification of the clothes and sword, but Mr. Cowper avoided thesubject of the skeleton, and went on to inquire about the terms onwhich the two young men had lived.

  "Well," said Robert, "they quarrelled, but in a neighbourly sort ofway."

  "What do you call a neighbourly way?"

  "My poor brother used to be baited for being so queer. But then wewere as bad to him as the rest," said Robert candidly.

  "That is, when you were boys?"

  "Yes."

  "And after his return from his travels?"

  "It was the same then. He was too fine a gentleman for any one'staste."

  "You speak generally. Was there any especial animosity?"

  "My brother bought a horse that Archfield was after."

  "Was there any dispute over it?"

  "Not that I know of."

  "Can you give an instance of displeasure manifested by the pris
onerat the deceased?"

  "I have seen him look black when my brother held a gate open for hiswife."

  "Then there were gallant attentions towards Mrs. Archfield?"

  Charles's face flushed, and he made a step forward, but Robertgruffly answered: "No more than civility; but he had gotFrenchified manners, and liked to tease Archfield."

  "Did they ever come to high words before you?"

  "No. They knew better."

  "Thank you, Mr. Oakshott," said the prisoner, as it was intimatedthat Mr. Cowper had finished. "You bear witness that only the mostinnocent civility ever passed between your brother and my poor youngwife?"

  "Certainly," responded Robert.

  "Nothing that could cause serious resentment, if it excited passingannoyance."

  "Nothing."

  "What were your brother's political opinions?"

  "Well"--with some slow consideration--"he admired the Queen as was,and could not abide the Prince of Orange. My father was always _athim_ for it."

  "Would you think him likely to be an emissary to Holland?"

  "No one less likely."

  But Mr. Cowper started up. "Sir, I believe you are the youngerbrother?"

  "Yes."

  "How old were you at the time?"

  "Nigh upon nineteen."

  "Oh!" as if that accounted for his ignorance.

  The prisoner continued, and asked whether search was made when thedeceased was missed.

  "Hardly any."

  "Why not?"

  "He was never content at home, and we believed he had gone to myuncle in Muscovy."

  "What led you to examine the vault?"

  "My wife was disquieted by stories of my brother's ghost beingseen."

  "Did you ever see this ghost?"

  "No, never."

  That was all that was made of Robert Oakshott, and then again cameAnne Woodford's turn, and Mr. Cowper was more satirical and lessconsiderate than the day before. Still it was a less dreadfulordeal than previously, though she had to tell the worst, for sheknew her ground better, and then there was throughout wonderfulsupport in Charles's eyes, which told her, whenever she glancedtowards him, that she was doing right and as he wished. As she hadnot heard the speech for the prosecution it was a shock, afteridentifying herself a niece to a 'non-swearing' clergyman, to beasked about the night of the bonfire, and to be forced to tell thatMrs. Archfield had insisted on getting out of the carriage andwalking about with Mr. Oakshott.

  "Was the prisoner present?"

  "He came up after a time."

  "Did he show any displeasure?"

  "He thought it bad for her health."

  "Did any words pass between him and the deceased?"

  "Not that I remember."

  "And now, madam, will you be good enough to recur to the followingmorning, and continue the testimony in which you were interruptedthe day before yesterday? What was the hour?"

  "The church clock struck five just after."

  "May I ask what took a young gentlewoman out at such an untimelyhour? Did you expect to meet any one?"

  "No indeed, sir," said Anne hotly. "I had been asked to gather someherbs to carry to a friend."

  "Ah! And why at that time in the morning?"

  "Because I was to leave home at seven, when the tide served."

  "Where were you going?"

  "To London, sir."

  "And for what reason?"

  "I had been appointed to be a rocker in the Royal nursery."

  "I see. And your impending departure may explain certain strangecoincidences. May I ask what was this same herb?" in a mockingtone.

  "Mouse-ear, sir," said Anne, who would fain have called it by someless absurd title, but knew no other. "A specific for the whooping-cough."

  "Oh! Not 'Love in a mist.' Are your sure?"

  "My lord," here Simon Harcourt ventured, "may I ask, is thisregular?"

  The judge intimated that his learned brother had better keep to thepoint, and Mr. Cowper, thus called to order, desired the witness tocontinue, and demanded whether she was interrupted in her quest.

  "I saw Mr. Peregrine Oakshott enter the castle court, and I hurriedinto the tower, hoping he had not seen me."

  "You said before he had protected you. Why did you run from him?"

  She had foreseen this, and quietly answered, "He had made me anoffer of marriage which I had refused, and I did not wish to meethim."

  "Did you see any one else?"

  "Not till I had reached the door opening on the battlements. Then Iheard a clash, and saw Mr. Archfield and Mr. Oakshott fighting."

  "Mr. Archfield! The prisoner? Did he come to gather mouse-eartoo?"

  "No. His wife had sent him over with a pattern of sarcenet for meto match in London."

  "Early rising and prompt obedience." And there ensued the inquiriesthat brought out the history of what she had seen of the encounter,of the throwing the body into the vault, full dressed, and of herpromise of silence and its reason. Mr. Cowper did not molest herfurther except to make her say that she had been five months at theCourt, and had accompanied the late Queen to France.

  Then came the power of cross-examination on the part of theprisoner. He made no attempt to modify what had been said before,but asked in a gentle apologetic voice: "Was that the last time youever saw, or thought you saw, Peregrine Oakshott?"

  "No." And here every one in court started and looked curious.

  "When?"

  "The 31st of October 1688, in the evening."

  "Where?"

  "Looking from the window in the palace at Whitehall, I saw him, orhis likeness, walking along in the light of the lantern over thegreat door."

  The appearance at Lambeth was then described, and that in the gardenat Archfield House. This strange cross-examination was soon over,for Charles could not endure to subject her to the ordeal, while sheequally longed to be able to say something that might not damagehim, and dreaded every word she spoke. Moreover, Mr. Cowper lookedexceedingly contemptuous, and made the mention of Whitehall andLambeth a handle for impressing on the jury that the witness hadbeen deep in the counsels of the late royal family, and that she wasescorted from St. Germain by the prisoner just before he entered onforeign service.

  One of the servants at Fareham was called upon to testify to thehour of his young master's return on the fatal day. It was longpast dinner-time, he said. It must have been about three o'clock.

  Charles put in an inquiry as to the condition of his horse. "Hardridden, sir, as I never knew your Honour bring home Black Bess insuch a pickle before."

  After a couple of young men had been called who could speak to someoutbreaks of dislike to poor Peregrine, in which all had shared, thecase for the prosecution was completed. Cowper, in a speech thatwould be irregular now, but was permissible then, pointed out thatthe jealousy, dislike, and Jacobite proclivities of the Archfieldfamily had been fully made out, that the coincidence of visits tothe castle at that untimely hour had been insufficiently explained,that the condition of the remains in the vault was quiteinconsistent with the evidence of the witness, Mistress Woodford,unless there were persons waiting below unknown to her, and that theprisoner had been absent from Fareham from four or five o'clock inthe morning till nearly three in the afternoon. As to the strangestory she had further told, he (Mr. Cowper) was neithersuperstitious nor philosophic, but the jury would decide whetherconscience and the sense of an awful secret were not sufficient toconjure up such phantoms, if they were not indeed spiritual,occurring as they did in the very places and at the very times whenthe spirit of the unhappy young man, thus summarily dismissed fromthe world, his corpse left in an unblessed den, would be most likelyto reappear, haunting those who felt themselves to be mostaccountable for his lamentable and untimely end.

  The words evidently told, and it was at a disadvantage that theprisoner rose to speak in his own defence and to call his witnesses.

  "My lord," he said, "and gentlemen of the jury
, let me first saythat I am deeply grieved and hurt that the name of my poor youngwife has been brought into this matter. In justice to her who isgone, I must begin by saying that though she was flattered andgratified by the polite manners that I was too clownish and awkwardto emulate, and though I may have sometimes manifested ill-humour,yet I never for a moment took serious offence nor felt bound todefend her honour or my own. If I showed displeasure it was becauseshe was fatiguing herself against warning. I can say with perfecttruth, that when I left home on that unhappy morning, I bore noserious ill-will to any living creature. I had no politicalpurpose, and never dreamt of taking the life of any one. I was aheedless youth of nineteen. I shall be able to prove the commissionof my wife's on which this learned gentleman has thought fit to casta doubt. For the rest, Mistress Anne Woodford was my sister'sfriend and playfellow from early childhood. When I entered thecastle court I saw her hurrying into the keep, pursued by Oakshott,whom I knew her to dread and dislike. I naturally stepped between.Angry words passed. He challenged my right to interfere, and in apassion drew upon me. Though I was the taller and stronger, I knewhim to be proud of his skill in fencing, and perhaps I may thereforehave pressed him the harder, and the dislike I acknowledge made medrive home my sword. But I was free from all murderous intention upto that moment. In my inexperience I had no doubt but that he wasdead, and in a terror and confusion which I regret heartily, I threwhim into the vault, and for the sake of my wife and mother boundMiss Woodford to secrecy. I mounted my horse, and scarcely knowingwhat I did, rode till I found it ready to drop. I asked for restfor it in the first wayside public-house I came to. I lay downmeanwhile among some bushes adjoining, and there waited till myhorse could take me home again. I believe it was at the WhiteHorse, near Bishops Waltham, but the place has changed hands sincethat time, so that I can only prove my words, as you have heard, bythe state of my horse when I came home. For the condition of theremains in the vault I cannot account; I never touched the poorfellow after throwing him there. My wife died a few hours after myreturn home, where I remained for a week, nor did I suggest flight,though I gladly availed myself of my father's suggestion of sendingme abroad with a tutor. Let me add, to remove misconception, that Ivisited Paris because my tutor, the Reverend George Fellowes, one ofthe Fellows of Magdalen College expelled by the late King, and nowRector of Portchester, had been asked to provide for Miss Woodford'sreturn to her home, and he is here to testify that I never had anyconcern with politics. I did indeed accompany him to St. Germain,but merely to find the young gentlewoman, and in the absence of thelate King and Queen, nor did I hold intercourse with any otherperson connected with their Court. After escorting her to Ostend, Iwent to Hungary to serve in the army of our ally, the Emperor,against the Turks, the enemies of all Christians. After a severewound, I have come home, knowing nothing of conspiracies, and I wastaken by surprise on arriving here at Winchester at finding that mycousin was on his trial for the unfortunate deed into which I wasbetrayed by haste and passion, but entirely without premeditation orintent to do more than to defend the young lady. So that I pleadthat my crime does not amount to murder from malicious intent; andlikewise, that those who charge me with the actual death ofPeregrine Oakshott should prove him to be dead."

  Charles's first witness was Mrs. Lang, his late wife's 'own woman,'who spared him many questions by garrulously declaring 'what a work'poor little Madam had made about the rose-coloured sarcenet, causingthe pattern to be searched out as soon as she came home from thebonfire, and how she had 'gone on at' her husband till he promisedto give it to Mistress Anne, and how he had been astir at fouro'clock in the morning, and had called to her (Mrs. Lang) to look toher mistress, who might perhaps get some sleep now that she had herwill and hounded him out to go over to Portchester about that silk.

  Nothing was asked of this witness by the prosecution except the timeof Mr. Archfield's return. The question of jealousy was passedover.

  Of the pond apparition nothing was said. Anne had told Charles ofit, but no one could have proved its identity but Sedley, and hisshare in it was too painful to be brought forward. Three otherghost seers were brought forward: Mrs. Fellowes's maid, the sentry,and the sexton; but only the sexton had ever seen Master Perryalive, and he would not swear to more than that it was something inhis likeness; the sentry was already bound to declare it somethingunsubstantial; and the maid was easily persuaded into declaring thatshe did not know what she had seen or whether she had seen anything.

  There only remained Mr. Fellowes to bear witness of his pupil'sentire innocence of political intrigues, together with a voluntarytestimony addressed to the court, that the youth had always appearedto him a well-disposed but hitherto boyish lad, suddenly sobered andrendered thoughtful by a shock that had changed the tenor of hismind.

  Mr. Baron Hatsel summed up in his dreary vacillating way. He toldthe gentlemen of the jury that young men would be young men,especially where pretty wenches were concerned, and that all knewthat there was bitterness where Whig and Tory were living nightogether. Then he went over the evidence, at first in a tonefavourable to the encounter having been almost accidental, and thestroke an act of passion. But he then added, it was strange, and hedid not know what to think of these young sparks and the younggentlewoman all meeting in a lonely place when honest folks wereabed, and the hiding in the vault, and the state of the clothes werestrange matters scarce agreeing with what either prisoner or witnesssaid. It looked only too like part of a plot of which some oneshould make a clean breast. On the other hand, the prisoner was afine young gentleman, an only son, and had been fighting the Turks,though it would have been better to have fought the French among hisown countrymen. He had come ingenuously forward to deliver hiscousin, and a deliberate murderer was not wont to be so generous,though may be he expected to get off easily on this same plea ofmisadventure. If it was misadventure, why did he not try to dosomething for the deceased, or wait to see whether he breathedbefore throwing him into this same pit? though, to be sure, a ladmight be inexperienced. For the rest, as to these same sights ofthe deceased or his likeness, he (the judge) was no believer inghosts, though he would not say there were no such things, and thegentlemen of the jury must decide whether it was more likely thepoor youth was playing pranks in the body, or whether he werehaunting in the spirit those who had most to do with his untimelyend. This was the purport, or rather the no-purport, of the charge.

  The jury were absent for a very short time, and as it leaked outafterwards, their intelligence did not rise above the idea that theyoung gentleman was thick with they Frenchies who wanted to bring inmurder and popery, warming-pans and wooden shoes. He called stoningpoultry a trifle, so of what was he not capable? Of course hespited the poor young chap, and how could the fact be denied whenthe poor ghost had come back to ask for his blood?

  So the awful suspense ended with 'Guilty, my Lord.'

  "Of murder or manslaughter?"

  "Of murder."

  The prisoner stood as no doubt he had faced Turkish batteries.

  The judge asked the customary question whether he had any reason toplead why he should not be condemned to death.

  "No, my lord. I am guilty of shedding Peregrine Oakshott's blood,and though I declare before God and man that I had no such purpose,and it was done in the heat of an undesigned struggle, I hated himenough to render the sentence no unjust one. I trust that God willpardon me, if man does not."

  The gentlemen around drew the poor old father out of the court so asnot to hear the final sentence, and Anne, half stunned, was takenaway by her uncle, and put into the same carriage with him. The oldman held her hands closely and could not speak, but she found voice,"Sir, sir, do not give up hope. God will save him. I know what Ican do. I will go to Princess Anne. She is friendly with the Kingnow. She will bring me to tell him all."

  Hurriedly she spoke, her object, as it seemed to be that of everyone, to keep up such hope and encouragement as to drown the terriblesens
e of the actual upshot of the trial. The room at the George wasfull in a moment of friends declaring that all would go well in theend, and consulting what to do. Neither Sir Philip nor Dr. Woodfordcould be available, as their refusal to take the oaths to KingWilliam made them marked men. The former could only write to theImperial Ambassador, beseeching him to claim the prisoner as anofficer of the Empire, though it was doubtful whether this would beallowed in the case of an Englishman born. Mr. Fellowes undertookto be the bearer of the letter, and to do his best throughArchbishop Tenison to let the King know the true bearings of thecase. Almost in pity, to spare Anne the misery of helpless waiting,Dr. Woodford consented to let her go under his escort, starting veryearly the next morning, since the King might immediately set off forthe army in Holland, and the space was brief between condemnationand execution.

  Sir Edmund proposed to hurry to Carisbrooke Castle, being happily ongood terms with that fiery personage, Lord Cutts, the governor ofthe Isle of Wight as well as a favoured general of the King, whoseintercession might do more than Princess Anne's. Moreover, amessage came from old Mr. Cromwell, begging to see Sir Edmund. Itwas on behalf of Major Oakshott, who entreated that Sir Philip mightbe assured of his own great regret at the prosecution and theresult, and his entire belief that the provocation came from hisunhappy son. Both he and Richard Cromwell were having a petitionfor pardon drawn up, which Sir Henry Mildmay and almost all theleading gentlemen of Hampshire of both parties were sure to sign,while the sheriff would defer the execution as long as possible.Pardons, especially in cases of duelling, had been marketablearticles in the last reigns, and there could not but be a sigh forsuch conveniences. Sir Philip wanted to go at once to the jail,which was very near the inn, but consented on strong persuasion tolet his son-in-law precede him.

  Anne longed for a few moments to herself, but durst not leave thepoor old man, who sat holding her hand, and at each interval ofsilence saying how this would kill the boy's mother, or somethingequally desponding, so that she had to talk almost at random of thevarious gleams of hope, and even to describe how the little Duke ofGloucester might be told of Philip and sent to the King, who wasknown to be very fond of him. It was a great comfort when Dr.Woodford came and offered to pray with them.

  By and by Sir Edmund returned, having been making arrangements forCharles's comfort. Ordinary prisoners were heaped together andmiserably treated, but money could do something, and by applicationto the High Sheriff, permission had been secured for Charles tooccupy a private room, on a heavy fee to the jailor, and for hisfriends to have access to him, besides other necessaries, purchasedat more than their weight in gold. Sir Edmund brought word thatCharles was in good heart; sent love and duty to his father, whom hewould welcome with all his soul, but that as Miss Woodford was--inher love and bravery--going so soon to London, he prayed that shemight be his first visitor that evening.

  There was little more to do than to cross the street, and Sir Edmundhurried her through the flagged and dirty yard, and the dim, foulhall, filled with fumes of smoke and beer, where melancholy debtorsheld out their hands, idle scapegraces laughed, heavy degraded facesscowled, and evil sounds were heard, up the stairs to a nail-studdeddoor, where Anne shuddered to hear the heavy key turned by thecoarse, rude-looking warder, only withheld from insolence by thepresence of a magistrate. Her escort tarried outside, and she sawCharles, his rush-light candle gleaming on his gold lace as he wrotea letter to the ambassador to be forwarded by his father.

  He sprang up with outstretched arms and an eager smile. "My bravesweetheart! how nobly you have done. Truth and trust. It did myheart good to hear you."

  Her head was on his shoulder. She wanted to speak, but could notwithout loosing the flood of tears.

  "Faith entire," he went on; "and you are still striving for me."

  "Princess Anne is--" she began, then the choking came.

  "True!" he said. "Come, do not expect the worst. I have not madeup my mind to that! If the ambassador will stir, the King will notbe disobliging, though it will probably not be a free pardon, butHungary for some years to come--and you are coming with me."

  "If you will have one who might be--may have been--your death. Oh,every word I said seemed to me stabbing you;" and the tears wouldcome now.

  "No such thing! They only showed how true my love is to God and me,and made my heart swell with pride to hear her so cheering methrough all."

  His strength seemed to allow her to break down. She had all alonghad to bear up the spirits of Sir Philip and Lady Archfield, andthough she had struggled for composure, the finding that she had inhim a comforter and support set the pent-up tears flowing fast, ashe held her close.

  "Oh, I did not mean to vex you thus!" she said.

  "Vex! no indeed! 'Tis something to be wept for. But cheer up, Annemine. I have often been in far worse plights than this, when I haveridden up in the face of eight big Turkish guns. The balls wentover my head then, by God's good mercy. Why not the same now? Ay!and I was ready to give all I had to any one who would have put apistol to my head and got me out of my misery, jolting along on theway to the Iron Gates. Yet here I am! Maybe the Almighty broughtme back to save poor Sedley, and clear my own conscience, knowingwell that though it does not look so, it is better for me to diethus than the other way. No, no; 'tis ten to one that you and therest of you will get me off. I only meant to show you thatsupposing it fails, I shall only feel it my due, and much better forme than if I had died out there with it unconfessed. I shall try toget them all to feel it so, and, after all, now the whole is out, myheart feels lighter than it has done these seven years. And if Icould only believe that poor fellow alive, I could almost diecontent, though that sounds strange. It will quiet his poorrestless spirit any way."

  "You are too brave. Oh! I hoped to come here to comfort you, and Ihave only made you comfort me."

  "The best way, sweetest. Now, I will seal and address this letter,and you shall take it to Mr. Fellowes to carry to the ambassador."

  This gave Anne a little time to compose herself, and when he hadfinished, he took the candle, and saying, "Look here," he held it tothe wall, and they read, scratched on the rough bricks, "AliceLisle, 1685. This is thankworthy."

  "Lady Lisle's cell! Oh, this is no good omen!"

  "I call it a goodly legacy even to one who cannot claim to sufferwrongfully," said Charles. "There, they knock--one kiss more--weshall meet again soon. Don't linger in town, but give me all thedays you can. Yes, take her back, Sir Edmund, for she must restbefore her journey. Cheer up, love, and do not lie weeping allnight, but believe that your prayers to God and man must prevail oneway or another."