"It may not, it need not last for ever," said Alice; "but you Hildyards are such a wilful race, and loathe to bend your high spirits."

"It is true; I hope my sons will never fall upon such evil times. But I am detaining you. Robert, say farewell to your aunt; perhaps you will have something more to say to her when you see her next."

"You will be a travelled gentleman then, I suppose," said Alice, kissing him. God speed your journey, Sir Henry, and a thousand

thanks."

66

'Nay, I owe you thanks, good sister, for the confidence you placed in me. I shall carry away a pleasanter recollection of my kindred from this short interview. Farewell, a safe return and a speedy one!"

"Now, Will," exclaimed Alice, as she alighted at the Inn, "all is safe, and we might as well begin our journey homeward to-day."

"Faith, Alice, I have not seen you look so bright for years. The day is wearing on, but we might make one short stage before nightfall. There will be some anxious eyes looking out for our return."

"I have seen the King myself, so there is no uncertainty; but all this you shall hear as we ride; it will beguile the way."

Meanwhile, Ralph and Kate had found the days pass heavily; Ralph had wished a hundred times he had not consented to his wife's going on such an errand. What dangers might not befall her on the way; what annoyances she might be exposed to if she reached London; while Kate had many fears lest Will should be seized and perhaps clapped into the Tower. Old Dame Lister, who was very feeble and nervous, could not rest; the days seemed to her as long as weeks while her son was absent, and Kate had to conceal her own uneasiness to beguile the weary hours, and to talk of Will's coming back as a fact that could not be questioned.

But before anyone thought it possible for them to have even set. off from the capital, they were passing under White Friars gateway, and not many minutes afterwards were sweeping into the fine old court-yard in High Street and startling Ralph's quiet household. The master himself was sitting in the library, reading at the window that Alice used to call her own. Suddenly there was the clattering sound of horses' hoofs; he sprang up and flung open the casement; could it indeed be Alice? he hardly dared to hope it. But there she was, and smiling, too; and hardly had she time to draw rein when Ralph was beside her, lifting her from her saddle, and covering her face with kisses. He seemed too glad to speak at first, until Will addressed him, then he exclaimed,

"I see that all is right by your looks; away to your wife, Will; she and your mother will almost devour you between them."

"I know you want to feast upon Alice, without anyone to witness your inhumanity," replied Will, laughing and hastening away.

"Dear heart, you must have ridden night and day; your horse looks ready for its stall and you are tired out, spite of your smiles."

"We have not let the grass grow under our feet, certainly," replied Alice; "but I can walk in, Ralph; I shall soon be rested now I have got home."

"You must never leave me again, Alice," said Ralph, as they stood in the dining-room, where a large wood fire was burning; and then he folded her up in his arms and renewed his caresses.

There was something almost painful to Alice in this passionate fondness. Yet she really felt happier than usual, and was warmer in manner than was her wont.

"It hath been a curious adventure," she said, when she could get an opportunity of speaking. "But before I begin my tale,

please let me rid myself of this heavy riding dress."

"If you promise to return with all speed. I have not halffinished my 'feast,' as Will calls it."

"I will return ready dressed for the table, and then you can finish your meal with less dust and more relish."

"Surely my hopes are about to be realised," said Ralph, to himself, as the door closed on his wife. "I have waited long, the winter is passing away and the ice is melting."

Before Alice was allowed to talk she had to eat and drink, and then, seated on a low stool beside her husband, she told her story. "I wanted to ride on day and night. I was so afraid of being too late, and thought that the warrant itself might pass us on the way. And now, Ralph, I must tell you something that will perhaps anger you. You look as if that was impossible; but I want you to promise not to be vexed, before I go on."

"Of course, I promise; but you would find it hard to vex me just now."

"Well, hear me. I thought that warning letter came from your brother."

"From Henry!" ejaculated Ralph.

"Yes. I knew of no other who would be so interested in saving your honour and lands. And so I went to him the moment after we got into town."

"You went to see him? It was a strange thing to do, Alice," said Ralph, very seriously.

"I knew it was, but I did not compromise you, Ralph-not even your sensitive pride. He received me kindly and asked after you and Kate. I soon found he knew nothing of the letter; but it

troubled him very much. He said at once that you would object to be in debt to him and that I must see the King myself. Most opportunely, just then he was sent for by his Majesty, and, as there could be no better time, he led me to the royal chambers. But oh, Ralph, there is such a change everywhere, playing and swearing amongst the servants, and idling and folly by the gentlefolks who seem to think of nothing but pleasure and getting riches, from all that we saw and heard. I fell to trembling when we got into the presence, not so much for fear of royalty as for what might come of my suit. I was glad to be out of sight for a few minutes while the King spoke to your brother. A pretty boy was standing by him, and a most beautiful woman sat in a fine chair coquetting with two gentlemen who looked as if they had been up all night. Methought the lady put on too many airs and was not dressed so modestly as she might have been, and she took little account of the King's being there. When Sir Henry called the King's notice to me they all stared to see me there, and I feared lest we had taken too great a liberty; but His Majesty was full of kindness, and on hearing my errand was a private one, took me into a tiny chamber near, and there spoke as freely as any other gentleman, only with a familiarity that I would have suffered from none other.

"He quickly promised that you should have his protection, and that no one should set foot upon your lands. He spoke, too, of his father's coming to Hull and finding no welcome, making somewhat merry over it now that he is sure of a joyful entrance here himself, when he chooses to come. When we got back to the other room the lady cast on me a very proud look. The King saw it and laughed. You need not be jealous, Bab,' he said, this lady is a Puritan of the strictest sect.' I was sure, then, that this haughty dame must be Madame Palmer, the King's great favourite. She smiled disdainfully, and replied that 'She had not missed his company, for the Duke and Sir Charles had entertained her excellently.' Then she addressed me graciously enough, and hoped I had preached the King a sermon; but I was glad to come away, and so thankful that all had gone well and that you were safe."

"I am doubly pleased, for I owe my life to my beloved Alice," said Ralph, bending down and drawing her head to his bosom. "You do love me?" he continued, in a lower tone, "you must love me now, my Alice, or you would not have done all this. Will you not make me happy for once, dear wife?" He waited, listening eagerly for the words of love for which his heart was so hungry. "Let my actions say all you wish," murmured Alice.

"They tell me much, dear heart, but I should like to hear you say, 'Ralph, I love thee.""

"Of course I love you, Ralph," said Alice, blushing as much as if the confession was being made to a lover instead of a husband. "They may take everything I have, now that my wife's love is mine," exclaimed Ralph, greatly agitated; "I would rather give my life itself, and know that, for one brief hour at least, my Alice's heart was mine, than live on to old age, for ever longing, and doubting, and hoping. You must not be grieved with me, sweet love, but I have often thought that you would not much regret my loss; you would have been free from bonds that have been burdensome, and perhaps hateful."

"Oh, Ralph, I never felt unkindly towards you. I could never hate one who has been so tender and indulgent."

"Perhaps not, but your love was another's. Yes, dear wife, I knew it well enough, I felt it daily; and when that letter came, I said within myself that now you might possibly be relieved. Then you made me wonder, you were so resolved to save me; and the hope that perchance, after all, your affections might turn towards me put a new value on my life. Sometimes I have wished that I had died of my wound, feeling that I stood between you and happiness. Now I am content. I always knew my Alice would be true to as much as she promised; but that was very little for one who loves as I do."

Alice did not reply, she felt almost guilty. True, she loved her husband, but not as he seemed to think. Yet why not let him be happy? She had not meant to deceive him in the least, and perhaps in time she might really feel all that he believed she did, for it was impossible to explain the present character of her affection for him. She had never forgotten Mistress Shawe's dying counsels, and had done her best to follow them. So now she gently responded to his endearments, wishing sincerely that she could feel as warmly as he did. Alas! what a "tangled web we weave" by taking one false step!

"There is something, Ralph, I have not told you yet,” said Alice, after a long pause in the conversation; "His Majesty requests that we both appear at Court ere long. I sought to excuse myself, at any rate, and told the King I was a Puritan, but he would not be denied."

"I ought to tender my thanks in person; but there is Henry.” "Your brother is going abroad with his sons. I saw one of them, a shy stripling, who seemed growing too fast, but promising in looks. Sir Henry lamented their motherless fate. I thought that Whitehall was a sorry home for his children."

'Well, when Henry has quitted London, we must show ourselves to be thankful and loyal subjects."

"I am very thankful, Ralph, and I do not wish to be disloyal;

but I regret the sober days of the Commonwealth when vice had to hide itself, and good men spoke, and wrote, and preached without fear."

CHAPTER XLI.-THE SHADOWS OF COMING ILLS.

The cloud that Andrew Marvel saw gathering over his misruled country ere he left her shores, soon broke. On the 2nd of June Sir Harry Vane was brought from his lonely, damp dungeon in the Scilly Isles, to appear before a tribunal that dared not acquit him, although they knew not how to answer his powerful pleading; but the more ability he showed the less chance had he of receiving justice; his noble principles, his clear, acute judgment, and calm, dignified manners filled his enemies with terror. He was declared too dangerous a man to be allowed to live. The King himself felt and said this, and his judges, if unable to answer Vane's arguments, knew what course would best please his Majesty, and did not hesitate to condemn to death the man they could not convict of guilt.

Twelve days afterwards Vane's head fell on Tower Hill; he met his fate like a hero and a martyr, and though insulted to the last moments of his life by his accusers, the people were not forgetful of his virtuous life, and many followed him to the scaffold with blessings and with tears. And so another of England's patriots fell at a time when good and wise statesmen were never more needed. The darkest, saddest day of Charles' reign was near at band, but not one amongst the dazzling multitude that thronged Whitehall made any effort to avert the evil. On the contrary, bishops, lawyers, and courtiers did their utmost to enforce an Act whose consequences have been increasing in importance to this very day.

The Act of Uniformity came into force on the 12th day of August, in this year 1662, when two thousand pious and conscientious ministers were ejected from their homes and livings and turned adrift upon the world, and had it not been for the few men remaining who had been bred up amongst Puritan influences, the light must have been quite extinguished in the Established Church. Who wonders at the wickedness and profligacy, the plague, the fire, the disgrace that visited the nation when the best and holiest of her sons were in rags and want, some dying from cold and poverty, others imprisoned, fined, or transported, while their places in the sanctuary were hastily filled up by a motley set of men as ignorant as they were ungodly.

It had been hoped by many that the King's marriage would bring about a reformation of manners at Court. The new Queen was modest and gentle, of amiable manner and a pleasing person, fitted to win love and respect, but perhaps better suited to adorn a