kings' minions swear what oaths they would.
He said nothing to this; the worse sign for
her; but he set his teeth at her; and in an
hour's time he rode away back to the French
witch that had beguiled him.

Before he went away from Morton he set
his spies. He longed to catch his wife in his
fierce clutch, and punish her for defying him.
She had made him hate her with her Puritanical
ways. He counted the days till the
messenger came, splashed up to the top of
his deep leather boots, to say that my lady
had invited the canting Puritan preachers of
the neighbourhood to a prayer-meeting, and
a dinner, and a night's rest at her house.
Sir John smiled, as he gave the messenger
five gold pieces for his pains; and straight
took post-horses, and rode long days till he
got to Morton; and only just in time; for it
was the very day of the prayer-meeting.
Dinners were then at one o'clock in the
country. The great people in London might
keep late hours, and dine at three in the
afternoon or so; but the Mortons they always
clung to the good old ways, and, as the
church bells were ringing twelve when Sir
John came riding into the village, he knew
he might slacken bridle; and, casting one
glance at the smoke which came hurrying up
as if from a newly-mended fire, just behind
the wood, where he knew the Hall-kitchen
chimney stood. Sir John stopped at the
smithy, and pretended to question the smith
about his horse's shoes; but he took little
heed of the answers, being more occupied by
an old serving man from the Hall, who had
been loitering about the smithy half the
morning, as folk thought afterwards, to keep
some appointment with Sir John. When
their talk was ended. Sir John lifted himself
straight in his saddle; cleared his throat, and
spoke out aloud:—

"I grieve to hear your lady is so ill." The
smith wondered at this, for all the village
knew of the coming feast at the Hall; the
spring-chickens had been bought up, and the
cade-lambs killed; for the preachers in those
days, if they fasted they fasted, if they fought
they fought, if they prayed they prayed,
sometimes for three hours at a standing; and
if they feasted they feasted, and knew what
good eating was, believe me.

"My lady ill?" said the smith, as if he
doubted the old prim serving-man's word.
And the latter would have chopped in with
an angry asseveration (he had been at
Worcester and fought on the right side), but
Sir John cut him short.

"My lady is very ill, good Master Fox. It
touches her here," continued he, pointing to
his head. "I am come down to take her to
London, where the King's own physician
shall prescribe for her." And he rode slowly
up to the Hall.

The lady was as well as ever she had been
in her life, and happier than she had often
been—for in a few minutes some of those
whom she esteemed so highly would be about
her; some of those who had known and
valued her father—her dead father, to whom
her sorrowful heart turned in its woe, as the
only true lover and friend she had ever had
on earth. Many of the preachers would
have ridden far—was all in order in their
rooms, and on the table in the great dining
parlour? She had got into restless hurried
ways of late. She went round below, and
then she mounted the great oak staircase to
see if the tower bed-chamber was all in order
for old Master Hilton, the oldest among the
preachers. Meanwhile, the maidens below
were carrying in mighty cold rounds of spiced
beef, quarters of lamb, chicken pies, and all
such provisions, when suddenly, they knew
not how, they found themselves each seized
by strong arms, their aprons thrown over
their heads, after the manner of a gag, and
themselves borne out of the house on to the
poultry green behind, where, with threats of
what worse might befall them, they were sent
with many a shameful word—(Sir John could
not always command his men, many of whom
had been soldiers in the French wars)—back
into the village. They scudded away like
frightened hares. My lady was strewing the
white-headed preacher's room with the last
year's lavender, and stirring up the sweet-pot
on the dressing-table when she heard a step on
the echoing stairs. It was no measured tread of
any Puritan; it was the clang of a man of
war coming nearer and nearer, with loud
rapid strides. She knew the step; her heart
stopped beating, not for fear, but because
she loved Sir John even yet; and she took a
step forward to meet him, and then stood
still and trembled, for the flattering false
thought came before her that he might have
come yet in some quick impulse of reviving
love, and that his hasty step might be
prompted by the passionate tenderness of
a husband. But when he reached the
door, she looked as calm and indifferent
as ever.

"My lady," said he, "you are gathering
your friends to some feast; may I know who
are thus invited to revel in my house? Some
graceless fellows, I see, from the store of
meat and drink below: wine-bibbers and
drunkards I fear."

But, by the working glance of his eye she
saw that he knew all; and she spoke with a
cold distinctness:

"Master Ephraim Dixon, Master Zerub-babel
Hopkins, Master Help-me-or-I-perish
Perkins, and some other godly ministers,
come to spend the afternoon in my house."

He went to her, and in his rage he struck
her. She put up no arm to save herself, but
reddened a little with the pain, and then,
drawing her neckerchief on one side, she
looked at the crimson mark on her white
neck.

"It serves me right," she said. "I wedded
one of my father's enemies; one of those who