CHAPTER VII.

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery

Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,
To war and arms I fly.-

True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;

And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.-

Yet this inconstancy is such

As you too shall adore;

I could not love thee, dear, so much,

Loved I not honour more.

RICHARD LOVELACE.

ALTHOUGH Goldingham maintained it to be the duty of every loyal man to contribute something to the royal cause in this emergency, it may be doubted whether he himself could be properly included in the number, for his horror of popery, which it was now the King's

avowed object to introduce, rendered him anything rather than well affected towards the ruling powers. As a rich man, however, he felt the propriety of supporting the existing government, which could at least afford him protection and security for his property, against such an assailant as the Duke of Monmouth, a mere adventurer, a natural son of the late King by a low woman, one who appeared little likely to subvert an established government with two or three hundred desperadoes, for such was the amount of his present force, and one moreover whose turbulent life and profligate conduct conferred but little credit upon his religion, although he had assumed to himself the title of the Protestant Prince. Even if he were successful, a contingency hardly within the bounds of possibility, he would be only an usurper, whose temporary elevation might entail upon the country an interminable civil war, than which no calamity could be greater to a holder of Exchequer tallies, Government Actions, and India Stock, to say nothing of his landed property in Dor

setshire. All these matters did he deeply cogitate in the night, and so profound was the impression they made upon his mind, that he was up with the lark next morning, agreeably to his promise, and writing to his different agents in London ere Reuben, who slept soundly because he had none of the anxieties of wealth to awaken him, had shaken off his slumbers.

It was still early, however, when the latter started from his bed, and dressing himself in all haste, sallied forth to gather information respecting the landing, which was of course the paramount object of interest throughout the neighbourhood. He had just descended from the terrace for this purpose, when his attention was arrested by the sound of horses' feet, and on looking towards the lodge, he beheld a body of about thirty Cavaliers galloping along the drive, which they presently quitted, dashed through the plantations into the little park, and spreading themselves into a line, advanced at speed towards the house. At this unusual sight, Reuben turned back that he might ascer

tain their object, stationed himself upon the front of the terrace, and waiting their arrival, had leisure to observe that they were a tumultuary looking troop, mounted on horses of all descriptions, and arrayed in every variety of costume, some having half armour, others nothing but an iron or steel head-piece, and a third set totally unprovided with defensive panoply, though they were all furnished with weapons of some sort, and might be judged to constitute a common band from their all wearing a white ribbon upon the left arm. Their banditti-like appointments, and the rapidity of their approach, imparted to them a sufficiently formidable appearance, and though Reuben did not deem it likely that they could advance with any hostile intentions, or meditate violence against an unarmed individual, he was not altogether free from apprehension as they galloped up to him. Stopping their horses immediately under the low wall of the terrace, several of the party hastily dismounted, and were clambering up as if to take the place by storm, when a person who appeared to act as

their commander, called out to them to fall back, and intimated by waving his hand, that they were to desist. At the same time he advanced towards Reuben, and had begun to address him by stating that he acted under the authority, and by the command of the Duke of Monmouth, when he broke suddenly off, exclaiming—" Is it possible?—yes,—surely I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Reuben Apsley."

Reuben looked earnestly at the speaker, who was so altered by his helmet and military equipments that some moments elapsed ere he recognized in him the elder brother of Charles Fludyer, his only intimate associate among the collegians at Oxford. In his occasional visits to that place, he had been introduced to Reuben, who had eagerly cultivated his acquaintance because he had formerly been the friend of his father, and more especially as from a motive of kindness to his young auditor, rather than from his own convictions, he acquiesced with him in the probability that his lost parents might still be living. "My dear Mr. Fludyer,” exclaimed