Stratton hill : a tale of the civil wars

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L IBRAHY

OF THE

UNIVERSITY

Of ILLINOIS

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S T R A T TON HILL,

A TALE OF

THE CIVIL WARS.

BY THE AUTHOR OF

"LETTERS FROM THE EAST."

TALES OF THE WEST OF ENGLAND,
&c &c.

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.

LONDON :
HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.

1829.

$23

•.a

STRATTON HILL.

CHAPTER I.

" Pale cheek and eye subdued, of her whose mind
Was to the world and all its hopes resign'd ;
Her easy form, in rustic neatness clad,
Was pleasing still — but she for ever sad !"

Crabbe.

In the narrow dell of Combe, that led down
to the sea, the primroses were already fading,
and the beech trees beginning to put forth their
bud : the sea pink, one of the constant adorn-
ments of this coast, covered with its purple hue
the banks of the dell.

The hamlet, that was so desolately situated
beneath the wintry winds, now wore a cheerful

VOL. II. B

2 STRATTON HILL.

appearance, and presented a picture of quiet
industry and content, as its few dwellings stood
humbly at the foot of the verdant slope, and
the stream ran silently before their doors.
Such is many a hidden and neglected valley in
Cornwall, whose wild and romantic vales, open-
ing on the deep, and inclosed by lofty steeps
on either side, not often meet the eye of the
stranger, that wanders wearily over a wide ex-
tent of cheerless and neglected ground above.
A lonely, but not a stranger's footstep now
came down the glen ; it was that of a young
and fair woman, who looked anxiously around,
and seemed, by the disquiet of her air, to have
come less for the loveliness of the walk and scene,
than for relief from some painful feeling.

She sat down beside the remain of the small
hermitage, that had once sheltered some monas-
tic recluse, whose abode had been now a long
time desolate ; the rivulet ran at the foot of the
broken walls.

It was Elizabeth, the widowed daughter of
mine hostess of the Ivy Bush, and the stillness
of the place seemed to bring her sorrows back
upon her mind with fresh power, or rather, if

STRATTON HILL. 3

woman's mind could always be read by the
aspect, there was a warmer remembrance, a
fresher tenderness in the look, than what is
often cherished at such an age for a long lost
partner. No colour varied the deadly paleness
of her countenance ; the walk of several miles,
the freshness of the air, that seemed winged
with health, had not called forth one ruddy
spot on her cheek or brow ; it suited well, how-
ever, with her delicate form, and with the gen-
tle character of her mind.

Ere an hour had elapsed, another foot came
down the declivity, but with greater swiftness
and elasticity ; she was agitated as she observed
the eager approach of a well-made young man,
whose eye sparkled with pleasure as he drew
nigh, and whose free and bold bearing proved
him to be the same adventurer that had passed
the evening at the village inn a few months be-
fore, and taken so prominent a part in the con-
versation. The ardour of the look with which
he regarded her, could not hide his disquietude.
" You have come, as you promised, Eliza-
beth, n he said ; " have you been long here ?

I have some remembrance of this place, — the
B 2

4 STRATTON HILL.

stream, and the hamlet there, — and well I may,
'twas here my mother dwelt long since, and I
first saw the light."

" ' Tis a sweet spot," she replied, " and was a
favourite one of mine before I married ; but I
have seldom been here since. — ' Twas on the
beach below," she continued sadly, " where I
parted from my husband, and I cannot bear to
visit it again."

" You are for ever dwelling on by-gone sor-
rows," the young man replied. " Js a form like
that, and, still more, the warm and kind heart
within, intended for nothing but to gloom over
the past? It can't be recalled, Betsy, and it's
long since it happened now."

"That's true, Stephen, but I'm a fated
woman, — at least, I often fancy so, — so early, so
suddenly bereaved. I saw William, the very
evening he was washed overboard, pass along
the chamber, as I sat by the bedside, thinking
of him ; and Sarah Gray told me, ' twas a sign
he was to be my last husband ; — no, I shall
never marry again "

" You will keep your vows like most maids
and widows have done : ' tis the third year now,

STRATTON HILL. O

and that's long enough to cry over any man, if
he was the handsomest and boldest fellow in the
neighbourhood ."

" He was not handsome," the widow said :
" I never cared for beauty in a man ; but I
liked him, for he was my first liking and that
goes a great way at the age I was then."

" What you then were, I know not," said the
adventurer warmly ; " but I love that sadness
and seriousness better than all the gaiety in the
world. I have seen women of the burning
countries of the South ; but there 's something
in that melancholy eye, and sweet still features,
that has laid hold of my heart. And now tell
me, Elizabeth, and tell me truly — "

" I have been to blame, Nicholas, to meet
you here ; and more to blame, it may be, not to
have told you sooner on this matter. But 'tis
so long that I have loved stillness and peace,
that I hated to have them broken in upon by
any bitterness or strife. It is little encourage-
ment you have had from me ; have I given any
to your passion, any promise or hope ?"

" Not that — not exactly that ; but you have
listened to me, and I have thought you listened

D STRATTON HILL.

with pleasure : often your look and words seem-
ed to me kind, like those of affection— they
were so near to it."

" Alas ! if I listened with pleasure," she re-
plied,— " and I fear that there were moments
when I did so, — it was because words of affection
had long been strange to my ears, and they
came back to me again like a dream. It was,
in truth, a short-lived dream, my wedded life.
He was so young, and his heart so tender,
that it seemed, when you spoke, I heard my
husbands voice again ; the sound too was like
his."

" This is mockery to my feelings," he said
earnestly. " Then, when I poured them fresh
from my heart, and sat beside you, your thoughts
were on another— on the dead, you will say.
Look at this hermitage, its broken walls over-
grown with grass, that was once, they say,
worshipped in. Such are you, you mournful
woman, — your heart growing desolate, and grief
preying on your comeliness."

" You are too agitated, Stephen ; be more
calm, I intreat you."

" A man cannot be calm, Elizabeth, when

STRATTON HILL. 7

his dearest hope hangs, as it were, on a thread.
Consent but to be my wife, and I will be
calm as the soft scene around us, and will tame
the hot blood that has long swept through
my veins. For your sake, I will go to my
native place, that rude parish of Saint Just. I
will love the old dwelling and the green lanes,
as your mother counselled me. I have done
deeds that need repentance ; and sweet it will
be to repent when you talk to me of better and
holier things, as you have done ere now."

The young woman raised her eyes to his,
with an earnest and hesitating expression, and
saw there the certainty, so dear in sorrow and
bereavement, as well as in pride and prosperity
— that of being sincerely loved : — she turned
them away, with a deep sigh.

" It is of no use," she said, " to think of these
things ; I never knew your liking was so warm,
or your mind fixed so earnestly upon me ; for
you had often talked of loving many women in
those far countries ; and that when tired of one,
you sought for another : so I thought it might
be just such a passing love as that, and that it
would die of its own accord. And now there is

° STRATTON HILL.

no help for it — for, don't look so fierce at me,
for — it is too late — I can't give you my love in
return."

" And why not ? tell me, I demand of you ;
why do you colour so ? there is no one else you
are attached to — there cannot be "

" How can you think such a thing," she an-
swered, in an agitated voice ; " I never told of it ;
but suppose there should be one — yes, it is given
to another."

" You have deceived me,'' he said sternly,
after a short silence,^-" you that I thought so
sincere, so good. But who has stolen that love,
that would else, I know, have been mine ? he
shall not enjoy it. I will know him, and will
find him, by my hope of Heaven, wherever may
be his path or his home ! The cold, calm villain!
to snatch from me the prize that I would have
swept the whole ocean in tempest to make my
own I" and he laid hold on her trembling arm
with a strong grasp.

" He did not steal it," she answered, " and
you must not harm him. He never sought it ;
but it is not the less fixed on him. Abuse my

STRATTON HILL. 9

weakness, despise it if you will, but lay no in-
jury on his head ; — it was Carries."

" Games,* he replied, as his hand passed
from the hilt of his poniard, and he turned from
her, while the curse died on his lips : — " I cannot
harm him, for he has been day and night be-
neath my father's roof, and been to me as a
friend. I looked not for this: the revenge that
I reckoned on so surely, cannot be ; that cup
is dashed from iny lips."

" Do not say so," the young woman replied.
" Revenge, such as you purpose, is a deadly sin;
and even to feel it in the heart requires repent-
ance."

" Woman ! talk not to me of religion now ;
keep it for the quiet moments by the chimney-
side, where it came sweetly from your lips, and
I have liked to listen to it. In your own words,
can you bind up the heart you have broken ?
can good counsel sooth a devouring passion ?
But you are faint, Betsy ; my words are too
strong for your weak frame." So saying, the
generous sailor stooped to the stream that ran
by, and brought the water to her lips, looking
B 5

10 STRATTON HILL.

earnestly and in silence on her pallid counte-
nance.

" You are kind, Stephen, and would to
Heaven I could better repay your kindness ! But
who know their own heart, or can tell its way-
wardness ? I thought] that love was buried in
my husband's grave ; but it came again for one
that did not seek it, and, it may be, did not de-
sire it. But I am refreshed now, and will leave
you : the walk home will revive my scattered
strength and spirits."

" Farewell !" replied her companion, after a
pause, in which he struggled hard with his
feelings : " you will perhaps see me no more. I
shall depart, and that instantly, to join the
Parliament's forces, and fight for my country.
They are not far off by this time, and I shall
soon see their standard."

" 'Tis a sudden resolve," she answered sadly,
" and you never spoke of it before. Why will
you mix in this fierce strife ? Above all, why
will you go against the King ?"

" Had my suit been successful," he said,
" much as I like action, I'd have left these
hardy spirits to fight it out themselves. But

STRATTON HILL. 11

now, the quiet hearth is no place for me ; and
that of your mother's house — my foot must
not cross it again. No, I have cleaved to it too
long : many a sweet evening hour, Betsy — you
remember — but now — no, I shall never sit there
again."

" But why, if you must go," asked the other,
" don't you join his Lordship's forces, and not
those that are come to invade our own country
and put down the King ?"

" It matters little to me which I join," said
the adventurer : " the rebels, as they call them,
are raw recruits mostly, and will be glad to
have men of action. More than that, IVe a
grudge against his Lordship : I offered him my
services when I first landed ; but he rejected
them, as if I had been a man of no mark,
though IVe seen hard service, and have faced

war in many a land. He used slighting words
too : and I'll join the rebels, and march against
his standard ; maybe, he shall pay for his

scorn."

" I know you cannot be turned from your

purpose," she replied, " be it dark or fair : you

can at times be stern and hardened, as well as

V& STRATTON HILL.

gentle as the lamb. — Farewell, then ; I will not
say, to meet no more."

" God bless you V said the young man, deep-
ly moved. " My head may lie low, and my
hand be eold, ere to-morrow's eve. But do not
forget me, Elizabeth.""

He saw her depart without a Avord of up-
braiding, and sat down on the bank she had
left, beside the broken wall : the trembling of
the fingers that supported his brow, and the
suppressed muttering of his lips, showed the
agony of his feelings, and how hard it is to bear,
in any rank of life, a blasted affection. He had
reason to complain, he thought, as being more
hardly treated than he had merited or expected ;
and this was borne the less calmly, as in his
affairs of love, wherever he had roved, he had
rarely till now known disappointment. The
latter too was more than a short-lived one; for,
pleased with the life of quiet be had lately led,
so different from his former habits, he had
resolved to quit them for ever, and pass to that
of a contented habitant of his native parish. It
was now an absolute relief to rush into the
approaching contest, and a wild excitement was

STRATTON HILL. 13

in his look as he turned it on the still scene
around him — the green banks, the straggling
trees, and the cattle that grazed beside. " Such
a place would have been my lot," he said con-
temptuously. . " I should have tilled the ground,
driven my cattle to pasture, and fattened them
for the market, and then come home weary at

night ; and how long would this have lasted

but I should have come home to her !" He could
bear with his thoughts, or the stillness of the
place, no longer; but giving one eager glance
up the narrow dell, where no footstep was now
visible, he rose from the bank, and hastily pur-
sued his way. With a better and more timely
example than he had met with, this adventurer
had been capable of higher things than his pre-
sent purpose promised. He was the son of a re-
spectable farmer, in the distant parish of Saint
Just, and had followed contentedly the pursuits
of his father's farm; remarked for his personal
strength and comeliness, in a district where
such gifts are by no means rare. In the con-
tests in the ring, in hurling the broad-stone, and
others, he was often a successful candidate, and
was proud of his success. His home stood at

14 STRATTON HILL.

the foot of a long slope, and on the bank of a
red copper stream, that ran through a rocky
defile into the ocean below. A clump of trees
(there was one other only in the whole parish)
stood before the sunless walls of the dwelling :
beyond this Stephen Nicholas seldom felt his
desires roam, till the spirit of adventure against
the Spaniards found its way also into this
remote district, when he, with many other
young men joined the noted Owen Phippen,
whose monument still stands in Truro church,
and whose exploits were among the foremost of
this adventurous age. With this man he made
many voyages to the Levant, and afterwards to
the coast of America, on which their daring
enterprises were on some occasions rewarded
with ample spoil, and on others attended with
defeat and disaster. The spirit of Nicholas grew
bold and hardened in such a career, for which
his courage and activity well fitted him : he
was soon a favourite with his commander, and
the farmer's son was ere long lost in the rising
and prosperous adventurer. He had too much
of his native Cornish feeling to contract the love
of cruelty, that mingled in so many of the hardy

STRATTON HILL. 15

deeds of these unprincipled men : often a flash
of generosity and kindness would appear, even
when the golden metal awaited at the end of
a bloody path.

But, as he said, he had done many a deed
that needed repentance ; and he returned, after
many years, to his own coast, with a compe-
tence for the rest of his life, and a conscience
far less quiet than when he parted. He brought
with him too, from that golden shore, a guest
that his success had dearly purchased — the love
of revenge, that he had contracted by his long
residence among the Spaniards, and the unli-
mited indulgence that he had ever seen given
to it.

This feeling mixed up strangely with the
still surviving frankness and openness of his
character. Doubtless he had been so long his
own master, so long had no law but what his
sword or poniard bade him take, that it had
crept into his heart like a subtle snake, and was
fostered there almost unconsciously. A proof
of its influence was visible in his resolve to be
revenged of the Lord of Stowe, for the slight he
had put on 'his offers of service, at the same

16 STRATTON HILL.

moment that he refrained to do injury to a rival
who had wounded him in the dearest passion
of his heart, because they had passed a few days
together on terms of friendliness.

The whole of the time nearly since his
landing had been spent in the village of Kilk-
ampton, of whose neighbourhood he had an
early recollection ; and the comfortable quarters
he had found at the Ivy Bush, had induced him
to make it his resting-place ; save one short and
welcome visit he had paid to his rude parish and
industrious home. On whatever side he now
took his part in the contest, he seemed to be an
instrument capable of working good or ill in no
slight degree. He pursued his way on foot, at a
rapid pace, avoiding the straggling parties he
met with bound for the Royal Standard. On
the third day he came in sight of the rebel army
at a distance, slowly marching, more like people
bade to traverse the county at their leisure,
from east to west, than a force that was soon
to meet an exasperated enemy in the teeth.
Nicholas hovered at a distance for some hours,
till he saw them halt for the night ; and then
drew nigh the camp, that was pitched on an

STRATTON HILL. 17

open common, through which crept two or three
rills of water, and a few wretched hovels, with
their dark roofs of turf, stood beside. Over
this extensive surface the forces began to scatter
themselves, with little order ; for the stern dis-
cipline soon after introduced by Cromwell and
others, was as yet a stranger among these re-
publicans. A band was seen in one part gathered
tumultuously round the walls of a hovel, whose
terrified inmates had issued wildly forth, and
the roof was quickly pulled down to make fires
on the damp sod without, or in the interior of
the low walls. Others, wearied with their march,
threw themselves on the banks of the sluggish
stream, and quenched their thirst, as a few of
the more zealous among them were heard to
say, like Gideon's soldiers, who were the cho-
sen out of the host. The comparison might
be good, as to the number of these select
people; since the puritan principles had as yet
found their way very partially into the ranks ;
to which circumstance their advocates attri-
buted the frequent dishonour that attended the
republican arms in this province. The most
timid, however, dreamed not of dishonour now ;

18 STRATTON HILL.

the most zealous spoke not of the necessity of
any peculiar interposition in favour of the good
cause, when they cast their eyes round on the
formidable array that covered the heath. There
was some portion of the force better disciplined,
and officered by men of some experience : these
preserved good order, piled their arms beside
their resting-places for the night, and placed
sentinels on the outskirts of the camp.

Amidst the excellent disorder that pervaded
great part of the camp, Nicholas approached
the largest tent of the few that had been as
yet pitched, and desired of the guard to be
conducted to the General ; and the man, after
looking at him earnestly for a moment, led the
way within. There was little appearance in
the interior of the tent, of the simple and
self-denying habits the republicans affected : the
floor was carpeted ; and in the middle was
placed a light moveable table, on which signs
of an approaching repast already appeared, in
sundry flasks of wine, and several vessels of
silver. The drapery of the tent was of silk ;
there was too much of luxury about the whole
to be in character with the nature of the war,

STRATTON HILL. 19

or of the enemy against whom the march was
directed.

A few of the chief officers were seated in the
tent, among whose countenances, no stern and
fanatic feature could be distinguished, nor any
marks of the deep anxiety which men should feel
at the head of an invading force to dethrone
their King. The security of success was evi-
dent in their light and careless bearing and con-
versation, particularly in that of the General,
who, richly habited, with a gilded cuirass over
a costly buff coat, the other parts of his armour
being laid aside, was seated at the table : his
officers stood or sat beside him. The Earl of
Stamford, a tall and slender personage, had nei-
ther the air nor make of one of those iron men who
" hewed down both throne and altar, as things
of nought" — a man of courts and revels, rather
than the tented field : his previous campaign in
Cornwall had brought him little honour, and he
was now come, in the fulness of his expectation,
with an overpowering force, to redeem every
laurel that he had lost. Near him were two
knights, well known in the county, who had es-
poused the Parliamentary interest, — Sir Richard

I

20 STRATTON HILL.

Buller, and Sir Alexander Carew ; and who,
before they had recourse to arms, had adopted
the pacific measure of attaching Hopton and his
associates at the county sessions as " certain
persons unknown, who had come with an armed
force, against the statutes." On the right of
the General, and the most silent there, sat the
only officer of much experience, as well as the
most martial figure in the party. It was Ruth-
ven, the Governor of Plymouth, whose defeat
on Bradock Down seemed still to have left
gloom and disquietude on his countenance : he
was a man of conduct and courage, and in
whom the Commons placed much confidence.
He burned with desire to revenge the disaster
he had experienced a few months before, in
which his whole force was destroyed and dis-
persed ; and had counselled more active and
energetic operations, on this present advance,
but his advice was overruled. Into this com-
pany Nicholas was ushered, and he regarded
them with a calm and unabashed brow. On
being questioned what his purpose was, or whe-
ther he had brought any intelligence of the
enemy, he replied that he came from the neigh-

STRATTON HILL. 21

bourhood of their army, and that he had
dwelt of late within a short distance of Stowe.
The interest of his enquirers was immediately
excited at this name ; and they questioned him
respecting the late proceedings there, as well as
of the other leaders, and their probable force in
the town of Launceston. With the former he
was intimately acquainted ; and the intelligence
he had gathered the preceding evening but
one, while passing at no great distance from the
royal garrison, enabled him to speak of the
latter : he ended his detail by a brief offer of
his own services in the good cause, and hint-
ing broadly at the various service he had seen
abroad. He was rather handsomely accoutred ;
for he did not spare his hard-gotten gains in set-
ting off what was in reality a goodly presence.

" And you say," said Stamford anxiously,
" they are got to so strong a head — I could not
have thought it — in so short a space of time ?"

" They have those among them, my Lord,"
said Carew, " who count little of time, when
mischief is to be brought to a head ; and, I
doubt not, they have raised every vassal and fol-
lower they could command."

22 STRATTON HILL.

" Young man," said the General, " have you
seen these forces of whom you speak so posi-
tively ? What are their condition and array; and
in what spirit do they seem to be, now they
have heard of the strong army that follow us ?"

" If I may judge, my Lord," said Nicholas,
" of the array and temper of their army by the
detached bodies I have seen, I never beheld
men whose spirits were strung to a more deadly
note, or who followed their banner with greater
joy. I have seen men rush on, like fiends, when
they thirsted for gold and silver; but these
levies crowd to the field as to one of their own
wild and drunken wakes."

" Your words are strong, fellow," said Carew,
" and smack something of a cavalier's retainer.
But as to the mettle of these recruits, Ruthven
there, my Lord, can give you the most satis-
factory account, though he had not long to
remark upon it."

Ruthven's face coloured to the brow at this
taunt; for, on account of his country, he was
not all popular among the Cornish leaders, who
were displeased that he should have been sent,
a second time, with a chief command among

STRATTON HILL. 23

them; but ere he could reply, the adventurer
resumed.

" If I may be so bold," he said, " that gen-
tleman has never, I deem, seen a foughten
field, or he would not sneer at one that was so
gallantly contested."

This bold remark cut deeper than the speaker
was aware of, since the two knights had re-
treated with their forces, only a few months
before, from the strong fortress of Launceston,
at Hopton's approach, who very quietly took
possession of it. Carew stared with astonish-
ment at being thus addressed, and Ruthven
smiled in his turn.

" I will give this stranger some command in
my troop, with your will, my Lord," he said.
" He seems to have seen service, and to have a
spirit suited to the times. — You say you are
but now come," he continued, 4< from the vici-
nity of the enemy. Are the defences of the
town and castle well kept, and well provisioned?
Do they intend to strengthen themselves there,
or will they dare to sally forth from their hold,
and put their sinking cause on a cast ?"

" There is no doubt of that," Nicholas replied,

24 STRATTON HILL.

u for they may not choose. Their provisions
are failing fast ; and they are well aware, 'tis
said, that the whole land is open to this army,
who may march to its bounds without a sword
being drawn, except by their hands. They
watch day and night to see your standards."

At these words the officers looked significantly
at each other.

" You see, Ruthven," said Stamford, " if
this man's words are true, which there is no
doubt of, I was right in preferring a slow ad-
vance. Our game is sure ; the provisions in
the town will be every day consuming fast, and
a force so crowded must soon be reduced to dis-
tress ; while, by avoiding a precipitate march,
we give them no advantage to attack ; and they
dare not venture to confront us without some
chance of position, which their better knowledge
of the country may give them.'"

" My Lord," said the other drily, " there is
no doubt but they will confront us, and at all
hazards, on hill or down ; for they are despe-
rate men, and their condition allows of no
choice."

" Ruthven/' replied the nobleman, " your

STRATTON HILL. 25

memory is clearer than your judgment ; no, no,
downs are ominous; we will avoid them with all
wariness. But with the gallant and numerous
army I command, gentlemen, it is mere madness
to think Hopton, with his inferior force, will
give battle. Should he indeed be driven to such
a desperate measure, it will be best, perhaps, to
deprive them, as I said before, of any advan-
tage they may find, in hanging on our march
through their territory. We had better choose,
therefore, a strong position, and encamp ; thus,
Stanton, in your own words," addressing a
Puritan officer, " they will be given us for
a prey.5''

This counsel was approved by some of
the officers ; while others, in paticular the two
knights, desired an immediate advance into the
heart of the province, as, being men of some
influence and large possessions, they wished to
increase the number of their adherents, as well
as intimidate the many and powerful supporters
of the adverse cause, several of whom were their
personal enemies. All, however, looked on their
present force as irresistible, being of the same
sentiments as their masters, the Commons, who

VOL. II. C

26 STRATTON HILL.

considered this armament as sure to put the
finishing stroke to the contest. " I would fain
not counsel any thing," said Ruthven, thought-
fully, " that might in any way injure the glory
that your Lordship's expedition will, doubtless,
bring ; but it may be best, perhaps, to encamp ;
we have artillery wherewith to make our posi-
tion invulnerable, and we can choose to march
onward on any occasion and at any hour that
we think fitting."

" Then it shall be so," said the General ;
" to-morrow we will move forwards ; a fine po-
sition cannot be wanting amidst so many hills
and commanding sites ; nature surely intended
this country for a 'debateable land,' and would
the Commons make me a free gift of all I shall
subdue for them, by St. Petroc, the saint of
the county, I'd shake off the dust of my feet,
and hie me from such dreary wastes ; but, gen-
tlemen, enough of debate ; good cheer makes a
desert glad, and ours has been over long wait-
ing. Young man," addressing Nicholas, " you
may retire."

To this scene instantly succeeded a more so-
cial and inspiring one. On the table were placed

STRATTON HILL. 27

many choice viands, whose appearances as well
as flavour attested the hand of a foreign cook,
without whom Stamford's campaigns were sel-
dom made. It seemed that the materials of the
repast must have accompanied the march, as the
wild on which the tent was pitched afforded
little to satisfy even the solitary pilgrim's hun-
ger.

u. Your own glens and hills cannot be more
savage, Ruthven," said the Commander, " but
they abound in game of the choicest kind ; while
here a man might as well plough on its rocks,
or make woods wave on its sands, as hope for a
fine buck at a pinch.1'

,; True, but my own land may not be thus
traversed," the other replied ; " its noble moun-
tains and straths require a hardy footstep and
a rude appetite. Seldom have I seen a banquet
like this spread in its wilderness ; 'twould put
scorn on the fierce and changing warfare that
the people love, where the chief and the clans-
man sleep side by side on the heathery steep.
One might as well," casting a glance on the
viands, " plant a garden on the top of Benledi
as hope for such a repast there."
c 2

28 STRATTON HILL.

" You are a lawless race," said the Earl,
slightly colouring, " in those highland re-
treats, and know little of the refinements of
life. You have the advantage of them, Carew,
for I'm told there are some fair parks and
mansions farther to the west. Have you veni-
son in them, or do you live on the gifts of
Providence, — what the sea casts up, or what
the wandering barks on the coast offer to your
longing eyes ?"

" My Lord," replied the Knight, " you are
pleased to be severe. When your arms, as I
trust will speedily be the case, advance on-
wards, you will judge for yourself if we have
not spots of redeeming beauty and richness,
dwellings whose antiquity may vie with any
in the land. We've a narrow slip of soil, but
then 'tis more easily defended ; and as to the
sea, the fine turbot your Lordship pays so
much devotion to, is but a few hours out of
the water."

" 'Tis a noble fish, and of rare flavour," said
the General, accompanying it with a glass of
white hermitage ; " you will pledge me, Sir
Alexander, in the best vintage that ever crossed

STRATTON HILL, 29

the Tamar, ' Speedy success to the good cause,
and may all its enemies perish by the sword or
scaffold!'"

Carew filled his glass, but suffered it to stand
idly before him. " 'Tis strange, my Lord," he
said, " the reluctance I feel to pledge that
toast ; but I may not drink it. I have friends
on the other side of the question, the royal
side ; the times are too changeable, and the
prospect too doubtful. I will not wish that the
fountain of any man's life shall be stopped, or
its silver cord loosed, before its time, perchance.
I am sworn to the good cause, and trust to see
it come out of this trial bright and conquering ;
but what the end may be no one knoweth.1'

" I doubt," said Ruthven, after a pause, in
which he had bent his broad eye fixedly on the
speaker, " that this war, Sir Alexander, will not
be like a mortal struggle of rival clans, but of
a more deadly, cold and treacherous charac-
ter; the Puritan, believe me, will soon care little
for his friend, or the brother for the brother ;
many a shroud will soon be spread in more
peaceful places than the field of battle."

" You were surely intended for a seer," ob-

30 STRATTON HILL.

served the General, " and such raven croak-
ings as these suit better the failing fortunes of
the Stuart than the banner with which victory
marches. To-morrow's sun will see the downs
covered with our gallant forces ; 'tis the last
enterprise, I have assured the Commons, they
will need to undertake, and have pledged
myself it shall prosper. Gentlemen, fill your
glasses, and instead of dreaming of shrouds, let
it be of glory."

" 'Tis a splendid dream," said Ruthven, with
a cold and derisive smile, which, however, met
not the Earl's eye, " and may the waking be
equally bright."

" Doubtless it will be so," said Carew, ear-
nestly, " and then shall tranquillity soon be
restored in the west, however long and fiercely
it may be carried on in other parts of the king-
dom : the party of the King, however, gives
ground apace ; he is too obstinate himself, un-
happily, to come to terms, and has thrust his
people on these violent measures for redress."

The feelings of this unfortunate gentleman,
warred even now, probably, with the principles
he had adopted as to the contest, into which he

STRATTON HILL. 31

certainly had not entered with heart and hand,
strung to meet every extremity, much more to
meet the doom that soon after came upon him.
Unable to conquer his secret attachment to the
King, and seeing that all the schemes of the
Parliament, whom he served, tended to anarchy
and bloodshed, he entered into a correspondence
to serve his Majesty's cause to the utmost of
his power. This being discovered, he was seiz-
ed by the Parliament's soldiers, sent to London,
and sentenced to lose his head, on a charge of
treason. Clarendon has maligned both his cha-
racter and motives, and treated with great in-
justice a man, whose tragical end and latest
words on the scaffold, might have atoned for
many failings. " The greatest enemy against
me, under the sun," he said, " can lay but the
suspicion of the fact against me. I have be-
sought pardon for my pride and stout-hearted-
ness. The last words that ever my mother
spake, when she died, were, ' Lord, though thou
killest me, yet will I put my trust in thee,1 so
they are mine — then put me to what tortures
you please."

When Nicholas quitted the tent, he turned

32 STRATTON HILL.

his footsteps carelessly through the camp, that
had, by degrees, assumed the appearance of a
little more order and discipline. The cavalry, a
numerous and well-appointed body, were seen
to the right, where the verdure was more rank,
and presented a dense and moveless mass to the
eye ; a few straggling piquets continued to ride
over the wide downs beyond, to guard against
surprise in so defenceless a spot. This vigilance
appeared more a matter of form than neces-
sity ; since the only enemy that could inspire
any alarm, was known to be safe within the
walls of the venerable capital. The only ele-
vations in the dreary scene, were the few miser-
able huts beside the marshy rivulets, and the
tents that rose in small and lonely clusters, over
whose white drapery wandered the bickering of
many a watch-fire, kindled before their door.
Several groups of officers were gathered round
the latter ; stern republican faces, whose expres-
sion proved, that they had already known the
sweetness of war, and loved it. Neither the
coarse fare of which they were partaking, the
lowering sky above them, or the gusts of wind
that swept strongly by, and wafted the light

STRATTON HILL. 33

embers of the fire over the withered and scanty
grass of the common, abated in the least the
satisfaction they evidently felt, or broke for a
moment the animated conversation. From be-
hind, and more remotely, the loud and earnest
sounds of devotional exercise rose on the wind,
that added to their strength, though it might
mar their melody — where a few excited groups
had assembled, and like the host of Israel, to
which they sometimes likened themselves, heed-
ed not, while they joined their deep and eager
voices, that the wilderness was around them,
that the tempest uttered its voice, and that the
temples of men's hands were not nigh.

In one spot, a circle of attentive hearers had
drawn round one of the hovels, against whose
blackened wall stood a military enthusiast, wav-
ing his hands wildly, as if the broad sword was
in them, and the neck of his enemy was under
his feet, while he painted in vivid colours the
times that were now drawing nigh, when the
reign of righteousness should be established on
the earth.

The looks of some of his auditors were calm
and happy ; but in those of others, there was
c 5

34 STRATTON HILL.

an ardent and inflamed expression, like that of
men who longed for the morning, when their
enemies were to be given into their hand. Be-
side the door of the hut was a small group, con-
sisting of the affrighted dwellers, who saw war,
for the first time, cover their barren soil ; the
glare thrown from a portion of their burning
roof, piled on the earth beside, fell on their
wan faces and half-clad forms, as nestling closely
together, they looked with anguish on the ruin
of their miserable home.

Nicholas could not help being struck with
so strange a scene, the wildness of which was
increased by the extensive solitude that spread
on every side. Into this he now bent his steps,
partly to brood over his disappointment, as well
as to wait the return of day, ere he mingled
with any of the parties in the camp, to all of
whom he was an entire stranger, both in per-
son and principles, points of equal importance
at this period. As he looked back, from a
short distance, on the place he had left, it was
surprising how the straggling tents, and the
numerous bodies of men, faded into littleness.
His eye had been used to the vast plains of

STRATTON HILL. 35

South America ; and here, though on a scene
far more confined, he thought nature never
seemed so powerful, or man so feeble, as when
ploughing his way over a boundless surface, or
seeking a resting place for a while in its bosom.
He had passed, on the evening before, the hill
and castle of Launceston, and seen the banners
wave, and heard the martial sounds come im-
posingly down the steep ; but here the colours
of the Parliament rose poorly and shrunkenly,
like those of a solitary vessel on a shoreless
sea, and the trumpet sound, that called the
troops to their repose, passed deadened over the
waste, that circled coldly and unbrokenly round
the diminished host.

STRATTON HILL.

CHAPTER II.

" Fought for the land his soul ador'd,
His only talisman— the sword."

Moore.

The day had scarcely broke on the town and
fortress of Launceston, when the unusual bustle
that prevailed both among the inhabitants and
soldiery denoted an event of some importance
to be at hand. Not a soul in the place that had
not risen from its slumbers, old and young,
rich, fair, or abject. The preparations for bat-
tle were loud and quick on the height ; and low
earnest voices, with here and there a mourning
one, ran along the narrow and crowded streets.
Many of the more curious had climbed the
declivities and gloomy walls, and bent their

STRATTON HILL. 37

looks earnestly towards the hill of Stratton,
where the rebel army was posted ; but the dis-
tance was too great for the keenest eye to dis-
cern any thing. Advancing by slow marches,
beyond the heath, where we have seen his force
encamped, the Earl of Stamford had chosen a
position on a lofty eminence, that commanded
the whole of the surrounding country, and from
its nature seemed to be secure from any attack.
With this confidence of security in his position,
was mingled a thorough contempt of his enemy,
when a fortnight had passed away, and they
showed no disposition to leave their defences.
He knew that the want of provisions impelled
them to issue forth, at the same time that the
thinness of their numbers must render a con-
test in the open field, almost desperate. Such
was not the thought, however, of the leaders of
the royalists ; who, long prepared for this extre-
mity, were now rejoiced rather than daunted to
look it in the face. Necessity of the sternest
kind urged them to do this without delay ; as
during many days past, each officer as well as
man in the garrison had been reduced to an
allowance of a biscuit a day. It was resolved

38 STRATTON HILL.

therefore, after a brief consultation, to quit the
town, and fight under any disadvantage.

It being now the middle of May, the morning
was serene and beautiful, and the sun rose with-
out a cloud on the dark mass of the fortress, the
hill, and the small and anxious town at its feet.
The troops waited impatiently the signal to
march. A small number, that could ill be spared,
was left to man the walls, and the rest instantly
set forward. As band after band moved down
the steep into the town, the exciting sight drew
the admiration of the crowded people.

Men going forth, with a devoted purpose, to
fight against fearful odds, cannot fail to raise
the strong sympathy of the peaceful spectator ;
and this was manifested as the files moved by,
in many an earnest prayer for their success,
from the old and infirm, and many a tear and
parting word from lips and eyes, whose bloom
and power the ills of life had not yet withered.
The lofty archway rang with the ceaseless beat
of their footsteps, as infantry and cavalry left
behind them the fortress that had so long con-
fined them inactive within its walls. Hopton

STRATTON HILL. 39

led the way on foot, as were all the other
leaders ; his countenance little ruffled by the
excitement of the hour, and it required, doubt-
less, all the glow of battle to animate it ; for
those who saw him at this moment would have
deemed him rather the counsellor than the
leader of a determined host. His high forehead,
composed features, and thoughtful air, gave
little assurance of the exploits which soon after
raised him to the peerage. But he was nobly
seconded. The division that followed was led
by Trevanion and Slanning; the former clad
in a suit of armour, of polished steel, that
sat well on his tall and finely-proportioned
figure : it was his first field ; and, like many a
tasteful spirit, on a less perilous career, he
seemed resolved to enter on it in the fairest ar-
ray. Last, with the most numerous division, came
Sir Beville Granville, in the midst of his adhe-
rents, and his dismounted regiment of horse ;
the latter were all young men, who had fol-
lowed the King in his expedition against the
Scotch, two years before. The leader, carrying
his helmet in his hand, conversed occasionally

40 STRATTON HILL.

with the few gentlemen around him, who were
nearest allied, and dropped many a brief and
animating word to the soldiers, as they marched
along. He had just that kind of word and look
that go to the soldier's heart. His long light
brown hair fell in profusion on his shoulders,
after the fashion of many cavaliers of the times ;
his resolute and manly features were full of
benevolence, and were set off by a remarkably
large and bright eye, that reflected, quick as
lightning, every feeling and passion of his soul.
His form was above the middle size, and
without being stout, was built, particularly the
limbs, in the strongest mould ; and was clad,
but not heavily, in a suit of Spanish armour,
that had been the spoil of his grandfather, Sir
Richard, in one of his naval successes ; and had
hung peacefully in the hall, among other tro-
phies, till now, when its fine workmanship, and
excellent proof, induced his gallant successor,
gladly to avail himself of it. Not far from his
master, and carrying the standard, was the ve-
teran Andrews, his stalwart frame still bear-
ing, resolutely, the load of years : his step
seemed more firm beneath the burden he up-

STRATTON HILL. 41

held, and the look more haughty that he cast
around ; for every time-worn feature was full
of the conscious pride and importance of the
charge entrusted to him. He had begged, as
the richest boon with which he could be blessed,
to bear to the field the colours of the house
he had served so long.

The march continued for several hours till
the castle faded in the distance. The way was
over many an eminence and tract of moorland,
whose treeless surface afforded no shade from
the increasing heat of the day ; but the hand of
war had not marked the way. The fields and
cultivated patches of soil gave their crops of
corn uninjured and flourishing to the eye, and
the tenants of the scattered hamlets came to
their door-way and looked earnestly on the
martial array as it swept by, as on a passing
show.

The day was closing when the royal force
arrived within a mile of the Hill of Stratton,
but for several hours preceding, their eyes had
found little employment, save to gaze on the
array of their formidable enemy.

The Earl had chosen his position well : the

42 STRATTON HILL.

hill, the broad summit of which was covered
with his forces, was exceedingly lofty, and the
ascent was steep on every side. Neither rock
nor tree appeared on the side of the declivity in
face of the royalists — no sudden risings of the
ground to shelter the assailant, or interrupt the
minutest view of an armament whose disposi-
tion was enough to strike a chill into the bold-
est heart. The infantry, to the number of five
thousand four hundred, were drawn up in the
best disposition on the brink and the interior of
the broad summit, and an artillery of thirteen
brass ordnance and a mortar were ready to open
on whatever side the daring assault should be
made. The cavalry, a fine body of fourteen
hundred men, had fortunately been despatched
to Bodmin the preceding day to surprise the
sheriff and principal gentlemen of the county,
who were then assembled there. The knowledge
of this circumstance had determined Sir Ralph
Hopton to advance immediately.

The trumpets of the enemy were heard to
play distinctly, as if to invite the small force
beneath to come on : their very voices, in the

STRATTON HILL. 43

calmness of the evening, reached the spot where
the latter stood.

This was a small unsheltered spot, covered
with rank and useless grass, and broken into
numerous undulations or hollows, that offered
a partial protection from the enemy's artillery,
should they be disposed to make speedy use of
it. From this, however, they forbore, and did
not fire a shot, leaving the hostile force in quiet
possession of their barren resting-place, which a
few discharges of the mortar must quickly have
made untenable. Perhaps it was because they
deemed themselves secure of their prey on the
morrow ; yet Stamford, when he looked on
the determined body of men beneath, scanty as
their number was, and still more diminished by
the distance, could not help casting a wistful
look towards Bodmin, where, in the confidence
of security, he had so lately sent a large por-
tion of the flower of his force, Instead of the
sheriff with many of the richest royalists in
his train, arriving prisoners in his camp, an
event that he had expected about this hour,
he had seen afar off the gradual march of

44 STRATTON HILL.

the enemy, sometimes breasting the rugged emi-
nence, then sinking into some deep bottom that
intersected their path, and reappearing to his
anxious view, their thin files seeming more
like a pageant, than the deadly passage of men
who came to scatter his proud array like the
dust. He had little reason, however, to envy
the royalists their present position, in a spot
open to the enemy's fire at their will, almost
wholly without food, and compelled, after a fa-
tiguing march, to stand to their arms all night.
They had brought no tent or baggage with
them, which in such a situation must have
been useless : but in this state of destitution,
and want of every comfort, there was no reason
to complain of the night that now fast shrouded
them from view, or of the heaven that spread
its canopy above their heads ; — the one was
mild and warm, and no dark clouds or pitiless
rains gathered on the other. Trevanion, as he
stood on the thankless soil on which no prepa-
ration either for repose or refreshment was visi-
ble, could not help giving a thought to the
luxuries of his own noble dwelling at Carhayes.
Slanning, more inured to hardship, having

STRATTON HILL. 45

weathered a close and bitter siege, looked on
the present scene with a careless eye, nor recked
for a moment the privations to which it exposed
him. "Would to heaven the morning were come!"
he said, as he stood idly gazing on the summit
of the hill, at whose feet almost the troops were
advanced; "those fellows have the time of it
above, and seem to enjoy themselves to their
hearts' content ; I wish the crop ears had given
me as fair a shot from Pendennis castle, as they
may now have at us ; not a mouth of that spark
of fine artillery but should send the sand and
grass about our ears." The hardy natives,
who had but lately left their huts and cabins,
accustomed to danger and adventure on their
rugged coasts, stood calmly on their arms, fix-
ing their looks on the hill, with the same im-
patient expression as if they had watched at a
short distance one of those frequent explosions
that, blowing into the air some enormous rock, •
gave them an easy entrance to a rich mineral in
the bowels of the earth. As the ground was so
unequal by reason of the frequent hollows, the
forces were necessarily broken in many parts,
and hidden from each other. During the night

46 STRATTON HILL.

the watch-word passed loudly from one body to
the other throughout the small host, and each
ear at times was bent painfully to listen if the
distant tread of hoofs came on the silence of the
night, for the return of the enemy's cavalry
could not but be fatal ! From the same
expectation, probably, repose seemed to be a
stranger to the enemy's camp above ; confused
sounds were heard at intervals, and a frequent
commotion was visible, more of precaution than
of fear, for the General was resolved to leave
nothing neglected to ensure an entire conquest.
On the right of the royal force, and at no
great distance, spread a sandy common, and
over its surface twice or thrice during the
night, the dark forms of a horseman and steed
were seen to speed at full gallop, and passed
on in the direction of the distant town : they
were sent from the few cavalry the commander
had retained, to hasten the return of the ab-
sent squadron. These solitary scouts were in-
stantly followed through the gloom by some of
Colonel Digby's horse, that stood in the rear
of the infantry, and after a hot pursuit over
moor and field were overtaken by one or other

STRATTON HILL. 47

of their pursuers, and sabred on the spot,
for fear and rage combined at this moment
to allow no quarter.

More than once, as their own scattered horse-
men returned from different points, and the
hollow tread of their coursers over the waste
was heard drawing nigh, the royal troops
closed their broken front, the voice of the com-
manders ran along the ranks, and each eye
strove to pierce the surrounding darkness, in
dread that the formidable cavalry of the enemy
was at hand. This show of war, if such it
might be called, and the movements, observable
at intervals, on the summit of the hill, kept
alive the interest of the troops, during their
weary night-watch, till the streaks of dawn be-
came gradually visible in the sky. In the rear
of his own household troops as he called them,
stood Trenlyon, who had joined them a few
days before the march from the town, and
being strong of wind and limb, had manfully
borne the long and warm march of the day.
So weary, however, did he now feel, as well
with his armour as with the want of refreshing
rest and his usual meal, that had it not been for

48 STRATTON HILL.

the support of his pike, he must have sunk to
the ground. His wish to be well defended, had
induced him to prefer the heaviest kind of arms,
and he felt acutely aware, there was more joy
in putting them off, than in the fame or vain
glory of wearing them. Many a downward and
wistful glance he cast on the rank herbage, on
which his eyes would gladly have closed in
sweet forgetfulness of the fearful scene around ;
and war, that was about to open on him in a
few moments more in its most terrific aspect,
would for a while have dimly faded from his
thoughts. As the clatter of the horses' hoofs
rung at times over the waste, and the command
to be ready rose on the air, his grey eye was
turned wildly from one side to the other, and
then, over his shoulder, on the gloomy expanse
behind, where the enemy's sabre waited pro-
bably for its victim. There was no help in
man, he therefore sternly fronted the dreadful
hill, whose summit was soon to be a living vol-
cano, fixed his regard full on the waving ban-
ners on the precipice, and grasping his pike,
with an effort that sunk it at least two inches
deeper into the sand, waited for the morning

STRATTON HILL. 49

watch. There was another feeling that lent a
powerful aid to this burst of resolution — the
spirit of rivalry, that has steeled many a loftier
mind than his when nobler sentiments have
deserted it. In his front, and advanced con-
siderably nearer his patron's standard than him-
self, were two heads of families, whom he had
always considered, in spite of their pretensions,
of much less ancient descent, and of blood far
inferior in purity to his own, — Trewithick, of
Hellanclase, and Pengreep, of Tredavern. It
must have been the partial favour of the chief
that had distinguished these men thus : it filled
his mind with indignation ; and he felt that,
ere show the least pusillanimity, or be out-
done in demeanour by these individuals, he
would rather have died on the spot. Thought
after thought, however, as his limbs shook
with weariness, and his lips were parched
with thirst, fled back to the calm kitchen
of the Ivy Bush, so clean and tempting, and
its warm and luxurious settle, within which
the larum of war came not, thirst and want
were never known, neither fearful emotions tore
the mind ; and, oh ! above all — and he closed
VOL. II. D

50 STRATTON HILL.

his eyes on the array of arms for a moment to
hide the weakness that crept to them — where
the widow's fair form was to be seen softly
bending over her work, and her gentle voice
heard at intervals — why did he leave that scene
of comfort ? why drag his steps away to mingle
in deeds of strife and fury, and turn from a
prospect of such solace and tenderness — perhaps
for ever?

The day broke at last, and never was its
light more welcome than to the united and im-
patient body of men beneath the height: no
Persian adorer could hail with more ardour
the first appearance of the sun, that now shot
its levelled beams on each side of the hill, be-
hind which its rising splendour was as yet con-
cealed ; soon, the sandy common, on the right
was clothed in a sheet of yellow light, that
gilded the rock and the wave near by, and the
many hills in the distance, while the handful of
troops beneath were still wrapped in shade.
As the sun rose to a level with the summit of
the hill, the glowing rays pierced through the
files of armed men and the artillery that flank-

STRATTON HILL. 51

ed them, and gave every part of their array
distinctly to the view.

It was yet early in the morning when the
Royal army quitted their position in order to at-
tack that of the enemy. The better to effect this
purpose, they were divided into four brigades,
that the ascent might be made in four different
places at once : this disposition was the only
one that could give a chance of success, by dis-
tracting the attention of the rebel force, and
dividing their overwhelming superiority of num-
bers. The first brigade was led by Hopton
and Lord Mohun on the south side : the second
was commanded by Granville to the left, the
third by Slanning and Trevanion, and the re-
maining one was directed to the north side by
Colonels Bassett and Godolphin : each division
consisted of six hundred infantry, and was ac-
companied by two pieces of cannon ; which, by
great exertion, had been brought in the march
from Launceston on the preceding day. The
five hundred horse, under Colonel Digby, were
stationed on the sandy common before-mention-
ed, to the left, with orders to avail themselves
D 2

OTtVEftSfT? Or UiftQP
U8MR

52 STRATTON HILL.

of any advantage the turns of the battle might
present. The brigades advanced at a rapid
pace towards the different sides of the hill. The
moment they were in motion, the cannon of the
enemy began the action : the hollows of the
ground made the effect of this cannonade par-
tial for a short time, the balls ploughing amidst
the rank swells and herbage, and dashing the
sand and loose soil in clouds on the columns.
But when they approached the foot of the hill,
and began to ascend its long, slanting, and ver-
dant sides, the aim grew more true and deadly,
and the assailants fell fast while yet at a helpless
distance. Their only remedy was to ascend at
a more rapid pace, in the hope that their near
advance on so many points at once might dis-
tract the attention of the enemy, and break the
force of their fire. The strength and advantage
of position, however, were fearfully in favour of
the latter, and the Royal leaders struggled hard
to counteract them. As the slender columns
mounted the hill, each dragging with difficulty
its solitary piece of artillery along, and return-
ing no fire in answer to the murderous dis-
charges from above, that rendered shield and

STRATTON HILL. 53

breast-plate of as little avail in the fight as the
thistle at their feet— they seemed like men who
are given as a spoil, or who, having devoted
themselves, rushed on with joy to the grave.
At about half-way up the ascent, the ground
afforded a momentary level, where they halted
their forces ; and turning their artillery on the
summit, while the increasing abruptness of the
hill afforded a partial protection, they conti-
nued for a short time a sharp and incessant con-
test. It was but too unequal ; and Sir Beville
Granville, whose position was the most exposed,
saw with a bitter pang numbers of his favourite
regiment sink to the ground wounded and slain ;
several of the miners also, who, for the superior
accuracy of their aim, had the direction of the
guns, fell on the green bank beside them,
clenching their heavy weapons with a dying
curse on the foe that struck them thus, without
daring to come within reach of their arm. The
crest of the hill was soon enveloped in the thin
clouds of smoke that, in the breathlessness of a
sultry d«y, hung heavy on the Parliament
force, and concealed them from the view of
the Royalists ; but their shouts of scorn and

54 STRATTON HILL.

laughter came bitterly on the ear. To these
sounds were joined, but far less triumphantly,
the cheers of the cavalry from beneath, who
rode to and fro on the plain, opposite the dif-
ferent points of assault, to seize on any favour-
able moment of the enemy's descent, or to offer
an aid that the nature of the ground rendered
useless. A few of the horsemen, maddened at
the sight of their comrades slaughtered helplessly
before their eyes, spurred their horses up the
acclivity to fight by their side : the attempt was
generally fatal, the riders presenting too sure a
mark for the musketry above ; and the steeds,
galloping masterless down the descent, fled wildly
over the heath towards the town. On the side
where Godolphin stood, the efforts of the assail-
ants were peculiarly animated : the young com-
mander strove, both by word and example, to
make his advance successful; there was no
want of ardour in his men to second him ; but
it demanded a concentred movement of the
whole force to insure any success ; and such
were the difficulties of the position, that this
was as yet found to be impracticable. He had
planted his banner on the summit of a rock

STRATTON HILL. 55

that rose above the line of the advance ; but a
well-aimed discharge of the rebel artillery had
swept many of his men miserably down the
rocky steep, and broken the standard: the
silken flag was driven for a moment through
the air, and fell at the feet of the fugitives and
slain ; and the broken staff, fixed in the rock
above, remained as a laughing stock to the
Puritans. The battle lasted thus for several
hours, without any decided approach to victory
being made on either side ; the Republicans,
few of whom had fallen, deriding the efforts of
their assailants, and pouring their shot among
them with as much, and more coolness, than if
they had been listening on their superb posi-
tion to a savoury address from one of their
companions. The rebel leaders, finding the
advantage of the day thus far all their own,
and that the Royalists made no attempt to ad-
vance beyond the position they had taken up,
resolved to detach part of their force to charge
down the hill, and force them off the ground.
The latter, who apparently had waited for this
measure, saw, with a joy they could scarcely
contain, the rapid approach of their foes, and

56 STRATTON HILL.

the battle was soon fought hand to hand. The
declivity down which the hardy Parliament-
arians charged, and the advantage of directing
their attack on whatever positions they chose,
availed little against men who were determined
to conquer or die. The superior strength of
the Cornish, and the activity to which their
athletic exercises had trained them, told fear-
fully on the bodies of their enemies, who fell
" like grass before the mower." Carew, who
showed on this occasion that he feared death
far less on the field than he afterwards did
on the scaffold, led on his men more than once
to the onset where the hated banner of Gran-
ville met his eye, but it was too devotedly
guarded by those who were not, " as when the
standard bearer fainteth ; and the strong men
turn from the fierceness of the sword." The
cries of victory, as well as derision, that had for
some hours filled the air, were now changed for
the more thrilling ones of dismay, desperation,
and death. Ruthven, who commanded this
sally, did his utmost to bring it to a decisive
issue; hurrying from one point to another,
where his men were most pressed, and drawing

STRATTON HILL. 57

frequent reinforcements from above : he saw
that they were decidedly worsted, and would
fain have made a gradual and orderly retreat
up the hill. This was now impossible ; the
combatants were so mingled, and their ranks so
broken into scattered groups by the inequalities
of the ground and their own fury, that the
movement to retreat only drew the assailants
fiercely up the acclivity ; and the artillery, that
might have swept them back again, was silent,
for it must have struck both friend and foe.

Lord Stamford, who had watched with in-
tense eagerness the scene beneath, in the full
expectation of seeing the Royalists scattered
like the dust, now made the whole of his re-
maining force march to relieve their comrades.
He did not accompany them, but remained on
the summit a safe spectator, as he had been
from the commencement of the action, mounted
on his beautiful courser, and his gilded ar-
mour glittering in the sun. His look was now
bent long and painfully over the common be-
neath, and the low hills by which it was
bounded, in hope to descry the return of his
cavalry. The battle that was now drawing
D 5

58 STRATTON HILL.

near was arrested for a time in its progress :
the fresh and numerous bodies of Parliamenta-
rians checked the enemy, and each party fought
with musketry, and with rapid charges of pike
and sword, as band after band swept nigher
and parted again on the verdant slope, like
waves of the sea rolling on and breaking each
other. At this moment, a circumstance took
place that brought the affairs of the Royalists
to a speedy issue : it was found that their am-
munition was nearly all expended, four barrels
only being left to the whole force. Hopton,
on this discovery, hastened in person to each
of the divisions ; and the Lord of Stowe, in the
midst of the melay, felt his arm strongly
grasped, and turning hastily, beheld the agi-
tated countenance of the General ; it was pale
and resolved, but its calm expression was ut-
terly gone.

" Granville !" he said, " an instant and des-
perate advance alone can save us ; without
that the game is up, or soon will be: our
ranks are too much thinned to bear this unequal
contest much longer : advance, then, without
firing a shot, and reserve the few charges left.

STRATTON HILL. 59

for the last struggle." The latter answered
only by a gesture of assent, and nearly at the
same moment the four brigades advanced with
the greatest alacrity as well as desperation.

Sir Beville, who on his side was opposed
to Ruthven, led his men into the thickest of
the enemy : here the fight was the hottest,
for the Scotchman was determined not to re-
cede before an inferior force. The rude pikes,
the hatchet, and other weapons with which the
miners had armed themselves in their haste,
made dreadful inroad on the close ranks of the
Republicans, and the armour often crashed be-
neath the blows like the loud splitting of the
rock in their own deep mines. More than once
the swords of the leaders crossed in the melay,
and many a pike-thrust struck on the Spanish
armour of the Royalist, who strove by his
own hardihood to redeem the inequality of
numbers. But his most formidable enemy was
a young man slightly armed, who fought with
reckless bravery by the side of his commander-
it was Nicholas, who now singled out the former
with determined hatred. With one blow he
struck the heavy sword of Sir Beville from

60 STRATTON HILL.

his hand, and with a second prostrated him on
the bank at his feet ; and drawing from his
side the rich dagger he always wore, he raised
it to shed the dearest life blood of the enemy,
when he was stunned with a ferocious blow on
the head from Andrews, who, advancing the
banner to his master's side with one hand, co-
vered him with his shield, with which he had
inflicted the blow, with the other : the cry
went instantly forth, '• Sir BevihVs down, and
save the banner V — The soldiers, maddened at
the sound, made so sudden and brisk an onset
on the enemy, that they wavered, fell back, and
then retired, fighting faintly, up the hill. With
anguish, Stamford beheld his forces recoiling
on every side before inferior numbers, who now
pressed on with ceaseless step, neither bank nor
rock for a moment retarding their progress.
At this moment, his eye caught, on a distant
eminence, the first appearance of a dense squad-
ron of men ; the glancing light on their arms,
and their regular and rapid movement, proclaim-
ed them to be his numerous and long-expected
cavalry. His eye never quitted that object :
not the mother of Sisera, mourning for her son,

STRATTON HILL. 61

gazed more intensely forth for the glancing of
his chariot-wheels, than did the Earl on the
eager ranks of his gallant horse, who drew ra-
pidly nigh, " fiery hot with speed." The blood
rushed in a full tide to his pallid features:
" They come, they come I11 he said to Stanton,
the Puritan officer. " My noble squadron ! look
how they sweep along the plain : there 's Chud-
leigh at their head, urging them to quicken their
speed : in what fine order they come on ; swift
to the charge — beautiful ! ay, — and terrible
tgo," he added in the wantonness of his heart,
as they were now close to the rescue, " like
the pale horse and his rider, Stanton, that you
are so fond of quoting, who had power to scat-
ter their enemies, and cover the earth with the
slain/'

As he saw them sweep round the foot of the
hill, the Earl rode to and fro on its brink,
waving his hand in wild pleasure, and conjuring
them, as if words could reach below, to save his
lost honour, and retrieve the day.

The scene of the battle was at this time mag-
nificent : the stillness of nature on every side
seemed to mock the rage of the combatants ;

62 STRATTON HILL.

the sea, at a short distance, was hushed and
calm as the plain around it, and the numerous
vessels passing up the Channel, lay moveless
on the surface; while their masts, as well as
the roofs of each dwelling in the neighbour-
ing town of Stratton, were crowded with spec-
tators, gazing as securely on the disputed
height, as on an arena of gladiators delighting
to shed their blood. The sun, going down on
the side of the hill where the fight was the hot-
test, flashed redly on the wildly-moving helm,
sword, and musquetoon of those who struggled
in despair, as well as on the armour of them
that moved no more, where the hand, head, and
bosom it covered were stiffened in death. On
the broad common, the cavalry were now charg-
ing each other; and the combatants above
paused at times, amidst their bloody work, to
give a look at the fate of the day at their feet;
whence the battle-cries, that passed fainter and
fainter along the height, came at each moment
more startling and shrill. It was at this period
of the action, that Major-general Chudleigh,
to second his father's fierce efforts in the plain
below, resolved to make a gallant struggle;

STRATTON HILL. 63

rallied and formed a body of pikemen, and
charged down the hill with such fury on Gran-
ville's division, which was the foremost in ad-
vance, that they yielded to the shock. No ef-
fort to preserve their footing could avail : leader
and man, squire and peasant, mingled in hope-
less confusion, recoiled down the steep ; the
haughty Norman banner quailed before the
rebel standard, and the thick and impenetrable
wedge of pikes that environed it- Its fame was
saved by the timely succour of Trevanion, who,
having witnessed from some distance the charge
of the pikemen, fled with a body of troops to
the aid of his friend, and impetuously charging
the assailants in their flank, they were broken
in an instant, and their General made prisoner.
The fate of the day was now decided ; — it could
not avert it, that the Royal horse, placing the
slope of the hill in their rear, sustained with
difficulty the desperate charges of the superior
and better- appointed rebel cavalry, and saw
their ranks miserably thinned at every charge —
all was too late. The bravest of the Republi-
can infantry no longer sought to make good
their retreat : the broken and confused masses,

64 STRATTON HILL.

flying from one victorious brigade along the
height, fell into the teeth of another on the
right or left. — So full was the stream of blood,
so rich the harvest of the dead that day on the
Hill of Stratton, that the crops of corn pro-
duced there in the few following years, were,
in the words of an author, " most amazingly
large.*" Stamford, who saw his soldiers hope-
lessly slaughtered before his eyes, and the dis-
ordered crowds rushing back on the flat sum-
mit where he stood, and spreading wildly over
it, made no effort to fight or fly. He stood in
mute despair beside his useless park of artillery,
looking down at one moment on his cavalry,
who, seeing the day irretrievably lost, and that
the cannon would soon open on them, had be-
gun a slow retreat. He then turned towards
the near and enraged bands of Royalists, as if
in doubt whether to seek a glorious death at
their hands : the thought was but a passing one;
for the cries, shrieks, and prayers, that filled
the air, of those who fell at every moment,
made the warm blood rush back to his heart.
Ruthven passed the spot where he stood, wea-
ried and bloody, and followed by a small reso-

STRATTON HILL. 65

lute band, the only one that preserved any
countenance. " Mount, my Lord,'1 he said,
"and fly, — the day is lost!"

" Is all hope gone, Ruthven ? can we make no
head ? Our numbers are still enough to drive
back the enemy, could any order be restored."

11 Order and courage are fled alike — a vile
panic has seized both soul and body of the
troops : your dream of victory is darkened, my
Lord," he said in a tone of irony, that this, his
second fatal reverse, could not repress : " turn
your courser's feet down the hill ; another mo-
ment, and he will be piked or shot : the few
brave men around me shall make good our
retreat.1'

The General slowly and silently withdrew
from the scene of slaughter, down a part of the
descent that was still left open, till he arrived
at the foot, when he rode rapidly forward to
the spot where his cavalry waited to cover the
retreat of the fugitives. It would seem, how-
ever, as if fear had paralyzed alike the energy
and the religious enthusiasm of the Parliamen-
tarians, the greater part of whom, collecting in
a vast and disorderly crowd on the summit,

66 STRATTON HILL.

were there made prisoners, to the amount of
two thousand men ; a few scattered bodies suc-
ceeded in reaching the common, the Royalists
being too weak and too intent on their import-
ant capture to follow the flying.

When the four brigades met on the top of
the hill, it was with wonder that the Royal
leaders beheld the fruits of their own victory,
one of the most splendid and decisive during
the whole civil war. The complete camp equi-
page of the enemy, baggage and cannon, with
large stores of ammunition, remained in their
hands, and the power as well as influence of the
Republicans in the province was irretrievably
broken. Their commander, with all his ca-
valry and the fugitive infantry, retreated by
rapid marches, and did not pause till they
reached Exeter.

STRATTON HILL, 67

CHAPTER III.

" A scene of death, where fires beneath the sun,
And blended arms and white pavilions glow ;
And for the business of destruction done,
Its requiem the war-horn seem'd to blow."

Campbell.

The conflict had now ceased, save where a
few scattered fugitives, closely followed by some
of the Royalists, were seen striving, as they fled
here and there, to make good their retreat to
the common.

Near the foot of the hill, a young man was
seen hastening from the fatal field, followed at
a short distance by a soldier more than double
his own age. The old man, for such his fea-
tures, less than his still robust figure, proved
him to'be, finding his speed could not overtake

68 STRATTON HILL.

that of his more youthful enemy, called loudly
and sternly on him to stay his flight. The
other calmly turned at last and faced his pur-
suer, more in contempt than anger, and briefly
demanded why he followed him with such de-
termined purpose, and dared to arrest his flight,
when no other was at hand to second him.

" Young man," he said, " I have marked and
followed your path from the summit to this
spot, and now you must reckon with me."

" With you !" said the other, gazing on his
grey hairs and stalwart limbs, " and what for ?
Could you find no one else among the panic-
struck crowds to make captive of, better suited
to your years ? Go back ; I \e had fighting
enough to-day."

" I '11 ne'er go back,"" replied Andrews, " till
I 've laid that hand low that I Ve seen draw the
noblest blood to-day in the land."

" Do not tempt me to draw yours, old man,"
returned the youth : " and now I remember,
you 're the standard-bearer that stopped my re-
venge, and whose blow I still feel ringing in
my head. But once more, I say, stand aside;

STRATTON HILL. 69

there's no honour to be got from a man that
might be my father.'"

" Villain," replied the veteran fiercely, " what
cause had you for vengeance against his Lord-
ship ? the blow that palsied your hand was the
dearest mine ever struck. You shall abide
your malice here, or lay the servant as low as
your stroke laid his master, and never more to
rise up. I 'm old — but my arm is strong enough
to right his cause, else 'tis time the grave had it
for its own."

;i Then I must fight," said Nicholas, " to
make good my retreat ; '' and he briskly attacked
his pursuer, but with a carelessness that proved
he held him light. The latter received and par-
ried his blows with wariness and skill ; for
while the ancient retainer burned with desire to
revenge the wrong and shame that he conceived
had been done his patron, he saw that he had
little chance with his young and active oppo-
nent, except by keeping on the defensive. His
well-proved armour stood him in good need
against blows that had that day been often fatal ;
and he soon showed that seventy years had not

70 STRATTON HILL.

stiffened his limbs or withered his strength.
One well-aimed thrust with his pike in an un-
guarded moment sunk his antagonist on his
knee ; and while he was again springing lightly
from the ground, the weapon entered his breast,
that had neither cuirass nor shield to defend it,
and he fell helpless and desperately wounded.
Andrews had seen and suffered violence enough
in his long career to have remembered mercy ;
yet he seemed in his rage to forget every thing
but that he had the man in his power who had
nearly slain his master ; and lifting his pike
again, he paused for a moment over his enemy
ere he finished his work.

'* Spare me," said Nicholas,—" spare me, old
man ; you have your wish : for the mercy you
show, you will be repaid an hundred-fold in the
few years you have to live !"

" Ay, but not for what you sought to show
him. I saw your dagger lifted, and your eye
gleam with a fiendish pleasure as you were
about to strike it into his side. Say, while you
breathe there a short time longer, what led you
on to such inveterate hatred, to such dark-
malice?"

STRATTON HILL. 71

" It matters not," replied the other faintly :
" the love of revenge springs often from slight
causes, and the heart broods over them as deep
and bodingly as is the moan of the North Sea
yonder on the shore ere the storm wakes. I 've
learnt to feel it and to love it too, among a cruel
people in far Spain : a deadly lesson it may be,
at least so it has proved to me."

" In Spain,1' replied the veteran earnestly,
and his tone losing its sternness as he looked on
one who had shared the like perils, and mingled
in the like scenes as himself ; " and you 've
been in the colonies, young man ; and have
fought, no doubt, against those blood-thirsty
Spaniards; and have touched their gold, no
doubt ? Then I forgive you the malice against
Sir Beville — I mean, I '11 visit it no farther on
you, but will spare your young life for better
deeds."

" Thanks for the kindness, though 'tis hardly
given : — not to give quarter to a foe that asks
it, and can render no quittance; such a deed
never stained my hand — 'tis well for your grey
head that yours has not done it.1'

" I 'm sorry I Ve hurt you, boy — a soldier

72 STRATTON HILL.

can say no more ; you should have fought more
fairly, and you fought gallantly too ; but you
should have respected the head of that ancient
house, of that noble ancestry. You might have
struck the Spanish Viceroy, or King too, on
his throne, and done well — ay, or Hopton, or
Mohun — had you met ; but Sir Richard 's my
own dear master's grandson ; to strike him so
ruthlessly, when I saw his light hair on the
grass, his lifted hand and bright eye raised

to yours 1 say, young man,'" shaking his

pike sternly over his victim, " youVe got your
deserts, and God forgive you for your cruel
purposed''

" I shall soon need that forgiveness," he
replied. " I have heard of that Sir Richard
abroad, and his fierce fight with the enemy ;
and I remember, when a child, my mother's
telling me tales of his exploits ; it comes over
me now like a dream ; but she lived in these
parts, and knew the family well."

" Who was your mother ?" asked the veteran
eagerly. k< She knew the family of Stowe too,
well ! did she know them for good or ill, that
her son should be their foe ?"

STRATTON HILL. 73

u Foe, old man !" answered the youth, look-
ing wildly at the stern and wasted features of
his antagonist : I shall soon cease to be friend
or foe to aught here below — but one, and her to
leave for ever ! You have sent me early to-
wards my long reckoning, and 'twill bring no
blessing on your own end — that cannot be far
off. But tell my mother how it happened : — do
that for a dying man ; she lives far to the west,
in the parish of Saint Just, in a lonely house
beside a group of trees below the village ; she
did live in a valley not far from here once, where
I was born; but shemarried, and went westward."

" What was her name, and her father's be-
fore her ?" said the other, fixing his eyes, with
an interest he could not account for, on the fea-
tures of the youth ; — " was the name of the
valley where she lived Combe F"

" The same," said the other. " Yes, it was
the same : the remembrance of the place came
so strong over me when I was there lately ; the

banks, the cove below, and the 'twas there

I took leave of Betsy — I said I should see
her no more. But my mother's maiden name
was Andrews ; I left her some years since, and

VOL. II. E

74 STRATTON HILL.

sailed for the South Seas, where, she said, her
father had gone many years before."

The pike, that he had grasped firmly, fell
from the grasp of the wretched old man ; and
he stood with his large bony hands clasped
together, looking fearfully, but fondly, on the
being at his feet. He stooped, without uttering
a word, and raised the head that was now help-
less, cautiously from the earth, and drew the
pallid features close to his own : his own hands,
stained with blood, caught his eye for a moment,
and he broke out into a deep and heart-rending
cry. " Oh, Mary, my long-left, dearly-loved
daughter ! that your father's hand should do
this ; — should break into the life of your son !
They are her lips, her eyes, the same kind look,
now that the fury of the fight is over. How
shall I meet a daughter's curse, when she sees
his blood ? — his— 'tis her own, — the child's that
crept to my bosom before I went to the wars."

" And are you my poor mother's father?"
said Nicholas, struggling with the effects of
his wound. " Unhappy man, you've done a
fearful deed ; but my hand might have done
the same. Accursed be this war, that arms the

STRATTON HILL. 75

brother against his brother, and but do

not tell her that you 've done it. Had I heard
her words, and loved my own home as well as
the wild seas and wilder ways, this had not been.
Don't despair in that way ; you could not know
it when you struck me. I 've borne myself in
the field as became one who was reckoned the
first of Phippen's men; you can judge, for
you've seen war, and your hand is heavy —
strange, that it followed me so ruthlessly, and
would not turn aside !"

" It would not, it would not, my son, turn
aside from your bosom, though you warned me
away. Oh God ! 'tis a judgment for my own
past life, that in my old age I 've not remember-
ed thee ! — So gallant he bore himself ! — Mary,
my poor child, you '11 pray for your father — for
the fierce old man that did this deed! — Prayers,
did I say ? — can they raise my daughter's son ? —
can they bring back his young life ? Never did
my hand the whole day strike so home, so deep
a wound !"

He stooped and pressed his lips again and
again on the damp forehead of Nicholas, as if
he deemed they were on his daughter's cheek,
E 2

76 STRATTON HILL.

or that this was some faint reparation for the
fearful crime he had done : he then tore, with
wild eagerness, some linen from the former's
dress, and strove to staunch the life- stream that
his own hand had opened ; turning half aside,
at each moment, with a shuddering that ran
through every limb, as he pressed the bleeding
body, to which he felt he had given birth. He
succeeded at last in his efforts ; and bearing him
in his arms, with a strength that the occasion
only could have given, while his thin grey locks
mingled with the raven hair of the other, he
bent his way slowly over the declivity to the
camp above. Helm and pike, even the well-
defended standard, were left behind on the fatal
spot, as things of nought. As he paused at in-
tervals, while passing up the hill, down which
the breeze now came freshly, remorse was
stamped on every feature of his war-worn coun-
tenance.

It was startling to see a man so aged the
prey of such cruel and helpless emotion ; — to see
him clasp so firm and earnestly the youth with
the same blood-stained hands that had struck him
down, as if he feared another spear should finish

STRATTON HILL. 77

the deed. It seemed that the avenues of his
heart, so long closed amidst a solitary and
wandering life, were now suddenly and resist-
lessly opened. Feudal attachment to the noble
house he had observed so long, had been the
reigning feeling of his mind ; he had thought of
his only daughter every day since his return,
and had purposed many times to go west-
ward to see her ; but the pressure of the war
had found full occupation for his time. He
had left her almost a child, thirty years before ;
and having never seen her since, that sweet and
youthful image alone was present to his fancy,
and seemed now to haunt his steps, and claim,
at his hands, the dying being they bore.

So shaken and overthrown were the firm
nerves and hardened feelings of the veteran, that
the familiar things of war, that he had loved so
long, were now hateful : — as some distant shout
was borne from the heath beneath, or a faint
groan came from some heap of the fallen near,
he strove to quicken his pace, or turn aside from
the spot, as if his step were that of a midnight
assassin rather than of a successful soldier.

Arriving at the camp on the summit, he

78 STRATTON HILL.

bore his burden carefully to one of the tents ;
and while all were rejoicing around, he alone
cursed the victory.

The tents of the Republicans, which were
amply provided with every needful comfort,
were now occupied by the victors; who, ex-
hausted with their success, gave themselves up
to the indulgences of refreshment and ease,
with all the zest which previous toil and suf-
fering could give. The camp contained " a
very great magazine of biscuit, and other ex-
cellent provisions of victuals," which could
not but be most welcome to men who '* for
three or four days, had suffered great want of
food as well as sleep."

The crown of the eminence was covered
with scattered parties of Royalists, seated round
excellent cheer, of which their enemies had
thought to partake when day should close on
their victory.

The wild verdure of the soil served as table
and couch to most ; while others, more dainty,
availed themselves of the habitations of the
vanquished, which stood thickly around : they
ate and drank, and passed their toasts in stout

STRATTON HILL. 79

ale, with a merry heart and loud voice on the
very spot whence, a few moments before, the
arrows of death had been hurled into their
ranks. The numerous prisoners had been sent
to the town of Stratton under a guard of the
cavalry ; and as darkness had come on soon after
the close of the action, the removal of the
dead was deferred to the following day, and
many of the wounded lay among them on the
field. In the tent of Stamford, that remained
standing precisely as when he had last quit-
ted it in the morning, the chief commanders of
the Royalists were now assembled round a well-
spread board. Every one felt it to be one of
those moments that men rarely meet with in the
career of life. The enemies of their King were
hopelessly beaten ; and the decisive victory, that
insured success to his cause, would pour eternal
honour on their own heads : their native pro-
vince too was freed ; the foot of an invader was
not now on her soil. The joy of the whole party
was not damped by a single misfortune : two or
three of the chief officers had been slightly
wounded, but not one of note had fallen.
Stamford's choice hermitage made many a cir-

80 STRATTON HILL,

cuit round the board : the tent-door was open,
and the night air came in deliriously calm
and soft ; the summit of a lofty hill, the bound-
less range of country, familiar to each on every
side, seen faintly by the moonlight — these things
added their influence to the perfect freedom and
triumph of the hour. No more the narrow and
gloomy walls of the Castle were around them,
the gnawings of famine, the uncertainty of suc-
cess ; the whisperings, in some spirits, of defeat
and despair were passed away for ever. Great
as the fatigues of the day had been, no one
thought of repose. The feelings of men, after
the achievement of a gallant deed, when the
headlong impulse of the hour is passed, are
perhaps a criterion of their real character.
Hopton could not but muse with the deepest
satisfaction on this, his second signal success :
less chivalric in his sentiments than his more
youthful companions, his heart less softened or
influenced by the touching charities of domestic
life, or of woman's tenderness, his thoughts re-
verted to the solid honours the victory would
gain : — the aggrandisement of his family, the
mortification it would give to the Commons ; and

STRATTON HILL. 81

he did not draw a too sanguine picture, since a
few weeks afterwards saw him Lord Hopton of
Stratton. He had borne himself in the action
as became the leader of so brave a band; and his
calm and thoughtful demeanour had again re-
turned as he sat in the same chair the Earl had
occupied the evening before.

To no one had the result brought more soul-
felt pleasure than to Granville : he had shed
tears when he saw the Royal Standard wave
on the highest point of the hill, and the rebel
one laid prostrate at its feet ; and then turned to
his followers, and mutely pointed to the spot, as
if that sight alone were a sufficient recompense
for all their toils.

The hours of the night wore away fast ; by
none was the passage of time less noted than by
Trevanion : the keen morning air that blew
into the tent, and waved to and fro the silk
drapery, was unfelt, as his fancy revelled
in a paradise of sweets ; his cheek was flush-
ed less by wine, perhaps, than by the love and
ambition that beat at once in his heart. Elea-
nor, fond and devoted, had seldom quitted his
thoughts during the eventful day ; it seemed as
E 5

82 STRATTON HILL.

if her spirit of enthusiasm had animated that of
her lover : it was her applause he sought to gain,
above, as he believed, that of the world ; and
now it was gained. He had signalized himself
greatly in the action ; for the first time he heard
the applauses of experienced soldiers around
him ; and the image of the pale and anxious
girl, in her calm retreat of St. Germain's, was
mingled with, and eclipsed by stronger ima-
ginings. For the first time, the thirst of mili-
tary fame was resistless within. Now seemed to
draw nigh the fulfilment of his aspirings, amidst
the retirement of Carhayes. How often, how
earnestly had he mused on the characters of the
illustrious men of antiquity ! in his many hours
of leisure, he had thought that such were the
examples he would have loved to follow. — Was
not the path open now by which he might fol-
low them ? — was not this struggle as sacred and
noble a one, as any that ever drew on a single
heroic spirit of old ? He had spoken, and not
without eloquence, in the senate — but this had no
lustre, such as at present shone before his foot-
steps : they had but now entered on their career,
and where was that career to end ? — The scene

STRATTON HILL. 83

was beautiful and boundless ; nor was this all —
the thirst of command came with it. Less disin-
terested in his views than Granville, to whom he
was entirely devoted, and who recked little who
held the baton, Trevanion began to look on
Hopton, — not with envy, for he was too generous
to cherish it ; but had he then sat in his Gene-
ral's seat, with the same prospect of eminence,
and seen the gallant band around him defile be-
fore his orders, St. Germain and its fair tenant
had yielded in that moment to a more dominant
feeling. He joined at times in the conversation
of the party, and his fine countenance beamed
with animation : each trait of melancholy or
pensiveness had forsaken it now ; he felt the in-
expressible sweetness of the mind, when its long
cherished reveries begin to be accomplished.
The events of the preceding day formed the
chief topic of conversation.

" We are somewhat better lodged, gentle-
men, and in more airy quarters, than at Laun-
ceston," said the General, with a smile. " I
thought at one time the hill was more likely to
be our tomb than our banqueting place."'1

" Better have been so," replied Slanning,

84 STRATTON HILL.

" than that the rebel standard should continue
to wave on it, seen as it might almost be from
sea to sea. The crop-ears fought bravely, and
used their artillery well : had they not stirred
from their position, Stamford might now have
driven his gallant steed over the hill, with little
to cross his path but the bodies of his enemies.1'

" They pressed you hard, Granville, the
sturdy Puritans, in the last charge," said Hop-
ton : " had the rest fought like them and Ruth-
ven, we had not been here now at our ease.'"

" The Scotchman behaved like a hero," re-
turned the other ; " and so did one of his offi-
cers, a young man with a foreign aspect, who
looked and struck like an incarnate fiend let
loose on the field. I saw the former guarding
his master's retreat down the hill : 'tis his second
reid, Hopton, at your hand ; the third may be
his last."

" True," said the General, in a tone of
suppressed exultation, while a bitter sneer
spread on his tranquil aspect : " there were few
things in this day gave me equal pleasure
to the humbling that Scot once more. He had
said he was come to have his revenge on me,

STRATTON HILL. 85

and you know how dear that is to a Highland-
man."

" 'Tis a better motive for which to fight,"
said Trevanion, " than the sordid one that has
brought him from his own land. Amidst its
feudal quarrels, the love of name or country
might have had sway; but here, at the very
extremity of the kingdom, is the Scot come to
fight for a cause that is indifferent to him."

" That is foul injustice," said an elderly offi-
cer warmly, who had served with some others
of his countrymen in the Low Countries ; " a
man may take the sword, like the Scot, because
he loves a life of action better than one of ease,
and seek good service in another land, though
he recks little of the cause he fights for."

" 'Tis a mercenary service at best,'" replied
Trevanion, " to shed one's blood in a cause that
wakes no enthusiasm. ''

" It may appear so in your eyes, young man,"
said the veteran, " whose virgin sword has but
now taken .its first stain : you will learn, per-
haps, in time, that as high honour is to be
acquired in many a hard field, siege, and retreat
too, in which a man has served, from the pure

86 STRATTON HILL,

love of war, as when he has merely stepped
front a soft retreat and noiseless retirement to
the field, arrayed as if a lady^ hand had decked
him." The other coloured deeply at these
words, and his angry reply was checked by his
friend.

" He is right, Trevanion ; it boots not to
deny it, though his words are too keen ; but
the Low Countries are no school for chivalry or
courtesy. — Captain Baskerville, your grey hairs
and tried experience in arms are a treasure to
our cause ; the game we play, however, must be
short and desperate, for I would not that the
iron hand of war should press long on this land.
It is by rapid and devoted daring, rather than
by skilful and wary operations, that the cause is
to prevail."

" It cannot be contravened, Sir BeviHe,1' re-
plied the old soldier ; " and I well perceive the
same tactics would not do here, as those we were
compelled to follow in the Palatinate, under Vere.
With scarcely three thousand men, we had to
defend the poor Elector Frederick against the
famous Spinola and his Spaniards. It was an
unsuccessful defence, as you may well imagine ;
but we protracted it as long as we could, and

STRATTON HILL. 87

retired fighting, step by step, like true mastiffs,
looking our proud enemy in the face. But the
Elector was a prince on whom fate had set its
doom."

" Did he battle firmly against it,'1 asked
Slanning, " at your head, or tamely yield to
his ill fortune ?"

" His spirit was broken by the event of the
great battle of Prague," said Baskerville ; " that
sunk him from the throne of Hungary, to which
he had been raised, to the lot of a powerless
elector : he was King of Hungary when the
battle began ; and at its close he fled from the
field, a friendless and outcast man."

" 'Twas a stern change,11 said Hopton ear-
nestly, " for a few hours to produce : the loss
of power and dignity was such as no time could
repair. The ruined, prince must have endured
many a pang : the memory of his fallen crown,
like the mark of Cain, would follow him through
the world.11

M The Elector was of a less ambitious mind,11
replied the veteran calmly. " Much would he
have given, name and fame too perhaps, for a
part of his empire^ wealth, when the stern hand
of poverty was on him. I saw him when he

88 STRATTON HILL.

had retired to Sedan, with his wife, who was a
queen a few months before, and his children.
We had suffered greatly for his cause : fa-
mine, with excessive fatigue and hardship,
during our retreat through that flat and un-
healthy country, had thinned our numbers ; the
Spaniards pressed hard on us by day, and in the
night, worn with the battle, we were unable to
get an hour's repose. We sometimes cursed
the cause for which we fought, — for a prince,
who did not even animate us by his presence.
But when I saw Frederick in Sedan, in the
midst of his desolate family, I thought no more,
not for a moment, of these things. Oh ! there is
nothing so hard to bear as the sight of a fallen
monarch's tears ! Hiscrownless wife was be side
him, and her fair children around her, and they
had no friend left that could aid them in the
world : king and courtier, statesman and war-
rior,— all had turned their backs on the man they
had courted, and combined to press him to the
dust: the iron had, in truth, entered into his
soul. He took me by the hand, and thanked
me, and, in my name, all the English who alone
had fought for him. • I have now no rank to

STRATTON HILL. 89

give, Baskerville,1 he said, * no titles to bestow ;
for who would heed the gifts of a deserted
king V Heaven is ray witness, I would rather
have raised him from his low estate, had the
choice been given me, than have received a
crown on my own brow. ' My Prince,' I said,
and I knelt before him, — for I had seen him in
his greatness : yet did it seem to be a mockery ;
for the children, and they were many, knelt
around me, thinking I came to offer aid to their
father, and blessed me with cries and tears, and
besought me not to forsake him as others had
done."

" And did he not resolve to strike once more
for his empire, — for the inheritance of his chil-
dren ?" said Slanning.

" It was in vain, for he was utterly fallen,"
was the reply. " He had been deprived even of
the Electoral dignity ; that was given to the
Duke of Bavaria. He looked at them silently,
on their uplifted hands and wasted cheeks, — for
misery and they had been deeply acquainted, —
and the momentary fire of ambition came to his
eye, as he saw their devotion and heard their
accents. ' O that my subjects and my friends

90 STRATTON HILL.

had felt as these little ones,' he said ; s one tithe
of their fidelity and love, and I had still been a
Sovereign, such as I was once, Baskerville,
in Prague. — These were then clothed royally !
My beautiful children, sorrow was a stran-
ger to your eye and heart — all prayed for
your safety — all watched your princely looks
— and now, their curses are poured on your
father's head ! — Why should they curse me,
Baskerville ? I was no tyrant. But I will
rally once more the few faithful spirits that

are left — I will put myself at their head '

' Frederick, Frederick,' said the Princess,
stifling her own emotion to calm that of her
family, ' lay aside your plans of ambition ;
they have nought to do with our present state ;
and think of past empire as a thing that has
never been. Kings move not like other men, in
the smooth career of life, but are lifted up and
cast down by the hand of God alone ; but, my
husband, they are His anointed ones — they are
in the hollow of His hand ; and for these heirless
ones — yes, let sceptre and crown pass away,
but their love and faithfulness man cannot take
from us; and here in Sedan, in this humble

STRATTON HILL. 91

home, we may yet be happy. — Ah ! Frederick,
they are a noble inheritance;' and she drew
them to her side, and passionately embraced
them.

" It was a moving scene," said Granville,
" and harder for a father to bear than the dis-
astrous field."

" He felt it to be so," replied the soldier :
" his transient energy left him at his Queen's
appeal ; and he sunk into a chair, pale and agi-
tated, but resigned. They thanked me warmly
for my fidelity, and said their blessings should
follow me wherever I went. I quitted the
country soon after, when the English forces,
under Vere, returned ; but I heard that ere
long no one remembered the King of Hungary.
Many a change and frown of fortune have I
endured since that time ; and when I 've been
tempted to repine, I 've thought of that hour
in Sedan, and it has reconciled me to my fate."
" It might well do so," said Hopton ; u your
experience, Captain, casts shame on our newness
of service ; and fate, I trust, will prove kinder
in this campaign than in the disastrous one of
the Palatinate. — But, my friends, the Earl's

9& STRATTON HILL.

good cheer has brought in the dawn, and the
lights already begin to pale: we'll march to
Stratton with the morn, if you think fitting ;
the troops will need a day or two to repose and
refresh themselves, ere we pursue the enemy.
In the mean time, we will give orders to collect
and bury the slain, and convey the remaining
wounded to the town ; the captured equipage
and artillery can follow without delay." These
proposals met with entire acquiescence from the
other commanders ; the future operations of the
campaign were then discussed, and the party at
last broke up and left the tent.

It was an easy task to gather up the spoils of
the disputed field, from which no enemy could
now be discerned: the tents were struck, the scat-
tered arms piled in heaps, and the ordnance and
stores of ammunition put in order to be con-
veyed to the town. The first office that drew
the care of the victors was to inter their own
and the enemy's dead, that lay in heaps on the
now untroubled bosom of the hill : the graves
were dug where they lay amidst the trodden
grass, and they were thrown confusedly beneath
the bank over which their feet had passed

STRATTON HILL. 93

rapidly, and their shouts rung in triumph or
anguish, the day before. It was not difficult to
distinguish the fallen Puritans from their own
party or from the Royalists, who in many places
were stretched beside them : the features were
more sternly set in the hold of death ; — in some
there was a triumphant air that might have be-
come a martyr's fate, and the eye turned to the
heaven that now looked calmly on the slayer
and the slain. One group of bodies near the
edge of the common, and which seemed to have
been among the first that fell, attracted the
attention of those who now wandered curiously
or sadly round the hill. They were mostly
Royalists ; and beside them was an old man,
who could have borne no part in the conflict,
and yet he was slain among the rest. Rendered
incapable by infirmity, more than time, of acting
a soldier's part, or even wielding a weapon, it
might have been thought that zeal for the cause,
or concern for some son in the action, had brought
his trembling steps there. — It was Kiltor the
champion, stretched on the last of his fields. He
had folio vved in some vehicle from the ham-
let of Combe, about fifteen miles distant, the

94 STRATTON HILL.

march of the troops, and had crept in the early
morning to the foot of the eminence, resolved
to see the battle. Having feasted so long in
imagination of what a foughten field must be,
he had enjoyed the reality, as a worn-out blood-
hound listens to the baying of his comrades on
the track of the prey. He had been observed
gazing on the havoc caused by the ordnance
on the height, and turning his enfeebled body
quickly from side to side, as the balls struck the
advancing ranks, and the cries came quickly to
his ear ; and his fierce eye and nerveless hand
were raised, as the flashes broke on the air every
moment from above. At last a small party
turned from the closer contest that followed,
and, retreating down the slope, fought and fell,
many of them near the spot where he sat.
This was what the iron-hearted wrestler had de-
sired to see, in his own words, " the hard strife
o' men struggling for the life of others ;" they
sunk dying almost at his feet ; and the grim old
man had crawled to where a wounded Republi-
can lay ; and, grasping his weapon, had hastened,
it was evident, the approach of death. And there
he now lay, struck probably by a chance ball,

STRATTON HILL. 95

his face towards the scene of the battle, with
whose duration the thin remains of his life had
kept pace, and the cruel smile on his withered
lips showed that he was contented so to die.

96 STRATTON HILL.

CHAPTER IV.

" Was Fancy's spoil'd and wayward child :
In her bright car she bade him ride,
With one fair form to grace his side ;
Or in some wild and lone retreat
Flung her high shadow o'er his seat."

It is necessary to pass from the scene of war
to one of a more peaceful and humble charac-
ter, at no great distance from the stirring events
that have been narrated, yet quite removed from
the sphere of their influence. Rarely did the as-
pect of the warm kitchen of the Ivy-bush look
more inviting than in the afternoon of a cloudy
and gusty day in the middle of May : the wind
came off the sea, and swept shrilly along the
single street of the village, and wafted the dust

STRATTON HILL. 97

in clouds on the persons of the numerous pas-
sengers, who, with busy step and anxious air,
hastened along. This annoyance without, only
served to make the comfort within the walls of
the hostel " more visible and felt :" many a wea-
ried and wind-beaten visitor entered, whose soil-
ed and dust-covered habiliments were not all
in unison with the exceeding cleanliness of
every well-scowered pan, cauldron, pewter flag-
gon, bench, and table that met the eye in due
order and panoply : the sand that covered the
u planched floor" was of a virgin hue, having
been brought from the near beach that morn-
ing ; for no Islamite, when water failed for his
ablutions, had more earnest recourse to the sands
of his path as a substitute, than did the land-
lady, for the sake of beautifying the interior of
her dwelling. And she now sat, as was her
wont, within the spacious settle, her fingers,
that moved without ceasing on some knitting
work, less busily employed than was her eye,
that shot its keen glances from right to left,
ever and anon, on the guests that were seated
within this sanctuary, or when the opening of
the door announced the entrance of a new visi-

VOL. II. F

98 STRATTON HILL.

tor. As the height as well as curving form of
the seat effectually hid the door from view,
her visage on these occasions was gently raised
in the attitude of eager listening ; and such was
the accuracy of her ear, that she could generally
distinguish the quality and circumstances of
the customers by their particular tread on. the
floor. When, however, even this nice faculty, as
sometimes happened to be the case, was at fault,
her tall figure was silently raised from the chair,
and her earnest eye and features were discerned
above the smooth summit of the settle.

A gentle step at last came on the floor, that
might neither announce the approach of one
whose well-filled purse and goodly tenements
insured a kindly greeting, nor the stealthy pace
of some unhappy being who feared to draw too
much notice, or to excite expectations which his
conscience told him he could not satisfy. As
soon as the advancing figure of the visitor be-
came visible within the range of her ken, the
landlady's aspect softened into complacence, and
a cordial welcome sat triumphant.

st Saint Petroc keep us ! what I should use
his name for is strange, but that the head

STRATTON HILL. 99

carved upon the fountain outside brings 'en
often to my mind. — And is it your face, Mr.
Carries, that I see, that I thought was pinin'
and wastin' in Launceston Castle ? — Betsy ! Oh,
I forgot ; she went yesterday to Stratton, upon a
sorrowful errand. — But Deborah ! where 's your
red face, that 's enough to put out the fire when
it's aneist en ? — bring a seat — no, you always
liked the chimlie corner, and there's few so
cheerful as ours."

The visitor smiled, returned his thanks
briefly, and sat down accordingly, with no small
pleasure, within the precincts of the kindly
hearth. Had Mrs. Tonkin been a pagan, a
stranger would have concluded she kept her
household gods in this snug and secluded place,
just on the verge of the smoke and sparks that
flitted wildly to and fro, as the furze-branches
snapped and crackled. It was indeed a pecu-
liar spot — one in which a harassed and ima-
ginative man would have loved to solace his
wearied form, or give way to strange musings,
which the dim and solemn light, descending
from above, could scarcely fail to assist. Then
the eye that was upward cast saw only the dis-
F 2

100 STRATTON HILL.

tant glitter of the blue sky by day, or the so-
lemn shining of the moon by night ; the clean
and inviting stone too, of antique appearance,
that circled round the interior of the chimney,
seemed like a thing apart and sacred from the
intrusion of the guests who might crowd the
apartment.

The young man, who appeared to be much fa-
tigued, bent over the warm hearth, and looked
round with extreme satisfaction at the change a
few moments had made in his condition, from the
long and sullen heaths he had traversed during
the greater part of the day. There was nothing
in his figure or features that was commanding
or seductive : the former was below the middle
size, and of a slender make, without the appear-
ance of possessing much strength ; what he had
endured and ventured, and few at his age had
ventured more, must rather have been accom-
plished, it was evident, by the enthusiasm of the
spirit than by strong physical powers. His long
travel had given him much experience in the
manners and characters of nations as well as
men ; and often in the friendly circle, the pour-
ings forth of his fine imagination, aided by a

STRATTON HILL. 101

clear and plaintive voice, raised in other minds
the deep interest which was ever awake in his
own. The mildness of his manners, and sweet-
ness of temper, with his frequent roamings
through his native province, rendered him a
popular and well-known personage, sometimes in
the hall, but always in the cottage and hamlet.
Had he been of his father's creed, his toilsome
pilgrimage, and the marvel it excited, would
undoubtedly have procured him the honour of
being canonized ; as it was, the relics of singular
repute and virtue which he had brought, did
not fail to excite awe in the feelings of numbers,
who, though they had forsaken the ancient faith,
still retained a fear of its faded superstitions.
The mistress of " the hostel1' had on more than
one occasion neglected the all-engrossing duties
of the kitchen, and listened for hours with
rapt attention while the wanderer spoke of his
career. He was a character quite out of the
general sphere of mine hostess's observation, and
she paid him more observance and respect than
she would have done to wealthier or greater
men.

" You 'd a hard time of it, surely, in the

102 STRATTON HILL.

gloomy castle ; not a bein' to speak to all day
long, and no comfort for body or soul : — I
shoud'n say that, though ; for you woud'n be
without the latter, if 'twas in a dungeon."

" I was fain to seek it, my good dame," said
her guest, " in a source which bars and bolts
cannot shut out ; and sweet in the hours of
extremity was that consolation. I never deemed
the blue sky so lovely as when gazing on it
through the iron grate of my chamber."

" That was a choice thought and a comfort-
able one, Mr. Carries ; if Betsy was here, she
would treasure it up : — sore grieved she was to
hear of your bein' put in sitch a place by those
hard men ; but she's others' woes to attend to
now "

"And where 's Elizabeth, then," said her
guest ; " I cannot afford to lose my old compa-
nion— and what woes can take her away from
her home that she left so seldom, and in these
unsafe times too ?"

" One that you 've kenned afore now, if I 'm
not mistaken. The wild youth that came back
from beyond the sea — Stephen Nicholas: he

STRATTON HILL. 103

was left for dead after that bloody day of
Stratton : he would take to arms and run to his
death, spite of all we could say agen it. Sore
wounded and helpless, he was lyin' in the town
hard by the hill ; and Betsy heard of it, and
could'n bear that he should suffer and die without
a friend nigh, and she's gone to see after him."

" Is that young man a sufferer ?" said her
guest, greatly surprised. " What had he to
do in the quarrel ? Poor and gallant fellow !
I have sat with him beneath his father's roof,
and heard him talk how he longed to roam and
seek adventure through the world— that was
before he went abroad. I sought to calm his
restless spirit, but it was in vain. — He is not
mortally wounded, I hope ?"

" 'Tis impossible to say ; there 's so many
flyin1 stories about who 's dead and who's livin'.
He 's given over, they say — poor creature ! To
think that he was here, handsome as he was,
though his skin was somewhat burnt, sittin1 there,
with his head c? raven hair leanin' agen the
settle, and talkin' of mountains o' gold and sil-
ver, and the hands red with blood that touched

104 STRATTON HILL.

them and now, — Ah ! Mr. Carries, it may be,

the hour of vengeance is come ! — sore were the
wounds his sword has gived to others for the
thirst of lucre, and now his fair body is mangled,
and his blood poured forth."

" It may be so," replied the other ; " but do
not let us judge harshly. He had a generous
and daring nature, that might have been guided
to much good or evil. — On what side did he
fight?"

* Ay, that 's the worst, they say. If he had
chose the right side, and gone with my Lord
Granville for the King and the County ; — but
he was upon the rebels1 side, against his own
soil, and that was a bitter thing : and now his
bearing though none bore themsells better, got
no glory to him ; and his hard-got wounds are
thought lightly of, and ha1 neither pity nor sor-
row *

" Who says that ? — who dares to say it ?"
replied the other, rising from his seat, his mild
aspect reddened with momentary anger. " Why
should not the cause of liberty be as glorious as
that of the oppressor, and those who fall for it?
— are they to be unpitied ?"

STRATTON HILL. 105

" Sit ye down," said the dame, after eying
him attentively for a moment, — " sit ye down,
and be calm, and don't let your blood be chafed
out of its usual way by other folks' thoughts or
sayins. Their thoughts are not mine, I tell
ye, or words either ; though I wish well to my
liege Lord, and success to his banner. But
they that say a man that spends his life fear-
lessly upon the one side or other, and flies the
last, as Nicholas did, isn't worthy of praise and
honour, say what is false ! — and so I tould
Betsy, when she grieved that he should have
fought for the rebels.*"

" You have said truly," he answered. " I
would that I had been at his side !"

u You have been far enough over the world to
have been a wiser man," the landlady rejoined.
D'ye think you'd be so well off, lying stark and
writhin1 upon a stony ground ; or runnin' away
with the enemy's cruel cry in your ears, as you
are in that leu corner ? I 'd rather hark to
your soft voice, £nd look upon your musin'
face, with the smile that 's mostly upon it, than
see ye a General, with a train of bright men
waitin' for your word. — But you're pale
F 5

106 STRATTON HILL.

and thin," she added, " with that weary
prison-life ; and no wonder. How long were
ye confined ?"

Her words, however, might as well have been
addressed to one of the thin clouds that rose at
every instant into the dim void of the chimney
and slowly eddied and disappeared. The guest
heeded them not, and was lost in one of those
reveries, which, perhaps, his long and lonely
wanderings had rendered habitual to him.
His head reclined on his hand, and his look
bent on the glowing embers, he heard not the
sharp voice of the hostess; and it was doubt-
ful, from the frequent changes of his counte-
nance, whether the scene of the battle,, the
cell of the castle, or some past or promised
hour of tenderness, were again present to his
vivid fancy. His entertainer, however, had no
conception of such abstractedness, having never,
during a single moment of her eventful life,
experienced any thing resembling it. She
perhaps imputed it to another cause.

" Deborah," — and the voice was louder than
that of the shrill gusts without, — u what can ye
be doin' , you careless, thoughtless drab ? — 'tis as

STRATTON HILL. 107

well have a mill-stone in the kitchen ! There 's
Mr. Carries, quite wearie and forworn, goin'
into a sough for want of a wholesome meal,
which he never saw the face of, I '11 warrant, in
the dark keep. — Put the table, you mallin,
here in the luth, — not out by the window, wi'
the wind creepin' in through every cranny :
lay the white linen cloth, and the pewter plate
from the top coin on the left hand, — the same
that his honour of Stowe was served with, last
time he came in, weary with huntin'. So —
the creature has some notion, — 'tis hard beatin'

it into your head though And now, Sir,

the meal is waitin* and hot, with a look and
smell enough to tempt old St. Petroc out of
the stone fountain yonder, where he 's carved like
life/'

The visitor turned, well content at the ap-
peal ; and, placing himself at the table, began to
satisfy the appetite which the progress of the
day had given him : there was more daintiness
than avidity, however, in his manner of eating ;
and the landlady seemed to think he hardly did
justice to the good fare. " You got nothing so
good, I'll be sworn, in the prison ; and yet you're

108 STRATTON HILL.

just like a sparrow pickin' the grain, and lookin'
about, every time, for something better. Did
the Royalists make ye fare sumptuously every
day?"

" It was the loss of liberty, and not of luxury,
that preyed on my spirit. I thought sometimes,
my good hostess, when all was lone and sad
within and without my narrow chamber, of
your own cheerful dwelling, of the trees before
the door, and the fountain without.1'

" You thought of the Ivy-bush, did ye, in
your extremity ?" she said eagerly ; " there 's
many a one ha1 longed, in the hour of sorrow
and darkness, and in their last hour too, when
they should ha thought of other things, to be
inside the pure, warm kitchen, or in the ould
porch outside, what time the trees were green,
or the birds in the branches."

" I thought too," said the other in a melan-
choly tone, scarcely heeding the interruption,
"of scenes far more lovely and distant. It
was no wonder they came back on me then."

" Hav'n ye had sufferm" enough in your wan-
derins over the face o' the earth," returned his
companion, " that ye long for them still ?"

STRATTON HILL. 109

" You are mistaken, my good friend," he re-
plied : "in the hardships you speak of, there was
always a high excitement, a sweetness that made
them even dear to me. And then, the change,
the ceaseless change, — there was a charm in
that, dame, that I cannot describe to you, who
have all your life, like some of the patriarchs,
dwelt beneath the shadow of your own tree, and
drank of your own fountain, and never dreamed
that others were cooler or sweeter."

" You are too far off, and too deep for me
now, Mr. William ; I never had sitch feelins,
and sure I am I never wished for them : my
own hearth is brighter in my own eye; and
those rafters, black as they are with smoke, are
dearer to me than a gilded marble palace, such
as they say you Ve seen and lived in abroad ."

" Would to God," said the wanderer, ?' that it
had been thus with me ! that my own roof was
as then, ere my feet left it ; and my own hearth
as bright and dear as when she lived— my mo-
ther ! — For such hours would I give up all my
splendid journey ings; be as I then was, obscure
and unknown to the world ;" and he covered his
face with his hands, while his tears fell fast.

110 STRATTON HILL.

" You may well mourn her loss," was the
reply ; I knew her well : — three things always
clung to her heart — the first was her son, the
next was about a better world, and the third
was the poor and wretched."

w That was my dear mother, — her very self,"
said Carries earnestly. He paused for a moment,
as if he struggled with his own feelings. " The
chief blessing she implored for me was a con-
tented mind ; it came not — it never came : and
then, when the winds blew wildly on the heath
without, I loved to talk to her of my long che-
rished wanderings, through hallowed lands ; and
she listened with a pleased ear, yet could not
see me depart. But the desire, the fevered
hope, burned like a stifled fire within me ; and
when she saw that, she consented. ' Go, Wil-
liam,' she said, c if it will make you happy.
You will be preserved ; of that I feel assured ; but
the cup of bitterness will be given you to drink."
— I have been there," he continued ; " it was
the first spot to which I hastened on landing. —
You know where she lies, in Quethiock church-
yard.— I had passed by our dwelling in the

STRATTON HILL. Ill

way, and seen the desolate walls, the wasted
flowers that her own hand had reared — you
remember how fond she was of flowers — the
cold hearth, and cold and empty seats where we
used to sit. I turned towards the heath, and
came at last to the spot ; and there, beneath the
few old trees that have stood so many years,
was her resting-place."

" 'Tis a lone and far place," observed the
other, — " the last place I 'd like a friend to be
buried in — 'tis a weary step over the downs ;
and there's no dwelling as you say, within ken.
— But let me fill your glass with this good old
ale ; for grief is dry, and you arn't of a habit
to bear much wastin1."

" So should all burial places be," replied the
youth, striving to obey, at the same time, the
injunction of the hostess, whom he had long
known, and Joved to converse with. " I like
them not so well, encircled with houses, and the
busy hum of voices around them. I have often
stood by the tomb of some holy man, or santon,
who had died and slept in the wilderness, be-
neath the shade of the few palm-trees that

112 STRATTON HILL.

pious hands had planted there. Such is my
mother's lone sepulchre."

" You won't compare it," said his auditor, " to
the ould oaks in our burying-ground, that ha'
fended many a good Christian, in his long home
beneath, from the cold blast ? — where will you
see trees like them ? and the pure white grave-
stones in the shade, and the tread of many
feet to and fro, in the sanded walk of one's
friends and keene : — so may I sleep, when my
call shall come ; but not in the dark and
forsaken places of this world shall my bones
rest ! — Besides, Mr. Carries, I could'n sleep out
o1 sight of the Ivy-bush, o' the stream afore the
door, and the rustle 6* the ould trees, maybe,
in the wind ;" and she filled herself, at the same
time, a glass of the old ale, to drown the feel-
ings that were fast creeping on her.

" You are a character, my good hostess,
as sterling as ever I met with in all my wander-
ings," said the youth, his emotion insensibly
giving way, as his fancy kindled at the re-
membrance of his beloved enterprise. " Peace to
the Ivy-bush, that has often kindly sheltered

STRATTON HILL. 113

me ! and never ought the mistress and the man-
sion to be divided : the honours of the one will
melt away, when the head of the other is turned
to the wall. — But to return," he continued,
" to her of whom we have spoken. She wished
not to sleep where the voices or the tears of
those she left should be around her dust. Often
she spoke of the burying-place of Mamre, in
the Desert, where the ashes of the patriarchs
were laid, and their descendants passed on to
another land, and the sound of their mourning
was no more heard. When I wandered after-
wards to that spot — "

" And ha' you really been to that place that
we read of?" said the landlady, in a tone of
earnest surprise, as she emptied the flaggon into
her own glass. — " Deborah, get another from
the fifth bin, and put another faggot o' furze
upon the glowin1 turf. — You're much paler
than afore you went away ; you seldom got a
comfortable fire there.'1

" There was no need of it there — I thought
little of it. My ancient friend, it was, in truth, a
land of wasting heat, where the shadow of the

114 STRATTON HILL.

rock or the tent was welcome as this ale to the
parched lip. But in that plain of Mamre no
tree gave its shelter ; there was no well of water;
it seemed as if the place had been withered, when
the foot of the Patriarch forsook it ; and then
we passed upwards to the Valley of Hebron, and
that too was barren : we rested in the shade of
the precipices, near the town ; beautiful trees rose
over the hallowed cave, — the palm, the cypress,
and sycamore; — but we dared not go nigh, for
the foot of the Christian was forbidden the
spot where Israel rested after all his toils. I
would have passed on from the place in the cool
of the evening, and pursued my way ; but I
remembered my mother's ardent attachment to
it, and resolved that at all hazards I would
see it."

" And o' what use to her, or to you, could
sitch rashness be ?" asked the other.

" When the night was come," continued her
companion, his features kindling with the im-
passioned remembrance, " I left my party with-
out the town ; and passing through the streets, in
which no step save my own was heard, I climb-

STRATTON HILL. 115

ed the wall that inclosed the area, in which was the
cave of Machpelah. It was a natural cavern, not
hewn out of the solid rock, as was the wont of
the Hebrews of old. The descent was deep,
and through the dimness of the interior I dis-
covered the light as of a single taper burning —
I dared not descend, for the spot was revered
by the wild people, and there might be watchers
near. Hour passed away after hour, while I
bent, with breathless awe, at the entrance of the
cave, and strained my gaze to discover some
object within ; but all was dark as the grave,
save where the taper threw its light to a small
distance around. That was the spot, my fancy
whispered, where slept the fathers of the people
of God — where he, who was as a Prince in the
land, ended his noble and faithful career — and
the tried and troubled Israel, his wanderings
over, was laid in his own sepulchre."

" That was a strange place," said the land-
lady, " and no pomp or pride o1 this world
about it, either."

" There was, in truth, none," was the reply.
" The ashes of heroes and kings, of the first of

116 STRATTON HILL.

this world, have been often violated, and even
scattered to the winds ; but around these blest
remains, Heaven has stayed the violence of the
spoilers and the robber's hand, that was here
lifted in mute adoration : the Roman, the Greek,
the Turk, the Arab, have all knelt around that
hallowed cave. These thoughts coursed each
other through my mind, while I kneeled at the
entrance ; and the hour was suited to them : all
the people of the town were buried, in sleep, and
not a voice, not a murmur came from the dwell-
ings around. I heeded not how time passed ;
but the morn had broke in the east, and, on a
sudden, the loud shrill call rose from the mosque
hard by, and called the people to prayer. It
echoed, amidst the precipices, and down the
valley, and seemed to enter the sacred cave, and
then again rose into the calm air, as if it ap-
pealed to Heaven for its truth. I recoiled at
the fearful sound ; for fearful and blasphemous
it seemed in such a spot, as triumphing around
the very ashes of the favourites of God. I
rushed from the scene, with every feeling jar-
red and violated ; passed silently through the
empty streets, and gained my party, who waited

STRATTON HILL. 117

for nie at the foot of the rock. Ere the sun
rose, we were beyond the valley ; but never shall
I forget that night."

There was a pause when he had finished ; for
the mistress of the hostel, unused as she was to
such long interruptions of her own loved voice,
showed no inclination to interrupt the speaker :
with her long bony hands clasped together, and
her eye fixed on his animated countenance, she
listened with deep interest to the relation. " You
ha" seen strange things," she at last replied,
" and I've often wondered how you'd strength
of body or mind to go through them ; and Bet-
sy says she wonders how your health didn't
sink under them, for you used to be ailin' and
delicate."

" I wish she had been here now," said the
traveller, " for I miss her fair and quiet face — -
my old and sweet companion for many a plea-
sant hour : the kitchen is no longer the same
thing, dame, now she's away."

" Glad would she ha' been to be here now,
and seated there again, maybe ; she would sit
up for nights together to hearken to sitch sights
as you've been tellm' of; and seldom would the

118 STRATTON HILL.

sound of her voice break in upon your's ; but
her look tould more than words could do what
a feeling heart she had ; and of that blessed
land too, as you call it, she used to ask ques-
tions, again and again, and then look in her
scripture afterwards, to see if these things was
so, and then she would sit and think — so pale
and thoughtful.'"

" The night wears apace," said the guest.
" I must pass it, however, beneath your ioof,
and with the morrow bend my way again."

" And where may you be bendin' your way
to-morrow ? if I may ask the question.1'

" It matters not," he answered : " you know
my love of change — that a palace could not
confine me long, though it were of gilded mar-
ble, like that, you say, I lived in abroad ; even
amidst the eastern groves, I've longed for the
fierce precipices of my native shore ; so I must
leave the Ivy-bush to-morrow, but it maybe
I '11 see you again ere long."

He rose from the table, and resumed his seat
beside the hearth. The dying embers at his feet
cast a faint glimmering around, and aided the
effect of his depressing thoughts. He was aware

STRATTON HILL. 119

that the aspect of affairs grew every day more
dark and threatening, and the measures resorted
to by either party more remorseless : should the
Royal arms continue to prevail, the iron rod of
oppression might enter into the soul as well as
fetter the limbs. Like all men who deliver
themselves too much to the exercise of a power-
ful imagination, he proved that it played the
ve'ry tyrant with him, and sometimes dressed
his present career in devoted and glowing co-
lours, or, as now, in those of persecution and
even martyrdom. The habits of his early life
had contributed to this : his father had pos-
sessed some books of the lives of the Romish
saints; these he had early read, and the impression
they made could not afterwards be erased. The
strange deeds and sacrifices, the tales and mi-
racles in which he then delighted, he had often
brooded over in the walks and winter hours of
his secluded home ; and though the mind after-
wards rejected the legends, they left a latent
and subtle influence on the fancy. When tra-
versing the wilds of the province, with no object
in view but the blue sky, and the dull surface
of the moor beneath, trod by no step but his

120 STRATTON HILL.

own, he pictured the high enthusiasm of Francis
of Assissi in his far journey ings, or of Xavier, the
purer as well as abler character of the two, to
whom the sandy beach or the dripping rock was
soft as a couch of down. Had reason spoken to
the mind in these moments, she would have said,
there could not well be a greater gulf drawn
than between his romantic, sincere yet fluctuat-
ing spirit, and that of those unshrinking, all-
enduring men. To them, fair faces, soft ac-
cents, and gentle spirits, were of no more
account than the stern form and wild words of
the savage they strove to convert — not so to
Carries, who loved their companionship, and
would often pause to enjoy it, whether in the
cottage or the hall ; and these hours that passed
lightly over his spirit, fled not so to that of
others. Elizabeth, the fair daughter of the
hostel, had found them to be among the sweetest
of her life ; the eloquence with which he spoke
of his journeyings ; the vivacity of his manner ;
and the feeling thrown into it, had sunk into
the heart of the girl, and, as she confessed to
Nicholas, her ill-starred lover, she could not
resist the attachment.

STRATTON HILL. 121

It was not so with Carries, wlio knew not the
impression he had made, and passed lightly on
his way. Had he known it, it would not have
availed, perhaps, for a more splendid and se-
ductive object was already in his path.

vol. ir.

122 STRATTON HILL.

CHAPTER V.

" I have had wounds, and some that never heal,
What bodies suffer, and what spirits feel."

Crabbe.

While these scenes were peacefully passing
within the walls of the hostel, to which almost
every hour brought a change of company as
well as converse, a more exciting interview took
place, about a day's journey distant, between the
very beings who were the subject of discourse
at the close of the last chapter. There stood a
lonely but very neat cottage about a mile from
the town of Stratton. From its quiet and hum-
ble aspect, it might surely be deemed that no
stormy passions dwelt there ; that no rending
emotions of the soul could enter and revel within
its walls.

STRATTON HILL. 123

On the bed of a rather lofty chamber, on
whose whitewashed walls no spot or stain was
visible, was laid a young man, reduced to a state
of extreme weakness and almost helplessness by
acute suffering.

His suffering, however, had not been linger-
ing : he was now rapidly recovering, and seem-
ed to welcome back the world with a buoyant
eye and unquelled spirit. There was, indeed,
every thing around him that could aid the shat-
tered frame in its passage to health and strength,
and soothe the agitations of the thoughts. — It is
strange, how mainly, in the chamber of sickness,
both the senses and the thoughts are moved and
acted on by things in themselves apparently
trifling or of small import I We pay minute and
exquisite attention to our chambers of luxury,
to the setting forth the more spacious apart-
ments of our dwellings, where no ornament
either of taste or fancy that can catch the eye
or please the senses is neglected — the painting
of the stern or soft features of nature ; the fi-
gures, voluptuous or fearful, that are scattered
around our halls. But the place where the
being (for whose pleasure perhaps all this dis-
G 2

124 STRATTON HILL.

play was made) trembles on the verge of life,
is seldom studiously arrayed or cared for. Yet
when the senses, all vivid and freshly waking
from the very regions of the tomb, are strongly
arrested by sights and sounds that were for-
merly dear or familiar to them, the pleasure
is indescribable. Then do the features of na-
ture, that seemed lost for ever, open like para-
dise to the view : — the fern-covered hill, the grey
rock, the simplest thing that flourishes in the
free and pure air, are welcome and joyous, as if,
like ourselves, they were newly redeemed to the
light of heaven. This very feeling seemed to
have prompted the gentle hand that had ar-
ranged the chamber of sickness : the window-
seat was covered with pots of flowers, that sent
a delightful fragrance through the apartment ;
thyme and rosemary were strewed on the small
table by the bed-side; a plane-tree screened
with its bright green foliage the only window,
but so partially, that the sunbeams fell softened
and broken on the floor, and on the bed of the
invalid. The branches waved gently in the
noon-day breeze that swept healthfully down the

STRATTON HILL. 125

neighbouring hill, whose steep rose near and dis-
tinct to the view. His eye wandered with an
expression of the deepest satisfaction from one
part of the chamber to another ; then on the
bosom of the hill, or on the expanse of the sea
that opened boundlessly at no great distance :
deeply had he loved its blue waves that now
rolled gently and slowly towards the shore, on
which they broke with a sound, that to him was
welcome as that of distant music. Beside the
bed sat a young and fair woman, whose fea-
tures now wore an air of exultation that did not
seem to be their habitual expression ; her head
rested pensively on one hand, and in the other
she held a small book, from which she appear-
ed to have been reading. The silence of the
apartment was at last broken by the former,
who turned his eyes suddenly on his attendant.

" A few more days such as this,1' he said, " and
I shall quit the bed on which I've lingered so
long : this bright sun and heath, and the sea
yonder, bring back the days of my strength to
mind, and make me pine like the dungeon cap-
tive to go forth again."

126 STRATTON HILL.

" I trust, Stephen," she replied, " it will not
be long ; but strength is not our own to com-
mand: yours has returned swifter than it
seemed possible to hope for; and you must
use it charily, for it sits as yet on your frame
like a stranger."

" Does it so ?" replied the youth, striving to
raise himself in the bed. " You are mistaken,
Elizabeth : I feel vigour in these limbs once
more ; my heart pants for the fresh air of hea-
ven, like the dying man does for water; and
my feet would bear me now amongst the fern
yonder. — How sweetly these flowers smell ! and
never in a burning clime did the shade of a tree
seem so welcome. — Did you ever know what a
bed of wasting pain and weakness was ?"

" No, never ! Heaven has preserved me from
that trial ; but I have watched beside that of
others, and have witnessed the changes, sudden
and cruel ofttimes, that a short space of time
has made both on the mind and body, and have
been grateful that such a cup was not given me
to drink."

" By my soul ! you had reason to be — but I

STRATTON HILL. 127

have felt the bitterness of the sword before —
have been tossed by the surge on a friendless
strand, weak as an infant : but this confine-
ment has galled me worse than the captive's
chains — these wounds have entered into my
soul."

" Your impatience and repining," she answer-
ed, " have made them hard to bear, and have
turned into poison what might else have been
as the waters of life : as it is, the thoughts and
resolves of your days of health sweep as wildly
over your mind, I fear, as ever."

" And that is true," replied the other. " I
fear I am a reckless disciple ; but what would
you have ? — that I should learn a lesson of peace
and resignation — should remain, perhaps, in this
cottage, or go to my native one, and resume my
old habits? — Better to turn hermit at once.''

" And have you so soon forgot," she said,
" what you said to me a few days since in the
extremity of pain ?"

" No, I have not forgot it ; but it was said to
pleasure you, my gentle counsellor, when you
deemed the gates of death were opening to re-

128 STRATTON HILL.

ceive me : — darkly and nigh they seemed to wait
my coming/'

" And was it so, in truth ? Alas ! the com-
punction that was not felt in such an hour as
that, can hardly find entrance now ! — But you
loved, Nicholas, to hear me read to you; and
your heart sometimes seemed to be softened,
and your words were more gentle,"

" Then read to me again," said the latter ;
" the sound of your voice will do me good,
and I will try to think more seriously of these
things." He sunk back on his pillow, and
turned his look on the form of his fair compa-
nion, that seemed to inspire other thoughts than
those she most wished, perhaps, to inculcate.
The youthful widow, with a pleased and ear-
nest look, fixed her eyes on the book that, in
this time of religious controversy, had become a
favourite one with a numerous class — it was the
celebrated " Everlasting Rest" of Baxter, so
full of glowing and inspiring passages. She
read in a soft, calm voice, with that kind of
tone that quickly arrests the attention of the
listener.

There are moments of softness in the most

STRATTON HILL 129

obdurate heart, — intervals, though short-lived,
when each stern and preconcerted purpose
bends to a better principle, to a more gracious
feeling, or to the memory of earlier and happier
moments. It might be the latter that was now
felt in the mind of the wounded man, or, more
probably, tenderness for the being who was
thus earnestly seeking to soothe and even van-
quish the fiercer passions that had already
wrought him so much ill. The sense, too, of
how greatly he was indebted to her kindness,
brought, as he had been, to the dwelling of a
stranger, and the care of an enemy : she had
come and soothed his agony ; even in the still-
ness of the night, as well as during the weary
hours of day, she had held the cup to his
parched lips, had borne his sinking head on her
breast, had spoken of hope, when it seemed to
have been fled for ever ; — and all this was
from the woman he loved, dearly, passionately.
Even when hovering on the utmost verge of life,
he found this attachment was the silver cord
that drew his soul resistlessly back, and made it
recoil with horror and desolation from the
future. He had been hardened, indeed, had he
G 5

130 STRATTON HILL.

beheld the earnest solicitude of this woman for
his good without being moved. His heart had
been steeled and perverted rather by wayward
circumstances than by a course of lawless indul-
gence, and now its native kindliness and gene-
rosity broke through the dark clouds that bitter
disappointment and unsatisfied revenge had
drawn around it. His pale lips trembled as those
gentle accents, to which he listened, dwelt on the
noble hopes of the upright spirit, and the des-
tiny of the hardened and fierce one ; his thin
hand, that had moved wildly as the wild
thoughts coursed through his mind, was laid
gently on the pillow, and a more subdued ex-
pression came to his haughty features. Eliza-
beth paused for a moment, raised her look from
the page, and turned it on the countenance of
her companion, and saw, with a satisfaction
she could not conceal, that her pure and ardent
purpose was not perhaps hopeless. He had
never appeared to her so interesting as in
that moment; — not with all the freshness of his
gay and gallant bearing, and comely counte-
nance, and words of pride, as now in this mo-
ment of suspended, if not conquered evil pas-

STRATTON HILL. 131

sions, of chastened emotion ! For the first time,
thoughts of tenderness began to spring up in her
heart towards him: it was strange, that this
should have been the moment of their com-
mencement ; but the ardent desire she had felt
to turn his stern and troubled spirit to better
and happier thoughts was near akin, it may be,
to softer feelings ; and these found a hushed and
subtle flattery also, in the persuasion that she
had now achieved that victory.

fc< Nicholas," and her voice trembled as she
spoke, u you are much moved with what I've
been reading ; it is joy to me to think that these
sweet passages have s.o arrested your attention,
and engaged your better feelings."

He turned on her a sudden glance for a mo-
ment, and then averted it again.

" Are you faint again ? Shall I open the
window yet wider, and let the air in more
freshly around your bed ? It will revive you.1'

u No, it is not needful,'" he said ; " thanks to
your kind care, to which my life is entirely due ;
but for that, I had now been where so many
brave men sleep, who a few weeks ago moved
on that hill in all the pride and vigour of their

138 STRATTON HILL.

strength. Ay, they sleep soundly, though I saw
their eye flash and their arm wave wildly then."

" My care has been no more than was due to
your helpless state, and the terms of kindness
on which we have been, Nicholas. And oh ! it is
far better to be thus, with your eye brighten-
ing, and the ruddy hue coming back to your
cheek, on which it used to mantle so richly,
than to be cold and pale, — to rest beneath the
green and damp sod, where the worm is so rife
— to speak, and look, and love no one no more :
this is fearful ! — God has been gracious to you —
do you not think so, in truth, Stephen ?"

" No doubt of it, my dear Elizabeth, — I do
not doubt it : but the worm will not yet rest
on this frame ; that gentle hand of yours has
redeemed me from being his prey; though
when I fainted on the field, beneath that old
man's blows, I never thought to look on that
face again : my last thoughts, my last words,
as the world was closing on me, were of you."

M Were they so, in truth ? — more of me than
of the world you were going to — was that
right ? — yet oh, how faithful ! Then, for my
sake, abandon your plans of violence : by that

STRATTON HILL. 133

near and awful view you had of your last hour,
forego the field of battle henceforth, and do not
tempt your fate again. — I cannot forget, no
never, how you looked, so wan, still, and
death-like, when I first saw you."

" And can I ever forget," he said pas-
sionately, " the moment when I woke from
that deadly slumber, and your form was bend-
ing over me, and your tears falling warm on my
face ? I had a faint remembrance of that fierce
old man, as he stood over me, after I sunk be-
neath his dreadful blows : he said he was my
mother's father, and yet he shed the blood of
her son with a ruthless hand. — Has he been
near my bed — has he gazed on the work of his
own hands ? I could not bear to see him
again."

" He did come, many times,'' she answered,
" and looked on you in your sleep, for he
feared to meet your waking eye ; he said it was
so like that of his daughter."

" I 'm glad that I slept," said the young
man fervently. " Should you hear his footstep
again, close the door, and let him not enter.
His cry of agony over me is in my ears still —

134 STRATTON HILL.

the wild, ghastly look with which he tore his
grey hair. I saw the dead and dying, in heaps,
that day, on whose forms the rending sword
and scythe did fell work ; but, oh God ! I saw
nothing so terrible as the parent of my dearest
mother, when he drew my face to his white and
withered lips, and his teeth gnashed over me,
and he looked up to Heaven, and asked why it
had permitted that deadly crime? — why its thun-
derbolt fell not ? — There is another cause why I
could not bear to look on him.'1

" What other cause ?" said his companion
earnestly ; " are not these terrible enough ?"

" Ay, they are. But why do you ask me
that question ?" he said, in a slow and sullen
accent. After a long pause : " He stopped me
in my revenge ! his arm was the only one that
beat back my weapon from his breast — the
breast of the man who slighted and insulted
me. His arm alone arrested my flight, else I
might have been in the field quickly after, and
faced the foe again, instead : but for that I
forgive him, — 'twas a soldier's fate ; though he
marked me out, and followed me far, — and

STRATTON HILL. 135

why ? — because I struck at his master — Ah !
there, again, that master was my enemy, and
doubly crossed me."

" Nicholas," said the young woman, " this
is dreadful. Can such feelings be fostered still in
your heart ? I deemed them vanquished ; but I
see that they agitate you again."

" Why then must they be called forth from
their hiding-place ?" he answered. " I would
have concealed them from your sight — I knew
not that they yet had such power over me ; but
the memory of that evening of the battle has
revived them afresh, and now they will have
way. — Look at that hill !" he continued, point-
ing to the verdant and lofty bosom of the
hill of Stratton, that was near, and distinctly
in view from the window : " do you see that ?
'twas there I struck him down, and saw the man
who had scorned me lie defenceless at my feet.
— By St. Petroc ! that moment was worth ten
years of life, when that cursed chance came in
my way — that old man is doomed to be my
ruin."

"Unhappy youth!" said Elizabeth sadly,

136 STRATTON HILL.

" it was the kindliest deed his hand ever achiev-
ed, and brings more honour on his grey hairs
than any other of his long career."

" You speak like a woman, in sooth," said
the other, with a stern and vindictive smile,
that spread fearfully on his wasted features :
" your gentle heart has known not of the fierce
yet dear passions, to drink of whose sweetness
is like health to a dying man — You see there
the wrecks of that fight are strewn over the
grass of the declivity, — cuirass, spear, and helm ;
look ! they glitter in the sun-beams, and by
their side are the whitening bones of many a
one who bore them proudly."

His companion turned her eyes to the spot,
and saw, with shuddering, what his keener eye
had often dwelt on in his hours of languishing.

" Ay, the armour is there," he continued,
u but not the armed men ! Were the voice of the
trumpet to wake on that hill now, 'twould sound
like the wail of the parted spirits, or like the
summons to those bodiless forms, those wind-
beaten bones, to arise from that rank and bloody
•field. Ah ! 'tis a strange sight — Stanton is
there, whose voice of praise and pious shouting

STRATTON HILL. 137

rose over the din of battle : Hamilton is down,
the haughty Royalist : they fell and grappled to
the death by my side — but he died cursing."

" I see,11 — she said, " I see it plainly ! What
a solemn and fearful scene it is even now ! —
Nicholas, did you fight on that spot ?"

" Did I see it ? — did I mingle in it ? I saw
men thirst for each other's blood, like the buc-
caneer does for gold, merely because they
thought differently about politics or faith. I
passed them by, and sought him who had in-
jured me, — the Lord of Stowe !"

" He your enemy I11 she replied. " Sir Beville
Granville hates you not, and he is too high a
mark for your hatred. — This rancour will con-
sume you : I see it now in your changed look,
your trembling hand, and the cold damps on
your forehead. — And is this merely for a few
words, a look of slight or contempt, which he
deemed, perhaps, your past career deserved?11

The wounded man raised himself in his bed
by a sudden effort, and laid his wasted hand
on the fair round arm of Elizabeth, who re-
coiled involuntarily from the touch ; his dark
and sunken eye flashed with the only evil pas-

138 STRATTON HILL.

sion that filled his breast ; but it did not meet
unabashed her steady and reproachful look :
and the muttered curse died on his lips.

" And you talk calmly, woman, of such an
affront — you talk calmly ! — by Heaven ! 'tis the
first time that any human lip ever cast it on me.
Had he or any other given me open words of
insult or defiance, I had met them as a man
should do ; but the sneer that curled his proud
lip — the haughty glance with which he surveyed
me from head to foot ; and then bade me leave
his castle-gate — Ah ! by the mother that bore
me ! blood only can atone for that deadly slight,
that cut into my spirit keener than the old man's
spear did my naked side ! Where is my
sword and poniard?" he continued, grasping
hurriedly towards the chair on which he had
placed them: — "Betsy, where have you laid
them ? They did not rob me of them on the
field, the villains ! That hoary — no ! he had
enough of his own, which he got and used
too, no doubt, in the same land as myself. — Oh
dear Peru ! had my feet been on thy soil, this
injury had ere now been deeply avenged : he
would have lain at my feet, the taunting op-

STRATTON HILL. 139

pressor ; the lips that uttered the gibe would
have been still — ay, still for ever ! — I am strong
now : the sea-breeze through the casement has
braced my limbs ; they can carry me well across
the floor. — There is my faithful weapon ; I see
its gleam in the sunbeam that falls through the
leaves of the elm.'"

" And are these to be the first-fruits of the
strength you have so freshly gained ? — Unhappy,
and guilty man P she said, " I had hoped better
things : but nothing, I see, can soften that cruel
hardness of heart : mine can have no portion
with it, no, never : as well might the lion rest
with the lamb."

" What mean you ?" he answered hurriedly.
" Have you not renounced all compact with me ?
have you not rejected my love, in my days
of health and prosperity, when my heart too
was unseared ? — And now there can be no hope
for me : what you have done to save my life,
was done, I well know, from pure kindness of
heart — but that is not love."

" What will you think of me, Nicholas?" said
the young widow, in deep emotion, while the
whole of her countenance was of the hue of the

140 STRATTON HILL.

rose. " If I say there is hope — that — that the
state of helplessness and suffering in which I
have seen you so long, and the subdued and
humbled spirit you have shown at times, though
alas ! but seldom, have made me think other-
wise than I was wont to do, — then I think too,
it may be, but for my rejection of your love,
you had not gone to the field, you had not
suffered thus. No, you offered to go to your
native place, and live in peace ;" — and she leaned
her head on her hand, to hide the confusion she
felt.

The youth did not interrupt her, for every
word sunk into his soul : he clasped his hands
fervently, — and not health or strength, or even
gratified revenge, could have given the brilliancy
and the rushing colour that now revelled in
his eye and cheek.

" Then I will bless my sufferings, and bless
even the blow that humbled me. — Dearest Eli-
zabeth, turn not those loved features from me,
which now I shall one day call my own : yes,
your own lips have said it : — that form, that was
to me far fairer than all the rich and tempting
ones of the south, — that gentle spirit too shall

STRATTON HILL. 141

be mine ! Think not, my love, that it cannot
mate with my own : it shall tame its fierceness,
and mould it to its will : that sweet voice, that
to my ears was always music, will never pour
its words in vain. When you are mine, I will
be all you wish — by this hand, that trembles in
my own ! — Ay, the weapons to which your eye
is wandering, you shall take them — bury them
— throw them in the deep, if you will."

u Then you will renounce,1' she replied, — " you
will renounce for ever all your dark designs?
I have said too much, perhaps more than was
beseeming for me to say : but it was for this
I have confessed it, — to turn you from your evil
and guilty purpose ; to make you swear to me
that you will pursue it no more. Swear to me,
then, that from this moment your thirst of ven-
geance shall pass away ; that you will drive the
fiend from your bosom."

His countenance changed as he looked wist-
fully on her : the glow of exulting passion gave
way to an expression of deep anguish. " Not
yet, Elizabeth, the hour is not yet come. Not
heaven or hell shall prevail with me. I have
dreamt of it, — in my broken slumbers, that ven-

142 STRATTON HILL.

geance was sweet to me — he sunk again at my
feet: in my waking hours, and they have
been many, I have brooded on it. And now,
to cast it from me — to gnaw like the dying
steed the spear that festers in his side and can-
not free himself from it — Ha, ha ! twere a boon,
by the powers ! too rich and generous for me
to give."

There was something frightful in the hollow
laugh that broke from his pallid lips. Elizabeth
knelt by the bed-side, and clasped his hands in
her own. — " Oh, Nicholas," she said, " offer not
this return to Heaven for the boon of life it has
given you ; draw not down its sure destruction
on your head. You asked for the love of my
widowed heart — I have given it you. In the
frenzy, in the despair of your passion, you
rushed to meet death, but the king of terrors
passed by his victim. And, now that returning
health and successful love are your own, will
you still cling, with convulsive grasp, to this
fatal snare ? — Stephen, I would rather see the
grave close over you, the earth cover you, than
see you the sport of a demon-passion like this.
Hear me, then,— hear your own Elizabeth, whom

STRATTON HILL. 143

you believed lost for ever to your hope — resist
not my prayer.""

He stooped and kissed her forehead, and
placed his fevered hand in her luxuriant hair,
and gazed on her with the deepest tenderness,
muttering some reply between his teeth, but
no distinct words reached her ear. By the
changes of his countenance, it seemed that the
struggle was a violent one. He turned at last
his face to the wall with a deep sigh, and waved
his hand sadly, as if to entreat her to trouble
him thus no more. " Oh, why am I exposed
to such a strife as this?" he said faintly. —
" Elizabeth, the possession of you has been the
hope, the stay, on which I lived ; it passed
from me, and then I welcomed death. Let that
draw nigh once more, in all its terrors, be you
but near me, beloved woman, to bend over me,
to gaze on and comfort me ; that I may rest
on vour bosom, and hear your voice, though

it be earth's last sound But rend not this

dark and cherished secret from my soul ; it is
wound round every fibre of my heart : take it
not from me ! rather let me sleep with the brave
on the grassy hill- side, laid there by your

144 STRATTON HILL.

hands. But to yield up this baffled, lingering
hope — this unquenched thirst of 1 can-
not, no, I cannot do this !"

She rose, and cast on him a sad and lingering
look ; then raised it imploringly to Heaven, and
silently quitted the apartment. As she passed
out, her gown chanced to brush against the
arms of the sick man ; he raised his head as the
faint clash of his weapons met his ear, and cast
a hurried glance towards them. — " They are
safe," he murmured, as he sunk back again;
" her hand would not do me that wrong."

It was probable that the spirit of his kind
attendant, who had just left him, was as far
from peace as his own. She had just admitted
a new passion into her heart, and could scarcely
account to herself for the seeming readiness and
inconstancy with which this was done. It was
in vain to task that heart, and call it to a severe
account : she could only lament its wayward-
ness; and this might the more easily be par-
doned, that the situation in which she had
watched and mourned over the present object of
her tenderness has ever been one of the most
subduing and ensnaring in which a youthful

STRATTON HILL. 145

woman can be placed. The hours of languor,
the sickening, and then the reviving hope, the
grateful look, the heartfelt expression — these
were present night and day ; and he whose
image she had hitherto cherished was afar, and
thought not of her.

VOL II.

146 STRATTON HILL.

CHAPTER VI.

" I see the spreading leaves and flowers,
I hear the wild birds singing ;
But pleasure they hae nane for me,
While care my heart is wringing."

Burns.

It is time to return to a neighbourhood from
which we have long wandered, — that of the de-
caying cathedral of St. Germain's. It seemed,
by the deep o^iiet that reigned around, as if the
genius of monasticism still shed its influence on
the adjacent population, harmless and careless
spectators of the deadly game that was playing
on every side. This could scarcely be said,
however, of the tenants of the faded dwelling of
the prior, before whose awakened fancies the
pageant of many a battle had passed. Certain
tidings came, at last, to dispel all misgivings, and

STRATTON HILL. 147

it need not be said, that their complexion was
of a welcome character. Greatly did the Daw-
navs exult in the success of the Royal arms, —
the rather that it was unexpected, so excessively
had rumour magnified the number and array of
the rebel force. Often had Eleanor dwelt, even
to anguish, on the fate the war might bring
forth : her lighter-hearted sister, who had no
such dear stake at issue, heard of the events
of the few last weeks with more calmness, and
was far more moderate in her eulogies on the
splendid success of Stratton. She bade Eleanor,
amidst her flights of enthusiastic pleasure, wait
yet awhile, ere she wove her garlands for the
victor's brow, for revolutions were variable and
inconstant things.

To no one did the victory give more undis-
sembled pleasure than to Honor Middlar; it
was a subject on which she could not possibly
be at fault : there was no neutral or debateable
ground on any part of it ; in no one of its bear-
ings could she miss her way, or be left in a
painful struggle between contending feeJings.
No warring faiths mingled in the question of
the splendid field of Stratton; and high and
H %

148 STRATTON HILL.

incessant, therefore, were her eulogies. She
had had dreams, and remarkable ones, for three
nights before the battle, in which she saw hosts
charging each other, with great fierceness and
a frightful bloodshed ; and, above all, who
fought and struggled, was a man upon a white
horse, with red armour on, up to the ears, who
did wonders, and, by his voice, she knew it was
Colonel Trevanion. Sweet and peaceful were
now the hours of her attendance on her younger
mistress; even St. Sebastian, the youthful martyr,
was for a while forgotten, so much less hold
have passive sufferings, however noble, on the
fancy of women, than active valour. Not that
Honor did, in truth, partake of the chivalric
prepossessions of her mistress, or was a fierce
partisan of either Royal or Parliament side ; but
the war was a copious and descriptive subject ;
and her fancy, like those of the poet and the
historian, hovered often over the foughten field,
and called up its terrors anew. Not many
days after the period alluded to, she was sum-
moned one morning to attend the elder of the
ladies : she found her seated in a chamber,
whose viewless site and gloomy aspect would

STRATTON HILL. 149

have better suited a more meditative and sad-
dened spirit. The business of the toilette was
beguiled by the casual talk, usual on such pri-
vileged occasions ; though it was observed that
the waiting maid was less garrulous and fearless
in her eloquence with Miss Dawnay, in whose
company she could not avoid feeling some de-
gree of awe, to which she was a stranger in that
of Eleanor. The beauty of the morning, that
made itself visible, even within the high and
dark inclosure of the court without, had been
observed on ; when a new rumour, that burn-
ed like suppressed fire within the spirit of
the attendant, gave another direction to the
subject.

" Have ye heard, my Lady, what cruel Phi-
listines them Royalists are? — Not in their taking
up arms ; — they 're right enough, no doubt, in
that ; and they know how to use them too, as
people ought to do, that ha' got cause, as master
says : — but they hav'n no humanity, — not like
the beasts o' the field, for their own kind, — to
treat a poor young man as they ha"' done."

" Whom do you mean, Honor ? and what
new story is this you have got ? They are not

150 STRATTON HILL.

likely the leaders of the Royal forces, to treat
any man with cruelty.1'

M Not likely ! but they ha* done it, and in a
manner enough to make one's heart ache, and
one's blood run cold, at the tellin' of. — Hav'n
your Ladyship heard of how Mr. Carries have
been treated by them, like a poor forgone cri-
minal r

" Who said so ? — and when did you hear
this?" said Catherine, turning pale as death, as
she bent her look full on her domestic's : " it
must be some invention of your own, Honor, or
of other persons."

" It mayn't all of it be true ?— St. Teath I
Gimmini ! that I should speak sitch a word !
'Tis the little ould image in the wall down by,
puts the bein' in my mind : 'tis only the facts I
speak of, for fear of frightening your Ladyship :
'tis a cruel story, and there 's no believin' all
that 's said ; — rumour, you told me the other
day, was like the running out o' waters, when
the Lynher, belike, owerflows the turfy ground
all about."

" Tell me, I insist, what they do say : I feel
a lively regard for the character of the Royal

STRATTON HILL. 151

arms ; and would not, for the world, they should
be stained with cruelty to a human being, much
less to one I have had some acquaintance with.'"'

" That's what I thought, that your Ladyship
had sitch a regard and feelm1 for the Royalists1
behaviour, that you would be angry at the
mention of the thing; — but why should they
choose out a man that never did harm to nobody,
to work their cruelty upon ?"

" What cruelty and what harm, woman ?"
said the lady ; " they did not dare to proceed to
extremities with him — they could gain nothing
by such severity."

" Extremities, my Lady ! you may well say
that. In war, you know, they don't stick at
any thing : and what was it else, when they put
en down into a fearful dungeon, bound hand
and foot? and there he was kept night and
day."

" It was a cruel deed," said Catherine, rising
hastily from her chair, " and an unnecessary
one : who could have advised it ? — and where did
this take place ? — where was he confined ?"

" In Launceston Castle," replied the other:
" that weary keep; I ha' never passed it without

152 STRATTON HILL.

a quever runnin' through me, at sight o' the
black walls, and the many unhappy people that
ha' died inside them."

" But what was the consequence of Mr. Car-
ries' confinement ? Surely he is not still there ?
Did no one interfere on his behalf ?"

" 'Tis difficult to say when his confinement
would ha' ended — not till he had sighed his
last sigh, and his bones were left upon the floor,
like those of many another poor creature, with a
ring-boult drawed round them, if the Colonel
had'n interfered, and made interest for his
being left out of the dungeon. But his suffering,
they say, was very tryin"* — no light from mornin'
to night, not a glimmer oMay, and nothing to
feed upon but bread and water. He was never
very stout or full fared, your Ladyship ; but now
he 's wasted, they say, to a skeleton."

u And Trevanion procured his liberty," said
the mistress ; " it was a generous and friendly
deed. Fools that they are, and unfeeling, those
Royal leaders; they deserve not the victory they
have gained r what terrors were there in an
unarmed man ? and of what aid to their cause
could his confinement be, in a strong-hold, and

STRATTON HILL. 153

with a numerous garrison too ? — Shame on such
conduct ! 'tis a stain on their crests."

" So I said, my Lady. Had it been a fierce
boastin' man, clothed in armour from head to
foot, 'twould ha' been a different thing : but a
peaceful and sweet young man, and a gentleman,
like Mr. Carries ; it was a wrongous thing : and
'twill be visited upon their own heads, there 's
no doubt; ay, they'll be bound hand and foot,
and find it as hard, I trust, to get out, as those
that were thrown into the fiery furnace, that we
read of in the pure Word, my Lady."

" True, Honor ; you speak justly. — But tell
me what was the consequence of this wanton
treatment he experienced ? — He was liberated,
you say ?"

" I can't say that, altogether," was the reply.
" His sufFerin' was so severe in that cold dark
dungeon, and bein' bound hand and foot too,
that they say he's hardly able to move about ;
his eye, that you know used to be so bright,
is all sunken; and his face too, that used to
have a good colour, is gone as white as a
sheet. It must ha' been a sweet thing, though,
after all, for'n to behold the light o' the day
H 5

154 STRATTON HILL.

agen, and see the fiiee of a friend ; — though he
has'n got many, poor man, where he is."

" I fear not," her mistress said sadly. " Sin-
gular, that after braving the threats and pe-
rils of the barbarians, he should meet them in
his own land, and near his own threshold ! — He
is gone there, perhaps ; he cannot still be within
the walls of Launceston, which the Royalists
have left long since.'"

It is said, a fine woman looks handsomest in
her tears : this is more than doubtful, seeing that
grief has rather a pale and depressing effect :
a moderate degree of anger, perhaps, mingled
with tenderness, is the most resistless auxiliary
to beautiful features. At least, whoever gazed
on Catherine Dawnay at this moment, would
have said so. As she paced the room to and
fro, her countenance flushed with indignation,
yet a melting softness mingling in the dark eye,
her lips moved at times, and murmurs, almost
indistinct, came from them ; but their expres-
sion was various, and might hardly reach the
ear : they reached Honor's, however, as she
stood, with her head a little inclined, to catch
with greater facility the floating sounds, and

STRATTON HILL. 155

her look, bent on her mistress with a sharpened
searching meaning.

" Honor," said the young lady, at last, " I
doubt that this story is greatly exaggerated :
at least, the latter part of it surely is. Mr. Car-
ries' family and character are so well known,
that I can scarcely believe they would go to
such lengths against him, — What provocation
could he have given them ?"

" True, my Lady, that's the thing; none in
the world : but you know that he 's a man of a
quick mind, and a set path about the new sen-
timents,— about religion, I mean ; — and woukTn
give up his purpose, if there was a lion in the
way, much less the Royal officers, some of whom
are no great things, they say : — and my opinion
is, they ha1 stroven to make 'en renounce his
way, the right way ; and he ha' strove agen their
opinions and doin's, which there 's little good to
be said for ; and so, seem' he was firm set, they
put 'en in prison in the frightful old keep."

" It may be so," was the reply. " 'Tis dan-
gerous, striving with men, with arms in their
hands, and the enemy near, and the aspect of
affairs dark and difficult ; the unhappy times

156 STRATTON HILL.

too, and the town in a state of siege and dis-
tress : men's hearts are strung to things which
they would start from in happier periods.* —
What had he to do near their encampment ?
why thrust himself into the teeth of danger ?"

" There was no great sense in doin' so," an-
swered Honor ; " especially as he's set agen the
King. — Poor man! he 's sore fore-foughten with
his Parliament, and his own people goin' agen
him ; and 'tis'n the thing to set one's face hard,
like iron, against 'un, and wish for his over-
throw, and be speakin' in houses and cottages
that he's an oppressor. I've always obsarved,
that the measure we meet is meetened 4)ack to
us agen : and so it is wi' Mr. Carries; he ha"1 felt
in his own spirit and bones, what the oppressor's
hand is — sharp and heavy enough."

" Who made you a judge of others' words or
motives ?" returned her mistress in an angry
tone. — " Had you a few days1 confinement in
the prison yourself, 'twould do your tongue
some good, and you deserve it much better."

Honor's amenity was thoroughly invaded by
this retort ; and her ire, in spite of her usual
policy and tact, greatly roused. " Me shut up

STRATTON HILL. 157

in prison, Miss Catherine ! that 's a queer sayin' ;

and what ha' I done to desarve sitch a lettin"

down, sitch a disgrace upon my name, leavin"*

alone the bread and water, and darkness. — Me !

that always loved my liberty above every thing

else in the earth ; and in my mother's dwellin'

upon the lone moor, when the young men came

from miles to try to wile me away, it wud'n do ;

I discerned their footsteps afar off upon the

turf, and stood in the door more than once, and

called out, ' What are ye comin' for, you scavel-

lins, to intice me inside o" your dwellin's ?' And

what for ? they 'd nothing takin' about them,

your Ladyship. Though when John Tresize

came, he was a superior man ; and to see 'en

come over the moor, with a step, a face as red

as a rose, and sitch a leg, I coud'n help askin"

'en in : but I tould 'en I was in no hurry ; that

the moor was natural to me ; that I loved to

hear the birds singin' among the turf: — though

he had a pure houldin' of his own, with a croft

and a tidy meadow, leavin' alone a strong boat

in the Cove ; and these things, with his parsonal

gifts, made , en much souft after.'1 — Here Honor,

like many other people, had talked the best part

158 STRATTON HILL.

of her anger away : the memory of hours of
bloom and conquest past, came like a sweet anti-
dote over her feelings ; especially as her mistress,
in the anxious concern by which hers were en-
grossed, forbore the irony that would at any
other time have stayed this fluent description.

" Well, say no more about it, Honor," said
the lady thoughtfully, taking up a book at
the same time from the adjoining secretaire :
" go and see if it threatens rain to-day ; if the
clouds gather on the head of Brown willy, for
neither sky nor hill is visible from this gloomy
chamber. I think I shall walk out to-day to-
wards the village, to inquire something more
respecting this news.'1 The latter quickly re-
turned with the intelligence that the weather
was fair and inviting. " Then come to me in
an hour or two," was the order, " and you
shall attend me to the village ; — for you know
all the people, I believe, there as well as in your
native cottage."

" Ay, that I do; there is'n a greater set of
talkers, idlers, and — — " when an expressive
look from the former induced her to close the
door, and leave its inmate alone. Catherine

STRATTON HILL. 159

Dawnay sat down pensively at the table, and
fixed her eyes on the book before her, that
proved to be a volume of some favourite ro-
mance or poesy, for the cherished legends of her
more enthusiastic sister found no place in her
chamber. The page, however, whatever it was,
seemed not long to fix her thoughts : the book
was thrust aside, the window gazed at repeat-
edly ; partially as the light found its way into
the apartment, it gave evidence sufficient of a
fair day without. She put on the cloak, that
was rather a graceful appendage than a protec-
tion from cloudy skies ; a round beaver hat,
with feathers, completed the dress ; and sum-
moning the attendant, whose service on this
occasion was indispensable, issued forth on her
morning walk. The day was, in truth, one of the
fairest in the year ; and the young lady, walking
at a rather rapid pace along the lawn, looked
with an elated eye on the rich variety of wood,
stream, and hill. Too much a woman of the
world to feel the romantic attachment of her
sister for rural seclusion, for sweet dells, and
hours of pensiveness amidst them, " the world
forgetting, by the world forgot/' she loved na-

160 STRATTON HILL.

ture en passant, but loved society and its varied
characters yet more. Honor, like the follower
of an Eastern sultana, both an attendant and
watcher, trod close at her side. She never
would consent, it was observed, to follow at the
heels of either one of her mistresses, — out of ex-
treme pride, it was said ; but she was dogged
in her purpose, that had nothing in view but to
keep in sight of the looks of those she accom-
panied, as she had an invincible dislike to be
talkedto over the shoulder, — " likin" better," in
her own words, " to trust to the countenance for
people's meaning than to the sound o' their
voice." To a casual observer's eye, there was a
singular disparity in the appearance of the mis-
tress and her maid : the one moved like a lady
in the land, with a free and graceful step ; the
other, with a figure shorter at least by a head
than her companion, and more embonpoint,
shuffled along at a pace neither remarkable for
its grace nor dignity. Whoever has seen a
rough, stuggy, self-willed pony of these hills,
trying to keep pace with a spirited, handsome,
high-mettled courser ; imitating its movements,
envying its array, and shouldering, now and

STRATTON HILL. 161

then, in some inequality of the ground, may
form a tolerable idea of the twain who now
skimmed the lawn, then entered the wood, and
at last drew near the solemn ruin. The short,
round bonnet that adorned Honor's head had
been altered, after her own taste, out of a faded
silken one of her younger mistress ; and instead
of improving her height, as is the endeavour of
most short women, sat upon her head much in
the manner of a warming-pan, suffering her still
thick and brown hair to float gently in the
morning breeze; her legs too, which partook
peculiarly of the want of lengthiness visible in
the whole of her form, were entirely concealed
by a coloured petticoat that had once shrouded a
lovely form ; and having been imported from
France, had also allowed a very small and neat
ankle to be distinctly seen ; but now, as if en-
vious of the form it covered, it drooped and
draggled even to the broad foot, and caught up
occasionally particles of dust and weeds as it swept
along. Stung at the silence that had now lasted
for some time, and having little taste for the
picturesque, Honor fixed an earnest and passing
gaze on the ruin to which they were now nigh.

162 STRATTON HILL.

" What a blessin' to see that ould building in
sitch a state ! one stone crumblm' after another,
and the pillars like those o' the temple of
Dagon, that Samson made to totter to and froY'

" Why so, Honor?" said her companion ; " it's
a noble building even now ; and I should be
sorry to see it levelled with the ground : it
would deprive the neighbourhood of one of its
chief ornaments."

" I can't see any thing fine about it, my
Lady ; 'twas a strong-hould o' the dark super-
stition of old times, o' the days of error that are
gone by; they'll never come again now, 'tis to
be hoped."

" Most likely not ; the times are too en-
lightened : and the cathedral, you see, is too
much in ruins ever to lift its head again. — But
I thought that you loved sometimes to wander
about the old place? — you have been here often
with Eleanor."

" Ay — ay, I have been here often enough,
'tis true ; for Miss Eleanor is fond o1 prowling
about the pillars and tombs, and croonin' in her
mind over the memory of them that had power
here once, if they had known how to use it :

STRATTON HILL, 163

There's the figures o' the ould creatures, the
bishops, carved in the walls, that I ha' seen her
kneel to, as if they'd been keenlie young men
with a handsome face, and a sharp eye in their
head: — 'tis a kind of idolatry that, and there's
no sense in it either."

" Did you think thus always, Honor?" re-
plied the lady. " There was a time, if I remem-
ber, when you were attached to the Church of
Rome. Were not your parents followers of it ?
What first brought about this change of senti-
ment ?"

" True, my Lady, true ; I was brought up in
the way of darkness by my parents, and remem-
ber the time when I had a little leaden image to
play with, of St. Marget, that my mother used
to pray to. But I had misgivin's, when I lived
upon the lone common, and doubts o-* the thing ;
and then light came into my mind, like the
blinkin' o1 the moon through a furze rick, that
can hardly struggle through ; but when I came
to your Ladyship's, and read some o' the books
your Ladyship is so fond o' readin', the truth
blazed into my mind like the rick catched by
the flame. 'Tis a sweet thing to taste o' the

164 STRATTON HILL.

Word as 'twas written, before 'twas meddled wi'
by men's hands."

" You have given a descriptive account, Ho-
nor, of your becoming a Protestant. I was not
aware that this had sunk quite so deep. — And do
you mean to persevere steadfastly in them ? Do
you not look back, at times, to the days of your
first faith ? — there were many tempting things
about it,"

" Persevere, Miss Catherine ! 'tis strange you
should ask the question ! as I tould John Tre-
size, the other day, after he had kept hoverin
about the window a long time, in hopes to see
me : ' If ever,1 says I, ' you become an idolater,
never hope for my favour : persevere,' says I,
' John, in the true way" (he was a Papist once),
6 or I '11 never cast a kindly look upon you
again ;' and that 's much to say, seem1 he 's
sitch a keenlie man." .

" Very firm, indeed," said Catherine. " But
here 's the village before us ; and as it 's so fine
a day, we will not hurry ourselves : it is some
weeks too since I have been here. You know
every body in the place, I believe, Honor ; and

STRATTON HILL. 165

you can inquire more respecting this strange
news you told me of to-day." Saying this, they
entered the small village, that ran along the dell,
beside which stood the woods and towers of the
cathedral. The houses had an air of neatness
and cleanliness, both within and without, that
evinced the neighbourhood and example of more
than one ancient and opulent family. The woods
that stood on the gentle acclivity above, shel-
tered the dwellings from the keener winds. As
the young lady advanced, more than one door
was opened, and face thrust out with a ready
and flattering welcome. But Honor bustled
on before, passing door after door, with a scorn-
ful glance, to hold parley with one or two cro-
nies, who let nothing human escape their ears
and tongues, whether of things in earth, or
things in air. The door of the chosen dwelling
was opened, the seats placed for the visitors, on
one of which, she who was the cicerone sat
herself down, with an important and authori-
tative air, and after a few short answers to
the observations of the dame, such as " Ay,
Goody, the weather is fine ; but I 'm not come

166 STRATTON HILL.

about the weather — the birds are singm1 sweet
enough, no doubt, and the trees are all out in
their pride ; but there *s a sound sweeter than
the birds can give, and comfortabler than the
shadow 0"* trees/' — and she proceeded to cross-
examine the woman with considerable skill.
The latter, however, to the querist's annoyance,
after two or three replies, turned involuntarily
to the lady, who sat silent, as if she expected
her commands. Catherine briefly inquired what
was the latest news from the Royal army, or
from the town of Launceston ; as the village
being a thoroughfare, every report arrived there
before it could travel to the scats in the vici-
nity. It appeared, however, that the whole
rested on the authority of a soldier, a native of
the village, who had returned after the action
of Stratton ; and having been in the garrison
of Launceston, had kept guard, in turn, over
some parts of the Castle, and been aware of the
confinement of a prisoner, who was Mr. Carries,
in a dark and gloomy cell, where he had re-
mained some weeks, in a state, no doubt, of
great suffering ; and he had been set free before
the forces quitted the place. More than this

STRATTON HILL. 167

was not to be collected : comments and abuses
there were in abundance, on the hard-hearted-
ness of the deed ; but as these gave little light
or satisfaction, the lady soon rose, and, wish-
ing the cottager a good morning, turned her
steps homeward, in a more silent mood than
before, and less heedful of the breaks and re-
marks of her attendant, which came at every
interval, to break the stillness, like pebbles in
the course of a smooth and fair stream.

When Catherine returned to her home, it
was not to abandon herself to lonely meditation,
or a vain sensibility. Either of these resources
might be pardoned, in her case : she was in love,
and she coijld not deny it to her own heart ; and
the saloon into which she entered contained
neither spinnet, harp, nor aught that could give
dulcet sounds, or divert the weary thought.
Yet the hours seldom passed heavily within the
walls. The early loss of their mother, by which
they were left to their own guidance in matters
of taste, was the cause, no doubt, of the want of
some of those accomplishments that, at a subse-
quent period, so richly embellished female life.
The strength and decision of Catherine's under-

168 STRATTON HILL.

standing contrasted finely with the more weak
and romantic one of her sister. Differences of
feeling, disposition, and taste, neither deep nor
serious, had grown up from girlhood ; and
having been augmented for some time past by
warring attachments, both in love and faith, had
produced a want of confidence, and a degree of
estrangement, as great as could exist with the
attachment they really felt. Misfortune had
seldom brooded over the family of Dawnay :
never yet, since the last ill-fated prelate
had been exiled from the palace, had it once
crossed the threshold. But, in the present
troubled and convulsed state of affairs, many a
loyal family had suffered ruin from the violence
of the Parliament's forces. Every day now
brought not only disaster and the severest exac-
tions on the hitherto opulent and proud, but set
the friend against his oldest intimates, the lover
against his mistress, the brother and the sister
against those of their own household.

Eleanor's cheek grew pale, and her manner
abstracted, as the days rolled on, and brought
tidings of the continued advance of the Royal
force?, who were likely soon to meet a more for-

STRATTON HILL.

midable enemy than they had lately conquered.
Her lover was safe, and full of confidence ; he
had lately gained the meed of all others she had
desired for him ; but long days and months of
absence came sickening to the feelings : then
his letters had of late come far between ; and once
or twice she had fancied they were not so kind
and affectionate. She did not make allowance,
perhaps, for the military details that now occu-
pied many passages ; and the ardent thirst of
distinction in many a glowing word, that before
had dwelt only on love. How far more beau-
tiful it would have been to be at this moment
dwelling amidst the calm retreats of his ancient
seat, with the ocean spread far at their feet !
She now felt the difference between the dear
and seductive pictures of glory we form for
ourselves, or for those we love, beneath our own
stiil roof, and the fearful hauntings that they
leave behind. She would have gazed on the
melay with tumultuous joy and pride, and have
seen steeds charging, and lances breaking, and
Trevanion the victor, in many a charge; but
should a stronger arm come, and his blood stream
beside his shattered plume, and his sunken eye

VOL. II. I

170 STRATTON HILL.

be raised despairingly to hers: — such was the
image that was present, in lieu of an affluent
home, a devoted husband, and her sweet chil-
dren around her.

It has been said that her sister had im-
bibed gradually the pure sentiments of the
Protestant faith ; with doubt and fear at first ;
yet her mind having once ventured, if the
expression may be used, on the sea of inqui-
ry, refused to pause in uncertainty. Truth,
like an angel, came at last, in its full lustre on
the path of her spirit, and never quitted it
again. Her keen love of ridicule and satire, it
was observed, gave place to more sweetness and
amenity of feeling ; while the powers of imagi-
nation and reflection were heightened in that
long and painful research. There was another
rock, from which this young and ardent woman
was saved in her career, and to which so many
of her sex have fondly clung — enthusiasm.

Had Eleanor quitted the faith of her fathers,
she would have rushed into some of the excesses
of feeling, which were by no means rare among
either sex, at this period. The tales of her
beloved saints, their raptures and trials, would

STRATTON HILL. 171

have been supplied by the equally dangerous
professions and wild assumptions of many of
the sincere reformers, as well as hypocrites of the
day. There was a lingering look at times to-
wards the ancient and cherished path, from which
she had severed herself: yet this was but a
passing cloud, whose shadow flits for a moment
by. In the present painful moment, she strove,
in some trifling avocation, to dissipate the
anxiety that had gathered on her brow. Her
fine countenance had an unsettled and dejected
expression that was not natural to it : she drew
forth from a recess a small manuscript, and,
reclining her head on her hand, perused it
attentively ; but it was easy to perceive, from
the impassioned look cast on the paper, that she
prized it more as the gift or record of one
who was dear to her, than for any vivid inte-
rest the contents might possess. Yet they had
an interest. As Catherine read, her eye beamed
with pleasure, and a calmness gradually stole
over her features : perhaps the lines recalled
moments of sweeter and more unclouded emo-
tion, ere the days of peril and trouble had come
on the land ; and she refused to believe, that the
I 2

172 STRATTON HILL.

hand that had penned them, might, even now,
be chilled by suffering, or bound with fetters in
some prison-house.

Catherine had not been alone in the strife
the mind feels, when quitting a revered path
for a novel though purer one : she had been
aided by a spirit less powerful, but more ex-
perienced than her own.

Woman often remains indelibly attached to
the being whose gentle and subtle efforts have
calmed the storms and conflicts of her thoughts,
and cheered them to a brighter shore. St. Au-
gustine found it more difficult to withstand the
feelings which the epistles, full of earnest, — it
might be said, impassioned gratitude, — from
many a lady whose admired guide and instructor
he had been, than he once did to stem the torrent
of his own wild passions. And this aid had
here been given so unassumingly, and with so
much deference, by a being whom chance had
made her acquainted with, whose words, whe-
ther uttered or written, had a character so
simple and eloquent, that they seemed the very
echo of her own. The manuscript that now
engaged her attention was the story of his

STRATTON HILL. 173

various wanderings and stern perils, so vi-
vidly painted, that he who dared them seemed
to be present to her glance, and to come again
to her side. The stern Puritan of the age
would have thought the adorning of her apart-
ment a little too wanton and indulgent. There
were dresses of various fancy and costliness ;
for she was curious and tasteful in these things,
aware, probably, like every attractive woman,
that the world's as well as the admirer's eye,
overlooks them not : gold ornaments, many of
them so massive and antique in their form, as
to show they had belonged to her mother;
with these were mingled two or three articles
of great rarity, that had been more valuable
in the eyes of many than the sceptre of princes :
crosses and figures of mother-of-pearl, from
the land of promise ; small paintings, fili-
greed with gold, from some monastery in the
wilderness, of fathers who had lived and died
there ages ago. These had been a gift ; and
the girl gazed on them with pleasure, and some-
times with a strange feeling of remembrance
and mistrust ; for they recalled the time when
she would have placed them next her heart, as

174 STRATTON HILL.

availing and invaluable things. And here they
stood, kept with peculiar care ; not the smallest
spot or dust was allowed to rest on them ; whe-
ther this was solely out of regard for the hand
that bestowed them, it is difficult to say. Long
cherished religious feelings and associations,
that are so soon banished or crushed in the
mind of man by dint of his many excitements,
linger still and endearingly in the female bosom.
The time had, in the meanwhile, fled quickly
away, and only an hour after mid-day brought
the summons to the dining-hall. This hour did
not happen to be every day alike ; in conse-
quence of the antiquarian and erratic habits,
though in his own neighbourhood, of the father:
he did not sometimes find his way home till the
regular time of repast had long elapsed, and
the cook had fretted, and Honor had bustled
five or six times in and out of the house, com-
plaining and fuming about her master's strange
taste in preferring an old block of stone to a
good hot meal. Indeed, she was once heard to
express a wish, that a large stone might fall out
of one of the abbey walls upon his head, and
either give a quietus, or an effectual cure of

STRATTON HILL. 175

such a habit : but as this was only uttered for
her own ear, no malice prepense could be prov-
ed. On the present occasion, each one of the
small circle was seated there.

Many events had passed over their heads,
during the last few weeks, of the deepest im-
port. The march, the battle, the entrance into
Devon, and the total dispersion of the Parlia-
ment forces, were themes that had filled every
cottage and hall.

" You were at the village this morning, Ca-
therine,' ' said her sister : " it is seldom you walk
that way. Were there any fresh tidings from
the seat of war ?"

" I was tempted by the beauty of the morn-
ing," the other replied : u the little village looked
so gay and happy amidst the woods — the very
image of contented retirement. But I heard
not of any new event.1"

" It is strange how slowly tidings come !"
said Eleanor : " Fame surely ought not to be
painted with wings; not a day can pass now
without some deed of import being done ; yet
how little comes to our ears in this remote
scene !"

176 STRATTON HILL.

" I wish," said Catherine, addressing her
father, and willing to divert the subject, " that
our King but knew such a tranquillity as reigns
in that place ; he would not then complain that
his crown was studded with as many thorns as
the hairs of his head."

" Ay, that's true," he replied : " it was a bitter
but a just saying: we are not now, as in King
Harry's time, when no one dared to think or
believe, but as his Majesty wished or commanded.
Now, every man is a law to himself, and does
what is right in his own eyes. We are happy
in being free from such delusions — thank
Heaven ! we seek no novelties, and have no de-
sire for them.11

The sisters looked at each other, conscious
that these words could not entirely apply to
either of them.

" Was I right," he continued with increas-
ing animation, " in saying that we sought no
novelties ? Those who are my only portion and
joy on earth, alone can tell if their choice has
wandered where their fathers cannot follow.
My rest on earth cannot now be long ! let it not
be darkened by any sorrow of their creating."

STRATTON HILL. 177

" To what do you allude, my father ?" said
Catherine, colouring deeply : " you know our
affection too well, to believe we would willingly
give you any cause of disquiet."

u So be it," he replied, " and I shall be
happy : you know how I hate the lawless senti-
ments that are abroad, and what little favour
any one possessing them is likely to find in my
sight. Can I then receive beneath my roof, ay,
even into the bosom of my family, one of their
most determined advocates? By the memory
of your mother, whose tomb stands beside the
abbey wall, according to her last wish, such a
thing shall never be P

" There is little cause," she replied coldly,
" for this warmth : Eleanor and I were observ-
ing how rich and varied a face the woods
around the village wear, now that their fullest
foliage is out. I wonder the Bishop did not fix
his residence among them, rather than on this
eminence, exposed to every bleak wind f

" He might have chosen better, my love, cer-
tainly," he said, resuming all the gentleness of
his manner, " and glad should I have been had
he built his palace in that dell ; we could then
I 5

178 STRATTON HILL.

have passed from our own door into that rich
area of antiquity that is close at hand. — Did I
ever read to you the passages contained in the
manuscript I discovered about two years since ?
It must have been written by one of the last
surviving fathers, who had found an asylum in
one of the neighbouring cottages.1'

Often had the ladies listened to this tale, yet
they expressed an anxious desire to hear it once
more.

" You know the dwelling," he continued,
" that stands apart, with the decayed wooden
portico in front, and the green bank at the foot
of which the brook still flows. There, I have
heard my father say, he remembered, when a
boy, to have seen the last Lord Abbot seated,
with a bright eye and thin wasted frame, like
Time itself, looking at the destruction of the
noblest things."

STRATTON HILL. 179

CHAPTER VII.

" Hearts that the world in vain had tried ;
And voices lose the tone that shed
A tenderness round all they said."

Mo ORE.

The evening drew on ere the party thought
of leaving the hall. The father repaired, as was
his wont, to his well-stored cabinet ; and the two
sisters, instead of retiring, each to her separate
apartment, entered, as if by chance, one of the
untenanted rooms of ^the mansion. It was spa-
cious and rather imposing in its aspect ; but for
what purpose it had been used in olden time, it was
not easy, from its present appearance, to divine.
The Christian patriarchs who inhabit the East,
such as the Greek and Armenian, have in their

180 STRATTON HILL.

episcopal dwellings a room of audience, a kind
of long, low, and richly-furnished place; — at
least, the most costly as well as tasteful articles
of furniture beneath the roof are to be found in
it. Such, probably, was the use assigned to
this chamber, that had evidently once been the
most imposing in the episcopal domicile. It
was not known which of the many bishops had
here made liberal use of his taste and expen-
siveness : a painting of the Nativity, not badly
executed, was perhaps the most valuable relief
to the nakedness of the apartment ; a well-
worn and massive sofa, covered with faded em-
broidery, stood beside the wall ; and some an-
tique ebony chairs, rudely carved, were placed
here and there, like forlorn and neglected habi-
tants of a wasted territory ; on a shelf were
many old books too, chiefly on devotional sub-
jects. Here the dignitaries did formerly, per-
haps, receive the ecclesiastics as well as neigh-
bouring gentry and nobles, who came to pay
them homage or respect. Very little use had
ever been made of the place by the present in-
mates; it was too spacious and cold for their
small family. When the rains fell fast and with

STRATTON HILL. 181

little intermission, or the biting eastern winds
prevailed long, the old gentleman was used at
times to walk to and fro the long floor, for
hours, by way of making amends for the loss of
exercise without. At present, however, the
early and almost unseasonable heat of the month
of May had completely expelled the chilness
and dampness of the apartment; and the ex-
treme clearness of the evening relieved its
gloom. It was seldom that the sisters met here ;
and on this occasion, perhaps, it was the conver-
sation of the preceding hour that made them
more than usually desirous of each other's society.
They sauntered through the spacious hall a few
moments in silence, gazing on the faded walls
and decaying appendages. The younger at last,
opening the conversation by something the most
foreign to the thoughts that agitated her, ob-
served it was singular that the most choice and
luxurious apartment of the episcopal dwelling
should now be the most desolate."

u It is only an emblem of the changes that
happen so often," replied her companion, " in
the bosom of families, as well as on the thrones
of kings. Look at Charles ! is he not crown-

182 STRATTON HILL.

less, and his palace forsaken by all of his
blood ? — and here, no doubt, the bishops of
St. Germain's have sat in their pride, while the
first families in the province did them homage.
What a mockery is that tattered embroidery
now of such a scene !"

"It is so, in truth,1' said Eleanor sadly.
" When I walk here at times alone, and look
around, the memory of that period comes vividly
before me. I picture the prelate seated on the
massive sofa, with a look of dignity and sanc-
tity that were irresistible ; while the noble, the
daring soldier/ the trembling peasant,— all draw
nigh. So wrought on has my fancy been, that
the pageant seemed to pass before me; and I
have almost knelt before the seat, to receive
the blessing also."

" It was a beautiful but an overwrought
reverie, Eleanor : the imagination, so indulged,
often may acquire a dangerous power."

" But I would not be deprived of the plea-
sure it gives me. When the light has faded
along the dull apartment, sweet and solemn has
been the feeling that came over my spirits ; the
steps that have so often pressed this floor — steps

STRATTON HILL. 183

that had turned from the world in scorn and
victory ; the words issuing from saintly lips
that have poured into the harassed and stricken
spirit : I can picture the bloody knight, unable
to bear the glance of the prelate's eye ; the
timid lady cheered by his smile of mercy.
Would that I had lived in those days, and that
scene had in truth come before me !"

" It cannot come again,1' the other replied —
" that day of power and pride ; you know it
cannot ; why, then, regret it so vainly and
romantically ? Impressive and splendid as these
things were, the mind could not bear them
again — no, Eleanor, it could not, in truth, else
it had not risen in rebellion, and burst their
chain — their empire, then, if you will. The
senses and the fancy were charmed for ages;
but the reason at last awoke."

" Do not say so, sister ; do not be confi-
dent that your own imagination may not be
misled or perverted : I would not think slight-
ingly of the faith of so many ages — my own too
from infancy : I could not bear the loss, 'twould
render me weak and defenceless."

" My dear sister," replied Catherine, " let

184 STRATTON HILL.

me not disturb one hope or remembrance of a
mind so devoted ; rather cleave to them with
the same ardour that you have always felt ; —
perhaps with too much ardour on some points,"
she said, with a smile of irony she could not
suppress. " There are bounds to our belief,
but Fancy is an enchanter : your favourite,
Armelle Nicholas, who was raised above the
floor, in the excess of her rapture, does her
Life still continue on your table, the favourite
theme, the loveliest legend ?"

Eleanor coloured slightly, and her dark eye
was turned earnestly on her companion. " Do
not make a subject of satire of what surely
ought to be held sacred. A delusion ! no, no,
it was not so ; she relates it herself with such
simplicity, with such a force of truth. But
were it so, Catherine, — were it possible for Ar-
melle Nicholas to be mistaken, was it not a
happy delusion ? How glowing are her words
and feelings ! do they not all belong also to a
better world, to a higher scene of enjoyment ?"

" They do," the other replied. " I do not
blame the subject or the motive ; but the im-
probable manner of the description. Such things,

.

STRATTON HILL. 185

believe me, weaken the mind that gives evidence
to them."

" They weaken the mind, you think," said
her sister, with increasing animation. " Rather
give me that weakness, as you deem it, than the
cold strength, the naked and unadorned belief
of so many of the present age. Look at the
raptures of the modern Puritans, as they are
called; their coarse ardour, their repulsive
exhibitions, and revolting reveries on sacred
things. 'Tis not to your mind, Catherine, that
such things as they describe can come ; it is
incapable of them : but such is the cause with
which — am I not right ? — you have allied your-
self. Remember, that the faith you blame was
once your own."

Catherine turned to the recess of the gloomy
window, beside which she stood, and reclined
her head thoughtfully on the massive embra-
sure. " She is right," she said to herself.
" My poor and enthusiastic sister ! — but a few
years since, I was as she is: — a mind so noble too,
and yet so credulous ! — Eleanor," she said, " we
will not dispute about our respective creeds;
it is neither kind nor generous. Think you that

186 STRATTON HILL.

I would have abandoned the religion in which
we were both brought up, lightly or carelessly?
They were not the visions of the imagination that
I felt, but the deep and resistless appeals to the
heart. I too have heard strange voices, clasped
many a sweet error to my heart, and believed in
a cloud of legends and phantoms ; but I cannot
do it now. No ; the dark night of illusion is
past, and the morning come in its glory, to
leave me no more. Forgive the words that have
given you pain ; and now let us talk of things
of the present moment ; we have both need of
each other's counsel."

" Most willingly," said the other ; " for of late,
thoughts of future ill have harassed me. It is
strange ! but a few weeks past, and I was armed
at every point, and prepared for every reverse,
even the sternest that might come."

" Those feelings, my sister," replied the for-
mer, " were borne, perhaps, in the hour of high
and dear emotion ; — in the presence of one for
whom every sacrifice seemed light, ere time and
change had tried their constancy."

" Do not use the word," said the younger
earnestly. " What induced you to try me thus ?

STRATTON HILL. 187

Time has, in truth, shown me that I was not
strong and resistless, as I vainly deemed. But I
am hot changed, Catherine : my hopes, my pur-
poses are all the same — they are still with me,
but no longer bright and animating. They are
darkened, ere their truth is tried."

" And when the time comes that shall try
their truth, you will not fail in the conflict,
Eleanor. I know your heart; do not let^it
sink thus beneath evil surmisings. You, an
admirer of chivalry, to mourn and wail that
your lover is afar, where laurels are gained and
names rendered immortal. What if he does
think more at this moment of his banner than
of his mistress ? 'Tis the failing of a soldier, and
may easily be pardoned.""

" Pardoned ! I have forgiven him a thousand
times ; — it was so new to him too. I have im-
plored blessings on his head ; and in many a
sweet moment, that I have knelt before my fa-
vourite shrine, in the faded niche of the cathe-
dral, it has been revealed to me that Treva-
nion would be illustrious in this war. — St. Mary
grant it ! — but it was his impassioned desire
and mine — yes, it was mine also. — But, Cathe-

188 STRATTON HILL.

rine," and the transient colour fled from her
cheek, Cl I cannot forgive myself. I urged him
to take part in this gallant cause ; I placed the
sword in his hand, and the casque on his brow,
and fanned every fevered desire. He would
have married me then : he besought me with
tears to join our hands; to retire to Carhayes,
to peace and love — dear, delicious images !
Oh, it is a fearful thing to give a new impulse
to an aspiring and headstrong spirit ! — it is dan-
gerous to bid the love of fame be resistless in
the heart, where tenderness and softness have
dwelt so long !""

* My dear Eleanor," said the other, striving
to calm this torrent of feeling, " why will you
thus causelessly agitate yourself? I always
thought it ought not to have been deferred ;
that your happiness, when certain, should not
have been reserved for a future hour, But
calm yourself — it is but delayed for a time : it
matters not now, when the trial is nearly over.
A few weeks, a few months, perhaps, and this
cruel war will be closed; and he will return,
crowned with fame, with the laurel he will have
gained in other battles as well as that of

STRATTON HILL. 189

Stratton. His name will live in the annals of
his country ; and then, to be his bride, Eleanor,
— to be the bride of a hero P' she continued,
turning the mind of her sister to the theme
she knew would be most effective.

" He will be a hero!"" replied Eleanor, u and
justly so. Ah ! my noble lover, would that the
hour were come ! Well would the flush of vic-
tory become his handsome countenance, and
the honours of his sovereign sit gracefully
on his elegant form. He fought, 'tis said, Ca-
therine, on the day of Stratton, in a complete
suit of polished steel that glittered in the sun-
beams like panoply of silver. Was it not like a
knight of chivalry, in the days that are passed ?
When he rushed to aid Sir Beville in his ex-
tremity, would that I had beheld the field
from the plain, or from the dwellings of the
town, at that moment ! No tournament ever
offered , a more brilliant scene:" and the en-
thusiasm of the remembrance bore down the
forebodings of sorrow.

" You have drawn a beautiful and seductive
picture," Catherine answered. " I shall envy
you that hour, Eleanor, of high and exquisite

190 STRATTON HILL.

enjoyment ; for what can be sweeter than to see
our fondest hopes realized, to drink of the cup
of which we have so long panted to taste ?
And it will come ere long, that hour of accom-
plishment.—For me," she said thoughtfully,
" I have no warrior to welcome, on whose brow
to plant laurels, or to think of his name living
illustriously. But what of that ? a devoted spi-
rit may be found in the path of peace as well
as war : a gifted mind needs not the latter."

" True," said the sister, now wholly under
the impression of the moment, and glorying in
the superiority of her own admirer : " a sincere
and devoted being may, in truth, be found in a
quiet path, or an obscure one ; but who that
possessed ambition, would wish to remain there,
to have no name in the world ? I do not think I
could admire, or feel an impassioned attachment
for such a character.'"

Catherine replied coldly, that to be an im-
pressive character, it was not necessary to be
an ambitious or vain one : as the small lake at
the foot of the lawn was an inferior spectacle
to the sweep of ocean beyond; but then its
shores were always lovely and peaceful.

STRATTON HILL. 191

"But the ocean shore is far more magnifi-
cent," returned Eleanor sharply, "though in
one respect your simile is not right : the lake
wears ever the same aspect, and that is more
than every Puritan does."

" What mean you ?" said the elder earnestly.
u It is well, Catherine, if you are content :"
was the reply ; " 'tis not the choice I should
have fancied your proud mind would have
made : the quiet and less brilliant character
offers a charm, no doubt, of greater security
and happiness. — Do not mourn, sister, if the
former be your lot rather than the other.'1

" Mourn !" replied Catherine warmly. " I
never mourned for a moment ; I have, in truth,
little cause, though the knightly crest and plume
will not glitter by my side, or the war horse be
spurred to his fiery speed. You have talked of
the magnificence of the ocean shore : beware of
the wrecks and ruined hopes that often cover it!"

" What wreck is greater," said her sister,
with some bitterness, " than that perversion of
spirit that urges rebellion against its King, and
feels a delight in overthrowing an ancient mo-
narchy, and bringing convulsion to our doors?

192 STRATTON HILL.

But the unknown man is not to be relied on.
— St. Etha ! to love with ardour, one who jour-
neys from cottage to cottage, and seeks only to
subvert the simple and loyal mind !"

Catherine started at this reply, and the fiery
colour mounted to cheek, temple, and bosom ;
for the kindliness of feeling with which the con-
versation had commenced, was fast quenching
in the rivalry of pretension.

The young woman paced through the apart-
ment, and struggled hard with her feelings, for
she was naturally haughty and passionate. She
could not avoid feeling also that, in family and
fortune, Trevanion was a man of higher rank
than him she loved ; and a sense of humiliation
for a moment stole over her thoughts ; but she
cast it from her instantly, as the idea of his
worth and honour rose. — " Eleanor," she said,
with forced calmness, " you have tried me hard !
An unknown man ! — no, he is not that. I have
striven, at first, with my attachment, I will not
deny it. It was not the choice, as you have said,
that I had pictured: my views were as high as
ever your romantic flights have carried you.
It boots not to say why I relinquished them ;

STRATTON HILL. 193

but they fell before a deep and resistless attach-
ment, that has been to me more sweet than the
dream or reality of heroes sighing at my feet."

" I do not doubt it, Catherine," said the
other ; " the greater is the pity, that such an
individual should have enchained so entirely
your affections. I would have seen my sister a
mate for the proudest names in the land, and
well would she have graced them."

" What have we to do," replied the former
sadly, " to claim high names for ourselves,
when the King and the noble are humbled
around us like the poorest beggar? Let us
rather choose a humbler lot. — Eleanor, it seems
to me there is a doom on high-descended names
in this war — how they have been scattered,
while the low and the mean man rises fast on
their fail !"

"True, many a Cavalier has lost mansion and
fair domain. Trevanion's fate perhaps, — but by
whose deeds is this done ?" she added ; " by men
who are rebels to their prince, who creep coolly
into the dwellings of their betters, and effect
the same mischiefs by their words and acts, as

VOL. II. K

194 STRATTON HILL.

their braver comrades do in the field by the
sword. "

Pity as well as reproach were in the look
Catherine turned on her sister, at these cutting
reflections. " I have not deserved this," she
said ; M I would have calmed that restless and
unquiet spirit ; but I cannot bear words like
these, that cut deeper than the sword." As she
finished these words, unwilling any farther to
prolong a conversation that had now grown
painful, she quitted the ancient apartment, and
left her sister alone. The latter gazed after
her earnestly for a moment, and then turned
her look, fixedly, yet vacantly, towards the fad-
ing light that still struggled through the stone-
carved arches of the massive window. With the
caprice of a weak yet generous mind, Eleanor's
thoughts misgave her for the harsh and un-
guarded expressions she had used to her sister,
and the little delicacy shown to an attachment
she knew to be irrevocable. The melancholy
of spirit to which, at intervals, her mind had
been prone, seemed now to gather strength in
the loneliness of the place and hour ; and the

T»

STRATTON HILL. 195

high and irritated feelings that had just been
cherished, sank very soon into dejection. She
clasped her hands sadly on her bosom ; and as
gloomy thought after thought coursed wildly
there, the tears filled her large dark eye, and
stole slowly down the pale and agitated coun-
tenance. As she sat thus on the ancient and
massive sofa, in the midst of the vast and
darkening apartment, it needed no great effort
of imagination to believe, while the light yet
lingered faintly on her pale countenance and
light dress, that she was one of the dreaming
and devoted enthusiasts she loved to picture, a
St. Madeline, or Rosalie, who had renounced
all softness of the heart, ere its power had
faded.

K 2

196 STRATTON HILL.

CHAPTER VIII.

" Outnumber'd, not outbraved, they still oppose
Despair to daring, and a front to foes ;
And blood is mingled with the dashing stream,
That runs all redly till the morning beam."

Byron.

The evening being still warm and beauti-
ful without, Miss Dawnay resolved to take ad-
vantage of it, and soon after quitted the house,
and directed her steps towards the verge of the
wood. There was much in the scene to soothe
oppressed or anxious thoughts ; the small lakes
into which the river Lynher gently ran, were
calm and clear, so as to receive the unbroken
image of every object that sank on them. The
evergreen banks, the willow and birch trees ; a

STRATTON HILL. 197

mimic ruin of an edifice that stood on a jutting
point, built of grey stone after the fancy of the
owner, gave their airy and various forms in the
hushed water with great distinctness and beau-
ty. The latter consisted of two arches, and
within, a rude seat was placed : such place suit-
ed not, however, the present thoughts of her who
passed quickly along the shore, to where the navi-
gable waters of the two rivers, here united,
moved sluggishly on towards the sea, at a few
miles' distance. Many a bark and boat went by,
some to the neighbouring fishing creeks, others
to more distant ports. The step of the young
lady grew slower, as the scene grew more wild
and varied, rocks and bold descents in one part,
or quiet hamlets and thin clumps of trees, where
the bank was more level. At a small distance,
the sound of busy and cheerful voices ran along
the shore, proceeding from a party of fisher-
men, near one of the hamlets, who had entered
the stream to some distance, and, extending the
long net they carried on every side, had inclosed a
quantity of small fish, and were now drawing
them to land. Their wives and families stood

198 STRATTON HILL.

at the door of the cottages, enjoying the busy
scene, and the prospect of the plentiful meal
which the numerous shoal gave assurance of;
some of the older men were seated on the green
bank, in all the enjoyment of a serene evening at
the end of June. The quiet interest of the
scene was soon disturbed by an event that drew
every look and feeling away.

A large boat, in which were many persons,
was seen rowing rapidly towards the hamlet,
and not a voice or a sound came from it, save
the quick and hurried plash of the oars, that
flung the spray wildly on each side. But it
was the silence of fear ; for at no great distance
behind was seen another boat, crowded with
people, in rapid and fierce pursuit. It was a
small party of Royalists endeavouring to escape
from the hostility of the Republicans. Although
the former had lately been victorious on land, suc-
cess had deserted them at sea ; they were the re-
mains of the crew of a small vessel of war that had
fought with a ship of superior force, and being
worsted, had fled in their boat from the mouth
of the river, where the engagement took place,

STRATTON HILL. 199

and had been pursued by the greater part of
the enemy's crew. The pursuit, that had con-
tinued for several miles, had nearly exhausted
the strength of the fugitives, who had vainly
wished to push for the shores on either side,
during the chase ; but they were turned and
baffled in every effort. But the sight of the
little hamlet and beach, not far from which they
were passing, seemed to offer a favourable place
for escape, and it might be of refuge also ; for
they knew the people of the country were well
affected to their cause. The latter gazed with
the deepest interest on the scene that was now
rapidly drawing to an issue : the boat that con-
tained the rebel crew, urged on by more nu-
merous hands, gained rapidly on the other
bark : already the quick dash of their oars, and
cries of exultation, were heard near at hand: their
weapons gleamed and glanced to and fro, as they
menaced the pursued ; and those who stood up
in the boat strove by their gestures to animate
their comrades to increased speed. They were
impatient to revenge their bloody defeat at
Stratton ; and it too often happened, in this un-

200 STRATTON HILL.

natural war, that the voice of humanity and
mercy was utterly unheeded. On this occasion
it was not listened to, though it came earnestly
from the lips of every female spectator, old and
young : the fair girls of the village looked on,
and trembled, while the mothers of families
cursed the war, and drew their children closer
to their bosoms. The fishermen, stung by the
daring approach of the Republicans, as well as
by the appeals for help that came from the fu-
gitives, as they drew nigh, ran to their boats
that were moored at a short distance, all un-
armed as they were, and pushed to the spot
where the rival barks were now meeting.
That meeting was a short and cruel one ; the
bank and the hamlet were not more than a few
minutes' distance, when the crash of oars and
the deep cry of the Parliamentarians, followed
by hurried and heavy blows, announced that
the fugitives had now no chance of escape.
They turned, however, and fought desperately,
animated by the sight of the fishing barks hast-
ening to their aid. Catherine, fixed to the spot,
gazed on the scene in terror and anguish : for

STRATTON HILL. 201

the first time the miserable reality of war was
brought before her eyes. She saw the pursuers
and pursued bleeding and falling alternately
beneath each other's blows : some fell into the
river, and were wafted gently by the slow cur-
rent to the bank, while its waters were colour-
ed with their blood. Such was the rage with
which they fought, that the boat reeled to and
fro to the very edge of the stream, as its nu-
merous crew, impeding each other, rushed for-
ward to the front of the assault. At this mo-
ment, a light skiff was seen approaching from
the opposite shore, conducted by a single pas-
senger : he was a young man of good appear-
ance, dressed in a handsome cloak, and bonnet
lined with velvet, and eagerly urged his light
bark to the spot. He came only at the close
of the strife, and, unarmed as he was, strove
by his efforts to mitigate the rage .of the assail-
ants ; and seeing one of the latter about to cut
down a Royalist, already wounded, and almost
defenceless, he warded off the sabre blow with
his lifted paddle, with which he struck the as-
sailant into the stream, and in the next moment,
K 5

STRATTON HILL.

with a cry of surprise and joy, sprung from his
own boat to the side of the man he had saved.
It was Carries, wandering from the village of
Kilkhampton on one of his favourite rambles :
all of which were not so timely or fortunate as
the present.

Fast as the fishing-boats hastened to the aid
of the Royalists, they came too late to save more
than a few of their number, so rapid had been
the work of slaughter. Springing into their
bark, snatching the weapons of those who had
fallen, some of the fishermen commenced a fu-
rious onset on the rebel crew ; while the other
boats, hemming them in on every side, made
their strong oars serve the purpose of more
effective weapons. The latter, their numbers
thinned by the fight, and their love of ven-
geance, sharpened by the long pursuit, in some
measure satiated, drew off from the unequal
contest ; and plying their oars, slowly retreated,
with many a curse and threat on the people who
had snatched from their hands the remnants of
their prey. The horrors of the scene had ceased
to the spectators1 eye, but its fruits were still

STRATTON HILL.

lingering before it; they were ready to exclaim,
when they saw the retreating enemy, " Surely
the bitterness of death and cruelty is passed ;"
but when they saw the mangled bodies, to some
of whom life yet clung, floating on the tranquil
stream, or lying on the smooth beach at their
feet, and those who survived in the bark, faint
and bleeding, from the strife, the women of
the hamlet clasped their hands, and burst forth
into cries of pity and rage, while the men gave
more active and efficient aid. They brought
the Royalist boat to the shore, and conducted
those who survived into their cottages, praising
at every step the bravery that had taught the
crop-ears so severe a lesson.

Miss Dawnay drew nigh to the place of the
conflict, the termination of which she had beheld
with eager joy, blessing the timely succour given
to the overpowered Royalists ; and now, anxious
to render all the aid in her power, she ap-
proached, and spoke to some of the fishermen, to
whom she was well known, and bade them con-
duct some of the rescued men to her home,
where they should be well and kindly pro-

204 STRATTON HILL.

vided for. The men were some of them grate-
ful, and others seemed too much occupied by
rage and fury, to give any attention to words
of kindness, and threw long and fierce glances
after the slowly retiring bark of the enemy. But
when the bodies of some of their dead and dying
comrades were carried by, by the fishermen,
the lady shuddered, and shrunk back involun-
tarily, and took refuge from the sight, in one
of the groups of females that were gathered
around. Not so, perhaps, when the man who
had been the object of so many painful thoughts
drew nigh, following the Royalist whose death-
blow he had arrested, and whom he regarded
with the deepest sympathy, as he was borne
helpless to one of the huts. Observing Miss
Dawnay, he was quickly at her side, and a hur-
ried salutation was exchanged. The words that
passed but ill expressed, it may be, the feelings
each was conscious of at the moment; for this
meeting was entirely unhoped for and unexpected.
The latter was rejoiced to meet with one she
knew in a scene of such tumult and confusion,
and as she was still greatly agitated, he pro-

STRATTON HILL. 205

posed entering one of the dwellings to rest
awhile, ere they returned home. It stood apart,
almost at the extremity of the grassy bank.
The wailing and the noises that still conti-
nued without, rose not in the interior of
this humble dwelling; hushed and subdued
sounds were there, that denoted the presence
of some object of distress or pity ; for on the
low bed was laid the man who had been griev-
ously hurt in the fray, and whose span of life
seemed drawing to a close. He was not young,
though still in the prime of life, with a pale
and foreign aspect, and features strongly ex-
pressive of intellect, with a wildness of eye that
denoted his Servian origin. " What a sore
incomin' of sorrow upon the poor man I" said
one of the female bystanders ; " far away from
his own land and keene, and his eye is rovin' as
if he saw them e'en now ; but they canna come
to 'en." At this moment, his look fell on the
group that entered, and a sudden feeling of
delight spread over his features, as he raised his
hand to intreat them to draw near. Carries
gazed with strong interest on the wounded man ;

206 STRATTON HILL.

it was his attached servant and companion in
his hazardous journeyings ; he pressed his out-
stretched hand ardently in his own, and stooped
and kissed his pallid brow. " Miraelitz, do we
meet again thus ?"

" My master ! my dear master I11 he said,
*c it is a joy to me to see you once more. I
always loved you, and would have travelled
with you to the end of the world ; you know I
never cared for death, and I do not fear it now
— 'tis drawing nigh."

" I know you did not ; but my faithful and
devoted follower, you are dying ; — what had you
to do in this quarrel ?"

" You know," he replied, " quiet and a set-
tled life were my dread from childhood ; and
when you besought me to come with you to
your own land, and never to leave you, I said I
could not ; 'twould wear out my life. I tried it

in a palace, with Lord R , for two years,

till I longed for the plains to which my foot
had been used — it will visit them no more for
ever."

w Would to Heaven !" said the other, " you

STRATTON HILL. 207

had come with me, then would this have been
avoided. "

" After parting from you," he replied, " I
went again to my own eastern home, and jour-
neyed through Armenia with a party of mer-
chants ; but it was not so happy a journey as
with you ; our lonely wanderings in the deserts;
our captivity, and the long converse we used to
hold, to beguile the weary time there. You
said we were like that banished people that sat
down by the river's side, and wept for their own
land ; but I had no sorrow, for all lands were
the same to me. My heart loved change, and
so did yours ; and when we had been a few
days in a place, that was like a Paradise at first,
you would say — c Come Miraelitz, let us take
down our tents, and go to a new city or wild,
for this is grown dull and withered to the eye;'
they were your very words."" His eye grew yet
brighter at these recollections ; and the anguish
he felt seemed quite forgotten. Carries made
no reply, but turned to the lady beside
him.

" This is that faithful attendant, Miss Daw-

STRATTON HILL.

nay, of whom you have often heard me speak —
a man far superior both in his mind and man-
ners to the condition in which he moved ; but in
what manner he came from that distant land, or
why he mingled in this civil strife, I know
not."

" Why I mingled in it P" returned the other.
" You know I loved fighting ; you remember
the skirmish with the Bedouins. And all being
in peace up the Levant, I heard of this war from
the sailors of an English merchant-ship, that
their countrymen were fighting for their liberty ;
and I hated despotism from my heart ever since
I left my Servian home to serve a Turkish
lord, curse on his head and his Prophet too ! So
I took my passage for this country, and joined
the side of the people. One of their ships
passed my own but a few days since, and I
went on board her.1'

" Would that I had come but a few mo-
ments sooner !v said the ether ; Ci I have some
influence with the enemy, and might have
turned aside their vengeance, and saved your
life,"

STRATTON HILL. 209

" As I have saved yours,"" he replied, " more
than once ; but yours was a charmed life. I
have seen the people of the desert, who would
have crushed hardier and fiercer men, suffer
you to go on unharmed ; but mine is a fated
life. Why am I to sleep here, rather than in
one of the famous scenes we have traversed ?
You will see them again, the rich plains and si-
lent valleys, — you will see them again ! O that I
might be at your side !" And he closed his eyes,
as if the far scene was again before them, while
his lips moved earnestly.

" They were beautiful," said Carries, deeply
affected ; " my friend in every sorrow and peril,
we are not parted from them for ever ; no, not
yet, Miraelitz. But this is despair, and not the
high courage you always had ; your wounds may
not be mortal; recollect the grievous one you
received once."*

" What, in the wilderness !" said the other
with a sudden exulting look, " when Achmed
would have betrayed you. Ah ! would that I
had died there — the pure climate that I loved,
the wild hills and mountains always bright, and

210 STRATTON HILL.

the cave where the prophet lived, where you
knelt and prayed. Why do we not wander
there still ? I had not been cut down by the
Royalist's sabre. Is that the light of the moon
or sun falling on the bed ? 'tis so pale and faint
to what it was in that country; and you, my
dear master, are you happy now as then ? your
frame is thinner, and your face more pale.
Place the covering on my feet, for they are cold
as death ; the last time you did so was at the
foot of Sinai, when the fierce fever took me —
you remember it, and how I wished to die
there. " Seeing that the latter only answered
him by his tears, he continued, but more faintly,
" Life is ebbing from me fast ; but tell me, ere
I leave you for ever, shall you remain here in
your own land, and alone too ? We often talk-
ed," he said with a smile, while the hue of
death gathered fast on his features, " of going
into Circassia in search of beauty," — and seeing
the fine countenance of Catherine bent over him
at that moment, he paused, — " such was my dear
sister in Servia, the only one I ever loved but
him ; the same dark eye, full of kindness, the

STRATTON HILL. 211

same rich cheek ; and now she will be friend-
less ! Oh, if I have served you faithfully, think
of her, care for her ; and should you go again,
seek for the village of Silia, where she lives.
And now," lifting up his eyes, " I will try to
think of Him that you often entreated me to
think of. I have bowed at the shrine of the
Prophet, the Greek, the Armenian ; but it was
to make your way lighter. May He forgive
me, and make my way light to the place I am
going ! You laughed at the Prophet's heaven,
and so have I ; yet, 'tis strange how his gardens
and rich groves of eternal beauty, and rushing
rivers, come before me now — my parents taught
me to believe in them — but it cannot be ! Fare-
well ! do not turn your look away ; so did you
look on me when the Turkish lady that you
loved was slain." He turned his face gently
towards his pillow, and breathed his last.

The grief of the wanderer for the death of his
companion was extreme ; as he gazed on his
countenance, recollections of the past came in
their full power, when this man had watched
his slumbers, screened him from the wasting

212 STRATTON HILL.

blast and heat, and been his only friend in many
a friendless land. He clasped the pale thin
hand that had often been his defence and shield,
and turning to Miss Dawnay, who strove to
comfort him, poured blessings on the head that
was now silent in death.

After some time, he rose from his seat, and
giving directions that every care should be
taken of the remains previous to their interment,
they left the cottage and walked slowly towards
the mansion. The conversation was wholly on
the scene they had just witnessed, and the sangui-
nary one by which it had been preceded. They
soon arrived at the small lake, and paused on
its banks as the night came slowly over the
water. It was not in admiration of the silent
scene that they paused; but this was in unison with
the saddened feelings of each ; the soft rippling
of the water on its grassy shore, the gentle
passing of the night-wind over its surface, the
shadowy form of the slander arches of the mimic
ruin, were sights and sounds that came sooth-
ingly after hours of such cruel agitation. Quit-
ting the spot, they soon arrived at the door of

STRATTON HILL. 215

Mr. Dawnay's dwelling ; and Carries, declining
to accept the entreaty of his companion to enter,
aware, probably, that he would not be there a
very welcome visitor to all, and saying that he
should find a resting place in the adjoining vil-
lage of St. Germain's, bade the latter a hurried
adieu. On entering the house, Catherine found
her father grievously disturbed in his beloved
study by the arrival of three or four of the
defeated Royalists from the hamlet, and he had
need of all his loyalty to sustain the invasion
with patience and equanimity. With a moss-
covered fragment of a wall in one hand, and a
candle in ihe other, he stood in the passage with
a surprised and bewildered air, gazing on the
harassed men as if they had come to sack his
cabinet, and asking them questions as to their
design or destination. The timely arrival of
his daughter, however, put all matters to
rights ; he listened to the detail with interest,
and cordially agreed to show every hospitality
to men who had suffered almost at his own door
in so righteous a cause. He was shortly after
joined in the saloon by the ladies, after they had

214 STRATTON HILL.

personally directed every care and kindness to
be shown their visitors. Eleanor, highly inte-
rested, asked repeated questions respecting the
events of the evening, regretting that she had
not been a spectator of them. Fatigued with
her long walk, and indisposed for conversation,
Catherine soon after retired to her apartment ;
it was not as yet to seek repose, but rather to
give unrestrained indulgence to her excited
feelings. Thoughts of tenderness, where they
previously exist, cannot have a softer or surer
aid than a scene of sorrow ; with the varied and
fearful one of to-night they were strangely and
affectingly blended. The desperate fray, the
harrowing feelings it had excited — the arrival of
Carries at that moment — he was safe too and
unscathed from the hard treatment he had ex-
perienced, save in the fixed paleness of his as-
pect— then the scene between his dying attend-
ant, so devotedly attached to him, even to the
last. It wanted not these things to place him
in an amiable light in this young woman's view;
but they threw, on this occasion, a dearer inte-
rest, it seemed, over his person and character ;

STRATTON HILL. 215

these had been long known to her by reputation.
Trevanion had sometimes spoken of him as a
singular and interesting being, who was among
the few that opposed the Royal cause from pure
and disinterested motives ; and caused it more
harm in his mild and noiseless career, than many
of the warmer enthusiasts did by their sword.
It was only at the close of the last year that she
had chanced to meet him at the house of an ac-
quaintance ; and since that time, though he had
rarely visited at her father's house, their inti-
macy had continually increased. And was this
man her lover ? thoughts like these, from such
a woman, deserved the most devoted, the most
enslaved attachment — he had never spoken on
the subject — his lips had never uttered a word :
but the soul speaks ere the voice, and Cathe-
rine Dawnay had heard its still resistless word.

216 STHATTON HILL.

CHAPTER IX.

P The battle cry at this dead hour :

What swiftly moves along the height ?

Some signal — 'tis the spoiler's light, —

What bodes its solitary glare?"

Moore.

When Carries took leave of his fair com-
panion, he bent his steps straight to the neigh-
bouring village, certain of finding an asylum
for the night in one of its dwellings. He was
not disappointed ; the door was opened with a
kindly greeting ; though no carpeted saloon or
rich viands were there, extreme neatness and
looks of welcome gave a relish to every thing.
The hours of the following day passed heavily
in the stillness of the place ; and the evening
that brought coolness to the close and sultry
bosom of the dell, had seldom been more wel-

STRATTON HILL. 217

come to his eye. On the morrow, he intended
to leave the neighbourhood, with a spirit more
restless and passion-tossed than ever.

He had retired some time to his narrow
chamber, and, not disposed to rest, sat gazing
on the darkening woods that crowned the gentle
declivity on which the window opened, when
distant shouts on a sudden caught his ear, like
those of men engaged in some daring deed ;
there was a pause — the sounds rose again, but
now they were close at hand ; and quickly
after, a fierce light fell on the still and deep
woods above, succeeded by cries of alarm
and distress. He quitted his apartment and
hastened into the open air, where a single
glance revealed the cause of this night alarm.
It was a small body of the enemy, that had
penetrated to the hitherto quiet and unmo-
lested village.

He saw among these men the faces of the
party that had pursued the Royalists up the
river two days before, and had caused the des-
perate fray near the hamlet. Enraged at being
baffled in their object by the interference of the
neighbouring people, they had resolved, under

VOL. II. L

218 STRATTON HILL.

cover of the night, aided by their remaining
comrades, to plunder the village of St. Ger-
main's.

It was an easy achievement, as the shore, off
which their vessel was anchored, was but a few
miles distant. The villagers, astonished at an
assault of which they had never dreamed, start-
ed from their beds and ran from their cottages
in wild confusion ; but the assailants were now
in the heart of the place, and met with no re-
sistance to their progress: their cheers broke
loudly on the silence of the night, as they
entered one dwelling after the other, and rapid-
ly stripped them of all that was valuable. To
strike a deeper terror, they had fired two or
three of the dwellings, and the flames rose and
flashed over the narrow dell with a strange and
unnatural light : had an earthquake shaken and
entombed woods, hamlet, and ruin, it could not
have amazed the people more. The lonely
dwelling in which the last Lord Abbot had
died, its wooden portico and single oak-tree
before the door, were fired and burned sadly
and slowly down ; the latter, that had been a
shadow from the noon-day heat, crashed and

STRATTON HILL. 219

fell into the red stream beneath, that bore it
onwards to the sea.

Carries saw, with indignant feelings, this
havoc and outrage on the^illage, but stayed not
long to contemplate it, for he heard words from
the band of more daring import ; he rushed
into the wood on the right, and soon left the
scene far behind. In a short time, he drew
nigh the dwelling of the Dawnays on the de-
clivity of the hill : the inmates were buried in
repose, but a light still appeared in one of the
windows. He knocked loudly at the door,
and was admitted by the favourite attendant,
Honor, the only one of the family who was
still awake, She uttered some exclamations of
wonder at his appearance at such an hour, and
held the door but half open in her hand,
cautious of allowing a speedy entrance. He
bade her instantly call her master and the
ladies, and say that a band of the rebels from
the shore had attacked the village, and would
shortly make their way to the dwelling ; and
without uttering another word, she fled with all
the speed her feet could exert to her ladies'
chamber with the fearful intelligence.
l 2

220 STRATTON HILL.

A few minutes had hardly expired, when the
sisters rushed into the saloon, to which the
visitor had ascended, and were soon joined by
the father. " I have the sword of Sir Regi-
nald left," he said, " and it cannot be drawn
in a better cause. Alas ! I never thought to
see the feet of rebels enter the faded palace of
St. Germain's. But whence came you here,
young man ?" he said sternly, observing the
intruder for the first time ; " how do I know
but you are leagued with these spoilers ?"

The latter made no reply, but turning to the
large window of the saloon, pointed to the dis-
tant glare that rose to the sky. Sounds too
were heard issuing from the wood, and the
distant cries came through the silence of the
night to the ears of the startled family.

" There is not a moment to lose," he said ;
" resistance is madness ; you must fly from the
mansion, and leave it, for a time at least, to the
mercy of the enemy : succour cannot be far off,
for I marked some of the peasants rallying as
I left."

" He speaks the truth, my father," said Ca-
therine, deeply agitated ; " there is no other way

STRATTON HILL. 221

of safety — and see, they come ! — Carries, you
will not leave us in this hour of extremity r11

"It is for that I am come," he replied ;
" for your dwelling is remote, and no aid nigh ;
you can easily fly down the lawn towards the
river, to the fishing-hamlet, before these ma-
rauders come."

So saying, he led the way; the old gentle-
man, with a daughter hanging on each arm,
and Honor and Huey bringing up the rear ;
the two other domestics refusing to quit the
dwelling. " To think," said the former, with
great bitterness of accent, as she stepped over
the threshold, "of being hurried in this way,
out of a warm dwellin1 ; how dark the earth and
sky is, and the meadow ! — Oh, Miss Eleanor !
what will become of. all the precious relics and
things that's left behind, and the picture of
that young saint dyin1 ? so handsome ! these wild
men ha" no fear nor love of sitch things."'

" Tes'n a time for talkin' now, Honor,11 said
her companion, in a gruff voice : " make more
use o1 your legs, and keep your tongue quiet.11

" And that may do very well for you, Huey i'1
was the reply, " that ha' got a pair like two hop

222 STRATTON HILL.

poles, with a. thin quever of a body put upon
them ; but mine are somewhat o' the shortest,
though I always say, as one that kens what a
leg ought to be says, that a short one is far
more takin' than a long one in a woman ; but
there's no steppin' so fast, and the lawn is quite
steep heres Huey ! — But look at master — how
he's fixed like a mill stone in the grass."

And this was true ; for the old gentleman,
turning his eyes suddenly towards the village,
uttered a loud exclamation of sorrow, and stood
like Niobe mourning for her slain.

The noble front and ivy clad towers of the
cathedral were seen wrapped in a sheet of red
and fiery light, that flashed through every faded
window and archway. Each rent that time
had made grew fearfully visible, and through
the massive portal the vivid glare was thrown
on the interior, on the slender pillar, tomb, and
broken pavement, as if the hour of their final
destruction was come. The birds, that had
long made the ruin their dwelling place, rose in
clouds from the walls, and flew with wild cries
into the depths of the wood.

STRATTON HILL. 223

" It burns — the abbey burns !" said the
father wildly.

" No," said Catherine, looking earnestly at
the scene, " I do not think it : His surely but
the reflection of the flame from the dwellings;
there is no smoke visible."

" Look how it gathers on the western wall !"
he said ; " see how the massive windows glow,
and the niche beside !!1

" And that 's the worst of all," said Honor,
breaking in, " for that 's the very place where St.
Teath, Miss Eleanor's saint, is, in the hole in the
south wall; shell be burnt, as sure as can be :
'twill be a sad downcome for her, that ha'' stood
so long ; she '11 be roasted like a martyr."

" This is the height of folly," said the guide,
" to waste the few moments that are left us ; if
you stand here, Sir, gazing on the ruin instead
of flying, the enemy will be here."

This pause was fatal for their escape ; for, as
he spoke, the band of the rebels issued from the
wood on the right, and rapidly drew nigh the
spot. They looked first at the nearly deserted
mansion, to plunder which, a part of their

STRATTON HILL.

force advanced to the gate, while the remainder
sought to intercept the fugitives. This was
easily done, and the latter soon saw their retreat
arrested, near the bank of one of the lakes, by
a party of lawless men, inflamed by their
success, and resolved to push it to extremity.
" This is the rankest Royalist family," said one
of the men, " in all these parts, and we can't do
better, after we 've stripped the house, than to
carry them aboard."

" You dare not use this violence !" said Mr.
Dawnay. " What led you to assail a family that
has taken no part in the war, in word or deed ?
You II quickly repent it ; you know there is a
garrison at Stowe, that will track your steps as
surely as a bloodhound."

<fc Stowe," said the Republican sternly ; " 'tis
too far to hear sound of this onset. I 'd give
my share o' to-night's work to be as near
that cursed den of the Cavaliers as I am to
your walls, my old friend, with a stronger band.
But come, this parleyin' won't do. — Ah ! by St.
Gregory ! that "s the youth that struck me into
the stream in the fray of the river yesterday I

STRATTON HILL. 225

I'll be revenged," he said, drawing one of
the pistols from his belt.

" Don't hurt him," said Catherine, placing
herself instantly before the latter. " You shall
only harm his life by first taking mine. You
dare not ; he is a Republican like yourselves,
and has fought for your cause."

Carries stepped from the side of the generous
girl, and confronted the assailants, among whom
he fortunately recognized two or three men who
had fought under him at the battle of Edgehill.
He raised his bonnet, so that the star light fell
full on his features. " Do you remember your
officer?" he said. The men testified their recol-
lection by pronouncing his name with evident
satisfaction. " Then what make you here,'1
he continued, " with this cowardly night
attack on defenceless peasants and women ?
Disarm that villain and retire ; follow the
work of spoil with your comrades; but touch
not a hair of this family's head, nor stay their
retreat for a moment." The men he addressed-
loudly declared against further violence, in
which they were joined by most of the party ;
L 5

2£6 STRATTON HILL.

and, in spite of the murmurs and curses of the
man who had headed them, they wheeled round,
and made hastily towards the dwelling. The
rescued party pursued their way straight to the
shore, to where the hamlet stood, sheltered
from the tumult. They had not long arrived
there, when the mingled sounds from the hill
announced that the peasants had rallied, and
returned on their assailants, who, after a stout
and protracted resistance, were obliged to re-
treat to the beach, cursing the dwelling for the
sake of whose plunder they had lost the fruits
of their inroad. The fugitives were soon lodged
in two or three of the fishers' huts; and, certain
of the preservation of their home, resolved to
remain in the hamlet, rather than return to the
scene of disorder in the darkness.

Carries too sought his chamber, but not to
sleep: the hurried scenes of the evening drove
it from his eyes.

The coarse rafters above his head, the low
roof and broken floor, were welcome ; for the
place was a palace to the imagination of the
inmate, at whose side the woman he loved seem-
ed again to stand ; her hurried eye, her out-

STRATTON HILL. 227

stretched hand, and indelible words rang in his
ear. Hour after hour fled, till the starlight
faded, ere sleep came ; and then the desert
seemed again around him ; he paused near an
Arab cemetery in the wild, and one of the rude
stones seemed to rise from its resting place, and
his attendant slowly beckoned him to come and
dwell there; and pointed to the precipice and
sand, and, with a ghastly smile, said he had ever
loved them, and now they must be around him
for ever. The grey light of the morning at last
came through the window that looked out on the
river, and bade these visions depart : he gladly
left the cottage, and followed the path along the
shore. The loud 1mm of voices was not yet there,
nor was the tide broken by a single bark.

The shore was bold and winding ; his steps
sometimes circled round a jutting point, and
the next moment descended into a grassy glen,
while the stream ran calm and silently by.
Seating himself on a moss covered rock, close
to the water's edge, he watched the rays of the
sun slowly steal over the scene.

Hearing the soft sound of approaching steps,
he turned, and saw Catherine Dawnay ad vane-

%%8 STRATTON HILL.

ing along the shore. The calmness and fresh-
ness of the morning had led her to choose this
path, and she walked on slowly, unconscious of
the presence of a being in the place. Her eyes
were bent thoughtfully on the ground, and the
rich colour that always wantoned in her cheek
was heightened by the pure breeze; her air and
step were those of a proud woman, yet of one
whose pride at this moment was combated by a
more master passion.

"Is it you P'1 she said hurriedly, as her look
was turned for a moment on his moveless figure.
" I had not thought to find a human being in
this lonely path ; but midnight and sun-rise are
your wandering hours. We can never thank
you enough for the service of last night.1'

" Speak not of it," he said ; " this cruel war
is full of such events ; and we cannot avoid
them, whether we sit down inactive spectators,
or mingle in the strife.'*

"Who could have thought the war would have
so fearfully broken on our slumbers ? But your
look is harassed and dejected, " she said earnestly ;
" the prison in the Castle has done you much ill."

STRATTON HILL. 229

" Not so," he said ; f you see me here un-
scathed in spirit and in strength, as before the
cell was my dwelling place: I loved its walls,
for my adherence to the cause of liberty
brought me there. I know not if I did wisely
in quitting the ranks of freedom ; but the
sight of the blood that flowed so often, the
sacked mansion, the houseless families driven
forth, as you were last night, by those accursed
villains, sickened me early of the fruits of civil
war.,,

" You have done right, most right," said his
fair companion ; " but it has been said by some,
but they knew you not, that you loved not
action, that to brave danger was not your
choice — in fine, that your words were brighter
than your sword."

He gazed at the speaker with impassion-
ed earnestness, at the dark and indignant eye
that showed how dear to her was his fame.

" Miss Dawnay," he said with a smile, " they
knew me not that said it. Does it ask more
hardihood to rush into one of those fierce and
exciting fights, such as Stratton or Edgehill,

230 STRATTON HILL.

than to preserve amidst long privations and
defenceless solitudes, a patient and enduring
spirit ? To bear contempt too, and contumely ;
and, harder than all," he continued sadly, " the
severing for ever from those who have come
like a bright vision on our path ?"

u What severing do you speak of?" she asked
earnestly : " you have often told me of the
troubles of your path, but you never told me
of any bitterness of the soul it caused you— of
what nature was it ?"

" It was not a slighted passion," he replied,
" or a broken vow ; they leave deep traces be-
hind ; but not so deep as a happiness that was
slain suddenly, just as the heart was shrined
in it. I thought it had faded from my heart ;
but yesterday, his last words — my faithful com-
panion ! — made the past come like a torrent to
remembrance. He spoke of an eastern lady —
she was beautiful, and I loved her ; but she
perished by the sword ;" and he placed his hand
on his brow, to veil the emotions that gathered
there.

It is seldom a welcome thing to speak to one

STRATTON HILL. £31

woman of a violent attachment cherished for
another ; but when the object so enchanting is
passed from the " world of love and tears,11 and
'tis memory only that hovers round what she
once was, envy and rivalry come not there.
The hues of Catherine's cheek changed often
from bright to pale, as the other told in a few
words, how that lady had been lost to him.

" 'Tis a sad tale," she said, turning her agi-
tated countenance away from the speaker's
gaze : kt I knew not of this before. Then you
have brought a withered heart to your own
land ? — 'twas a dear price to pay for your wan-
derings."

" Say not," he said, " that my heart is
blighted ; many a hope, many an illusion were
scattered and broken, and I fled the scene
where they had been cherished : but a brighter
hope opened at last, that shall never, I trust,
pass away."

" Mr. Carries," said his companion with a
forced smile, " 'tis said that you were ever
prone to change, and that all places, and, it may
be, feelings, begin to weary on you after a time.

232 STRATTON HILL.

Is it any wonder if bitter regret and disappoint-
ment should give way in turn to happier emo-
tions ?"

" It is not so," he replied earnestly, <s though
I have given some cause for the saying ; but
ought this to have come from your lips, whose
slightest breath I feel deeply ? Yet the oppres-
sor's chain may come again, and my path be
desolate and despised, so that those loved words
are my meed, 'you shall only reach his life by
taking mine ;' they were the dearest sounds I
ever heard, and I blessed the weapon that
caused them. — But not again," he said in a
suppressed tone, " let that bitterness come into
my soul ; — the lips I once listened to breathed
fragrance, yet I saw them cold and sealed— and
here, too, 1 may clasp a broken reed."

He rose from the rock on which they were
seated, and paced along the strand, on which
the stream came with a gentle sound, as if in
mockery of the conflict that struggled in his
breast. He knew she was not indifferent to his
attachment ; but he dared not be confident
that, was he to declare it, success would follow.

STRATTON HILL. 233

He knew her to be haughty, that her family
was of illustrious descent, her rank in the
world superior to his own, and her father in-
vincibly prejudiced. He looked on her as she
sat, her head resting on her hand, that was
half buried in the luxuriance of her auburn
hair, and her eye, that had lost its self com-
mand, turned hurriedly on the rapid stream.
Yet he misjudged himself; even now, while he
doubted and feared even to agony, her heart
was wholly, devotedly his own. It was strange
how this wanderer acquired his ascendancy over
the female heart ; he had found in the far lands
he had traversed, where personal rather than
intellectual dignity is the most valued, that
where men had passed him by without notice,
the dark eye of woman had been turned on him
with interest and even tenderness. He owed
this, perhaps, to the mixture of extreme gentle-
ness and simplicity of character, with high en-
ergy of spirit and feeling, when the occasion
called it forth.

Indolent and self-indulgent, giving way for
days and weeks to rich and fanciful prospects,

234 STRATTON HILL.

place but the object of his hope in -view,
whether it was a spot of high natural beaut}r,
or of glorious name, or the lovely form of the
woman he sought, and his eye flashed with joy ;
no obstacle or peril could arrest his onward
path, or the fiery blasts beating on his delicate
frame.

" Miss Dawnay," said the latter, after a pause,
in which he vainly strove to summon confidence,
"I am come to bid you adieu ; I can be thus
no longer. We have talked, have wandered,
have read together : those hours can return no
more."

" Where will you go, William ? and why part
from me thus ? I am no evil genius in your
path," she replied in a voice that trembled with
emotion : " this is some sudden resolution, some
wayward fancy, like many a former one."

" It is not a sudden fancy," he said ; " I am
resolved to prove my fate, or go forth again a
wanderer. — Catherine, I love you passionately —
and have struggled — no, not for victory, that I
could not do ; but to arm myself against the
ruin of my love, and that ruin would send me

STRA.TTON HILL. 235

forth once more — desolate ! to go where no
heart beat for me ; to leave behind me the only
spirit to which mine is bound for ever, the only

woman The desert shall again be my home,

and its parched sands my bed, — they will have
no terrors, not even the death blast, that bids
love and sorrow cease for ever.1'

She raised not her eyes to his during this
avowal, but the plaintive sweetness of his voice
fell on her ear like calm and delicious music ;
each haughty feeling fled at the images his
words placed before her ; her head drooped
lower, and she burst into a flood of tears.

No lover ever mistook that sign of tender-
ness ; and he sat beside her, and taking her
hand in his, pressed it ardently to his lips.
This was the happiest moment of the wander-
er's life, and he felt it to be so. To be the
object of this high-minded woman's attachment,
to be assured that her hope, her joy, and her
despair centered only in him ; the glowing
cheek that rested on his shoulder ; the dark
eye that told far more than words ; the light
tresses that were gently waved to and fro on

236 STRATTON HILL.

the snowy neck, as the breeze swept freshly
from the stream. These thoughts were not long
cherished ; Catherine rose from the mossy seat,
the colour mantling to her very brow. " We
must part," she said ; " the sun spreads fast on
the hills beyond, and my father and sister will
wonder at my stay ; for we must return to the
home from which we were so rudely scared.
Adieu ! we leave the hamlet instantly."

" To-morrow we will meet again," he replied :
" I shall seek your grey dwelling, Catherine,
though I have shunned to enter it as I would
the hold of Despair ; but now hope leads
me on."

She waved her hand, but there was no denial
in the gesture ; and disappeared round a pro-
jecting point of the shore. In an hour after,
the family were on their way to the mansion,
attended by a few of the fishermen, who had re-
turned from their employ in the course of the
night, should any stragglers of the enemy be
still lurking about. To the no small joy of its
inmates, the dwelling was found to have suffered
little damage by the attack, save the plunder of

STRATTON HILL. 23?

some articles, of no great value ; and the two
ancient domestics took no small credit for
resting within the walls, bolting the doors, and
sending forth shrill cries for succour from the
windows. The storm, however, was past, and
things soon returned to their usual tranquillity
and order.

On the following day, when the sisters were
seated in the saloon, and the old gentleman was
busied at his cabinet, a visitor was announced ;
but as his inquiry was only for the latter, he
was forthwith ushered by the domestic into his
presence. The master of the dwelling raised
his head from his earnest occupation, and bowed
coldly as he saw Carries enter the apartment.
Surprise was in his face ; and a darker feeling
would soon have joined it, had not memory
kept it down. "You are welcome," he said
kindly, " I am glad to see you thus, to ex-
press my deep sense of the service you ren-
dered to my family the other evening, with-
out which -"

" Do not name it," replied the other ; " I
shall ever deem that moment the happiest of

238 STRATTON HILL.

my life : may I hope it will convince you I am
not such a rebel as you think me, that my
heart does not delight in bringing disorder and
bloodshed on my native land ?"

" It may be so," said the other hastily ; " it is
so, no doubt : I am bound to believe it : but re-
member, young man, you have been in arms
against the King, and are even now hostile to
his rights."

" I will not deny it," replied the latter ;
iC but in these convulsed times, when scarcely
one man thinks like his neighbour, is it kind
or just to make warring opinions the cause of
dislike and enmity ?"

" Enough," said Mr. Dawnay warmly ; " we
will speak no more on this subject ; allow me to
repeat, that the aid we received, and the generous
spirit with which you gave it, have my warmest
gratitude. Can I do ought to prove my high
sense of your conduct ?" His visitor then dis-
claiming all merit for the trifling service of the
previous night, spoke freely and with ardour of
his attachment to his daughter ; and implored
that he would wave his political hostility in this

STRATTON MILL.

case, and consent to allow his addresses. The
father heard him patiently, looked earnestly at
him while he spoke, but without anger, and
leaned his head thoughtfully on the table at
which he was seated. " This could not be,"
he said at last, "except there was a kindred
feeling elsewhere. You dared not come here,
young man, on this unwelcome mission to me,
did you not know that its success would be
welcome to a heart that is bound up in my
own. — St. Benedict ! must I consent that my
daughter wed a rebel, or one who has been such ?
No, no, the house of Dawnay must not stoop so
low. Yet how nobly she stepped before him
that evening, and offered her own bosom to
the ball rather than his. I marked her look :
woman never dares like this except from a
deep and determined feeling. I know not, Sir,
how this has been ; nor where you gained her
regard, or she descended to receive yours, I
will not inquire. Urge me no more ; I will
not consent. — Her happiness ! say you ? Cathe-
rine has a strong and clear spirit that will not
wither before this blast : I am sure it will not.

240 STRATTON HILL.

Farewell, young man ; you have my esteem, my
grateful remembrance ; but to give you my
child, it cannot be."

The latter stood silent a few moments beneath
this blow, his mild features filled with anguish,
and his eye bent at times with intreaty, and
then with pride, on the father. He bowed at
last and retired, carrying with him a deeper
anguish of spirit than his chequered life had
vet known.

STRATTON HILL. 241

CHAPTER X.

" Cold was the evening breeze, the day was brief,
Loose on the cherry hung the crimson leaf,
The dew dwelt ever on the herbs, the woods
Roar'd with strong blasts, with mighty showers the
floods."

The tide of war, that had advanced but a
few weeks since into the heart of Cornwall, had
receded rapidly, and at this time not an enemy's
foot was on its soil. The royal forces, after
their victory of Stratton, had found their pro-
gress eastward uninterrupted ; and reinforce-
ments from all quarters, as had been foreseen,
began to flock to their standard. Advancing
straight to Saltash, and leaving small garrisons
in the few fortified places by the way, they

VOL. II. M

242 STRATTON HILL.

passed through the heart of Devonshire, pre-
serving a strict good conduct towards the people
of the country. They wisely resolved not- to
waste their time or resources in the siege of
Exeter, as it was defended by a sufficient gar-
rison, and the inhabitants were well inclined to
the cause of the Parliament. The Earl of
Stamford, after his defeat, had thrown himself
into this town with a part of his scattered
forces, and with each proud hope laid prostrate.
Ruthven, and one or two more of his officers, had
left him, to offer their services to some more fortu-
nate leader. With rage as well as mortification,
he saw the enemy, their banners being in full
view from the walls, march coolly and securely
past the town, and leave it in their rear. During
the advance, they received intelligence, that the
King had sent Prince Maurice and the Marquis
of Hertford with a good body of horse to join
them. It was about the middle of June that
these noblemen, with seventeen hundred horse,
and one thousand new levied foot, came to
Chard, a small town in Somerset, where they
were met by the Cornish army. The latter

STRATTON HILL. 243

consisted of four thousand excellent foot, eight
hundred dragoons, and a good train of artil-
lery, with supplies and stores of all kinds. The
Marquis, as well as his colleague, was not a
little surprised to see this fine body of men ad-
vancing in such array, and so well provided, to
meet him ; for he had rather expected to see a
wild and ill-armed host, disorderly in their
march, however brave in battle. It was re-
solved by the united forces, first to invest
Taunton, one of the richest and largest towns
in Somerset, and entirely attached to the Com-
mons, who held it by a garrison. The royalists
had little trouble to obtain the place ; for, on
their near approach, the garrison fled precipi-
tately, and in a few days the former were pos-
sessed of several strong towns, as well as Dun-
star Castle, the situation of which was consi-
dered to be impregnable. The rapid and easy
successes which now attended their arms could
not be reasonably expected to continue much
longer ; the forces of the Commons had given
sufficient proof in other parts of the kingdom,
that they were disposed to make a stubborn

M 2

244 STRATTON HILL.

as well as desperate struggle for their rights.
The formidable force of Waller was rapidly
drawing nigh, and the fate of the entire West
must soon be decided in the open field. The
troops which had arrived under Maurice, how-
ever, conducted themselves as if all action and
peril were at an end, and they had only to
revel in the plentiful quarters of this fertile
province. The licence which the soldiers, as
well as the cavaliers, their officers, gave them-
selves, did much injury to the royal cause,
and gave great umbrage to the people of the
country ; and this behaviour was the means
of sowing the first seeds of disunion between
the Cornish leaders and their auxiliaries.
The former, by their great exertions, as well
as good example, had preserved their troops
in an admirable discipline and obedience, and
had succeeded in restraining them from com-
mitting those deeds of violence and disorder
that were but too common on either side.
But the newly arrived cavalry often made incur-
sions on the flat plains that extended on every
side beyond the valley ; here they sometimes
harried the domain of the farmer, driving off his

STRATTON HILL. &§5

flocks to their head-quarters, or living for some
days beneath his roof in riot and wantonness.
The cottage of the peasant, shrouded beneath
the thick trees that overspread this part of
the country, was not free from these preda-
tory visits; and many a one who had prayed
for the success of the King against his enemies,
now began to curse him in their hearts. Often,
when the family was seated round the happy
hearth, and the light from the solitary window
was dimly seen through the wood, the distant
tramp of the dragoon was heard on the wind,
and his lawless summons soon thundered at the
door. The inmates gazed in wild alarm as his
heavy step came on the floor : the timid girl clung
to her mother's side, and the father's prayers
mingled with curses and loud laughter.' And
when that hearth was left in the morn, around its
dying embers stood the dishonoured maiden, her
heart seared, and her flushed cheek tearless ; while
the eves of the old man glared with revenge, and
thirsting for blood, he wildly snatched the first
weapon, nnd hurried to Waller's camp. It was not
often that the royalists had found themselves thus
fortunately situated, in so wealthy and luxurious

246 STRATTON HILT,.

a region, till now unvisited by any armed force.
The valley of Taunton was one of the loveliest
and best cultivated parts of the kingdom : the
hills, covered at this time with waving corn, in-
closed it by a gentle descent on either side, its
bosom was plentifully watered by several streams,
and in the midst rose the goodly town. Beyond
the hills, spread arich extent of level land, covered
with woods, fields, and meadows, and abounding
with an industrious population. Maurice seldom
cared to restrain the licence of the troops: a
soldier of fortune, and having no local interest
or attachment to the country he now traversed,
he thought, probably, the indulgence he allowed
the troops would be a means of attaching them
the more to his own person ; he possessed few
natural, and no acquired endowments, to win the
esteem or respect of others ; and, though nephew
to the King, cared little to converse with men
of quality, but affected the society of low and
inferior men, with whom he was fond of being
very familiar.

The Marquis of Hertford, on the contrary,
whose possessions lay chiefly in the western

STRATTON HILL. 247

counties, where he was held in much estimation
by the people, was greatly mortified and in-
censed at the excesses which he saw daily
committed ; but, unused to command, his autho-
rity was insufficient to restrain them. There
was another cause of discontent in the force,
which the utmost experience and skill would
have found it difficult to allay. The number
of auxiliary troops, brought by Hertford and
his colleagues, was extremely small, and scarcely
amounted to more than a third of that of the
army of Cornwall ; yet with this force came
a formidable array of chief officers of every
kind — generals, lieutenant and major-generals,
of foot, of the horse, and the ordnance, — as if
they had marched merely with the view of
entering on a pleasant and complete eommand,
ready prepared to their hands. They had come
direct from Oxford, where the King then was ;
and these several appointments had been arranged,
amidst the intrigues of the court, with no little
difficulty and delay. Maurice, and the many
general officers who accompanied him, among
whom were several of the nobility, had thus

248 STRATTON HILL.

stepped easily from the luxuries and gaieties of
the court into the leading of a tried and victo-
rious army. It was not possible that the com-
manders of the western force could thus see the
fruits of their victory taken from their hands,
without indignation and regret. The fight of
Stratton had been entirely their own, and the
united body of men now under their command
had been organized chiefly by their great exer-
tions, and stimulated by their spirit : and now
they must submit to the leading and experience
of men who had as yet done little for the public
service, and descend into the rank of private
colonels. This degradation was the more bitter,
because unexpected ; and the royal order that
appointed Maurice to be lieutenant-general un-
der the Marquis, omitted to confer any of those
promotions that had been so richly earned by
the past signal successes. The great temper and
forbearance shown by the slighted officers, alone
preserved the army from total disunion ; for the
Cornish soldiers murmured loudly at the assump-
tion of the chief command by these strangers
wrho had arrived from Oxford, declaring plainly
that the King's cause had triumphed by their

STRATTON HILL. 249

own efforts, and under the leading of their own
favourite chiefs, and they would not submit to
the authority of the newly arrived courtiers.
They did not spare to use reproachful epithets
on the latter, especially on Maurice, whose dark
hue got him the appellation of the Moor. The
commanding influence of Sir Beville Granville
was exerted on this occasion with great success :
concealing his own wounded feelings, he strove
to calm those of his brother officers; and with
the private men his stern injunctions instantly
checked all mutinous feelings, for to them his
word was as a law.

It is uncertain how long this apparent harmo-
ny would have continued, if advices had not ar-
rived of the rapid advance of Waller.

Alarmed at the late fatal reverse their cause
had sustained in the west, the Parliament were
resolved to strain every nerve to give a more
prosperous turn to their affairs ; and disliking to
trust any more to the abilities or courage of Stam-
ford, they had chosen a man of acknowledged
reputation for their leader. Sir William Wal-
ler had served abroad with a fair character for cou-
rage and conduct, and on his return had achieved
M 5

250 STRATTON HILL.

two or three exploits with so much daring and
success in the service of the Commons, that the
name had been given him of the Conqueror, and
the most sanguine expectations were formed of
the result of his present expedition. And the lat-
ter did not belie their hopes; for marching night
and day, and collecting the scattered fugitives
as he passed, he arrived at Bath with a formi-
dable force, and took possession of a noble posi-
tion on a commanding height, almost before the
royalists believed he was set out from London.
Here he was joined by the dragoons that had es-
caped from the battle of Stratton, and who were
indeed a gallant and well appointed body ; and
burned with desire to revenge their late defeat.
The news of this enterprise caused an instant
commotion in the Marquis's camp, and broke
rudely on the dream of luxury and licence that
had long dwelt there. It was resolved without
delay to leave their quarters, in order to beat
up those of their enemy ; and in a day or too
after, receiving the intelligence of Waller's ar-
rival, they commenced their march from the
town and neighbourhood of Taunton. The

STRATTON HILL. 251

rain fell in torrents on the retiring columns, and
the many streams in the valley were swollen so
as to flood the green meadows on either side.
It was with no small joy that the inhabitants
witnessed the slow and unwilling departure of
the troops : numbers of the gentry, indeed, join-
ed the ranks, to go and fight for their King
in the approaching battle ; but the whole of the
common people and peasantry were inclined to
the side of the Commons. As the files of infan-
try and cavalry continued their tedious progress,
and the train of artillery could with difficulty be
drawn through the flooded meadows and rapid
brooks, shouts of exultation from time to time
filled the air, as well from the town as the thick-
ly peopled hamlets on every side. The western
commanders, as they marched at the head of
their columns, could not help contrasting this
farewell with the heartfelt and impassioned
adieus and blessings that had accompanied then-
parting from Launceston about two mouths be-
fore. Colonel Trevanion seemed to feel the in-
sult more deeply than the others, and his coun-
tenance wore a sullen and dissatisfied air as he

252 STRATTON HILL.

listened to the unwelcome sounds, and regarded
the disorderly array into which several divisions
of the army had fallen. Maurice, surrounded
by many young and inexperienced men, rode
carelessly on, as if they were going to a certain
victory ; or that impetuous charges in the field,
in which, like his brother Rupert, he was ready
enough to engage, would be sufficient to decide
the campaign. The Marquis of Hertford, a
man of high honour and character, now began
to find himself in a situation for which his
previous habits of life had little qualified him.
He had never been a favourite at court, and
had devoted himself wholly to a country life,
where he lived in much grandeur and hospita-
lity, passing his time chiefly in the cultivation
of literature, to which he was greatly attached.
And now, being sent into the west with so small
a force, he felt his command to be a very ar-
duous and trying one, having an able and ex-
perienced general to contend with, and also to
soothe and allay the discontents and jealousies
that began to arise among his own officers.
He strove to supply his want of experience in

STRATTON HILL. 253

war by the utmost vigilance and activity ; and
it was evident that Hopton, though no longer
the nominal commander, was the chief counsellor
of the operations. After leaving the long and
spacious valley, the army wound slowly up the
hills by which it is bounded ; the rain and wind
increasing in violence at every step. Their fine
squadrons of near three thousand horse were in
advance, and covered the whole summit of the
narrow hill over which they were passing ; and
far as their eye could reach over the wide ex-
tent of country in front, not an enemy appeared
within view. This increased the contempt which
they were but too ready to cherish for the army
of the Commons. Late at night the troops
arrived at the small town of Somerton, and here
the Marquis resolved to take up his quarters for
a few days. The order to halt was received with
no small satisfaction. The tents were pitched
without the town, for the use of the chief officers ;
but the infantry, harassed by their long and
tedious march, preferred encamping on the damp
and barren soil for their bed : the greater part
laid themselves down with little order, to seek

254 STUATTON HILL.

a speedy repose ; while others, kindling with
difficulty a few feeble fires, sought to allay the
demands of hunger. As no enemy was ima-
gined to be within reach, few precautions were
taken to guard against surprise ; some parties
of cavalry only were stationed about a quarter
of a league in advance. The tents of the lately
arrived nobles from Oxford stood remote from
those of the western commanders, that were
pitched on the opposite extremity of the camp.

Few scenes could be imagined more comfort-
less than the encampment of the royalists at this
place. The rain still fell in torrents on the
waste and shelterless scene ; a bitter contrast to
the luxurious quarters and wanton indulgence
they had that morning left : and the stars were
hid by angry and driving clouds. The tent of Sir
Beville Granville was at this moment approach-
ed by the hasty step of a cavalier, who was in-
stantly admitted by the sentinel : the nobleman
looked anxiously at the visitor, and saw his
friend Trevanion stand before him. A warm and
brief greeting passed on each side.

" We have changed somewhat for the worse
in our quarters/' said the former : " the rich

STRATTON HILL. 0,55

scenes and good fare of Taunton are not
around us now. Perish the counsel, Trevanion,
that kept our force so long idle and useless in
that town, while Waller was gaining strength
every day and hour."

"There is a doom on the counsels we fol-
low," replied the other; " such a one as pride
and folly always bring down. It was not thus
when we marched and fought in perfect con-
cord, and no haughty superior fettered our
hand and heart."

" True, Trevanion ; each sacrifice and priva-
tion was then sweet ; there was not a jarring
string in the host."

" And why is it not so still, Sir Beville ?
why are those days of devoted counsel and pur-
pose yielded to the present time of hesitation
and indolence ? It ought not so to be ; the
royal cause is sacrificed to these delays, — to this
want of conduct as well as daring that now
haunts our every step. By heaven ! we shall
soon become a ridicule and bye-word to the
people, whose bread we eat, and on whose in-
dustry we have battened."

There was bitterness in his tone as he spoke,

256 STRATTON HILL.

and the spirit of the young soldier, it was evi-
dent, was chafed to the uttermost ; the free
and frank expression of his features had changed
to that of sullen and suppressed indignation.

" That cannot be," said his friend earnestly ;
" the errors of our companions in arms may
bring disaster, but never disgrace. Did I think
so, the banner of Cornwall should not remain
another moment beside those of Maurice or
Mohun ; we would march with our own band,
and attack Waller on his height as we did
Stamford, and God would give us success."

" And that success would be splendid, Gran-
ville; and the fame, as at Stratton, all our
own : but here we must share it with so many,
mere fair plumed birds, who have just winged
their way from court. The King has been ill-
advised to supersede the command of men who
have done so much for his cause."

s< I would not blame him," replied the other,
u though evil counsel has been at work. Hert-
ford is an honourable and zealous man, but no
soldier; and Maurice, besides that he can have
little enthusiasm for the cause, is rash and vain-

STRATTON HILL. 257

glorious. We encamp here for a few days, I
find/'

" Ay, so 'tis said," answered his friend, " in
order, no doubt, to show the good people of So-
merton the pageant of war ; no council of officers
has been called. I passed by the foreigner's tent
but now, and the sounds of revel and merri-
ment were loud within ; they mingled strangely
with the hollow passing of the blast. Brave men
were lying without o'erborne with this cursed
march ; men whom I had seen bleed and strug-
gle in the field — for what ? that these minions
might come here to batten on their toils.1'

" It is true, Trevanion ; and yet we must bear
this slight for the good of the cause, for the
sake of the King : think of him, how his purpose
and hope are often mastered by others'' counsel
and treachery, and let not your spirit be so
wrought on."

" I love my King," said the other, " and will
spend my last breath for his right. I have
staked my fortune, my fair patrimony, in the
cause ; but I cannot see with patience the meed
for which I have fought pass into others' hands.

258 STRATTON HILL.

Is not command, next to glory, the sweetest re-
compense of success? — and now it is wrested
from me. By my father's crest !— by my lady-
love ! I will not bear it."

" And deem you that I would bear it thus
patiently," returned his friend, " but that I
long to see Waller driven back on his course,
and the rebel colours once more trampled be-
neath our feet ? We play in a deadly and des-
perate game. If Waller conquer, you will
quickly see the invader's foot on our own loved
soil — ay, in our own halls ; moreover, what
recks it who holds the baton, if we are victo-
rious ?"

" What recks it, Sir Beville ! your Norman
blood did not prompt that saying. Will it not
be said, if the battle is ours, that it was won by
Hertford, and Maurice, and Carnarvon, the
General of the Horse ; while we, who have only
the rank of private Colonels, will be little spoken
of; our names will be little recorded in men's
mouths? I looked for disaster, for poverty,
even for exile, but I looked not for this ! Can
you, the chiefest name, the foremost man of our
county, tamely submit to it ?"

STRATTON HILL. 259

His friend looked calmly at him for a mo-
ment. " My dear Trevanion, this must not be.
Jealousy and wounded ambition have wasted
that countenance more than the havoc of war.
You remember BaskerviuVs words, — that the
hardness of war would come on you ; that its
iron would enter into your soul. It has entered
deeply."

" Granville," said the latter, " 'twas for this
I sought you. I know that beneath that calm
and subdued look lurk suppressed anger and
scorn ; I marked it this morning, as the troops
slowly made their way through the flooded
land ; and Hertford looked on more like an
abbot conducting a pilgrimage, than the leader
of a gallant force. Raise, then, your banner for
the King, and we shall march a far more united,
ay, and more successful band against Waller."

" Ha !" said Sir Beville, " this sounds more
like treasonable than loyal counsel ; it is well
the night is dark, and the wind blows shrilly
without, for other ears might listen to words
that would sully your fair name, Trevanion, in
the ranks of the King."

" The ranks of the King," said the other,

260 STRATTON HILL.

" would gain by the change. I have heard the
murmurs that ran through them this morn, and
seen the impatient looks that were turned on you
as you marched, a private colonel of foot, under
Maurice's leading, in the midst of the host you
had swayed ; for, though Hopton was the nomi-
nal leader, it need not now be said that you
were the soul of all that was done. I shrink
from the foughten field that is fast drawing
nigh, for the bloody shroud of defeat is there :
I picture the drooping colours, the hurried re-
treat, the slaughtered heaps. Oh how different
from the exulting shouts of Granville to the sky .'
the onward step, the deadly but successful strug-
gle ! By heaven ! Stratton is again before me.1'
" Do not tempt me thus,"" said the Lord of
Stowe, after a pause : " I would give my life to
humble that Puritan leader, and scatter his
boasting to the winds. But it shall not be; the
banner of my house for six hundred years has
never waved but at the bidding of its prince,
and shall it now sow division and disarray in
his ranks ! What would Charles say, when he
heard I had preferred my own glory to his?

STRATTON HILL. 261

No, my noble and suffering King, I will not
plant this thorn in the path that other hands
are but too ready to embitter.""

His friend turned from him, and paced the
tent with a hurried step. " A few days more,1'
he said, " and the die will be cast, and darkly, I
fear, for the crown, for I have no confidence in
our present counsels. Waller, whom the Com-
mons call the Conqueror, waits calmly and
mockingly our coming on : if we succeed, others
will reap the fruits of the day ; if we are foiled,
the western road leads to our quiet halls, and
there we will hang our shattered banners."

Sir Beville bent on his friend a look that
seemed to search his very soul. " Our views
and aims," he said, " I see with sorrow, are no
longer the same. You have wandered, Tre-
vanion, from your first high purpose, and the
patriot is sunk in the ambitious soldier. I no
longer recognize the calm and thoughtful re-
cluse of Carhayes in the fierce and jealous par-
tisan, who would thrust from the helm the
chiefs selected by his King, in order that him-
self and his friend may replace them ; for the

262 STRATTON HILL.

good of the cause, if you will — be it so ! — but
believe me, such is not the road to the fame
that you seek with such avidity. I never sued
to Charles or his ministers for command, but
scorned to solicit their smiles or promises. The
meed for which I seek, is to render illustrious
the barren wastes of my native province, and to
live for ever in the memory of its people ; and
when I look on the brave band that are now
slumbering around us, and think that they
have earned a glory that can never pass away —
Trevanion, it is the sweetest feeling of my
life !" Sir Beville's countenance, as he spoke
these words, glowed with the enthusiasm of his
feelings, and the fiery and indignant glance of his
companion quailed beneath his own. The latter
felt and yielded to the ascendancy that a powerful
mind and determined character seldom fail to
exercise in trying moments, when brought into
contact with the more fluctuating wills and pas-
sions of others.

STRATTON HILL. 263

CHAPTER XL

i: Midst storm and darkness, cries and shouts arise.
The night is thick with phantoms."

At this moment, loud and confused sounds
rose from the camp without, and cries of alarm
ran from side to side ; it was evident a night
attack had taken place. The two commanders
seized their arms, and, quitting the tent, has-
tened to their divisions, which they found al-
ready under arms. It was quickly seen that
the attack had been made on a regiment of dra-
goons, who were stationed half a mile eastward
from the town. The former had retreated ra-
pidly, and were now driven in disorder on the
camp. Not a moment was to be lost; the
western troops, being nearest the point of attack,

264 STRATTON HILL.

advanced first against the enemy, and were
quickly followed by the heavy cavalry from
Oxford, who had always professed the most
sovereign contempt for the troops opposed to
them. It proved on this occasion to be an error,
for which they paid dearly; for the republicans,
as rapid in their operations as their adversaries
were slow and lingering, had pushed on a for-
midable and well-appointed body of horse and
foot, in the hope of entering the camp by sur-
prise. In this they had very nearly succeeded ;
and in the thick darkness that prevailed, several
of their columns were already mingled with the
royalists, who marched on without knowing the
numbers or position of the assailants.

The firing of musketry was for some time
entirely at random on both sides ; for it was
impossible for the combatants to distinguish
each other at more than a few paces distant, and
then by the flashes of their own guns. Often
the advancing royalists, who imagined they
were driving the assailants before them, heard
the vollies of musketry from behind, even in
the midst of the ter.ts they had left. The cries

STRATTON HILL. 265

on each side, that came at once from the high
and low ground, from the camp and from the
walls of the town, only increased the confusion
of the fight ; for no one knew for some time
what ground was lost or won. Often amidst
the deep gloom, the advancing or retiring co-
lumns heard the rushing of other bodies of
troops near them, but could discern neither
banner nor array ; then came the rapid charge of
the cavalry, that was met only by means of the
warning sound, for the forms both of horse and
rider were indistinct aud shadowy.

The forces of Waller, finding themselves too
weak to force the camp, began at last to draw
off, and retire over the flat land around the
town, towards the hills that rose at some dis-
tance. The darkness at first favoured their
retreat, by screening their columns from many
a murderous charge of the numerous royalist
cavalry. When day broke faintly on the scene,
the crowded walls, the forsaken camp, the tents
standing tenantless as those of the Assyrian host,
who heard the rushing of chariot wheels — the
wildly peopled plain, where horse and foot swept

VOL. II. N

266 STRATTON HJLL.

fast and furiously — all came at once on the spec-
tator's eye. The enemy broke at last before
they had reached the hills ; but the heavy rains
had so deluged the level ground, that the Earl of
Carnarvon, the gallant General of the horse,
found that his repeated charges met with little
success. One of these, at the head of which was
Maurice, having been made on the rear of the
enemy, through many deep pools and ditches
filled with water, was briskly repulsed ; and the
republicans, directing their vollies of musketry
on the disordered cavalry, did great execution.
The horse of the Prince was shot under him,
and those of several of his companions shared
the same fate ; when some infantry fortunately
came up under Slanning and Trevanion, and,
fording the stream, obliged the rear of the ene-
my to give way. They were just in time to
save the life of Maurice, who, striving to free
himself from his dying steed, and floundering
in the discoloured stream, was at the mercy of
a republican, who had been tempted by the
richness of his armour. The latter was brought
down by a pistol shot from Trevanion, who

STRATTON HILL. 267

passed the dismounted leader at that moment,
and casting on him a look of scorn, pressed on
after the enemy.

" It was a lucky shot," he said to Slanning,
"and I'm glad of it for his sake; but for the
good of the cause, 'twere better he had lain
there beside his sunken steed : that man will
bring no good to our banners, any more than
his brother Rupert, in whom the King places
such confidence."

" The hour is fast coming that will put him
to the proof," said the other: "but see the ad-
vance of the crop-ears are halting on the top of
the hill, as if they meant to make a stand there."
The latter had, in fact, formed on the emi-
nence, for the sake of covering the retreat of
their scattered columns on the level land below,
and of showing a face to the pursuers. In this
manner, without confusion, making a stand and
skirmishing wherever the ground offered an ad-
vantage, Waller's army made good their re-
treat to Wells. Their stay in this city, how-
ever, was but short ; the royalists followed the
pursuit steadily, and towards evening saw the
N 2

STRATTON HILL.

towers of the ancient place rising before them.
Waller, who had not reckoned that the pursuers
would have been so soon and eagerly on his new
quarters, did not choose to stand their attack in
an open and defenceless town, but made his forces
instantly evacuate it with even more speed than
they had entered. The royalists entered with
colours waving in a kind of triumph, and were
received by that loyal city with loud acclamations
of joy — that were the more welcome to their ear,
after the biting taunts of the preceding day.
The houses of the inhabitants were eagerly
opened to the soldiery ; and tnose of the wealthier
gentry, as well as that of the Bishop of the see,
to their officers ; such, indeed, was the enthu-
siasm of the latter, that he would have opened
the ancient cathedral itself for their reception,
had it been necessary. The Marquis of Hert-
ford, elated with this his first success in the
field, as well as with the spirit of loyalty he
saw every where around him, was disposed to
enjoy the present hour in its fulness, and re-
mained in the town with the whole of the foot
and the artillery ; while the Earl of Carnarvon

STRATTON HILL. 269

and the Prince followed the enemy with two re-
giments of horse. The loyal city of Wells was
delighted with the presence of the royal army,
who wore, indeed, the air of a victorious force,
though their enemy had, as yet, given them
little opportunity to claim any signal success.
The palace of the prelate, in which the chief
officers were quartered, stood very near to the
ancient cathedral, and was surrounded by some
trees of almost equal date, and a well-cropped
and sightly lawn in front of the dwelling. The
thick-set hedges that bounded the lawn, were
of such height as to obscure the view of the
streets, or passengers without, — of all objects, in
fact, save the massive walls and towers of the
cathedral. A garden of ample dimensions, and
rather waste and neglected aspect, showed that
the taste of the inmates was little devoted to its
adornment. The place had an aspect of ex-
treme retirement and quiet, and, in this respect,
wore a forcible contrast to the exciting and
spirit-stirring scenes without. The Marquis, a
lover of retirement in all its aspects, and of
literary ease and enjoyment still more, was sin-

£70 STRATTON HILL.

gularly struck with the deep calm, the hallowed
air of learning and piety that reigned within
this spot ; and he could not help thinking, with
a sigh, of his own splendid and peaceful abode
that he had left, for the head of an army.

Laying aside with joy his heavy armour, and
resigning to Hopton the care of the forces, he felt
that, but for the presence of his officers, he could
have taken up one of the garden tools, as was
his wont in his own splendid domain, and planned
a more beautiful design for the neglected garden :
he eagerly followed his host into the spacious and
well chosen library. It was one of those mo-
ments when war puts aside its horrors, or rather
veils them, while fair faces, bright eyes, and soft
and flattering words, come in delicious array to
supply their place. Many ladies of the place
aided those of the Bishop's household, to do
honour to the defenders of the throne, — of their
own see also, it might be added, for no one
doubted, should the puritans conquer, that the
prelate, his palace, cathedral, with all the minor
advantages which the residence of the well-en-
dowed clergy gave to the town, would expe-

STRATTON HILL. 271

rience a great and merciless downfal. That
day, however, seemed now to be far averted :
the republicans had retreated rapidly ; and the
presence of so many royal officers of rank and
influence gave a zest and grace to the company
assembled, of the laity, as well as the numerous
ecclesiastics. The hall extended along the whole
front of the palace, and was large enough to con-
tain the numerous assembly that had been in-
vited by the hospitable host, who looked with a
calm and pleased eye on the array of beauty and
chivalry, as it might be termed, that was seated
at his spacious table. The windows were
opened to admit the fresh air from without, for
the heat of the day was oppressive, — and the
solemn sounds of the cathedral chant could be
distinctly heard. The tone of the conversation
among the ecclesiastics was loud and bitter ; the
more so, that the presence of the republicans,
though transitory within their walls, had filled
them with dismay. Waller, whose every ope-
ration in the field had been crowned with suc-
cess, had but lately quitted their town, and had
boasted that he would soon return to take up

272 STRATTON HILL.

his rest within the walls of the palace, and taste
of the good Bishop's cellar. The venerable pre-
late's look, that had quailed the day before at
the threats of the rebel officers, grew bright and
confident, as it was cast on the array of the brave
and high-born, and he could not help augur-
ing well and sanguinely of the royal cause.
He even pictured the rebels bowing submis-
sively at his feet, and suing for the church's
as well as the King's forgiveness ; for it was the
first time during his long ecclesiastical reign,
that he had seen his dignity outraged and his per-
son treated with contumely. — Other aspects were
turned on the guests, more welcome, and pro-
bably with a less selfish expression, than those
of the dignified ecclesiastics. Of the many ladies
whose presence threw a charm over the motley
assembly of churchmen and soldiers, there
were none who exceeded in personal attractions
the daughters of the prelate — they were the
allowed beauties and toasts of the loyal and
ancient town of Wells, over which their fa-
ther's influence was not unlike that of a tem-
poral sovereign ; so that it scarcely required
the charms they really possessed, to render

STRATTON HILL 273

their sway tacitly allowed. The present, how-
ever, seemed to be the most brilliant moment
of their lives; it was the first time they had
seen so many gallant and accomplished men be-
neath their roof; or been the favoured objects
of eyes that had so lately met war in its most
horrid front. Allied to the love of admiration
was a feeling of gratitude also ; the hostile and
insulting foot of the rebels had, only the day
before, invaded the very precincts of their pa-
lace and garden, and threatened desolation on
their revered domain. To eyes that loved so well
the fair things of this world, there was a refresh-
ing contrast between the grey, smooth heads
and well-fed cheeks of dignitaries, and the
kindling glance, the youthful form, and glow-
ing words of the cavaliers by whom they were
surrounded. The routine of their daily life
was delightfully broken by this event, and each
in her own mind had singled out her hero
among the officers around, and, careless of how
it fared with the King or his rebels, had fol-
lowed him in fancy to the hour of victory and
royal favour.

The father looked on this pageant of war as
n5

#74 STRATTON HILL.

the thing that was to secure his own impor-
tance and power ; the daughters loved it for its
own sake ; and the shining armour that was
hung up on the hitherto peaceful walls, the
glittering cuirass, and the variously formed
sword and rapier, often drew their wandering-
glance.

STRATTON HILL. 275

CHAPTER XII.

" Tis sweet to rest in lordly hall,

And hear no more the trumpet's call."

The sounds that rose both from within and
without the hall, on this still and sultry even*
ing in July, were suited to banish war and tu-
mult from the mind, and excite gentle and
peaceful feelings. The many voices of the
fairer guests were mingled with, and even rose
above, the more subdued tones of the cavaliers ;
the sudden laugh, the sally of wit, and more
rare boast of prowess, were interrupted by the
deep and measured voices of the priests, or the
far more impressive sounds of the cathedral
chaunt that swelled the scarcely felt breeze of

276 STRATTON HILL.

evening. More than one veteran, who had
taken, when he least thought of it, the sword
once more into his hand, and left the home to
which he had retired after his foreign cam-
paigns, now thought of that home with a sigh,
and sorrow, that his last years should go down
in violence and bloodshed. On a sudden the
rapid tread of cavalry was heard in the streets
without, — they were now returned from follow-
ing the retreat of the enemy ; and not long after,
the officers who had commanded on this ser-
vice entered the hall. They had succeeded,
after two or three desperate skirmishes, in ad-
vancing as far as their head-quarters near Bath ;
but had suffered greatly in this pursuit, Wal-
ler having drawn reinforcements from his main
force during the retreat, and made the royalists
pay dearly for their hardihood. Maurice had
received several wounds, and the Earl of Car-
narvon had seen his fine regiments of dragoons
somewhat thinned by the severe and repeated
charges. The ladies retired soon after the en-
trance of the royal officers fresh from the field,

STRATTON HILL. 277

and ihe tranquillity as well as harmony of the
company soon began to suffer an entire inter-
ruption. The good Bishop did not spare at-
tentions or compliments to the newly arrived
officers, who had achieved the rapid and severe
task of driving the enemy home to their en-
trenchments; but the former were not a little
chafed at the thankless service in which they
had been engaged, as well as the rough handling
Waller had given them.

The Marquis, at last, rose from the table,
and retired with the prelate, in order to dis-
cuss, more at their leisure and ease, some point
of literature that had engaged them in an
earnest controversy for the last hour.

Near the lower end of the table was seated
a retainer of Sir Beville Granville ; it was,
probably, the having been near the person of
his chief, or the behaving commendably in the
field, more than any strong personal or mental
qualification, that entitled him to a place at the
prelate's table. It was Trenlyon, who having
pertinaciously followed the banner of his patron,

278 STRATTON HILL.

through good and evil, after the battle of
Stratton, now found himself a guest among the
reverend and the great, and placed in common
with nobles and princes. He was seated among
some favourite officers of Sir BevihVs regiment
of cavalry, and played his part with a more
assured mien, and a bolder eye, than he could
possibly have done a few months before. The
consciousness of high birth always has a ten-
dency to preserve him who feels it from those
inward misgivings and discomposures of thought,
which will invade the mind of the most daring,
when surrounded by beings of far loftier pre-
tensions than themselves.

It stood the chief man of Kilkhampton in good
part on this occasion : he bore the full gaze of
the tilted warrior, and the arrogant look of the
lordly churchman, with a steady and unquail-
ing aspect ; indeed, on some of the canons and
inferior clergy, as well as on more than one sol-
dier of fortune, he turned the strong glance of
his grey eye with something of a contemptuous
expression. More than once, in the warring

STRATTON HILL. 279

pretensions that even found their way among
the various and jealous guests, he demanded the
pedigree and standing of their house and name,
with that brief, stern tone that betokened the
conviction of superiority ; and when he saw that
his nearness of relationship to the proud line of
Granville produced its full effect on his audi-
tors, he leaned back in his chair ; the rich co-
lour mounted to cheek and temple, and the
smile curled his expressive lips.

The outer man, indeed, was great) y changed.
In the Ivy Bush, peace and indulgence seemed
to be stamped on every lineament of his coun-
tenance, on every limb of his rather short but
robust frame. And now the cuirass sat mar-
tially on his broad chest ; the iron lines of war
were traced in his full cheeks, and the eye had
acquired a more dark and startling expression.
These changes were not built altogether on a
sandy foundation : whether it was the force of
the Norman blood that circled in his veins and
spurred him on to high deeds, or the effect of
bitter rivalry of feeling, it was well known that

280 STRATTON HILL.

he had not disgraced the ancient line of the
Trenlyons in the battle of Stratton, having, in
fact, behaved with no small hardihood. He had
cleaved to the banner of his house amidst all
the changes of the fight, and therein had no
doubt consulted his own security; for he felt
himself to be surrounded by men of might, as
well as name.

In the last onset of the rebel pikemen, he had
been overturned on the steep bank, and tram-
pled on by the fierce assailants ; but had receiv-
ed some consolation, amidst his bruises, by see-
ing Pengreep of Tredavern, his ancient rival,
biting the grass, and apparently breathing his
last at his side. Raising himself on his hands and
knees, after the rebels had swept by like a torrent,
he had turned with a^look of pity to his rival,
with the words, " Pengreep, is it all over with
you ? that 's a sore thrust o' the rebels in your
thigh ; you 're leavin' a fine holdin" in Treda-
vern ; you Ye the last o' your line, too ; that \s
an old one, rather, there 's no denyin\ Ah !
what a pity you should bleed to death in such
a way, upon the green grass!"

STRATTON HILL. 281

" You're lookin' upon more ancient blood
than is in your body, or the whole of your
name afore ye, Trenlyon," said the dying man ;
" the very grass and wild flowers will run riot
upon it; the pikemen ha' spared yours, that
ye've boasted of in sitch a way, 'twas'n worth
the spillin' — and as for Tredavern, — ne'er talk
o' your stone cage in the same breath ; there ?s
the "

His words failed here, and he soughed gently
away ; while his hereditary rival, who had set
his teeth, and grasped the trampled sod in his
clenched hands at these insulting words, looked
at him as one of Job's comforters would have
done.

In the repulse of the enemy that followed
quickly after, Trenlyon had borne his part, and
brought down two or three of the flying enemy
with his long pike : this, however, was in the
down-hill retreat ; for, to run up the steep of
Stratton in his thick armour, would have been
quite impossible.

In the feasting and exultation among the
royalists in the captured camp, he had vividly

282 STRATTON HILL.

shared, and had actually sought out his rival's
body among the slain, and followed it to a de-
cent interment; conscious, perhaps, though he
would not have allowed it, that one of the
sweetest sensations in the world, is the seeing
one's old, long-tried, and bitter enemy placed
calmly and gently beneath the sod. The march
to Taunton, and the subsequent retreat, had
improved his military habits; and he now found
himself in the hall of the Bishop's palace at
Wells, surrounded by fair ladies' faces, from
the exceeding witchery of whose look he could
sometimes hardly withdraw his own. His at-
tention, however, was now diverted towards the
looks of discontent and jealousy that gathered
fast and darkly on the aspects of some of the
commanders, after their return from the late
skirmish. With all the interest and attachment
of a feudal retainer to the ancient tree that
shadows him, Trenlyon watched the gathering
storm, consulted the faces of some of the lead-
ers of his house, of Bonville, of Roselian, and
others ; and his own features grew lowering or
excited as he saw theirs change every moment.

STRATTON HILL. 283

It was unfortunate that circumstances should
at this moment have combined to blow into a
flame the embers of discord, that had for some
time rankled in the bosoms of the party. But
for the severe and unsuccessful skirmish with
the enemy that had just taken place, the unani-
mity of the hour had perhaps not been broken :
but the leaders of the pursuing force deemed
themselves to have been insufficiently support-
ed ; that while the enemy had drawn powerful
reinforcements from their camp, no troops had
left the town to aid their own division.

Amidst so many jarring feelings, causes of
dissension could not long be wanting. The
pursuit of the republicans was instantly the sub-
ject of discourse.

" You have had a hot chase of it, Prince,"
said Slanning ; " I thought the crop-ears would
have turned to bay ere we reached this city ;
but they kept their hard blows for you, it
seems."

" Had others chosen to share them with us,"
replied Maurice, " the event had been very
different : but we had to face an overwhelming

284 STRATTON HILL.

force ; the fellows poured on us from behind
the hills, like bees from a hive.v

" But )>ou have gained honour," replied the
other good naturedly, " if you have brought
away no trophies more substantial ; you've only
met the fair chance of war ; successful to-day,
and, maybe, baffled to-morrow.'"

" 'Tis a true saying," said Maurice sullenly ;
" that ought not, however, to have been fulfilled
to-day. Had Waller permitted his forces to
remain inactive in their quarters, as our own
have done in the town, we should have had
another tale to tell. One regiment of dragoons
would have decided the day, or even a regiment
of the boasted Cornish infantry would have
turned the tide ; — would they not, Carnarvon ?''

" They would, by my life," answered the
Earl, " and have served the King better in so
doing, than by feasting in the fat quarters of
the town."

" Your pursuit has spoiled your tempers,
gentlemen," said Trevanion, with a sneer : " had
I known sooner of the strait you were in, the
infantry you speak of should have advanced to

STRATTON HILL. 285

your rescue ; they would have done as good
service, I doubt not, to the Prince, as they did
this morning, when they saved his life."

" You plume yourselves,"" observed the Earl,
colouring, "on your success at the battle of
Stratton ; one would think it had been the only
service performed during the war; it seems the
men of your county can fight heartily on their
own ground, but on another soil they grow
careless of their own or their friends' laurels.11

" The usurpers of their laurels, you mean,"
replied Trevanion warmly. " It is pleasant, no
doubt, to come from the halls of princes, and
the bowers of ladies, and earn their praise thus
suddenly."

" By Saint George !" said Carnarvon, " this
is too much : 'tis foul injustice to say I've de-
sired to reap what others have sown, or to claim
another man's fame to myself. — As to the com-
mands, they were given by the King.'1

" And by whose counsels, or rather by whose
intrigues ? some wily courtier's, or fair lady's,
perhaps ? — Take your own troops, gentlemen,
— the gallant and numerous troops with which

286 STRATTON HILL.

you have joined our army, and go and face
Waller ; the Conqueror would desire no better
fate."

" Proud Cornishman," said the Earl, " you
shall not thus speak of men who have been
placed at your head; you are accountable to
the King, whether you choose or not to submit
to his orders ; but you shall account to me for
this contumely. "

" Forbear, I intreat you, Trevanion," said Sir
Beville, " and urge not this dispute farther. —
Carnarvon, recall the words you have spoken :
whatever provocation the mention of the west-
ern force has caused belongs to me, who count
myself its leader, and no one shall arraign it in
my presence."

i( I will recall what I have said at no man's
bidding," said the Earl, " not even at yours, Sir
Beville : why am I to be taunted thus, and my
colleagues, with the bearing of your troops,
and the licence of our own ? 'tis not the first
time, by many, these things have been said."

"And they have been said justly, my Lord,"
replied the other : " ask the people of the coun-

STRATTON HILL. 287

try where we have been quartered. Had your
troops committed such excesses in my own pro-
vince, I would have been the first to bid the
people drive them from their soil, as invaders
rather than friends, wanton rioters, rather than
faithful soldiers. "

" Had his Majesty known,1' said Maurice,
with a dark smile, " what noble and faithful
allies we have got, I think he would have taken
the leading of them in person. But the Nor-
man blood, without doubt, would not have
brooked such a commander. — My Lord Mohun,
what say you ?"

" He will say,1' said Sir Beville sternly, " that
among the ills his Majesty's subjects bear with
patience, few are more bitter than the leading of
a foreign minion, whose rashness in the field
is only equalled by his licence in the camp."

Maurice's colour rushed deeply over the olive
hue of his aspect, in spite of the paleness which
his freshly received wounds had given ; and the
settled look of scorn on the other's features,
only added to his anger and vexation.

"Remember, Sir Beville," said Mohun,

288 STRATTON HILL.

" that he bears the King's commission, as se-
cond in command under the Marquis : is it well
thus to excite dissension in our councils ?"

" My Lord," said the other, " have you
breathed also the court air ? — You know that I
have laboured night and day to stifle the jea-
lousies and discontents that were fast spreading
in the force, and my efforts have not been with-
out success. The present leaders of this army
have ever found prompt obedience to their
orders ; not because I deem them wise or for-
tunate, but that the cause of the King may
suffer no prejudice. But words like these can-
not be borne ; the licence that has been suffered
in the field, must not be brought into the hall ;
our taste, like our native hills, is too rude to
brook it."

"But insult and arrogance," replied Carnar-
von, " are not to be brooked, whether in the
camp or the court."

" My Lord of Carnarvon/' replied the other
calmly, as he rose from his seat, " your high
character and devoted gallantry are too well
knowrn for any words of mine to do them harm.

STRATTON HILL. 289

These excesses, that have stained our cause,
were not of your bidding. But enough of this,
the day is at hand, — to-morrow's sun may bring
it, — that will flesh our swords in a better cause
than that of each other's quarrel. You shall be
supported, even to the death, by men who have
known how to conquer ; and when the day is
won, my Lord, should any rancour remain for
what has been said this night, ask then of the
Granville to atone for it ; his lips never uttered
what his hand was not ready to avow."

He bowed respectfully to the incensed noble-
man, and left the apartment. The latter gazed
after him for a moment — " He is a noble gentle-
man," he said after a pause, " and does not belie
his high reputation — I could not lift my hand
against him, by heaven P

" No, my Lord," said Trevanion, " that hand
must now stoop to a lower mark ; you spoke,
if I mistake not, of my accounting to you for
some words that passed, was it not so ?"

" Even so," replied Carnarvon, " and it is not
my wont to recall my words."

" It is well,'1 said the other coolly, " and an

VOL. II. O

290 STRATTON HILL.

early hour would be fittest, perhaps, to arrange
this affair. Would sun-rise to-morrow, with-
out the town, suit your Lordship's convenience ?"
The latter replied briefly in the affirmative,
and the company soon after broke up. The
progress of this dispute, and the various circum-
stances attending it, had been strictly observed
and watched by Trenlyon : when the hand of
the chief of his line was laid, in the sudden
impulse of the moment, on his sword hilt, his
own had slid instantly to the basket handle of
his own short and heavy weapon. With a
flashing eye and a ruddied cheek, he had listen-
ed to the words of provocation on each side ;
and his look that he had fixed on Maurice, as
well as the large clenched hand laid on the
table, proved, that if he had him then at the
mercy of his pike, the German's term of life
would have been a brief one.

From not understanding perfectly, in his
wrath, the concluding words that had passed, he
had imagined the challenge to have been between
the Lord of Stowe and the Earl of Carnar-
von, and the naming of the place sounded in

STRATTON HILL. 291

his ear like the final arrangement for mortal
combat.

He retired from the hall in strong agitation
of spirit ; and repairing to his small chamber,
seated himself in the single chair it contained ;
and leaning his head heavily on both his hands,
so that his calm and full chin rested on the
edge of his cuirass, he revolved again and again
in his thoughts the various bearings and wind-
ings of this sudden and unexpected affair.

Judging merely from " the thewes and sinews
of men," Carnarvon was no match for the head
of his house; but experience told him that fate
did not always judge or act according to these
premises. He had seen Pengreep, a more
powerful man than himself by far, cut down
like a flower of the field, while he still walked
firmly over the course of life. The gloom that
gathered around his chamber was unheeded ;
the latest gleam of day, coming through the
single window, or rather skylight, and falling
on his tough cuirass, alone discovered that a
human being was seated within. Yet Tren-
lyon was not habitually a meditative being ;
o 2

&92 STRATTON HILL.

indeed, a mood like the present was quite foreign
to his usual one ; the fierce and stirring events
that had passed before his eyes, the startling
ups and downs that he had observed to befal so
many men, had given a deeper and more moral
tone to his feelings. A deep sigh echoed once
or twice through the apartment ; but whether it
arose from the loneliness and comfortless feeling
of the place and hour, it was difficult to say :
certainly the danger that now impended over
the head of his line was an affecting considera-
tion : he could not bear the idea of his being
cut down prematurely. The Trenlyons, it was
clear, however stainless in themselves, derived
a high and borrowed glory from his counte-
nance and connexion ; and that this should now
pass away like a shadow, was a fearful looking
for.

STRATTON HILL. 293

CHAPTER XIII.

" O for a wing beyond the falcon's flight,
To bear him like an arrow to that height :
The love of youth, the hope of better years,
The source of softest wishes, tenderest fears."

Byron.

The hours of the night were now passing
rapidly and gaily within the palace, and the
numerous guests who were assembled in the
spacious saloon scarcely thought of the wonted
hour of repose. There was every thing around
them that could banish the busy and startling
thoughts that might else have intruded ; the
recent success too had animated the spirits of
the royal officers; and, amidst the flatteries and
compliments that flowed fast on every side, was
it possible to dream but of victory ? Of the

m

294 STRATTON HILL.

soft and subtle attentions that women so well
know how to pay to the successful soldier, the
victors of Stratton had the larger share, for all
the circumstances of that fight were minutely
known to every one present. Amidst the gay
and glittering throng, the Marquis of Hertford
sat in tranquil converse with the Bishop; and
from the unexcited expression of his counte-
nance, and the measured tone of his voice, it
seemed that they talked of his own retired
domain and its rare garden, or of the revenues
of the See rather than of the decisive opera-
tions which were at hand.

Of the ladies present, no one attracted the
general admiration of the cavaliers more than
the eldest daughter of the prelate, whose tall
and commanding figure moved among them
like that of a queen in the land. Receiving
with affected carelessness and even haughtiness
the homage paid to her beauty, she attached
herself entirely to Sir Beville Granville, with
whose lady, a native of Devon, she had been
well acquainted before her marriage.

The look of the former beamed with delight

STRATTON HILL. 295

as he replied to the affectionate inquiry of the
lady for her friend ; it was the first time, since
he left his Castle, that the theme had been
touched on by other lips than his own ; and
then he spoke of the perfections of his beloved
wife ; how little years had faded her beauty or
her devotedness to him ; that both had still all
their first freshness.

As he spoke with the simple and animated
tone of true affection, his look dwelt intently on
the features of his fair auditor ; each glance of
the eye, and smile of the ruby lips, and mild
accent, brought his absent bride vividly before
him.

" You are struck," said his companion, " with
my resemblance to Lady Grace ; it was re-
marked in us when girls, and during our first
intimacy; but I did not know that it still re-
mained : years then have done little ravage
upon her."

" Little, indeed," said Sir Beville, with a

smile, " though somewhat more than on that of

her friend : remember too that she is the mother

*of a fair family ; and so great a keeper at home,

296 STRATTON HILL.

as not once since her marriage to have crossed
the boundaries of her province."

" I know," said his companion, " Lady
Grace's praise as a wife and mother ; it has not
been confined to the walls of Stowe ; though
there is not enough cause that she should always
be immured there, like the inmate of a nun-
nery. When does her lord return to that wild
and solitary place ?"

" I know not,1' he replied ; " the chances of
war are so uncertain. I had purposed, ere this,
to have visited my home, and embraced its
inmates once more, whose anxieties on my
account have been keen and unceasing. But
the approaching conflict renders this, at present,
impossible."

" Not so," said the lady earnestly ; " do not,
T intreat you, defer to return to Stowe ; you
know not what the morrow may bring forth :
and I know my friend's heart ; the present sus-
pense, the dark and fearful anxiety. — Ah ! had
I such a husband, I'd share the perils of the
field with him, rather than endure alone the
tortures of my own fancy."

STRATTON HILL. 297

" It may not be," replied Sir Beville,
struck with the earnestness of her manner.
" Can I leave my troops at this moment, when
the enemy are almost in sight ? What would be
said, should they march to the field, and their
leader was away ?"

" Image not difficulties where none may
probably exist," she answered. " The Mar-
quis of Hertford, there is little doubt, from
what I have heard, intends to spend some
weeks at Wells. Go then ; promise me that
you will go and see your lady and children ;
I know their joy will be great, — the more so,
because unexpected ; bear her dear and early
friend's wishes and prayers for her happiness ;
promise me, Sir Beville, that the sun shall
not set again ere you depart :" and she laid
her hand on his own.

" I will promise then," he said, after a short
pause ; " though it will be little to the credit
of my love, when Lady Grace is told it was her
friend's entreaty bade me return. — Can Hert-
ford really mean to stay so long in the town ?
I had not dreamed of this.11
o 5

298 STKATTON HILL.

" You are a true Knight,"" said the lady,
rising, " and worthy, I see, of all my friend's
devotion. — Farewell, till you bring me some
tidings of her !" and she rose and joined one
of the many lively groups of the party.

The former turned thoughtfully to the gay
scene around : it reminded him forcibly of the
evening before the march, at his own Castle ;
when a like assembly was gathered together of
the fair and the brave ; and a foreboding, a
secret uneasiness, hung for a time on the spirits
of all. How false and ill-founded had the
latter seemed ! Instead of disaster or misfortune,
success had crowned their every step since
leaving the Castle-walls ; and here, on this even-
ing, while, around, each voice and look breathed
only confidence and elation, and the prospect of
the future was so brilliant — was this a moment
to cherish sad and anxious thoughts ?

Ere the company separated, the venerable
Prelate, rising from his seat beside the General,
requested their assent to a ceremony, that he
had judged would not only be impressive in its
nature, but would tend to draw down the di-

&TRATTON HILL. 299

vine blessing on the royal arms. That to-
morrow they should go in solemn procession to
the cathedral, and, forgetting for a time the
stern duties of war, join in supplicating a con-
tinuance of the signal success that had thus
far crowned the cause of the King.

It wanted yet an hour to sun-rise, and the
good citizens of the loyal town of Wells had
hardly begun to open their doors and win-
dows to the morning light, when the steps of
two or three cavaliers were observed slowly
passing through the almost silent streets.
Muffled in his cloak, and with only one attend-
ant, Colonel Trevanion walked towards the
gate of the town, that opened on the road to
Bath ; then, turning abruptly to the left down
a gentle slope, he came to a small and secluded
bottom, or dell, from whence no part of the
adjoining town was visible. The trees by
which the spot was thickly bordered, were now
in their fullest foliage ; the dews of morning as
yet hung heavily on their leaves ; the rich bank
beneath was covered with wild flowers, on which
the early rays of the sun had not yet fallen ;

300 STRATTON HILL.

not a sound broke on the silence of the hour,
and Trevanion had ample leisure to be pleased
with the quiet as well as pleasantness of the
place ; but he stood with an abstracted air, and
his pale countenance evinced that no slumbers
of the night had rested on it. Another foot-
step soon after approached, and the Earl of
Carnarvan appeared, and, saluting with cour-
tesy his antagonist, hastily apologized for being
after the time of appointment.

They threw aside their cloaks, drew their
swords, and, without another word spoken, be-
gan the combat ; while the attendants stood on
the bank beside, and looked on with as much
interest as they would have done at a tourna-
ment; though with somewhat more personal
attachment, for they were favourite domestics
of their respective masters. There was a sin-
gular contrast in the look and manner of these
men as they stood inanimate spectators of the
strife. One was an Italian, whom the nobleman
had picked up in his foreign travels ; and used
to the frequent and skilful combats abroad, as
well as no stranger to the practice of the sti-~

STRATTON HILL. 301

letto, the fellow gazed with the curious and
savage eye of a connoisseur, at the quick and
deadly passes ; while the Cornishman, long in-
ured to wield the cudgel, or hurl his opponent
in the wrestling-ring, crossed his arms on his
brawny chest, and gazed on his master with a
strong expression of contempt mingled with
anxiety, at what appeared to him a foolish and
fanciful way of seeking satisfaction. He had,
in truth, the most reason to fear the event ; for
the excellent use Carnarvon had of his weapon
was more than a match for the intrepidity and
coolness of his antagonist, and the latter had
great difficulty in saving himself from more
than one pass that was aimed directly at his
life. The bank on which they fought was
already stained with the blood that flowed from
several wounds that each had received, though
of no serious consequence ; and the rich and
flowery sod was trampled on, and torn by their
rapid and changing footsteps. The sword of
Trevanion at last snapped in a home thrust
against the silk doublet of the Earl, leaving him
almost at his mercy ; the latter, however, made

302 STRATTON HILL.

no ungenerous use of his advantage, but directing
his point at the unarmed breast of the former,
requested him to acknowledge that the words
of the preceding night were unfounded, and
uttered in passion.

Trevanion, with a quick and haughty gesture,
dashed the weapon aside, and drawing his dag-
ger, the combat recommenced with new vigour,
but at fearful disadvantage, it could not long
have thus continued ; but, fortunately for the
King's service, the sword of the Earl received
so sudden and well-aimed a blow from an un-
known hand, that it flew into the air with
such force as to carry it nearly to the summit
of the lofty oaks that waved gently in the
morning breeze, leaving its owner lost in asto-
nishment ; and Trenlyon, emerging from the
thick foliage close to which the strife had been,
stood suddenly before them. He brandished
the pike with which he had arrested the combat,
with a firm air, conscious, from the hasty glance
he threw around, that no one there was so well
provided with means of offence. Disappoint-
ment however, as well as surprise, was in his

STRATTON HILL. 303

look, for he had evidently expected to see Sir
Beville on the field instead of Trevanion. It
was necessary, however, to be instant in expla-
nation, for the storm of indignant anger was
gathering fast on every brow around him. Tren-
lyon griped his pike hard, keeping the point
still towards the company ; and edging nearer
towards a huge old oak close at his back, —
" Gentlemen Cavaliers," he said, " I came just in
the nick o' time, thinkin', however, to find the
noble head of our line here, and keep you, my
Lord, with this long pike, from the spillm' of
his blood, that 's worth more than that o' your
whole house put together, for the Welsh canna
compare wi' the ancient Norman. — Colonel Tre-
vanion," his voice growing firmer, "you're lookin'
pale and forefonghten ; the red stains upon your
doublet would e'en ha'' been thicker by this time,
if I had'n sent the Earl's sword into the air ;
for which ye ought both to thank me, instead o1
scowlin' in that manner wi' your eye. Though
I 'm the last o' the Trenlyons, my Lord, I '11
ne'er quail for what I ha' done."

The effect of these words on the disappoint-

304 STRATTON HILL.

ed combatants was to produce a long and re-
sistless peal of laughter, that effectually banish-
ed all remaining rancour from their minds.
Trevanion stepped back, and taking the Earl's
sword from the grass and leayes amidst which
it had fallen, presented the hilt to its owner.
" My Lord," he said, " I thank you for the life
you gave, though the fury of the moment made
me careless of the boon. The combat that has
been thus strangely interrupted must here
end. Whatever I said to give you offence
was in the heat of the moment, and I regret
it deeply."

" It is nobly said, Colonel Trevanion," replied
the other, sheathing his weapon. " Let all
rivalry of feeling henceforth cease between
us, save it be for the honour of the King's
service."

They then courteously bade each other adieu,
and proceeded by different paths to the town.
Trenlyon stood a short time beneath the thick
foliage of the oaks, with an expression of ex-
treme complacency on his countenance ; he sent
his look first after the retiring cavaliers, and

STRATTON HILL. 305

then fixed it on the small clear pool into which
the bank gently sloped, talking to himself
at the same time in broken accents. " If
the very flowers and pool arn't redded ! there's
none o" his among it though, or they 'd ha1 felt
my point through their doublet ! With what
fierceness they griped at one another, like two
mastiff dogs over a bone."

Shouldering his long pike, he then turned his
steps nimbly towards Wells, enjoying the sha-
dow of the wood, that screened him effectually
from the sun-beams, that now fell full and
sultrily on meadow, high road, and verdant
bank.

It was now mid- day, and the city was no
longer the scene of military bustle or gaiety ;
the streets were silent, and no voice of revelry
was heard in the dwellings. A great part of
the curious population began to gather round
the doors of the cathedral, for the hour ap-
pointed for the religious ceremony drew near.
A. cloudless sky and brilliant sun, things that
add greatly to the effect of all processions,
sacred or military, now beamed on the venera-

306 STRATTON HILL.

ble edifice, its low and dull towers, and the
duller dwellings and streets of the town, which
on this occasion were thronged with spectators.
The sounds of slow martial music soon an-
nounced that the array was drawing near ;
the Bishop and his chief ecclesiastics at the
head, and the principal commanders, after
whom came the subordinate officers, who
walked slowly towards the dark portal.

The music ceased as they entered the ancient
gateway, and passed slowly up the aisles, that
had never before inclosed so impressive and
excited an assembly. Numerous fair spectators
were already seated, whose looks were bent, in
hushed and deep admiration of the spectacle,
on the calm and subdued aspects of the cava-
liers, which they had seen the night before
lighted up with pride, vanity, and ambition.

The tombs of many a knight of the Crusaders
were ranged on each side of the massive walls ;
and on some were the marble figures of those
warriors " lowly laid," with clasped uplifted
hands and mailed breast, as if to show how
fleeting was earthly honour.

STRATTON HILL. 307

Not even the bright glances and graceful
forms that were mingled strangely among the
carved figures of the departed, could draw the
attention of the assembled officers from the so-
lemn scene before them — in truth, the living in
this hour seemed to have less power over the
feelings than the dead. The procession had now
arrived at the altar ; and while the solemn tones
of the organ rung through the low and heavy
aisles, the prelate and the royal officers knelt
humbly and reverently around the sacred place.
The men who had so lately cherished feelings
of stern rivalry to each other, thought not of
them now ; even the fierce combatants of the
morning, kneeling side by side, seemed to have
dismissed their hatred for ever.

The sun-beams, falling strongly on the large
arched window of richly painted glass, were
cast brokenly and beautifully on the impressive
scene ; and the venerable prelate, raising his
hands, in a feeble yet distinct voice implored
the divine blessing on the arms of the King in
the approaching contest ; and that by signal
success the throne might be guarded from its

308 STRATTON HILL.

deadly foes, and the Church preserved from the
wolves of heresy.

This part of the ceremony finished, the
assembly rose, and slowly leaving the cathedral,
returned to the palace of the prelate.

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

LONDON :
PRINTED BY S. AND R. BENTLEY,

Dorset Street, Fleet Street.

m