They shot my horse, but I got off scathless."

"Thou art a brave fellow, John," the colonel said

"Brave, indeed! and trusty as brave!" Clavering cried. "He rescued me from certain destruction. I was unable to stir from the spot where I fell, and if those butcherly Roundheads had returned, or others of their side had come up and found me lying there and still breathing, they would infallibly have knocked out my brains."

"Now to look at dear, good John Habergeon, no one would guess what a warm heart he possesses," Dulcia exclaimed. "I ever liked him; but I knew not his true worth till now."

"Men must not be judged by their exterior, child," Mr. Beard said. "The sweetest kernel hath sometimes the roughest shell."

"Just as the best blade may be found in an ill scabbard," the colonel said. "John is somewhat harsh of feature, it must be owned, but he hath a right honest look. You would never mistake him for a Puritan."

"I trow not, your honour, if a real Puritan were nigh," the old trooper replied, with a grin. "But enough, methinks, has been said about me."

"Not half enough," Clavering rejoined. "I have not told you a tithe of what John did for me, father. When you know all, you will comprehend how much gratitude I owe him. He bore me in his arms from the scene of strife to a place of safety, where he set my broken arm, and put splints, which he himself quickly prepared as well as any surgeon could have done, over the fracture, bound up the limb, dressed my bruises, and, this done, he again carried me to a barn, where we passed the night, John watching by me all the while. After some hours' rest I was able to move, and we set out before daybreak across the country, as near as we could conjecture in the direction of Stratford. We made but slow progress, for I was very stiff and weak; but John lent me all the aid he could, cheering me on, and talking to me of home and of those I loved, when I was half inclined to lie down in despair. As the day advanced, he procured me some milk and bread, without which I could no longer have gone on, for I had tasted nothing since the previous morn—the morn, you will remember, of the fatal battle. Having partaken of this food, I was enabled to continue my journey, and ere night we had found shelter in a thicket between Stratford and Long Marston, when John left me for a while to procure fresh provisions for our support. The faithful fellow came back, bringing with him meat and a bottle of stout ale; but though half famished, he would touch nothing himself till I had eaten and drunk. But I must be brief, for this talking is too much for me. During the whole of our toilsome journey hither, exposed as we have been to constant hazard from the Republican troops which are scouring the country in every direction, dreading almost to show our faces lest we should be set upon by some Roundhead churls, resting now in a wood, now beneath a haystack, but never under a roof, obtaining food with difficulty, and the little we got of the coarsest kind—during all these difficulties and dangers, my trusty companion, who might easily have provided for his own safety, kept ever by my side, and tended me, cheered me, watched over me—nay, actually in two instances saved me from capture with his good right hand, for I could do nothing in my own defence—and finally succeeded in bringing me home in safety."

"Blessings upon him for his noble conduct!" the clergyman exclaimed.

"Ay, blessings upon him!" reiterated both the colonel and Dulcia.

"Well, it is all right now, since I am back again at the dear old house," Clavering continued. "As to my wounds, I heed them not. They will soon heal. But the thought of how I got them will last during the rest of my life."

"Thou art a true Maunsel, every inch of thee, Clavering," his father cried, in approval. "What signifies a limb lost, or a drop of blood the less in one's veins, if we have done good service to the royal cause. And thou hast saved the king's life. Think of that—think of that, Clavering Maunsel."

"I do think of it," the young Cavalier replied.

"I crave your honour's leave to propose a toast," John Habergeon cried, rising.

"Thou hast my full licence to do so," Colonel Maunsel rejoined. "Fill thine own glass from that flask of Malvoisie to the brim, and all of us will follow thine example. Even fair Mistress Dulcia will not refuse thy pledge."

"Nay, that I will not, in good sooth, colonel," Dulcia cried.

"You will all do me reason, I am sure, when you hear my toast," John said. "A health to King Charles, and may God preserve him from his enemies!"

All arose; the colonel unassisted, for his new-found activity had not yet deserted him; and Clavering contrived to get up from his chair. The glasses being filled, the toast was drunk by the whole company, including even Dulcia, who raised the goblet to her lips. Colonel Maunsel repeated the words pronounced by the loyal old trooper with great fervour and solemnity; adding, "I will put a rider to thy toast, John, and drink to his Majesty's speedy restoration."

While the party was thus occupied, none of them were aware that their proceedings were watched from the bay-window on the left by a sallow-faced, sinister-looking personage, habited in a Geneva cloak and bands, and wearing a tall steeple-crowned hat on his head.