and to affect his Grace’s feelings with a description of the sufferings the inhabitants had undergone for the Parliament forty years ago, and for true religion ever since.
Monmouth listened with real attention; for his reception here showed him the importance of understanding the people, in order to profit to the utmost by their good-will. His staff imitated his air of interest; and the troops, drawn up round the market-place, while the inhabitants were crowded within, did their best to think the ceremony very fine, while hoping, doubtless, that the sermon would not be very long, detaining them from the meat and good ale they needed after their morning’s march.
Christopher was at the head of his mounted troop, on one side of the Duke’s seat, endeavouring to hear the discourse, which was of real interest to him, but distracted in part by the necessity of keeping his horse in order in so crowded an area, when a hand was laid on the animal’s neck.
It was Reuben,—smiling as usual, and looking respectfully delighted to meet his master again. His religious tastes, too, were evidently unchanged.
“Ah! Master Christopher,” he said; “this is all very well,” pointing over his shoulder towards the pulpit. “The town has put its best preacher foremost; but he won’t do for us who have sat under John Hickes.”
He met with no responsive smile, but found himself under stringent orders at once.
“Do not stir from where you are till I call you. If you leave me again, I will have you brought back at my pleasure, and not your own.”
“Well, to be sure!” the man exclaimed, as if amazed. “I should have come back that night to say where I was going, and for your sake, only I was sent off in such a hurry. Ask Mr. Dare, sir, and he will tell you so.”
Christopher looked him full in the face, but could see no trace in his countenance of any knowledge of Dare’s death.
“Mr. Dare sent me here, sir, to bring up a company of recruits to meet the Duke at Axminster, and he undertook to satisfy you, sir, and give you another groom till I should meet you. I hope he did so, Mr. Christopher.”
“Hold your tongue now; I will hear you afterwards,” said his master.
Reuben nodded assent, crossed his arms as he stood by his master’s stirrup, and seemed lost in attention to the discourse. The horse might have have been so too, by his quietness. It was perhaps the presence of his accustomed groom which kept him tranquil; but he disturbed his rider no more till he started, as other horses did, at a pistol-shot, close at hand.
The Duke rose to his feet, and took off and examined his hat. The preacher leaned half over the desk, while he shouted to the people near the throne to seize him—seize him—the God-abandoned wretch who would have slain the Prince that should redeem Israel.
There was much tumult and consternation, and crying out to seize the assassin, and not to let him go; but nobody had the chance. Nobody about the spot would admit having seen him; but the preacher and one other witness declared their belief that it was the same man who had just before been standing among the cavalry, and appearing to be in conversation with one of the officers. Reuben had indeed vanished again.
Christopher still half hoped that Reuben would join him when the confusion subsided; but not the less did he give out a personal description of the man to everybody, offering a large reward for the arrest of his groom before sunset. Everybody was sure that the arrest would be easily managed, the place was so thoroughly loyal; but there was in truth little hope of it. If there was one traitor, there must be more aiding and abetting. If Reuben did not appear of his own accord, he would be seen no more,—unless indeed he should have the audacity to make another venture for the five thousand pounds offered to the slayer of the Duke of Monmouth.
John Hickes had been awaiting his turn to hold forth to the grandest congregation he had ever seen assembled; but the popular mind—to say nothing of Monmouth’s own—was too much disturbed for further quietness. After a few words of consultation with Lord Grey, Christopher committed the charge of his troop to him, and took his place by Monmouth’s side, resolved to stand between Reuben and his victim, if Reuben was indeed the assassin.
For a time the Duke was moody; thinking some thoughts which few of his friends could divine; thinking how it would be with Henrietta if it should be told to her that her Monmouth had been shot down in the street by some wretch who wanted money. But on the first hint from a fellow-adventurer about any appearance of his spirits being dashed, and on perceiving Christopher’s concern, he roused himself to his accustomed graciousness and cheerfulness, and mounted his horse with a jest.
His progress through the narrow streets was slow, for gifts or addresses were presented at every few yards. The Mayor begged permission to act the part of horse-leader, in order to inform him after each halt what was to come next. Thus, there was time afforded to be grave or gay, in accordance with propriety. Thus, a troop of clergy, in skull-caps and bands, recalled to his Grace’s recollection that Joseph Alleine, the martyr of the Restoration, was a Taunton man, and a patriotic citizen of their town; and they presented a copy of the good man’s work—“An Alarm to the Unconverted”—bound in black velvet, with prayers that it might be blessed to his soul; and next to these came the representatives of the trades of Taunton—the weaver being busy in his loom at: fabricating a Monmouth banner, and the metal-workers in making a crown for King Monmouth, and the bellows-makers in constructing bellows powerful to blow the Popish king and all his priests from London to Rome. Here it was necessary to laugh. Smiles and bows were dispensed on all hands as flowers fell from the housetops, and garlands swung in the wind, and leafy crowns were aimed at the bare head of the candidate king. One greeting was certainly very touching and very welcome to his feelings. A lady, well-mannered and well-dressed, stepped from a court-