service was over, Elizabeth had learned something more.
She had heard so much from the Battiscombes of their honoured pastor, John Hickes, that she became assured, before he had expounded more than three or four verses, that this was he. There was another stranger in the room whose presence confirmed her conjecture. Seated among the servants, in a rough and well-worn woodman’s dress, was one who was certainly no member of the household. He covered his face, as if in devoutness, so that it was some time before she obtained any view of his countenance: and when she did, she could only ask herself whether she had not seen it before. By degrees light broke in upon her memory; and she was satisfied that this rough woodman, with the air and movements of a gentleman, was a lawyer of Lyme whom she had seen as a guest at the Battiscombes’.
This was sufficiently alarming; but a far greater terror was caused in her by the exposition and the prayer which followed. The preacher had been advised to keep his voice in check, for fear of listeners outside, and he did not forget the precaution: but he seemed disposed to make up in length for his self-denial in loudness; and every fresh text that he took in hand, and every new start in his prayer, deepened Elizabeth’s consternation. Besides the ordinary appeals against the oppressor, and denunciation of Antichrist, there were such mournings over the triumph of the enemy, such remonstrances against the turning away of God’s face, such piteous descriptions of the perils of the wilderness, and of the humiliation of the deserted under chastisement, and especially of princes whose sceptre is broken, and their crown brought to the dust, that it was impossible to doubt that Monmouth and his followers were in bitter adversity, and the Protestant King himself a fugitive. When Elizabeth rose from her knees, her face was as white as her dress.
Madam Lisle glanced at her, whispered to her that she would return in a few moments, and seated the trembling girl in her own chair. Presently the confidential servant who had been in attendance on them brought her wine—by his lady’s orders as he said. Without the wine, however, Elizabeth rallied her forces. When her aunt returned, she was rearranging the flowers in the beanpot on the mantelpiece, and with no trembling hand. Her aunt’s long kiss was an acknowledgment of her self-command. Elizabeth had more than once been told, by this long-trained and well-disciplined old disciple of the Reformation, that she—the young Prelatist by education—was evidently a predestined Puritan. She seemed to have by nature the strength as well as the graces which were commonly supposed to be a special and Divine endowment of the Puritans in the age of the strife of the Churches. She did not feel it necessary to explain even to Aunt Alice how she came by such fortitude as she had; but she said, in all sincerity, that she needed all that grace could give her in aid of her human weakness.
“There is bad news, I am sure,” she said. “What is it?”
“A lost battle,—a fatal defeat.”
“And all is over? It is nothing less, or John Hickes would not be so far from the battle-field.”
“You are right, my child! I fear that all is lost.”
“But why did those fugitives come here, Aunt? Did they come . . .? Did they bring . . .? Have they seen any one?”
“They bring no news of any of the Battiscombes, as far as I yet know. I will at once inquire, however; for now I remember it was a servant of Christopher Battiscombe who guided him hither—one Coad, Reuben Coad. My love, what is the matter?”
“Reuben is a traitor! Oh, Aunt Alice, do not let Reuben cross your threshold! He tried to shoot the Duke for the reward. Christopher was there. It was at Taunton, and Christopher has been looking for the man ever since.”
“I think there must be some mistake, my love.”
“Oh no! There is no mistake about Reuben being a traitor. He will destroy you all—Hickes, and Mr. Nelthorpe. (O yes, I know Mr. Nelthorpe under his disguise.) Where is he—the wretch? Let him be shut up till Christopher tells us what ought to be done with him.”
“My love, he is not here. When these guests of ours were perplexed where to turn, Reuben, as a devoted hearer and catechumen of John Hickes, told him where he might be safe—sent him to me. This does not look like the act of a traitor. It is natural”
Elizabeth held up her hand with a start. There was a gentle tap at the window which the duller ear of the old lady had not heard.
“More fugitives!” was the thought of them both. They had no fear when the safety of good men and friends might be in question. With her aunt’s permission, Elizabeth put the candles into a large closet in the room, and then unbarred the shutter, feeling safer in the dark. It was not dark outside, however. The moon shone full on a face at the window, and the face was Christopher’s.
He could not stay so much as an hour. He had rather not enter the house, lest harm should come of it to Lady Alice. His horse was baiting at a stable near. Elizabeth would come out and hear what he had to say. For the sake of all time to come, she would not refuse him this, nor would Madam Lisle for her.
“I will come,” said Elizabeth.
“You must go,” said her aunt. “God be with you, my child! But Elizabeth, you will not fly with him; I must have your word not to pass the gate.”
“She shall come in very soon,” Christopher promised impatiently. “There is no time to lose! it is our last chance.”
Madam Lisle threw her own shawl over Elizabeth’s head and shoulders, and let her out through the glass door into the flower-garden; and there Christopher met her. They sat down in the summerhouse, as the safest place.
“Where is Reuben?” was Elizabeth’s first question.
Christopher would have been glad to know,—any day from his last sight of the man at Taunton, to the present; but all search for him had been in