THE HAMPDENS.
AN HISTORTETTE. BY HARRIET MARTINEAU.
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CHAPTER XI. DOING ROYAL ERRANDS IN MERRY ENGLAND.
“My daughter, Harry is right,” said Mr. Hampden to Henrietta. “London is no place for you at present. If I were to tell you what our dangers are, you would desire to be gone.”
“Whose dangers?”
“In a word, the critical hour of the country has come. The King’s friends chide him for having yielded too much; and his enemies know but too well that those concessions are not to be relied on. Hear me, child! The universities teach him that his word is void about church matters while the Archbishop is in the Tower; and he is abundantly ready to apply the same rule to all his promises. The army is entirely unsafe; and lest it should march down upon us, we are taking measures for calling out the trained-bands, to guard the parliament houses. At any moment blood may be shed: some of the best blood in England would have been shed this very week but for our vigilance and our readiness.”
“May I know whose?”
“Has not Lady Carlisle told you that Mr. Pym’s life is sought?”
“Is it possible! And oh, father, are you safe, if Mr. Pym is not?”
“None of us are safe; but no other man is in the like danger, because he is the great accuser of the Court party. But the days are charged with peril as they pass, like so many thunder clouds. Do you not see it as you take your airings in the parks? Do you not see it in the face of the congregation at church? The very cries in the streets are hoarse or shrill, as coming out of passionate hearts.”
“Will there be war then? Is it war that you mean?”
“It depends on the King. By his plan of going to Scotland I believe that he intends war, whether he strikes the first blow, or compels his people to do so. Whatever the event, my daughter, you should be at home to abide it.”
“And you, father?”
“I am at the disposal of the council, who will sit in London permanently henceforth. I doubt whether I shall be much at Hampden this summer: but whether in Scotland or here, or travelling in England, I must have the comfort of knowing that my children are in a safe nest.”
Henrietta recoiled from the thought of home. Whether Harry were there or absent, she should be miserable. It was after a conversation with Lady Carlisle that she besought leave to visit Sir Oliver. If she might repose herself at Biggin, with little Dick for her amusement, nothing would tranquillise her so much.
