Return him safe; learning would rather choose

Her Bodley or her Vatican to lose,

All things that are but writ or printed there,

In his unbounded breast engraven are.

And this great prince of knowledge is by Fate

Thrust into th’ noise and business of a State.

He is too good for war, and ought to be

As far from danger as from fear he’s free.

“Lines on Lord Falkland.”—Cowley.

Little Helena Locke was made happy one day towards the end of July, by receiving a letter from her father. That it had been long upon the road did not surprise her, for letters naturally led a hazardous existence in war time, and she never knew how nearly she had missed receiving this one; never guessed that for many days it had lain securely in Colonel Norton’s pocket, that it had been through the battles of Lansdown and Roundway Down, and had finally been given by Norton, at Marlborough, to the first messenger he came across.

Whether the sight of the Major’s dead face had pricked his conscience, or whether he deemed it most to his own interest to have the little heiress safely bestowed at Notting-hill Manor, it would be hard to say. For a minute or two Helena’s fate had hung in the balance, but chancing to come across a man who was riding westward, Norton had entrusted him with the letter, and after many vicissitudes it had been delivered.

The very day after she had received it came tidings that Prince Rupert had taken Bristol, and the news so appalled the citizens that Alderman Pury determined to lose no time in sending his charge to London, for it was now almost certain that the Royalists would besiege Gloucester.

Helena, glad of any change, and heartily tired of the somewhat sombre atmosphere of the Pury household, made her preparations in high glee, and was singing a cheerful ditty that evening as she packed up her belongings, when a knock at the door of her bedroom recalled her from dreams of Gabriel Harford to the facts of real existence.

To her surprise, she found pretty Mistress Clemency Coriton standing without.

“How good of you to come and see me; ’tis a sure sign that Captain Heyworth is on the high road to recovery,” she said, gaily, “or you would never have quitted him.”

“Yes, in truth, he is recovering fast,” said Clemency, yet her face remained grave and sad, and something in her tone puzzled Helena.

“Will you not come to the parlour?” she said. “My room, as you see, is all in disorder.”

“They gave me leave to seek you out here, because I wanted to see you alone, dear Helena,” replied Clemency. “Alderman Pury has received a letter from Lord Falkland, and he tells him that Major Locke was sorely wounded at Roundway Down. You remember Sir William Waller could give us no news of him when he passed through Gloucester a few days since.”

“No, for the whole army was dispersed,” said Helena, her face growing white. “But what more does Lord Falkland say, and how came he to know? Oh! I understand! My father is a prisoner.”

Clemency put her arms round the girl.

“He is not a prisoner now, dear Nell. He is safe and at rest.”

Helena’s grief was speechless; she only clung to her friend in the numbing, paralysing shock of a first great sorrow.

“The letter,” she said at last. “I want to see it.”

And Clemency put it into her hands, knowing that Lord Falkland’s delicately worded and thoughtful kindness would be the best means of conveying to her the details of her father’s death. She guessed, moreover, that the news of Gabriel Harford’s imprisonment at Oxford would rouse her, and fill to some extent the terrible blank that had come in her life.

“I must do what my father bids me, and go at once to London,” said Nell, her childlike face looking all at once years older under the strain of this sudden grief and desolation. “Madam Harford may be able to help her grandson, and at least I can tell her of his sore need.”

“Yes, you see what Lord Falkland says about trying to effect an exchange,” said Clemency, glad that she had turned to this practical thought. “Alderman Pury bid me ask whether you knew who was your father’s trustee.”

“It is his cousin, Dr. Twisse, the rector of Newbury; he told me so when we parted; and his attorney is Mr. Corbett, here in Gloucester,” said Helena.

“I will go and take him word,” said Clemency, “for he is anxious that no time should be lost; we are in great danger, they say, now that Bristol hath fallen.”

“But what will become of you if Gloucester is besieged?” said Helena. “If you could but come with me to London, you would be far safer.”

“My brother-in-law is against it,” said Clemency; “and, indeed, I could not bear to be parted just now from Joscelyn. It hath been settled that we shall be married next Saturday.” Promising to return, she went down in search of the master of the house, and poor Helena, still with a dazed look of hopeless grief, went on mechanically with her preparations, her mind haunted now by a vision of her father lying dead, now by a vivid picture of Gabriel Harford in Oxford Castle, and again by the thought of Joscelyn Heyworth and Clemency Coriton hurriedly married ere the perils of the siege began.

When the next day she set off on her journey, under the charge of her cousin and an escort which Alderman Pury had provided, she was far more composed than Mistress Malvina, said her farewells without any emotion, and, like one in a dream, quitted Gloucester for the long and dangerous journey to London, caring very little what happened to her.

It had been arranged that they should visit Dr. Twisse, the Puritan rector of Newbury, and her only surviving kinsman, on the way; and Cousin Malvina found some comfort in this plan, for as they journeyed Helena’s looks began to alarm her. By day she was silent and pale, at night flushed and feverish, and when at length they reached Newbury, and dismounted at the Rectory, it was quite clear that the girl was very ill.

The rector, however, proved a kindly host, and his wife, though secretly dismayed when the next day the physician plainly told her that weeks must elapse before their guest could travel, was an indefatigable nurse, and never let Helena feel that she was giving trouble.

And so the poor little heiress fought her way through sorrow and suffering, helped on by an illusion, dreaming of Gabriel Harford and of how she could best gain his release, dreaming also—not of the marriage of Captain Heyworth and her friend Clemency—but of that other marriage which her father had twice suggested to her. Had it, she wondered, ever been mentioned to Lieutenant Harford? And if so, had he perhaps thought of her when he so gallantly tried to save her father? And did he now at Oxford call to mind the maid he had so gallantly rescued from Colonel Norton’s villainy? Alas! she knew nothing of Gabriel’s grave words at West Kennet, and never dreamed that at this very time his red-letter days were the ones when, while others slept, he found a chance of looking at the carefully concealed miniature of a dark-eyed, darkhaired maiden, whose sweet yet wilful lips were the only lips in the world he cared to kiss.

By the time Helena had recovered from her illness, news had reached them that Lord Essex had relieved Gloucester, and was endeavouring to return with his victorious army to London, while the King was concentrating all his efforts on the attempt to block his road. To let two ladies travel while the country was in such a disturbed state seemed out of the question, and though it was now past the middle of September, Dr. Twisse insisted on keeping his visitors. Nor was Helena at all averse to staying, for she was still very far from strong, and shrank from the idea of the tedious journey still before them.

Yet Dr. Twisse half wished he had let them go when on the 18th September it seemed likely that the two armies would encounter each other in the near neighbourhood of Newbury. A sharp skirmish was reported from Aldbourn Chase, and on the 19th the King’s forces took possession of Newbury, to the great disgust of the inhabitants, who were strongly in favour of the Parliament. In their breasts bitter memories still lingered which made them little inclined to favour a king who was swayed by his “popish” wife. Some of the old people could well recall the burning of the Newbury martyrs, and all the grown folk had heard from their fathers and mothers details which had sown in their hearts an unconquerable Protestantism, just as past persecutions have firmly established in Ireland an unconquerable Catholicism.

With what feelings Helena watched the entry of the King’s forces may easily be imagined, but it was at least some satisfaction to her to learn that Prince Maurice’s troop was not in that part of the country, and that she ran no danger of seeing Colonel Norton.

The window of the Rector’s study commanded a good view of the street, and she sat looking out at the busy throng below, while Dr. Twisse worked at his Sunday sermon, pausing now and then to ask some question of his sad little kinswoman, more for the sake of breaking the monotony for her t............