"d.i.c.k Walwyn, indeed! An old cla.s.smate of mine at Oxford. Well, she might do worse. And the little yellow-haired sprout? She was a bright blonde, I remember, with wonderful tresses, like a Danae's shower.

Who's to be the possessor of all that auriferous wealth?"

"One of the Trevors."

"There's one of them on the Prince's staff, I understand. Is it he?"

"No; a cousin--son of Sir William of Abergavenny."

"What! the young stripling who used to be at Court--one of the gentlemen ushers?"

"The same, my Lord."

"Quite an Adonis he; so the Queen thought, 'twas said. Mistress Vaga must have all the fascinations you credit her with to have made conquest of him. But he's not with the King now?"

"No; nor on the King's side neither. He turned coat, and took service under the Parliament, in Walwyn's troop of Horse. 'Tis supposed the Danae's shower your lordship speaks of had a good deal to do with his conversion."

"Very likely that. Cupid's a powerful proselytiser. Well, I should like to see the Powell girls again; their father too, for old friendship's sake. By the way, where are they?"

"I am not well informed about their present whereabouts. Some twelve months ago they were here in Bristol, staying at Montserrat House with Madame, his sister. When we took the place, Master Ambrose thought it wise to move away from it, for reasons easily understood. He went hence to Gloucester, where, I believe, he has been residing ever since--up till within the last few days. Likely they're at Hollymead just now; at least I heard of Powell having returned thither, thinking he would be safe with Monmouth in Ma.s.sey's hands. Since it isn't any longer, he may move back to Gloucester; and the sooner the better, I should say. He has sadly compromised himself by acting on one of the Parliament's Committees; and some of ours will show him but slight consideration."

"Indeed, I should be sorry if any serious misfortune befell him, or his.

An odd sort of man with mistaken views politically; still a man of sterling good qualities. I hope, Major, he may not be among the many victims this unnatural war is claiming all over the land."

"I echo that hope, my Lord."

And with these humane sentiments their dialogue came to a close, so far as that subject was concerned.

Two men had been listening to it with eager ears--Prince Rupert and Colonel Lunsford, who sate by his side. Amidst the clinking of goblets, and the jarring din of many voices, they could not hear it all; still enough to make out its general purport.

They seemed especially interested when the Major spoke of the Powells having returned to Hollymead. It was news to them; glad news for a certain reason. Often since that morning after the surrender of Bristol had the princely voluptuary given thought to the "bit of saucy sweetness, with cheeks all roses," he had seen pa.s.sing out of its gates for Gloucester. Just as at first sight her sister had caught the fancy of the brutal Lunsford, so had she caught his; and the impression still remained, despite a succession of _amours_ and love escapades, with high and low, since.

In more than one of his marauds through the Forest of Dean, Lunsford along with him, he had paid visit to Hollymead House; only to find it untenanted, save by caretakers--the family still in the city of Gloucester. Many the curse hurled he, and his infamous underling, at that same city of Gloucester; where the Cavalier who had not cursed it?

Overjoyed, then, were the two by what had just reached their ears, the Prince interrogating in undertone,--

"You hear that, Lunsford?"

"I do, your Highness."

"_Gott sei dank_! Just what we've been wishing and waiting for. We may now visit Hollymead, with fair hope of the sweet _frauleins_ being there to receive us. Then, _mein_ Colonel, then--_nous verrons_!"

After delivering himself in this polyglot fashion, he caught hold of his goblet, and clinking it against that of Lunsford, said in a confidential whisper,--

"We drink to our success, Sir Thomas?"

There had been a third listener to the dialogue between Major Grenville and the n.o.bleman, who also overheard the words spoken by Rupert to the new-made knight. But, instead of gladdening, the first gave him pain; which the last intensified to very bitterness. His name made known, the reason will be divined. For it was Reginald Trevor.

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.

AT HOME AGAIN.

There was rejoicing at Ruardean. After two years of forced absence, the master of Hollymead had returned to his ancestral home, and the faces of his beautiful daughters once more gladdened the eyes of the villagers.

Out of the world's way as was this quaint little place, it too had suffered the severities of the war. More than one visit had been paid to it by patrols and scouting parties of the Royalist soldiery; which meant very much the same as if the visitors had been very bandits. They made free with everything they could lay hands on worth the trouble of taking--goods, apparel, furniture, even to the most cherished household goods; invading the family sanctuary, and at each re-appearance stripping it cleaner and cleaner.

Ruardean had, indeed, become an impoverished place, as all the rural district around. The "chimney tapestry" had disappeared from the farmer's kitchen, neither flitch nor ham to be seen in it; empty his pigsties, unstocked his pastures; and if a horse remained in his stable it was one no Cavalier would care to bestride. The King's Commissioners of Array had requisitioned all, calling it a purchase, and paying with bits of stamped paper, which the reluctant vendor knew to be worth just nothing. But, _nolens volens_, he must accept it, or take the alternative, sure of being made severe for him.

So afflicted ever since the surrender of Bristol to Rupert, no wonder the Forest people had grown a-weary of the war, and were glad when they heard of Wintour's defeat at Beachley, and soon after of Monmouth being taken by the Parliamentarians. It seemed earnest of a coming peace; while to the people of the Ruardean district Ambrose Powell once more appearing among them was like the confirmation of it.

Something besides gave them security, for the time at least. A squadron of horse had taken up quarters in their village; not the freebooting Cavaliers, bullying and fleecing them; but soldiers who treated them kindly, paid full price for everything, in short, behaved to them as friends and protectors. For many of them were their friends their own relatives, the body of horse being that commanded by Colonel Walwyn, with Rob Wilde as its head sergeant.

Alike secure felt the ladies in Hollymead House, safe as within Gloucester. How could it be otherwise, with Sir Richard having his headquarters there and Eustace Trevor under the same roof?

The happy times seemed to have returned; and the sisters, after their long irksome residence in walled towns, more than ever enjoyed that country life, to which from earliest years they had been accustomed.

And once again went they out hawking, with the same cast of peregrines and the same little merlin. For Van Dorn, living in a sequestered spot, and unaffected by the events of the war, had kept the falcons up to their training.

Once more to the marsh at the base of Ruardean Hill, the party almost identical with that which had repaired thither two years before. And as before rang out the falconer's _hooha-ha-ha-ha_! and shrill whistle, as a heron rose up from the sedge; again a _white_ heron, the great egret!

Singular coincidence, and strangely gratifying to the fair owner of the peregrines, for she especially wanted an egret. How she watched as it made for upper air, with the falcons doing their best to mount above it; watched with eager, anxious eyes, fearing it might get away. Not that she was cruel, only just then she so desired to have a _white_ heron; would give anything for one.

She did not need to have a fear. Van Dorn had done his duty by the hawks, and, the chased bird had no chance of escaping. Soon its pursuers were seen above it, with spread trains and quivering sails; then one _stooped, raked_, and rose over again; while the other stooped to _bind_; both ere long becoming bound; when all three birds came fluttering back to earth.

With triumphant "whoop?" the falconer p.r.o.nounced it a kill; but this time, seemingly without being told, he plucked out the tail coverts, and handed them to his young mistress. Days before, however, Van Dorn had received injunctions to procure such if possible. There was a hat that wanted a plume.

"To replace that you lost, dear Eustace," she said, pa.s.sing them over to him.

"'Tis so good of you to think of it, darling?"

How different their mode of addressing one another from the time when they were last upon that spot! No painstaking coyness now; but heart knowing heart, troth plighted, and loves mutually reliant.

"I shall take better care of this one," he added, adjusting the feathers into a _panache_. "Never man sadder than I when the other was taken from me. For I feared it would be the loss of what I far more valued."

"Your life. Ah! so feared I when I heard you were wounded--"

"No, not my life," he said, interrupting. "Something besides."

"What besides?"

"Your love, Vaga; at least your esteem."

"Eustace! How could you think that?"

"From having lost my own, along with my character as a soldier. To be taken as in a trap."

"Never that, dearest! All knew there was treason. If you were taken so might a lion, with such numbers against you. And how you delivered yourself!"