"But will it end? Never! My father is quite tired out, and to speak truth so am I. I shall grieve to quit the countess and her daughters, who have been so kind to me-but I must go."

"Perhaps you may change your mind."

"I do not think I shall-but even if I did, my father won't stay. He intends to go to Liverpool."

"But Liverpool is in the hands of the rebels."

"Then he will go elsewhere, and try to find a vessel bound for Spain. He means to consult the Earl of Derby on the subject."

"At first I thought you were jesting with me," said Standish. "But I begin to fear you are quite serious."

"My father is, and therefore I must obey."

"But you can persuade him to remain, if you choose."

"No-he won't listen to me. Colonel Rosworm has alarmed him, by telling him the king is certain to be defeated, and he is all anxiety to be gone."

At this juncture, Don Fortunio himself came up.

"Papa," she said, "I have just been acquainting Captain Standish with your determination to leave England."

"Not immediately, I hope?" said the young man.

"Yes, immediately," replied Don Fortunio. "I long to get back to Spain. If you like this constant fighting, I don't. Besides, I have very grave apprehensions for the future. Is it treasonable to say you will not long have a king in England? Such is my conviction."

"You are wrong, sir," said Standish. "These rebels will be crushed. We have begun the work to-day, and shall not stop till it is ended."

"I fear you will find it a harder task than you imagine," said Don Fortunio.

"Hear what the Earl of Derby has to say," rejoined Standish.

"If he will allow the countess and his children to remain here, I will postpone my departure," said Don Fortunio. "Not otherwise."

VIII.

Again on the Eagle Tower

BRIGHT and sunshiny was the day, and Lathom House had an air of cheerfulness such as it had not worn for months.

Above the Eagle Tower floated the broad banner that had never been lowered during the siege-meet emblem of the heroic lady who had placed it there. The tower itself bore marks of the enemy's shot, but still rose proudly and firmly as ever. The castle walls, however, were terribly battered. Huge pieces had been knocked out of the masonry, deep holes made by shot, battlements and turrets broken-but not a single enemy had set foot on the ramparts during the long duration of the Leaguer.

But it was beyond the fosse, and in the enemy's own works, that the evidences of destruction were most apparent. In those partly demolished batteries and half-filled trenches could be seen the tremendous preparations made, and how useless they had proved. The exulting musketeers laughed and jested as they looked at them from the walls, and talked over their own exploits. "There stood the sconce that held the great mortar that was to crush us all," said one. "Where is that bulwark now? Lathom House still stands-but the beleaguering army is gone."

"Utterly destroyed," observed another. "But we have got their cannon, their mortar, and their colours."

It was not surprising that the soldiers engaged in that long siege should rejoice. Their courage had never failed them, but they might have been forced by famine to surrender-or have perished in the burning stronghold fired by the hand of the countess. All this was over now, and they felt as men feel when a great task-almost beyond their powers-is accomplished. They had done their duty, and done it well. To their thinking no pleasanter sight could be seen on that bright morning than was afforded by those half-demolished batteries.

To the brave officers who had assisted in the defence of the castle, who had shrunk from no danger, but were always ready to sally forth upon the enemy-the sight was equally agreeable, as the ruined fortifications bore testimony to their valour.

But all within the fortress rejoiced on that auspicious morning-the countess herself, her children, her chaplains, her guests, her household. Never for a moment had the heroic lady shrunk from the difficult task she had undertaken. Never at seasons of the greatest peril-when ponderous shot and stones had been cast upon her roofs, and fiery missiles and death-scattering shells had been thrown into her courts-not even when a leaden messenger of destruction had burst into her own chamber, had her stout heart failed her. Never doubting the justice of her cause, but relying entirely on Heaven's protection, she had awaited with confidence the issue of the long struggle.

At length, her loyalty and devotion to the royal cause were amply rewarded. Deliverance came-the insolent rebels were punished.

Such were the heroic lady's feelings on that morning-feelings that prompted her to return thanks to Heaven for its mercies and protection.

Two persons were on the summit of the Eagle Tower gazing around.

One of them, a lovely damsel, with dark lustrous eyes and a Southern skin, was listening with deep interest to her companion who was describing some of the principal incidents of the siege, and pointing out the localities to her.

"How enchanted you must be that the siege is over!" she exclaimed, as he concluded his narration.

"Yes, but there was great excitement about it," replied Standish. "A nocturnal sortie, such as I have just described, is quite a pleasant pastime. We kept the besiegers in a constant state of alarm."

"But suppose you had been unsuccessful. Suppose the enemy had driven you back, or captured you."

"I cannot suppose an impossibility. The enemy never did drive us back. In every conflict we had with them they got the worst of it. Good fortune always attended us. We rarely lost a man, but generally left twenty killed behind us, and sometimes brought away prisoners. Now you must own that a sortie is exciting."

"When I look at those dreadful trenches, I wonder you ever got across them."

"The trenches were the worst part of it," observed Standish; "and I wonder I did not find a grave in them. But happily the siege is over, and since most of us are unhurt, we can afford to laugh at its perils. Have you seen enough? Will you descend?"

"Stay a moment," cried Engracia. "I have something to say to you, and here it ought to be said. You have fought well in those entrenchments and have escaped with life, but you may not be always equally lucky. If you are wise you will play no more at this hazardous game of war-"

"But I cannot retire, unless with my lord's consent," he interrupted. "If he would dispense with my services, I would accompany you to Spain."

"Ask him to free you from your engagement, and I am certain he will do it," she said.

"I know not that," he replied. "He has need of faithful followers. I do not think he will be willing to part with me; and unless he consents, I cannot go."

"But will you ask him?"

"I like not to do so, fearing a refusal."

"He cannot refuse you after what you have done."

"I have some claim upon him certainly-"

"You have the strongest claim upon his gratitude. Without you, Lathom House might not have been held. By the frequent successful sorties you have made, you contributed materially to its defence, as the countess will be first to acknowledge. Lord Derby can refuse you nothing, I repeat. But you desire military renown, and will remain under his command."

"Only for a time."

"But long enough to lose me. If we part now, we shall never meet again. Will you come with us to Spain?"

"I dare not promise till I have spoken with my lord."

"Ah! I understand," she cried. "You prefer glory to me."

"No, by Heaven!" he exclaimed. "I should be far happier with you in Spain than fighting here."

"If you really think so, come with me," she said; "and leave this dreadful Civil War to be fought out by those who like it. Now let us go down."

And they left the Eagle Tower.

IX.

How Prince Rupert visited Lathom House

EARLY in the morning the countess had received a letter from her lord, in which he told her she might expect him and Prince Rupert about noon; adding that the prince would only have a small guard with him, as the whole of the forces on quitting Bolton would march to besiege Liverpool, and halt at Knowsley and Prescot, where his highness proposed to join them.

This intelligence being immediately communicated to Major Farrington, he gave all necessary orders, and long before the hour appointed, everything was in readiness for the reception of the earl and his illustrious guest.

The weather was splendid, and the brilliant sunshine heightened the effect of the scene. The old mansion looked its best, for the damage it had sustained could scarcely be perceived. Every soldier in the garrison was on the alert. Cheery voices were heard on all sides, and the aspect of the men was very different from what it had been.

As the musketeers gathered on the ramparts, or on the towers of the gateway, they had a blithe look that bespoke utter absence of anxiety.

The court-yard itself presented a curious picture. Besides being crowded with soldiers, it contained several large pieces of ordnance taken from the enemy, conspicuous among them being the great mortar.

Officers and men, and all within the castle, were eager to welcome their victorious lord and the prince, but some delay occurred that had not been anticipated.

Noon arrived, but no signal came from the sentinel on the Eagle Tower to announce that the party was in sight. Another quarter of an hour elapsed, and it was still the same.

As time went on the men grew impatient, and the countess herself began to feel uneasy, and spoke to Standish, who instantly volunteered to ride forth and ascertain, if he could, the cause of the delay.

Just then, however, a joyous shout was heard without, announcing that the party could be descried.

An extraordinary agitation then pervaded the entire garrison, and it continued till the bruit of trumpets proclaimed the approach of Lord Derby and the prince.

A response was instantly given from the towers and battlements of the gateway, and amid the thunder of artillery, that drowned the shouts of the soldiers, the prince and the earl rode into the court.

They were preceded by a troop of lancers, and followed by a dozen Cavaliers, whose accoutrements were almost as superb as those of Rupert himself, and who were equally well mounted. These formed the prince's guard of honour. Behind them came another troop of lancers.

The musketeers were now drawn up in double line, and as the earl and his guest passed through their ranks the court resounded with acclamations.

Alighting first, Lord Derby held the prince's bridle, while the latter dismounted. Major Farrington then came forward, and bidding Prince Rupert welcome in the countess's name, besought permission to conduct his highness to the presence-chamber, where he would find her ladyship.

The vast chamber to which the prince was ushered through a crowd of attendants, really presented a very striking appearance, being hung round by the colours just taken at Bolton, and adorned by some other trophies won from the enemy during the siege.

At the further end of the room, in a chair of state, sat Lady Derby, surrounded by her daughters, her chaplains, and her officers-the latter being in their full accoutrements. She was very richly attired, but had no diamonds to display.

As the prince drew near she arose, and advancing to meet him, made him a profound reverence.

"Nay, madam," said Rupert taking her hand, and pressing it to his lips, "this ceremony is unneeded. I care not for show."

"But I desire to do your highness honour," she rejoined. "I wish to evince my gratitude. You have succoured me, and punished my enemies."

"Your enemies were beaten before I arrived," said the prince. "And they have been punished by your husband not by me. Lord Derby was first to enter Bolton, and the work of vengeance was half performed ere I took part in it."

"Your highness gives me far more credit than is my due," said the earl. "Undoubtedly, I did my best, and had I not succeeded in the assault, I should not now be here. But what are my achievements compared with those of my heroic wife?"

"Ay, my lord, you may well be proud of her," said Rupert. "No other woman in England could have braved such a general as Fairfax. I will not speak of Rigby and the others, though they were formidable."

"I am sorry Rigby has escaped," observed the countess. "He will always be an enemy."

"I will have him yet," said the earl. "But let us not mar our victory by other thoughts."

Tenderly embracing his children, he exchanged cordial greetings with Don Fortunio and his daughter, and with the chaplains.

Meanwhile, the officers composing the prince's body-guard had been conducted to the great banqueting-hall, where an excellent repast was set before them, and they were still partaking of it when the party came forth from the presence-chamber.

All arose, and raising their glasses, drank to the noble Lady of Lathom.

Prince Rupert having expressed a desire to examine the state of the fortress, he was conducted over it by the Earl of Derby and the countess, attended by Major Farrington, Standish, and some other officers.

Mounting to the ramparts, the prince carefully examined the enemy's entrenchments and batteries, and then said to the countess: "The engineering work has been well done. With such skilful preparations, aided by the veteran soldiers who composed the Leaguer, the fortress ought to have been taken."

"Ought to have been taken?" exclaimed the countess, surprised.

"Ay-under ordinary circumstances it would infallibly have been taken. Had I not seen it, I could not have believed that any fortified mansion could resist such works as those. That Lathom House has successfully withstood them proves that its garrison is extraordinarily brave, and its commander singularly skilful. Nay, it is the truth. I pay no compliments."

The prince then gave his reasons, why, according to his opinion, the place ought to have been taken.

"The castle, I feel convinced, was saved by the frequent and successful sorties," he said. "They demoralised the enemy."

"All my officers were eager to undertake those hazardous expeditions," remarked the countess. "But I am bound to say that the boldest and most successful leader was Captain Standish."