urch, forced the door out of Sedley's hand, and revealed him to the
father and daughter as a witness of their affecting interview. The
reader must have anticipated that no motive less potent than filial
piety could have stimulated the heroism of Isabel. Surprise extorted
from her a loud shriek; and the disabled Evellin snatched a carbine,
which stood charged within his reach, and pointed it at the invader of
their retreat. Isabel hung upon his arm. "'Tis my preserver! 'Tis my
father!" exclaimed she, addressing them alternately. "Oh! Sedley, how
durst you disobey me!"

"Young man," said the stern veteran, in a voice which denoted that an
unconquered soul still tenanted his decaying body, "instantly tell your
motive for this intrusion. My daughter addresses you as a friend, but
your name announces a double traitor."

"Then it belies my heart," answered Sedley, "for I come devoted to your
service, impatient to assist in the preservation of persecuted worth.
The generous bravery of the renowned Colonel Evellin must endear him to
every soldier, even if he were not the father of that matchless
excellence who kneels beside you, and stays your arm from taking the
life of one whose purpose is to preserve yours."

"I have seen too much of the world," answered Evellin, "to trust smooth
talkers. Sentiments are easily uttered; they are all the fashion; and
the butcher now uses them to the lamb he slaughters. I am a disabled
soldier of that King whom regicides are now subjecting to the mockery of
a public trial; and I am as ready to follow my Prince to the scaffold as
I have been to fly to his banner when thousands were false. Hear me yet
further. I am one of the proscribed victims who escaped from Pontefract.
The hardships I have endured have deprived me of the use of my limbs;
yet I am still dangerous to usurpers. A price is set upon my head; I am
hunted from the abodes of man, denied the light of heaven, and, at this
rigorous season, compelled to seek the shelter of a tomb, even while
alive to anguish and sorrow. Approach, young man; you see my child has
disarmed me. I have no other weapon; infirmity chains me to this pallet.
I was born to the possession of a princely inheritance, but it was
wrested from me by traitors foul as those who have overthrown the glory
of England. I have nothing left but an honest heart, and enmity to
traitors. Yes!" continued he, folding Isabel in his arms; "I have this
weeping girl, who ought to have