revented him from thus exonerating
himself from the severest visitations of adversity, and immediately
transporting himself across the Atlantic? The consideration of that vast
world of waters separating him from Isabel Evellin; for though he might
no more hope to bind her to him by the tie of marriage, or even to share
her dear society, the bond of love was indissoluble. He could not remove
to such a distance from her, as would make it impossible to render her
any assistance. He might not be able to defend or console her; but, by
remaining in England, he could suffer or die for her sake.

Irresolution increased the depression of De Vallance; his bodily
complaints gained ground, and Jobson too, though still an affectionate,
was no longer a cheerful, companion. His spirits sunk while he was with
the King in Worcester; he predicted the loss of that battle, and the
evening before his master acknowledged himself unable to proceed, he
gave him to understand that he had seen a warning of his approaching
death. Instead of rejoicing over their casual comforts, and anticipating
better days as he used to do, he was ever prognosticating evils, and
lessening their humble comforts, by prophesying their impending loss.
Even the full-frothed can and savoury luncheon lost their usual relish;
it was always the last good Welsh-ale, or dried salmon, he should have
in this world; and if he repeated his farewel libation, till he grew
intoxicated, every draught added to his sadness. Instead of roaring out
a joyous song, he fell to crying, and talked of the slaughter incident
to storming a city, instead of the brave sallies of a garrison.

De Vallance repeatedly asked the reason of this change, and as the
increase of his indisposition confirmed Jobson in his opinion of the
truth of his conclusions, the latter thought (since his master must die
soon) he might as well own how he knew that his recovery was impossible.
He then reminded him of his predictions, that the King would lose the
battle, and confessed he had received a supernatural intimation that
England was ruined, and the poor Loyalists quite undone.--"I would not
tell Your Honour," said he, "at the time, because I know you don't
credit such things; but I met Fido in the streets of Worcester the night
before it was taken by Old Noll--Mr. Eustace's own poor Fido, and I then
said the King would be beat."

"I never knew," replied De Vallance, "that the appearance of a dog was
oracular."