d, then, took the gaol-fever in a week, and died raving in
that noisome den: his secret, if he had one, perished with him, and
nothing but vague suspicion was left as to Rose Salterne's fate. That
she had gone off with the Spaniard, few doubted; but whither, and in
what character? On that last subject, be sure, no mercy was shown to
her by many a Bideford dame, who had hated the poor girl simply for her
beauty; and by many a country lady, who had "always expected that the
girl would be brought to ruin by the absurd notice, beyond what her
station had a right to, which was taken of her," while every young
maiden aspired to fill the throne which Rose had abdicated. So that, on
the whole, Bideford considered itself as going on as well without poor
Rose as it had done with her, or even better. And though she lingered
in some hearts still as a fair dream, the business and the bustle of
each day soon swept that dream away, and her place knew her no more.

And Will Cary?

He was for a while like a man distracted. He heaped himself with all
manner of superfluous reproaches, for having (as he said) first brought
the Rose into disgrace, and then driven her into the arms of the
Spaniard; while St. Leger, who was a sensible man enough, tried in vain
to persuade him that the fault was not his at all; that the two must
have been attached to each other long before the quarrel; that it must
have ended so, sooner or later; that old Salterne's harshness, rather
than Cary's wrath, had hastened the catastrophe; and finally, that the
Rose and her fortunes were, now that she had eloped with a Spaniard, not
worth troubling their heads about. Poor Will would not be so comforted.
He wrote off to Frank at Whitehall, telling him the whole truth, calling
himself all fools and villains, and entreating Frank's forgiveness; to
which he received an answer, in which Frank said that Will had no reason
to accuse himself; that these strange attachments were due to a
synastria, or sympathy of the stars, which ruled the destinies of each
person, to fight against which was to fight against the heavens
themselves; that he, as a brother of the Rose, was bound to believe,
nay, to assert at the sword's point if need were, that the incomparable
Rose of Torridge could make none but a worthy and virtuous choice; and
that to the man whom she had honored by her affection was due on their
part, Spaniard and Papist though he might be, all friendship, worship,
an