rying out "Blood for
Blood!" she fell down in the garden-path in a dead faint.

She did not Die, however, being spared for many Purposes, some of them
Terrible, until she was nearly ninety years of age. But her first state
was worse than death; she lying for many days in a kind of trance or
lethargy, and then waking up to raving madness. For the best part of
that year, she was a perfect maniac, from whom nothing could be got but
gibberings and plungings, and ceaseless cries of "Blood for Blood!" The
heir-at-law to the estate, now that the Esquire's son was dead, watched
her madness with a cautelous avaricious desire. He was a sour Parliament
man, who had pinned his faith to the Commonwealth, and done many
Awakening things against the Cavaliers, and he thought now that he
should have his reward, and Inherit.

It was so destined, however, that my Grandmother should recover from
that Malady. On her beauty it left surprisingly few traces. You could
only tell the change that had taken place in her by the deathly paleness
of her visage, by her never smiling, and by that Fierce Expression in
her eyes being now an abiding instead of a passing one. Beyond these,
she was herself again; and after a little while went to her domestic
concerns, and chiefly to the cultivation of that pleasing art of
Painting in Oils in which she had of old time given such fair promise of
excellence. Her father would have had several most ingenious examples of
History and Scripture pieces by the Italian and Flemish masters bought
for her to study by,--such copies being then very plentiful, by reason
of the dispersing of the collections of many noblemen and gentlemen on
the King's side; but this she would not suffer, saying that it were
waste of time and money, and, with astonishing zeal, applied herself to
the branch of portraiture. From a little miniature portrait of her
dead Lord, drawn by Mr. Cooper, she painted in large many fair and noble
presentments, varying them according to her humour,--now showing the
Lord Francis in his panoply as a man of war, now in a court habit, now
in an embroidered night-gown and Turkish cap, now leaning on the
shoulder of her brother, the Captain, deceased. And anon she would make
a ghastly image of him lying all along in the courtyard at Hampton
Court, with the purple bullet-marks on his white forehead, and a great
crimson stain on his bosom, just below his bands. This was the one she
most loved to look upon, althou