st to talk about these matters.

So the days and weeks went quietly on at Hayslope Grange, and the pure
country air had so invigorated Gilbert Clayton that he began to talk of
returning to London, to make preparations for joining Lord Kimbolton's
army. Maud had heard that he was a soldier, and fully expected Harry
would speak to his father, and go to London with his friend.

She felt rather jealous of young Clayton, if the truth must be told, for
he quite monopolised Harry's society, so there had been no opportunity
of resuming the conversation that his arrival had interrupted, or she
might have discovered the mistake she had made. Hearing nothing of this,
and the day for Clayton's departure being fixed, she determined to seek
some opportunity of speaking to Harry. She was a noble, unselfish girl,
and though she knew his going would cost her the bitterest pang she had
ever felt, and be followed probably by weeks and months of anxious
suspense and dread, she would not hold him back--nay, she would urge him
to go at the call of duty, though all the sunshine of her life would
depart when he went; for months might pass before she heard of him
again, and he might be wounded, dying, or dead, and the tidings never
reach Hayslope Grange.

News travelled slowly in those days, and in the unsettled state of
affairs could not always be relied upon; but tidings reached Hayslope
just now that the Parliament had seized the Archbishop of Canterbury,
and his trial was now going on, the charges against him being that he
had tried to subvert civil and religious liberty in England, had been
the author of illegal and tyrannical proceedings in the court of Star
Chamber, and had suppressed godly ministers and godly preaching.

But to the family at Hayslope Grange these charges were as nothing
compared to the guilt the Parliament had incurred in seizing an anointed
prelate.

Master Drury lifted up his hands in silent horror when he heard it, and
Mistress Mabel burst into tears. The sight of their stern aunt crying
seemed to make more impression upon Bessie and Bertram than the fate of
the archbishop.

"Was he very wicked?" asked Bessie.

This was enough to drive back Mistress Mabel's tears. "Wicked!" she
repeated, in anger. "Never let me hear you ask such a question about one
of the Lord's anointed, Bessie, unless you would share in the sin of
those who have laid violent hands upon him."

"It is sacrilege," uttered Master Drury, slowl