his son Richard had shown himself unfit to govern, and a season of
general tumult and uncertainty had brought England into readiness to
accept any firm hand upon the helm, and an inclination to look longingly
to the son of her ancient Kings, as the one above all others given by
God to govern her. But she had made the terrible mistake of first
driving him away into lands where he found little morality and less
religion, and it was to her woeful hurt that he came back.

It was on a beautiful June evening that the Lanes returned to Bentley:
and the old master of the Hall only came back to die. Colonel Lane was
looking much older, and his mother was now an infirm old woman. Mrs
Jane, a blooming matron of thirty, came with her husband, Sir Clement
Fisher, of Packington Hall, Warwickshire, a great friend of her brother,
and like him an exile for the King.

Charles did not forget the service done him by the Lanes, nor leave it
unrewarded, as he did that of some of his best friends. He settled on
Lady Fisher an annuity of a thousand pounds, with half that sum to her
brother; and he presented Colonel Lane with his portrait, and a handsome
watch (a valuable article at that time), which he desired might descend
in the family, being enjoyed for life by each eldest daughter of the
owner of Bentley Hall. They are still preserved by the Lane family.

A few days after the Lanes returned, Jenny Fenton stood washing and
singing in the back yard of the cottage. Tom's work-shed ran along one
side of it, and there he was carefully fitting the back of a chair to
its seat, while a younger Tom, and a still more youthful Joe, were as
diligently building a magnificent sailing-vessel in the corner. A woman
of middle age came up to the door, lifted her hand as if to knock,
stepped back, and seemed uncertain how to act. A child of six years
old, at that moment, ran round the cottage, and looked up in surprise at
the stranger standing before the door.

"Little maid, what is thy name?" said the stranger.

A little doubtful whether the stranger, who in her eyes was a very grand
lady, was about to hear her say her catechism, the small child put her
hands meekly together, and said--

"Molly, please."

"Molly what?" pursued the stranger, with a smile.

"Molly Fenton, please."

"That will do. Where's mother?"

"Please, she's a-washing at the back."

"Is that she that singeth?"

"Yes, that's her," returned Molly, carefully avoiding g