ough he had but little fear of any of his old
friends recognizing him. The two years which had passed since he was at
school had greatly changed his appearance, and his closely-cut hair, and
the somber and Puritanical cut of his garments so completely altered him
that it would have been a keen eye indeed which had recognized him when
merely passing in the street. A portion of each day he spent out in the
garden strolling with Lucy, or sitting quietly while she read to him.
The stiffness in his arm was now abating, and as the search for him had
to a great extent ceased, he intended in a short time to make for
Oxford.

The news from the various points at which the conflict still continued
was everywhere disastrous for the king. Montrose had been defeated. The
king, endeavoring to make his way north to join him, had been smartly
repulsed. The Royalists were everywhere disorganized and broken.
Negotiations were once again proceeding, and as the Scottish army was
marching south, and the affairs of the crown seemed desperate, there was
every hope that the end of the long struggle was approaching. Harry's
departure was hastened by a letter received by Herbert from his father,
saying that he had obtained leave from his regiment, and should be down
upon the following day.

"My father will not blame me," Herbert said, "for what I have done, when
he comes to know it. But I am rot sure that he would himself approve of
your remaining here. His convictions are so earnest, and his sense of
duty so strong, that I do not think he would harbor his nearest
relative, did he believe him to be in favor of the king."

Harry next morning mounted a horse of Herbert's and started to ride from
the town, after taking an affectionate farewell of his hosts. When two
miles out of Abingdon he suddenly came upon a body of Parliament horse,
in the leader of whom he recognized, by a great scar across his face,
the officer with whom he had fallen out at Furness Hall. Relying upon
his disguise, and upon the fact that it was only for a minute that the
officer had seen him, he rode quietly on.

"Whom have we here?" the Roundhead said, reining in his horse.

"My name is Roger Copley, and I am making my way from London to my
people, who reside in the west. There is no law, I believe, against my
so doing."

"There is no law for much that is done or undone," the Roundhead said.
"Malignants are going about the country in all sorts of disguises,
stirring up