g in that summer sky, and
about to loose the storm gestating in them upon that fair country of
the West, and young Westmacott, committed as he stood to the Duke of
Monmouth's party, was forced to take his share in the surreptitious
bustle that was toward. He was away two days in that week, having been
summoned to a meeting of the leading gentlemen of the party at White
Lackington, where he was forced into the unwelcome company of his future
brother-in-law, to meet with courteous, deferential treatment from that
imperturbable gentleman.

Wilding, indeed, seemed to have forgotten that any quarrel had ever
existed between them. For the rest, he came and went, supremely calm, as
if he were, and knew himself to be, most welcome at Lupton House. Thrice
in the course of that week of waiting he rode over from Zoyland Chase
to pay his duty to Mistress Westmacott, and Ruth was persuaded on each
occasion by her aunt and cousin to receive him. Indeed, how could she
well refuse?

His manner was ever all that could be desired. Gallant, affectionate,
deferential. He was in word and look and tone Ruth's most obedient
servant. Had she been less prejudiced she must have admired the
admirable restraint with which he kept all exultation from his manner,
for, after all, it is difficult to force a victory as he had forced his,
and not to triumph.

It is to be feared that during that week he neglected a good deal
of his duty to the Duke, leaving Trenchard to supply his place and
undertake tasks of a seditious nature that should have been his own.

At heart, however, in spite of the stories current and the militia at
Taunton, Wilding remained convinced--as did most of the other leading
partisans of the Protestant Cause--that no such madness as this
premature landing could be in contemplation by the Duke. Besides, were
it so, they must unfailingly have definite word of it; and they had
none.

Trenchard was less assured, but Wilding laughed at the old rake's
forebodings, and serenely went about the business of his marriage.

On the eve of the wedding he paid Ruth his last visit in the quality
of a lover, and was received by her in the garden. He found her looking
paler than her wont, and there was a cloud of sadness on her brow, a
haunting sadness in her eyes. It touched him to the soul, and for a
moment he wavered in his purpose. He stood beside her--she seated on
the old lichened seat--and a silence fell between them, during which