a scarlet
fever for fear of the poor Catholics, who are not two men to five
hundred; and that the public mind is so harassed with new narrations of
conspiracy, and fresh horrors every day, that people have as little real
sense of what is just or unjust as men who talk in their sleep of what
is sense or nonsense. I have borne, and borne with it--I have seen blood
flow on the scaffold, fearing to thwart the nation in its fury--and I
pray to God that I or mine be not called on to answer for it. I will no
longer swim with the torrent, which honour and conscience call upon me
to stem--I will act the part of a Sovereign, and save my people from
doing injustice, even in their own despite."

Charles walked hastily up and down the room as he expressed these
unwonted sentiments, with energy equally unwonted. After a momentary
pause, the Duke answered him gravely, "Spoken like a Royal King, sir,
but--pardon me--not like a King of England."

Charles paused, as the Duke spoke, beside a window which looked full on
Whitehall, and his eye was involuntarily attracted by the fatal window
of the Banqueting House out of which his unhappy father was conducted to
execution. Charles was naturally, or, more purposely, constitutionally
brave; but a life of pleasure, together with the habit of governing his
course rather by what was expedient than by what was right, rendered him
unapt to dare the same scene of danger or of martyrdom, which had closed
his father's life and reign; and the thought came over his half-formed
resolution, like the rain upon a kindling beacon. In another man, his
perplexity would have seemed almost ludicrous; but Charles would not
lose, even under these circumstances, the dignity and grace, which were
as natural to him as his indifference and good humour. "Our Council must
decide in this matter," he said, looking to the Duke; "and be assured,
young man," he added, addressing Julian, "your father shall not want an
intercessor in his King, so far as the laws will permit my interference
in his behalf."

Julian was about to retire, when Fenella, with a marked look, put
into his hand a slip of paper, on which she had hastily written, "The
packet--give him the packet."

After a moment's hesitation, during which he reflected that Fenella was
the organ of the Countess's pleasure, Julian resolved to obey. "Permit
me, then, Sire," he said, "to place in your royal hands this packet,
entrusted to me by the Countess of Derby. Th