position on the left bank of the river Don.

The left wing of the royalist troops was flanked by a deep morass,
called Potterie Car; and their right protected by the walls of the town.

The morning that followed Paslew's arrival was the time appointed for a
general attack by the rebels, who considerably outnumbered the more
disciplined but less zealous army of their sovereign, D'Arcy and his
associates intending to cross the river by daybreak, with the utmost
secrecy, hoping to take the royalist forces by surprise.

Paslew arrived alone, just as the consultation of the chiefs was
breaking up. His companion, Ralph, had left him some hours before, and
galloped on at full speed, first giving directions as to the course he
should take, and the measures he was to adopt on his arrival. Conducted
in due form to the archbishop's presence, Paslew found his grace at
supper. The repast was sumptuous, and served up in great state. This
high dignitary seldom stirred but with his kitchen-furniture and service
for the table, which last was of massy silver, beautifully wrought and
embellished. His servants were apparelled in all the pomp and insignia
of office; but he affected great plainness and simplicity, both of
dress and demeanour. At his right hand sat a stout, muscular figure,
whom Paslew immediately recognised, with unequivocal demonstrations of
surprise, to be his umquhile prisoner Ralph Newcome, now habited in a
plain suit of velvet, and looking like a country gentleman of some rank
and importance. His manner was, however, coarse and abrupt; and he still
seemed nothing loth to sustain his full complement of liquor. On the
left of the archbishop sat his nameless visitor at the abbey, whose
personal accomplishments he had good cause to remember. Below them sat
several chiefs of the confederacy, apparently of an inferior rank.

"Abbot Paslew," said his grace, "thou art a tardy, and it may be
undutiful son. Thine homage to the Church has not been either freely or
faithfully rendered; yet does she now welcome thee to her embrace, with
the promise of a free and unconditional forgiveness."

"Ay," said he of his grace's right hand, "Abbot Paslew was of too great
weight in the scale of events to be left to choose his own side of the
balance. I am right fain of his company, and in troth he can use the
persuasions well,--the thumbscrews and tight boots upon occasion."

"Master Aske," replied the archbishop, "if the sons that our mot