gh a casement. I took the
precaution of walking the horse very quietly until we were some distance
from the house, for I had told Reuben nothing of my intended journey,
and I was convinced that if he knew of it neither discipline, nor even
his new ties of love, would prevent him from coming with me. Covenant's
iron-shod feet rang sharply, in spite of my care, upon the cobblestones,
but looking back I saw that the blinds of my faithful friend's room
were undrawn, and that all seemed quiet in the house. I shook my bridle,
therefore, and rode at a brisk trot through the silent streets, which
were still strewn with faded flowers and gay with streamers. At the
north gate a guard of half a company was stationed, who let me pass upon
hearing the word. Once beyond the old walls I found myself out on the
country side, with my face to the north and a clear road in front of me.

It was a blithesome morning. The sun was rising over the distant hills,
and heaven and earth were ruddy and golden. The trees in the wayside
orchards were full of swarms of birds, who chattered and sang until the
air was full of their piping. There was lightsomeness and gladness in
every breath. The wistful-eyed red Somerset kine stood along by the
hedgerows, casting great shadows down the fields and gazing at me as
I passed. Farm horses leaned over wooden gates, and snorted a word of
greeting to their glossy-coated brother. A great herd of snowy-fleeced
sheep streamed towards us over the hillside and frisked and gambolled in
the sunshine. All was innocent life, from the lark which sang on high
to the little shrew-mouse which ran amongst the ripening corn, or the
martin which dashed away at the sound of my approach. All alive and all
innocent. What are we to think, my dear children, when we see the beasts
of the field full of kindness and virtue and gratitude? Where is this
superiority of which we talk?

From the high ground to the north I looked back upon the sleeping town,
with the broad edging of tents and waggons, which showed how suddenly
its population had outgrown it. The Royal Standard still fluttered
from the tower of St. Mary Magdalene, while close by its beautiful
brother-turret of St. James bore aloft the blue flag of Monmouth. As
I gazed the quick petulant roll of a drum rose up on the still morning
air, with the clear ringing call of the bugles summoning the troops from
their slumbers. Beyond the town, and on either side of it, stretched a
g