from running away with the lamb ?" "Content yourself, madame," said Alice, "I am not far from protection and assistance." "Alas, my pretty maiden," said the stranger, as she patted with her large hand the bended head of the maiden, "it would be difficult for your scream to be heard in the town of Woodstock."

Alice angrily shook off the woman's hand and turned from the well, saying: "If there were occasion for my crying for help, it is near at hand." At that moment the noble hound, Bevis, broke through the bushes and growled fiercely at the stranger, who, however, manifested no fear.

She replied: "My pretty maiden, you have indeed a formidable guardian there, where cockneys or bumpkins are concerned, but we who have been in the wars know how to tame such furious creatures." So saying, she drew a pistol, cocked it, and pointed it at the dog, as if apprehensive he would spring at her. "Hold," exclaimed Alice, "the dog will not harm you. Down, Bevis, down. Ere you harm him, know that he is the favorite hound of Sir Henry Lee, the keeper of Woodstock Park, who would severely revenge any injury done him."

"And you, pretty one, are the knight's housekeeper doubtless. I have heard that the Lees have good taste.' "I am his daughter, good woman." "His daughter? Oh, I was blind. I should have known Alice Lee from the description I have heard of her. I trust that my folly has given no offence, and that she will allow me to fill and carry her pitcher.

"As you will, good mother; but I cannot admit strangers in these times to the lodge. I will send some one to meet and relieve you of the pitcher. So saying, and in terror, she started to walk rapidly toward the lodge. In a moment the woman was at her side walking with masculine strides. But her manner was more respectful than before, though her voice sounded harsh and disagreeable, and her rough appearance excited apprehension.

"Pardon a stranger, lovely Mistress Alice, who was in

capable of distinguishing between a lady of your high quality, and a peasant wench, and who addressed you with too much freedom, ill befitting your rank and condition, which I fear has offended." "No offence whatever," said Alice, "but, good woman, I am near home and can excuse your going further, as you are unknown to me." "But your fortunes are known to me. Look on my swarthy brow-England breeds none such, and in the warm clime from which I come, the sun blackens one's complexion and in return pours rays of knowledge into our brains. Let me examine your pretty hand, and I will tell you what will please you.'

"I hear what does not please me," said Alice with dignity. "You may carry your tricks of fortune-telling and palmistry to the women of the village. We of the gentry hold it imposture or unlawful knowledge." "Yet you would fain hear, Mistress Alice, of a certain colonel, whom unhappy circumstances have separated from his family, whom you will see in a day or two." "I know nothing of what you speak," replied Alice. "Here are alms for you. It is all I have in my purse. Take it, and give me my pitcher. There comes one of my father's servants. What ho, Joceline."

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The old woman hastily dropped something into the pitcher, as she restored it to Alice Lee, and at once departed. Bevis evinced a disposition to attack the stranger, but was quieted by Joceline, who was informed by Alice that the woman was a persistent fortune-teller, who would probably not venture near the kitchen. Looking in the pitcher, Joceline saw a gold ring containing a ruby of some value. He advised Alice to throw it away, as it might prove to be enchanted. "No, Joceline," said Alice, "you must find the woman and return her the ring. It is too valuable to be destroyed. Hasten to the well where you are likely to find her, and let her know that Alice Lee desires neither her gifts nor her society.

Joceline failed to find the woman and he resolved to confiscate the ring for his own benefit, after he should meet Markham Everard and obtain his advice in the matter.

VOLUME II

I. AT the family dinner which followed at the lodge, Sir Henry drank to the health of King Charles.

Joceline informed the knight that he had met Tomkins in the grove and had told him that no fiends haunted the lodge while the Lees were there; for the prayers of the church were read in their presence every evening.

Alice censured him, as it might endanger the safety of the reverend chaplain who uttered the prayers and make it hazardous for him to visit the lodge after nightfall. She instructed Joceline to watch for the safety of the clergyman on his arrival, and to provide for him while he should be in the lodge. After he had departed with Bevis for that purpose, and the old knight had fallen asleep in his chair, Alice sat alone at the window watching the clouds as they were lighted up by the bright harvest moon, which resembled the image of patient virtue, as that luminary calmly pursued her path through good and evil report, bedimmed at times by suffering, misfortune, and calumny.

At that moment Alice was startled and alarmed by some one clambering up on the window and looking into the room. The idea of supernatural fear did not in the slightest degree agitate her. She was too much accustomed to the place and situation to look for spectres. She snatched a pistol from the wall, and pointed it at the intruder, while she screamed for her father to awake. She imagined that she recognized in the intruder the woman she had met at Rosamond's well. Her father rushed into the room as the intruder dropped with violence to the ground and was seized by the faithful dog Bevis.

The intruder shouted: "Here, Lee! Forester! Take the dog off, or I will shoot him!" "If thou dost," said Sir Henry from the window, "I will blow out thy brains. Thieves, Joceline! Secure the ruffian! Bevis, hold on!"

The scuffle between Bevis and his prisoner was ended by Joceline's interference, which was followed by a whispered consultation. Immediately a form presented itself on the window-sill, and sprang into the parlor. The old knight attacked him with his rapier, and bore the intruder to the ground. Joceline, who clambered up next with his lantern, shouted: "Heavens, he has slain his own son!" "No, no, said the prostrate young man, who was indeed Alfred Lee, the son of the old knight, "I am unhurt. No noise, on your lives, but bring lights.' Fortunately the blade of Sir Henry had been diverted from the body of his son by a thick cloak which enveloped him.

Joceline, enjoining the strictest silence, brought lights; whereupon Sir Henry fainted away. "Oh, brother, how could you come in this manner ?" exclaimed Alice. “Ask no questions," said Albert. "Was my life spared only to witness such a sight as this?" "We suffer what Heaven permits, young man. Let me approach," said the clergyman, who had joined the party. "It is but a swoon. It is not serious. Bring water and a bandage, with aromatics. I must bleed Sir Henry.' As the knight regained consciousness, the clergyman requested Albert to withdraw temporarily, while he should inform his father of his unexpected arrival, and of his concealment in Woodstock. On the urgent request of Sir Henry, Albert was summoned, and entered the room.

The affectionate relatives embraced each other most cordially. Albert said: "Father, the last cast of the die was thrown at Worcester, and Cromwell, with his usual good fortune, has won, as has been the case wherever he has shown himself. The king has escaped from Bristol. Our men were almost cut to pieces at the bridge, but I followed his Majesty with about five hundred officers and gentlemen, until, as our numbers drew the whole pursuit after us, it pleased his Majesty to dismiss us with many thanks and words of comfort. He sent his royal greeting to you, and said that your son was following in your royal footsteps.

The knight then ordered Joceline to bring food for his son and the clergyman. "Yes, and for Colonel Albert's page too, who is downstairs, and so hungry that he ate an entire loaf of bread before Phoebe had time to cut it. Sir Henry, you had better keep him under your own eye, for the steward might ask him some troublesome questions if he went below; and then he is impatient and saucy to the women."

"What page hast thou, Albert ?" said Sir Henry, "who bears himself so ill ?" "The son of a dear friend, father, a noble lord of Scotland, who was wounded at Worcester, and conjured me to take this youth under my charge."

"Bring the youth in," said Sir Henry. "He is of noble blood, and these are no times for ceremony. He shall sit with us at table, page though he be. I will look after his manners. The lad's father fought at Worcester, you say. This makes amends for his being a Scotchman."

"You will excuse his national, drawling accent, father," said Albert, "though I know you like it not. Though the lad is uncouth and wayward, and somewhat wilful, yet the king hath not a more zealous friend in England. He fought stoutly, too, in his defence. His name is Lord Kerneguy; his father was Lord Killstewers of Kincardineshire. here he comes, and also supper."

But

Master Kerneguy entered, leaning on a huge knotty stick, and the elevated nose and forward manner indicated that he desired to attack the provisions which were being placed. upon the table. He was a tall, raw-boned lad, with abundant hair of fiery red color; while the harshness of his features was increased by his complexion, turned almost black by exposure to all sorts of weather such as fugitive royalists were forced to encounter. He was awkward and forward in his address, while his face was disfigured with scratches, which enhanced its natural plainness. Yet his eyes were brilliant and expressive, and amid his ugliness the face was not deficient in some lines, which expressed sagacity and resolution.