the river, in a sharp curve, glimmers in the light and loses itself behind lowlying meadows and a marginal growth of willow and flag. For very shame's sake, the big Lieutenant was forced to offer to take Tita's oar, as we once more proceeded on our voyage; but she definitely refused to endanger our lives by any such experiment. A similar offer on the part of Bell met with a similar fate. Indeed, when this little woman has once made up her mind to do a certain thing, the reserve of physical and intellectual vigour that lies within the slight frame and behind a smooth and gentle face, shows itself to be extraordinary. Place before her some arithmetical conundrum that she must solve in order to question the boys, or give her an oar and engage her to pull for a certain number of miles, and the amount of patient perseverance and unobtrusive energy she will reveal will astonish most people. In the meantime, her task was easy. We were going with the stream. And so we glided on between the green banks, under the railway-bridge, past the village of Kennington, past Rose Isle, with its bowers, and tables, and beerglasses, and lounging young fellows in white trousers and blue jackets, and so on until we got up to Sandford Lock. Here, also, we fastened the boat to the bank, close by the mill, and went ashore for half an hour's stroll. But while Tita made direct, as she generally does on entering a new village, for the church, the Lieutenant went off in quest of beer; and when we came back to the boat, he had a wonderful story to tell us. had made friends with some innkeeper or other, and had imbibed from him a legend which was a curious mixture of fact and inference and blunder. Von Rosen had doubtless mistaken much of the Oxfordshire patois; for how could any man make a reasonable narrative out of the following ? He "And he told me it was a farmer's house in the village-the village of Sandford, I suppose and while they took it down to repair it, they were lifting up the floors, and many strange things were there. And he said among the nonsense and useless rubbish they were finding there, was a hat; and the man brought the hat down to him; and he saw it was a chevalier's hat "A cavalier's hat," suggested Bell; and the Lieutenant assented. "Then the farmer went up to the house, and he found some hidden letters, and one was to Ettrick-to some soldier who was then on a campaign at the river Ettrick in the north. And they found that it was in this very house that King Charles the First did cut off his beard and moustache-I suppose when he was flying from the Parliamentary army; but I am forgetting all about that history now, and the innkeeper was not sure about the battle. Well, then, the news was sent to London; and a gentleman came down who is the only surviving descender-descendant of King Charles, and he took away the hat to London, and you will find it in the British Museum. It is a very curious story, and I would have come after you, and showed you the houses; but I suppose it is a new house now, and nothing to look at. But do you know when the king was in this neighbourhood in escaping?" Here was a poser for the women. "I don't remember," says Tita, looking very profound, "to have seen anything about Oxford in Lord Clarendon's narrative of the king's escape after the battle of Worcester." "Mamma!" said Bell, in accents of reproach, "that was Charles the Second." "To be sure it was," returned Tita, with a gesture of impatience; "and he couldn't have come this way, for he went to Bristol. But Charles the First was continually at Oxford-he summoned the Parliament to meet him here" "And shaved off his beard to curry favour with them," it is suggested. "You needn't laugh. Of course, when he was finally defeated he fled from Oxford, and very probably disguised himself." "And when did he fly, and whither?" "To Scotland," said Bell triumphantly, "and after the battle of Naseby." "Good girl. And where is Naseby?" "Well, if he fled north-east from the Parliamentary army, Naseby must be in the south-west; and so I suppose it is somewhere down about Gloucester." "Herr Professor Oswald, where is Naseby?" "I do not know," says the Lieutenant; "but I think it is more in the north, and not far from the country of your great man Hampden. But he was killed before then, I think." "And pray,” says Queen Tita, taking her seat, and putting her oar into the rowlock, "will you please tell me what you think of those men-of Cromwell and Hampden and those-and what your historians say of them in Germany?" "Why, they say all kinds of things about them," said the Lieutenant, lightly -not knowing that he was being questioned as a representative of the feudal aristocracy of a country in which the divine right of kings is supposed to flourish-"just as your historians do here. But we know very well that England has got much of her liberty through that fight with the king, and yet you have been able to keep a balance and not let the lowest classes run riot and destroy your freedom. They were ambitious? Yes. If a man is in politics, does not he fight hard to make his side win? If he is a soldier, does not he like to be victorious? And if I could be King of England, do you not think I should like that very well, and try hard for it? But if these men had their own ambitions, and wanted to get fame and honour, I am sure they had much of righteousness and belief, and would not have fought in that way and overturned the king if they believed that was an injury to their country or to their religion. And besides what could this man or that man have done except he had a great enthusiasm of the nation behind him if he did not represent a principle? But I have no right to speak of such things as if I were telling you of our German historians. That is only my guess-and I have read not much about it. But you must not suppose that because we in Germany have not the same political system that you have, that we cannot tell the value of yours, and the good it has done to the character of your people. Our German historians are many of them professors in universities; and they spend their lives in finding out the truth of such things; and do you think they care what may be the opinion of their own Government about it? Oh, no. They are very independent in the universities-much too independent, I think. It is very pleasant when you are a very young man, to get into a university, and think yourself very wise, and go to extremes about politics, and say hard things of your own country; but when you come out into the world, and see how you have to keep your country from enemies that are not separated by the sea from you (as you are here in England), you see how bad are these principles among young men, who do not like to be obedient, and always want to hurry on new systems of government before such things are possible. But you do not see much of those wild opinions when a war comes, and the young men are marched together to save their country. Then they forget all the democratic notions of this kind-it is their heart that speaks, and it is on fire-and not one is ashamed to be patriotic, though he may have laughed at it a week before." "It must be very hard," said Bell, looking away at the river, "to leave your home and go into a foreign country, and know that you may never return." "Oh, no; not much," said the Lieutenant; "for all your friends go with you. And you are not always in danger-you have much entertainment at times, especially when some fight is over, and all your friends meet again to have a supper in the tent, and some one has got a bottle of cognac, and some one else has got a letter from home, full of gossip about people you know very well. And there is much fun, too, in riding over the country, and trying to find food and quarters for yourself and your horse. We had many good parties in the deserted farmhouses, and sometimes we caught a hen or a duck that the people had neglected to take, and then we kindled a big fire, and killed him, and fixed him on a lance, and roasted him well, feathers and all. Then we were very lucky-to have a fire, and good meat, and a roof to keep off the rain. But it was more dangerous in a house for it was difficult to keep from sleeping after you had got warm and had eaten and drunk perhaps a little too much wine-and there were many people about ready to fire at you. But these are not heroic stories of a campaign, are they, Mademoiselle ?" Nevertheless, Mademoiselle seemed sufficiently interested; and as Tita and I pulled evenly back to Iffley and Oxford, she continually brought the Lieutenant back to this subject by a series of questions. This modern maiden was as anxious to hear of the amusements of patrols, and the hair-breadth escapes of dare-devil sub-lieutenants, as was Desdemona to listen to her lover's stories of battles, sieges, fortunes, and moving accidents by flood and field. That was a pleasant pull back to Oxford, in the quiet of the summer afternoon, with the yellow light lying warmly over the level meadows and the woods. There were more people now along the banks of the river-come out for the most part in couples to wander along the pathway between the stream and the fields. Many of them had a good look at Bell; and the Radley boys, as they sent their long boats. spinning down the river towards Sandford, were apparently much struck. Bell, unconscious of the innocent admiration of those poor boys, was attending much more to the talk of our Uhlan than to her tiller-ropes. As for him— but what man would not have looked contented under these conditions - to be strong, healthy, handsome, and only twenty-five; to have comfortable means and an assured future; to have come out of a long and dangerous campaign with honour and sound limbs; to be off on a careless holiday through the most beautiful country, take it for all in all, in the world; and to be lying lazily in a boat on a summer's evening, on a pretty English river, with a pretty English girl showing her friendly interest and attention in every glance of her blue eyes? You should have seen how naturally these two fell behind us, and formed a couple by themselves, when we had left the boat and were returning to our inn. But as we walked up to Carfax, Bell separated herself from us for a moment and went into the post-office. She was a considerable time there. When she came out she was folding up a letter which she had been reading. "You have got your letter at last,” said Tita. "Yes," said Bell, gravely, but showing no particular gladness or disappoint ment. At dinner she was rather reserved; and so, curiously enough, was the Lieutenant. After dinner, when we were allowed half an hour by ourselves for a cigar, he suddenly said "Why do you not interfere with that stupid young fellow ?" "Who?" I asked, in blank amaze ment. "Why, that young fellow at Twickenham-it is quite monstrous, his impertinence. If I were the guardian of such a girl, I would kick him-I would throw him into the river and cool him there." "What in all the world do you mean?" "Why, you must know. The letter that Miss Bell did ask for more than once, it is from him; and now when it comes, it is angry, it is impertinent— she is nearly crying all the time at dinner. It is for some one to interfere, and save her from this insult-this persecution "Don't bite your cigar to pieces, but tell me, if you please, how you happen to know what was in the letter." "She told me," said the Lieutenant, with a stare. "When?" "Just before you came down to dinner. It is no business of mine-no; but when I see her vexed and disturbed, I asked her to tell me why. And then she said she had got this letter, which was a very cruel one to send. Oh, there is no mystery-none. I suppose he has a right to marry her-very well; but he is not married yet, and he must not be allowed to do this." "Bell at least might have told me of it, or have confided in Tita "Oh, she is telling her now, I dare say. And she will tell you too, when there are not all of us present. It is no secret, or she would not have told me. Indeed, I think she was sorry about that; but she was very much vexed, and I asked her so plain, that she answered me. And that is much better to have confidence between people, instead of keeping all such vexations to yourself. Then I ask her why he is angry? and she says only because she has gone away. Pfui! I have never heard such nonsense!" "My dear Oswald," I say to him, "don't you interfere between two young people who have fallen out, or you will suffer. Unless, indeed "Unless what?" Well, the phaeton can hold five at a pinch. Why should not we have an addition to our party?" "Very good. I do not care. But if he is rude to her, he will not be very long in the phaeton." 66 Why, you stupid boy, you take those lovers' quarrels au grand sérieux. Do you think he has been positively rude to her? Nothing of the kind. He has been too well brought up for that, although he has a peevish temper. He might be with us all through the journey "Jott bewahre!" exclaimed the Count, with a kick at a cork that was lying on the carpet. "And these two might be at daggers drawn and you would see nothing of it. Indeed, young people never get extremely courteous to each other until they quarrel and stand on their dignity. Now, if you had seen that letter, you would have found it respectful and for No. 149.-VOL. XXV. mal in the highest degree-perhaps a trifle sarcastic here and there, for the lad unhappily thinks he has a gift that way-but you would find no rhetorical indignation or invective." The Count threw his cigar into the grate. "They will be waiting for us," he said; "let us go." We found Tita with the bezique-cards spread out before her. Bell looked up with rather a frightened air, apparently conscious that the Lieutenant was likely to have spoken about what she had confided to him at the impulse of a momentary vexation. However, we sat down. The game was an open and palpable burlesque. Was Ferdinand very intent on giving checkmate when he played chess with Miranda in the cave; or was he not much more bent upon placing his king in extreme danger and offering his queen so that she had to be taken? The audacious manner in which this young Lieutenant played his cards so as to suit Bell was apparent to every one, though no one dared speak of it, and Bell only blushed sometimes. When she timidly put forth a ten, he was sure to throw away another ten, although he had any amount of aces in his hand. He spoiled his best combinations rather than take tricks when it was clear she wanted to lead. Nay, as he sat next to her, he undertook the duty of marking her various scores, and the manner in which the small brass hand went circling round the card was singular, until Tita suddenly exclaimed "Why, that is only a common marriage!" "And do not you count forty for a common marriage?" he said, with a fine assumption of innocent wonder. Such was the ending of our first day's rest; and then, just before candles were. lit, a Cabinet Council was held to decide whether, on the morrow, we should. choose as our halting-place Moreton-inthe-Marsh or Bourton-on-the-Hill. The more elevated site won the day. D D CHAPTER VIII. NEAR WOODSTOCK TOWN. "In olde dayes of the king Arthoúr, THE phaeton stood in the High-street of Oxford. Castor and Pollux, a trifle impatient after the indolence of the day before, were pawing the hard stones, their silken coats shining in the morning sunlight; Queen Titania had the reins in her hands; the tall waiter who had been a circus-rider was ready to smile us an adieu; and we were all waiting for the Lieutenant, who had gone off in search of a map that Bell had forgotten. If there is one thing more than another likely to ruffle the superhuman sweetness of my Lady's temper, it is to be kept waiting in a public thoroughfare with a pair of rather restive horses under her charge. I began to fear for that young man. Tita turned once or twice to the entrance of the hotel; and at last she said, with an ominous politeness in her tone "It does seem to me singular that Count von Rosen should be expected to look after such things. He is our guest. It is no compliment to give him the duty of attending to our luggage." My dear," said Bell, leaning over and speaking in very penitent tones, "it is entirely my fault. I am very sorry." "I think he is much too goodnatured," says Tita, coldly. At this Bell rather recedes, and says, with almost equal coldness "I am sorry to have given him so much trouble. In future I shall try to do without his help." But when the Count did appearwhen he took his seat beside Tita, and we rattled up the High-street and round by the Corn-market, and past Magdalen church, and so out by St. Giles's-road, the remembrance of this little preliminary skirmish speedily passed away. For once more we seemed to have left towns and streets behind us, and even while there were yet small villas and gardens by the side of the road, the air that blew about on this bright morning seemed to have a new sweetness in it, and the freshness and pleasant odours of innumerable woods and fields. There was quite a new light, too, in Bell's face. She had come downstairs with an obvious determination to cast aside the remembrance of that letter. There was something even defiant in the manner in which she said-in strict confidence, be it observed-that if Arthur Ashburton did intend to come and meet us in some town or other, there was no use in being vexed about it in the meantime. We were now getting into the open country, where pursuit would be in vain. If he overtook us, it would be through the mechanism of railways. His only chance of obtaining an interview with Bell was to lie in wait for us in one of the big towns through which we must pass. "But why," said the person to whom Bell revealed these matters, "why should you be afraid to meet Arthur? You have not quarrelled with him." "No," said Bell, looking down. "You have done nothing that he can object to." "He has no right to object, whatever I may do," she said with a gentle firmness. "But, you know, he is annoyed, and you cannot reason with him; and I am sorry for him-and-and-and what is the name of this little village on the left?" Bell seemed to shake off this subject from her, as too vexatious on such a fine and cheerful morning. "That is Woolvercot; and there is the road that leads down to Godstow, and the ruins of Godstow Nunnery, in which Rosamond Clifford lived and died." "And I suppose she rode along this very highway," said Bell, "with people wondering at her beauty and her jewels, when she used to live at Woodstock. Yet it is a very ordinary-looking road." Then she touched Tita on the shoulder. |