lady. Accompanied only by Sir Robert Carbury and his wife, who were present at the ceremony as witnesses, the young couple stood before the altar, where the pious chaplain addressed a few appropriate remarks to them, and then married them. The passionate bride was filled with an affection bordering on veneration for her new sister-in-law. After the ceremony was over, Alice kissed Lucy, but this did not satisfy the impetuous girl; she threw herself at her feet, and kissed her hands, notwithstanding Alice's entreaties not to do so. joy, Lucy sank into the arms of the virtuous | proached the advanced line of the besiegers. A soldier of the Parliament, who was about to give the alarm, was slain by Thomas himself. Already they were in the open field when they met a strong picket, which attacked them. It was not until now that they used their firearms. The reports of their muskets aroused the whole camp, and Overton himself hastened up at the head of his troops, which he had hastily formed in line. A desperate struggle now ensued in the profound darkness, which was broken only by the flashes of the muskets and the glittering of the swords. It was a most savage and bloody hand-to-hand conflict. Friend and foe were scarcely able to distinguish each other in the darkness of the night. It was not until the moon rose and shed her pale light on the scene that Overton ascertained the insignificant number of his adversaries. They were soon hemmed in on all sides, and nothing remained for them but to surrender or force a passage through the ranks of the enemy, which, at the best, involved them in the heaviest losses. The Meanwhile the siege took its course. troops of the Parliament had soon recovered from their first defeat, and burned with the desire of avenging their discomfiture as soon as possible. They requested their commander Overton to order immediately another assault, but he preferred to surround the castle more closely, and starve the garrison into a surrender. For this purpose he posted all around the castle detachments which rendered it impossible for Sir Robert to obtain supplies from the surrounding country. He also had heavy artillery brought up, in order to breach the walls, and then undertake another and more successful assault. What few supplies the garrison had were soon exhausted, and ammunition was also scarce. Sir Robert was under the necessity of tearing all the lead and iron from the roofs and windows, in order to make balls and bullets. The enemy's artillery daily made sad havoc; the walls were soon in ruins, and the castle itself had already been injured to some extent. The ranks of the garrison were thinned, many of its soldiers having been killed and wounded. Under these circumstances, a council of war was held, and the resolution taken to make a sortie in order to provision the castle, and, if possible, to compel the Parliamentary troops to raise the siege. In the dead of night the intrepid garrison, driven to extremity, left the castle and ap ly. "Follow me!" shouted Thomas, courageous"Sell your lives as dearly as possible." So saying, he rushed intrepidly at the iron wall of the enemy, in order to break it; his men followed him with desperate impetuosity. But Overton opposed him with his veteran soldiers. Twice they crossed their blades, and the old adversaries recognized each other in the dim moonlight. "Take this for Haywood Forest!" cried Thomas, levelling at the Puritan's head a powerful stroke, which Overton parried with great skill. of men who, attracted by the extraordinary | the ditch. The ditch filled with the corpses of scene, had ceased fighting. Both adversaries had already received several wounds, when Sir Robert Carbury, who had vainly tried to break the line of the enemy at another point, approached them. He rushed impetuously upon the Puritans, and the struggle became general again. In the mêlée now ensuing Thomas was separated from Overton. The victory remained long doubtful; the scales of success inclining now to one side, now to the other. Sir Robert performed prodigies of valor; surrounded by his most faithful servants, he succeeded again in opening a bloody passage through the ranks of the enemy; but the superior numbers of the latter rendered it impossible for him to follow up the advantages he had obtained here and there. His force was thinned more and more, and his brave men sank mortally wounded at his feet. Closer and closer became the net which he vainly tried to break. Hitherto he had managed to keep his back free by retreating to a small grove which was covered by a shallow ditch. With his rear protected in this manner, he was able to resist the superior force of the enemy for some time. Overton, however, with his habitual penetration, had not overlooked this natural bulwark: at his bidding, a small detachment of his soldiers forced a passage, sword in hand, through the bushes. The clash of the swords and the breaking of the branches informed Sir Robert of this new and imminent danger. After a few minutes the soldiers had removed all obstructions, and only the narrow ditch served him yet as a bulwark, which he resolved to defend at any cost. The besiegers waded the ditch and rushed up the opposite bank, which was only a few feet higher. Here they met with a truly desperate resistance. Carbury profited by the slight advantages of his position, and, aided by his faithful men, hurled the soldiers, as they were climbing up, again and again into the slain, which formed a natural bridge for the living. They stepped over them to return to the charge. All efforts of Sir Robert were in vain; attacked both in front and rear, he was unable to prolong the fight. After resisting in the most heroic manner, he sank mortally wounded to the grouud. But his fall was the signal of a still more desperate struggle. Thomas, who had perceived from afar the danger menacing his brother-in-law, hastened up with the remainder of his men to rescue him from his perilous position. He came too late to save him, but determined at least to avenge his death. He attacked Overton and his troops with furious impetuosity. His grief added to his intrepidity, and the besieged fought for the same reason with redoubled valor. The soldiers of the Parliament began to give way, and Thomas succeeded in breaking their ranks and retreating with his men to the castle, without being pursued by the enemy. He had Sir Robert's corpse conveyed into the court-yard, where Alice met the mournful procession, and, uttering a piercing cry, threw herself upon the bloody bier. Notwithstanding her profound grief at the terrible loss which had befallen her, Alice did not lose her presence of mind; she was determined to carry out the intentions of her lamented husband, and defend the castle as he would have done. After his remains had been interred in the family vault, she appeared in her weeds before the garrison, which was now commanded by Thomas. Her noble form was wrapped in a black veil flowing to the ground, and leaving free only her pale face. In her arms she carried her orphan son, who was playing unconcernedly with the dark ribbons on her bosom. Thus she addressed the brave little garrison, and called upon them to resist the Puritans with unflinching courage. Her aspect touched and fired the hearts of these valiant men; many an eye, which had seldom or never wept, filled with tears. All swore of their own accord to live and die for their mistress. thrown himself with a number of determined men into the tower; there was also Alice with her child. The brave men fired from the windows at the enemy, and their bullets killed yet many a soldier of Parliament. A detachment of intrepid volunteers, armed with axes, approached to break in the iron doors leading into the tower. Several well-aimed volleys of the besieged, however, were sufficient to dislodge them. Overton himself led his men once more to the charge; they no longer listened to his orders, but gave way dismayed at the shower of bullets thinning their ranks. There remained only one means, to which their commander, from motives of humanity, had hitherto refused to resort; but now he ordered his men to fetch pitch and torches to set fire to the tower. Dense clouds of smoke arose after a few minutes, and the greedy flames, fed by straw and fagots, consumed the worm-eaten timber with great rapidity. The devouring conflagration rose from story to story, and soon threatened to burn the garrison. No escape seemed possible, and all prepared to die in the raging sea of flames. Despite Carbury's death, the besiegers met, as before, with an unexpectedly vigorous resistance. Accompanied by Lucy, Alice appeared at all hours of the day among her faithful defenders to fire their courage, and she never failed to do so. Wherever the danger seemed more imminent than anywhere else, there she was sure to be found. Her whole nature had undergone a sudden change. Hitherto timid and retiring, she had all at once become a heroine, avenging the death of her husband and keeping the faith plighted to her king. Like the heroic women of antiquity, she did not shrink from the terrors of war, the clash of arms, and the sight of the dead and wounded. After sharing by day all the dangers of her men, she walked by night through the halls to dress the wounds of the brave. She herself underwent the greatest privations, and as the lack of provisions became every day more distressing, she willingly deprived herself of her wonted food and comforts. The whole garrison, among whom there was not a single deserter or traitor, displayed a fidelity and perseverance unheard of in this war. Nevertheless, all efforts of the besieged were unsuccessful. The artillery of the besiegers had destroyed the larger part of the ramparts and walls, and the garrison was unable to repair the damages. Exasperated by this un-sieged, now reduced to a very small number, expected delay, Overton resolved to venture on another assault. At midnight, when the garrison, overcome by the fatigues of the incessant struggle, had fallen asleep, the Parliamentary troops scaled the walls, and, before the sentinels were able to give the alarm, they were slain. The court-yard soon filled with soldiers, who attacked the surprised garrison from all quarters. But the besieged offered even now the most desperate resistance. Thomas had "It is better for us," said Thomas, at last, "to fall sword in hand than to perish so miserably in the fire. Let us, at least, sell our lives as dearly as possible." His proposition met with general approval. Thomas then signed to his men, who drew back the bolts of the iron door, and the be rushed from the burning tower. In their midst were Lucy and Alice, who carried her son in her arms. The Parliamentary troops immediately surrounded them. Escape was hardly possible, but all the more desperate was the struggle. Thomas succumbed to the odds of the enemy, and was taken prisoner; the same fate befell such of his men as were not slain by the exasperated victors. The two women were more fortunate. In the darkness and general confusion they succeeded in effecting their escape without being perceived by the infuriated soldiers. Already they had reached a small gate leading to the park and the open fields, when the cries of the babe attracted the attention of a soldier, who immediately pursued them. It was no other than Billy Green, who, imitating the example of many similar adventurers, was now seeking for booty and promotion in the Parliamentary army, after his patron Pym had died, and his profession as a spy and informer was no longer so lucrative as at the outset. He took good care to keep out of danger, and watched only for an opportunity, after the fight was over, to fill his pockets with the spoils that fell into the hands of the victors. Such an opportunity seemed to have come for him now. Owing to the bright glare of the burning tower, he discovered the fleeing women immediately; and when he had to deal with women he was always exceedingly brave. He had soon overtaken Alice and seized her dress. "Halloo!" he shouted. "My sweet little dove, you will not escape in, this manner." "For God's sake, let me go! What do you want of me?" "What a foolish question!" laughed the villain. "You wear on your neck a golden chain which pleases me amazingly." "Take it, then, and do not detain me any longer." "Thunder and lightning!" he cried out. "If I am not mistaken, I have caught a precious little bird. You and your child must accompany me. Give me the babe." "I will die rather than do so," replied Alice, resolutely, pressing her little son firmly to her heaving bosom. "You "No foolery," said Billy, gruffly. are the lady of the castle, and my prisoner. Do not resist me; you see that I know who you are." Alice vainly implored him to spare her and her child. Already Billy stretched out his hand to seize the babe, when Lucy, of whom he had hitherto taken no notice whatever, rushed at the villain with the courage of an angry lioness. Before he was able to prevent her, she had snatched the pistol which he wore in his broad belt. "Stand back!" she shouted to him in a thundering voice, "or, as sure as there is a God in heaven, I will instantly shoot you down!" Billy, seized with terror, staggered back a few steps, and the livid pallor of cowardice overspread his features; but he was soon encouraged by the thought that he had to deal only with a feeble woman. He left Alice and turned to his new enemy. "Stand back!" she shouted to him once more, cocking the pistol. Whether the villain was ashamed of his former cowardice, or was impelled by the desire of effecting an important capture, and "There is also a little ring glittering on your finger. I should like to get it for my sweetheart." "It is my wedding-ring," replied Alice, thereby securing a large reward, he disremournfully. garded the threat, and put his hand on his "Let me see whether it is worth any thing," sword in order to intimidate Lucy and arrest was his unfeeling reply. Billy grasped her hand in order to draw the ring from it. In doing so, he had approached so close to her that she recognized him as the impudent Comus of Haywood Forest. He seemed to remember her likewise. her and Alice; but before he was able to carry his purpose into effect, Lucy aimed at him and discharged the pistol. Billy Green fell wounded, and shouted piteously for help. Before any of his comrades had heard his cries, Lucy had seized the hand of her sister-in-law and fled with her. CHAPTER XXII. EXECUTION OF CHARLES I. - CROMWELL AND THE LEVELLERS. MISFORTUNE after misfortune had befallen the king; his troops had been routed, his adherents were fleeing or imprisoned; he himself was wandering about from place to place with the demoralized remnants of his army. Thus deserted by all the world, he listened at last to the counsels of Montreville, the French ambassador, and repaired to the camp of the Scots. He preferred to intrust himself to his Scotch rather than his English subjectscounting, doubtless, partly on their generosity, partly on the jealousy constantly prevailing between the two nations. He soon, however, acquired the conviction that he had been mistaken. The Scots sold the king for the sum of four hundred thousand pounds to the English Parliament. The Presbyterians, who were still in the ascendant, seized the king, and conveyed him to Holmby, where he was strictly guarded by their commissioners, but still treated with the respect due to his exalted rank. Charles himself indulged once more the hope that, by negotiating with his adversaries, he would not only succeed in saving his crown, but by and by recover his former power and authority. In accordance with his usual duplicity, he seemed to listen readily to the terms and proposals of Parliament, while he was secretly trying to be delivered from their hands. He thought the fanatical Independents and the army would help him to recover his liberty. He hated the moderate Presbyterians, who were in favor of a constitutional monarchy, far more than the republican Independents. Despotism always inclines more toward extreme democracy than toward the constitutional friends of liberty. No sooner was the struggle ended by the capture of the king, than the last tie which had hitherto connected the two hostile parties was broken. The discord between the Presbyterians and Independents broke out with undisguised fury. Both were intensely jealous of each other; the former preponderated in the Parliament, the latter in the army. To deprive their opponents of the support of the army, the Presbyterians resolved to disband a part of it, and send the remainder to Ireland, where the rebellion was still raging with unabated violence. The soldiers, to whose valor alone Parliament was indebted for its triumph, were extremely indignant at these measures. They held daily meetings of the most excited character in the camp, and appointed committees to maintain the rights of the army. Old Henderson, who exercised considerable influence over his party, stood, a few days after the king had been delivered to the English, in front of his tent, surrounded by a number of soldiers who shared his opinions. Some had Bibles in their hands; others leaned on the hilts of their long swords. Their stern faces were even graver than usual; fanatical zeal reddened their cheeks, and gleamed from under their shaggy eyebrows. They resembled a congregation of ecstatic worshippers rather than a crowd of soldiers. 'Israel, arm!" shouted the old Puritan. "Gird on thy sword, and prepare for the struggle with the heathens. The Lord has vouchsafed a great victory to the lion of Judah, but the cowardly jackal is intent on depriving him of his well-deserved reward, and robbing him of the spoils that belong to him alone. While we were fighting, the idle babblers reposed in safety; while we were starving, they revelled in wine; while we were watching, they slept on soft cushions. Instead of thanking us, they mock and revile the warriors of the Lord. Woe, woe to them!" "Woe, woe to them!" murmured the soldiers, grasping the hilts of their swords in a menacing manner. |