THE COMING OF THE KING.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLI, Issue 12663, 17 September 1904, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE COMING OF THE KING.

' fTJSMB2EI> BY SPECIAL ABRAXGEMEOT.] I

:-.1l fig; — }% ' ,V BY JOSEPH HOCKING, fiithor 0 " The Purple Kobe," " The Story WfSrAndrew Fairfax," " All Men are Liars." lyfy "ishmaol Pensolly," etc., etc. •. . ' SSplP't"''' - 1 1 ■ —-

gjy . CHAPTER I. - • ' | I - The history which' I propose writing will. Mr-t l>eliev4N ho of value for various reasons, ji *it will ,i c cir my name from various sus_io..ons, and it will enable me to explain «h'4t> t > many, seem events of an extra|l ordinary nature. For I have done nothing %' which makes me fear the light, neither » have I :iny desire to offer excuses for the | actions which shall be here set down. r' What X have done I have done in good |; f a ith, knowing all the time of the probable results which would follow. Moreover, I think it is well that many of the happenings of the time of which I ite should bo recorded, for surely the davs of my youth were strange days, full " of"intrigue, full of mystery; and more, thev were days in which one of the greatest " battles ever known in our la"d was fought, a battle which had momentous issues in the life of our beloved land. \Tofc that I am -able to give a description of many events which took place. That would be impossible; but as I was drawn, in spite of myself as it seems to me, to la an actor in many stirring scenes, I > , have had peculiar opportunities for knowjag the truth. In addition to this, 1 was trained by my father to follow the custom of the times, and to describe in a diary an account of my daily doings. I shall f therefore be able, if ever my memory tails me, to refer to the books which have been carefully kept, and thus place a correct

i. account ct matters oeiore xuose »uu u»jr pen to read. :• - I I had a peculiar training even for youths /'< of that -period. For from the time of 'Archbishop Laud to the coming of King Charles 11.- nearly every family of nolo ''•', look sides in the great struggle through which the nation passed. Either a man ; -was a Royalist or a Parliamentarian, a believer in the supreme and unquestionable - rights of the King,, or a supporter of the new order of things. There seemed no half-way house wherein a man might rest. Tims the nation was divided into two great camps, and -if a man was not in one of these camps he was in the other. But I was trained to hold! myself aloof from both, and to distrust them equally. The reason for this can be quickly told. During the great struggle between Crom- ■ well and the King my father fought against • the Ironside General. Indeed, he gave of bis substance freely. He impoverished himself to replenish the King's coffers, and , 1© armed his family retainers in order to keep him on the throne. In the early days of the war, moreover, he was an enflnisiasf tic supporter of the King, and trusted in his Royal words implicitly. But after the . battle of Nasebv, when the King's papers were taken, and it was made | known that Charles had deceived I ob every hand, my father lost faith in him, and declared he would ewer trust -a King's word again. Hot B that he threw in Jus lot with Cromwell, thus following the example of many others. Bather he cut himself adrift from public '■; ajlairs, and sought to live in seclusion. f But here a difficulty faced him. His resources were much diminished by what he fcad devoted to the King's cause, and, added to this, so much of his estates were taken from him in the- troublous . days which folf lowed, that, while be still kept the old ' homo near Epping Forest, he was scarce T able to maintain it. He was a- country | gentleman, bearing an old name, who could barely afford to keep the horse he rode, |

'■■ or the servants who -waited at ms xawe. i I This (for my father was a very proud man) f embittered hire much, and caused him to J ; lose faith in friend and foe alike. Ha de- | t„ ,v wised the King who had deceived both •i , Lis followers and those who fought against him, and he spoke of the Presbyterians and Independents as a crack-brained and sour-faced crew, who would make the country a place unfit for a gentleman to live in. » "I trust neither of them, my son, , he | would often say to me. " I gave my blood and my fortune to the King, and he deceived me by lying promises and false statements; as for this Puritan crew, they '? have robbed me of my possessions until I, '.' who at the time of the Short Parliament was a rich man, have not the means of giving my only son either a good horse to ride or money to put in his purse." "I will gain both, father," I said, for in those days I was ardent and hopeful, W believing that everything was possible to V a brave heart and a strong arm. ( "But how cried my father. /lie t : : King's cause is dead, even if it would have benefited thee, by fighting for it. As for , these canting Puritans, no man can gain ' au»bt from them, unless he will quote Scripture, and cry ' Down with the Prayerbook.' In truth,* there is no cause which an honourable man can espouse, and thus carve his way to fortune." >( "The opportunity will come some day,' 1 replied confidently. My father shook his head. "It cansot V' he said. "England is governed fey canting hypocrites, and there is not a man fa the country whom we can trust. I tell thee, Poland, I am sorely grieved for thee. I have no fortune to give thee, neither are there means whereby a man bearing the name of Pashdiiffe can honourably win one. Marriage seems impos- ', sible. Not one maid do I know who >'• would wed a penniless lad like thee; by that I mean a maid of family and dowry. I am known among men as Penniless Rashcliffe, and such a name makes it impossible for my son to make a suitable marriage. : " But surely there roust be means whereby a man may carve bis way to fortune? "Tell me about them, Poland. Where can Ave find them? Those who, like I, have been foolish enough to trust the King and fight for his cause are left well-nigh J. penniless and friendless. We have be«n deceived, tricked as if by a cunning cardplayer. I tell you there is no honour I among kings. As" for the Puritans, could * - vou play the knave in order to gain their favour? Could you mimic their pious whine, and curse both bishops and Prayerbook?" ~ , , , "No, I could not," I replied, for al,r though my father had taught me to hare no faith in men he still tried to teach me to be an honourable gentleman. "I know," he went on, "that many hope for the death of Cromwell. Well, that may happen any day, and then what shall we see? In all probability Oliver will make provision whereby his son takes his ■place. But, even if he doth not, and "Charles were to come back, would such as I be benefited? Would the new King see to it that my estates were restored to : ' me? The new King Charles would be the son of the old King Charles. the new King would be a Stuart, and never again can I trust a Stuart." ~ "Is there no hope then?" I asked de•pondently, for the constant repetition ot :' " such speeches had made me believe that no \ man was to be trusted. , "There is no hope except you can get Jaen in your power," replied my father. "In my power?" I repeated, for I scarce ifenew what he meant. • " Ay, in your power', Roland. There is a h „ secret in most men's lives. It you can hna that secret, vou are a force to bo reckoned with. You "then have the means whereby 1 f ion can fight your way into position. .look. here. Charles Stuart is now in * ranee. Supposing Oliver Cromwell were to die, ana the people tired of Puritan rule, were to welcome him back to the Kingdom. 1J« you think he would remember that l, Phillip RashcliffOj am impoverished by llliiffc'v:'' ' ' ■ :

fighting for his father?* If I went to him, and said, ' Sire, I have scarce a horse to ride on, scarce a crown to put in my parse; I have lost all through fighting for your father's throne,' do you think he would cause the Kashciiffe lands to be restored? Nay, he would say aloud, 'Master Rashcliffe, we will look into this matter, and you may trust us to see that justice shall be done;' but to himself he would say, What is there to be gained by doing aught far this man? He is plain and blunt, and I shall gain naught by troubling about him. Besides, there be a hundred others who come with the same tale. Let me to my wine.' Av, but if Charles discovered that I knew something which affected him deeply, then would he for self-preservation desire to do me justice" _ 1 "But that, would be blackmailing," I cried. "Nay, it would not; it would be simply using the means at my disposal for getting back my own." * _ "Know you of aught., that you say this J' I asked, at which my father shook his head. It will be seen from this, that I was taught to trust' no man or party. Moreover, as the years went by my father influenced me by his own desponding views, so that I, unlike must youths, felt no ardour for any cause, and believed but little in any man. As to women, I knew nothing of them, for, besides our kitchen wenches, and servant maids, scarcely a woman ever entered Rashcliffe Manor. My father desired no company, and even if he had so desired, he was too 'poor to give hospitality in a way befitting his station. As for myself, I was too proud to seek acquaintance among those of lower degree than myself, while those of my own rank had, through my father's seclusion, shut their doors against his son. Thus I knew naught of women. I believed that, poor as I was, no woman of name and fortune would deign to notice me, and it was not foi my father's son to go unbidden to the houses of those who still retained their wealth. Presently Oliver Cromwell died, and I thought my father seemed to be possessed j of new hope, but when Richard, hi? son, was chosen Lord Protector in his place, he simply shrugged his shoulders like a Frenchman," and said that the country was not vet tired of psalm-singing. < During the months that followed he went often to London, in order, as he said, to find out what Monk and Lambert were doing, and when at length Richard Cromwell ceased to be Lord Protector, he grimly remarked that we " should soon see gay doings." A little later the whole country was in a state of excitement. Charles was recalled to England and the Royalists were jubilant, while' the Puritans looked forward with dread to the dark days which they felt sure were near at hand. " We will go to meet, the King," cried my t father.

"What!" I cried in astonishment, for my father had declared that he would never again have aught to do with a Stuart. Ay, we will go and meet him, Roland. You and I will ride together. Thero are still two good horses left in the stables, and we will dress ourselves in a way befitting gentlemen, and we will go to Dover, and shout ' God Save the King!' with the rest of the crowd." " But why?" I asked, for I felt no love for the man whom the people were already calling " His Gracious Majesty King Charles 11., the Lord's Anointed One." "Ay, and that you shall know before the sun goes down," he replied. I looked at him in astonishment, for he had cast off the old look of hopelessness and indifference so common to him, and seemed to believe that brighter days were coming. "Do you believe in the new King?' I asked. "I believe a Stuart!" he replied, with scorn. "Nay, not so, my son." " Men speak of him as a man -with an open and generous nature," I suggested. "Ay, and I knew him before he had to fly from the country," he replied. "I tell you he is a Stuart. He hath the vices of both his father and his grandfather. He will lie and deceive like Charles, his father, and he will turn his Court into a pigsty, i like his grandfather, James. I tell you in six months from now Whitehall will be filled with swashbucklers and wine-bibbers. Bad men and worse women will rule the counter. God only knows what will become of the Puritans, in spite of Msi fair promises. But what of that? We will go and meet him "But you will gain naught." " Ay, I will, but thero will be much to do first." ■''■■-'■ l '

"Muck to do?" " "Ay, much for tketi to do, Roland. I have hopes that the Raaheliffe lands will be : mine again, and that my son will hold up his head among th© highest." "You think you will gain the favour of the King?" : - , "Nay. but perchance I may gain his fear." " His fear?'* " Av, his fear. Or, better still, thou shalt gain his fear." "But why'should the King fear ma? I can do naught against, him. I have no power." " Knowledge is power," replied my father. " But I have no knowledge." "Nay, but thou ehalt be in the way to get it before the sun goes down." To this I made :ao reply, but I looked at him in astonishment. " I do not speak wildly or foolishly," said my father. "I tell thee again thou shalt know something of importance before the sun goes down. And now get on the back of that colt Black Ben. which hath been lately broken to the saddle, and ride him across the park lands yet left to us. Get accustomed to his step, my boy, for when we meet the King it iii my desire that King Charles may take note what a fine horseman you are." I went to the stables, therefore, and saddled Black Ben, a colt which had been a kind of playmate to me, and which had required very little breaking in order to allow me to ride him. For, however, he might treat another rider, to me he was | gentleness itself. I was proud of Black Ben, for he was the first horse I ever possessed on which the neighbours cast eyes of envy. Indeed, my father had been offered a good price for him, but although he wanted the money sadly he refused to sell him. " No," he said, * thou hast a horse at last, Roland, and thou shalt keep it. I will sell some milch cows before Black Ben shall go." He was a large, noble animal, as black as the wing of a raven, and free from sport or blemish of any sort. I had never tested his speed, but I knew that there was nob a horse between me and London town that I could not pass if I gave Black Ben the rein. He gave a whinny as he saw me, and presently rubbed his nose against my sleeve by way of greeting. " You are going to meet the new King, Black Ben, my boy." 1 said as I patted him, and again he whinnied as though he understood me. A few minutes later I was flying across the park on Ben's back. I was at this time nearly twenty-three years of age, and having taken after my father, was not a light man, but he bore me as though I were a feather. When I reached the park gates I saw old Adam Winkley, who still lived at the cottag© and called himself the gatekeeper, although there was no need of his services. " Ah, Mester Roland," he said as I came up, "I do 'ear as how the new King is

coram . "Ay, so it is said." " Well, God bless the King! Ibe always a King's man, I be. Ibe noan for old Nol i crew. Not but what they can fight. Giv< old Nol his due, he've made the furrineri can see that the English caan't be bait." "We didn't need old Nol to make then know that," 1 replied. " Well, as to that, Mester Roland, forgivi me foi not bavin' the same opinion as you; but I fought in the wars with your father and I shall go lame tc the end of my day because of it, and I know sosnethin' of fight in'. This I knaw, the furriuers never fearei the English so much as they did durin' oh Nol's time. Not that I believed in hire I bean't a young man, but I :till like a ca:t ouse, J. do,' and 1 like good ale, and plenfc of it, and I say let people enjoy themselves And I reckon we shall see a change soot When young Charles do come, we shall n longer "have these sour-faced Independent rutin' the roost, and so I say, with a fu heart, God bhss Kin* Charles." I lef- the old man talk in this way for ol times' sake. He had served our famil all his lite, and although others had le: during our fallen fortunes, he had remain; faithful. ' ' " And when do the" King come, Mest< Roland?" " Next Tuesday, I have heard, but I a not quite siuie."'. . " < "Then I shall start to walk to Dov town on Monday morning, so as to be tiro, tc see him land."

"Ah, then. I shall sea you there. Both my father and I are going." . "I be'right glad. Ibe in hopes that the new King will do your father justice, Hester Roland, and that wc shall see gay doings at Rashcliff© again. God save the King, I..say." , : At this moment my attention was drawn from old Adam by a woman who was walking towards my father's house. As far as I could judge she was well advanced in years, although she walked with a strong, sturdy step. ■ She gave a hasty glance in my direction, and then kept her face steadily towards the house. " Know you who that is?" I asked of Adam. , "No!" replied old Adam; "it cant be she!"

".Can't be who?*' " Can't be Katharine Harcomb, and yet she has hei walk. But Katharine is dead. I've heard it many a time." This he said as though he were talking to himself rather than to me. * "But wht ia Katharine Harcomb.' I never heard her name." " No, she left Rashcliffe before you were born, and ret she was maid to your mother. She was a'gay one, was Katharine. What Katharine didn't know wasn't worth finding out. Ay, and a handsome maid she was, too. As" for darin', there was nothing she wouldn't do. One day she dressed in your mother's fine clothes, and the other servants didn't know her, she looked such a grand lady. They all curtsied to her, thinking she was a visitor who had come mibeknowing to them. Ay, Katharine could act the lady, she could. Why, it is said the young fell in love with her when he was Prince Charles, but of that I'll say nothing. Still, this woman can be she, although she's got her look and her walk.' Katharine died years ago—there can be no doubt about that." _ Bv this time the woman was out of sight, while I turned my horse's head towards London, and rode a few miles in that direction before returning to the house. It was drawing towards evening when I got back, and on entering the house I found that my father had given orders that he should be informed of my return. " Roland," he said when at length I went to him, "will you come with me into the library?" 1 "Yes," I said, wondering at his grave demeanour. _ , , When I entered the library I almost gave a start, for in the room .was the woman L had seen in the park. She.looked til. at me, and there was, as I thought, a bold and defiant expression in her eyes. She did no* looke like a woman of birth and breeding, and yet no one would regard tier as a common "serving woman. She possessed an air approaching gentility, and although her clothes were worn they were ot good material. , , , " More mother than father, I heard her S V looked at her awkwardly, for I knew not how to address her, and although i lifted my hat and bowed as I would to a ladv of my own degree, I did so constrainedly, "not feeling comfortable in her presence. . _ , „ "This is Mistress Katharine Harcomb, said my father. "She dwelt here before you were bora." . ~, The .woman save a laugh, which was naltdefiant, half-amused. " Ay, I dwelt here before you were bora, ■Master Roland; since then I have been dead, and now I am alive again." I did not like the woman. Not that sue was evil-looking: rather, she must have been very fair to look upon twenty years before, and even now she retained much of the beauty of youth. But her voice was harsh, the lines around her mouth suggested scorn and bitterness, while the strong dim should have belonged to a man rather than to a woman. I could see in a moment that she was not a woman to be trifled with; •indeed, she evidently possessed imperious strength of will like unto that by which Queen Elizabeth made strong men

quail before her. , , "I pray vou to pay good heed to what Mistress Harcomb hath to tell us, said my father, "for it is no light matter concerning which she would speak." I know not whv, but -my heart became heavy. I felt euro that the knowledge which my father had spoken of as power +,-> bond the will of kincs was somehow associated with this strong, imperious woman who gazed steadily into my eyes.

CHAPTER 11. 1 must confess to a somewhat strange feeling in. mv heart when I looked into the woman's face. I felt sure that she was trying to understand the manner of man I was, so that she might make up her mind how far I could be of service to her For, from the very first, I could not think of her as a former serving woman of my mother. Humble of birth she might be, but I was very sure that her thoughts were other than those of a serving woman, and that she had mixed herself up with affaire of importance. Her great, dark, searching eyes, her strongly moulded face, her determined mouth all assured me that here was a woman of f ar-reach-in<r plans, and one who would stop at nothing to carry those plans into effect. , •' Mote mother than father," I heard her murmur again, and then she looked from my father to me as though she were trying to discover the difference between us. " Well, Katharine," said my father, you have discovered what you set your heart upon, and which you spoke of when I saw you in St. Paul's Church?" The woman laughed mockingly. " rn V less than a week the King will be in England" she said, "and, oh! what a King and then she fell to scanning our faces again. . . " The people be already crying, God save the King!" said my father. Already my old neighbours who fought for Charles 1. be looking forward to the time when the Puritans will be despoiled like the Egyptians of old, and when they will be rewarded for being faithful to Royalty. " Rewarded!" said the woman scornfully. " Will the eldest son of Charles I. ever reward an honest man? I know him, Master Rashcliffe. He will be the dupe of every knave, the puppet of every hussy in England. He will make promises without end; but he will be too idle to perform them. No honest

man will be the better for his return, and no one will have justice unless that justice 's | forced from him." • . "But have you discovered aught.' asked my father. " You know what you promised me. Moreover, when I last saw the dame with whom you had lodgment at the back of Aldersgate-street, she said you had your hand upon the proof." " And I am not one who makes promises lightly," replied the woman, " neither am I a woman who, having made up he? mind, is easily tuir '1 aside. Nevertheless, there remainetb m-J* to be dose, Master Rashclifle. The matter is not child's play, and he who meddles with matters which affect the King is in danger of being accused of treason. ■ For Charles Stuart can act to purpose when ■ it suits him. That is why I have not come jto you before." 3 , . Here again "the woman eeaseu speaiung and scanned me closely. " This son of yours hath never fought in the wars?" she said questioningly. > > " Nay," replied my father. " During the < first Civil war he was too young to bear arms. After that my heart was embittered, I would not have my son uphold the claims ' of a man who was alike faithless to bo.n > enemies and friends. .Then, when Charles was » beheaded, could I allow my son to ogtit ' under Cromwell?" , "He was r brave, strong man, replied » the woman. , - ' ... _ . "Ay, a brave, strong man if you will, lint i not such a man as my son could tight under. ; Besides, I would not have him mingle with , such a crew as this amy fashioned under 3 the New Model. Would I have my son be- - come a psalm-singing hypocrite.' Would 1 i have him taught to cry ' Down with the Pray--1 er-book?' Would I have made him a sourt. faced follower of old Nol, learn- - ing to make pious speeches in Y order to gain promotion.' No, J. >. have fought under the King's standard, and, • although the King betrayed us all, I would o not have my son serve under my Lord 1 ros tector Nevertheless, Roland is no weakII ling, as you see ; neither is he a fool. Poor as I hav> been, I have seen to it that ho d hath learned something of letters. He can y write like a clerk, and can read not only in it the English tongue, but m Lathi and in d French. ' , , T < "In French?" said the woman, eagerly i >r thought. ~ ... , "Ay in French. Besides, without ever » having served in the wars he knows everything ot fighting that I could tell him, ;r and,' as for swordcraft, I doubt if there is a in 1 man in London town who could stand against ihim."

Again, the woman looked at me eagerly, and then she broke out like one in anger. "It ia well, Master Rashcliffe, for, mark you, if what-I have discovered is true, He will need all his cleverness, all his learning, and all his knowledge of swordcraft. We > play '■■■lot high stakes, Master Rashclme—• nothing lees than the throne of England. " "Ah, I gathered as much," said my father thoughtfully. "Look you here," went on the woman. " You desire to gain back your estates; you desire, moreover, that your son Roland shall not be a penniless, lackland squire like you. Why, I discovered as I came hither that Jot years, this manor house hath been little better than a farm kitchen that such as Nicholas Reel, the blacksmith, who fought for Cromwell, and ' Praise-be-his-name Elijah of the Marsh/ and ' Grace-abounding Reuben,' who used to be one of your hinds, be now fattening on your best arms!" ■-;• "Ay, it is* so," cried my father angrily. "The"very kitchen wenches of twenty years ago laugh at me, and called me 'Landless Rashcliffe.'" "And Charles Stuart will* never give you back these lands unless he is made," said

the woman. " Ay, ay," said my father, " 1 know enough of him for that; but to your tale, Katharine Harcomb. Tell me what you know." "I know that James, the new King's brother, is full of hope that Charies will kill himself by revelry in a year," replied the woman. "I know that he is next heir to the throne. I know that he is intriguing to get back the Catholic religion to ftie country, and I know that neither Charles nor James loves either you or yours." " And yet I fought for their father," said my fathei. " Ay, and like the. honest man thou art, declared that thou couldst never fight for him again after the contents of his papers which were found on Naseby field were made known," retorted the woman. _ "I know this, too; that if Charles had gained the victory over Cromwell, thou wouldst I have been beheaded for what thou didst say at that time. Mark you, a Stuart never forgets and never forgives, for all the fair promises that they make. Therefore if ever thou dost get back thine own, and it ever thy son is to be more than a mere yeoman ploughing his own fieldsay, and poor fields at that, for the best have all been taken away—he must be able to force the new King's hand." " Ay, I know all this," replied my father impatiently, " but let us hear what you have discovered, Katharine; let us know the truth concerning the strange things I have heard." " It is no use telling of what I know, unless this sou of thine be bold enough to make use of ii," replied' the woman. "I am u girl no longer, Master Rashcliffe; lam not so simple as I vvas in those days when I was waiting maid to Mistress Rashcliffe. Enough to say that I have found out sufficient to make Charles Stuart;, who in even now preparing to come back to England as King, eager not only to restore thy lands, but to give a place of honour to Master Roland here. Ay, but that is not all. The thing which I know to exist must be in our hands, ay, and in our hands in such a way i that we shall be able to make our own bar- j gain with the new King." ' | "But what is it?" "It is this: James Duke of York is not the next heir to the throne." " Well, and what of that " "This," replied the woman. "You have heard of the Welsh girl, Lucy Walters." "Ay, I have heard of her." "And you have heard of her son, a lad who goes by the name of James Croft?" '" Yes," said my father, " I have heard of him : but it doth not matter." " Ay, but it doth matter," "Why?" " Because he, although Charles Stuart will doubtless deny it, is the next heir to the throne of England." My father started back in amazement. "Ho is Charles' son," continued the woman.

"Ay, but;—" " Charles married Lucy Walters— her in Hollaud." "But the proof,, the proof/' cried my father. "It is of this proof of which' I come to speak," said Katharine Hareomb. " But answer me this: Suppose the proof could be obtained, suppose the box containing , the contract of marriage between Charles Stuart and Lucy Walters could be obtained—what then?" For a time my father was silent. Evidently he regarded the woman's declaration of great import, and I saw that he carefully considered her words. " Charles would not desire it to be known," he said at length. '"Nay, that he would not," said the womam, with a laugh; " but there is more than that, Master Rashclifl'e." " Ay, there is," said my father, thoughtfully. "He who could be fortunate enough to possess that marriage contract would be able to make his terms not only with the King, but the King's brother." " Ah, you begin to see." "The man who possessed such a secret could stir up civil war in. England," said my father; "such a war that might well | make men forget the war between Charles 11, and Cromwell." " Ay," said the woman; " but what is mere to our purpose, Master Bashcliffe, he could make the King restore the Rashcliffe lands, and gain for his sort a place in England worthy his name." "And do others know of this secret, Katharine?" asked my father. " Yes," replied the woman; "it hath been guessed at by many, but I alone know where the box containing the marriage contract is hidden. It hath cost me much trouble to find out, but at last I have done it." I looked at the woman as she said this, and I thought there was a furtive look in her eyes. " And how did you find it out?" asked my father presently. " Of that more anon," replied Katharine Harcomb. " Enough to say now. that this is the secret I promised to tell you, a secret which should give you that power- to make your own terms with the .King. All now depends on young Roland here." _ On me," I cried, speaking for the first time, although, as may be imagined, I listened eagerly to every word which had been spoken.

"Ay, on you," replied the woman, "for that marriage contract is in hiding. It is hidden in a black box*, and may be obtained only with difficulty. The question is, Master Roland, will you undertake the work of bringing it hither?" " How old is the King's son?" I cried, for her story had excited my imagination and appealed to that love for adventure which for a long time had been struggling for i expression. "How old?" repeated the woman; "he is a lad of about eleven years. At present he is with the Dowager Queen." " And do you mean that he is the next heir to the English throne?" I cried. "Ay,, that he is," replied the woman; "and the man whe can find the marriage contract can go far to be one of the masters of England." "And if it be not brought to light?" I cried; "then if Charles has no other son the Duke of York will become king." "That is not the thing of import," replied the woman; "the thing that is of weight is this : the man who hath the secret can make the Xing obey him." But this way not the thought which fired my imagination. A great overmastering desire came into my heart to place my hand upon this marriage contract that I might be the means of doing-justice to the King s disowned son,, and even as she spoke I found myself making plans for going out into the world to unearth this secret,. For it must be remembered that I was but a lad of 23, and that up to now, in spite of my many day dreams, I had been kept mewed up in the old manor with my father, knowing but | little of what was going on in the great world. Still, I was not so young but that I saw many difficulties in the way. I reflected that we h/td only the word of this Katharine Harcomb, who had lived at Rasheliffe Manor many years before, and who, according to belief, 'had been dead for some time. Where fcad she been all those years What were heir motives in seeking "out this mystery? More than all, why had she chosen my father and myself as the men to whom she could disclose this momentous secret? Not that these matters troubled me much. I wan too much excited by the story of the mysstery to weigh well those things which, had I been ten years older, I should have con- < sidered carefully. Still, they came into my mind, and I was on the point of putting them to her, when she rose from her chair

*As all students of history know, the story of the black box containing the carriage contract Between Charles 11. and Lucy Walters obtained. great credence after the Restoration; indeed, it is rot M -> that belief in its validity nad much to do wiui tue Monmouth rebellion at a later date.—

and placed her hand on my shoulder. I 1 remembei even then thinking how tall she was, for as I stood by the fireplace, , and she came up to me, her face was level with mine, and I am not a short man. "Roland Rashcliffe," she said, " will you undertake this thing';"' I looked at my father, who appeared to be pondering deeply. ~ "Where is it?' I asked. "Where is what?". ' . "This black bos." ' •" Before I make known where it is I must have your promise. Nay, Master Roland, look not darkly at me, for this is no light matter. I dare not make known the hiding place until I am assured that you will undertake to go wherever it is, and then alone, and in secret, bring it hither." The words pleased me, although they ! raised more questions in my mind. I liked i the words " alone and in secret," even although i little understood what they portended. "How came you to know these things'/" I asked. " I saw the woman called Lucy Walters when she was in England," replied Katharine Harcomb; "I saw her as she was taken to the Tower." j "You saw Lucy Walters!" I cried. j " Ay, I saw her. No wonder Charles Stuart loved her, for a more beautiful woman i never set my eyes on. Ay, poor thing, she was neither wise nor prudent, as she found out afterwards to her cost, but she was the fairest maid to look upon that ever I clapped my eyes on. It is true, her first beauty had left her, and at that time she was in sore trouble, for she was on her way to the Tower with soldiers on either side of her; nevertheless, every man fell in love with her as she went. The verse-makers have called her the 'nut brown maid,' and well they might, for her hair was the colour of ripe chestnuts when they are picked from the trees in early October. It sone like the Dowager Queen's diamonds, and hung around her head in. great, curling locks. Her eyes were brown, too, and sparkled like stars; even then roses were upon her cheeks, and she walked like a .queen." " But she was liberated from the Tower," said my father, " and went back to France." " But not before I sew her, Master Rashcliffe," replied Katharine Harcomb, "and not before she told me that she was Charles Stuart's wedded wife." "She told you that?" " Ay, she told me that." " But did she tell you where the marriage contract was?" asked my father. "Of that I shall say nothing: until _ I know whether Master Roland here will undertake the work I have spoken of," and again the woman's dark bright eyes scanned my face, as though she saw there an index to the thoughts which possessed my mind. " Roland," said my father, " I would e'en talk with Katharine Harcomb alone. Do you leave the room, and return in an hour's time."

I did not much like this, for, as maybe imagined, I was much interested, and wanted to hear more of what the woman had to tell; but I obeyed my father quickly as every dutiful son should, and went out of the house into the park lands. The sun had now gone down, but it was not dark, neither did I think it would be throughout the whole night. For not only was there a moon, but the sky was clear. Indeed, the time was the middle of May, when the air was clear and the countryside was beauteous beyond words. It is :me the roses had not yet appeared, hut he trees were well-nidi in full leaf, for 'season was early. Even, the oaks and he ashes were .covered with spring leaves, which I saw shining in the light of the noon. No stars appeared' that night, the noon was so bright, and. no sound did I rear save the babbling of, the trout stream hat ran through the park, and now and hen the twitter of a bird which settled itself to rest. I walked along the grass-grown drive which led to the gates, wondering about | ivhat the woman Katharine Harcomb had | said, and thinking if ever the time would :ome when carnages would be drawn up ;o the house as they were in the days Msfore the Long Parliament, and whim my )ld home would bo full of gaiety. . "This is-- a strange happening, ■*• said o myself. "Ever since Richard ■Cromivell died my father hath spoken of a possible change to our fortunes if Charles should come back, not because the King would do aught for us of- his own free will, rat because we should gain the power to :ompel him." '■'--, ,-, • And then as I .thought of these tilings, in spite of the war the woman bad inspired my fancy by the story of the King's narriage" the whole thing became like old wives' fables, and I -was glad that I had lot been led to make any promises. I had barely got in sight of the gate where I had geeu old Adam in the earlier mrti of the daw, when I heard the sound )f footsteps, they were not the footsteps >f a man; of that I was certain. They were neither firm enough, nor heavy fflough. Moreover, they were uncertain, md, as I thought, feeble. I stopped and baked along the road, and saw the form if "a woman coming towards me. Bright although the moonlight was. I lould not at first make out her age or her station, but as she drew nearer I saw that he was evidently old and poor. "Whither go you, dame?" I asked as ie came up. "And what is that to you, young

By this time I was able to see that she was much bent, and that her clothes were those of one of low degree. I knew by the way she spoke that she was toothless, for her words were not clearly spoken. "It may be much to me, dame," I replied, "but whether it be or no, I would warn you against going to the house yonder, for the dogs he let loose of a night, and they would make short work of you. She mumbled some words which I could not understand; then looking up at me, she said, "And who may you be, youug master?" „,,.„, » t "I am Master Rashcliffe son, I replied. , , At this she gave a start, and scanned me more eagerly than before. _ . "Ay, av, I should a' known," I heard her mumble, "I should a' known, for did not Katharine tell me?" . • , « At this I was all ears again, and all eyes too, for that matter, for evidently she knew something of the woman who was even then at the house talking with my father, , ... | "Dogs or no dogs, I must oen go, she said, presently. ■ , 0 „" T "Why? Is your business of import; i. " Ay, or I would not have come all the way from St. Paul's Cross to Eppiug. tor that matter I should never have got here did not a man coming hither give me a lift on his cart, But, young master, tell me. Hath a woman come to your fathers house this day?" „ _ , , "What kind of a woman i" I asked. "A woman who hath forty-five years, but carries them lightly," she replied; a woman who hath not the attire of a woman of quality, and vet speaketh as if she were; a' woman who years ago lived at Rashcliffe Manor." „ " And if such a woman hath been there.' I said. " Then must I go thither." . "But if she hath been there, and is gone?" , . " Then lack-a-dav, I know not; ay, but even then I must know what she hath tolaMaster Rasheliffe." "Gome with me," I said; "I will take you to the house." "But is she there?" she asked eagerly. "Av, she is there," I replied. " Then let us go quickly," and although she still stooped low she walked by my side at a good speed. A little later I led her into my fathers hall, wondering at the meaning of what was happening, but little dreaming of what lay before me. , ■ (To he continued.)

[Another instalment of this very interesting story will be given in these columns on Monday next., and continued daily until its completion.]