The Broken Font: A Story of the Civil War, Vol. 2 (of 2)

by Moyle Sherer

  CHAP. XVII.

  Lead us from hence; where we may leisurely Each one demand, and answer to his part Perform'd in this wide gap of time. _Winter's Tale._

  It is not necessary to the after-story of the persons in our domesticdrama that the various fortunes of that unnatural war, which desolatedEngland for so many years, should be further related.

  From the bloody field of Newbury, of which we have already spoken, tothe close of that mighty and memorable contest which convulsed thewhole kingdom, our tale pauses. The imagination of the reader mustpass with us in haste across that afflicting season of violence andwoe to consider the first-fruits of that harvest, the seed of whichhad been sown in the whirlwind of human passions, and had been wateredby torrents of human blood.

  But some slight notices of what passed during this interval among ourvarious characters--a faint outline of their doings, and of thepositions which they occupied--may not be without some interest. Fromthe period when we last mentioned him, the health of Sir Oliverdeclined: he grew infirm; and besides gout he had other complaints,which produced a morbid action in his system, and made him alternatelygloomy and lethargic, or sensitive and irritable to excess. Any badnews, a disagreeable incident, a chance crossing of his will, made himangry and out of temper with every person and thing around him. Allthis Katharine bore with a prayerful composure of the spirit, and wasoften rewarded by subduing her unreasonable father into sincere andaffectionate confessions of that divine mercy, which did in so manythings comfort and succour them in this season of common adversity anduniversal suffering. But there were trials to which she wasoccasionally exposed that drove her away in agony of spirit, and witha silent step, to her closet, where she might weep alone.

  Sir Oliver had been informed, through the officious and mischievousagency of one of those busy old ladies who had forced theiracquaintance on the family, first, that Francis Heywood had been inOxford with Lord Say's horsemen, and, next, that he had had aninterview on the bank of the river with Mistress Katharine. Shecontrived, moreover, in her relation of the story, under a pretence offeeling for the young people, and of its being so natural and soromantic, to insinuate that it was a prettily concerted meeting. It isnot to be denied that she had some materials on which to build up thefabric of her falsehood: for she had seen Jane and Katharine walkingin the meadow; she had seen Francis Heywood leap from the boat; andwhen he came forth from the avenue which concealed both the ladies aswell as himself, and walked swiftly into the city, he had passed closeunder the window of her summer house.

  There is a dignity and there is an earnestness in a genuine spirit oftruth which command belief and compel admiration. No sooner,therefore, did Sir Oliver first mention to Katharine what he had heardthan she told him, with all plainness, in how sudden and unexpected amanner Francis and herself met. She told him in part what had passedbetween them, and excused herself for not telling him of theinterview, by reminding him how very much the sight of her cousin'sname in the newspaper had discomposed and excited him; and how, in hisown judgment, it had exasperated the symptoms of his disease. By theseexplanations the old knight was at once satisfied and quieted. Herremonstrance with Francis put aside at the moment all suspicion. Ather particular request, he promised that Francis and his politicsshould be an interdicted name and a forbidden subject. But thisresolution was soon broken; for when he heard that Milverton House wasburnt down, for a fortnight the name was constantly on his lips, andwas always coupled with the most angry and contemptuous language, ifnot by maledictions of a more fearful nature.

  At such moments, a sense of his own impotent condition, which forbadehim to join the camp, would press upon his mind, till it producedparoxysms of frantic rage. By these temptations a temper less heavenlythan that of Katharine's would have been fretted into resistance andcontention,--a faith less firm and exalted would have failed. But everas the tempests of his mind subsided, Sir Oliver felt shame in herangelic presence. He could not indeed apprehend the high order of hermental force; but he could appreciate those solid principles of filialaffection that enabled her to endure all things, to hope all things,and that replied to bitter words only by the kindest services, and bythe most studious desires to content and cherish him. Throughsickness, through pain, through greater reverses of fortune than theyat first experienced,--under circumstances which compelled a greatabridgement of all their ordinary comforts,--the daughter shone as ifshe had been some ministering spirit of love and patience, to whom acharge of peculiar difficulty had been assigned. Nor was this trial ofher patience brief. It was not till the winter of 1647 that herchastised parent was removed from his scene of suffering and taken tohis rest. The last two months of his existence were, however, markedby a change of temper and conduct very affecting to all who witnessedit; and this proved a reward and consolation to Katharine herselfbeyond all expectation. Hope, indeed, had never forsaken her; for herhope was ever anchored beneath the mercy seat of that Redeemer who ismighty to save. The old knight became gentle, penitent,tearful:--listened with earnestness to the word of life--was much inmeditation--became tender as a little child--was full of thanksgivingand gratitude to his Christian daughter, and expired in her arms inpeace. His end was only marked by one painful circumstance,--a lastweakness and prejudice, that clung to him even when the approach ofdeath was manifest, and eternity in view. He declared that he died intrue and perfect charity with all men, and with Francis and his fathermore especially; but he made a request to Katharine, that she wouldsolemnly promise, under no change of circumstances whatever, to giveher hand in marriage to her cousin Francis. He confessed to her that,two years before, he had intercepted a letter from him to her address;in which, though he did not suppose them to be responded to by her,his sentiments of love were set forth in plain and melancholy words.Katharine gave the promise required with a low firm voice, andreceived upon a pale and trembling cheek the cold kiss that thankedher.

  The Heywoods had remained in Oxford through both the sieges, and inthat city Sir Oliver died. Arthur Heywood, feeling himself by the lossof his limb disabled for all future service in the field, had againentered at his college, and prepared himself by diligent and cheerfulstudy for embracing the profession of the law, whenever thedistracted kingdom should be once more in a state of repose. GeorgeJuxon had been for the most part in the field, having accompanied thearmy of the King as the volunteer chaplain of a regiment of horse; butin the winter of 1645 he made Jane Lambert his own by those sweet andsacred ties which the church sanctifies and records. Katharine stoodby her at the altar with that pure and perfect joy which hath its onlyoutward expression in grave and loving looks. For her comfort, Janewas still spared to her as a companion,--a consolation greatly needed,and most thankfully enjoyed; for her domestic trials were of thatpetty and painful nature, that do especially wear and weary the mostgenerous spirits.

  The name of Francis did never reach her ear save through some publicchannel, and that being commonly a newspaper, printed for theRoyalists, she did only gather that he had been present on some fieldswhere there had been obstinate fighting and great loss of lives. Thethought of his being slain was one painfully familiar to her in thestill night when she lay awake and prayed for him. Then again cameother news in the morning, and his name mentioned as one still ridingat the head of squadrons, and present, it would seem, and among theforemost wherever swords were drawn, and service to be done.Afterwards, for months she might not hear his name:--if he was dead,she did not know it; if he was living, she did not know it; and allthese silent anxieties most deeply wrought upon her suffering spirit.

  At the death of Sir Oliver, the King being now a captive, and theroyal cause (which had never looked up since the fatal battle ofNaseby) on all sides declining, Katharine consented, at the earnestentreaty of Jane, to accompany the Juxons to Cottesmore, in the countyof Gloucester; near which place the venerable uncle of George had anestate and a private dwelling. It was her intention to wait patientlythe full end of all tro
ubles or commotions before she attempted to fixher future residence; and then, upon the settlement of her familyaffairs, to summon back to her that little orphan girl, just shown atthe commencement of this story. That sweet child had been securelyplaced with the widow of a clergyman in one of the most secludedvalleys of Derbyshire, where, safe even from the sounds of war, shehad been reared in peace, and educated with religious care. Thisarrangement had been made by Mistress Alice before her death, from anapprehension that unquiet days were coming; and ample provision forthe support of the child had been lodged in the hands of a secureagent in that county.

  It was the plan of Katharine, whenever she might again take possessionof the Warwickshire estates, to build and endow a college for thewidows of clergymen on the site of the ruined mansion of Milverton,and to pass the rest of her days in some quiet and suitable retreatnear Kenilworth. But it is premature to speak of the time and mannerof a retirement which was not to be realised till yet greater trialsthan those she had hitherto experienced should come.