His fingers wandered lovingly over her soft golden hair, he held her close, very close to his heart, drinking in every line of her exquisite loveliness, rendered almost ethereal through the magnitude of her sorrow: her eyes shining with passion through her tears, the delicate curve of throat and chin, the sensitive, quivering nostrils, the moist lips on which anon he would dare to imprint a kiss. "And life now to me," she whispered ’twixt heart-broken sobs, "what will it be? ... how shall I live but in one long memory?" "My life, my saint," he murmured. "Nay! lift your dear face up to me again! let me take away as a last memory the radiant vision of your eyes ... your hair ... your lips..." His arms tightened round her, her head fell back as if in a swoon, she closed her eyes and her soul went out to him in the ecstasy of that first kiss. "Ah! it is a lovely dream I dreamt," he whispered, "and ’tis meet that the awakening shall be only in death!" He tried to let her go but she clung to him passionately, her arms round him, in the agony of her despair. "Take me with you," she sobbed, half fainting. "I cannot bear it ... I cannot..." Gently he took hold of both her hands, and again and again pressed them to his lips. "Farewell, sweet dream!" he said. "There! dry those lovely tears! ... If you only knew how happy I am, you would not mourn for me.... I have spun the one thread in life which was worth the spinning, the thread which binds me to your memory.... Farewell!" The Sergeant stepped forward again. It was time to go. "Are you ready, sir?" he asked kindly. "Quite ready, Sergeant." She slid out of his arms, her eyes quite dry now, her hands pressed to her mouth to smother her screams of misery. She watched the soldiers fall into line, with their prisoner in their midst, and turn to the doorway of the inn, through which the golden sunshine came gaily peeping in. Outside a roll of drums was heard and shouts of "The Duke! The Duke!" The excitement had become electrical. His Royal Highness, mounted on a magnificent white charger, was making his entry into the village at the head of his general staff, and followed at some distance by the bulk of his army corps, who would camp on the Heath for the night. Squire West, his stiff old spine doubled in two, was in attendance on the green, holding a parchment in his hand, which contained his loyal address and that of the inhabitants of Brassington: the beadle, more pompous than ever, and resplendent in blue cloth and gold lace, stood immediately behind his Honour. In the midst of all this gaiety and joyful excitement the silent group, composed of the soldiers with their three prisoners, appeared in strange and melancholy contrast. Philip and Bathurst were to be confined in the Court House, under a strong guard, pending his Honour the Squire’s decision, and as the little squad emerged upon the green, ’twas small wonder that they caught His Royal Highness’s eye.