"You know what anguish I endured when she whom I loved so dearly expired in my arms. I swore to avenge her, and I have kept my oath. No sooner was your majesty gone than I prepared to execute my purpose, and I found Pope, whose blood was up, well disposed to second me. From the sounds we heard, we felt sure that the two murderous caitiffs were still on the opposite bank of the Avon. While I laid down the body tenderly, Pope pushed the boat to the other side of the river, and enabled me to leap ashore. The villains were hurrying towards the spot, and as soon as they descried me through the gloom, they both discharged their pistols at me, but the bullets whistled past me harmlessly. I returned the fire with better effect, for I brought down one of them. Sword in hand, I then rushed upon the other, and a sharp conflict took place between us. Infuriated as I was, he was no match for me, and I drove him to the edge of the precipitous bank. He made a desperate effort to avoid his fate, but I still pressed fiercely on, smote him, and with a wild cry he fell backwards, and was instantly swept away by the rapid current. Having thus executed my vengeful task, I returned to the boat, and was quickly transported to the opposite bank by Pope. "But now arose the painful question--how were her loved remains to be disposed of? I was almost distracted by the thought of leaving her. Yet what else could be done? At last, however, the difficulty was unexpectedly solved. Pope had fastened the boat to a tree, and had come ashore to confer with me. We were anxiously deliberating together, when the boat, containing her loved remains, suddenly disappeared! It was swept away in an instant--gone beyond the possibility of recovery. Doubtless, as Pope suggested, the rope with which he endeavoured to secure the bark, had become loose, and so the disaster occurred. But I looked upon it then--as I regard it now--as a cruel stroke of fate, by which I was deprived of the sad consolation of seeing her decently interred." There was a pause, during which Charles showed by his looks how profoundly he sympathised with his attendant. "Fear not, she will find a grave," he said, at length. "It may be so," rejoined Careless. "But I shall never know where she lies." "Banish the painful thought from your mind," said Charles. "You cannot do more than you have done. My firm conviction is that she will find a resting-place in some quiet churchyard, and not at the bottom of the deep as you seem to dread." "I will strive to think so," rejoined Careless. Again forcibly repressing his emotion, he added in a firm voice, "Your majesty has some commands for me?" "You know Colonel Francis Wyndham, I think? He now resides at Trent, in Somersetshire, and I intend to seek an asylum in his house. Do you approve of the plan?" "Perfectly, my liege. Frank Wyndham is a staunch Royalist. You will be quite secure with him."