She wrung his hard hand, and turned away abruptly, and rushed homeward with a heart perhaps a little lighter that it had unbosomed thus to a true ear something of its sorrows. In the meantime events were drawing on rapidly, and the crisis was at hand yet more nearly and more suddenly than she imagined. When the supper-bell rang, which it did within ten minutes after her return, and she descended into the great hall, she found her father, instead of sitting, as usual, in his large arm-chair by the fireside half dozing, was striding to and fro across the oaken floor, speaking with great animation, and holding in his hand a news-letter, as the rare and incomplete gazettes of the time were called, while Acton, listless as usual, and without one spark of animation apparent in his inert but handsome features, sat toying with a terrier dog, and provoking it to bite at his fingers, and then beating it for doing so. “Have you news from the host, father,” cried she, as she saw how he was employed, “is it well for the good cause?” “Great news, and gallant doings, daughter,” replied the old man quickly. “Basing-House has been gloriously relieved by valiant Colonel Gage, and a small band of partisans, who have slain thrice their number of the Roundheads; and the king’s army has gone into winter-quarters with higher hopes than it has yet had cause to entertain of bringing this war to a close in the next campaign.” “Great news, indeed, and happy. Let me see the news-letter, father.” “Not now, not now, darling,” replied the old man; “let us to table now, the goose-pie is growing cold, and your lover here has been looking angrily at the baron of beef these ten minutes.” “My lover!” she exclaimed, in tones of ineffable disdain, and gazed on him with wide eyes of cold astonishment. “A very true, if a very humble one, fair Mistress Margaret,” replied the indolent baronet, sauntering up to her, and offering his hand to lead her to the table. “No one can be a lover of mine, Sir Andrew,” she replied, very shortly, “who is not a lover of honor also. In times like these, no lady should smile on any suitor but him who dares the furthest, and does the most for the king’s cause;” and refusing his offered hand, she walked by herself to her place, and did the honors of the coming meal, which passed in gloomy and unsocial silence. When it was ended, however, and they had all retired into the withdrawing-room where the lamps were lighted, and a wood-fire sparkling cheerfully, Margaret possessed herself of the forgotten news-letter, while her father returned to his heraldic musings, and the baronet applied himself to seek consolation for his late rebuff, in the ample spiced posset, which was set, with wine and comfits and manchet-bread, on the board before him. Suddenly, springing to her feet in great excitement, and letting the news-letter, which she yet held in her hand, fall by her side at arm’s length, Margaret cried out in shrill tones,