Many of those had fled at the first rumor of the restoration, in anticipation of the worst, so that, on the command of Charles, only twenty-seven persons—judges and accomplices inclusive—could be arrested. These had now been incarcerated three weeks awaiting their trial, which was deferred from time to time in the hope that more of the regicides might yet be brought to justice. Among those thus imprisoned were Henry Lisle and William Heath, whose fates are interwoven with this narrative. Leaving this needful preface to what is to follow, let us again visit Lisle’s mansion—the same which witnessed the marriage of his daughter. Several years have elapsed since that event; and after the mournful impression caused by the death of the ill-fated king had been obliterated from her mind—for Time has the power speedily to heal all wounds not absolutely inflicted upon the affections—till within the last few weeks, the life of Alice Heath had flowed in as smooth a current as any who beheld her on her wedding-night, could, in their most extravagant wishes, have desired. In their untroubled union, her husband had heretofore forestalled the wife’s privilege to minister and prove devotion—a privilege which, however, when the needful moment demanded it, no woman better than Alice was formed for exerting. Trouble had not hitherto darkened the young brow of either; nor pain, nor sorrow, nor the first ungratified wish, come nigh their dwelling. Under the same roof with her pious and austere but still affectionate father, the daughter had been torn from no former tie in linking herself to another by a still nearer and more indissoluble bond. There had been nothing to desire, and nothing to regret. The life of herself and husband had been as near a type as may be of the perfect happiness we picture in Heaven—save that with them it was now exchanged for sorrow—more difficult to bear from the bitter contrast.