“Nay, I am to be the guest of Sir Richard Hopton at Canon Frome,” said Sir Robert, seating himself by the fire in the doctor’s study and watching his host’s rapid movements as he prepared to dress the child’s wound. “I did but come to bear to you and to Doctor Wright the news of Sir John Eliot’s death.” “What! Is he indeed gone?” said Dr. Harford, sorrow clouding his fine, thoughtful face. “Here is a letter I received last night from London,” said Sir Robert. “An you will I will read it.” “Sir John Eliot, one of the Members for Cornwall in the last Parliament, died this 27th day of November, after nigh upon four years’ imprisonment in the Tower, for refusing to answer for his conduct in Parliament anywhere but in Parliament itself, this being, he maintained, one of the inalienable rights of the English people, without which a just liberty would be impossible. Having incurred the displeasure of His Majesty on this account, and for his fearless unveiling of divers other Court abuses and irregularities, the King refused to release him, and, indeed, for the last year did keep him close prisoner in a dark, cold and wretchedly uncomfortable room, denying him, even at his physician’s request, air and exercise, and forbidding him to see any save his sons. His health was thus undermined, and a fortnight since, when he did petition for a temporary release to recover from his sickness, the request was refused by His Majesty, and now that he lies dead the King will not grant his sons’ petition to carry the body for burial to Port Eliot, but orders that Sir John shall be buried in the church within the walls of the Tower. This harshness hath greatly angered all who knew the late Member for Cornwall, and, knowing him, could but admire his integrity, his courage and his patriotic devotion.” “A brave man--a truly great man,” said Dr. Harford. “Sir John Eliot is the martyr who by his blood will safeguard our Parliamentary rights.” As he spoke he took the hot iron from the fire and drew Gabriel gently towards him. “Now, my son,” he said, in the voice which by its tender but firm cheerfulness had nerved many a sufferer, “what a joy it will be to your father if you follow in that great man’s steps. Nothing could daunt Sir John; cost what it might he was ever true.” The boy being of a highly-strung, nervous temperament turned deathly white, but never flinched as the hot iron seared his flesh; only a stifled moan escaped him, and Hilary through her tears saw the strangest look of triumph in his dilated eyes--a look that made her heart throb with love and admiration. In a few minutes more the arm was carefully bandaged, the two gentlemen continuing meantime their grave talk. “I will send word to Frank Unett that you are here, sir,” said Dr. Harford, “for he, too, is one that deplores the present illegal rule without a Parliament; he will mourn Sir John’s death.”