‘He life’s war knows, Whom all his passions follow as he goes.’ And may God Almighty spare you to me, my son.” With those words to hearten him Gabriel volunteered his services to Sir Robert Harley, who entered the city with the Earl of Stamford and Sir Richard Hopton on the Sunday morning, taking up his quarters in the Bishop’s Palace. It was hard to enter the place associated so much with Hilary under these strange new conditions. “I will write you a recommendation to Sir Philip Stapleton,” said Sir Robert. “Hundreds of gentlemen have volunteered, and though you begin as many of them do in the ranks, you are certain to get promotion.” Gabriel thanked him, but as he stood waiting for the letter a sharp stab of pain went to his heart, for he caught sight of a painting of Hilary as a child, her eyes looking straight into his with that curious dignity, that “touch me if you dare!” expression which she had always been wont to assume when confronted by strangers. On the following Tuesday he bade farewell to his father and mother, and in company with Edward Harley and the forlorn hope, left Hereford for Worcester, where the Earl of Essex with a military committee of twelve noblemen of the county was endeavouring to bring the neighbourhood into thorough subjection to the Parliament. Before long, as all realised, the two armies were bound to find that opportunity for a pitched battle which they both eagerly desired. And in the meanwhile Gabriel, amid the duties of drilling, and the work which fell to his share, fought out his own private battle in manly fashion, not forgetting his father’s words as to the sacredness of life, yet not wholly without a lingering hope that the coming fight might end a life that had grown distasteful. CHAPTER X. “Some day the soft ideal that we wooed Confronts us fiercely, foe-beset, pursued, And cries reproachful, ‘Was it, then, my praise, And not myself was loved? Prove now thy truth; I claim of thee the promise of thy youth; Give me thy life, or cower in empty phrase, The victim of thy genius, not its mate!’ Life may be given in many ways, And loyalty to truth be sealed, As bravely in the closet as the field, So bountiful is fate; But then to stand beside her, When craven churls deride her, To front a lie in arms and not to yield, This shows, methinks, God’s plan, And measure of a stalwart man.” --Lowell.