The weeds of mourning for her mother, who had died a few months before, had been thrown aside; but the paleness of her cheeks, and the tremor of her lips, spoke the sorrow of her heart. Her locks waved to the breeze. Her eye kindled with enthusiasm, as, quickly placing her small hand upon her marble brow, she exclaimed, “how tranquil and how beautiful is earth now. Yonder cottages, with their ivy porches, around which children are sporting, appear as if they were the habitations of young spirits. England is blessed in her cottages--but ah!--in her palaces!--no crown for the sun’s rays to fall upon! Once the sun gleamed upon the crown placed carelessly amidst the state ornaments, in the palace:--without, upon the gory head of the king, which had once been invested by it; and last of all, upon his headless trunk. Oh! that his son--now returned, might be blessed with conquest.” At this moment, her eye was arrested by a reflection of light in the distance. It was the gleam of arms, from a small body of soldiers; over whom the banner of Charles was waving. In her joy, Anne Houghton clasped her hands, and fervently said, “Thank God! all are not traitors.” She turned round, and met the searching glance of Colonel Seaton, one of Cromwell’s spies. “Fair lady--yonder troop is a loyal body. But--” and his countenance darkened with thought as he spoke,--“they have now encamped, and three horsemen leave the line, and are galloping in the direction of the tower. Well--for their reception!” There seemed to be a concealed meaning in his tones, and in haste he strode away. Three men were now seen approaching the avenue which led to the gateway. The foremost seemed to have no armour, but a sword. He wore no helmet, but a low cap, with a white plume. He was clad in a mourning garb, and over his left arm his cloak was flung, as for a shield. Keen was his eye, though he had evidently passed the meridian of life, and the fair lady of the tower almost believed that she only stood at a short distance from him--so quick was its flash. Behind him was a handsome youth, equipped in light panoply, who seemed fitted either for contesting the battlefield--or for sighing, not unpitied, in a lady’s bower. Light was the rein which he passed over his charger, and yet, as it plunged furiously, the rider sat with indifference. The third horseman, who seemed altogether absorbed with papers on which he was glancing, was the most stalwart. His coat of mail was clasped over a breast, full and prominent, and his horse startled whenever his mailed hand was placed upon its mane, to urge it forward. His eye never sought the fortress of the tower, until they had arrived at the drawbridge--when the warder’s horn sounded the challenge, and Sir Gilbert appeared on the walls. The first horseman called out, “The Earl of Derby, with two friends, in the service of Charles.”