The last remark had reference to the fact of Ambrose Powell being one of the Parliamentary Commissioners for the Gloucester district, and just then in committee. But the anticipated news reached them without being brought by him. As they stood conversing in an embraced window, which, terrace-like, overhung the street, they heard a clattering of hoofs, almost at the same instant to see a horseman coming on at quick pace. When opposite the house in which they were, he halted, flung himself out of the saddle, and disappeared from their sight under the projecting balcony. Long ere this they had recognised Sir Richard's henchman Hubert. There was a loud rat-tat-tat at the street door, and soon after a gentle tapping against that of their room, which both recognised as from the knuckles of Gwenthian, simultaneously exclaiming, "Come in." In came she with a letter that seemed terribly soiled and crumpled. "Hubert has brought this, my lady," she said, holding it towards Sabrina, for whom the sharp-witted Welsh maid knew it was meant. "Poor man! he be wet to the skin, and all over mud, and looks as if just dropped out of a duck pond." The "poor man" was but a mild, evasive form of expressing her sympathy. Had she put it as she felt, it would have been "dear man," for long ago had Gwenthian entered into tender relations with the trumpeter. Neither of the sisters gave ear to what she was saying, for the elder had snatched the letter out of her hand, and torn it open on the instant, while the younger stood by in eager, anxious attitude. There was contentment in Sabrina's eyes as she glanced at the superscription. It became joy on reading the first words written inside, and she cried out, in tone of enthusiastic triumph,-- "Glorious news, sister! They've taken Monmouth?" "They have! Heaven be praised!" Sabrina was about to read the letter aloud, when some words caught her eye which admonished first running it over to herself hastily, as the other was all impatience. It ran:--