This same Sir John was what Scotchmen would call a "canny chiel." Courtier, and private secretary to the Queen, he had come in for a goodly share of pilferings from the public purse; among other jobs having been endowed with the stewardship of the Forest of Dean, with all its privileges and perquisites. Appointed one of the Commissioners of Array for West Gloucestershire, he had built him a large mansion in the neighbourhood of Lydney--the White House as called--though it is not there now, he with his own hand having afterwards set the torch to it. But then, on the clearing out of the Court from London, Sir John had cleared out too, going to his country residence by Severn's side, which he at once set about placing in a state of defence. None more clearly than he foresaw the coming storm. It seemed to him near now when Reginald Trevor returned to the White House and reported his reception at Hollymead, with the defiant message to himself and his King. But Sir John was not a man of hot passions or hasty resolves. Long experience as a courtier had taught him to subdue his temper, or, at all events, the exhibition of it. So, instead of bursting forth into a furious display, he quietly observed,-- "Don't trouble yourself, Captain Trevor, about what Ambrose Powell has said or done. It won't help his case any. But," he added reflectingly, "there seems no particular call for haste in this business. Besides, I'm expecting an addition to the strength of our little garrison. To-morrow, or it may be the day after, we shall have with us a man, if I mistake not, known to you." "Who, Sir John?" "Colonel Thomas Lunsford." "Oh! certainly; I know Lunsford well. He was my superior officer in the northern expedition." "Ah! yes; now I remember. Well; I have word of his being _en route_ hither with some stanch followers. When he has reported himself, allowing a day or two for rest, we'll beat up the quarters of this recusant, and make him repent his seditious speech. As for the money, he shall pay that, every pound, or I'll squeeze it out of him, if there's stock on the Hollymead estate, or chattels in his house worth so much." There was something in the "recusant's" house Reginald Trevor thought worth far more--one of the recusant's daughters. Of that, however, he made no mention. To speak of it lay not in the line of his duties; and even thinking of it was now not near so sweet as it had been hitherto. Little as he liked Colonel Lunsford, he would that night have been glad of him for a boon companion--in the bowl to help drown the bitter remembrance of his adventures of the preceding day. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. A HAWKING PARTY. "Hooha-ha-ha-ha!" The cry of the falconer, followed by a whistle, as the hawks were unleashed and cast-off.