Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
But even with this last, it was only through sympathy with her mother
that Dorothy could come into any contact. The gems of the mind, which
alone could catch and reflect such light, lay as yet under the soil, and
much ploughing and breaking of the clods was needful ere they could come
largely to the surface. But happily for Dorothy, there were amongst the
books a few of those precious little quartos of Shakspere, the first
three books of the Faerie Queene, and the Countess of Pembroke's
Arcadia, then much read, if we may judge from the fact that, although it
was not published till after the death of Sidney, the eighth edition of
it had now been nearly ten years in lady Vaughan's possession.
Then there was in the drawing-room an old spinnet, sadly out of tune, on
which she would yet, in spite of the occasional jar and shudder of
respondent nerves, now and then play at a sitting all the little music
she had learned, and with whose help she had sometimes even tried to
find out an air for words that had taken her fancy.
Also, she had the house to look after, the live stock to see to, her dog
to play with and teach, a few sad thoughts and memories to discipline, a
call now and then from a neighbour, or a longer visit from some old
friend of her mother's to receive, and the few cottagers on all that was
left of the estate of Wyfern to care for; so that her time was tolerably
filled up, and she felt little need of anything more to occupy at least
her hours and days.
Meanwhile, through all nature's changes, through calm and tempest, rain
and snow, through dull refusing winter, and the first passing visits of
open-handed spring, the hearts of men were awaiting the outburst of the
thunder, the blue peaks of whose cloud-built cells had long been visible
on the horizon of the future. Every now and then they would start and
listen, and ask each other was it the first growl of the storm, or but
the rumbling of the wheels of the government. To the dwellers in Raglan
Castle it seemed at least a stormy sign--of which the news reached them
in the dull November weather--that the parliament had set a guard upon
Worcester House in the Strand, and searched it for persons suspected of
high treason--lord Herbert, doubtless, first of all, the direction and
strength of whose political drift, suspicious from the first because of
his religious persuasion, could hardly be any longer doubtful to the
most liberal of its members.
The news of the terrible insurrection of the catholics in Ireland
followed.
Richard kept his armour bright, his mare in good fettle, himself and his
men in thorough exercise, read and talked with his father, and waited,
sometimes with patience, sometimes without.
At length, in the early spring, the king withdrew to York, and a
body-guard of the gentlemen of the neighbourhood gathered around him.
Richard renewed the flints of his carbine and pistols.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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