"My lady, he dined with Father Sacy alone." "And pray what did they eat for dinner?" "There was a sucking pig roasted with juniper wood and rosemary branches, and a jugged hare, and a pullet, and some clotted cream and a raspberry tart. All very good, my lady; will you please to eat something?" "Yes. I will have some jugged hare, and some clotted cream, and a raspberry tart—and a glass of Spanish wine, Delia, and a pitcher of new milk. Have them served as soon as possible." "In what room, my lady?" "In what room is the Earl, my father, now sitting?" "In the morning room." "Then serve it in the morning room." She took one comfortable glance at herself, and in the pleasure of its assurance went down-stairs. Her step was now firm and rapid, yet she paused a moment at the door of the room she wished to enter, and called up smiles to her face and a sort of cheerful bravado to her manner ere she lifted the steel hasp that admitted her. In a moment her quick eyes took a survey of its occupants. They were only two men—Earl de Wick, and his chaplain, Father Sacy. Both were reading; the Earl, Sir Philip Sidney’s _Arcadia_; the Chaplain, the Evening Service in the Book of Common Prayer. Neither of them noticed her entrance, and she went straight to her father’s side, and covering the open page with her hand, said in a merry tone— "Here is a noble knight dwelling in Arcadia, while the great Captain-General Cromwell——" "The devil!" "Is going up and down and to and fro in the land, seeking whom he may devour. I have been at Ely and at Swaffham, gathering what news I can, and I assure you, sir, there is none to our comfort." "What have you heard? Anything about the Scots?" "Cromwell is in Scotland. What do you expect from that news?" "That Leslie will be his match." "Then you will be disappointed. ’There is a tide in the affairs of men,’ and this tide of Cromwell and the Commonwealth is going to sweep all royalty and all nobility into the deep sea." "Well, then, I may as well return to my _Arcadia_ and learn how to be rustical. We nobles may play at Canute if we like—but—but——" "It is useless, while this man’s star flames in the firmament. I hear that the Parliament rose bareheaded to receive him when he last entered the House. If he were king, they could have done no more. They have also given to him and his family a royal lodging in the Cockpit, and already the women are removed thither. If he conquers the Scotch army, what more can they offer him but the crown?" "Those unlucky Stuarts! They will swallow up all England’s chivalry. Oh, for one campaign with Queen Elizabeth at its head! She would send old Oliver with his Commonwealth to the bottomless pit, and order him to tell the devil that Elizabeth Tudor sent him there."