Returning to Fordingbridge we pass through Burgate, formerly belonging to Beaulieu Abbey, where the dogs of the Lord of the Manor, like those of the Abbot of the Monastery, were allowed to go “unlawed.” The base of the old village cross still remains, but the head was, not long ago, broken to pieces to mend the roads. Our way from Fordingbridge lies by the side of the Avon, with the new chapel of Hyde or Hungerford standing on the top of the Forest range of hills. The road soon brings us to Ibbesley, the prettiest of villages in the Valley, with its cottages by the road-side, and their gardens of roses and poppies and sweet pease, and their porches thatched with honeysuckle. Three great elms overhang the river, spanned by the single arch of its bridge; whilst the stream pours sparkling and foaming over the weir into the water-meadows, and in the distance the tower of Harbridge rises out from its trees. The sketch which is given at the end of this chapter is taken lower down in the fields, and shows another view not so well known. But the whole river is here full of beauty, winding, scarce knowing where, among the flat meadows, one stream flowing one way, and one another, and then all suddenly uniting, coming up with their joined force against the steep banks, dark in the shade of the trees; and, being repulsed, flowing away again into the meadows, white with flocks of swans, and fenced in by green hedges of rushes and yellow flags. Going on we reach the avenue of elms which brings us to the Ellingham cross roads. Turning up the lane to the left we presently come to Moyles Court, just on the boundary of the Forest, looking out upon the woods of Newlyns and Chartley. Here lived Alice Lisle, and here are shown the hiding-places where, after the battle of Sedgemoor, she concealed Hicks and Nelthorpe. The house is sadly out of repair; the oak floors, and part of the fine old staircase, and the wainscoting of many of the rooms have been taken away; the old tapestry is destroyed and the iron gates rusted and broken. Still the private chapel remains, with its panelling and carved string-course of heads, and its “Ecce Homo” over the place where the altar once stood.[149] The story of Alice Lisle needs not to be told. She was found guilty of high treason not by the jury, but by the judge,—the infamous Jeffreys,—and was condemned, for an act of Christian kindness, to worse than a felon’s death. In Ellingham churchyard, close to the south porch, stands a plain brick tomb under which she, and her daughter Anne Hartell, lie, with the simple words, “Alicia Lisle dyed the second of September, 1685;” and round the tomb, weaving its ever green chaplet, grows the little rue-leaved spleenwort.