"Take this," she said. "I never thought to part with it; but it of right belongs now to thee. Take it as a pledge of thy mother's love, that her broken heart goes with thee to Willsworthy, and finds its rest there; and with it take my blessing." Anthony bowed his head, and looked at the silver coin, rubbed very much, and placed it on his breast, inside his coat. "Thank thee, grandmother," he said. "I will cherish it as a remembrance of my mother." "And tell me," said she, "is it so, that thou art forever driven away from Hall, that thy father will take thy name, even, and give it to another, and that thou and thy children are forever to be shut off and cast away from all lot and inheritance in the place where thy forefathers have been?" "It is even so," answered Anthony. "But hark!" A horn was being blown in the street, and there was a tramp of running feet, and voices many in excitement. "What can be the matter?" exclaimed Magdalen, going to the window. "Mercy on us! What must have taken place?" Anthony ran out of the house. The street had filled; there were people of all sorts coming out of their houses, asking news, pressing inward toward the man with the horn. Anthony elbowed his way through the throng. "What is this about?" he inquired of a man he knew. "The Duke of Monmouth has landed at Lyme in Dorsetshire. Hey! wave your hat for Protestantism! Who'll draw the sword against Popery and Jesuitism?" More news was not to be got. The substance of the tidings that had just come in was contained in the few words--the Duke has landed at Lyme; with how many men was not known. What reception he had met with was as yet unknown. No one could say whether the country gentry had rallied to him--whether the militia which had been called out in expectation of his arrival had deserted to his standard. Anthony remained some time in the street and market-place discussing the news. His spirits rose, his heart beat high; he longed to fly to Lyme, and offer himself to the Duke. His excitement over, the tidings dispelled his concern about his own future and gloomy thoughts about his troubled home. In that home there was at the time much unrest. After he had departed from Willsworthy, Uncle Sol Gibbs had burst into laughter. "Ah, Urith!" said he, "I hope, maid, thy hand is not hurt. It was not a fair hit. The lad was nettled; he thought himself first in everything, and all at once discovered that an old fool like me, with one hand behind my back, could beat him at every point. Your young cockerells think that because they crow loud they are masters in the cockpit. It disconcerts them to find themselves worsted by such as they have despised. There, I shall bear him no grudge. I forgive him, and he will be ashamed of himself ere ten minutes are past in which his blood has cooled. None of us are masters of ourselves when the juices are in ferment." He took his niece's hand and looked at the palm; it was darkened across it, by the stroke of the stick.