On June 22d Monmouth advanced to Bridgewater, where he was again proclaimed King; and here he divided his forces into six regiments, and formed two troops out of about a thousand horse that followed him. We need not follow his extraordinary course after this, marked by timidity and irresolution. Few of the gentlemen of the counties of the West joined him, and the influx of volunteers began to fail. Discouragement took possession of the Duke's spirits; and, when St. Swithin's rains set in before their proper time, not only was his ardour, but also that of his followers, considerably damped. At length, on July 5th, it was resolved to attack the Royal army, encamped on Sedgmoor, near Bridgewater, where the negligent disposition made by Lord Feversham invited attack. Here the decisive battle was fought. The men following Monmouth's standard showed in the action an amount of native courage and adherence to the principles of duty which deserved better leaders. They threw the veteran forces into disorder, drove them from their ground, continued the fight till their ammunition failed them, and would at last have obtained a victory, had not the misconduct of Monmouth and the cowardice or treachery of Grey prevented it. In the height of the action, when the fortune of the day was wavering, Lord Grey told Monmouth that all was lost--that it was more than time to think of shifting for himself. Accordingly, he and Monmouth, and a few other officers, rode off the field, leaving the poor enthusiasts, without order or instructions, to be massacred by a pitiless army. The battle lasted about three hours, and ended in a rout. The rebels lost about fifteen hundred men in the battle and pursuit; but the Royal forces had suffered severely. Urith sat in the parlour at Willsworthy. She had reverted to the stolid, dark mood that had become habitual with her. Her hands were in her lap. She was plucking at the ring affixed to the broken token, through which passed the suspending ribbon. But for this movement of the fingers of the right hand she might have been taken to be a figure cut out of stone, so still was her face, so motionless her figure; not a change of colour, not a movement of muscle, not a flicker of the eyelid betrayed that she was alive and sentient; no tears filling the eye, no sigh escaping her lips. The heat of her brow showed that she was labouring under an oppressive sorrow. She spoke and acted mechanically when roused into action and to speech, and then instantly fell back into her customary torpor. Only when so roused did the stunned spirit flutter to her eyes, and bring a slight suffusion of colour into her face. Next moment she was stone as before. She had been given, by Mrs. Penwarne, some flowers to arrange for the table. "For his grave?" asked Urith, "and for my baby." She took them eagerly, began to weave them, then they fell from her fingers into her lap, and she remained unconscious, holding the stalks.