ever saw; full of old Cavalier stories that would delight Rupert, and as fond of foxhunting as his servant is of gardening."

"What in the world took Rowley to that dreary old house?" whispered Churchill to Claverhouse.

"A pretty face, as usual," said Claverhouse; "and he talks of sending for her to court, so let Portsmouth tremble."

"Bah," said Churchill, "what fear from the red cheeks of a village Cicely? Take canary, and rinse your brain clear. A fiend when seen through a rainbow-cloud by lovers seems an angel."

"Yes," said Claverhouse" there, don't shrug and bite your glove-but to the vulgar herd only an imperious, wanton Jezabel."

"What's that about Jezabel, gentlemen ?" said the king, turning round. "Churchill hasn't turned Quaker, I hope, to win favour with the duke. As for Claverhouse, he never turns, except he turns colour when he's angry, and that's too often."

"Have you heard Tony's last trick, your Majesty?" said Godolphin, as the royal party rode on.

"Not I," said Charles, whistling a song of Dryden's.

"Why, he declares an agent of his in France has discovered in a convent at Paris a little black box, containing the deed of marriage of a gentleman named Stuart with a Welsh girl named Walters. It's now on its way over."

"A little black box," said Charles, laughing. "What next? And so Monmouth turns out James, and gives the empty box as a money chest to Shaftesbury, who will keep the Exchequer under his own key. A little black box-ah, ah! Very good! A little black box! Ancora. Very well-very well, indeed."

CHAPTER V.

THE PRODIGAL SON.

WE must now return to Mr. Wilson, and relate the manner of his flight from his old domicile at Crow's Nest.

The sounds of Sir Robert's horse's hoofs had scarcely died away ere he had betaken himself to his room, tied up a worn serge coat and a few other necessaries in a bundle, with a Bible and a volume of Baxter, closed his volumes with a sigh, shut his window for fear of rain, arranged some dried flowers on a shelf with as much care as if he had been going to spend his life in studying them; and then, with a parting glance at the old com

panions of his solitary hours of study, descended the stairs, much to the astonishment of Mabel's maid, who saw that he was dressed in a Norwich drugget coat, as if for a journey. He paced once down the avenue, visited the garden, listened a moment to the fountain, watched the restless birds, so careless of his sorrow; and then, passing through a back wicket, entered the fields, and struck into a path that led to London.

His friend the curate passed him on the other side of a hedge, but he had not the heart to accost him. A farmer's boy ran up to greet him, but Mr. Wilson passed on as if in a hurry, and the boy ceased to follow him. His eyes filled with tears as he took a last look at Crow's Nest; and then, descending a hill, he lost sight of it, as he believed, for ever.

At the first stile, when well beyond reach of being met by any who knew him, Wilson drew a letter from his pocket, and, with tears in his eyes, read it aloud. One could see by the worn folds of the letter, how often it had

been perused, and the paper was stiff and blistered, as if with tears.

"DEAR DAD" (ran the letter)-"I am now in Newgate, taken by a beggarly mercer, on whom I drew my pops a week ago, somewhere between Acton and Uxbridge. As I have no doubt I shall die in the air, I should like to see you before I dance my last caper on earth. The chaplain preaches to me from the prattling box to-morrow, just as he did to the great Jack Hind. I send you three pistoles to help you on the way.

"Your true gamecock son,

"TOM CHAMBERS,

"Alias THE FLYING DUTCHMAN."

"O Heaven!" cried the old man, tearing the letter into a thousand pieces, and falling on his knees with passionate vehemence, "how dost thou visit our youthful sins upon our hoary heads! Truly does Scripture say, 'He that sows the wind reaps the whirlwind.' But for your sin this had not been. Trem