The Lion's Whelp

"It came this very morning," said Mrs. Swaffham, "and I told the man who brought it you would be here to-day, and no doubt would answer it forthwith. Have you had a good visit, Jane?"

"Yes, mother."

"You wouldn't like to go again just yet, eh, my dear?"

"No, mother. I do not know why. They were all very kind to me, and the Lord General wonderfully so – but there was a difference, a change I cannot describe. It was not that they were less kind – "

"I understand. Power changes every one. Open your letter, I want to know how Matilda is; her man was so uppish, I would not ask him a question."

Then Jane laid aside her bonnet and opened her letter. "She is at Lady Jevery's house, mother, and she longs to see me, and indeed I am in the same mind. We shall be sure to quarrel, but then – "

"You can both play at that game, and you hold your own very well. What is the use of a friend if you can't talk plain and straight to her? I like Matilda no worse for her little tempers. I would go to Jevery House in the morning. Whom did you see at the Cockpit?"

"Doctor John Owen for one. He has just been made Chancellor of Oxford, and General Cromwell expects great things from him. I saw also John Milton, who writes so beautifully, and he plays the organ like a seraph. And Doctor Wilkins was there one day, and he talked to us about his lunarian journey; and Mr. Jeremy Taylor called, and we had a little discourse from him; and Mrs. Lambert, and Mrs. Fleetwood, and Lady Heneage, and Mrs. Fermor, and many others paid their respects. It seemed to me there was much enforced courtesy, especially between Mrs. Fleetwood and Mrs. Ireton; but – changes are to be expected. Mrs. Cromwell and Lady Heneage used to be gossips, and kiss each other before they sat down to talk, and now they curtsey, and call each other 'my lady,' and speak of the last sermon, or Conscience Meeting. I saw Lord Neville several times, but had no private speech with him; and I heard Mary Cromwell say there was a purpose of marriage between him and Alice Heneage."

"'Tis very like."

"I do not think so. I am sure he loves me."

"Then he should say so, bold and outright."

"He said last night he was coming to see my father and you, and though he spoke the words as if they were mere courtesy, I read in his face the purpose of his visit. Mother, we shall need your good word with my father."

"I can't go against your father, Jane. I would as soon take hot coals in my naked hands."

"But you can manage to make father see things as you do."

"Not always. He would have stayed at Swaffham and minded his own affairs instead of following Oliver Cromwell, if I could have made him see things as I did. Men know better than women what ought to be done; they are the head of the house, and women must follow as they lead. Your sister Armingford wanted to marry Frederick Walton, and your father would not hear of such a thing. You see he was right. Frederick Walton was killed in battle, and she would have been a widow on her father's and her father-in-law's hands. You will have to do as your father says, Jane; so make up your mind to that. The Swaffham women have always been obedient and easy to guide, and it isn't likely you will need bit and bridle."

"I would not endure bit and bridle."

"All I can say is, your father will decide about Lord Neville. Father keeps his own counsel, and he may have a purpose already of marrying you to some one else."

"I will not marry any one else."

"Your sister said the same thing, but she married Philip Armingford; and now there is no man in the world but Philip."

"I will marry Cluny Neville or remain a spinster."

"You will in the end do as your father and brothers say."

"What have my brothers to do with my marriage?"

"A great deal. The men of a family have to meet about family affairs. It wouldn't do to have some one among the Swaffhams that the Swaffhams didn't like or didn't trust. They have always been solid for Swaffham; that is the reason that Swaffham has done well to Swaffham. There, now! say no more about your marriage. It is beforehand talk, and that kind of discussion amounts to nothing. It is mostly to go over again. Your father thinks of buying this house. Parliament has offered it very reasonable to him, in consideration of the service he and your three brothers have rendered."

"It belonged to Sir Thomas Sandys?"

"Yes."

"And Parliament confiscated it?"

"Yes."

"If I were father I would not give a shilling for it. It will yearn for its own till it gets back to them. If the King had taken Swaffham, we should yearn for it at the other side of the world, and some Swaffham would go back to it, though it were generations after."

"I don't know what you are talking about, Jane. I suppose the Cromwells live in a deal of splendour."

"Everything is very fine. Mary Cromwell's room has the walls hung with green perpetuano and tapestries of Meleager. The standing bed is of carved wood, and the quilt of Holland striped stuff. There is a large looking-glass in an ebony frame, and many fine chairs and stools, and her toilet table is covered with silk and lace, and furnished with gilded bottles of orange-flower water and rose perfume. All the rooms are very handsome; Mrs. Cromwell's – "

"That is enough. I have often been in Elizabeth Cromwell's room, both in Slepe House and in Ely. I remember its tent bed and checked blue-and-white curtains! Well, well – it is a topsy-turvy world. You must go and see Matilda to-morrow. I have been making inquiries about the Jeverys; they are what your father calls 'Trimmers,' – neither one thing nor another. He is an old soldier, and has made use of his wounds to excuse him from further fighting; and Lady Jevery mingles her company so well that any party may claim her. A girl so outspoken as her niece Matilda will give her trouble."

In the morning Jane was eager to pay her visit, and she felt sure Matilda was as eager as herself; so an hour before noon she was on her way to Jevery House. It stood where the busy tide of commerce and the drama now rolls unceasingly, close by Drury Lane – a mansion nobly placed upon a stone balustraded terrace, and surrounded by a fine garden. In this garden the old knight was oftenest found; here he busied himself with his flowers and his strawberry beds, and discoursed with his friend John Evelyn about roses; or with that excellent person and great virtuoso, Mr. Robert Boyle, about his newly invented air pump; or thoughtfully went over in his own mind the scheme of the new banking establishments just opened by the City Goldsmiths: certainly it would be more comfortable to have his superfluous money in their care than in his own strong chests – but would it be as safe?

He was pondering this very question in the chill, bare walks of Jevery House when Jane's carriage stopped at its iron gates. She had been delayed and almost upset in Drury Lane by the deep mud, so that the noon hour was striking as Sir Thomas Jevery met and courteously walked with her to the entrance hall. Here there were a number of servants, and their chief ushered her into a stately cedar salon the walls of which were painted with the history of the Giants' war. But she hardly noticed these storied panels, for above the mantel there was a picture which immediately arrested her attention. It was a portrait of Oliver Cromwell, the rugged, powerful face standing out with terrible force amid the faces of Pym, Laud, Hampden, Strafford and Montrose. With the countenances of all but Montrose Jane was familiar, and she regarded this unknown face with the most intense interest. It was one not to be ignored, and having been seen, never to be forgotten – a face on the verge of being ugly, and yet so proudly passionate, so true, so strong that it left on Jane's mind the assurance of a soul worthy of honour.

She was standing gazing at it and quite oblivious of the Florentine curtains, the Venetian crystal, and French porcelain, when Delia came hurriedly into the room with an exclamation of delight. "Oh, Miss Swaffham! Oh, Miss Jane!" she cried. "My lady is impatient to see you. Will you kindly come to her room? She has been ill, oh, very ill! and you were always the one she called for!" So saying, she led Jane up a magnificent stairway lined with portraits, mostly by Holbein and Vandyke, and they soon reached Matilda's apartment. As the door opened she rose and stretched out her arms.

"Baggage!" she cried with a weak, hysterical laugh. "You dear little baggage! You best, truest heart! How glad I am to see you!"

And Jane took her in her arms, and both girls cried a little before they could speak. Matilda was so weak, and Jane so shocked to see the change in her friend's appearance, that for a few moments tears were the only possible speech. At length Jane said:

"You have been ill, and you never sent for me. I would have stayed by you night and day. I would have been mother and sister both. Oh, indeed, my mother would have come to you, without doubt! Why did you not let us know?"

"I have only been in London three days. I was ill at de Wick. I became unconscious at my father's burial. We had heard that day that Stephen had been shot while trying to reach the coast. It was the last thing I could bear."

"But I assure you Stephen is at The Hague. Doctor Verity said so, and he said it not without knowledge."

"I know now that it was a false report, but at the time I believed it true. My father was lying waiting for burial, so was Father Sacy, and Lord Hillier's chaplain came over to read the service. It was read at midnight in the old chapel at de Wick. We did not wish any trouble at the last, and we had been told the service would be forbidden; so we had the funeral when our enemies were asleep. You know the old chapel, Jane, where all the de Wicks are buried?"

"Yes, dear; a mournful, desolate place."

"A place of graves, but it felt as if it was crowded that midnight. I'll swear that there were more present than we had knowledge of. The lanterns made a dim light round the crumbling altar, and I could just see the two open graves before it. Father Olney wept as he read the service; we all wept, as the bodies were laid in their graves; and then our old lawyer, William Studley, put into Father Olney's hands the de Wick coat of arms, and he broke it in pieces and cast the fragments on my father's coffin; for we all believed that the last male de Wick was dead. And when I heard the broken arms fall on the coffin, I heard no more. I fell senseless, and they carried me to my own room, and I was out of my mind for many days. My aunt and Delia were very kind to me, but I longed for you, Jane, I did indeed. I am nearly well now, and I have left my heartache somewhere in that awful land of Silence where I lay between life and death so long. I shall weep no more. I will think now of vengeance. I am only a woman, but women have done some mischief before this day, and may do it again."

"Tonbert and Will are now at Swaffham; they will keep a watch on de Wick if you wish it."

"I suppose I have left de Wick forever; and I could weep, if I had tears left, for the ill fortune that has come to the old place. You remember Anthony Lynn, the tanner and carrier, Jane?"

"Yes."

"He has bought de Wick from the so-called Parliament. He was very kind to me, and he knew his place; but on my faith! I nearly lost my senses when I saw him sitting in my father's chair. Well, then, I am now in London, and all roads lead from London. I shall not longer spoil my eyes for the Fen country, and

 
"'De Wick, God knows,
Where no corn grows,
Nothing but a little hay,
And the water comes
And takes all away.'
 

You remember the old rhyme; we threw it at one another often when we were children. But oh, Jane, the melancholy Ouse country! The black, melancholy Ouse, with its sullen water and muddy banks. No wonder men turned traitors in it."

And Jane only leaned close, and closer to the sad, sick girl. She understood that Matilda must complain a little, and she was not unwilling to let the dreary meadows of the Ouse bear the burden. So the short afternoon wore away to Jane's tender ministrations without one cross word. Early in her visit she had yielded to Matilda's entreaties, had sent home her carriage, and promised to remain all night. And when they had eaten together, and talked of many things and many people, Matilda was weary; and Jane dismissed Delia, and herself undressed her friend as tenderly as a mother could have done; and when the tired head was laid on the pillow, she put her arms under it and kissed and drew the happy, grateful girl to her heart.

"Sweet little Jane!" sighed Matilda; "how I love you! Now read me a prayer from the evening service, and the prayer for those at sea – you won't mind doing that, eh, Jane?"

And after a moment's hesitation Jane lifted the interdicted book, and taking Matilda's hand in hers, she knelt by her side and read the forbidden supplications; and then Matilda slept, and Jane put out the candles and sat silently by the fire, pondering the things that had befallen her friends and acquaintances. The strangeness of the house, the sleeping girl, the booming of the city's clocks and bells, and the other unusual sounds of her position filled her heart with a vague dream-like sense of something far off and unreal. And mingling with all sounds and sights, not to be put away from thought or presence, was that strange powerful picture in the salon – the terrible force of Cromwell's face and attitude as he seemed to stride forward from the group; and the unearthly passion and enthusiasm of the unknown, just a step behind him, would not be forgotten. She saw them in the flickering flame and in the shadowy corners, and they were a haunting presence she tried in vain to deliver herself from.

So she was glad when she turned around to find Matilda awake, and she went to her side, and said some of those sweet, foolish words which alas! too often become a forgotten tongue. Matilda answered them in the same tender, broken patois – "Dear heart! Sweetheart! Darling Jane! Go to the little drawer in my toilet table and bring me a picture you will find there. It is in an ivory box, Jane, and here is the key." And Jane went and found the miniature she had once got a glimpse of, and she laid it in Matilda's hand. And the girl kissed it and said, "Look here, Jane, and tell me who it is."

Then Jane looked earnestly at the handsome, melancholy, haughty face; at the black hair cut straight across the brows and flowing in curls over the laced collar and steel corselet, and she lifted her eyes to Matilda's but she did not like to speak. Matilda smiled rapturously and said,

"It is not impossible, Jane, though I see you think so. He loves me. He has vowed to marry me, or to marry no one else."

"And you?"

"Could I help loving him? I was just sixteen when we first met. I gave my heart to him. I adored him. He was worthy of it. I adore him yet. He is still more worthy of it."

"But – but – he cannot marry you. He will not be allowed. Half-a-dozen kings and queens would rise up to prevent it – for I am sure I know the face."

"Who is it, Jane? Whisper the words to me. Who is it, dear heart?" And Jane stooped to the face on the pillow and whispered,

"Prince Rupert."

And as the name fell on her ear, Matilda's face grew heavenly sweet and tender, she smiled and sighed, and softly echoed Jane's last word —

"Rupert."

CHAPTER VII
TWO LOVE AFFAIRS

 
"Justice, the Queen of Virtues!
All other virtues dwell but in the blood,
That in the soul; and gives the name of good."
 

* * * * *

 
"The wise and active conquer difficulties
By daring to attempt them. Fear and Folly
Shiver and shrink at sight of wrong and hazard,
And make the impossibility they fear."
 

Matilda's confession brought on a conversation which lasted many hours. The seal of silence having been broken, the sick and sorrowful girl eagerly took the consolation her confidence procured her. She related with an impulsive frankness – often with bitter, though healing tears – the story of her love for the gallant Royalist leader. "He came first when I was yet a girl at my lessons," she said, "but my governess had told me such wonderful things of him, that he was like a god to me. You must know, Jane, that he is exceedingly tall and warlike, his black hair is cut straight across his brows, and flows in curls upon his shining armour. And he is always splendidly dressed."

"Indeed, all have heard of his rich clothing; even the laced cravats are called after him."

"See how people talk for nothing. Rupert's laced cravat was a necessity, not a vanity. He told me himself, that being out very early drilling his men, he took a sore throat, and having no other covering, he drew his laced kerchief from his pocket and tied it round his neck. And his officers, seeing how well it became him, must needs also get themselves laced neckerchiefs, and then civilians, as is their way, followed the custom. But who could look as Rupert looked? the most beautiful, the most soldierlike man in England."

"I might question that opinion, Matilda. I might say there is your brother Stephen – or – "

"Or Lord Cluny Neville, or many others; but let the question go, Jane. I had given my heart to Prince Rupert before I knew what love was; but one day – it was my sixteenth birthday – we were walking in de Wick Park, and the Hawthorns were in flower – I can smell them now, it was the very scent of Paradise; and he said such words as seemed to float upon their sweetness, and they filled my heart till I could have cried for pure happiness. The green turf was white with flowers, and the birds sang above us, and if heaven can come to earth, we were in heaven that dear spring morning. And as truly as I loved him, so he loved me; and that is something to make all my life beautiful. I have been loved! I have been loved! even if I see him no more, I have been loved! and by the noblest prince that ever drew a righteous sword. This is the one joy left me."

"But, Matilda, it was a secret joy, and it could not be right. What would your father and mother have said?"

"You think wrong too readily, Jane. When Rupert had told me how dear I was to him, he went to my parents. He said to them, as he held my hand, 'Earl and Countess de Wick, with your permission, this is my Princess;' – and they were glad and proud, for they loved Rupert, and my brothers, who were in his troop, adored him. As for me, when Rupert said 'Matilda,' I was in an ecstasy; and if he took my hand I trembled with delight. I was so happy! So happy! For those heavenly hours I will thank God all my life long."

"But I see not how, even with your father's and mother's consent, you could hope to marry Prince Rupert. Kings and queens would be against it."

"Indeed, it was a most likely consummation. The Prince came to de Wick to arrange loans for the King. You must have heard that at the beginning of the war my father had great wealth which he had made by joining in Sir Thomas Jevery's East and West Indian ventures. He was glad to let King Charles have money, and a great deal of gold was sent, from time to time, as the King needed it. And when the war was over, my father was to have all his loans back, and also be raised to the rank of a Duke. And in those days we never doubted that the King would win; not till Dunbar, not till after cruel Worcester, did we lose hope. And surely you can see that an English Duke's daughter, with a large fortune in money, would be a suitable match for one of the Palatine Princes. Rupert is poor, Jane, his sword is his only fortune. And moreover, Rupert's mother and brothers have been in terror lest he marry a papist. But as for me – you know that I would die, yes, I would burn for my Bible and Book of Common Prayer. More than this, the King was pleased at our engagement, and sent me a jewel in token of it. Alas, it has been an unlucky jewel! I have had only sorrow since it came to me."

"I would get quit of it."

"It is too beautiful. And when the poor King is dead! Oh, dear me! I could not bear to part with it. Do you wonder now that the news of Dunbar made me so cross and sad, and that I was distraught – past myself – after Worcester? All was lost that fatal night."

"I do not wonder, but – "

"Say you are sorry, plain out, Jane. I am past disguise with you, now, and must ask your pity. Think of my father and mother dead of grief, and of my three brothers, – two slain in battle, one wandering, I know not where. Remember that with my father's death, died all hope of the loaned money and the dukedom to the family, and all my own hopes regarding my lover. For without money and rank, I would be no bride for Prince Rupert; a milkmaid were as fit. And when father had been three days in his grave, and I lay at point of death, Anthony Lynn came with his Parliamentary title to our house and lands. I was at his mercy, at his charity, Jane."

"Well, and if so, many favours he and his have received from your family. All he is worth he owes to your father."

"He was kind and respectful; I am very sensible of that. It is a strange thing to count past benefits, Jane; 'tis like remembering eaten bread. If Anthony thought of my father's help, 'tis more than can be believed. But for my jewels, I am a very pauper – a dependent on Sir Thomas Jevery."

"He was your father's friend and partner in business – he is the husband of your aunt."

"'Tis confest; but for all that, I am here by his charity."

"Your aunt?"

"My aunt lives in the atmosphere of Sir Thomas' whims and wishes. What she will think, what she will do, depends upon what he thinks and what he does."

"'Tis commonly said that he is devoted to her."

"He loves her after the ordinary rate of husbands, I'll warrant." Then, speaking with her old peremptoriness, she said suddenly, "But for God's sake let me ask when you heard anything of Prince Rupert? Oh, Jane, I am sick with heart-hunger for some small intelligence of his doings or his whereabouts."

"He has filled the news-letters and papers lately."

"But I am not suffered to see them. 'Tis pretended they will make me ill; and Sir Thomas vowed when the doctor gave the order, that he was glad on it, and that he had long wanted an excuse to keep the pernicious sheets outside of his house. So, then, I hear nothing, and if I did hear, twenty to one I would be the better of it."

"I think you would, Matilda. What is harder to bear than trouble that is not sure? Still, to be the messenger of ill news is an ungrateful office."

"Any news will be grateful; be so much my friend, dear Jane, as to tell me all you have heard."

"You know that he was made Admiral of the Royalist Navy; but, indeed, he is said to be nothing else but a pirate, robbing all ships that he may support the Stuart family at The Hague. No sail could leave British waters without being attacked by him, until Blake drove him to the African coast and the West Indies."

"He is the bread-finder of the King as well as his defender. So much I knew, and 'tis well done in him."

"The latest news is the drowning of Prince Maurice."

"That is the worst of news. Rupert loved this brother of his so tenderly. They were not happy apart. Poor Rupert! His last letter said, 'he was kept waking with constant troubles'; this will be a crowning misfortune. Sir Hugh Belward told me that his disasters have followed one on the heels of the other; that he had no port, and that poverty, despair and revenge alone guided his course."

"Sir Hugh Belward! Was he not the companion of your brother Stephen —that night?"

"Yes. He is now at The Hague with the King, and he has been over on secret affairs. I saw him at de Wick the day before I left. He was so shocked at my appearance that he burst out weeping, and knelt down and kissed my hands. Aunt begged him to leave my presence, for indeed I was like to faint away."

"Then you must have heard all about the doings of Prince Rupert?"

"I had not heard of the drowning of Prince Maurice. That affliction will bring Rupert to shore, and then what will the King do for money?"

"He is said now to be in great need of it, though Prince Rupert sent home a rich prize this past summer; and 'tis further said he resigned his own share of it to his cousin, Charles Stuart."

"'Twould be most like him."

"Some English sailors taken on a prize were put on one of the Royalist ships, and they overpowered her officers, and brought the ship to London a few days ago. I like not to tell you what they said of Prince Rupert to the Parliament."

"It will not vex me, Jane. Evil is said of people so universally that no one is hurt by it."

"They declared, then, that the delight of Prince Rupert and his crews was in swearing and plundering, and in sinking all English ships they could lay their talons on; but also, they added to this account, that there was a chaplain on the Admiral's ship, and that they rode still on Sundays, and did the duties of the day in the best manner they could – the same at evening. Many believed not this report, and many made a mock at, what they conclude, is a travesty of true worship."

"Indeed, Jane, the Puritans have not all the religion in the world, though they think so. However, if Prince Maurice be dead, I am sure that Rupert will not keep the high seas wanting him. Thank you for this intelligence, Jane. 'Twill be some comfort to hear that Rupert is on dry land again."

This conversation had many asides and deviations, and the night was far spent when Matilda was willing to sleep. And in the morning, while they eat breakfast together, the subject was renewed; for sorrow is selfish, and Matilda forgot that she had never even asked after the welfare of Jane's family. As they talked, Lady Jevery joined them. She bid Delia bring her some capon and white wine, and then thanked Jane for her visit, adding —

"I have brought you the key to my private entrance. It will admit you to Matilda's apartments when you wish, without the delays of a formal reception; and 'twill be the greatest token of kindness if you come often."

She spoke gently, and was soft and moth-like in all her movements, but her affection for her niece was unmistakable. While she talked, Jane's eyes wandered over the richly furnished room, noting its draperies of rose velvet, beautifully painted, its carved bedstead and quilted satin coverlet, its dressing-table with little gilded Venetian ewers for perfumes, and India boxes for powders – and also the fine breakfast service of French china before her. Lady Jevery's "charity" to her niece was certainly magnificent, and Jane felt no anxiety concerning her friend's material comforts.

She returned to her home soon after breakfast, and her mother met her with a smiling face. "I was going to send the coach for you," she said, "for there is to be company to-night;" and then she looked at Jane so intelligently that the girl understood at once what was meant.

"Is it Cluny?" she asked, blushing brightly.

"Yes. He has asked for an interview with your father, and I suppose that it is granted, for I was told of the matter."

"Mother, dear, you will speak in our favour?"

"If needs be, Jane. But I am of this opinion – some one has spoken already."

"Do you mean the Lord General?"

"I wouldn't wonder if he has said the two or three words that would move your father more than any woman's talk or tears. Keep your bravery, Jane; father likes women that stand up for themselves. When we were first married, I tried crying for my way, and I never got it. It is a deal better with men like your father and brothers to stand up for your rights. They know what that means, but they think a crying woman is trying to get the better of them."

Jane understood this advice, and she was not a girl inclined to cry for her way or her wish, yet she was glad to be thus early warned of the stand she might have to take. After all, it was one so loving and simple, so well defined in her own mind, and so positively accepted, that there was little need for preparation.

"I have made a resolve to marry Cluny, if Cluny be of the same mind," she said to herself, "and I have made a resolve to marry no one else, whether Cluny be of the same mind or not. I will let no one impose a husband on me. This thing I will stand boldly for; it has the witness of my heart, and love is too great to need lying or deceit."

It was evening when Cluny came, and he was taken at once to the room in which General Swaffham was smoking his good-night pipe. He looked steadily at the young man as he entered, but the look was one of inquiry and observation rather than of displeasure.

"Good-evening, sir," he answered to Cluny's greeting. "Sit down. You have requested speech with me; talk straight out then."

"I am here, General, to ask for your daughter's hand. I love her."

"Come, come, Lord Neville! Do you expect to drive the wedge head foremost? Ere you ask so great a gift, give me some good reasons for expecting it."

"We love each other, sir."

"So! but you must forethink, and straightforward is the best course. You cannot live on love – you two. No, sir!"

"I have my sword and the Lord General's favour. And my mother left me an estate in Fifeshire. 'Tis no great matter, but it is between me and the wolf's mouth."

"Very good for a young man; for a married man, very poor. If you were wanting to know how in God's name you were to provide for your household and pay your debts, would it do to ask your sword, or to send to Fifeshire – or to the stars – for the gold? That is a father's question, sir."

"It is a lover's also. I have enough for our necessities, and somewhat for our comfort, – and we are both willing to take love as security for our contentment." And though the words were such ordinary ones, the young man's heart throbbed in them, and the father felt it.

"Well, well," he answered, "yet I could wish you were altogether an Englishman."

"My mother was of a noble Scotch family, the Cupars of Fife. I would not willingly lose anything she gave me, sir."

"Lord Neville, I have seen the Scots in the late unhappy war, enough of them, and more than enough – greedy creatures, never losing sight of the spoil. I saw a good deal of the country also – beggary, nakedness, hunger, ever-lasting spite, envy and quarreling. But in every land God has His elect and reserve, and I doubt not that Lady Neville was among them."