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  THE BROKEN FONT

  A STORY OF THE CIVIL WAR.

  BY THE
  AUTHOR OF "TALES OF THE WARS OF OUR TIMES,"
  "RECOLLECTIONS OF THE PENINSULA," &c. &c. &c.


  IN TWO VOLUMES.

  VOL. II.


  LONDON:

  PRINTED FOR

  LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMAN,

  PATERNOSTER-ROW.

  1836.




THE BROKEN FONT.




CHAPTER I.

    And now, good morrow to our waking soules,
    Which watch not one another out of feare.
                                        DONNE.


The noble spirit of Katharine Heywood was severely exercised by those
disclosures of Jane Lambert which have been related in a former
chapter.

She regretted, too late, that she had ever asked that true-hearted
girl to perform an office so difficult in itself, and which had
proved, in its consequences, so hazardous to her reputation and her
peace. The chance of such a misfortune as that which had befallen Jane
never remotely presented itself to her mind at the moment when she
made the request, yet she could not but feel compunction as she
reflected on the trouble to which the generous constancy of a delicate
mind had subjected her affectionate friend. One slight reparation was
in her power. It became her plain duty to undeceive the mind of Juxon
on the subject; and the thought that she should be thus instrumental
in bringing together two fine characters, formed for each other, made
all selfish considerations about her own sorrow, and every pang which
her maidenly pride must suffer, vanish before that proper resolution.

No opportunity of speaking in private with Juxon occurred on the
evening of Jane's disclosure to Katharine, nor did any offer itself
until the arrival of her young cousin Arthur from Oxford. It was a
mournful trial to Katharine to observe the high and joyous spirits of
the ardent youth, as he embraced and thanked Sir Oliver for acceding
to his request. The silent house became suddenly full of cheerful
echoes as the brave boy passed to and fro on its oaken staircase and
along the pleasant gallery, singing snatches of loyal songs, or making
his spurs jingle as he ran. All his preparations for the solemn work
of war were made with a light heart, and with little or no
consideration that fellow-countrymen were to be his enemies. Such
little sympathy as the boy once felt for the tortured Prynne existed
no longer for any one of that party, which he had learned to look upon
as traitors.

One would have thought that he was volunteering in a foreign
expedition, by his gay-hearted alacrity in getting ready.

"Cousin Kate," said he, turning towards her as they sat at breakfast
in the hall, "you must make us a couple of King's rosettes,--and I
hope you have both of you," he added, looking at Jane Lambert, "nearly
finished embroidering the small standard for our troop:--you have
laughed at me, and called me boy, Jane; but when I bring you back your
own embroidery, stained with the blood of traitors, you shall reward
me as a man."

"I am not so very blood-thirsty, Arthur," said Jane Lambert, "as to
wish it shed to do honour to my embroidery; and if I see you come
safe back with your sword bright and a peace branch in your hand, I
will tell a fib for you, and call you a man before your beard comes.
Now don't frown--it does not become your smooth face:--when all is
over, you shall play the part of a lady in the first court masque, and
shall wear my rose- gown."

"Why, Jane," said Sir Oliver, "what is come to you, girl? It was but
five minutes ago that I saw you with your kerchief at your eyes,
looking as sad as though you were sitting at a funeral; and now thou
mockest poor Arthur, as if he were a vain boaster, instead of a
gallant boy, as thou well knowest.--Never mind her, Arthur: she is a
true woman, and teazes those most whom she loves the best. She will
cry peccavi to thee a few weeks hence, and suffer thee to give her a
full pardon in honest kisses."

"Marry, Sir Oliver," said Jane, smiling, "you will spoil the boy, an
you talk thus to him."

