With a sigh of rapture, they rose as the sun began to wester, and rode slowly back to Atheling. No one was at the door to receive them, and Kate wondered a little; but when they entered the hall, the omission was at once understood. There was a large open fireplace at the northern extremity, and over it the Atheling arms, with their motto, “Feare God! Honour the Kinge! Laus Deo!” Squire Atheling was draping this panel with crape; and Mrs. Atheling stood near him with some streamers of the gloomy fabric in her hands. She pointed to the King’s picture–which already wore the emblem of mourning–and said, “The King is dead.”
“The King lives! God save the King!” replied the Squire, instantly. “God save King William the Fourth!”
Then all the clocks in the house were stopped, and draped, and when this ceremony was over, they had tea together. And as it is a Yorkshire custom to make funeral feasts, Mrs. Atheling gave to the meal an air of special entertainment. The royal Derby china added its splendour to the fine old silver and delicate damask. There were delicious cheese-cakes, and Queen’s-cakes, and savoury potted meats, and fresh crumpets; and the ripe red strawberries filled the room with their ethereal scent. No one was at all depressed by the news. If King George was dead, King William was alive; and the Squire thought, “Everything might be hoped from ‘The Sailor King.’ Why!” he said, “he is that good-natured he won’t say a bad word about the Reformers; though, God knows, they are a disgrace to themselves, and to all that back them up.”
“There will now be a general election,” said Exham positively.
“To be sure,” answered the Squire. “And it is to be hoped we may get together a few men that will take the Bull of Reform by the horns, and put a stop to that nonsense forever in England.”
“Before they do that,” said Mrs. Atheling, “they will have to consider the swarms of people they have brought up in dirt, and rags, and misery. For if they don’t, they will bring ruin to the nation that owns them.”
“King William is a fighter. He will back the Law with bayonets, if he thinks it right,” said the Squire.
Mrs. Atheling looked at him indignantly. Then, putting her cup down with unmistakable emphasis, she exclaimed, “The Lord forgive thee, John Atheling! I’ll say one thing, and I’ll say it now, and forever, it isn’t law backed with bayonets that has saved England so far; it is the bit of religion in every man’s heart, and his trust that somehow God will see him righted. If it wasn’t for that it would have been all up with our set long ago.”