It had been arranged that they should visit Dr. Twisse, the Puritan rector of Newbury, and her only surviving kinsman, on the way; and Cousin Malvina found some comfort in this plan, for as they journeyed Helena’s looks began to alarm her. By day she was silent and pale, at night flushed and feverish, and when at length they reached Newbury, and dismounted at the Rectory, it was quite clear that the girl was very ill.
The rector, however, proved a kindly host, and his wife, though secretly dismayed when the next day the physician plainly told her that weeks must elapse before their guest could travel, was an indefatigable nurse, and never let Helena feel that she was giving trouble.
And so the poor little heiress fought her way through sorrow and suffering, helped on by an illusion, dreaming of Gabriel Harford and of how she could best gain his release, dreaming also—not of the marriage of Captain Heyworth and her friend Clemency—but of that other marriage which her father had twice suggested to her. Had it, she wondered, ever been mentioned to Lieutenant Harford? And if so, had he perhaps thought of her when he so gallantly tried to save her father? And did he now at Oxford call to mind the maid he had so gallantly rescued from Colonel Norton’s villainy? Alas! she knew nothing of Gabriel’s grave words at West Kennet, and never dreamed that at this very time his red-letter days were the ones when, while others slept, he found a chance of looking at the carefully concealed miniature of a dark-eyed, darkhaired maiden, whose sweet yet wilful lips were the only lips in the world he cared to kiss.
By the time Helena had recovered from her illness, news had reached them that Lord Essex had relieved Gloucester, and was endeavouring to return with his victorious army to London, while the King was concentrating all his efforts on the attempt to block his road. To let two ladies travel while the country was in such a disturbed state seemed out of the question, and though it was now past the middle of September, Dr. Twisse insisted on keeping his visitors. Nor was Helena at all averse to staying, for she was still very far from strong, and shrank from the idea of the tedious journey still before them.
Yet Dr. Twisse half wished he had let them go when on the 18th September it seemed likely that the two armies would encounter each other in the near neighbourhood of Newbury. A sharp skirmish was reported from Aldbourn Chase, and on the 19th the King’s forces took possession of Newbury, to the great disgust of the inhabitants, who were strongly in favour of the Parliament. In their breasts bitter memories still lingered which made them little inclined to favour a king who was swayed by his “popish” wife. Some of the old people could well recall the burning of the Newbury martyrs, and all the grown folk had heard from their fathers and mothers details which had sown in their hearts an unconquerable Protestantism, just as past persecutions have firmly established in Ireland an unconquerable Catholicism.
With what feelings Helena watched the entry of the King’s forces may easily be imagined, but it was at least some satisfaction to her to learn that Prince Maurice’s troop was not in that part of the country, and that she ran no danger of seeing Colonel Norton.
The window of the Rector’s study commanded a good view of the street, and she sat looking out at the busy throng below, while Dr. Twisse worked at his Sunday sermon, pausing now and then to ask some question of his sad little kinswoman, more for the sake of breaking the monotony for her than because the movements of the soldiers interested him.
Presently a knock at the front door aroused him.
“Who comes hither, Nell?” he asked. “’Tis late for visitors.”
“It is the gentleman you spoke with as we walked to church on Sunday, sir,” said Nell.