"They were from my father," replied Richard, "and gave me no news whatever, but merely commanded me to leave off soldiering, and go to London directly."
William Newark paused, and meditated for a moment or two, while Richard watched his countenance, keenly and searchingly, but with no more appearance of interest than if he had been marking the progress of a shadow on the wall. He saw a variation in the expression of his cousin's face; and, in truth, a total change had come over his plans. But Richard said nothing, quietly leaving the other to develope his own purposes.
"Do you know, Richard," said William Newark, at length, "I think your father is very much in the right in ordering you to join him in London, both on your account and his own. Your staying here in arms might damage him very much, and even bring his head to the block."
"Indeed!" ejaculated Richard. "What! cut off the father's head for the son's fault? That is reversing the line of succession, I think, and is neither heraldry nor justice."
"It sometimes happens, however," answered his cousin; "and the people will naturally say, that you would never have joined the insurrection, being so young, if your father had not prepared you to do so. Therefore, if you love your father, and would save his life, you had better do as he bids you; I might say, indeed, if you love yourself, and would save your own life, you would do so."
"I don't much care about my life," replied Dick; "but I have some small notion of honour."
"There is no honour to be got here," replied the other. "I am a man of honour too, and would cut any man's throat who said I was not; but I intend to leave these people, and that very speedily. Between you and me, Dick, there is neither honour, profit, nor safety to be had here. This insurrection will not succeed. Here are two generals with mighty armies of three or four hundred men, and neither the Englishman nor the Scotchman has the slightest knowledge of military matters. Kenmure and Forster are two quiet country gentlemen, who never saw a shotted cannon fired in their lives. They will get all who follow them into some horrid scrape, where you will be able to do nothing but hold out your hands for the king's troops to come and tie them. There will be disgrace, and ruin, and punishment. If there was a chance--if their own folly in appointing incapable country gentlemen to command in military operations did not deprive the cause of all likelihood--if we were going to fight like men instead of being trapped like sparrows, which will certainly be the end of it--I would let no danger daunt me. But as it is, Dick, I fairly tell you I shall march for London. You may do as you like."
His cousin's words were evidently not palatable to Richard Newark, who sat gloomy and silent for a minute or two, with his eyes bent upon the table, saying nothing, till his Cousin exclaimed, with a laugh--"Come, take some wine, Dick. It will cheer you."
"No," replied Richard, and pushed the flagon from him. At length he went on, setting his teeth hard--"Well, I will go. I can do them little good, and can be of more service to true-hearted folks there than here. I will go, cousin of mine. When do you set out?"
"Early to-morrow," replied William Newark. "I don't think it needful to tell Kenmure or Forster that, having been accustomed to serve under generals, I do not like to be commanded by bumpkins. I can write all those sweet things afterwards."