"Ah, worthy Doctor," said the dismayed Jobson, "those confounded Roundheads have caught him at last. Here are some of the tatters of his poor old roque-laure, and the woollen cap Mrs. Isabel used to draw over his head so carefully. Here she used to kneel by his side, say her prayers, and sometimes sing in such a sweet low voice; and then the Colonel would kiss her, and tell her she would kill herself with watching him. But when she crept through that little arch to go away, he would look at her as if his soul was parting from his body. And then she would come back again, and say she had not shaken hands with the honest trooper, (meaning me,) and would whisper me, to keep up his spirits; and so they would trifle away half the night."—"'Serjeant,' the Colonel used to say to me, bless his good heart! though I never was more than a corporal, 'that girl has the courage of a lion.' 'Aye, and as cunning as a fox too,' I used to answer. 'She is beautiful as an angel,' he went on; 'Did you ever see such eyes?'—'Never but my first sweetheart's, Sally Malkins,' said I. But then he turned gruff, and would say, 'Pshaw!' for he never could be pleased with any body praising Mrs. Isabel, but himself and that make-believe good young Lord with a wicked father."
While Dr. Lloyd deliberated how to proceed, an aged woman appeared in sight, with a basket on her arm, seemingly employed in gathering herbs. "St. George be my speed!" exclaimed Jobson; "Can that be Madam Mellicent? Ah, sure enough it is her sharp wrinkled face: I never thought she would bend her stiff joints, or walk in the dirt without her riding-hood." Dr. Lloyd offered to go and accost her. "Not for your life," replied Jobson; "she never would forgive me for letting you catch her thus out of sorts. Stop behind that buttress, and I'll go and tell her there is some company coming, and when she has put on her pinners and facings, she will be very glad to see you."
Mrs. Mellicent's appearance was too indicative of profound dejection for Dr. Lloyd to believe she would require any introductory ceremonials. He ventured to salute her with an abrupt assurance, that he was a warm friend of her family, intrusted with a welcome and important communication. Mrs. Mellicent fixed her eyes upon him with that look of inquisitorial diffidence which those who have long been familiarized with distress and injustice, bestow on the dawn of better days. "I can hardly suspect," said she, "that you are one of those who find amusement in sporting with the feelings of the unhappy. You see in me the forlorn relic of a respectable family, now supported by those who were fed at its gates in the days of my prosperity. Yet as far as I can, I try to be independent; and my knowledge in medicine allows me to alleviate the pains of those who shelter my grey hairs.—My brother, his daughter, and the sole surviving child of a beloved sister, now in Heaven, are at this moment exposed to the dreadful trial of Republican persecution. Poverty chains me to this spot, where I drew my first breath, and where, if those I love are sacrificed, I hope soon to close my eyes on sorrow." "You have," said Dr. Lloyd, "omitted to name another strong tie which should bind you to life. You have a brave and gallant nephew, who loves and honours the maternal aunt, who checked his extravagancies and fostered his virtues."
"Eustace Evellin!" returned the good Lady, while her eyes filled with tears, "Did you know him, Sir?—The murderous insurgents cut him off at Pembroke in cold blood. That is their usual method; they only spare useless logs like myself—a withered blasted tree, stripped of all its branches, fit only to sustain the trophies of their accursed triumph. How long, Lord, how long!" continued she, wringing her hands and looking up to Heaven.
Dr. Lloyd now cautiously informed her of the almost miraculous escape of Eustace, and the lively interest he took in his preservation. He added an account of the dangers of De Vallance, and assured her, that he had left them both in his cottage, as safe and happy as English Loyalists could be, while their country groaned under the yoke of Cromwell. The fortitude, nay even the corporeal strength of Mrs. Mellicent, revived at the recital; her own necessities were forgotten, and she scarcely lamented that she had not now a house to welcome, or even the widow's barley-cake to bestow on, the kind protector of the generous youths whom she so fondly loved. Every regret was lost in the prospect of better times, in the future happiness of Constantia and Isabel, in the restoration of the Neville line, and the adoption of the amiable De Vallance into its unpolluted branch. Only one life appeared to stand in the way of their felicity:—Remove the stern Usurper, a penitent nation, weary of oppression, would joyfully welcome back its exiled Sovereign. What might not the Beaumonts and the Nevilles hope from the justice of a Prince for whom they had bled and suffered! Such agreeable reveries as these supported Mrs. Mellicent's spirits during that long period of suspense, in which (for fiction must not anticipate the slow progress of history) she expected their realization. And if hope invested the enlivening phantom of royal gratitude in too gorgeous colours, may we not bless, rather than censure, the fortunate delusion? We are to consider, that the venerable spinster having passed her days in privacy, was ignorant of the chicanery of courts, and disposed to believe, that honour, gratitude, and sincerity, are the inseparable concomitants of illustrious birth. She herself never forgot either her benefactors or her enemies; and she knew not how early Princes are taught to consider the sacrifice of life and fortune as positive debts due to them from their subjects. She was not aware how often expediency compels them to smile on a potent enemy, and to overlook an inefficient friend; how necessary it is for them to employ, as instruments, the able and enterprising, rather than the amiable; and in fine, how much more apt the great are to shower their favours on those whom they oblige by unexpected munificence, than to discharge the claims of justice; to seek praise for liberality, instead of being contented with the merit resulting from a mere performance of duty.
To return; the account which Mrs. Mellicent gave of the persecution raised by the Oliverian government, determined Dr. Lloyd to prevent either of his young friends from becoming its victim. They both recollected the anxiety of the late King to remove his heir beyond the power of his rebel subjects, as soon as he found it was impossible for himself to escape; and that he even considered the preservation of the Prince as a security for his own life. The event refuted that conclusion; but it was owing to this forecast that the prayers and hopes of Englishmen could still follow the princely fugitive. Whether he was shrouded in the oak at Boscobel-wood, or coldly frowned on by the courts of France and Spain, England saw, in the lineal heir of her monarchy, a pledge of the future restoration of her civil and ecclesiastical constitution, and a guarantee to individuals against sequestrators and informers. The same judicious measures which had preserved the Royal sapling when the parent-tree was felled, should be resorted to for the safety of an illustrious private family; and Dr. Lloyd agreed to hurry back to North Wales, and remove his precious charge to some more auspicious clime, before they heard of the imprisonment of Dr. Beaumont. Virginia was objected to on account of its distance from the scene of action. The power of Cromwell, so resistless in the centre of his government, was somewhat relaxed in its more remote dependencies; and the island of Jersey was pointed out as a spot where Eustace and De Vallance ran less hazard of being recognized by Cromwell's officers.
Loyalty was at this time a bond of endearment which united apparent strangers; Mrs. Mellicent had an intimacy, in her early days, with a lady who was now wife to one of the most respectable merchants at St. Helier. He was one who, though faithful to the King, had preserved such an ostensible moderation in his conduct as to avoid offending his enemies; consequently, he had it in his power to assist those braver spirits that had withstood the storm, and now required shelter. A friendly intimation of remembrance, and an offer of aid had been transmitted by this Lady to Mrs. Mellicent, and she advised Dr. Lloyd to fix his abode in that island, under the character of a medical gentleman, travelling with two pupils, who were to study physic at Leyden, but were required, by their infirm constitutions, to establish their health in a salubrious climate, before they encountered the morasses and fogs of Holland.
Dr. Lloyd was not a friend by halves; he was willing to devote the remainder of his life and fortune to the service of these interesting and deserving young men. He wrote a brief account of the preservation of Eustace and the safety of De Vallance, and Jobson was sent with the welcome communication to London, to lighten the woes of their affectionate and unhappy friends. Dr. Lloyd returned to Wales with the utmost celerity. He avoided explaining the distressed state of the family, contenting himself with assuring Eustace and De Vallance that Colonel Evellin was alive, and that Isabel and Constance were faithful to their vows. The plan of emigration to America must, he said, be abandoned, as it was impossible for the family to remove; but as the preservation of their lives, in some degree depended on the concealment of Eustace, it became necessary they should avoid the rigid scrutiny which Cromwell was now making after obnoxious Loyalists, by removing to a retreat where, though the royal banner was not permitted to fly, the inhabitants were allowed to remain in a sort of peaceable neutrality.
When the sword is drawn, and the power of the strongest is to decide, you talk in vain of equity and moderation; those virtues always belong to the conquerors. Thus it has happened to the Cheruscans: they were formerly called just and upright; at present they are called fools and knaves. Victory has transferred every virtue to their masters; and oppression takes the name of wisdom.