"If Mrs. Lucas would accept of me I would take her for my wife. But these are not the times to think of such toys as courtships."
"Ah, my lord," said Charles earnestly, "a true and loyal love shall console thee in any times. What adversity is there a faithful woman cannot soften? Whatever be before thee, take, whilst thou may, this gentlewoman's love—thy sacrifices would not so vex my soul if I could see thee with a gentle wife."
He sighed as he finished, his thoughts perhaps turning to the one deep passion of his own life—the Queen—now so far away and so divided from him by dangers and difficulties. When would he again behold her in her rich chamber singing at her spinet, with roses at her bosom and her dark eyes flashing with love and joy? When again would he behold her among her court at Whitehall, honoured and obeyed? When again take her hand and look into her dear, dear face?... Were these days indeed over for ever, to be numbered now with dead things?...
He rose with a sharp exclamation under his breath: these reflections were indeed intolerable.
"Ah," he said impatiently, "this dearth of news is bitter to the spirit. I sometimes think it would be well to gather my faithful remnant round me and make a sortie into Scotland to join my Lord Montrose."
This was quite to the taste of the two noblemen, who were also tired of Newark, and Lord Digby, for whom no scheme was too fantastic, began to discourse on the advantages of the King's sudden appearance in the Highlands.
But the mood of Charles quickly changed; his resignation and melancholy returned.
"Nay," he said, "I must better the Scots by wits, not force. What would it avail to fall into the hands of the cunning Argyll and his Covenanters, and give the squinting Campbell the pleasure of making us prisoner?"
The Cavaliers were silent, and the three began to slowly continue their walk round the old ramparts.