“The same, my Lord.”
“Quite an Adonis he; so the Queen thought, ’twas said. Mistress Vaga must have all the fascinations you credit her with to have made conquest of him. But he’s not with the King now?”
“No; nor on the King’s side neither. He turned coat, and took service under the Parliament, in Walwyn’s troop of Horse. ’Tis supposed the Danäe’s shower your lordship speaks of had a good deal to do with his conversion.”
“Very likely that. Cupid’s a powerful proselytiser. Well, I should like to see the Powell girls again; their father too, for old friendship’s sake. By the way, where are they?”
“I am not well informed about their present whereabouts. Some twelve months ago they were here in Bristol, staying at Montserrat House with Madame, his sister. When we took the place, Master Ambrose thought it wise to move away from it, for reasons easily understood. He went hence to Gloucester, where, I believe, he has been residing ever since—up till within the last few days. Likely they’re at Hollymead just now; at least I heard of Powell having returned thither, thinking he would be safe with Monmouth in Massey’s hands. Since it isn’t any longer, he may move back to Gloucester; and the sooner the better, I should say. He has sadly compromised himself by acting on one of the Parliament’s Committees; and some of ours will show him but slight consideration.”
“Indeed, I should be sorry if any serious misfortune befell him, or his. An odd sort of man with mistaken views politically; still a man of sterling good qualities. I hope, Major, he may not be among the many victims this unnatural war is claiming all over the land.”
“I echo that hope, my Lord.”
And with these humane sentiments their dialogue came to a close, so far as that subject was concerned.
Two men had been listening to it with eager ears—Prince Rupert and Colonel Lunsford, who sate by his side. Amidst the clinking of goblets, and the jarring din of many voices, they could not hear it all; still enough to make out its general purport.
They seemed especially interested when the Major spoke of the Powells having returned to Hollymead. It was news to them; glad news for a certain reason. Often since that morning after the surrender of Bristol had the princely voluptuary given thought to the “bit of saucy sweetness, with cheeks all roses,” he had seen passing out of its gates for Gloucester. Just as at first sight her sister had caught the fancy of the brutal Lunsford, so had she caught his; and the impression still remained, despite a succession of amours and love escapades, with high and low, since.