“Daughter, always call me daughter, second father.”
“Well then, daughter. So, to-day, you are to be a bride!”
The uncle then playfully supposed that ’twas the puritan lover who was to be the bridegroom; whereat the young lady protested, but the uncle soon uttered the talismanic name, Arthur.
They were still talking when a trumpet call was heard without the fortress.
A happy sound, for it announced the arrival of the bridegroom—Lord Arthur Talbot, in reality, but plain Master Arthur Talbot in those puritan times.
Soon the young lord was within the room where were waiting for him the gentle Elvira and her good uncle Colonel George—not the plain little room where they had been chatting, but in the chief hall of the castle, where armor glistened on the walls, and from the windows of which could be seen the bristling fortifications.
He met her, proud of himself and of her, and dressed gaily, in defiance of popular taste. And, truth to tell, but few in the great room could compare in demeanor or good looks, with Lord Arthur, or rather Master Talbot.
Among the ladies present was Madame Henrietta, bustling about from place to place like a careful housekeeper. She did not notice that a messenger came rapidly to the general with a letter, nor did she mark that as he read it he started and then looked up at her. Nor did she hear the order he gave to let no female pass from the castle without an order from himself—except, of course, the marriage party. For the marriage was to take place at the neighboring village church. The messenger bowed low and left the room, and still Madame Henrietta was bustling about, busy and cheerful.
Turning to his daughter and Arthur, the general said, he should not be able to attend the ceremony. And he was presently in deep conversation with several of his gentlemen. Suddenly he turned to madame.
“Lady—a parliamentary order compels me to depart with you for London—have no fear.”