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<h3 class="chapter">Chapter Fifty Three.</h3> <h4 class="event">Again Presentiments.</h4> “Don’t you wish we were back in Gloucester, Sab?” “Why wish that, Vag?” “It’s so lonely here.” “How you’ve changed, and in so short a time! While in the city you were all longings for the country and now—” “Now I long to get back to the city.” “The prosaic city of Gloucester, too!” “Even so. And am sorry we ever came away from it.” “You’ve got yourself to blame. Father was all against it, you know, and only yielded to your solicitations. As you’re his favourite he couldn’t refuse you.” “But you approved of it yourself, for another reason.” Sabrina had approved of it for another reason thus hinted at. After the taking of Monmouth by the Parliamentarians, Sir Richard Walwyn had orders to keep to the Hereford side of the Forest and guard the approaches in that direction. Hence his having his Horse quartered at Ruardean, and hence the desire of the sisters to be back at Hollymead House. Now that he was gone to Gloucester—so unexpectedly summoned thither—all was different, and to Vaga the country life she had so enthusiastically praised seemed no longer delightful. “Well, Vag, we’re here now, and must make the best of it. Though I confess to feeling it a little lonely myself. I wish father had taken Richard’s advice.” At his hurried departure Colonel Walwyn had counselled their leaving Hollymead, and going back to reside at Gloucester, if not at once, soon as the removal could be conveniently made. The knight, without wishing unnecessarily to alarm them, had yet some apprehensions about their safety in that remote place. But they were not shared in by his intended father-in-law, who, although not absolutely rejecting the advice, still delayed following it. So secure felt he that, even on the very day when Sabrina was speaking of it, he had himself gone to Gloucester, on Committee business, and left his daughters at Hollymead alone. Vaga echoed her sister’s wish, then added,—“It may be worse than lonely. Don’t you think there’s some danger?” “Oh, no! What danger?” “Why, from the enemy—the King’s people.” “There are none nearer than Bristol and Hereford.” “You forget Goodrich Castle?” “No, I don’t. But with Monmouth in the hands of our soldiers the Goodrich garrison will have enough to do taking care of itself, without troubling us.” Monmouth had not yet been retaken by the Royalists; at least no word of that had reached Hollymead House. “Besides,” she continued. “Sir Henry Lingen would not likely molest us. You remember before the war he was very much father’s friend, and—” “And before he was married very much yours,” interpolated the younger sister, with a glance of peculiar significance. “I remember that too. For the which reason he might be the very man to molest us. There’s such a thing as spitefulness, and he could scarce be blamed for feeling it a little.” “T’sh, Vaga! Don’t say such silly things. There never was aught between Sir Henry and myself, nor any reason for his being spiteful now. We have nothing to apprehend from that quarter.” “Still we may from some other.” “What other are you thinking of?” “Not any in particular. Only a vague sense of somebody—a foreboding—as when we were out hawking, just before that courier arrived. I had the same feeling then, and it came true.” “Admitting it did, what evil came of it? None; only an ordinary event, Richard and Eustace being separated from us. So long as the war lasts we must expect that, and be patiently resigned to it.” Though sager grown, Vaga was still not equal to the strain of any prolonged resignation. Of a subtle, nervous nature, she was easily affected by signs and omens, felt presentiments and had belief in them. One was upon her at this same moment, and in an instant after she saw that which seemed likely to justify it. “Look!” she cried; “look yonder?” They were in the withdrawing-room, having entered it after eating breakfast, she herself standing at one of the windows, with eyes bent down the long avenue. What had elicited her exclamation was a figure that, having passed inside the park gates, was coming on for the house. A woman, but of man’s stature, and by this easily identifiable. For at the first glance Vaga recognised the sister of Cadger Jack. It was not that which had caused her to exclaim so excitedly. Winny was an almost everyday visitor at the big house, having much business there, and nothing strange would be thought of her coming to it at any time. The strangeness was the way in which she was making approach, hurriedly and in long strides—almost at a run! “What can it mean?” mechanically interrogated Sabrina, who had joined the other at the window. “So unlike Winifred’s usual stately step! Unlike her manner too—she seems greatly excited. Something amiss, I fear.” “Oh, sister! I’m sure of it. Just what I’ve been thinking and saying. She has news for us, and sad news—you’ll see.” “I trust not. Stay! this is Monmouth market day, possibly she has been to the market and heard something there. In that case it’s not likely to affect us much, all we care for being on the other side of the Forest. And yet the cadgers could scarce have been to the market and back again already? ’Tis too early. But we shall soon know.” By this the cadgeress was pushing open the wicket-gate of the haw-haw, and, now near, they could read the expression upon her features, which showed full of concern. Though the month of October, the morning was warm, and the window in which they, stood, a casement, had been thrown open. Stepping into a little balcony outside, and leaning over the rail, Sabrina called out interrogatively—“You have some news for us, Win?” “’Deed yes, my lady. That hae I, an’ sorry be’s I to say’t.” “Bad news, then?” exclaimed both sisters in a breath, their hearts audibly beating. “Is it anything from Gloucester?” gasped out the elder one, the other mentally echoing the question. “No, my ladies. It be all ’bout Monnerth.” This some little relieved them, and more tranquilly they waited to hear what the news was. “Them be’s bad, as ye ha’ guessed,” continued the cadgeress. “Him have been took by the Cavalières.” “Him! Who?” simultaneously exclaimed the sisters, again greatly excited. “Monnerth, mistresses; I sayed Monnerth, didn’t I?” “Oh! yes, yes.” They were too glad to give assent, without noticing her ungrammatic provincialism. “Monmouth taken by the Cavaliers, you say?” “Yes, my ladies. They’s be back into it, an’ ha’ shut up the Parliamentaries in prison—all as didn’t get away.” “Where have you heard this, Win? You haven’t been to Monmouth yourself, have you?” “No, Mistress Sabrina. Only partways. Jack an’ me started for the market; but fores crossin’ the ferry at Goodrich us heerd as how the Sheriff wor down at Monnerth, an’ had helped them o’ Ragland to capter the town. Takin’ the hint, us turned back an’ hurried home, fast as ever we could; an’ I han’t lost a minnit in comin’ to tell ye.” “’Twas thoughtful of you, Winifred,” said Sabrina. “And we give you thanks. Now go round to the cook and have something to eat. But stay! I’m forgetting. You haven’t told us what time it happened—I mean the taking of Monmouth. You heard that, didn’t you?” “Yes, mistress. Night afore last, or early yester morn. Whens day broke the King’s flag be seen over the Castle, an’ there wor great rejoicins in the town. So tolt we the ferryman o’ Goodrich.” “What should we do?” inquired Vaga, after the cadgeress had parted company with them, retiring to the kitchen. “What can we do? Nothing, till father comes home. As they must have had the intelligence at Gloucester, yesterday evening at latest, we may look for him soon. I suppose we must give up all thought of hawking to-day? Some one had better go to Van Dorn’s lodge, and tell him not to come.” “Too late! There he is now.” The falconer was seen approaching by a side path, with an attendant who carried the hawks on a cadge, a couple of dogs following. At the same instant saddled horses, in the charge of grooms, were being brought round from the rear of the house. All this had been ordered beforehand, the ladies having sate down to breakfast costumed and equipped for the sport of falconry. “Shall we send them back?” queried Sabrina, irresolutely. “Why should we?” Vaga was passionately fond of hawking; and, now that she knew the worst of that foreboding late felt, was something of herself again. The taking of Monmouth was but one of the many incidents of the war; no misfortune had happened to any in whom they had special concern. “I suppose we’ll have to leave Hollymead now,” she added, “once more to take up our abode in cities. In which case it may be long before we have another day with hawks. If we don’t go, Van Dorn will be so disappointed.” “If we do, then,” rejoined Sabrina, half assentingly, “it mustn’t be far—not outside the park.” “Agreed to that. No need for our going out of it. Inside we’ll find plenty of things to fly your Mer at. As for my Pers, if better don’t turn up, we can whistle them off at a cushat.” So it was settled, and in twenty minutes after they were in their saddles, and away beyond sight of the house, listening to the hooha-ha-ha-ha, the whistle and the whoop. <hr /></div> <div class="page-break"></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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