“I know I love in vain, strive against hope,

Yet in this captious and intenible sieve,

I still pour in the waters of my love.”

—Alls Well That Ends Well.


Gabriel Harford was not a man who made many friends, his great reserve, and a certain fastidious taste gave him an undeserved reputation for pride and exclusiveness. Moreover, all that he had gone through since Hilary’s angry dismissal had tended to bring out the sterner and sadder side of his nature. He was respected as an indefatigable worker, but few really appreciated him.

Fortunately, he had found his complement in Joscelyn Hey-worth, a cheerful, buoyant and extremely sociable young officer, whose friendship had done much to save him from falling a prey to the bitterness too apt to overtake those who defend an unpopular truth.

He had also one other firm friend in the regiment—Major Locke, a grey-haired, middle-aged man, who had served in the German wars.

The Major was a character, and anyone looking at him as he sat one cold April evening in the chimney corner of a snug room at Gloucester would have fancied from his melancholy voice and long, grave face that he was a most strait-laced Puritan. Voice and face alike belied him, however, for he was, in truth, the wag of the regiment; and an occasional twinkle in his light grey eyes led a few shrewd people to suspect that he usually had a hand in the practical jokes which now and then relieved the tedium of the campaign. His jokes were always of a good-natured order, and had done much to keep up the men’s spirits through that hard winter, with its arduous night marches, its privations and its desultory warfare.

Town after town had yielded to Sir William Waller, but the net result of the war was at present small.

On this evening the officers had dispersed soon after supper, weary with thirty-six hours of difficult manoeuvring, and one or two sharp skirmishes but they had been triumphantly successful in cutting through Prince Maurice’s army, owing to Waller’s skilful tactics, and all were now inclined to snatch a good night’s rest in the comfortable quarters assigned them at Gloucester.

Gabriel, dead beat with sheer hard work, had fallen sound asleep in a high-backed arm-chair by the fire long before the others had satisfied their hunger; he woke, however, with a start as they rose from the table, responding sleepily to the general “good night,” but loth to stir from his nook.

“Come, my boy,” said the Major, “why sleep dog-fashion when, for once, you may have a bed like a good Christian?”

“I will wait till Captain Heyworth comes back,” said Gabriel stretching himself and yawning in truly canine fashion.

“And that will not be over soon, for he will linger at Mr. Bennett’s house, chatting to pretty Mistress Coriton, his promised bride.”

“’Tis like enough,” said Gabriel, with a sigh, recalling a glimpse he had had of Clemency Coriton’s love-lit eyes as her betrothed had marched past the gabled house in the Close that evening. How they contrasted with those dark grey eyes which had flashed with such haughty defiance as Hilary had spoken her last hard words to him—“I will look on your face no more!”

“H’m,” said the Major, “here he comes an I mistake not just as I had hit on a first rate trick to play him. No, ’tis one that knocks—see who it is, my boy, we want no visitors at this hour.”

Gabriel crossed the room and threw open the door. A tall, handsome man, apparently about thirty, stood without, his long, tawny red hair, his fawn-coloured cloak, lined with scarlet, his rakish-looking hat with its sweeping feathers, together with the scarlet ribbons which were the badge of the Royalists, made him rather a startling apparition in the Puritan city of Gloucester, and especially at Sir William Waller’s headquarters.

“Is Major Locke within? they told me I should find him here,” he said in a voice which had something peculiarly genial in its mellow tones..

“The Major is here, sir,” said Gabriel, ushering him in and wondering much who he could be.

“What, you, Squire Norton!” exclaimed Major Locke in astonishment, as he greeted him civilly, but with marked coldness—“Colonel Norton, at your service,” said the visitor, with a short laugh that entirely lacked the pleasantness of his voice in speaking. “You are surprised to see me in the godly city of Gloucester.”

“Well, sir, you are certainly the last person I should have desired as a visitor,” said the Major, bluntly.

“Major Locke was my most frank and outspoken neighbour,” said Norton, turning with one of his flashing smiles to Gabriel. “Next to a good friend commend me to a whole-hearted enemy who hates with a righteous and altogether thorough hatred. But, my worthy Major, you, as one of the godly party, should really obey all Scriptural injunctions. Is it not written, ‘If thine enemy thirst, give him drink’?”

“Lieutenant Harford,” said the Major, in his most lugubrious voice, “see that this gentleman has all that he requires. And in the meantime, Colonel Norton, I must ask you to explain your presence here.”

“I accompanied a friend of mine who was allowed to pass the gates to-night with a letter from Prince Maurice to Sir William Waller. Your General is now writing the answer, and I had leave to seek you out on a private matter.”

“I desire no private dealing with you, sir,” said the Major, stiffly.

Norton laughed as he replied, “If Lieutenant Harford, who has so courteously heaped coals of fire on my head by filling me this excellent cup of sack, will withdraw, I will explain to you what I mean, Major. I assure you my intentions are wholly honourable.”

The Major made an expressive gesture of the shoulders, evidently doubting whether he and his visitor put the same construction on that last word. Gabriel bowed and was about to leave the room when his friend checked him.

“Do not go, Lieutenant,” he said, decidedly. “I wish to have you present as long as Colonel Norton remains.”

“As you will,” said Norton, easily. “I am here entirely in your interest, sir.”

The Major drummed impatiently on the table.

“You seem to doubt that I have an eye to your interests,” said Norton, laughing.

“Well, sir, I have known you all your life, and I dare swear ’tis the first time you have considered anyone except yourself,” said Major Locke, sententiously.

“You have a cursed long memory,” said Norton, cheerfully. “But look you, Major, I know for a certainty that, early to-morrow, Prince Maurice will send troops to besiege your house. The Manor is in a position which will serve his purpose, and he intends to have a garrison there. Your property will be ruined, your household turned out, or should ............